#and it warms me immensely that other people feel that same pull i do alongside the conflict it's just soooo reassuring

[coolcarabiner]

tearing up searching catholic, lesbian on jstor and seeing that there is actually other research out there by/about people like me because im incredibly normal and stable actually

[crossbowking]

More Than Anything (Part 2)

(Click HERE to read More Than Anything Part 1)

Summary: (Set mid-season 6) The reader’s feelings towards the archer evolve, but a supply run that goes south threatens to destroy it all.

Request: “I’d love to see something w protective Daryl and some angst, maybe set at the start of their time in Alexandria w an established relationship?” - @pulplorrd

A/N: See, you'd think I would've learned after making you guys wait a year and a half for No Way Out Part 2, that I should probably FINISH my stories before actually posting the first part...yet, here we are, one month later lol I'm sorry for the wait but hopefully it's worth it!

Happy reading and let me know what you think :)

xx Jess

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Previously...

But as its grasp slipped away from around Tara’s arm, the walker’s deadweight, in turn, collapsed against you.

You lost your footing and fell backward.

Except the solidity of concrete never rushed up to meet you.

Instead, you were embraced by water, the tarp that’d laid across the motel pool coiling around your body as you sunk deeper and deeper into nothingness.

Now...

When the world ended, you’d accepted the idea of death — your death, specifically.

You knew that one day, your life would undoubtedly end — most likely at the hands of the dead, ripped to pieces, torn to shreds, the way so many others before you had been taken. But you’d always hoped your death would at least mean something — maybe laying your life on the line, sacrificing yourself so the people you loved could survive.

Something noble, something brave.

Not like this.

Before the fall, you’d managed to inhale a sharp breath — though once you’d submerged into the grimy pool water, the coldness, the darkness, the shock of it all, had zapped the air right out of your body. You were becoming increasingly aware of the tightness in your chest, the burning in your lungs as you struggled against the walker pressed against you, its weight sinking you further into the depths of the pool.

Then, the panic set in — your heart pounded against your ribcage, right alongside the immense pressure crushing your lungs. Glimpses of sunlight hung just above you, peeking through parts of the drifting tarp you frantically attempted to push aside. You were completely disoriented, your vision obscured by the murkiness surrounding you, floating specks only visible beneath the shattered light above.

When your back connected against the bottom of the deep end, you managed to wriggle out from under the dead’s listless body — though the tarp remained twisted around your limbs. No matter how hard you fought, how hard you struggled, you couldn’t free yourself from the suffocating material. You could’ve sworn you were caught in a dream, your movements lagging and sluggish as you thrashed beneath the surface.

It felt as though someone had reached their hand directly through the center of your chest, squeezing your insides in a vice-like grip. A tingling sensation crawled down your spine, settling atop your churning stomach as the throbbing behind your ears began to slow.

You were listening to your last heartbeats.

It became unbearable, the water threatening to force its way past your clamped lips, the simple need to breathe. A sharp stab of pain shot through you as the blackness in your vision intensified, pulsing reddish-white around the edges as the fire in your chest consumed you at last.

Then, with nothing else left to do, you inhaled.

You weren’t sure what happened next — everything felt faint and fuzzy and quiet. The darkness that lingered no longer struck fear in you — instead, it was warm, enveloping you in its arms like a long-lost lover. The silence was soothing as you drifted in the emptiness, like careless whispers and forgotten melodies. You were weightless, you were freed, you were everything and nothing all at once.

You were dying.

That you were sure of.

Yet much to your surprise, you weren’t afraid — no, instead…you felt at peace.

But the brevity of calm didn’t last as you were suddenly aware of a vague pressure, though it wasn’t all-consuming nor constant. It was distant at first, a feeling you could’ve easily brushed aside had it not begun to gradually grow in force, in vigor — a steady pounding, coming from the center of your chest, over and over again.

The warmth around you began to splinter, shattering like shards of glass, the fallout piercing your skin as it collapsed around you. The pain was deep and burning and you longed for just a moment ago when all you felt was the sweetness of oblivion. The pressure pounding against your chest increased, becoming the sole thing you could feel, the only thing you could focus on, the unwavering thuds drawing you back from whatever place you’d drifted off to.

In the next moment, you were awake.

Your body flailed, jolting upright, but you’d only managed to get an inch or two off the ground before water began to suddenly spurt from your mouth. Your eyes squeezed shut as you choked on the liquid, every nerve ending in your body red-hot. You were vaguely aware of hands, rough and calloused and familiar, gripping onto your arms and forcing you onto your side, the motion allowing the water leaving your lungs to flow easier.

You gasped a constricted breath, coughing harshly on the exhale, completely and entirely disoriented as to what in the fuck just happened. Your chest tightened as you spit up more water, your throat closing around the sensation as you fought for control of your breathing, the feeling of concrete against the side of your body grounding you.

When your coughs finally died down, the same hands from before grabbed onto your arms, pulling your deadweight upright, maneuvering your limp body as if you were a rag doll. You blinked your bleary eyes open, wincing from the sunlight directly above as you drew in shaky breaths.

And then you saw him.

Daryl knelt in front of you, his ragged breathing mirroring your own, soaking wet from head to toe. Strands of hair stuck against his forehead, droplets of water still dripping from the ends as he stared at you, wide-eyed, his expression a mixture of horror and shock — something you rarely witnessed when it came to the archer.

He was mouthing something — no, he was shouting something — but you couldn’t hear him. You couldn’t hear a damn word he was saying as you sat there, dazed and confused, wondering if what just happened actually happened.

His hold around your arms slipped away, his hands cradling either side of your face instead, tilting your head up and brushing your drenched hair back. He leaned forward a fraction, frantically studying your features, his haunted eyes bouncing back and forth between your own as though making sure you were there — really there.

The silence was becoming a little less resounding, the world around you gradually seeping back, though muffled and dull — but the way Daryl was looking at you, the apprehension in his gaze, shook something loose inside you. Your mouth opened, but no sound came out. You wanted to tell him it was okay — that you were okay — but damn it, why couldn’t you speak?

So instead, you slowly lifted your hands, weakly grasping onto Daryl’s wrists, the small motion all you could muster — you had to let him know you were here. He glanced down at your hands, a small huff of relief escaping him.

But when he looked back up, you noticed the moisture that’d built in the corners of his eyes.

Daryl’s hands slipped behind your head, holding you still as he leaned forward and pressed his forehead gently against yours.

You, on the other hand, silently thanked whatever God or higher power was out there for giving you one more moment like this.

When the archer pulled back, you spotted a red streak smeared across his forehead that hadn’t been there before. Your brow knitted together as he sat back on his haunches. You tried clearing your throat, the sensation burning the rawness that’d spread. “You’re —” you croaked, your voice sounding foreign. “— you’re bleeding, D.”

Daryl’s expression darkened, his jaw clenching as he lowered his gaze and unsheathed his hunting knife. “It ain’t mine,” he rasped, suddenly slicing a long strip of fabric off from the bottom of his dampened shirt and balling it in his fist, ringing out some of the water.

Before you knew what was happening, he was reaching forward, pressing the material gingerly against your forehead and wrapping it behind your head, tying the strip into a knot to keep it in place. You were surprised at the sting of pain you felt, unsure when you managed to cut your head open in the midst of what had happened — everything was still sort of…fuzzy.

The sound of a car door slamming drew your attention. You peeked out of the corner of your eye, spotting Tara jogging towards you, the car you’d driven to the motel running idle in the parking lot.

“They’re coming!” she called out, motioning towards something just behind Daryl.

You craned your neck, attempting to get a look, but before you could, the archer was looping his arms beneath your armpits and hefting you up to your feet. The world tilted unsteadily around you, and had it not been for Daryl’s hold, the ground would’ve surely rushed up to meet you.

“I got ya,” he rasped, slinging one of your arms across his shoulders, his grip snaking around your waist.

Tara appeared at your opposite side, slightly out of breath. “Welcome back, chicka,” she shot you a slightly strained smile before following Daryl’s lead and winding your other arm across her shoulders, keeping you propped upright between them.

You wanted to tell them you were fine, that you were more than capable of walking on your own — but your strength had depleted, your legs shook beneath you, and the shock was beginning to wear off, making all the little aches and pains in your body alarmingly obvious.

Then, you were moving.

They half-dragged, half-carried you across the stretch of concrete, hurrying towards the parking lot where Tara had left the car. You peeked over your shoulder, managing to get a glimpse of what you were leaving behind — the small herd from earlier had been taken down, their bodies splayed out sporadically on the other side of the pool. Some sporting knife wounds, others bullet holes. The pool itself was rippling, the water sloshing back and forth, air bubbles visible at the surface.

Some of the dead had followed you into the water.

Just beyond the pool, you spotted exactly what you were running from — another herd, three times the size of the first one, ambling in from the woods behind the motel, most likely drawn in by gunfire.

When you reached the car, Tara slipped away and jumped into the driver’s seat. Daryl flung open the back door and maneuvered you carefully inside. You grimaced as you inched further into the car, only stopping once your back was pressed up against the opposite door. The archer quickly slid in after you and slammed the door shut, grabbing onto the back of the driver’s seat as Tara peeled out of the parking lot.

The silence that followed rang heavy.

Your heart hammered against your chest, your breaths coming out slightly wheezy, almost like there was still some water left in your lungs. You met Tara’s eyes in the rearview mirror before she focused back on the road — you noticed then that the sleeves of her shirt, up to her elbows, were wet.

She’d helped drag your body out of the pool.

You glanced over at Daryl, the archer’s grip on the driver’s seat white-knuckled as he stared at the back of the headrest. Waves of tension rolled off him, the feeling nearly palpable. But his eyes flickered towards you a moment later, as though he felt you watching him, and some of the rigidity faded.

He wordlessly shuffled closer, grabbing your arm and pulling you away from the door you leaned against. You were too tired and too sore to object, your body slumping against his side as he wrapped his arm around your shoulders — you thought for a brief moment that he was hugging you.

But instead, he wound your seatbelt around your body and locked it in place.

Daryl fell back against the seat beside you with a huff, keeping his gaze focused ahead, staring straight through the windshield. He didn’t look at you again — he remained still, like he was carved from stone. You weren’t even sure he was breathing. His arm just barely grazed the side of yours, but despite whatever hidden turmoil was surely happening inside of him, he made no effort to move away.

He needed time to process what happened — what almost happened.

But so did you.

You shifted, closing the small gap between you and resting your head against his shoulder, ignoring the way he stiffened. The material of his shirt was still damp and smelt like a mixture of chlorine and mildew from the murky pool water, but you couldn’t find it in you to pull away either.

You hadn't realized you’d dozed off until the archer gently shook you awake, the car now parked outside Alexandria’s makeshift infirmary.

You still felt weak and lethargic, but you managed to make your way inside without any help — although Daryl, silent and stoic as ever, remained at your side, his hand hovering over the small of your back.

The infirmary was quiet as Denise checked you over — Tara had gone to update Rick and the others on what happened, as well as distribute the supplies you’d managed to bring home. Daryl, on the other hand, paced — back and forth, like a caged animal, on the opposite side of the room. Almost like part of him desperately wanted to run, but a bigger part of himself needed to be there.

“Are you feeling any nausea? Confusion? Loss of basic motor skills?” Denise suddenly asked, breaking the silence that’d stretched on, looking up from the textbook she was reading from. She’d never dealt with an ‘almost drowning’, but had been able to scrounge up some old medical textbooks for help.

“Uh,” you cleared your throat, shaking your head once. “No. No, nothing like that.”

“Okay, good. Yeah, that’s good…” she murmured, mostly to herself, before flipping to the next page and skimming the stretch of words. “Besides your forehead, any other lacerations?” she looked up at you once more, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose.

“I don’t —” you shot Daryl a look, but he was too busy pacing to notice. “I don’t think so,” you shook your head again, your fingertips ghosting over the bandage Denise had patched your head up with.

“Good, good. We’ll want to keep an eye on that in case of infection,” she informed before flipping to the next page, mouthing the text to herself. “Okay, and any soreness?”

You grimaced as you sat up a little straighter. “Just — just right here mostly,” you admitted, motioning towards your center, below your chest.

Denise shut the textbook and placed it on the metal table you sat on top of. “Can you show me?”

Your brow knitted together but you obliged, sliding off the table and grabbing the hem of your shirt. You fought back a wince as you rolled the material up, stopping just below your chest, exposing your skin.

The first thing you noticed was the way the room suddenly stilled — you glanced up, spotting Daryl standing frozen across the way, pacing no longer. But he wasn’t staring at you — he was staring at your midsection, a look in his eyes you’d never seen before.

When you lowered your head, getting a good look at yourself for the first time, you realized exactly what he was seeing.

Bruises. Dark and discolored. Scattered down your sternum and along the center of your ribcage.

Your head snapped up at the sound of the front door slamming shut.

And Daryl was gone.

You tried to ignore the pinprick of tears that grew, the hurt that settled across your chest as you lowered your shirt back in place — but when Denise suddenly reached out and placed her hand on top of yours, patting it softly, your features crumpled.

Everything that happened seemed to catch up to you in that moment — the fear, the shock, what Daryl must’ve felt pulling your unmoving body out of the water. You’d nearly died. What would’ve happened if he hadn’t been able to bring you back? Would he have been the one to put you down when you undoubtedly turned? Or would Tara have done it — the act far too painful for the man you loved to follow through with.

The man you loved.

Denise wrapped her hand around yours, squeezing gently and drawing you back. “Hey, it’s okay,” she soothed.

You quickly swiped at the tears that slipped down your cheeks, huffing a hitched breath. “I know, I’m just —” you glanced up at the front door, hanging onto the foolish hope that it’d swing open once more. “I don’t know,” you finally mumbled, albeit defeatedly.

Denise followed your gaze, scoffing slightly. “Men suck,” she finally shrugged.

You sniffled softly before shaking your head. “Not that one,” you murmured fondly.

Denise squeezed your hand once more, shooting you a sympathetic smile before she pulled away. “It could’ve been worse — most people who have CPR done on them end up with broken ribs or punctured lungs. You, my friend, are one of the lucky ones.”

You inhaled a deep breath, fighting back a wince, the motion stretching your bruised body. “Thank you. For everything.”

Denise nodded before taking off her glasses, using the hem of her shirt to clean the lenses. “Y/N, I don’t mean to overstep my boundaries, but,” she paused, sliding her glasses back on as she regarded you seriously. “You smell like a sewer rat.”

You faltered, completely caught off guard by her statement before remembering that you were still wearing damp, swampy, pool water clothes. Then, despite everything, a laugh slipped past your lips, breaking the tension. You let out a hiss as the movement sent a wave of pain through you. “Ow, fuck, don’t make me laugh,” you bit back another chuckle, lightly swatting her arm.

Denise smiled before motioning towards the door. “Go home, shower, get some rest — Doctor’s orders,” she grinned, turning away and beginning to clean up her workstation.

You thanked her again before hobbling out of the infirmary.

As night drew near, most residents of Alexandria were already in their respective homes — you were grateful for that. You didn’t want to see anyone right now, their worry and endless questions something you were more than happy to put off until tomorrow.

When you made it back to the apartment you and Daryl shared, you were, yet again, fighting back feelings of disappointment — he wasn’t home. You felt a pinprick of worry, but knew he needed time and space to process whatever it was he was feeling.

And when he was ready, you would be too.

You walked through the kitchen, the morning you’d shared earlier feeling like a lifetime ago — the pan he’d used to make eggs, now dry, remained sitting on the counter. The bedroom was untouched, looking exactly how it had this morning, just the way you’d left it. You grabbed a fresh set of clothes before making your way into the master bathroom attached, ignoring the bone-deep tiredness settling over you.

Showering was a good call — the warm water rained down as you scrubbed your body of the muck that clung to you, being extra careful not to get the bandage on your head wet or make any sudden movements. When you were finished cleaning up, you stood beneath the shower head for a few minutes, eyes closed, inhaling the steam around you with deep, calming breaths.

You were okay. You were alive. You were here.

You shut off the water, stepped out of the shower, and dried yourself off, gingerly patting down your chest and around your ribs, before slipping into clean clothes. You wiped away some of the steam that’d collected on the bathroom mirror before hanging up your towel, combing out your knotted hair, and brushing your teeth — the same routine you did every night.

The normalcy was soothing — you were already beginning to feel better, more like yourself. You were ready to put what happened behind you and move forward, sure to never take another day for granted.

But when you opened the bathroom door, ready to curl up in bed and doze off, all of your feelings from earlier came rushing back at the sight of Daryl.

Once again, he’d been pacing the length of the bedroom, only stopping after you’d entered the room, his gaze snapping towards you. He shifted his weight back and forth, opening his mouth before clamping it shut. You could feel his energy, rolling off his body in waves — tense, rigid, wild. He was struggling to say whatever was on his mind, only furthering his evident frustration. He flicked his hair away from his eyes, turning to face you head-on, clearly gathering up the gall to speak.

You took a small step forward. “Daryl —”

“Ya were blue,” he suddenly rasped, a fire in his gaze that wasn’t there before. “Tara was shoutin’ for ya an’ I — when I went in an’ pulled ya out, there wasn’t — I didn’t —” he huffed a breath in frustration, his face tinged red. “God, damn it, Y/N, ya were fuckin’ blue,” he finally growled, chest heaving, hands balled into fists at his side.

His anger wasn’t directed at you, but the situation itself, you knew that. But still, his words — or more so the emotion, the truth hidden behind them — had you recoiling from him, your heart breaking at the thought of what he’d seen, of what had run through his mind when he realized you weren’t breathing.

You couldn’t imagine how scared he must have been.

And that was what was beneath his outburst — not rage, but fear.

But he wasn’t finished with what he needed to say — if anything, he was just getting more and more worked up as he began to frantically pace once more. “This is why — I fuckin’ told ya — I didn’t need ya comin’ out there. I didn’t need ya on that run but ya — ya didn’t listen ta’ me an’ then —”

“I love you.”

Daryl stilled, mid-stride, his gaze widening as if all of the air had been sucked from his lungs.

You felt your face flush, the air between you so thick it could be cut with a knife. You hadn’t meant to say that aloud, but the words just sort of…tumbled out? And now, there they were, hanging between you. Part of you wondered if the archer could hear your heart pounding from where he stood — or maybe it was his heartbeat, synched up to yours.

You sputtered a soft breath, shaking your head in disbelief, trying not to panic because the last thing you wanted was for Daryl to look at you the way he was looking at you after telling him you loved him. “I’m —“ you took a breath, regarding him earnestly. “I’m sorry if that makes you uncomfortable. And I promise — I promise — you do not have to say it back. Hell, you don’t even have to feel the same way,” you huffed an awkward laugh, but the noise hitched somewhere in your throat, betraying your words. You grew serious once more. “I just — I couldn’t have another night going by without you knowing. Not after what happened today,” you swallowed the lump in your throat, shrugging a shoulder up meekly. “So, I love you — I love you more than anything.”

You weren’t sure what sort of reaction you were expecting from him. But you absolutely refused to acknowledge the tiny part of you that secretly wished he’d swoop you into his arms, pull you close, tell you he loved you too — because that wasn’t Daryl. That wasn’t the type of man he was — and you were okay with that.

Because you hadn’t fallen in love with that type of man.

You’d fallen in love with the man standing shell-shocked in front of you.

You cleared your throat and stepped forward, moving away from the bathroom doorway. “The shower’s all yours,” you murmured, needing to break the uncomfortable silence that carried on.

You sidestepped around his frozen form, ignoring the way your legs shook like jelly beneath you as you made your way towards the bed. You took a seat on the edge of the mattress, keeping your back towards him, staring ahead at the blank wall in front of you instead.

After what felt like forever, the floorboard squeaked beneath the shifting of his weight, his footsteps growing faint as he slowly walked away and entered the bathroom, closing the door shut after him.

You strained your ears, listening for any movement beyond the door he’d disappeared behind — but you heard nothing. It was like you could feel him through the panel of wood between you — you could almost picture him, just standing there, trying to process whatever the hell was going on inside that mind of his.

A moment later, the shower turned on.

And you released the breath you’d been holding.

Exhaustion swept through you, the day’s events wearing you down. You carefully maneuvered yourself into bed, pulling a thin sheet over your body and settling onto your side. Your eyelids grew heavy, the sound of the shower lulling you to sleep despite the strange, sort of freedom your admittance had brought you, the feeling buzzing through your veins.

You didn’t regret your vulnerability — he needed to know he was loved, damn it.

When you heard the shower turn off, you snapped your eyes shut. You listened to the archer move about the bathroom until the door finally creaked open. He seemed to be just standing there, and you could’ve sworn you felt him staring at the back of your head as if he was gauging whether or not you were actually asleep. But a moment later, you heard his footsteps padding across the bedroom before the mattress dipped beneath him.

You held your breath, covers drawn to your chin as Daryl shifted in bed, eventually lying down beside you. Another beat of quiet passed, neither of you moving, nor breathing it seemed.

But then suddenly, you heard him speak, so softly you almost missed it. “I know ya ain’t sleepin’,” he rumbled.

The corner of your mouth quirked up — because of course he knew.

You sighed, shifting gingerly onto your back, the sheet pooling at your waist as you looked over at him. He laid on his side, facing you, propped up on his elbow. He was dressed in clean clothes, his hair still wet from the shower, pushed back out of his face.

He really was rather beautiful.

“Busted,” you smiled, though the archer’s expression remained solemn.

Ever so gently, he reached towards you, his fingertip grazing the material of your shirt, over your ribcage, below your chest, hovering the bruises that lingered. “Does it hurt?” he rasped, the mouth turned downward into a small frown.

You shook your head. “Not really.”

Daryl’s eyes met yours, his expression skeptical and knowing.

You never were a good liar.

“At least you didn’t break a rib?” you offered sheepishly, your lame attempt at a joke falling flat given the current audience.

But when Daryl’s features fell, a flash of what looked like guilt settling over his face, you placed your hand on top of his, resting them against your stomach. “Don’t do that,” you murmured, reading him like a damn book as you rubbed circles with your thumb over the back of his hand.

The archer grumbled something indistinct, staring down at your intertwined hands.

Your grip tightened around his. “I mean it,” you spoke, an edge to your voice, only softening when he looked at you instead. “You saved my life, D — that’s it. You can let go of anything else you’re holding onto.”

Daryl’s lip twitched as he chewed on the inside of his cheek, seemingly mulling over your words.

You were sure he’d hang onto whatever unnecessary guilt he carried — because that was just who he was — but eventually, he nodded once and settled down on his back, staring up at the ceiling. You were too tired to press the subject further so you curled into his side and rested your head against his chest, winding your arm across his midsection. His arm automatically wrapped around you, his fingertips trailing absently up and down your spine, sending shivers through your body.

You weren’t sure how long you laid like that, melting into the warmth he exuded, the steady pounding of his heartbeat easing you to sleep.

You’d nearly faded away when Daryl suddenly spoke.

“Did ya mean it?” he rumbled, the noise vibrating from deep within his chest. “What ya said before?” he grunted, his hand pausing at the small of your back.

You could’ve imagined it, but you almost felt the slight tremble of his fingertips against your skin.

You slowly pushed up onto your elbow, your faces mere inches apart. You searched his uncertain gaze, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Of course I meant it,” you whispered. “Every damn word.”

Daryl’s eyes narrowed, as though not entirely believing what you said could be true.

So you leaned forward, closing the remainder of space between you, and pressed your lips gently against his. He returned the kiss, a quiet desperation growing as one hand came up to cradle the side of your face, his thumb sweeping back and forth across your cheek. You broke away from the kiss, brushing his hair back before meeting his lips once more, settling your hand on his chest, feeling his heart racing beneath your touch.

When you pulled back, you noticed his skin flush, surely mirroring your own. He looked up at you, slightly breathless, a fondness in his gaze that sent your stomach somersaulting. He cleared his throat, the ghost of a smile flickering across his face. “Well, alright,” he finally resigned, accepting your answer to his question.

You snorted a breathy laugh, leaning forward and kissing his cheek before burrowing against him. A soft sigh slipped past your lips as Daryl’s hold tightened around you, as though afraid you’d disappear if he didn’t.

You closed your eyes, reveling in the feeling of contentment, unsure how many more moments like this you, or anyone else for that matter, had left in this kind of cruel and harrowing world.

But for at least tonight, you could be at peace.

“I love you,” you murmured groggily, beginning to sink deeper into unconsciousness.

Right before sleep came, long after Daryl thought you’d drifted away, you heard him whisper three, simple words.

“More than anythin’.”

Then he pulled you closer and the world dimmed.

A/N: Aw...a happy ending! (I figured I owed ya after putting y'all through Honey & Whiskey lol)

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[yezielmoore]

29. Fuse

This prompt possessed me. That's all I can say. Neither a follow up or a prequel to Onerous, it's still part of the same universe nonetheless.

.-,-.

The Light was killing her. 

This wasn’t news to her. 

Oh, it’s not like she always knew or anything like that. All Athene had known, when she accepted the task of hunting the Lightwardens, was that it couldn’t possibly be as easy as the Exarch made it sound. 

(Nothing ever was)

It wasn’t until she absorbed King Titania that she felt something was different, wrong. It was only a slight pressure, a twinge of discomfort deep in her soul, but even that was too much when she had three more Lightwardens to defeat.

By the time they cleared Rak’tika Athene the suspicion had grown into dread and she knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that her task was killing her. Shtola’s reaction to her and the conversation she overheard later merely confirmed what she could already tell: no mortal, blessed or otherwise, could take this much aether inside themselves and hope to survive. 

The Light felt like she had swallowed an orange sized boulder that then got stuck in her chest. Except this boulder was alive and growing and slowly, oh so very slowly, crushing her lungs as it expanded.

Phoenix helped immensely. She could feel his fire coursing through her, warming her and shaking off the perilous stagnation that tried to creep on her, that turned her thoughts sluggish and made her feel like her limbs had turned to stone. 

(She checked, over and over, and was relieved that the answer remained: no, not yet)

The fourth Lightwarden made the truth outwardly obvious. She was pallid and struggled to get her thoughts together in the immediate aftermath. It was hard to check, what with the light obscuring her vision at the worst times, but she was sure her eyes had flecks of gold in them. 

(She had asked Harmony, but the stricken look and tearful nod she received made her reconsider any other questions. Their argument was fresh in her mind and she didn’t want to spend what may be her last days crying or arguing. She didn’t want to die, period, but since when did her wants matter when there was need for the Warrior of Light)

Athene wondered idly what would happen if she cut herself. Would she bleed red still? The urgency of their situation didn’t allow her to find out, there was too much to do and too little time to spend it in unnecessary trips to the infirmary. 

Marching towards the Tempest made her feel like she was part of her own funeral procession. Except she wasn’t going to die. No, it was going to be so much worse. Even so, she had to keep it together for a bit longer. Athene wouldn’t let Emet-Selch Hades rejoin the First. She couldn’t. Not only for the people of Norvrandt that had grown on her, but also for the people in the Source who would get hit with another Calamity, one worse than any before, if she failed. For her mom, her niece, her friends, for all of them she would hold on and fight on. She couldn’t let them down.

Phoenix thrilled from his perch on her shoulder and, as always, his song soothed her mind. His fire beat alongside the tempo of her own heart, warming her up when nothing else worked. Athene worried about him. Immortal or not, everything had a limit. 

The Light was a ravenous beast, barely contained by his fire and her will plus Ryne’s handy suppression. It was a precarious balance that couldn’t last and they all knew it.

“I must admit, your tenacity surprises me, hero.” Emet-Selch commented sincerely as he watched her struggle up to him. 

Her soul was such an amalgam of Pure Light pushing and cracking it from the center and Regenerating Fire pulling it back together over and over and over again that even he could barely tell what it was supposed to look like originally. Not that he needed his Sight for that. Lahabrea’s fractured self devotion and the conspicuous phoenix familiar that absolutely shouldn’t exist told their own tale. 

‘Ah, old friend’, he thought wistfully, even though he let nothing show on his face. ‘You finally found her and she’s our enemy. You really have the worst luck.’ 

“Even so,” he continued, “your journey ends here.”

“You… you don’t get to decide that,” Athene said through gritted teeth as she struggled to her feet, his last blast had sent Harmony flying back and bowled her over in the process. She smirked up at him, a memory shoving its way to the surface. “You’re not… the boss of me… little Hades.” 

“Why waste your final moments in futile defiance?” He snarled. Oh, he certainly recognized her now, that infuriating smirk was stamped on his memory. “You’ve no fight left to fight! No life left to live! The Light will not be denied! Surrender to your fate, and let the transformation take you!”

Athene bared her teeth in his general direction, eyes shining golden with the Light’s corruption. She hated to admit it, but he was right. It was taking all her strength and more just to keep standing, to keep the wave of Light from swelling beyond her control and drowning her. If she faltered for even one second, that would be it. It would take her and then she would take all of them down with her. 

‘Come, little me,’ a voice she hadn’t heard in months pulled her thoughts from the spiral of despair. She felt a tug in her mind, a gentle call instead of a forceful shove. Maybe that’s why, despite all the grief her dark self had caused her, she still answered. Or perhaps it was simpler than that: if one went down, so did the other and Athena was many things, but a fool she was not. ‘We only go down if that’s part of the plan.’

Athene opened her eyes in a pure white space. Under her feet was a surface made of solid fire that was visibly shrinking even as she watched it. Athene truly, really wished this wasn’t her soulscape, but she had a sinking suspicion that it was and that this little circle was the last bastion against the Lightwarden struggling to break through her skin. 

“Pretty dire circumstances,” Ardbert noted from her right, observing the dying fire with a complicated expression on his face that she didn’t have the time to figure out.

“What are you doing here?!”

“Come now, you know why,” he said with a smirk, but he sobered almost immediately, his gaze drawn unerringly to Phoenix’s fire. “If you had the strength to take another step, could you do it? Could you save our worlds?” 

Her heart skipped a beat as he said that. Athene turned to look at the hyur, once an enemy, then an ally, always a shattered piece of her own soul, and her lips formed a smile without input from herself. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at the knowledge that, more often than not, she was her worst enemy and her biggest ally. She felt like the butt of a cosmic joke.

“What? All by myself?”

“Ha!” Ardbert exclaimed and smiled widely at her, something wild and untamed shining unashamedly in him. 

She didn’t know why she expected him to pass on his ax to her, like a baton in a race. Instead he extended a gloved hand, palm up. An invitation if she ever saw one. 

Athene clasped his hand. 

“We fight as one!” 

Motes of light started lifting off of him as she echoed his sentiment. However, even as he started to fade away, the fire beneath their feet suddenly and unexpectedly burst forth. Ardbert apparently hadn’t expected that anymore than she had going by the wide-eyed look he threw at her, as if she had done this. Of course, this being Phoenix’s fire, it didn’t hurt them, quite the opposite. The firestorm cradled and soothed them, making the merging of their souls painless and seamless. 

But it didn’t stop there. 

With a thrill and phantom nudge against her soul, Athene felt not just the fire join the union, but Phoenix itself. 

“No!” Athene cried as the realization sunk in, but it was already too late. 

Her soul, fractured almost to the point of collapse, could no more deny itself healing than a man dying from dehydration could turn down water. 

"No…" She whispered brokenly, as the last embers of Phoenix's flame sunk under her skin. The Light that had caused her so much pain and almost cost her everything was, once more, dormant and almost pliant inside her. 

Well, it hadn’t cost her her life, but the price had been steep indeed. 

‘In more ways than one,’ she thought to herself numbly as she caught sight of the burnished gold talons adorning her fingertips in place of nails.

“What have you done?!” Hades’ voice cut through the haze in her head, his tone aghast, as if she had commited a worse sin than genocide several times over, the hypocrite. 

Hearing his voice, Athene pulled herself together, clinging to sanity by her fingertips. She couldn’t break down now. Once this was over, once her friends, love and family weren’t defenseless at her back… then and only then she would allow herself to break and not a moment sooner. 

“This world is not yours to end…” Athene declared. It was her mouth and her will, but her voice and tone were all Ardbert’s. “This is our future. Our story.”

She glared at him, fire sparking to life from her, drifting lazily through the air. Where it brushed against her downed allies it brought warmth and relief, and a feeling of protection/love/safety; but when a stray flame reached him, Emet-Selch recoiled with a hiss of pain.

“Very well.” He growled and conjured a gust of wind to keep the fire away from himself. “Let us proceed to your final judgment.” 

Athene wrapped her right hand firmly around the hilt of her sword. 

“By all means, Hades, lead the way.”

[itskatastrophe-x]

Far Off Places (CH 1)

Overview , Chapter 1 , Chapter 2

Word Count : 2,487

^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^

Pain. That was the only thing you knew. The only thing you felt. Not just physically, but emotionally. Your kingdom had been doing so well. You had everything. It was all right there in the palm of your hands for years. All of that had been undone in a matter of minutes as lava poured from the sky and bombs went off under the surface. After fighting for so long, your advisors told you to run. Start fresh in a new place. Find new friends and live a normal life. What even was normal? You had lived in the spotlight for so long, ruling over the same people, the same faces, the same memories. This kingdom was all you knew, and now it was being burned to the ground. 

You kept running, tripping over your own feet and branches as you went, your breath catching in your throat every few seconds, making you feel like you were drowning on land. The smoke from the fires wafted through the trees, burning your lungs and stinging your eyes. Your cheeks were red and puffy from crying for the past couple hours, the bitter wind chilling them. You only stopped once going up a large hill about half a mile outside the city walls, and then again once you reached the top. You collapsed roughly to your knees at the base of a tree, hunching over and putting a hand against said tree to keep your balance. You spluttered and coughed violently from all the smoke you inhaled and doubled over in pain, scrunching your nose and closing your eyes tight. The distant sounds of fire crackling and wooden supports crashing to the ground echoed around you through the valley. You recomposed yourself and slowly brought yourself to stand, still leaning against the tree so you wouldn’t immediately fall over from the burning sensation in your legs. 

You stood there with your back facing the mess for what felt like hours, but was probably only a couple minutes. Part of you wanted to turn around. The other part wanted to keep running. So you stood there. The sounds making you sob harder, but you couldn’t bring yourself to move. Not yet. This was your home. How were you supposed to just let this happen? How did this even happen in the first place. You couldn’t remember making any enemies, so who could have done it? A neighboring country? You highly doubted that. You were hundreds of miles away from anyone else, your kingdom was basically hidden away in a valley between mountains, making it extremely hard to get to. 

Time kept passing and the roar of thunder washed over you slowly, lightning flashing in the far off distance over the mountains. The setting sun finally dipped below the horizon and the fires blazing harshly behind you cast the scenery in a dim red glow. To say the scene before you was beautiful was a sin, and yet you enjoyed looking at all the colors laid out in front of you. You just wished that it wasn’t caused by your home being torn apart. You grieved all the lost, innocent lives that were taken. All the time and memories, now all ash and dust to be forgotten. For all you knew, you were the only one that survived the massacre, though you hoped that wasn’t the case. 

You finally brought yourself to a solid standing position and pushed off the tree, steeling yourself as you turned to face your city in paradise. The sight was horrific, and somehow the smell had gotten worse upon turning to face the blaze. Lava flowed from the city walls and scorched the surrounding bushes and trees, the buildings were undistinguishable, and the castle way off in the distance was missing chunks as it continued to burn. Rustling around you alerted you to animals evacuating their homes as well. You were glad they could at least make it out. The smoke rose into the sky and danced with the clouds, a beautifully terrifying kaleidoscope of red, orange, and grey. The wind was getting harder, sending spirals off the sides to dissipate in seconds. Thunder cracked again and finally the sky started to cry alongside you and your own tears. It started as a drizzle as you turned on your heels and lowered your head to check your bag. Two golden apples, a loaf of bread, a couple fish, a notebook with a quill and ink, and a torch at the bottom. You pulled the hood of your cape up over your head and tore off a piece of the loaf and started to nibble on it as you moved yourself forward into the night, leaving the ruins of your homeland behind you to fall to the ground and be lost to time. Where would you go? You had no other family, knew no other rulers, and didn’t know what laid beyond the mountains. 

Your trek through the thick foliage was slow and grueling. The wind had picked up, sending violent ice-spike-like raindrops to attack your face and arms, soaking through your torn and dirtied clothes. You were thankful it was the middle of summer and overall a warm night, but the wind mixed with the rain had chilled you to the bone, sending shivers to wrack your whole body every couple of minutes. You had a large diamond axe on your hip as well as a bow and a few arrows slung across your back. The only things that remained of your homeland. The light glow from the axe and bow from the enchantments being the only light in the dark jungle. 

You had been running for miles before you decided it was time to sit and rest and possibly try to get some sleep somewhere. Luckily you had the knowledge on how to survive in the wilderness despite being locked behind walls all your life, so you stopped to scout out a safe area to set up a small base. In the dark you made your way to a smaller tree and started chopping, tightening your grip on your axe so the rain wouldn’t make you lose your grip. It took roughly two hours to collect all the necessary materials to build a small tent-looking structure, but it was good enough to sleep on and safe enough from the hostile creatures that lurked. You fought off a couple zombies on your endeavor, but nothing too serious. You took off your torn up cape and laid it on the ground to sleep on and set your axe and bow next to where your head should rest, bringing your book, quill, ink, and torch out and setting up to write.

Journal Entry : New World 1

Today, my empire was lost. I don’t know where to go or what I’m even looking for, but I hope to find someone or something to help me along my way. It’s been raining for hours and the sun should be up soon, but I still haven’t slept, as I have been running all night. I’ve set up a small structure to keep me safe for the time being. I don’t know where I am and the surroundings all look the same to me. I don’t understand what went wrong. Hopefully someday I can go back and investigate when I feel like I’m safe from whatever or whoever set my kingdom ablaze. For now I should rest, but I doubt that will happen with all the thoughts and questions running through my head.

You set the supplies back into your bag and break off another piece of your bread. Soon enough you’ll have to go hunting for more food. You’d rather save the apples for when you truly need them and you still had two fish, but you had half the bread you started with and you had no idea where you were or how close the next village or kingdom was. You sighed and bit into the bread, cringing as it was slightly hardened from being in your open bag for so long. You prayed the fish would last until you needed it as you laid down and put out the torch. You listened to the rain coming to a light drizzle again and chuckled at the timing. Of course it would stop raining only when you were in a shelter to protect you from it. You closed your eyes and drifted into a, thankfully, dreamless sleep. It only lasted about four hours, but it was enough to get you through the day.

The sun glared down on your small shelter, heating you up and making you extremely uncomfortable. The sky had cleared up and it seemed to have just gotten past sunrise, as the sun was just coming over the tops of the mountains. You groaned as you sat up, the pain from running all night finally catching up to you as sweat dripped from your brow. You cursed the summer heat and wished that it was raining again, so that you might get a break from the sun. How did it manage to break through all of the surrounding trees and hit your little home so perfectly? It didn’t make any sense. Within a few minutes, you knew, it would be off the shack and onto the tree behind it, but for now the heat was unbearable. You packed up all your things, rung out your cape and shook it off, and exited the structure, ready to set off again. You looked around to try to get a sense of where you should go, and eyed up a path clearly made by travelling animals. You adjusted the bow and arrows on your back and went to the nearest tree to cut off a good sized branch to use as a walking stick to ease the pain in your legs. 

Hours pass by, and then days. You feel like you’re walking in circles at this point, but the only thing keeping you on your path is the rise and fall of the sun. The jungle had changed into a spruce forest and the weather had cooled down immensely. You had heard of this happening in different regions but had never experienced it for yourself, so the new terrain and chilly air came as a shock. Off in the distance you could see snow capped mountains and lights reflecting off of the white landscape in the dawn. You grabbed some pork from your bag and chomped down on it, stopping to get a good look at your surroundings and supplies. Two and a half days of walking, battles with mobs, hunting pigs for food, and sleeping on the dirt. All of that had finally lead to what looked like a small civilization in the distance. You sighed into your food, taking another bite as you peered into your bag at your book and quill. You decided to get both out and sat down against a tree, pork in your mouth as you set everything down.

Journal Entry : New World 2

Almost three whole days of walking. My kingdom is long behind me. Snow in the distance. The air has gone cold and dry as I get closer to this new, unfamiliar place. I’m worried that I won’t be welcome in this new place, but there’s nothing left to lose so I’ll keep pushing on. I don’t have much to offer aside from my skills and a couple golden apples. I just hope I won’t be attacked or turned away on sight. Maybe there’s no one there, but I doubt that. 

You set the book and quill back in your bag, slinging it back over your shoulder and pushing yourself up, mentally preparing for this last leg of your journey. You had no idea what awaited you, and part of you didn’t want to know, but you knew that talking to locals might be your best option at finding somewhere to stay or maybe a direction you could go to start over. All you knew is that your legs now moved faster in nervous anticipation, the thought of a fireplace and a nice warm bed carrying you faster and faster, almost tripping down the hill in front of you numerous times. 

Soon enough the woods gave way to the snowy expanse and you pulled your destroyed cape as close to you as you shivered. You got out your torch and lit it, keeping it close enough to you to keep you warm, but not close enough to burn or set anything on fire. You set off across the snow, cursing your torn up shoes that were very clearly not made for this kind of weather. You had lived, surrounded by jungles and hot, humid, sticky weather all your life. To say this was a shock was an understatement. Your clothes were not made for cold, and your body was not conditioned for it either. You cursed, wishing you had hunted down some wolves for fur before coming this far. You trip and fall in the foot of snow covering the ground, and you can see clouds in the distance with wisps falling from the undersides. It would snow again, and soon. 

You picked yourself back up and trudged farther and faster, the houses in view now. There was smoke coming from the chimneys and the lights were on. You made out a house poking out of the side of the mountain farther past them, black cats running around in the snow, kicking up snow in the process as they tackled each other. In a matter of minutes, you made it across the large field, your breath coming out in puffs, visible in the sunrise as it peeked over the trees. There were two houses side by side, a shack full of dogs next to the one closest to you, and farther to your right was a pen full of cows. The dogs went up in an uproar as you neared the houses. You mentally cursed yourself for getting so close, seeing as they had obviously alerted the people inside the buildings. The cats now standing nearby, watching you closely as you made your way slowly. 

The curtains in one of the houses shuffled and then a door was heard opening, a loud sound emitting from the hinges as it was thrown open and a man with wings came out in a hurry, blankets spilling over his arms. And that’s the moment exhaustion finally took over, black dots forming at the edges of your eyes before you finally fell into the lush snow, your torch falling from your hand, extinguishing upon impact. The man gasped and rushed himself faster to pick you up and wrap you in blankets before promptly lifting you and taking you into the house, setting you on the loveseat and alerting the other man in the house to help. 

[veryreallyfuckinbad]

FIRE AND MOSS // Daryl Dixon X Reader// CHAPTER 6

TW: Strong language, implied abusive relationships, injury.

The Greene farm basked in the light of the impending sunrise, coating the land in a blanket of oranges, yellows and pinks. Birds began to sing, chirping away, oblivious to the dead people stalking every corner, every street, hiding in every shadow. Your heart filled with strange nostalgia and envy,- you wished you could be as free and uncaring as the winged critters. A strange phenomenon began taking place when the apocalypse hit; the world ended only for people. Nature seemed to be thriving more than ever without people slowly but surely killing it. Vegetation grew from cracks of abandoned houses’ floors, apartments previously filled with chatter and laughter were now home to wild animals. Nature took back what was hers quicker than you expected, signs of her healing around every corner, in every single flower, weed, blooming tree, moss. Most of the previously heavily populated areas smelled like death, the sickly sweet-ish stench of rotting bodies, both of the ones that perished forever and the ones that walked. The forest and the Greene farm, however, smelled like the life you knew. Like carelessness, confidence.

Your feet made slow but steady steps, avoiding making too much noise- Daryl was asleep in his tent and the worst thing you could do was wake him up as he hardly ever got any shut eye. You were certain you were the only one awake, so you stepped through the grass with care, avoiding any twigs that could snap and wake the others up. As you made your way to Dale’s trailer, deciding to take watch duty, you heard a faint, familiar sound coming from behind the trailer. Jake heard it too, instantly tensing, ready to pounce at any danger that might cross your path. You signaled the fox with your hand to relax when you recognized the sound- it was crying. You peeked from behind the RV and instantly felt your heart drop.

Carol was sat on the wet grass, crying, her hands on her head as she tried to control her weeps. Deciding it’s best to let her know you’re there instead of sneaking up on her, you spoke in a half-whisper, “Carol? Are you okay?” when the words left your mouth you realized how plain stupid that question was. Her daughter, all she had left, was missing. Carol’s head whipped to face you, her eyes red and puffy from crying, her cheeks stained with many glistering patterns of where her tears rolled down. When she realized it was only you, she sighed with a mixture of relief and something akin to confusion. She tried, immensely at that, to stop herself from breaking down once again and gave you a sad, unconvincing smile. You dipped your head and took a step towards her, taking a seat beside her.

“I’m just so scared, (Y/N). What if we never find her? Or if we do, it’ll be too-“ her voice trembled, just like her hands did.

“Stop it.” You silenced her, choosing your next words carefully. “I’m not going to say that I have no idea what you must be going through- it’s true, but you’ve heard it a million times already” you looked at her and stared deep into her horrified eyes. “Carol, I know you’re afraid. I do. Hear me out, though; you’ve got two grade A trackers at your disposal.” You gave her a warm smile.

“You can track?” she asked, clearly surprised.

You chuckled lightly, “Nope. He can.” you stroked Jake’s soft fur and watched as Carol’s eyes lit up slightly and shimmered with a glimpse of hope.

“How can he do that? I-I mean,” she stumbled over her words, “what does he need? A scent?”

“He’s not trained or anything, but he’s fantastic at finding stuff.” Your hand left Jake’s head when he shifted and stood up, walking up to Carol and sitting between you and her. He must’ve felt how heartbroken she was because he lowered his snout down to the woman’s hand and after giving it a brief sniff, he licked it and bumped it with his nose slightly. You smiled with pride and happiness.

“See? He promised he’ll do his best.” You said and watched Carol’s eyes light up again.

Carol sniffled and dug in one of her pockets, quickly handing you the item she was looking for. It was a piece of fabric, carefully cut around the edges.

“It’s a piece of her blanket. I keep it in my pocket to at least have a piece of her with me.” She explained and handed you the soft fabric. You knew she trusted you- she wouldn’t give the last of what she had left of her daughter to just anyone.

“We’ll go search right now.” You smiled at her and felt her fall apart all over again, this time because of gratitude. She crawled up to you and wrapped her arms around you, engulfing you in a warm, thankful embrace.

“Thank you so much” she nearly cried again. You hugged back and whispered a soft ‘you’re welcome’. Carol let go of you to face Jake and look into his eyes with the same respect she’s given you. “Thank you, too.” She extended her arm to touch him and you were about to jump in to stop her, afraid of Jake’s response, but stopped when you saw him pull his head into her hand, allowing her to touch him. It seemed like he was comforting her, as well as reassuring her he’ll do everything he can.

The farmland was still covered in the pink-orange light when you returned to your tent to retrieve your bag, just in case you found something worth taking. You’d hoped Daryl was still asleep and worried that your shuffling might’ve woke him up, so you carefully stepped closer to his tent to make sure he was sleeping. With each step, it became increasingly more clear that the archer was, in fact, not in his tent- the zip entrance was left open. You didn’t want to be nosy…but you wanted to check if he was okay. At least that’s what you told yourself- you’ve always wondered how his tent looks from the inside. You couldn’t tell whether it was pure curiosity or the burning need to find out more about the man. Before you could poke your head inside, you felt a presence right behind you, looming over you. Daryl stood right behind you.

“Found what ya were lookin’ for?” he asked, his voice not carrying as much weight as you’d expected it to. He didn’t appear mad, just irritated. Or so you hoped. You tried your best to keep your cool and turn around to face him, taking a step back when you realized how close he was.

“Now I did.” You smiled at him but your eyes betrayed you- he could feel your anxiety and uncertainty. He was usually frustrated with how hard you were to read, but the look in your eyes seemed familiar, like he’s seen you do it before but couldn’t put his finger on it.

Ever since the night Jake allowed Daryl to touch him, he was more confused than ever. The archer couldn’t understand how you- someone who’s been through so much, more than you’d let on, could be so friendly and loving towards her group. She never took and only gave, thinking of her fox and the group before herself. There was one more thing he couldn’t wrap his mind around and it drove him crazy- why would she give him special treatment? She opened up to him and him only, never allowed anybody except him see her cry, gave him handmade gifts, trusted him with her beloved companion. Not that you didn’t annoy him at times, but everybody did. Sometimes, you didn’t know when to stop talking and while he tolerated it for the longest time, sometimes he just had to send you back to your tent to give him room to breathe. He loved that you never took it personally, always conscious of his need for space.

“What’s the bag for?” he eyed you and patiently awaited your response before adding, “Ya movin’ out?”

“Oh, I would never.” You smirked at him and crossed your arms. “You’d miss me too bad, Dixon” you teased and expected a grunt or shrug in response, but to your surprise he retorted.

“ ‘f course. Who would sit with me when I cry my eyes out?” he smirked back at you, clearly a jab for the time you broke down in front of him. You rolled your eyes and stood on your tiptoes to affectionately ruffle his hair, much to his displeasure. You enjoyed how you could crack jokes at each other now, he had a dry, sarcastic sense of humor that you found hilarious in his own, strange way.

“You know you love me.” You teased him while turning your back to him and walking away, finally about to go out searching. “I’m going out to look for Sophia with Jake.”

“I’m comin’ with ya.” He said matter of factly, as if you had no say in it.

“If you do, Shane won’t get off my ass for the rest of the day. He already dislikes me, just wait until I ‘unnecessarily take away manpower from the farm’ or some shit like that.” Everything you said was true. You got along with every resident of the farm, with the exception of Shane. He never began trusting you and didn’t even think of trying. He always tried to control the group, but you never listened to him, probably because of the lack of mutual respect. The only people anyone in the group took orders from were Rick and Hershel.

“He can try. Screw ‘im. I’m comin’ with.” His mind was made and you decided not to argue with the stubborn archer.

“To be fair, I can see why you’d want to spend time with me. I’m the shit.” You heard Daryl scoff and shake his head, but once you looked at his face more closely, you realized he was smiling. “C’mon, let’s get the horses ready.”

Hooves hit gently against the ground, the horse’s head swaying subtly as he walked. You felt quite confident on the animal’s back, but Daryl seemed anxious. His broad shoulders looked even wider as he tensed, cautious- he didn’t trust the animal. Jake trotted alongside your horse, occasionally running off to check something out, but always came back. Your trusty knife was sheathed and safely buckled to your pants- ever since you got it back, you didn’t leave camp without it.

“You know, you gotta trust the horse a little. At least try.” You tried to nudge him, but you knew it was futile. If you were honest, you just wanted the awkward silence to end. Daryl looked at you and raised his brows.

“These things are unpredictable though,” he began and shrugged, “Merle ‘n I once…borrowed a neighbors horse, he had a stable or some shit.” He smiled to himself “Fucker bucked me off ‘n I fell right on my ass.” He finished and looked at you, awaiting your reaction. When you burst into laughter all he do was shake his head and grunt in response. “Couldn’t sit proper for days.”

You chuckled some more, your smile so contagious that even he mimicked it. For some reason, he didn’t mind you laughing at his story all that much.

“So it is a childhood trauma?” you nudged him again, half-joking and offered him a playful smirk. To your surprise, that didn’t seem to amuse him, his smile quickly fading before he gave you a sad smile. You realized you probably hit a nerve with that statement. “I’m so sorry.”

“ ‘s fine. What hurt me more was yer laughing at my sore ass.” He turned his head slightly to look at you from the side with the same smile as moments before appearing on his face. Quickly, silence fell upon you once again. This time, it was almost deafening and you didn’t understand why- when you sat with him by the campfire, you felt completely comfortable in silence with the man. It was like the warmth of the flame engulfed you like a soft blanket and made you immune to the man’s frustratingly quiet nature.

Daryl grasped the reins tightly as if to comfort himself- the feeling of leather straps digging into his palm was strangely comforting. The hunter’s hair fell upon his forehead; it was growing longer. He didn’t care but wondered whether it was practical to live in the death-ridden world with strands of hair falling over his eyes. He glanced upon you, your eyes on Jake. You stared at the fox with such love, nothing but pure affection. Not in the way you’d look at a puppy or any other pet- you looked at him as a valuable, fully capable member of the group. You saw him as a survivor, and Daryl admired that. He watched as your hair swayed and jumped gently with every step your horse took. He was lost in his own thoughts while he gazed at you, he wondered why he couldn’t force himself to push you away or tell you to move your tent back to the group. He guessed that that’s what it was like to have a friend.

“So, since we’re gonna be riding for a long time” you began, cutting through the silence and Daryl’s thoughts as he immediately averted his gaze and hoped you didn’t catch him looking at you. You did. “Tell me something about yourself” you smiled at him sincerely.

“Ya sound like a god damn hairdresser” he scoffed and shrugged, “make sure to ask me how’s school, too.”

You chuckled and shook your head, giving him a side-eye. You awaited his response, but it never came. If you had to take one more minute of that awkward silence, you’d rather dig a hole and jump straight in.

“Let me start, then.” You began and rolled your eyes. “I’m (Y/N)” you heard him mumble a ‘wow’ underneath his breath and shushed him with a smile, “For real, though. One thing you might have noticed about me is I make horrible decisions.” You grinned at him

“Such as?”

“Like setting my tent up next to yours” you joked and heard him chuckle- it was a fantastic sound. It made you happy in all kinds of ways, maybe because it was so rare, it was special. “Anything, really. Laying on broken glass that one time”, you grinned at your dry joke, reminiscing about how that very day led you to meeting your new family, “I dunno, anything really. School, back when that was a thing, the people I hung out with, relationships.”

He stilled at that last word. Not because he was uncomfortable or unwilling to listen to her talk about it but because he was worried that someone hurt you.

“What d’ya mean?” he glanced at you curiously, “The relationship part.”

You smiled uncomfortably, unsure whether you should share or not. You mentally slapped yourself for letting that last part come out- you should’ve expected him to ask. Even though you’ve somewhat healed, talking about it out loud was never easy. Moss still grew on your heart.

“Oh, you know. Jackasses that, uh…” you stumbled over your words as Daryl watched you carefully, “Whenever they were mad, they took it out on me.” You gave him a reassuring smile, trying to show how confident you were, how you’ve healed. It was only partially true- sometimes it still hurt. “This one dude,” you began, this time with a chuckle, “got so pissed at me for wanting something stupid, flowers I think, for my birthday.” You smiled at him half-heartedly. Daryl stared at you and tried to decode your expression. He, however, was easy to read at that very moment- he was pissed. Not at you, but at the men you’ve been with. The archer guessed you didn’t want his pity, however. He knew it would only make it worse.

“Ya didn’t lie when ya called him a jackass” he smirked at you for a brief moment, “I get it.”

You’ve finally reached your destination- a small creek with a two-way path. Twigs grew out of the ground where the drop of a small trench-like pit began. Deciding it’s best to split up to cover as much ground as possible, Daryl took the left and you- the right path. You’d promised each other to meet at this very creek later on.

As the hours passed, nothing came of your search. Jake ran around, sniffing the cloth Carol gave you from time to time but found nothing, say for a rabbit that he promptly caught and ate. You couldn’t believe the girl was just gone, without a trace at that. You couldn’t allow yourself to believe that- you’d lose all the hope you had left. With a heavy sigh, you turned around and began heading back through the dense woodland, back to the spot you were supposed to meet Daryl at. The forest smelled fresh- the repulsive stench of death was replaced with the sweet scent of flowers and the gentle smell of grass and trees.

When you reached your meeting spot you looked around and quickly came to the conclusion that Daryl was still out looking. With a sigh, you hopped off your horse and tied it’s reins to a sturdy branch. Before you could sit down and relax, you heard a horrifying grunt coming from the trench. Sure it was a walker, you grabbed your knife and took careful steps, making sure not to slip on the wet, muddy grass. Jake beat you to it, running to whatever was making the noise and immediately beginning to shriek and call for you. Your legs moved on their own, not caring about being cautious anymore. When you arrived to where Jake stood, just over the ledge, you looked down into the hollow and felt your breath get stuck in your throat.

Daryl was trying to climb out of the trench, slipping on the mud and desperately grasping for any branch that could support his weight to pull himself up. He was covered in blood, his mouth was red and something was hung on his neck. Blood was trickling from his side and dripping on his pants, staining his shirt. He quickly noticed you and stared at you. He looked different, no life in his steel-blue eyes. None of the spark they usually had, they were glossy, confused and afraid. Thinking quickly, you grabbed onto a root sticking out of the ground for support and extended your hand to him. He looked dazed, as if unsure what to do, whether he should grab your hand, but quickly decided to do so. You felt his strong grasp on your wrist as you tried to pull him up, heaving and wincing from the pain of his grip on your wrist. Your feet began slipping and you almost fell down the trench. The grip of his hand was so strong that you were sure he would eventually break it.

“Hold on!”

You braced yourself and with one last, painful pull he was out of the creek. He laid on his back next to you, both of your chests heaving and breathing deeply. You didn’t allow yourself to rest though, quickly kneeling next to him and inspecting his wound.

“What the hell happened?” your eyes were full of fear and worry, “Daryl, talk to me. Please.”

He grunted, clearly in pain and in a feverish state.

“Arrow. Fell on it”

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A/N: I'm so sorry this took me so long, I was super busy and then had a massive writer's block. This chapter definitely isn't the best but I promise the next one will be much better! <3

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taglist <3

@writers-adversary @kimchiwen @mileysnavely @srhxpci

[lov3nerdstuff]

Voluptas Noctis Aeternae {Part 7.31}

*Severus Snape x OC*

Summary: It is the year 1983 when the ordinary life of Robin Mitchell takes a drastic turn: she is accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Despite the struggles of being a muggle-born in Slytherin, she soon discovers her passion for Potions, and even manages the impossible: gaining the favor of Severus Snape. Throughout the years, Robin finds that the not quite so ordinary Potions Professor goes from being a brooding stranger to being more than she had ever deemed possible. An ally, a mentor, a friend... and eventually, the person she loves the most. Through adventure, prophecies and the little struggles of daily life in a castle full of mysteries, Robin chooses a path for herself, an unlikely friendship blossoms into something more, and two people abandoned by the world can finally find a home.

General warnings: professor x student, blood, violence, trauma, neglectful families, bullying, cursing

Words: 4k

Read Part 1.1 here! All Parts can be found on the Masterlist!

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"Oh man, I wish we could come along!" Gideon sighed, then rested his elbows on the table and his head in his hands with an expression that bordered on a pout. "How unfair is that?! You guys get to go up the astronomy tower and have all the fun while we're stuck writing a bloody charms essay! Why on earth is fate so cruel?!"

"Maybe fate just likes us better than you." Cas replied with a smug expression, and a victorious smirk at the boys on the opposite side of the table. "There's nothing you can do about that, Gideon, but to just accept fate as it is."

"Pff, as if fate hasn't been kind enough to you already by gracing you with us in the first place…" Michael protested immediately, and Cas rolled her eyes in return. The only ones who currently knew better than to take part in this ridiculous conversation were Jorien and Simon, both of who already had something else to do for the night anyway. Smart of them, really.

"I honestly can't blame fate for not liking either of you right now." Robin sighed in sheer annoyance, and desperately hoped that dinner would be served soon. She had sat down at the Ravenclaw table with the rest of the dunderhead gang barely five minutes ago, and informed the group that she might be able to arrange a visit to the astronomy tower for Cas and Melissa three minutes down the road. The remaining two had been filled with the two boys' complaints about not being able to come along. Honestly, Robin had enough of the discussion. "If you guys had done your work any earlier instead of lazing about like dunderheads, you wouldn't be in this situation."

Now it was both Gideon and Michael who rolled their eyes at her in sheer annoyance. "Well, not everyone can be a swot like you!" The latter huffed, then sighed again, quite as dramatically as possible. "If only there was someone a year above us who could help us with the assignment… Or someone living in the same bloody room as us…"

"Why do you guys have to make everything so stupidly difficult…" Robin groaned under her breath while Simon gracefully ignored the allusion, then she hid her face in her hands when her headache only grew worse at this inane discussion. She really had not imagined this to be quite so difficult, not remotely. The older everyone got, the more difficult they became to deal with. Well, to manipulate, actually.

"See, Robin, if you-..." Gideon didn't get further than that, when Jorien cut straight into his attempted complaint.

"Just shut up Gideon, will you?" She snapped back at the boy, much to everyone's surprise. Until now, she had remained pointedly quiet for the entirety of the conversation just like Simon. Michael made a move to protest, but Jorien was faster. "And you too, Michael. Just shut. your. mouth. I don't get to go either, nor does Simon, but do you see us complaining?!"

"Well no, but-..."

"No 'but', idiots! You're being terrible friends to both Robin and Cas right now, if you haven't noticed, and you're seriously ruining everyone's night with your pathetic whining! So get a bloody grip already and just be happy for Cas that she gets to do something fun. And better be bloody nice to Robin now if you don't want her to send you into detention instead of up that stupid tower!" Jorien's cutting tone fit the fact that she still glared daggers at both boys, who both looked immediately intimidated in return. Robin couldn't help feeling immensely proud of the girl, and thankful that she was doing what Robin herself was just too tired to. These kinds of problems were on a different level than what she was dealing with today, and there was no room in her mind currently for teenage quarrels.

"You… can't really give us detention, can you?" Michael asked Robin so carefully that all hints of the previous accusations and protest were history.

"She can, and she will." Cas shrugged before Robin could, with a humoured expression even now that the discussion had taken a turn. "Robin can do anything, in case you still haven't understood that at this point. Giving you detention is the very least of that."

An idea sparked up in Robin's mind then, a new and perhaps even better one that would allow her to cover up for most of tonight's impending doings and thereby justify what she needed the girls to do for her. Keeping an eye out for Morgan's departure and return wasn't all that ordinary of a request, after all. She would need a cover story, and this could pose an even better one than doing the girls a favour by bringing them up the stupid tower indeed. So perhaps, teenage quarrels were the way to go after all.

"It's true, I can do and get away with pretty much anything around here." Robin shrugged in feigned ease and confidence, and all eyes were drawn from Cas straight to her instead. "Giving detention or unlocking the astronomy tower is nothing but a warm-up to me."

"Yeah, sure…" Gideon snorted, then quirked an eyebrow at Robin with a grin. "How about you convince Flitwick to spare us that bloody essay then?"

"And why would I want to bore myself out of my mind by doing something as easy as that? Even you could do that if only you tried." Robin scoffed in return, in an act that seemed to fool at least the two boys she was currently targeting. The girls and Simon however were rightfully doubtful about her sudden change in demeanour, but luckily they kept their suspicions to themselves.

"Oh, so you really mean it then, do you? You really can do anything?" Michael shot her a smirk at first, then turned to whisper something to Gideon and finally both boys looked at her with mischievous grins. "How about a little challenge then, huh?"

"If you are able to find anything that could remotely challenge me in the first place…" Robin sighed in sheer exaggerated boredom, then shrugged. This was going precisely to her plan, and the boys had absolutely no clue about how well they were playing their roles right now. Lovely. "Why not. Try to challenge me, if you can."

"How far do you want to go?" Michael questioned again, but he obviously had an idea in mind already that he was just trying to present in a grander manner. Robin only wanted to scoff at his badly hidden intentions… people were so obvious sometimes.

"How far can you think?" She replied instead, and raised her eyebrows at the two boys. "You would like me to waste my time by proving a point to you. The least you can do is to make it interesting for me."

"Fine then." Michael grinned at her, then nodded at Gideon, who nodded in return. Boys… Robin inwardly rolled her eyes. "Since you're obviously not scared of any of the professors, I think we should go up the hierarchy instead. And if you want to go all out already, why don't you break into Professor Dumbledore's office to see what it looks like in there? Nobody I know has ever seen it from the inside."

"Oh please… I've been there numerous times. I could just ask him to invite me over for tea any time, and I could even bring you along if you'd fancy that." She sighed in utmost feigned disappointment. "He and I have some matters to discuss anyway, now that I think about it… How would you like coming along to tea tonight, Michael, huh? I'm sure the headmaster would be delighted."

Simon, Cas and Jorien snorted in reply to Robin's easy teasing tone, Gideon was trying not to, and Michael looked entirely flustered. Alright, perhaps Robin did have a little fun messing with them alongside the execution of her plan.

"Fine…" Michael huffed, then crossed his arms over his chest. "But which professor doesn't invite you over for tea on a regular basis?! I'm starting to think you're the bloody minister himself!"

"She's Robin." Cas smirked at the boys, and thereby brought a sincere smile to Robin's face as well. "That's even better."

"Let's see… We should try thinking about it her way." Gideon pulled a ridiculous thinking face, then started grinning again a mere moment later. "The only one I've never heard Robin speak about is Professor Morgan. And from what rumour says, the two of them go quite roughly on each other in class. Is it true that he broke your wrist once when he demonstrated a spell from the restricted section on you?"

"Oh come on guys, you won't actually make me deal with Morgan of all people!" Robin feigned an annoyed complaint, and at the same time completely ignored the question, as well as the indeed very real memories it brought back. Her wrist still made clicking sounds sometimes… even though Snape had fixed it, after she'd insistently refused to go to the infirmary. "Morgan is literally the only person I don't get along with."

"It's settled then. You're going to break into Morgan's office." Michael grinned in what he believed to be his victory. "It's probably full of defensive spells and traps and other surprises…"

"Perhaps we should pick something less difficult after all, huh?" Gideon added with a smirk and a nudge of his elbow into Michael's arm. Boys…

"As if anything that man does would actually pose a problem to me." Robin scoffed in perhaps a little too much feigned confidence, but it was all part of the act anyway. This was the moment to set the hook once into her story and for all. "But if you guys insist on it, you shall get your point proven. Tomorrow morning, I will tell you the exact order of the items Morgan keeps on his desk. Then you can confirm that I really was there, when you go to his office under some pretext on Monday."

"I hadn't even thought of that, but if you're offering a piece of proof already, I won't decline. Not that we actually need any, with you always telling the truth and all." Michael shot Robin a grin, then one at Gideon who also looked immensely pleased with the challenge they had set. Or rather the challenge Robin had made them set for her very intentionally. Poor them, reduced to chess pieces in a game they couldn't understand… But they deserved that much for annoying her tonight.

She had to admit however that this was quite perfect, in the way it had played out. She had been in Morgan's office today after all, which means that tomorrow she would be able to say she'd been there yesterday without being dishonest. In addition to that, she surely would be able to remember the order of things on Morgan's stupid desk without actually having another look at them… with Snape's help, at least, she could draw that information from her memories. At some point, later, when there was room for it in her mind again.

"Are you sure you want to do this, Robin?" Simon finally dared to voice a thought, and Robin did feel a little bad to play her act on him now as well. He'd been very kind to her nerves as of yet, and he surely deserved better than to be a mere asset in her current schemings. "When Michael challenges someone, it never ends well. Especially not for actually intelligent people.

"Hey!" Michael protested, but went kindly ignored.

"Have a little faith in me." Robin gave Simon a half smile instead, reassuring yet confident in her words. "I know what I'm doing."

"Do you?" Jorien raised an eyebrow at her as well now, surely catching on to the very un-Robin like behaviour. But quite obviously, she also caught on to at least the idea of some greater plan behind it. "You know, as always?"

"Precisely as always." Robin gave her a not-smirk, and was content with the hint of understanding flashing over the girl's face in return. Well, at least one person understood that she wasn't as stupid as to blindly accept any challenge.

"Great, now that we have that settled, I could use some food to prepare for the long night ahead! Even if I won't be the one breaking into Morgan's office." Gideon sighed with a smile, then a small snort escaped him as he not-so-subtly motioned towards the side entrance behind the head table. "Speaking of the handsome devil, look who's just arrived! And- oh boy, what happened to him back in Hogsmeade today?!"

Robin didn't even have to turn around to know exactly what was playing out behind her back. After a few seconds of gathering her confidence, she still glanced over her shoulder at Morgan who just now made his way from the door to his seat. He had changed his robes and also gotten rid of all other indicators of what had happened just a few hours ago… everything was back in place, as was a striking dark blue bruise on the left side of his face. It was as noticeable as could be, a dark beacon on his pale skin. Great. A cold shudder ran down Robin's back in an instant when he caught sight of her in return, and back was the feeling of raw anxiety. Fuck… she hadn't thought that seeing him here would be this fear inducing all over again, even if he was at a good distance to her now, and surrounded by a good amount of his colleagues.

"I wonder what happened to him…" Cas said out loud what everyone else was thinking. "Poor Morgan… He's such a nice person, he doesn't deserve that! Whoever did that to him should suffer the same fate. Or worse. Preferably worse."

Cas' words made Robin feel sick with a start, like a sudden blow to the stomach she hadn't seen coming. They never spoke about Morgan, never discussed any of the rumours that were going around about the things he had supposedly done to her in class. Cas and Jorien probably believed them to be quite as wrong as all the other rumours about Robin they had heard over the years. Only that this time, the vast majority of it was unfortunately true. In the past two months, he really had done his utmost to send her to the hospital wing in a state of unlikely recovery as often as he could. And still, as it seemed, Robin's friends were quite as fond of Morgan as everyone else. Gods… Robin really did feel sick now.

"Perhaps he just walked into something, or had an accident with his work…" Simon suggested with a small shrug. "It doesn't seem too serious either way, if he's here at dinner now and not in the hospital wing. I'm sure he's taken good care of."

"He will be fine, I'm sure of that." Jorien added in agreement, reassuringly as well as hopeful for just that. "And I'm sure whatever or whoever did this to him got what they deserve. He knows what he's doing after all; nobody in their right mind would attack a defense teacher."

Robin's stomach was in even tighter knots upon the realization that indeed all of her friends were seriously concerned about the professor, as if he had done anything to warrant such sentiments. Concerned, and in obvious favour of. She clenched her teeth, took a deep breath, then put on her best neutral facade. They didn't know what she knew. They didn't know what kind of a man he truly was. But that didn't stop their behaviour from hurting Robin. Didn't soothe the stab in the back she felt. She took another deep breath. Be rational about this, try to see things from their side. How could they possibly like him? Why?

Perhaps he was acting differently with them, a different man under different circumstances. Perhaps he wasn't as easily put into a box as she wanted him to be. He couldn't be the same person to them as he was to her, if even Jorien – who picked up on almost as many hidden clues about a person as Robin did herself – was in favour of him. Perhaps it was Robin who was the problem. Yes really, it only made too much sense. Morgan, the man who everyone just loved and cared for, and she, Robin, the girl who everyone despised and feared no matter what she did. When being rational indeed, the answer to which one of them both was the problem here was a simple one after all. In the end, the world liked Morgan better. In the end indeed, they would either mourn his death or turn their back on hers in celebration of his victory. That thought was deeply unsettling to Robin all of a sudden, perhaps even more than Morgan's presence. The world would always like him better, even if Robin turned her back on either.

But then there was Snape. He didn't fit the pattern the dark parts of her mind were trying to recognize here, didn't fall into line with the vast majority of people. Or with anyone really, but her. With her he stood together, had always, would always. The thought made Robin smile ever so slightly against all odds. He saw more of her than all the others, knew more of her truth than anyone else, and he still was on her side of matters after all. He was on her side, against the world. Perhaps her friends would be too, if they knew what she knew. Yes, that was a reassuring thought for once: They would stand with her, if they knew that there were sides to pick in the first place. But until they could know, she would have to live with them being in favour of both her and Morgan. Perhaps, they would never have to know about any of this.

It was then that dinner was finally sent up, and it was then as well that she felt the familiar tingle in the back of her mind. Seeing as her friends had long moved on from the previous topic and now started indulging in their meals, Robin dared to look over her shoulder and towards the head table once more. A brief and careful glimpse told her that Morgan was deep in conversation with Sprout now, so her eyes finally landed on the man she had meant to seek out. Their gaze met, and she smiled when his presence became a gentle caress of her mind once more, taking away both the tension and the headache with a start. Gods, she could finally breathe again.

'You gave him that black eye, didn't you?' Snape's words, his voice filled with a subtle pleasedness, rang out clear as ever in her mind, and Robin was only mildly surprised by the not entirely new mode of conversation. They often shared emotions this way, or memories like earlier today, but she was pleased to find that it worked just fine to have an actual conversation too. Even, or especially at a distance like this, and without anyone else taking notice.

'Obviously. You saw how my fist met his face, and probably also felt how badly that hurt my hand in return.' She replied in the closest thing she could imagine a half smile to sound like. He would understand that.

'I did indeed.' His words were succeeded by the strong feelings of pride and admiration that were most definitely intentionally shared, and Robin's smile widened while she did avert her eyes however to not make it too obvious what she was smiling about. Or rather who she was smiling at. It wouldn't be good to get caught staring at him like that.

'Very true, it would likely cause us even more problems.' He commented on her thought even now that she was finally setting out to heave some food onto her plate. When she looked back at him, his eyes were set on his own dinner, with only the briefest glimpse up at her for a broken second of acknowledgement. So this also worked without sight, even at a distance… interesting. Robin looked back down to her meal and shared with him the wave of relief she felt upon his presence in her mind. She could feel him smile in return. Slowly, the fear and hurt in her mind became thus replaced by warmth.

'If you're in my mind already, you might as well take a look at the outcome of the conversation I just had to endure.' She finally phrased in actual words again, when she felt his presence lingering even after a while of comfortable silence on either side. Honestly, she was glad that she didn't have to be alone with her thoughts right now. So she showed him the outcome of the discussion with Gideon and Michael.

'A challenge? How imbecilic is that…' He scoffed after a moment of going through what she put on display for him to see. Robin sent a wordless agreement in return, then he added, 'It was a brilliant idea to use it as a cover for our doings though, under these circumstances.'

'Why thank you.' The smile that came onto her face as she chewed her green beans was very real and visible to her surroundings, in contrast to the wordless conversation they were having at least. 'The idea to do them a favour just wasn't entirely working out the way I planned, so I had to switch strategies. This challenge, no matter how idiotic I personally find it, is both a cover story and an alibi that reveals neither your involvement nor our actual plans for tonight to anyone involved.'

'Clever.' He replied, and Robin returned the feeling of how pleased she was upon the praise. She felt him smirk for a moment, before he finally made another comment. 'I am thoroughly disappointed in the dunderhead gang for taking pity on Morgan though, even if they do not know any better. Are you certain you don't want to give all of them detention tomorrow? They could scrub some cauldrons while we watch them with a coffee.'

Robin let out a rather loud snort, a real one, and it drew her friends' attention to her in an instant. Oh dear… perhaps she needed some more practice in having a mental conversation while in the physical presence of other people at the same time. She hadn't even been listening to the real conversation going on around her at all!

'It seems that they just realized the very same thing.' Snape's smirk was so palpable in her mind that Robin rolled her eyes for real, which didn't help the situation and only made her friends stare openly at her as if waiting for an explanation for her odd behaviour. 'Redundant of them to expect any differently. It shouldn't come as a surprise to them anymore that you are indeed quite odd.'

"Oh, do shut up already, will you?!" Robin groaned in her head as well as out loud, and her entire group of friends frowned at her in even more confusion. Great… Now she certainly did seem insane after all! In her mind, she heard Snape's low chuckle echoing all through her being for a moment, before he left her to deal with her surroundings by herself for now. Insufferable idiot… But the smile he had brought back to her lips stayed there even as she joined back into the usual banter with her friends, without any more mention of Morgan or the black eye Robin was proud to have given him after all.

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[fairytsuk1]

falling back to peace (a)

part of the autumn experiences collection.

pairing: shoto todoroki x reader

genre: zombie apocalypse!au, angst

warnings: suicide, blood

words: 2.2k

summary: i miss our warm bed and the cuddles in the morning.

prompt: apocalypse

     Blood splashed noisily on the wall. The drips and the sound of the initial slap were absolutely disgusting; you'd grown used to it. Todoroki yanked the dagger out swiftly and shoved it into its casing before turning to you.

     "How's your ankle? Can you keep going, or do you need to rest?" His eyes flitted down to the foot hovering just above the ground and frowned.

"It's tender. But I can keep going!"

     Your boyfriend crouched down and took hold of the tip of your shoe. He flexed your foot back towards your shin and shushed you when you gasped. The back rooms of the mall you'd been wandering were mostly empty aside from a few stragglers. Obviously, you didn't want to bring unnecessary attention to yourselves if you could avoid it.

     "It's warm. You're working too hard. I told you to tell me if it got worse."

     His tone is sharp and has a slight edge to the natural baritone. He's stressed, you're both hungry and haven't found a single crumb. He didn't want to return back to your newly found group empty-handed. They were already wary of you two. Plus, the streets were not safe to be walking out and about like before.

     He sighed and looked up at you, heterochromatic eyes boring into yours to guess how he was feeling. You looked at the cracks on the ceiling and counted how many stains littered the beige roof.

     "Please look at me," Todoroki felt like he'd go insane if he didn't see your eyes. They were so warm and carried so much humanity, he thought he might seriously lose it if he didn't look at something alive within the next minute, "please."

     Guiltily, you look down at your lover. There's a glassy film that clouds the orbs, and it just barely shines under the light. He offers a small smile before kissing your bruised bone, mindful of the dirt and grime before standing up. You're so little. When you blink, fat tears roll down your cheeks. Quickly, he tugs you into his shirt; he smells so clean.

     Todoroki had made a decision at the very beginning of this nightmare that no matter what, he'd smell the same. It was hard to carry so many bottles of the comforting scent of amber cologne, but he did it for you. You liked the smell of autumn, he figured he would try to be a pillar for you.

"You smell good."

     "I know. Please don't cry anymore."

     You sniffled once, then two times more before pulling away and rubbing at your eyes. He cringed and pulled a tissue out of his bag before patting the sensitive skin. A smile tugged your lips, and he swore his heart jumped. 

"You baby me, you know that? The girls at the camp gave me a hard time for it."

     Snickering, he pecks your nose and turns around, "you are my baby. They must be really jealous if that's what they want to talk about."

      You covered your laugh with your hand and grabbed his own with your free one. You let out a loud final giggle before quieting down and beginning to walk side by side.

      He slowed his pace down for your sake, and you were immensely grateful. Your ankle really did hurt quite a bit. You two were connected though, the same thoughts circling each other like a schoolyard game. The group you two had found was okay, not too small and not too big, but it was harsh. They expected a lot from you two, and you felt sorry watching your Shoto do so much labor while you washed clothes.

      The fact that they wanted you two to prove yourselves was irritating too. Naturally, both of you were hardened and healthy survivors. You didn't need to prove yourselves to anyone! That wasn't how things were dealt with, though; the constant scrutinization was almost as bad as the lack of rations you received.

      Things just weren't fair nowadays, watching all your hard-earned canned goods get used for a stew that you only got a cup of. The anger inside you bubbled once again. You were stuck doing the womanly activities but then expected to pick up the slack and then be told to deal with the unjustness of it all?

"It's bullshit."

     "Huh?"

"The group's shit. I hate it." You spoke with the voice of someone who had felt indignation to the highest degree with a splash of sadness. You were so tired.

     Todoroki sighed and nodded. He felt the same. He was keeping you safe, but that didn't mean it was easy to wake up at five in the morning. He barely saw you as well. Some days, you were stuck inside till the sun went down. Other times, the strain they put on you was too much, and he begged them to ease up. This group had a lot of expectations.

     He missed Midoriya. He just wanted to sleep.

     Your ankle...that was another story. He'd been stealing medicine for you. He'd used to be a good person, to know right from wrong and that stealing was bad. When it came to his girlfriend, he'd kill for her. He knew this, and she knew this. So when he saw the painkillers sitting so openly on the shelves, he took them. He was relieved to see how much better you felt, but he knew that they'd be onto him soon. Naturally, he'd deal with that situation when you two got to it. For now, he needed a map of the mall so he could figure out how to get the fuck out of here--

"Is this a coffee shop!?" Todoroki hadn't even realized he'd spaced out till he saw you peeking your head through a door.

     "What? Hey, be careful!" he grunted and grabbed your waist to support you before opening the door fully.

"Look, it is! There's coffee machines and tons of cups!"

     The simple things nowadays were the best. Forgoing the pleadings of rest from your ankle, you ambled forward and picked up a bag of beans.

"They even have the ones I used to use for coffee nearly every day! You were more of a tea guy, maybe they have a few spare packets…" trailing off, you began to open cabinets like second nature to find food, "I'll try and look for stuff that might have lasted!"

     "If they have black tea, grab me some, please."

     Todoroki let his hand rest on the small of your back before walking past the counter. It seems these people had used their common sense and closed the security gates, effectively locking out the dead. He frowned when the smell of rotting bodies permeated through the air when he passed by the bathroom.

     "Bathroom's out of order, so if you want to go…"

"Hah, you sure that's all you wanted to do in a bathroom?"

     He smirked and winked before turning to the counter of creams and sugars. Nothing useful.

     You, on the other hand, swear that opening the cabinet of boxed mixes might have been like discovering America. Without the genocide, of course. There were tons of mixes for sweets and different types of bread. Pushing them aside, cold metal shocked you as if it was burning hot. You reached in and pulled out the can, a grin taking over your face and your stomach grumbling the loudest it's ever had. 

"Shoto, have you ever had cherry pie?"

     "...Like once or twice, I think. Why?"

"Well, it'll be my job to make it for you then!" you turned and held the can out, the bright red packaging matching his dual-toned hair, "cherry pie filling!"

     For the first time in a minute, his smile matched yours as he quickly rounded the corner. He took the can, and for a second, you saw the boyish grin he used to sport in high school. So genuine, there weren't many happy moments in this life anymore. That's why you treasured every time one showed up. You drank in this moment and seared it into your brain. You didn't name it then. Only later.

     You decided that moment was called, "The last time you were happy."

     Getting out of the mall was easy when you had a seasoned fighter by your side. You swear that your boyfriend could've been an actual samurai with the way he swung zombies out of the way with ease. You had taken brief looks at him as you did your best to run alongside him, the cherry tin bouncing around in your bag.

     His hair bounced with every step, and you could feel tears brimming in your eyes. Why did you want to cry so bad? He looked at you and gave you a confused look.

     "Why are you crying?"

"I don't know."

     Perhaps it was the preparation for what would come when you arrived back at the safe zone. There was no warm welcome or claps on the back. It was silent. Though their eyes did the talking for them. The tension in the air was overpowering.

     "You're back," Ryuji stalked forward and crossed his arms, "I'll let you tell us first. If you're honest, I might be lenient on you."

     Shoto stared and narrowed his eyes before using his forearm to prevent you from standing next to him. He was in protection mode. He didn't break the soul-sucking stare with the leader, but his trembling hand let you understand all you needed to know. This was bad.

     It happened in a flash. Ryuji's arm swung up, and guns were aimed from every direction. His yelling was garbled, and you knew Shoto was panicked from the way he kept spinning and spinning. There was no way to escape. The pain in your ankle throbbed. You could practically hear the pulsing in your skull.

"We can compromise this, Ryuji! We got food too! Just stop it with the guns!" You broke through the disassociation and cried out towards the enemy. Didn’t he have any sympathy?

     The gunshot that dug into the ground just next to your feet made you scream and back up into Todoroki's hold. If they kick you out, what about your picture of your class? That's yours in your room. You brought it everywhere. The promise ring that you didn't want to get dirty too. The pressed leaves in your old journal and--!

     "Get the fuck out!"

     You two had slowly begun to back up since the very beginning of the confrontation. You hadn't even realized how much you’d retreated until your back hit the entrance door, causing you to stumble. Your anxiety was through the roof as the guns came closer, you swore you could see down the barrel.

     The doors had opened, and you turned to see...so many. It was like all the zombies in the world had been waiting for a feast. There had to be at least one hundred of them. Shoto squeezed your shoulder, and you flinched when your bag was thrown beside you. They weren't really human, were they? These people were monsters.

     This was cruel and mean. There was no way you'd be able to survive this. Shoto beat down on the doors and screamed for mercy, but you could only focus on one thing. The photo of your classmates smiling and cherry pie. The zombies grew closer. You felt so bare and empty. You knew you didn’t have the strength to keep going. Not like this. 

     You also knew that Shoto had aimed a gun at your head whilst you sunk to the ground. He couldn't, wouldn't, watch you turn. Never in a million years did he want to see those dead eyes. For the first time in a while, the tears started to flow. He'd cried so many times, but he always kept it to himself. 

"I love you, Shoto,"

     "...I love you too."

     Acceptance is the first step. Then you don't feel anything after that. Shoto doesn't feel anything once the shot rings out. The tears drip onto the ground but his head is blank. He supposes he should feel something. Anything. He's done this a few times and always felt awful before. Though he can't find the energy. Motivation. He'd worked so hard in his life, he just wanted to rest. How badly he wanted to close his eyes and sleep. 

     Besides, a part of him had died with you at that moment. He supposes that at least he didn't have to see your eyes. He turns the gun on himself.

     Acceptance is the first step. Then, he doesn't feel anything after that. He's had a long life even if it didn't seem that way to those who thought of age as linear. But he'd lived for a long while. Now, he'd have a long rest.

     When Ryuji came outside later that night, the two bloodstains remained, but the bodies were gone. Burning somewhere, he assumed. The photo stuck out at him. He crouched down and picked it up. You two looked so in love.

     "Too bad. Could've been really helpful."

     The picture falls into the dirt, overtaken by nature. Utterly forgotten.

"Shoto... I'm so glad we can rest."

     "Me too."

[sunassweetie]

Already Gone.

Pairing: Suna x Osamu (Osasuna)

Word Count: 5.4k 

Genre: Pain haha :):

Disclaimer: Underage Smoking don't @ me 

Warning: I wrote this after I read the galaxy is endless. But also like major trigger warnings for a lot of various things, just know I didn't hold back. 

When Osamu was younger, he absolutely, and indefinitely, hated the idea of holding onto nothing. The idea that a person alone could hold themselves upright, and power through life on their own. Maybe it was because he had been surrounded by the welcoming arms of his family his entire life, hell the man shared a womb with his twin. There was never a time where Osamu had felt alone, and he couldn’t understand the want to ignore those who held their hands out to help. He couldn’t fathom not having a support system, or someone to help him get back up when he fell off the tracks. 

There was always someone there. Until of course there wasn’t, and only then did Osamu realize what he had meant when he said, “The world is unforgiving, you’ll always be alone even when you’re surrounded by millions of people.” 

-:-

Osamu met Suna in his first year at Inarizaki, shuffling into the lowest class, his twin in tow next to him as they moved down the corridor. He could hear people whisper, even through the speakers of his earbuds, unsure of whether or not he liked the attention him and Atsumu had been receiving the moment they stepped foot onto the school grounds. 

Are those the miya twins? 

They’re so attractive! 

I want to ask Osamu out! 

Do you think they are going to try out for the volleyball team? 

Duh, just look at them. 

Osamu could already feel an immense amount of pressure settling upon shoulders as he slipped into his designated classroom, leaving Atsumu’s side as different classes separated them. Idly walking down the aisles until his name tag placed on the corner of the desk seat number popped into his vision, cueing him to take a seat. 

It's uncomfortable, he thinks, I didn’t miss this. His notebook, that he didn’t really plan on using, took up space at his desk along with the small pouch that only contained two pens, a pencil, and extra lead. Leaning back in his chair, his hand fishes down into his pocket to pull out his phone, turning up the volume, as he checks the time. 

He has five minutes till class starts, not that he cared in the slightest. The only thing currently on Osamus mind besides his first high school volleyball practice (after guaranteeing a spot on the team months prior during his middle school scouting days) he was mostly worried about what seasonings he could add to his next onigiri batch. 

There's a loud thump next to him, his head craning to see the commotion. He’s only met with a lanky boy, shoulders broader than those Dorito chips he once saw his old school mate aran eating, and eyes slanted in a bored glare. His earbuds dangle from the neck hole of his shirt, but his large hands quickly come to pull the buds into his ears, leaning forward on the desk  and putting his arms out in front of him to use as a pillow against the hard wood of the tables. Osamu couldn’t describe the way the boy rendered him speechless, eyes staring into the boy wondrously.  

“Do you need something,” The boy says to him, pulling him from his daze, blinking twice as both boys stare at each other. 

“Sorry,” Osamu fumbles, turning forwards in his chair. 

-:-

“So these are the new first years?” The coach says next to a second year whos hair falls in front of their faces, amber eyes weaving in between each of the younger boys lined against the court. 

“There's one missing.” His voice is automatic, cool even to hear. 

 Osamu isn’t paying attention to the talk, his mind blankly staring at the nets, wondering what type of position would he be most effective in. Perhaps Atsumu would play as setter, and he could work alongside his brother, the only harmony that was ever brought into their never ending sibling rivalry. 

“Your late first year,” The coach booms as someone stumbles into the gym. This catches Osamus thoughts, his eyes following the commotion as someone goes to stand next to Atsumu. 

“Sorry, a teacher held me back.” 

“On the first day?”

“I fell asleep during announcements.” 

He falls silent as the coach goes on, explaining how the team would work and what was going to be on the agenda for the upcoming scrimmage game they were suppose to be playing against another school. But Osamu finds it hard to concentrate, looking between the tall brunette and the court. 

-:- 

He couldn’t pinpoint the moment he knew, it wasn’t something he had ever realized before in his life, until the confusion of his emotions finally made him realize it. Over the year, he hadn’t just grown close to Suna as you would expect of friends. No, it was much more to Osamu then he would ever admit to Suna. 

The way his heart would beat out of his chest, or the slight sheen of sweat that would slip across his hands when he spoke to the other boy. Sometimes he hated the way he felt, wishing he could return to simpler times, when all he had to worry about was volleyball, and the next snide remark he’d throw Atsumu’s way. 

He wondered endlessly if Suna ever picked up on those miniscule hints he’d leave. Like when the team would go out for ramen after a tournament went right, and he’d always take the seat next to Suna. The same applies when traveling distances, it was an unspoken agreement that Suna and Osamu would always be paired together in the bus seats. Those little gestures when Osamu would pick a pack of Chuupets to hand to Suna at the most random times, “Saw ‘em when I was grabbing some stuff for the onigiris ‘m makin’.” Possibly when Suna forgot his team jacket on cold days, Osamu would give him his extra that made home in his locker specifically for this occasion to pop up. 

-:-

The first time that Osamu ever inhaled the hazy smoke into his lungs, he was sitting next to Suna. The dark sky towering over them, the pressure of nationals coming to cause a permanent crease in their brows. 

“Wanna hit,” He asks Osamu, as they swing back and forth in slow, repetitive motions on the empty playgrounds swings. 

“I’ve never smoked before,” Osamu admitted, somewhat shyly, embarrassed at his lack of experience in front of someone who he knew had been smoking for a while now. 

“It's up to you, no pressure,” Suna would say, taking another hit, the rolled joint limply dangling from his lips, smoke emitting from his mouth with each inhale and exhale. Osamu wants to, he wants to know the high that Suna had adored so much, the pleasure that Suna would succumb to with each passing moment.

“Teach me,” He was scared he sounded desperate, or enthusiastic. He tried his best to act as if it didn’t bother him, attempting to keep a cool façade in front of Suna. Suna looks at him with a smirk, eyes slanted and red as he hands the drug to Osamu. When Suna slips him the joint, their fingers brush by slowly, lingering momentarily. It takes a few tries for Osamu to stop coughing when he takes a hit, Suna laughing each time until he gets it. 

Osamu gets it now, the feeling Suna chases each time he comes to smoke under the stars, “Does it always feel this good?” 

“Most of the time, sometimes you might have a bad trip,” He says. 

Osamu looks at Suna, wondering when they hand ended up lying in the grass together, at the most a foot apart as they gazed up at the burning balls of fire littering the sky. He always has his earbuds in, and Osamu wonders what is always playing through them, what music accompanies the man in front of him. 

“What are ya listen’ to,” Osamu asks then. Suna looks at him, and without a word, is taking the other earbud and handing it to Osamu.

Cigarettes after Sex. 

He had been listening to Cigarettes after Sex. 

-:-  

At the beginning of their third year, Osamu caught Suna in the halls, long after the bells had dismissed everyone to return home, leaving the building empty of all noise, minus the creaks the old building would create every once in a while. 

He had been kept back by his teacher, insisting to go through his bag as he, as the teacher explained, “Reeked of weed.” However Osamu mentally praised himself for leaving his stuff at home and blaming the smell on a convenience store he had been in, addressing the owner who had been smoking that morning. Of course this was a lie, but the teacher was stupid enough to believe the pitiful lie, sending Osamu on his way out. 

He was propped against the wall, head tilted upright as he crossed his arms over his body. He looked peaceful there, with his earbuds more than likely playing some form of arctic monkeys or pearl jam. Maybe he was listening to the 1975 this time, or U2, it could have been any of them. The sunlight bounced against his complexion, soaking him in a warm bath of melanin. His hair had been slightly tousled, more than likely the job of himself constantly running his hands through his hair. 

“What are ya still doing’ here,” Osamu asked him when he had finally approached him after ogling at him for a moment down the hall. 

“I heard you got called back, figured I wait around to go to practice with you.” Suna says as if it were nothing at all. Osamu would never admit it, but it meant more to him then words would even be able to begin to describe. 

“Ya coulda gon’ to practice,” Osamu mumbles, walking in sync with Suna now. 

“Got me out of warm up laps anyways.” His words are mysterious, not that getting out of warm up laps wasn’t a common occurrence for Suna, but to wait for Osamu, it just wasn’t typical of Suna. 

It surprised Osamu even more, when the next week after finishing a test late he found Suna waiting for him in the corridor, and every time after that. 

 -:-

“Do you ever think about what's going to happen when we graduate?” Suna asks quietly next to Osamu. They had been sitting at the skate park together, smoking accumulating between the two of them, as they talk quietly though they are the only ones here under the dim lights scattered around. 

“We graduate in a week and you want to start pondering what's going to happen in life?” Osamu laughs, taking another hit, lying against the cold cement. Suna doesn't say anything, staring directly in front of him. Osamu wonders what's going on inside of his head right now, though he doesn’t feel like he has the right to know. 

“Yeah,” He hums, “ I guess you're right.” 

But his words have something hidden behind them, something that Osamu can’t describe, but it twinges a wave of fear through him. The words felt cold, distant. He wants to ask, he wants to ask so badly if he’s okay, if there's something he can do if he is not. But he bites his lip and he doesn’t ask. 

He knows Suna too well at this point from the countless nights spent smoking together, the morning practices and pairings in class. He’s been to his hand more time then you’d even be able to count. He knows every little thing, like when he starts complaining more than he normally does, it's because he’s running on an empty stomach. And if his hands start shaking, it's never because he’s cold or because he’s angry, it's because he hasn’t gotten his daily dose of caffeine, and when he goes silent, it's never because he's sad, it's simply because he has nothing left to say. He hates when people talk too much, and it irritates him when people start singing for no apparent reason other than to just sing. He loves chuupet, and volleyball, and alternative music, and smoking. And he doesn’t care about much of anything else. 

But right now, as his eyes hold back the emotions he’s suppressing within himself, Osamu can see right through it, he can see the pain lingering in his grey-yellow eyes. He knows Suna will lie to him, because Suna’s thoughts were Suna’s thoughts alone. 

-:-

Osamu hated the way that the feeling never changed. It never let up, it never ceased. It only grew until the roots had entangled so deeply he could feel it crawling into his lungs branching out in a painstakingly slow ache. Suffocating him like he was ten feet under, buried beneath the surface of platonic smiles and thoughtless gestures. 

Some days he wished he would just say it. Three words, thats all it would take to assimilate this stupid feeling he couldn’t control. Three, simple, little words that hefted the weight of the world. 

In ways, it made him angry. Why couldn’t he just say it, why couldn’t he just tell the boy how he had truly felt. It was a simple feeling, and when the rejection came it would bide Osamu the time to figure himself out, to learn how to breathe again. But maybe that was it, maybe the reason he feared telling him the hardened truth of his feelings is because he knew deep down the rejection would kill him. It would make him lose any ounce of control he had built up, it would make him see red. He had already been hanging by the shreds of thread, if he exploited himself in this way there was no going back, there was going to be no more midnight smoke sessions, no more trips to the convenience store after practice, no more movie nights, no more him. 

Osamu felt constricted by the material wrapped around his body, was it hot in here? It was just him, the pouring rain against the window fogging it with each burst of coldness proving it to just be him. With a sigh, he slips the material off of his body, and throws it to the other side of the room. He’ll pick it up later, he tells himself when it hits the wall with a thud and silently falls to the ground below. 

He knows he won’t though. The pile of laundry that had been piling for the last month tells him exactly that. 

-:-

It's sticky in here, Osamu thinks. 

Its stick, and its muddy, and its hollow. It's packed to the brim with people, it's loud and annoying and they won’t shut up over the obnoxious thumping of whatever trash was blaring through the speakers set up through the house. And it's lonely. He knows Kita and Aran are over in the corner, arguing over who is going to be the designated driver, and he sees Atsumu’s talking to some boy with a mask over his face, thought Osamu notes how the boy looks out of place and uncomfortable (he feels the way this boy looks, but he wouldn’t ever voice that outloud) and he sees Suna. 

He’s sprawled against the leather couch, there's two girls, one on each arm, stuck to him like pesky little leeches, taking hits from his joint with those agonizing high pitched laughs. They were fake, he could see it from a mile a way, and he was sure Suna could see the same, but Suna wasn’t going to complain, not when later he’d mingle his way upstairs with one, if not both of them. 

It hurt Osamu to even think about it, and now the kitchen counter seemed to be pressing into his back more evidently, more uncomfortable then it had been before. He moves quietly outside, ditching the red solo cup that had been placed in his left hand, somewhere now scattered with the array of cups lining the counter. 

His hands pressed into the rail against the outside patio overlooking the backyard. Not as many people were here this time, only the couple in the corner who resembled suction cups and the scattered druggies doing harsher things than Osamu would ever even think about trying. Osamu couldn’t explain what was happening to him right now. 

Why did that suffocating feeling seem deeper, rougher now. Why did it feel like everything was breaking down. He didn’t understand why water had been leaking from his eyes, or why his breathing had picked up in pace, or why the red bleeding feeling felt like it was going to overcome his entire being. He just wanted out, but he couldn’t move. Paralyzed into holding onto that rail, knuckles burning white as he leaned over the edge slightly, rocking back and forth on his heel. 

He just wanted it to stop. He just wanted to breathe again. 

“Osamu,” He can hear the voice, but he can't make it out. It's more like white noise, like that shitty music in the background, or those girls laughing in Suna’s lap just moments ago. 

“Osamu,” He hears it again, it's louder this time, but the panic begins to trickle deeper inside of him, the rocking becoming more violent. Shaking his body in waves of unstoppable tremors, more tears relentlessly streaming down his face. 

“Osamu, hey, listen to me,” There are more words this time. He can feel someone's hand on his shoulder, he could hear the fear in their voice, as he slips further and further down this rabbit hold he can't climb out of. The world shifts for a moment however, and he feels his body slipping, he can’t tell if he’s being moved, but he feels the tugging at his wrist. The voice is yelling again, the music is louder, and Osamu can’t remember how, but somehow, someway, when he snaps from his daze, from that suffocating world of constant agony, he’s in a dimly lit room. 

Suna’s in front of him, his eyes are wide, and he has each hand on Osamu’s shaking shoulders. Atsumu is behind him, nervously biting his lip with his arms crossed against his chest in a worried manner. Kita is at the door with a glass of water, and other members of the team are hanging on at the door frame. All eyes were on him, and it made him feel even more constricted than before. 

“Make them go away,” He whispers, pulling his legs to his body, only now realizing the fetal position he had taken accustomed to on the floor. 

“Everyone out,” Suna says while standing up, pushing even his twin out the door, grumbles and groans following suit, a ‘hes my brother i should make sure he’s okay’ and a ‘he doesn’t need you to see him like this right now, it will only make him feel worse now get out’ before the room goes silent with only the bass from below shaking the floors and Suna’s shuffling from the door back over to him. 

“Are you okay,” He quietly asks, unsure of how he can help Osamu right now. 

Osamu doesn’t know how to respond, so instead he stays silent, he stays so quiet for so long he hopes that Suna will eventually get bored and take his leave. But Suna never does, he never moves from the squatted position in front of Osamu, he never takes his hand away from Osamus shoulder, he never stops the little circles he rubbing into the top of Osamu’s shoulder. 

It only hurts Osamu more, because it only makes him realize how much more in love with Suna he truly is. 

-:- 

“We did it.” Suna mumbles, kicking his feet against the wood chips surrounding the child's swing set him and Osamu had been sitting at. The sun had long since fallen, and the breeze picked up in their black graduation robes, the suits underneath the flimsy fabric enough to keep them warm. It had only been a few hours since they had been taking a plethora of pictures with family, walking across that damned stage and shaking hands with a principle they had only met enough to count on one hand alone. 

“I guess we did,” Osamu mumbles. He thinks back to only a week ago, back at the skatepark, the smoke, the atmosphere, the words that had left sunas lips that night. “Do you ever think about what's going to happen when we graduate?” 

Its only now Osamu truly understands what Suna was getting at. With one foot out the door they had their entire lives ahead of them now, bracing for impact for the true glories and misfortunes life had to offer them.

“I’m not gonna pursue Volleyball in college,” Osamu blurts, speaking softly as he watches the star twinkle in the sky. He had been thinking long and hard about this decision, fearing what the consequences may be of quitting a sport, he not only loved, but was good at. He can feel Suna’s head turn toward him. 

“Really?” 

Osamu stays quiet for a moment, “I love volleyball, don’t get me wrong, but I don’t think I like it as much as ‘tsumu does, and it just doesn’t feel like my calling.” 

“What feels like your calling then?” Suna is quiet. 

“Not sure yet, but I do love food. Maybe I’ll travel, learn different food cuisines, or I’ll start my own shop, who knows where life will take me.” 

Suna goes quiet, his eyes trained down into his laps as each finger picks at the other, his chunky silver rings twirling and twisting with each fumble, “What if life won’t take you anywhere.” 

It was Osamu’s turn to snap his head in the direction of the brunette, curiosity laced in his emotions. Suna won’t look up at him, instead focusing still on his rings, playing with them gently, in particular the snake slithering up his middle finger, whose emerald eyes glare up at him.

“What do ya mean by that.” 

“What if...what if life doesn’t have anything planned for you, what if you're just there to take up space.” 

“Everyone is here fer a reason Suna. Everyone has a purpose, a cause, an effect. One day, yer gonna find yer life heading in directions ya love, and directions ya hate. But there’s always gonna to be a path waiting for ya, there’s always gonna to be somebody there too, to keep ya standing, to keep ya breathing,” Osamu was sure these were the wisest words to ever push past his lips. 

Sunas eyes bore into his now, they’re still on the swings, not even the gusts of wind can move them at this moment. Suna breathes out for a moment before taking off his snake ring, and gently opens up Osamu’s fingers before placing it in his hand. 

“The world is unforgiving, you’ll always be alone even when you’re surrounded by millions of people.” 

-:- 

It was exactly 2:46 am when Osamu had been disrupted from his sleep, pulled out of bed by the crying sounds of his phone, blaring out that ringtone he wished he could just smash at the wall. 

It was exactly 2:46 am when he heard Suna’s shaky heavy breath on the other line. 

It was exactly 2:47 am when he was running out the door, his shoes half on, his keys in one hand, his brother yelling from down the hall. 

It was 2:59 am by the time he had reached Suna’s front door, smashing through it at the speed of light. 

It was 3:00 Am by the time Osamu found him, mopped up by his own saliva, foam trickling from his mouth, his body convulsing in panic rages surrounded by pools of blood seeping from his wrists and pills sprawled across the floor. 

-:- 

Osamu hated hospitals. He hated the smell of antiseptics that flowed down each hall, and the way people walked in almost pure silence. He hated the way he would see people crumble on their knees the moment the doctor came out with that look on his face. He hated that hospitals go be the center of positivity and the bane of someone's worst nightmare at the same time. 

“How did we not know he wer’ gonna do something’ like this,” He hears from next to him, and with the lull of his head and the most deadpan expression Osamu mutters, “Shut up ‘tsumu.” 

And the silence overtakes them, and the entire waiting room is filled with people. So many people Osamu knew from school, and others from when he’d go over to Suna’s house after school. The hardest, perhaps in Osamus opinion, was Suna’s little sister. Her hair was in two separate braids, flicked up in different directions as her eyes were puffed out in an angry red color, glossed over by the tears that had long ago stopped falling. She hadn’t released her bottom lip from the grip her teeth had on it, her hands moving in her lap, similar to the way Suna’s had once fumbled. 

It chokes Osamu, suffocating him, but this time it's not because of the emotions he felt towards Suna. This time it was at the numbness that began to over encumber him leaving him void of any expression. 

-:- 

He couldn’t leave the chair at Suna’s beside when no one else was in the room, he always held his hand too then, even if the wires got in the way of him holding his brittle cold hands. The snake wrapped around his index finger now, curled up against the pale flesh Suna had silently offered to him. 

He was afraid he wasn’t going to wake up. Osamu knew this situation too well, he knew he would drown in this. It was his fault, wasn’t it. He should have picked up on the cues that night, he should have picked up on the cues the week before, or the months before that. He should have known when it started, instead, he was selfish. Instead he only focused on himself, on the feelings he tried to hide from the male next to him. If only he admitted his feelings, if only he had seen the bigger picture, maybe he would have seen Suna. 

Osamu hadn’t cried yet, though he had probably been the closest to Suna, he hadn’t let a tear slip yet, afraid that if he were too, then he would never stop. He brings Suna’s limp hand to his lips, leaving his lips to gently lay a kiss at the spot where Suna’s thumb and index finger were conjoined. 

“Come back to me Suna, I have something to tell you.” 

-:- 

He never missed a day, every single morning he embedded it into his routine to check in on Suna during the following months. He was always still breathing, but never awake. His heart always pumping, but his brain shut off. 

He just wanted Suna to wake up, to hold his hand instead of the other way around, he wanted Suna to know the truth, he wanted to hold him, and this time he would never let him slip. It was a promise Osamu always wanted to make to him. 

“I’ll be back later tonight, you’re mom asked me to drop some things off at your house for her, don’t wait up,” he tries to joke, but it doesn’t ease the feeling inside of him. He looks at the motionless body, his eyes were trained on his lips. Osamu had always wondered what they felt like, but he was sure between the stone cold air of the hospital and the lack of vanilla Chapstick Osamu always saw peeking out of Suna’s bag, that right now his lips would feel bitterly chapped.

It doesn’t stop him from leaning in, to place his own against Suna, just slightly away from his lip however, and onto the silky smooth skin that lie at Suna’s cheek. 

He’d kiss him for real when he woke up. 

-:-

“The key is under the mat, Osamu thank you so much for doing this, I just...I can’t go into his room right now, I haven’t been able to for months,” Suna’s mothers voice was strained, cutting in and out from the sobs she was trying her best to hold back. 

“It’s okay Mrs. Rintarou, I’m glad to help.” 

And the line goes dead as Osamu hangs up with a simple click to the red button as his hand slips under the welcome mat to find the spare key awaiting him. He pushes the key in and the stagnant air hits him like a brick as he steps through the doorway, discarding his shoes at the front entryway. He looks down the hall, his memories flashing back to that moment, as if it were all in slow motion, like it had been happening all over again. 

Osamu shakes his head as he slowly steps down the hall, making a left before the sealed off bathroom, and walking into the room he hoped he’d never have to step into again. If he thought the front door had been a pile of bricks, then his room had to be the cement burning him into the earth. 

“Dude shut up, it was one time.” Suna laughs, throwing pieces of the popcorn from the round bowl in his arms at Osamu. 

“Oh yeah, just once,” He mimics in a sarcastic tone, throwing the popcorn back at Suna. Suna rolls his eyes and goes back to scrolling aimlessly at his phone. Osamu was lying stomach down on the floor, and angled that if Suna looked over, he would absolutely see the younger miya twin staring up at him, but how could he not when the sun was glowing so effortlessly against the boys skin. 

He could trace every curve along Suna’s defined face in this lighting, burning this image of him into the back of his skull. 

Osamu blinks, reality setting in around him that he now stood in the room alone, the basket of clothes Suna had arrived at the hospital now lying in the plastic bag, taking up needless space inside of his hospital room.  He just needed to set it in the corner and leave, that was his only job, nothing more, nothing less. 

But Osamu’s eyes flicker too far to the right, and an envelope neatly placed in the center of Suna’s desk fills his vision. He knows what it is, that's obvious enough from the placement of the paper. When his legs wander to the table, he wishes he had just turned on his heel and left right then. But when his vision is evoked with the letting of Suna’s familiar scribble and his name adoring the empty space of the white canvas, Osamu loses his control to stay strong, and the first tear falls. The second when his hands unseal the back of the envelope, the third when he pulls the letter from the pouch, and the fourth when he reads 

Dear Osamu.

Its not your fault. 

And I love you too, even though I should have said it allowed. 

I love you so dearly.

I’ve lost my fight, but please don’t lose yours. 

Suna. 

He didn’t know when the showers from his eyes began as he collapsed down to the floor, holding the letter closely to his chest as he screams out. For the first time in months, he screams out the pain blocking him, the pain consuming him. 

He doesn’t even have the time to process this information, because that ringtone flares up again, just like it had done that night. 

“H-hello?” Osamu says as he picks up, unsure of the caller id, he couldn't care to look at this point. 

“He woke up Sumu. He’s awake.” 

And just like his legs carried him out of the house that night, he’s sprint full force to his car and sliding into the driver's seat, turning the key into the ignition and speeding down the road recklessly past the stop sign. 

He should have stopped. 

-:- 

“Where’s Osamu,” Suna croaks out, it's the first thing he’s said, the vision of Osamu bleakly pulling into his memory. 

“He’s on his way, he’ll be here any minute,” Suna’s mother says, with joyous tears in her eyes. 

-:- 

“Where’s Osamu.” 

“There was an accident.” 

-:- 

Suna was wrapped in the navy blue sweater Osamu had given to him, tightly secure in the knitted fabric as his white collar shirt peeked out from the bottom of it, contrasting against his dark jeans. His long legs were wrapped up to his chest, his head softly laying in between his knees. 

“It would have been easier if I couldn’t remember you,” he whispers, “You were like a drug you know. You were heaven to have, a high I’ll never get back now that you're gone.” 

He stares at the stone in the grass carefully watching the flowers he had set up hours ago sway with the wind, “We’d probably be smoking right now, except we’d be closer. Sometimes I imagine the way it would feel to have you laid across my lap.” 

Suna can feel the tears now, “I wish I never woke up, I wish I had gone that night, you’d still be here, and it should have gone the way it was supposed to.” 

He can almost hear his words in the back of his mind. Everyone has a purpose, a cause, an effect. He sniffles slightly as he brushes his finger past his nose with his sweater hanging past his fingers, “You would have told me otherwise...wouldn’t you Osamu.” 

[desiree-harding-fic]

On Loving one Taako Taaco

ReJEANcy again! Taako is away on business. Lup and Kravitz attend a party as new in laws. The people who can boast to be loved by Taako form an exclusive club. AKA: Lup and Kravitz are best friends and I will never not use the fact that Kravitz and Taako fell in love without Lup around in canon to my advantage because it has me feeling Some Kinda Way.

As always, thanks to @fandomsnstuff for you know... everything?

This felt longer when I wrote it but oh well ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Enjoy!

ReJEANcy can be found Here and Here.

*~*~*~*~*

The evening came to its close, and with it, Kravitz and Lup retired with all due gallantry and ceremony, making their excuses and saying their goodbyes, until their coach was pulled around the front of the manor house drive, and Kravitz himself held out his hand to help Lup step up into the carriage.

She could not help but notice that the other guests began filtering out as well at their departure, and with it came the errant wondering - whether all in the county followed Kravitz’s lead in everything. She supposed they would, as he owned the majority of it. As the coach pulled away, beginning the long journey back to Astral, her thoughts strayed to the many introductions of the evening, to Kravitz’s neighbors, his friends.

Never had she been treated with such respect and deference in company. It was intimidating, in a way, to stand by Kravitz’s side; he could not stand in a room without one immediately taking notice of his excellent manner and breeding. He inspired a certain self-consciousness in company, it was clear, though he seemed at all times to combat it with a practiced grace. What a ridiculous thing money was, she thought, to inspire such feeling in a crowd. That simply because Kravitz’s wealth was so vast, he was treated as a great man. 

And by extension, she as a very great woman. And there lay the contradiction to her first inclination. That as intimidating as it was to stand on Kravitz’s arm, there was a power to it. That the difference between the treatment of Miss Lup Taaco, and Kravitz���s sister-in-law Miss Taaco was tangible.

It was another thing about him, she thought, perhaps the thing that most swayed her to liking him;  that beyond the other facets of his character, one thing had stood out: he had, from the moment they first met, treated Lup not as a lower-class member of the gentry, a supposed gentleman’s daughter with no fortune to her name. No, he had always acted, from the moment he was introduced to her, as though Lup was every bit his equal in rank, class, circumstance, breeding, and all. And in company, his example was always followed, for who would dare offend Lord Kravitz of Davenshire? 

She wondered if Taako had felt this way when Kravitz was courting him. There was something intoxicating about standing on Kravitz’s arm, being so well treated and highly thought of. It was no wonder he had been taken with the man in so short a time.

“You are contemplative,” Kravitz said, from where he sat opposite her. He was leaned back against the wall of the carriage, one leg bent on the seat, all relaxation now that they were unobserved. “What are you thinking of?”

He looked warm from the evening’s wine. Lup felt much the same: warm, loose, a bit tired from drink and company. It led her, perhaps, to speak more earnestly than she was used to.

“That you treat me better than I deserve, in their eyes,” she replied. His head cocked to the side, slow, brow furrowing inquisitively. “You behave in company as though I am your equal,” she explained,  “when women of my status are not even  allowed into the rooms in which you are treated as an honored guest. You have married Taako; I may be his sister, but my circumstances are unchanged. I am not accustomed to being treated as equal to someone of such rank as yourself.”

The man looked amused, a smirk on his lips.

“Taako would have me believe you are not my equal at all; rather he would tell me that you are my better. I believe he has said as much more than once.”

Lup laughed, quiet.

“He would say it.” She could not help but smile. Taako was better to her than she deserved.

“He thinks more highly of you than of any person living or dead,” Kravitz said, and Lup was taken, once again, by how… lucky she was.

“I am fortunate it is so,” she replied, her voice falling quiet. Kravitz looked at her fondly, and Lup thought how much more handsome he seemed here, quiet and relaxed and content in a comfortable space all his own. In company he was like a marble, fixed and perfected. He was much the same at the Estate when he was working, in order that those who worked under his name could follow a strong, confident example. She much preferred the softer iteration of him here, with life flowing through him, and so obviously. She thought that this must have been what Taako saw in him when he consented to marry him.

“My brother does not love easily,” she said, the words abruptly coming up from somewhere deep, secret, and true inside of her, spilling from her lips quickly and unexpectedly, lingering in the still air. She must’ve been inspired to say them by the drink, or by the intimate darkness of the swaying carriage, but now that she had said them, she felt at once as though there was a weight on her chest that, if not removed at once, would surely kill her. She tore her eyes from Kravitz, gazed toward the window at the blackness of the country night. 

“If I knew him any measure less than I do,” she confessed, “if anything had driven us from one another as children… I might believe that he had no heart at all.”

She looked back to Kravitz. His brow was furrowed once more, and he appeared fixed on her every word.

“It is quite the opposite you know,” she said. “It took me so long to understand, when we were younger. But he is not without feeling; rather… he feels so much, when he allows himself, that he can hardly stand it. He is so capable of love that he feels the need to conceal his heart behind wit and artifice, behind distant manners. It is how he survives this world; if everything were to touch him, as it touches us, he would drown from the force of it.”

Lup could not continue for the lump in her throat. She had always been the only one, save Auntie, who could understand the warmth under Taako’s iron exterior, the softness that he hid away for fear that it would one day be his destruction. Lup was the only one in the world who knew Taako enough to understand that to be loved by him was the greatest privilege man could bestow, so great, sometimes, that it was almost painful to know. Lup was the only one who understood the responsibility implied in being one of Taako’s beloved.

And then there was Kravitz.

“I apologize,” she said, around her tightened throat. “I am sure these are not revelations to you. But I must confess I was… taken off guard, upon my arrival to Davenshire, by how much he has come to care for you.” And suddenly it was vital that Kravitz understand, in no uncertain terms, how great his responsibility was too, alongside hers.

“Against all odds, you have captured my brother’s heart,” she said, looking at Kravitz, beautiful Kravitz, and she felt she would cry any moment. She spoke with as much gravity as she would muster, the wine in her blood loosening her tongue to an honesty she rarely felt confident enough to employ.

“You must be very careful with it.”

Kravitz looked warily at her, sympathy deep in his eyes. But with it, something more, something she could not yet identify. 

“I intend to be,” he hedged, and Lup shook her head, closing her eyes, and then looking at him imploringly, leaning forward in her seat. 

“You do not understand me. He will love you like no one alive can. I do not say it lightly. It is… to be loved by my brother, actively, is like nothing else. But betray the trust he places in you for a moment, Kravitz, and it will destroy him. It will break him so that he dares not allow himself to love again, and if there is one thing I will not see, it is my brother, shut off from this world and heartless.

“He weathered the death of our Aunt last year,” she said, “She was one of two people I could say definitively that Taako cared for. I am the other. You are the third I have seen him open himself to in the way that he has in my lifetime.” She swallowed thickly, thinking of Taako’s frightened, joyful expression the first moment he confessed to Lup that he loved Kravitz. Lup had never seen anything akin to it in the world.

“You must understand,” she said, “that you carry his heart in your hands now. He has made himself defenseless for you, and there is nothing in existence he fears more than that. There is no bravery he can summon greater than that which allows him to trust. It has never been simple for him. If he loves you, Kravitz, and he does, it is, whether you know it or not, the result of contemplation deeper and more labored than you can possibly have known when you asked him for his hand.

“I am his sister. He has always trusted me, in our own way. But he has chosen to place his trust in you, quite against his nature, and your responsibility is greater for it.” She blinked the tears from her eyes. To think Taako had only been absent a few days, and she missed him so terribly already. She did not understand how she had lasted in London without him, without being on the receiving side of that deep, overwhelming affection - without seeing him errantly in the hall or across a crowded room, and remembering, every moment, that she would do anything in the world for him.

Kravitz was gazing at her with wide eyes, half frightened, but immensely serious nonetheless, and Lup thought, of all people she had ever met, he seemed the one to hear her words and take them to heart more deeply than any.

“It is precarious ground upon which we stand, you and I,” she said, wryly. “Those who love him as we do.” She chuckled wetly. “But he is the best of us, is he not?”

“He is worth every trial,” Kravitz said then, conviction imbued in every aspect of his voice, and a wave of relief and affection swept over Lup so suddenly that she could hardly breathe. That Kravitz, with one sentence, had made it clear that he knew not only the weight of bearing Taako’s love, but also that he had come, independently, to the conclusion that he would bear it willingly, was a greater gift to her heart than any she could have received from her brother-in-law in all her life. The relief that there was someone in Taako’s life who understood him so that if she was made to leave him, he would be held in safe and loving hands was enough to finally bring the tears spilling from the corners of her eyes. And the kinship that had been lurking in the back of her mind; the sense that Kravitz knew her in an unspeakable way, simply for how much he was able to see the value of her brother, grew in her suddenly and fiercely until it was all consuming.

She smiled at Kravitz.

“Then you are worthy of  him,” she said. And she let her head rest against the carriage wall, and her eyes to slide shut.

*~*~*~*~*

[authorbarbie]

Miracle

Summary: The battle of Exegol is raging on when a horrible feeling of Poe being in danger grips your heart. It’s time to find out if the Force really is always with you.

Your legs burned as you ran alongside Finn, Rose and Jannah, lightsaber in hand as you fought to keep your edge in the battle. Being unable to reach and help Rey down below, who had shown the rebels exactly how to reach the mysterious planet of Exegol, you instead used your bright blade to block blast after blast, taking comfort in the familiar hum it emitted as it cut through the hulls of enemy ships.

During a pivotal moment in the fight, sudden large bolts of lightning had come from below, frying circuits and jamming signals. All around the skirmish, the surrounding ships and freighters were experiencing the same malfunction.

Palpatine.

Within seconds, the Resistance fleet began to fail, pilots frantically flicking switches and pressing buttons in desperate attempts to regain control of their birds. Ships Poe recognised as belonging to his fellow comrades began to fall out of the sky and his own X-Wing was quick to follow behind.

With the stakes getting higher and the initial goal for the ground team of knocking out the navigation tower complete, Rose and Kaydel had quickly begun to retreat (as had several others). But with the command ship still in play and rebooting their systems, Finn couldn’t, in good conscience, follow them. And if Finn wasn’t going… then neither were you.

“What are you doing?” Finn asked as you jogged back to him after urging the girls to leave.

“You think I’m letting you do this by yourselves?” you gestured towards Jannah, who stood a little behind Finn.

“Are all Jedi this self-sacrificing?” Finn joked, though you could see the gratefulness in his eyes.

“I don’t know,” you swung your lightsaber casually, attempting a little light-heartedness amidst the terror. “After you become one, you can tell me.”

Finn’s eyes widened partially, not expecting such a comment. You were the first person he had told about being sensitive to the Force (after you admitted to having had your suspicions for a while now) but the idea of actually becoming a Jedi… It was something Finn never would’ve thought of in his wildest dreams. “Act now, talk later,” he eventually decided and you weren’t about to argue.

However, before you could take more than a few steps to follow them, something stirred inside you and locked your limbs in place.

It was different than the subtle, underlying anxiety you had been feeling since arriving on Exegol.

It was different than the anger you had once felt during your last duel with Kylo Ren.

Because this time, you weren’t fearing for your own life.

This was about…

“Poe,” you said softly, brows furrowing. Frantically, you began to search the skies for a sign of him.

Flames licked the sides of the familiar T-70 starfighter, smoke billowing outwards in dark, thick plumes as it streaked across the sky.

“Artoo, my systems are failing,” Poe told the droid desperately as the screens inside the cockpit began to fail. R2-D2 squealed in panic. “Can anyone hear me?” he called desperately into his comm as his X-Wing shuddered and rocked beneath him. His head jerked forward at the sudden motion, hitting the dash and causing an immediate throbbing to radiate from his skull.

Another starfighter passed by, crimson flames surrounding it as it flew straight into the wing of Poe’s. “Always knew I’d meet my end while flying,” he chuckled darkly, tasted blood in his mouth.

As the pungent smoke from the engine began to filter inside, making Poe’s nose scrunch in disgust, he was doing all he could to quell the growing panic in his chest.

He was well aware that each time he sat in his cockpit, he was taking his life in his hands. He enjoyed the thrill of it all, enjoyed using the adrenaline that came with flying to keep his mind on target and his movements sharp.

But this… He knew it was something he would need a miracle to survive.

It would seem there’s something about imminent danger that causes you to think about your life; to look back and analyse it— the good moments and the bad. The moments that shaped you, the people that made it all worthwhile.

As Poe’s ship grew closer and closer to colliding with the First Order command ship that lay beneath, his thoughts went to you.

You, who had come into his life like a beam of light in the darkness, challenging him at every turn. You, who trusted him with your life, letting him see each and every atom of your being and allowing him to show you his. You, who he loved, who he fought for. You, who was now giving him comfort in his final moments without even knowing it.

Exhaling a shaky breath, Poe tried his comm system again. “Sweetheart? You out there?”

Despite knowing they would be no answer, not being able to hear your voice just one last time before the end made his throat tighten and the back of his eyes sting. His eyes fluttered shut, preparing for impact as he apologised to everyone he had let down by leading them into a war that they were about to lose.

Leia. Finn. Rey.

BB-8. Rose. Kaydel.

Snap. Karé. Jessika.

You.

He held onto the image of you, keeping it at the forefront of his mind, even as everything went black.

●  ●  ●

If Poe had been clear headed before, he would’ve noticed how his free-falling descent through the skies had begun to slow somehow as the wing was ripped unceremoniously from his beloved ship and his body began to bruise and bleed.

He would’ve noticed how this mysterious miracle is what saved his life, for if he had hit the command ship at the initial speed and velocity he had been falling at, his chances of making it out alive were non-existent.

He would’ve noticed the panicked girl on top of that First Order command ship, eyes closed and hand outstretched as she focused harder than she ever had before — even during her Jedi trials — to make sure that he was safe.

He wouldn’t be questioning how said girl was now crouching over him inside the Millennium Falcon with wide, frantic eyes, mouth moving at a speed he couldn’t keep up with (not that he could even hear much with the ringing in his ears).

“Am… I—”

“You’re okay,” you shushed him gently, your hands on either side of his face. “I tried to stop your ship but I couldn’t, not completely.”

Poe’s brows began to furrow but the pull at his muscles made him wince in pain. It seemed every part of him was hurting somehow, from small scratches and scrapes to a twisted ankle, to a large, bleeding wound along his torso.

“It’s over, baby. Lando and Chewie are bringing us home,” you spoke softly, comfortingly, your fingers delicately brushing his curls out of the blood that ran down his face. “Help came. Palpatine and Ren are dead, and Rey made it out. We won.”

“We won?” Poe managed a whisper, the corners of his lips twitching minutely.

“Yeah,” you smiled in response, blinking rapidly to rid yourself of the tears that began to form in your eyes. “All thanks to you, General.”

Poe chuckled, though it sounded like more of a rattling in his chest than an actual laugh. The sound, coupled with Poe’s rapidly paling skin, terrified you. You turned your head to make eye contact with Finn, who was hovering nearby with BB-8, a worried look on his face. You knew you needed to act quickly.

“Hey, flyboy,” you said, hoping your voice sounded more confident than you really were. “You trust me?”

Through his hazy mind, Poe managed to look almost offended at the question. “You know I do.”

You nodded, fully aware that Poe believed in you more than anyone, and shifted your position, one hand cradling the back of his head while the other pressed against his bloody torso, uncaring of the dark liquid that was quick to cover your palm. Poe’s hand instinctively moved to rest over your own.

“I’ve got you,” you whispered, forehead pressed to his own and eyes closing in concentration.

For the second time that day, you allowed yourself a moment of silence, reaching out to the Force for the help you so desperately needed once more.

You weren’t unfamiliar with Force healing. Hell, you’d used it once or twice in the past to help some wounded creatures you had come across on missions, and Rey had even used it mere hours ago back on Pasaana. But this was the first time you were attempting it on another person — the most important person at that — and all you could do was pray to the Maker that it would work.

As you poured as much of your life force as necessary into Poe, the wound that ran along his chest and stomach began to close up, the flow of blood that dripped coming to a slow trickle before stopping altogether. His ankle began to stop throbbing, the ringing in his ears stopped, and even the pain in his head slowly dissipated.

Only once you were satisfied did you allow your eyes to re-open, gazing down at the man beneath you who stared in awe— though that look on his face wasn’t uncommon when it came to you

You took a few deep breaths, feeling the toll from your actions but not regretting them for a second. Force healing came at the expenditure of your own life, but you would die a thousand times over if it meant he got to live.

Poe slowly pulled himself into a sitting position, testing his body as he moved and feeling immense relief at the lack of pain that came with it. Now, it was his hands that cradled you. “You shouldn’t have done that,” he said quietly, disbelief coating his words.

“We won,” you repeated, gripping onto his torn flightsuit. “But if I’d lost you… A galaxy without Poe Dameron just isn’t worth living in.”

This time, Poe did laugh. It was a mixture of relief and shock and love. It was the kind of genuine, warm laugh you were so used to getting from him, and your heart lifted at the noise.

He was okay.

“Like I could ever leave my best girl behind,” he said before he brought his lips to meet yours.

Poe knew he would need a miracle to be saved.

And that miracle came in the form of you.

[letsperaltiago]

write your story on my heart: come on and make your mark

In the safety of his mom's hoodie Mac Santiago-Peralta quickly learns that his parents are quite alright if not his favorite people in this big, scary world.

or

the skin to skin-contact oneshot no one asked for 🤔

read on ao3

“One last push! You’re doing so good, honey.”

The second his powerhouse of a wife delivers her last push, fully welcoming the newest addition to their family into the world and the safety of his auntie Roro’s hands, Jake feels his entire cosmos shift and turn upside down. It’s a transition, a feeling he thought the million hours of googling and studying parenting books had prepared him for, only now realising that there is no such thing as being prepared for this very moment.

No book, binder, higher power or even the tangled depth of some Reddit-forum he’d once found could possibly have prepared him for the immense, indescribable joy he experiences rushing through every cell of his body when he hears the first, notably loud cries of his son.

Loud cries are a good sign: it means he has strong lungs, Jake remembers.

“Jake,” he’s snapped out of his reverie by the sound of Amy’s breathy whimpers. Surely she’s more than exhausted after pushing a human out of her. “He’s-” she interrupts herself when she heaves resulting in her knocking her head back against the pillow to gain a breath, meanwhile her eyes search Jake’s face for some kind of conclusion.

The strong urge to take care of them both at the same time, his son and his wife, is tearing him in two separate directions. Although he does quickly settle on turning to Amy. He knows and trusts that his newborn is safe in Rosa and, he shudders a bit at the thought, he has to admit, the fire-fighters care when he sees said glorified EMT is checking his son’s condition.

One last time, he comes to realise this will be, he immerses himself in the feeling of being just the two of them; to have eyes only for her because soon, even though he doesn’t mind one bit, his heart will officially be shared with someone else.

“Yeah, he’s here, babe. He’s here,” he lets out in an euphoric mixture of a breath, smile and sniffle as he leans in to kiss his wife’s forehead. Beneath his touch he can feel her trembling from the adrenaline, still very much red and sweaty but oh, how she’s never been more beautiful to him, and although it’s a very close second, not even clad in white on their wedding day.

His lips stay plastered there for a few seconds but somehow feels like an eternity put into slow-motion. Yes, he knows he could be attending so many other, more useful, matters, but there’s no resisting the overwhelming pride he’s currently feeling knowing his incredible wife once again, this time more than ever, has proven to be the superhero he’s always known her to be.

“You did it,” he exclaims joyously through the cry threatening to crawl up and out of his throat once his lips slip off of her skin. From his new vantage point, having pulled back the slightest, he can tell she’s crying along to the sound of their son’s furious wails, and he can’t blame her. It’s paradoxical: somehow the most beautiful and heartbreaking sound he’s ever heard.

“You’re so incredible, Ames,” the words come spilling out of his moth hopped up on adrenaline which results in them stumbling over each other but he doesn’t care. She needs to know how amazing she is.

As intimate as an interrogation room containing their best friend and some random firefighter can be, their moment runs out the second the firefighter lets them know that their baby is perfectly healthy and gently places him stomach down, wailing at the top of his lungs, on Amy’s still heaving chest. Alongside this the two freshly baked parents stare in disbelief: they created this little and so very wanted human who’s now finally, after 9 months of pregnancy and even longer time spent wanting and trying, screaming into the soft fabric of Amy’s hoodie.  

Amy’s hand are immediately drawn in, rushing to cup the tiny being in her hands, one supporting his bottom meanwhile the other his head. It’s all so much: the soft surface of his skin, the vibration coming from his screaming, and more importantly healthy, lungs resonate against hers making everything that more and finally completely real. Every ultrasound scanning, all the fluttering kicks from inside her womb and even the contractions: this kind of real beats everything prior to this moment.  Her son is really here, in flesh and blood, resting against her chest instead of bundled up inside her womb.

“He’s amazing,” she lets out with a sob as she attempts to study Mac’s every feature.

“He sure is,” Jake is quick to chime in placing a hand on his son’s back before leaning in to kiss the tiny head tenderly, of course keeping in mind the fragility of a newborn’s skull, something all the baby books have told him about. He then looks backs to his wife and kisses her lips.

Her crying almost sabotages her ability to kiss him back, but she stables herself just enough by moving a hand to rest on her husband’s cheek and then it hits her like never before that she’s currently, right then and there, holding her entire world in her hands: Jake in one and their son in the other.

McClane Santiago-Peralta. Mac.

He’s a perfect 9 pounds and 21 inches, they’re later told at the hospital; he’s soft, pink and brand new; he’s here and he’s their son.

Caught up in what feels like her life’s biggest whirlwind of a moment, kissing her husband and holding her screaming newborn, she faintly make out Rosa and the firefighter telling them they’re going to leave them alone for a while to go meet the incoming ambulance and and actual EMTs.

Jake and Amy pull apart as the door closes and encapsulates their new little family of three in the interrogation room.

“I love you so much, Jake,” she smiles both with her lips and deep brown eyes which radiate so much joy through the tears that it makes Jake shed a tear too when he tell her “I love you too. So much.”

Their attention shifts back to Mac quietly whimpering for attention having only been partly soothed by his mother’s hold and is still very much upset with the fact he’s been thrown right into such a big, bright world without warning.

“And I love you too, my baby Mac,” she coos in addition to her declaration of love as she lets go of Jake’s face to hold her still naked, probably very hungry and cold son even closer.

Although Amy without a doubt had the birthing suite Hitchcock and Scully had built her to thank for making the birth surmountable, it wasn’t exactly destined to do what it was doing right now meaning that a lack of heat was noticeable.

“Shhh, yes, I know,” she strokes the top of his head in an attempt to comfort the whimpering bundle, “it’s all so big and scary out here, but we’ll make sure you’re okay. We got you.”

Mac’s cries have definitely quieted down, lost momentum, since first appearing in their world just minutes ago but he’s still very clearly voicing discontent and Amy can feel her brand new mom-heart bleed. She mentally turns over every page of every baby book she’s ever read furiously trying to find a solution to her son’s crying and discomfort.

“Your mom’s right, bud. No need to cry. We’re here with you,” Jake bends over the gap between him and the stretcher, down to his son’s eye level as if it’ll convince him to calm down only to comprehend that a newborn probably doesn’t care about his father’s promises. Mac is a man of actions not words.

“Jake,” Amy whimpers hit by realisation, so suddenly set on one thing and one thing only and it of course immediately gains her her husband’s full attention. “Help me put him on my chest.”

A look of confusion dawns on Jake as they share a look, Amy’s eyes pleading for him to understand.

“But Ames, that’s where he already is?”

“No, like on my actual chest. Skin to skin-contact, Jake.”

It comes out matter of factly and memories of many textbook pictures of cute, tiny babies lying against their mother’s bare chest right after birth come rushing back to Jake instantly replacing his confusion.

“Oh yes, that, right! Of course.”

She briefly pauses to think although its hard when her train of thoughts is very much controlled by the worry growing within her every time Mac lets out another loud whine or cry. At least he’s on top of something soft, she thinks in an attempt to reassure herself when looking down at him and her now very messy, gooey NYPD-hoodie and then, all out of the blue, it hits her: the messy but soft and warm NYPD-hoodie. Beneath it she’s only wearing her maternity bra (she’d started wearing them already months ago once her boobs had grown too big for her regulars once: also they were way more comfortable) so surely her idea was worth the try.

“He could probably fit into my hoodie,” she wonders or rather declares out loud. Her son needs somewhere warm and safe, so, regular procedure be damned.

“I mean,” Jake studies the features of the grey piece of clothing, “it’s quite big and if you just tug down the neck whole he could probably fit in there with you.”

So they give it a try.

While Jake momentarily takes possession of his son, immediately tearing up again at the very surreal feeling of holding life, which he’s created, for the first time, Amy unclasps and removes her soft bra. In terms of the last step she tugs open, as wide as physically possible, the neck hole of her hoodie to welcome her son. It’s not pretty nor graceful but the hoodie is indeed really big (especially now that Mac is no longer in her womb) and together they manage to carefully place him to rest against his mother’s skin and under the soft material of the hoodie, only his head, under Amy’s, emerging from the neck hole. They hold their breaths for a second, both internally begging for their invention to be enough to soothe their son completely.

Amy instantly feels better knowing she’s sharing her bodily heat with her son, and, even more rewarding is the fact that it also seems to pay off: after a few more whimpers, slowly fading into barely audible sniffles, a silence lastly settles over them.

From where he’s resting chest to chest, skin to skin, with his mother, Mac finally, for the first time in his life, seems fully content and settles for dozing off as the easiest way to handle being completely knocked out by the intensity of being born.

Jake and Amy exchange a surprised, having feared the worst outcome since today already had followed a certain chaotic discourse, but ecstatic look as all there is left to be heard is the sound of approaching ambulance sirens.

“This feels incredible,” she speaks quietly in an attempt to not disrupt her son’s newfound state of peace, checking on him once more to make sure he’s not being squished by her chin, and although this time there’s fabric creating a barrier between her palms and his skin, she allows her fingers to fall into a sweeping motion across the tiny frame.  

“It looks incredible,” Jake whispers back not believing his own eyes because the scene currently playing out in front of him sure can’t be real. It’s too good, something he years ago wouldn’t even dare to dream of, and although he doesn’t want to be that person, he wants to live in the present, Jake can’t fight the urge to grab his phone and snap a picture, just one that he can make his lock screen picture the second he has a minute to do so. For now he figures it’s enough and puts his phone back into his pocket allowing him to lean in and join his wife in caressing their son.  

“Always told you you look crazy good in hoodies,” he smirks knowingly thinking of all the times he’s told her this only to be met by disagreement and dismissive comments before pecking her temple tasting small beads of sweat, salt, on his lips.

“Even now covered in placenta?” her exhausted eyes manage to throw him a teasing look ahead of redirecting to admiring Mac’s beautiful, finally peaceful being. Jake’s eyes trail behind, staying on her with the most loving look when he utters, “especially now covered in placenta,” before following her lead and looking at Mac.

The sirens from before have faded, disappeared, letting the new parents know that the ambulance must’ve reached the precinct. Despite this fact, they forget and enjoy the quiet before the storm, their first peaceful moment as a family.

All in all Mac seems pleased with his new favorite spot on his mom’s chest. Even as she holds him a bit tighter, securing him to her chest when she’s wheeled out of the integration room by a newly arrived EMT, Jake right beside her to make sure they’re alright every step of the way, Mac doesn’t budge; even in the ambulance when one of her hands leaves his back to hold Jake’s while the sirens make an encore, Mac stays quiet.

This might not be his mother’s womb but he knows he’s home.

[bleufrost]

Crawl Home to Her || A Ben Hanscom Series

Chapter Four: Not a Stranger

a/n: aaand we're back! let's see if I can get y'all back into this like im getting myself back into writing it (:

thank you all for being patient with me, if youre still here reading I love you so much.

masterlist

summary

rating: m for graphic depictions of violence, gore, and adult themes

The few feet between Ali and Ben feel like miles as her feet push her forward. Ali was refusing to bother with words, knowing exactly who this man was and how desperately she had waited for him all these years. His arms part instinctively, holding her to his chest as if it were the safest place in the universe and he was determined to protect her. Although years were spent apart, the feeling of being strangers was lost on both Ali and Ben; instead being replaced by the knowledge that they had not only grown up together, but had also been a saving grace for each other. 

Ali’s breathing becomes unsteady as she feels Ben’s hand slide up to her neck. She isn’t afraid of him by any means, but the realization that somewhere in her life she forgot about him makes her uneasy; guilty in more ways than one. Tears spring to her eyes and a panic she has not felt since childhood comes upon her suddenly, causing Ben to pull back and look her over quickly in search of the cause of her distress. 

“Hey, what’s wrong? I know I look different, but I swear I’m not a stranger.” Ben laughs nervously, trying to lighten the mood while also allowing her a moment to breathe. His hands never leave her, part of him unwilling in the event that she might slip away from him once more. 

“I tried so hard for so long to remember you, but I never could. Ben, I forgot about you and I know that sounds awful but I swear I never meant to. You were always there, right at the edge of my mind, but I could never reach you. I’m so sorry.” Her voice shakes as she speaks and Ben has the overpowering need to hold her again and reassure her that everything was perfectly okay. So, that’s exactly what he does.

His thumbs brush across her cheeks, wiping away the tears that slipped past her eyes. “It’s not your fault, Ali. I’m sure Mike will explain everything, but from what I heard you aren’t the only one who’s had some missing pieces from their memory. It’s okay, we can catch up and everything will feel like we never spent a second apart.” Her breathing is still heavy, but a small smile finds its way upon her lips. He reciprocates and there is nothing he wants more than to kiss her in that moment, but he knows that he can't. She just admitted that she had forgotten everything for the longest time, throwing something like that on her now when she was just starting to get her life back was unfair and selfish. He had waited years, a little longer would be no problem at all.

“You ready to go in?” His voice was calm and patient, letting her know that she was allowed to take as much time as she needs. She was ready now though, something deep within her telling her that she could do anything now that the piece she was missing had been found. The pair begin to walk closer to the entrance, taking comfort in the close proximity of their bodies. 

Standing right in front of the door was someone that they both had missed severely; even if Ali just now was remembering that she did. Ben reaches down, giving a reassuring squeeze to her hand and smiling toward the girl that had been his first official crush. “Is there a password or something?” Ali laughs beside him, Ben really was proving himself to be the master of throwing back phrases at people. It just further solidified what Ali already knew: they all meant something extraordinary to each other. 

Recognition does not dawn on Beverly Marsh’s face as quickly as it did Ali’s. She turns and stares for a moment. “I’m sorry?” The wrapper crinkles in Ali’s hand as she tears it off and slowly pops the candy into her mouth. Beverly watches her and slowly, her face begins to change with a sense of recollection. 

“New Kid?” His voice is hopeful as he says the nickname aloud for the first time in forever. The redhead’s eyes scan over Ali and Ben a little longer as the gears work in her head. “Ali? Ben?” Ali smiles excitedly and Ben lets out a relieved puff of air. While she nods her head, smile still beaming back at Beverly, Ben lifts his arm gently in an attempt to welcome Beverly into a hug. Bev comes forward, wrapping her arms around the both of them quickly and laughing. 

“Oh my god!” The three stand there for a while, hugging in a way that feels familiar to each of them. Ali never enjoyed being touched by other people, she shied away from hugs and general contact because it always felt so wrong to her. This though, felt right. She felt comfortable for the first time in as far back as her still-hazy memory could go. 

“it's been so long.” When Ben says this, it sounds less like a sad regret and more like a happy reassurance. It had been so long, but the wait was over at last. 

"You guys look great!" Seperating, the trio find the source of the voice in the form of who could only be Richie Tozier. He looks down at himself and scoffs. “What the fuck happened to me?” 

Once more, Ali finds herself closing the distance between herself and her old friend. Images flash before her eyes, showing her of a time when her and Richie would get into arguments, sometimes heated, that would always end in rolling eyes and smiles. He had kept her on her toes as a kid, but sometimes things like that only prove to strengthen the bond you have with someone. 

Part of Ali was expecting to see someone else walk up with Richie; she doesn’t know why but the distinct recollection of his lovestruck face brings itself to the forefront of her mind and she is almost disappointed to find him alone. 

“Hey Trashmouth!” They all laugh while Ali and Richie hug. The nickname definitely came easy to remember. “Are you fucking serious? I escape this shit for years just to come back and immediately get fucking ridiculed. That’s unreal, Ugly Duckling.” Ali pulls back from the hug and stares at him with shock on her face. Now that was a name she hadn’t heard in forever. 

Ben almost intervenes, afraid that maybe Ali won’t receive the banter as such. It takes a moment, but the shock slowly slides into amusement. She shoves his shoulder and hugs him again; she really had missed them all.

The rest of them greet each other with warm smiles, Beverly and Ben also fall victim to Richie’s incessant need to say whatever’s on his mind, and soon it is time to go in. 

With shaky hands, Ali follows the group to the entrance of the brightly lit restaurant. She falls behind a bit, trying to hide behind the rest of them as Richie continues to lighten the mood with his voice. It takes only a second for Ben to turn and notice how quiet she has gotten, and in that same second he halts his walking, waits for her to catch up, and falls into step alongside her. 

Their shoulders bump as they walk and Ali finds the feeling of warmth radiating from his open palm to be immensely more inviting than the illuminated building. His knuckles graze hers gently, as though he is calling her toward him in a way. She takes the invitation as soon as he is willing to give it, slowly sliding her hand into his larger one.

Ben doesn’t look down when he feels her soft hand find his own. He simply takes it and wraps his fingers in hers, driving away the cold of her palm with the comforting heat of his body. The nervous trembling doesn’t stop, but it does subside and that is more than Ben could ever ask for. 

Finally looking down, Ben catches the twinkling lights reflecting in Ali’s eyes. Smiling felt so foreign to him until today, and he feels his eyes come alight for what very well may be the thousandth time since arriving. Her own mouth curves up into the smallest of smiles as she notices him staring, and Ben can’t help but think it is the most beautiful sight he has ever seen.

Tags (ive been gone a while so i understand if youd like to be taken off, just message me): @stanley-barbs​ @bvrningdesires​ @floralpiper​ @thesmittenkitkat​ @daisysinadarkmedow​ @auggusst​ @isabellathedreamer​ @makbubblefandom​ @1988-fiend​ @alexther11​ @goldenmoonbeam​

let me know if you want to be added to the list!

a/n: as always, i greatly appreciate every read, like, reblog, and comment so much! feedback is always happily welcome and i hope you guys liked this chapter.

this is a side blog so i cant respond to comments (although i love to read them!!) but if yall ever wanna talk just shoot me an ask or message me! I love talking to yall <3

coming up...this meeting of the losers club has officially begun.

[solaneceae]

At the end of everything, hold on to anything - TEOS oneshot

When it’s finally over, after nearly five days of pain, anguish and despair, they can’t quite bring themselves to believe it.

 Dave is trembling uncontrollably, his legs barely managing to keep him upright. Linda is on her knees a few paces in front of him, her usually sharp and steely eyes glazed over, staring at nothing. Mateo, ever the protective one, sits at her side silently, gently rubbing her back in an attempt at comfort.

 Slowly, they turn towards each other, their fevered gaze meeting with the same manic apprehension, the same burning doubt.

 Are they safe?

What now?

  Could they sleep at last?

 Then, as the sun disappears over the horizon, they all come to the same conclusion: it doesn’t matter. It really doesn’t, because if they somehow failed, if sleeping still means death even now… then there isn’t anything else to be done. The human mind, hell, even just the human body could only function for so long without sleep. So really, they were doomed anyway.

 That realization was all they needed. No words were exchanged as Mateo got up, his impressive frame towering over his two companions. He took hold of Linda’s hands, gently pulling her up, before turning to his long-time friend and raised his hand, palm up, inviting. Beckoning him over.

 Dave didn’t think; he couldn’t, nor did he need to. He took a shaky step towards his former nightwatch partner, then two, then a third, less steady one, before he lost his balance and crashed against Mateo’s broad chest with a strangled cry, his hands clawing at the back of the other’s shirt.

 It’s over it’s over it’s over everything’s gone everyone else is gone they’re here they’re here alive not dead not dead don’t go please don’t go stay stay stay stay stay-

 Everything he’d been holding back crashed down on him like a tidal wave, leaving him a boneless, sobbing mess. Mateo said something, low and calm, but his words didn’t make sense to Dave. The smaller male felt something sliding behind his knees and on his back before his world tilted sideways; shit, was he falling? The ground was moving away from him though. He felt like floating, the sky coming into view; it was cloudy, shades of blue and white and orange mixing together in a dizzying kaleidoscope. 

 He felt something warm settle against his side, and he blinked in realization. Oh. Mateo had picked him up, and was now holding him securely against his chest. That made more sense. He caught sight of Linda approaching him, her features uncharacteristically soft. The nurse’s hand reached out to brush his hair out of his eyes to critically peer at them.

She was probably checking on something medical-related; he didn’t know what. Still, he couldn’t help but drowsily lean into the touch, a weary sigh escaping his chapped lips.

 Her eyebrows shot up in surprise, but she didn’t seem to detect anything worrying -well, more worrying than extreme sleep deprivation and emotional trauma that is. Her hand left Dave’s forehead but stopped to grab Mateo’s elbow, keeping her hand there as they both started to walk at a sedate pace; just like an anchor during a stormy night, the tall, dark-skinned man seemed to be the one keeping the rest of them from falling apart.

 The next few minutes -or it could’ve been hours, his perception of time was shot to death- were a blur at best, rhythmed only by the sound of two pairs of shoes hitting the pavement, the gentle rocking motion making his hindbrain thrum pleasantly, and the undecipherable pieces of Linda and Mateo’s hushed conversation.

 None of them thought about their sudden clinginess and desperate need for physical contact, nor the fact that it was probably a little weird and awkward because dammit, they’d just been through the literal end of the world. They’d survived, all three of them, when everyone else had disappeared forever. You couldn’t do that without forming a special bond with the people who walked alongside you. 

 So basically, they didn’t give a shit. There was nobody around for probably dozens of miles, and their minds were drowning in a sea of cotton, the world around them distant and insignificant.

 When Dave finally felt Mateo come to a stop, he blearily opened his eyes -when had he closed them?- to see that they were back at the hospital; more precisely the recovery ward, or awakening room as he liked to call it as a child.

 Heh. Talk about ironic. 

 Linda was quickly tearing the covers and pillows off the beds to haphazardly throw them in a pile on the floor while Mateo waited patiently, still holding Dave in a steady -yet gentle- grip. When she was done, she placed a few water bottles next to the improvised bed -which looked more like a nest in the security guard’s sleepy opinion- then laid down on the middle of it, mumbling something about .

 The latino chuckled at her antics before walking up to the pile. He knelt down and laid Dave down on it, eliciting a displeased whine out of the smaller man. Fortunately Dave’s woes didn’t last long for Mateo flopped down right next to him immediately after, pulling his friend against his chest again while soothing words tumbled from his lips. Whether they were for Dave or himself, neither of them were sure.

 He felt something grab his hand and blinked back the darkness seeping into his vision; Linda had scooted over to him and was squeezing his hand, her shadowed grey eyes peering into his own with a hint of anxiety. 

 Dave squeezed back, a tired smile gracing his face; there was no need to be afraid. They were here. And whatever happened next, they’d be together.

 The nurse seemed to understand, her eyes closing in acceptance. She slid closer and curled up, bumping her legs against Dave’s while her chin rested on his mussed black hair. She was out in mere seconds, just like Mateo.

 For a few minutes David just laid there, relishing in the warmth of the other two, in the sound of their -uninterrupted, thank god- breathing. 

 His eyes slowly fell shut, his own breathing deepening, slowing. His thoughts scattered like dust in the wind, and then he thought nothing at all, finally falling into the blissful, dreamless sleep he’d never known.

 They didn’t die.

 After a while, the sun rose; then it set again. An entire day passed without any of them stirring. The slow rising and falling of their chests the only sign that the Elephant hadn’t claimed them. 

 They still didn’t wake on the second one; but they would shift and twitch in their slumber, snuggling deeper into the crook of a neck or intertwining their legs with a soft sigh, each one of them holding on to the others with the force of a drowning man.

 There would come a time for the aftermath. For figuring out what to do next in this new, almost deserted world. 

 But for now, hidden away in their nest, Mateo, Linda and Dave slept on.

  -----

  listen i have Feelings™ about those three okay-

with all the dave whump (which is excellent and pleases me immensely) we’ve been making i wanted to make something nice and fluffy for a change. i wrote this as platonic, but you can see it as romantic LinDaveTeo too if you like! poly ships are good man.

 Also height-wise mateo > linda > dave and yall can fight me on that

@caustic-synishade i know you're gonna like this one

[melonkooky]

public displays of affection [kim jongin]

requested

word count: 1796

genre: all fluff

author’s note: wooooo a non-bts one shot. i loved writing this, but i’m worried that this won’t get a lot of attention simply because it isn’t bts. but you know what, its fiiiiiiiine. anyway, prompts: 5. “no playing video games together is not considered a date.” 94. “ow,  my ass.” were used

please do not copy my work. but please like and reblog it. thank you!!!!

“i feel like we should do something today…” you mumbled into the pillow as you flipped over onto your stomach and cuddled the pillow, your eyes still closed. your body was still half asleep, and the bed was making no effort whatsoever in waking you up more.

you heard a deep hum come from next to you. the man that laid next to you, your boyfriend, sighed and grumbled, “like a date?” his deep, slightly hoarse, morning voice had a weird feeling over you. it would have been quite sexy, if it weren’t for the fact that he wasn’t trying to be sexy and that he had just woken up. although, his voice still made your skin tingle.

“yeah.” despite still being half asleep and very tired, you still felt that you and jongin should get out of the house and do something.

you heard the bedsheets move and shuffle while the bed rocked slightly. seconds later, you felt an arm rest on the small of your back. you felt the warmth and presence of someone directly in front of you, and you began to feel small breaths hit your face. you forced your eyes open to see your boyfriend’s face centimeters from yours. if he hadn’t replied to you earlier (or had moved in the first place, you guessed), you would have thought that he was sound asleep. he inhaled deeply, seeming to sink into the bed. he was warm and close and comforting. you shut your eyes once more, as if you had lost the battle of trying to keep your eyelids open.

“what do you want to do?” he asked quietly.

you shrugged your shoulders the best you could, although you felt that your shoulders didn’t want move at all. “i don’t know.”

jongin chuckles into your pillow, his deep voice muffled. “why do we have to do something? i would be perfectly happy laying here - with you, of course - for the rest of the day; sleep, eat…” he paused. “would playing video games together count as a date?” jongin opened his eyes finally, a teasing glint in his eyes as he studied the features on your face, being able to see every single detail of yours being so close to you.

your shot open once more. you glared at your boyfriend, your tired eyes narrowing. “no, jongin, playing video games is not considered a date.”

jongin smiled, scooting over to place a kiss on your nose. “but you just said you didn’t know what you wanted to do. i was only suggesting something.”

you rolled your eyes. “as good as remaining in this very spot sounds, i still think we should do something or go somewhere today.”

“well, baby, name something and your wish is my command.” jongin spoke. despite being with jongin for some time now, you still felt your heart beat faster and your insides twist in the slightest every time he called you baby, you absolutely loved it.

“but i don’t know!”

jongin snuggled closer, his eyes staring into yours. “then we’re staying here.”

you pouted as you moved to lay on your side, your hands coming up to rest on jongin’s chest. jongin hummed as he tried to think of things to do. “hmm. shopping? a picnic? dancing? go to the park?”

“what’s the weather supposed to be like today?”

jongin shrugged. with a heavy sigh, you lifted yourself up, causing jongin to move off of you. you reached over for your phone and unplugged it from its charger. you opened the electronic device and clicked on the weather app, all while you hummed a random melody that had suddenly popped into your head.

jongin asked, “what does it say?”

“very warm, like close to summer weather.”

jongin nodded slowly. “so, are you saying you liked the park idea, since the weather is warm?”

“yep. now let’s eat breakfast and get dressed.”

-

after a nice and easy breakfast, and after getting dressed with spring-summer attire, you and jongin were ready to go outside for the day. at first, you and him walked around the city a bit since your apartment complex was in the heart of seoul. after a leisurely walk, you and jongin decided to take a bus to han river. the bus ride wasn’t too bad. you and jongin had seats together.

once the rather short bise ride had come to an end, you and jongin arrived at han river. people, as well as a lot of couples, were there already. the day was bright and warm. the sun kissed your skin, a light breeze caressed your face. you couldn’t help but relish the spring weather.

you inhaled the gust of wind as it blew by. jongin looked over, smiling slightly as he reached for your hand. your boyfriend walked leisurely as he led you over to the fencing that kept people from falling into the river. “so, this is what you wanted to do?”

you hummed, turning to him. “why? are you bored already?”

“just a bit.”

you rolled your eyes and playfully nudged jongin’s waist. he laughed while pretending to be in pain, before turning around and resting his back against the railing. essentially, he began to people watch. he had begun to grow bored indeed. there wasn’t a lot to do, other than enjoy the weather and scenery, which you had been doing perfectly fine. he sighed and peered over at you, finding that you were taking pictures now, completely immersed in the beauty of spring.

jongin looked around once more. a smile grew on his face when he spotted a bike renting station. jongin excitedly patted your arm in order to gain your attention. “what?” you asked, confused.

he pointed, and you turned around to follow his gaze. you immediately knew what he was trying to say. you sighed, “alright.”

jongin grinned and grabbed your hand, leading the way to the bike renting station. he paid for an hour with two bikes, one for you, and one for him. you were a bit nervous because it had been a while since you had ridden a bike, but once you got onto the seat, you found that it wasn’t as hard as you expected it to be. you followed jongin along the sidewalk, coming slightly behind him. the wind was even stronger and much more relaxing as it brushed your face.

you thought the bike ride was going to be just for leisure, for fun, but jongin turned his head and called your name. he had a playful glint in his eyes, and you could only expect the worse. “race you to the end of the path!”

you scoffed as jongin began pedaling faster, getting an easy head start. “wh- wait! jongin!” you yelled, increasing your pace, trying to catch up to your childish boyfriend.

the path was quite long. you managed to catch up to jongin, laughing next to him when he narrowly avoided a couple walking in the opposite direction. you grinned happily, practically laughing in his face as you slowly began to get ahead. jongin tried to pedal faster but you kept going. your victory was inevitable now.

you reached the end of the path, in particularly the area where you and jongin started the race. turned out the path was a large circle. you were breathing heavily as you slowed down, almost to much to where the tires of your bike skidded slightly. you didn’t want to hit anyone with your fast speed. after your adrenaline rush, your legs began to ache and your heart started to throb. jongin appeared behind you, him guiding his bike at his side as he walked to you. he was in the same state as you, “damn, i didn’t expect that.”

you grinned happily, getting off of your bike and walked alongside of it. “what? didn’t expect me to win?”

jongin shrugged, looking around the park as if to avoid your eyes. “i let you win.”

you glared at him before bringing your leg up and kicking his butt, not necessarily hard, but enough for jongin to jump in surprise and then stop in the middle of the sidewalk to touch the site that you kicked. he pouted, and looked utterly betrayed. “ow, my ass.”

you giggled innocently, and continued walking.

“yah! wait up!” jongin called out.

you didn’t reply, but slowed down a bit for your boyfriend to catch up to you. he continued to pout, feigning great offense towards you. “what was that for?”

you shrugged. “what do you mean? it was public display of affection.”

“public display of affection, my ass, and i don’t mean that literally.”

you laughed as you stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, popping the kickstand of the bike out and leaning it on its side. you turned to jongin and wrapped your arms around his torso, tilting your head up at him, “i’m sorry.”

“i won’t take this lightly, you know. that really hurt, both my ass and my pride. actually, i should be-”

you stood up taller and pecked his lips, cutting him off mid-sentence. you smiled as you kissed the love of your life. as you pulled yourself away, you could see the red tint in his cheeks, despite being in the shade of some trees. you blushed yourself, but you couldn’t help but smile cutely. “forgive me?”

jongin grinned, semi-embarrassed at your sudden affection. he blushed immensely. his eyes flickered around at all the people that walked by. honestly though, jongin is thinking about just letting the bike go in order to wrap his arms around you and swing you around and love you until the ends of the earth. he looked down at you. “i forgive you.”

“good.”

after one last squeeze you release - your nini bear - jongin and move away. your about to kick your kickstand back and grab your bike, but you hear a loud crash next to you. you immediately flinched at the sound, and stopped moving. you turned to your side, a bit scared and confused as to what had just happened, just as jongin wraps his arms around you and pulls you into his chest. “woah!” you laughed a bit as you wrap your arms around him to return the embrace. “what’s wrong with you? you know that isn’t our bike, right?”

jongin pulled away and looked deeply into your eyes. he subconsciously smiles. “i know... i just had an overwhelming feeling of love for you just now.” he then pressed his lips to yours, giving you an intimate kiss. “a public display of affection.” he whispered as he pulled away.

you were blushing like mad as you spoke, “you are such a dork, but i love you.”

jongin grinned proudly. “i love you too.”

[crescentmoon223]

Two Worlds Collide Chapter 15

Read it on AO3 | Rated: NC-17 | Stella x Scully

Chapter 15

(read it from the beginning here)

Scully was going to throw up. Her stomach twisted painfully, and her eyes watered. She gripped the edge of the bathroom sink, attempting to steady herself. As she stared at herself in the mirror over the sink, she was transported back in time over eleven years to a different morning, a different mirror, a different reason for the nausea in her belly and the fear in her heart.

That morning—the morning after she’d learned she was pregnant and that Mulder had been abducted—she’d been in a state of fear unlike anything she’d ever experienced. That fear had stayed with her throughout her pregnancy and William’s first year of life. It had ultimately forced her to give him up, and even then, she’d lived with the nightmare in her mind. Was he okay? Was he safe? Had she done enough?

Today, those questions would be answered.

Today, she was going to see her son.

No matter what happened once she got to the party, she would see him. And that would have to be enough, because the rest of it—his reaction to seeing her, her reaction to seeing him, the Van De Kamps reaction to any of it—was all so overwhelming that she was standing here in the bathroom on the verge of throwing up just thinking about it.

She closed her eyes, trying to take slow, deep breaths, but all she could do was gasp against the tightness in her chest. And then Stella’s hands slid around her waist, settling over the churning depths of Scully’s stomach, warm and soothing. Her body pressed against Scully’s from behind, chin over her shoulder, cheek to cheek.

“It’s going to be wonderful,” she said quietly.

Scully inhaled against Stella’s palms. “What if it’s not? What if he gets upset when he sees me? What if we don’t recognize each other? What if the whole afternoon is awkward, or they ask me to leave?”

“Then you come back here and cry in my arms and know that you tried,” Stella said. “But it’s not going to happen that way. You may not recognize each other, and it may be awkward at first, but this is going to end up being a good thing for you both. I’m certain of it.”

Tears slipped over Scully’s cheeks, and she swiped at them with her fingers, trying not to smudge her eye makeup. “What if he doesn’t like the present I got him?”

“He’s an eleven-year-old boy. It won’t be the first or last time he dislikes a gift.”

“But it’s the first gift I’ve bought him since he was a baby,” she whispered.

“Dana…” Stella kissed her cheek. “He won’t remember what you bought him, but he’ll remember that you were there.”

Scully nodded, trying to absorb the truth of Stella’s words over the almost overwhelming sensations of fear and insecurity swirling inside her. “What if he hates me for giving him up?”

“If he hated you, he wouldn’t have invited you to his birthday party.”

“You’re right. Okay. I’m going.”

“Call me if you need me,” Stella said, pulling her in for a hug and a kiss. “You’re taking the car, but I’m sure I could hitchhike on a moose or something if you need someone to come rescue you.”

Scully smiled as she pressed another kiss against Stella’s lips, immensely grateful for her attempts at distracting her. “Thank you.”

“Text me anyway,” Stella said. “Let me know how it’s going.”

“I will.” Scully gathered her purse and the wrapped gift and headed for the door. With one last look over her shoulder at Stella, she climbed inside the car and set out. According to the GPS, the Van De Kamps’ farm was about forty-five minutes from here.

What was the etiquette for greeting the son you gave up for adoption? For greeting his new family? No matter what Stella said, the afternoon had the potential to be horribly awkward for everyone involved. In less than an hour, she would see William. Fresh tears welled in her eyes. Could she hug him, or would that be too much?

“Too much,” she whispered to herself. She needed to get her emotions under control before she arrived.

You should be here too, Mulder.

But there was no point dwelling on it now. She’d survive this afternoon—good or bad—and then she’d go home to Stella. Even if William regretted inviting her, even if he hated her for giving him away, even if she did nothing but watch awkwardly from the sidelines, she would leave with the peace of mind of knowing what his life was like now. She would know what his voice sounded like, how he walked, what flavor of cake was his favorite.

She would know he was safe.

As she turned onto the road the Van De Kamps lived on, she became aware that the car behind her had been there for several turns now. Another party guest, no doubt. Arriving alongside someone she’d never met who knew her son better than she did was probably the worst way to make her entrance, but there was nothing she could do about it now.

She drove past open, grassy fields until a large farmhouse came into view. Children ran on the lawn, and a cluster of balloons floated from the mailbox. Her mouth went dry, and her stomach clenched. Please don’t puke now. Not now. She pulled into the driveway and found an empty spot to park.

The sedan that had been following her pulled in beside her. Definitely another party guest. Here she was, about to have a panic attack in front of a stranger. She caught a glimpse of the driver, and her heart somersaulted into her throat.

Mulder.

She hadn’t seen him in months, not since they met for breakfast right after she accepted her fellowship in London. The sight of him now had her whole body trembling with relief. Oh, thank God. They were going to do this together after all. Their eyes locked, and an avalanche of memories shook loose inside her, late nights in their basement office, a million different hotel rooms and hospital beds, the well-worn couch in living room of their house where she’d told him she was leaving.

She climbed out of her car and walked to his. He stood, and she wrapped her arms around him, breathing in his familiar scent, salty like the sunflower seeds he’d eaten on the way here. Had he always been so tall? She buried her face against the wide expanse of his chest. “You came.”

“I got to thinking after we talked,” he said. “Decided this is the kind of once-in-a-lifetime opportunity you don’t say no to.”

“I’m so glad.” She straightened, swiping at her cheeks, so glad to see him she could hardly speak. She, Mulder, and William had only ever spent two days together as a family. Today had to feel even more monumental to him than it did for her. At least she had seen William smile, held his hand, watched him crawl. But then again, maybe that made this harder for her. Mulder had never gotten the chance to know his son. William was less tangible for him. So much more of her heart was at stake.

He pulled an enormous gift bag out of the back of his car, and she resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Of course, he’d show up with the biggest gift. She picked up her own gift, and hand in hand, they made their way toward the house.

A couple a little bit older than her and Mulder approached with welcoming smiles and apprehension in their eyes. Scully gulped, cheeks hot, throat dry. Mulder’s hand pressed against the small of her back, a silent gesture of support.

“You must be Fox and Dana,” the woman said. “I’m Marsha Van De Kamp, and this is my husband, Tom.”

Scully nodded, trying desperately to focus, to keep her eyes from scanning the yard, looking for William. Would she recognize him? Would he recognize her? “It’s so nice to meet you. I can’t possibly tell you how much it means to me—to us—to be here today.”

“You can thank Will for that,” Marsha said. “But it’s nice to meet you too, genuinely so.”

Even Mulder seemed to feel the gravity of the situation, offering polite greetings as he shook hands with Tom and Marsha without a single joke.

“Will went inside with a couple of his friends,” Marsha told them. “But I’m sure they’ll be back in a minute.”

“Okay.” She felt equal parts relieved to know that he wasn’t here yet and desperate to get their reunion over with before she had a nervous breakdown from the anticipation.

“Please just…follow his lead,” Tom said gruffly. “It’s his birthday party.”

“We’re just here for the cake,” Mulder said with a wink.

“Mulder,” she hissed, horrified, but the Van De Kamps were laughing.

“I’m sure you’ll be fine,” Marsha said.

“The last thing I would ever want is to make him feel uncomfortable, today or any other day,” Scully said quietly, overcome with gratitude for these people who’d raised her son and then been generous enough to invite his birth parents back into his life, which was surely as awkward and stressful for them as it was for her and Mulder.

“The gift table is over there,” Tom said, gesturing toward the house.

“Thanks,” Mulder told him. He led the way, and she followed, glad for a moment to catch her breath before whatever came next. Mulder gave her hand a squeeze after he’d set his enormous gift bag on the table.

She turned to face the yard full of people she didn’t know, and…there he was. A red-haired boy raced across the lawn toward her and Mulder, and time seemed to stop. Her pulse thudded in her ears, and her hand, still gripped in Mulder’s, turned cold and clammy. On any random day, on any random street, she would have known immediately that he was hers. Hers and Mulders.

William’s hair was the same bright, copper red hers had been as a child, although these days, her red hair came from a bottle. He was tall and lanky like his father, with the same inquisitive hazel eyes. He skidded to a stop in front of her, a wand in one hand, popsicle in the other. “Are you Dana?” he asked.

She nodded, swallowing over the painful lump in her throat. “And you’re Will.”

He smiled, head bobbing in affirmation before he turned to Mulder. “Fox?”

“Yeah.” He stuck out a hand, which Will took. “But you can call me Mulder. Everyone does, even your mother.”

Scully gasped, hoping desperately that Mulder hadn’t overstepped by calling her William’s mother, but the boy was still smiling. Then she realized he’d probably thought Mulder was talking about Marsha Van De Kamp, and she wanted to cry.

“Mulder?” Will made a face. “That sounds weird.”

“I guess it does,” Mulder agreed, “until you get used to it.”

Tom and Marsha walked over. “I see you’ve met.”

“Yes.” Scully forced herself to smile, hoping she looked less hysterical than she felt.

Will looked at her before turning toward the Van De Kamps, as if waiting for them to tell him what should happen next. Scully found herself wishing for the same thing.

“Well, we’re all very glad you’re here,” Marsha said graciously.

Scully murmured her thanks, looking down at her tightly clasped hands to avoid staring too much at Will. Mulder commented on the horses visible in the pasture behind the house, asking which one Will rode. He pointed out a brown and white horse named Fidget. Mulder and the Van De Kamps walked toward the pasture, and suddenly, Scully was alone with her son.

She looked at Will, who was still watching her closely out of those eyes so like his father’s, coppery hair shining in the sun. He was almost as tall as she was. Somehow, she’d never expected that. He looked closer to a teen than a boy.

“I can’t quite believe I’m standing here,” she admitted. “Thank you so much for inviting me.”

“My mom said it was too dangerous for you to keep me when I was a baby,” Will said, taking another bite of his popsicle. Something in his expression had changed, a hesitance there that hadn’t been before.

“Yes, that’s true.” She gripped her hands together, not sure what to do with them. “There were some very bad people after us. Mulder had to go into hiding, and I…I couldn’t keep you safe, no matter how hard I tried or how much I loved you.”

“Are you like spies or something?” he asked, eyes wide, and she wondered what scenarios he’d envisioned over the years to explain to himself why she’d had to give him up. Probably nothing he’d imagined was as outrageous—or dangerous—as their reality had been.

“No,” she answered his question with a laugh. “But we were FBI agents at the time.”

“Secret agents?” Will asked.

“Something like that,” she agreed with a smile. “I’m a doctor now.”

“That’s kinda boring.” He swallowed the last bite of his popsicle and shoved the stick into his pocket. “You should have stayed a secret agent.”

“But then I might not have been able to come today.”

“I guess.” He flicked the wand in his hand as if performing a magic spell. “What house are you?”

“House?” she asked, her mind going to the rented cabin where Stella was currently sitting, waiting to hear from her.

“At Hogwarts,” Will clarified. “Have you been sorted yet?”

“Oh.” She smiled as realized he was talking about Harry Potter. “No, I haven’t.”

“I’m a Ravenclaw,” he told her, “although I wish I was a Gryffindor, like Harry and all the Weasleys. Both of my parents are Hufflepuffs.” He made a face as if being a Hufflepuff was lame.

“I don’t think I’d mind being a Hufflepuff,” she hedged, not wanting to come between Will and his parents. “They seem like the nicest ones, although I’ve only read the first book.”

He shrugged noncommittally. “Can I see your phone?”

“Um, sure.” She pulled it out of her back pocket and unlocked it, swiping away a good luck text from Stella that made her eyes sting before handing it to Will.

He tapped at it for a few seconds before handing it back. “Just answer these questions, and it’ll sort you.”

There was a quiz on her screen. She clicked through the questions quickly, trying to give them the attention they deserved but unable to truly concentrate on anything but the fact that her son was standing in front of her. Her knees shook furiously, and tears pushed at the backs of her eyes as she hit SUBMIT at the bottom of the quiz.

“I can’t look,” she said, handing her phone back to him. “The suspense is killing me. You tell me what I got.”

Will looked at her phone. “You’re a Ravenclaw! Like me.”

“No way.” She grinned as a rogue tear broke free and splashed over her cheek. “Let me see.”

He turned the phone toward her, showing her the blue Ravenclaw logo on the screen. “Ravenclaw is the smartest house. Wait until I tell my parents.” His smile faltered, and he handed the phone back quickly. “I mean…”

She pocketed it and reached for his hand. “They’ll always be your parents, Will. I’m just…well, I’m someone who loves you very much and is so ridiculously glad to be here today for your party.”

“It’s weird,” Will admitted, looking down at his shoes.

“It is weird,” she agreed. “I’m glad we both think so.”

This earned her a smile and a brief glance in her direction. “You look like me.”

“I noticed that too.” It hit her like a punch to the gut every time she looked at him.

“Everyone always asks me where I got my red hair.”

She touched a wayward strand of her hair reflexively. “Now you know, but you don’t have to tell anyone if you don’t want to.”

“It can be our secret,” he said.

She smiled. “Would it be okay if I gave you a hug?”

He hesitated, glancing over at his parents, who were still talking to Mulder, before giving her a shy smile. “Yeah, that’s okay.”

She extended her arms, and Will leaned in as she folded her arms around him. She inhaled the scent of his hair, remembering the last time she’d held him, the little hat with the pointy ears and the way he’d giggled in her arms. Her heart swelled inside her chest so that a few cracks in its surface seemed to repair themselves as the lanky boy in her arms hugged her back.

He pulled free as Mulder and the Van De Kamps approached, and before she’d had a chance to catch her breath, Mulder was taking the house quiz, forehead wrinkled in confusion, obviously having no idea what Hogwarts houses were but eager to play along.

“Oh wow,” Will announced once Mulder had finished taking the quiz. “You’re a Gryffindor. That’s really cool. I’m jealous.”

Mulder beamed at this news, cracking a joke about his bravery. Will ran off, returning a minute later with a blue and gray striped scarf for Scully and a red and yellow one for Mulder. Then he was off again, joining a group of boys his age as they passed around a portable gaming device.

Scully fingered the blue scarf at her neck, suddenly unable to breathe. Her lungs felt heavy and useless, and tears pressed behind her eyes. She cleared her throat, turning to Marsha. “Could you point me toward the restroom?”

“Oh, sure. It’s down the hall on the right.” She gestured toward the front door of the house.

“Thank you.” She excused herself to walk inside, intent on getting herself behind a closed door before she fell apart. But as she walked through the living room, she found herself unexpectedly surrounded by photos. Pictures of Will riding his horse, smiling family portraits, class photos. A life lived without her.

She pressed a hand over her mouth as she rushed for the bathroom, finding it just as the tears broke free. She sat on the closed toilet, buried her face in her hands, and sobbed until the pressure in her chest had eased.

Will was happy. He was a normal kid, living the life she’d wanted for him, the life she’d been unable to give him. It was such a relief, even as it tore her heart out all over again. Her son, her own flesh and blood, was a stranger to her now. It was going to absolutely kill her to walk away at the end of this party, even though she was fiercely grateful for having had the opportunity to come.

Once she’d gotten control of her emotions, she stood and walked to the sink to splash water on her face, then slid her phone out of her pocket and dialed Stella.

She answered on the first ring. “How is it?”

“Well, I’m currently crying in the bathroom,” Scully whispered, sniffling as she patted her eyes, trying to get rid of the redness.

“Oh, Dana…”

“No, it’s good, it really is. I…I hugged him.” The words tumbled out of her in a rush. “He’s a great kid. And Mulder’s here. It’s just overwhelming.”

Stella let out an audible sigh of relief. “I’m so glad. Okay, get yourself together now and go back out there. Save the tears until you get home so I can dry them for you.”

She sucked in a deep breath and blew it out, tears miraculously dissipating at Stella’s words. “Yes.”

“You’ve got this,” Stella told her. “Will is a lucky lad to have two sets of parents who love him. Now go back to the party. I’ll be here for you when you get home.”

“Okay.” She closed her eyes and blew out another breath. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Bye,” she whispered, ending the call. She stood and splashed more water on her face, no longer caring about her makeup. Luckily, her complexion cooled as quickly as it heated, and the splotchiness from her tears was already fading.

After a few more deep breaths, she left the bathroom, surprised to find Mulder sitting on the couch in the living room, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor between his feet. He looked up as she approached, offering her a sad smile. “You okay?”

“Yes and no.” She sat beside him, leaning into him as he wrapped an arm around her.

“Sounds about right.”

“And you?” She looked up at him. “How are you doing?”

“I guess he feels real to me now in a way he never did before.” Mulder stared at the pictures on the wall, a look of such intense longing on his face that her heart pinched.

“That’s a good thing, I think.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m really glad you’re here.” She rested her head against his chest, just breathing in the closeness between them. Maybe, after everything they’d been through, they deserved this day, this chance to make memories with their son. Maybe it would give them closure. Maybe even peace.

“Me too, Scully.”

“I’ve missed you,” she whispered.

“My number hasn’t changed,” he joked.

“I know.” She sat up, giving his knee a squeeze. “Come on. We should get back to the party.”

He stood, walking over to pick up a photo of Will. “No denying he’s our kid, is there?”

“No.” She’d seen the resemblance in the photos the Van De Kamps sent last year, but it still hadn’t prepared her for seeing him in person. In some ways, it made things easier, because it made the connection between them more visible. But at the same time, it made her even more aware of what she’d lost.

She slid her hand into Mulder’s as they walked outside. They made their way to the refreshment table and grabbed sodas, watching as the boys played, acting out scenes from the Harry Potter movies. Marsha approached, a hesitant smile on her face.

“I’m really glad you both could make it,” she said. “I wasn’t sure if it was a good idea, but Will was so insistent that he wanted to meet you. Now that you’re here, well…I can see that it was a good thing.”

“I will treasure this day forever,” Scully told her. “Truly.”

“I’m glad,” Marsha said, leaning in to give her an impulsive hug. “I really am.”

“I don’t think I can ever properly thank you for it.” Scully brushed away a tear.

The boys raced up then, asking about cake and presents, and soon they’d all gathered around a rectangular folding table covered in a plastic tablecloth with a chocolate cake at one end. Will sat at the head of the table, smiling broadly as everyone sang to him. Scully felt like she might be having an out of body experience, watching herself from above as she clutched Mulder’s hand and sang Happy Birthday to their son.

She pulled out her cell phone and took a quick picture as Will leaned forward to blow out his candles, hoping she wasn’t overstepping any bounds, but everyone around her had their phones up, taking photos. Slices of cake were quickly doled out, and she and Mulder found a quiet spot beneath a large tree to eat their cake while the kids sat at the table.

“This day wouldn’t have been the same without you,” she told him, grinning as he wiped a spot of frosting from her cheek.

“I’m glad I came.”

After the cake had been eaten, it was time to open presents. Will kept his seat at the head of the table, laughing and shouting as he unwrapped gifts, seemingly thrilled with everything he received. When her box landed on the table in front of him, Scully felt her whole body flush. Truthfully, she had no idea what he liked.

“It’s from Dana,” Will announced, and everyone turned to look at her.

She wanted to melt through the grass at her feet. Did these people know she was his mother? Did they judge her for giving him up? Did they wish she wasn’t here?

Will wasted no time ripping the paper off the box, and the party guests’ attention refocused on him as he whooped. “A Lego Hogwarts set! I had been wanting this one.” He turned to smile at her. “Thank you, Dana.”

“You’re welcome,” she managed to say.

Will ripped through a few more gifts—and received another Lego Hogwarts set, although thankfully a different one—before Mulder’s giant gift bag reached the table. Will pawed through the tissue paper inside before pulling out a baseball bat, glove, and a handful of balls.

Once he’d finished opening gifts, Will rejoined his friends, trying out the Nerf gun one of them had given him. People started to say their goodbyes, and Scully felt a wave of helplessness rise up inside her that it would soon be her turn to say goodbye too.

But before she could quite make up her mind to leave, Will ran up to them, turning to Mulder. “Will you show me how to hit the ball?”

Mulder beamed like someone had just given him an all-access key to Area 51. “Yeah, I’d love to.” As they walked off together, Mulder was already demonstrating the proper way to hold the bat.

Hips before hands.

She remembered that long-ago day when he’d shown her how to bat. She’d played along, so desperately infatuated with him that she couldn’t bring herself to remind him that she had two brothers. She knew how to hit a friggin’ ball. But damn, that had been a good day.

She watched as Mulder helped Will with his stance, snapping more pictures with her phone. How many times over the years had he longed for the chance to teach his son how to hit a ball? The sight of him with Will now had her fighting back tears all over again.

They’d lost so much.

Today, they’d regained a little bit of it. Mulder and Will spent about a half an hour together, with Mulder leading the makeshift batting practice. Around them, party guests headed to their cars. Scully wasn’t sure whether she should stay or go, but she couldn’t quite make herself go.

Finally, Mulder and Will walked off to put the bat away, Mulder’s hand resting on Will’s shoulder, the perfect image of a father and son. When they returned, she decided there was no more postponing the inevitable. “Thank you so much for inviting us to your party, Will.”

He smiled at her. “You’re welcome. And thanks for the Legos. I can’t wait to put it together.”

Send me a picture of it when you’re finished, she wanted to say. But the reality was, she might never see or speak to him again. She held up her phone. “Would you mind if I took a picture of us to remember today by?”

“Yeah, that’s okay,” he agreed, coming to stand beside her.

“I’ll take it for you,” Marsha offered.

“Thank you,” Scully told her, hoping her words expressed her true gratitude for the moment. She stood next to Will, one arm over his shoulders as they smiled for the photo.

“Let me get one of the three of you too,” Marsha offered, and Mulder stepped in beside them. She snapped another photo, and then held up her own phone. “I’d like one too, if you don’t mind. I think we’d all like to remember this day.”

Scully nodded breathlessly, lips shaking as she smiled for the photo. “Thank you.”

And then it was all over. She turned to Will. “I hope you had a great party. Thanks again for inviting me. I’ll never forget it.”

“I won’t either.” He leaned in to give her an impulsive hug. “I’m really glad I got to meet you. Or…re-meet you, or whatever.”

“Yeah.” She smiled at him, memorizing every detail of his face.

“Maybe you can come to my party again next year,” he said.

She tried her very best not to overreact to that, not to scream or cry or leap for the stars. Instead, she just smiled. “I’d love that.”

Mulder and Will said their goodbyes, and she thanked the Van De Kamps again for allowing them to have this day. Then she followed Mulder toward their cars, feeling numb…or drunk…like maybe she was having an incredibly vivid dream that she’d wake from at any moment, alone and miserable in her bed.

She and Mulder stopped by their cars, facing each other. Before she could second guess herself, she flung herself into his arms, hugging him fiercely. He hugged her back, tucking her head beneath his chin the way he’d always done, and it felt so good, so familiar. She exhaled against his shirt, overwhelmed by a sense of affection toward him that she hadn’t felt in years.

She wasn’t in love with him anymore, but he was a part of her life—of her history and her future—in ways that could never be erased.

“Hey Scully, do you want to go get a drink or something?” he asked hesitantly, obviously feeling the connection between them too.

She pulled back, looking into his eyes. “I’m, um, I’m here with someone, Mulder.”

“Oh.” He blinked hard, jaw clenching. “Someone from…from London?”

She nodded. “You know her, actually.”

“Her?” He blinked again. “I do?”

“Stella Gibson.”

He raked a hand through his hair, obviously racking that brilliant brain of his for the name. “The detective we met on the Ronnie Strickland case?”

“Yes.” When she and Mulder first got together, she’d told him about her relationship with Stella, although neither of them had mentioned it since. “We reconnected after I moved to London.”

“And she flew all the way here with you?”

She nodded. “I think the three of us going out for a drink might be…awkward.”

He swallowed, Adams apple bobbing. “Yeah, ah, definitely awkward. But I’m happy for you, Scully. I am.”

“Thank you.” She blew out a breath, leaning in to give him another hug. “And how are you doing, Mulder?”

“I’m good. I’ve been doing more consulting work for the FBI. I even saw Skinner last week.” He grinned at that, and she smiled back.

“That’s amazing,” she said. “Please give him a big hug from me if you see him again.”

“I don’t know about the hug,” Mulder told her. “But I’ll pass along the sentiment.”

“We’re doing okay, aren’t we?” She met his eyes, daring to look directly into them for the first time since she’d walked out of their house over a year ago, no longer afraid of what she might see in those hazel depths.

“Yeah, we are.”

“I’m glad.” She swiped at her eyes. God, how many more tears could she shed today?

“Take care of yourself, Scully.” He walked around to the driver’s side of his rental car.

“You too.” With one final glance over her shoulder, she got into her car and drove away.

[stereksecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, @outtoshatter!

A/N: My giftee’s requests were fluff, action, adventure, AUs, magic, and 5+1. What I offered were: single parents, daemons / familiars, tattoos, and military (which kinda became a police force, I don’t know). I only got 5 in here, there’s no +1, and I already cut out parts, but in the end, I still went waaaaaaaaay over the max words.

To my giftee, I hope you like it. I tried to smush together as much tropes as I could. *huggles*

Summary:  Derek is a police officer, just recently moved to Beacon Hills, and possibly nursing a crush on the really hot, really powerful doctor with the twin sons.

Read on AO3

*****

Wild and Free

ONE.

“Beacon Hills is a hell of a lot smaller than NYC, but we’re not any less busy here. We’ve got the best arrest rate this side of the county and the best officers, i.e. me.” Erica grinned proudly, hands on her hips. “You’re lucky I’m showing you the ropes, newbie wolfie.”

Derek raised an amused eyebrow. Erica was young, passionate, and enthusiast ic… modest, too.

Isaac snorted, Boyd rolled his eyes, while Jordan chuckled.

“How can you be the best officer, Erica?” Isaac shot back. “We’re all new here.”

“I’ll be the best then,” Erica said confidently.

“And Erica, don’t call Captain Hale a newbie,” Jordan said. “He’s going to be Captain of your unit, and he’s new to town, but he’s not new to the job.”

Erica scoffed. “Same thing.”

Derek cleared his throat. “I’m not really worried about becoming bored, Erica. And I know better than to underestimate the crime rate in any town, big or small… or underestimate its capable officers.”

“Good to hear, Captain Newbie.” Erica patted him on the arm. “Now, let’s go!” She marched off, with Boyd following silently and Isaac continuing to harp on her.

“She’s not lacking in enthusiasm at least.” Jordan grinned as they followed at a more sedate pace. “I don’t even have to play tour guide anymore.”

Derek looked up at the sign: Beacon Hills Interspecies Memorial Hospital.

“You need to familiarize yourself with how the town works,” Erica said. “I know FAITH New York has a network of spies, but at good ole Beacon, a big part of our network is the hospital.” She dragged Derek in, unabashed in her excitement and strong even without using her werewolf strength.

Isaac grinned at Derek. “Fun fact: the hospital was built around a grove of Nemeton trees, one of the largest groves in the country.”

Derek followed along obediently. He liked Erica. Her exuberance was helping him put a lid on his nervousness. Isaac’s snark was amusing too. Add in Boyd’s silent demeanor, and Derek was feeling pretty good so far about his new unit.

FAITH was an interspecies organization established to monitor and police magical activity. Derek had worked for FAITH New York since he graduated police academy more than a decade ago and having to start over especially when he was already over thirty wasn’t easy.

“Welcome to Beacon Hills Memorial!” Erica motioned grandly towards the lobby.

Derek looked around, feeling the zing of magic in the air. He could see just what Isaac meant. An immense Nemeton was the centerpiece of the lobby reaching high up into the ceiling, which had strategic holes for the branches and leaves. Some of the low hanging branches were strung through with lights and signs, while a few select ones had dryads, avians, and a few fairies perched on them, talking to the attendants and medical staff below them or waiting for their appointments. The floor was a mix of tiles and forest floor, with pathways marked alongside some of the thick protruding tree roots.

Jordan waved a hand. “Like Erica said, it’s important we maintain a good relationship with the people here. We have a medical team back at HQ, but the experts here give us a lot of insights on our cases–”

“–not to mention how often we have to patch you all up after a hard day’s work.”

“Stiles!” Isaac and Erica exclaimed. Erica bodily threw herself on top of someone. Interestingly, the man didn’t even buckle under her force or weight. Boyd simply raised a hand in greeting.

“Hey, wolfies, what’s kicking?” He was dark-haired, brown-eyed, covered in moles, and had an upturned nose and a wide grin, decked out in a band t-shirt, black jeans, and obnoxious purple sneakers, topped off with a doctor’s coat.

“Your patients still are, you genius.” Erica grinned, hugging him around the waist.

Jordan motioned to the man. “Captain Derek Hale, this is Doctor Stiles Stilinski, Chief of Interspecies Medicine and Head Medical Liaison for FAITH–”

“And vice versa. It’s too long to say it all again,” Isaac said. “And note, it’s Doctor ‘redacted’ Stiles Stilinski.”

Derek raised an eyebrow. Stiles looked to be around twenty-seven, maybe eight? For someone that young to be Chief of IM and a FAITH Liaison was really impressive.

“Redacted?” he asked instead. Stiles laughed.

“Because no one knows his first name, and he’s supposed to be all mysterious and a genius, even though everybody knows he’s a dork,” Erica said.

“It’s hard to pronounce, that’s all.” Stiles gave Derek a warm smile. “And Captain Hale, eh? I’ve heard about you.”

“I assume from Sheriff Stilinski. You must be his son, then.”

Sheriff Stilinski had been kind and welcoming to Derek. He was human, but exuded a certain aura that made Derek’s wolf stand to attention. Even Erica and Isaac kept themselves in check around him.

Stiles checked his watch. “Sorry I can’t give you the tour now, but I’m actually on my way to a consultation for a family of dwarves. Jordan will do a bang-up job anyway. I just came by to greet you because I sensed you guys were coming.”

Stiles glanced at Derek and Derek felt his wolf perk in attention.

Oh.

Apparently, Sheriff Stilinski’s son wasn’t human like his father.

“And of course, I have gifts for the new officers.” Stiles grinned and pulled out a few chocolate bars from his pocket.

Erica squealed and grabbed hers, placing a large kiss on the doctor’s cheek. Isaac grabbed the rest and handed them out. Boyd simply nodded in thanks.

“Thanks, Stiles,” Jordan said.

Derek took the one Isaac handed to him. “Um, thank you.”

Stiles grinned. “See you around, Captain. Hope the town treats you well.”

Derek reached forward to shake Stiles’ hand and was surprised when he felt a little jolt. Stiles didn’t react. He waved before turning the corner.

Derek’s wolf was still tilting its head in interest.

“That’s Stiles.” Erica already had one end of the treat unwrapped. “He’s a genius and I’m not saying that just because he’s my chocolate enabler.”

“We were all kind-of classmates back in high school,” Isaac explained. “But he only went there a few times a week to get credits. He was already taking classes at the college by then.”

Jordan nodded. “Stiles is pretty playful, but he’s an expert in his field. There’s a reason he’s Chief of IM and a FAITH Liaison.”

“I’ll keep an eye out then,” Derek said.

“Now, come on. I’ll introduce you to Mrs. McCall and all the other nurses,” Jordan said.

TWO.

“You okay, Captain?”

Derek looked up, one eye still swollen shut and forehead stinging. He wasn’t sure he wiped all the blood off, but by the look on the Sheriff’s face, he probably hadn’t.

“I’m good.” He grinned through a split lip. “Didn’t expect a duel to be my introduction to major county crimes though.”

John smiled and patted him on the shoulder. “Yeah, well, if you’re still standing and you can still laugh about it, then you’ll be able to face everything else.” He looked a bit worse for wear himself. His left sleeve had blood on it and he was limping.

Nobody really got off scot-free after this mess. Derek had been doing paperwork when the call for backup came, and he was pretty thankful Erica, Isaac, and Boyd had already timed out and didn’t have to deal with this. Derek had experience under his belt. Those three were good, but still too new to get involved in a high-stakes duel.

“Dad!”

“Stiles.” John’s shoulder sagged immediately in relief.

Stiles approached, face serious and steps purposeful. He was wearing his doctor’s coat and purple sneakers. There was a heavy aura in the air around him, contained energy that made Derek’s wolf, tired though it was, twitch.

“I’m good and lucky, son. Nothing serious,” John said when Stiles lunged at him in a hug and checked him down for any serious injuries. After another squeeze, Stiles turned to Derek.

“Hey, Captain,” He paused. “Uh-oh, that doesn’t look good. Kira!”

Derek turned his head, lone eye sighting a petite woman in a similar white coat toting a large medical bag, and behind her was… was that an honest-to-god deer?

He was probably hallucinating.

Stiles knelt in front of him, staring at Derek’s other eye and the cut on his forehead.

“May I?” He waited until Derek grunted a yes. He pressed the tips of his fingers to Derek’s temple and a warm tingle went through him. “K, give me an anti-D and a red leaf.”

“Got it, boss-man,” Kira said, handing over a thumb-sized blue vial and a red leaf. The deer was taller than her and leaned its head on the top of hers, watching Derek with brown eyes.

Stiles stuck the leaf on Derek’s forehead and handed the vial over. “Drink this. It’s an antidote. It’ll stop the swelling and the bleeding.”

The vial was so small, but it felt like cold water flowed down Derek’s throat. He immediately felt pressure in his head ease.

“Thanks,” he sighed in relief.

“We need the leaf to soak up some,” Stiles said, smiling. “Give me five minutes then I can get to that.” He turned to John. He straightened, posture more formal than earlier.

“Sheriff Stilinski.”

John nodded, lip twitching. “Chief Stilinski, thanks for coming. I’ll keep it short.” He waved a hand at the warehouse, the lot of officers, and the suspects held behind a ring of mountain ash. “We got a tipoff a few days ago about a shipment of oxyhexfaro coming into town. We finally got a lead and a warrant to search the place, turns out we walked in on a suppliers’ auction.”

“Lucky and unlucky.” Stiles bit his lip, looking around.

“You’re telling me,” John said. “The initial ops team suffered the brunt of the duel. They managed to call backup before the whole mess escalated. We rounded up most of them, save for two that got away, the head of the operation and his right hand.”

“Aww. Damn,” Stiles muttered.

“We’ve got three officers seriously injured, but your first responders already took them to the hospital. Forensics is here, so aside from staying out of their way, you’re free to check on everyone.”

“Copy, thank you. We’ll coordinate with Danny. We’ll set up a debriefing after.” Stiles nodded. He clasped John’s forearm tight, one last show of affection, before returning to his professional demeanor. “Kira, get a 3-heat pack for the Sheriff’s hip, make him drink a bluebell to avoid infections, and wrap up anything bleeding, especially the arachne’s claws on his back – don’t think I didn’t see that, Sheriff.”

Kira nodded, pulling out a white heat pack. Derek watched in fascination as her fingers sparked and the pack slowly turned green. His wolf awoke and through red eyes, Derek could see the outline of a kitsune behind her form.

“Foxfire,” Kira suddenly said, smiling at him. “I’m a lightning kitsune. Wish we’d met under better conditions, Captain Hale. Welcome to Beacon Hills.” She immediately led the Sheriff to one side.

Derek nodded dazedly.

“Ok, let’s get you checked out, Captain.” Stiles turned back to him. Behind the doctor, the deer Derek had been hallucinating was still looking at him. “You got hit by a pretty nasty he–”

“Deer.”

Stiles paused. “Huh?”

It was probably better to admit it to the doctor. “I’m hallucinating.”

Stiles looked confused. “Hallucinating? That’s not a side effect of–” He noticed Derek’s gaze behind him. “Oh, you mean, that deer?” His face turned bashful. “Sorry, Cap. It’s been a while since I’ve met new people who don’t know her. Sira is a familiar.”

In response, the deer, doe actually, Sira, let out a snort.

Derek was a little stunned. He felt a bit guilty peeking at Stiles’ police file, but Erica had confirmed his suspicion that Stiles wasn’t human. Apparently he was a spark – a spark powerful enough to sense other people’s presence from miles away… and powerful enough to have a familiar.

Familiars were formed by those who had the ability to bind their magic into a corporeal form. They are sentient, though their full range of capabilities and intelligence depended largely on just how powerful their caster was. They served as companions and partners, but powerful casters also created familiars because they had too much magic to contain in their bodies alone.

While Derek was busy parsing that thought out, Stiles was getting to work. He pulled two more vials and replaced the red leaf on his forehead. He placed the other one in a bag.

“The red leaf is a reader, shows us what black magic hit you and keeps a record for both the hospital and FAITH. You got hit with a progressive curse. The first vial was a stabilizing agent, makes sure your system is working fine and stops blood loss, and these two will stop it from spreading and help you purge it. We’ll have to monitor you for either a spike in adrenaline or a fever. Don’t worry though. Everything I’m giving you is werewolf-friendly.”

Stiles spoke slowly, professional but warm and calming. Derek actually felt comforted as he drank down the medicine.

“Got it. Thank you, Chief.”

“Just Stiles is fine.” He grinned. “The rest are easy enough for your werewolf to heal. I’ll have someone load you into the ambulance, okay? And while you wait, Sira will keep you company, Derek.” He winked, making Derek chuckle.

He squeezed Derek’s shoulder and walked off to attend to the other officers. As he said, Sira walked up to Derek. The doe regarded Derek with a steely gaze before settling down close to him, folding her legs delicately under her.

It was bad manners to touch a familiar without permission, so Derek settled for a nod.

“Thank you.”

THREE.

Erica made a face at the body on the examination table. “Oh, god. The smell is nauseating.”

Boyd sighed. “It’s a troll, Erica. That’s kind of a given.”

Erica stuck her tongue out at him. “Boyd, you can be such a bi–”

“Cut the chatter,” Derek interrupted them before the squabbling could begin. “It won’t kill you all to be a bit more professional.”

Erica stuck her tongue out at Boyd, only to make a face when she realized the smell was putrid enough to taste.

“How come you aren’t gagging at the smell, Captain?” Danny, their FAITH forensics expert, asked from the other side of the troll.

“I’ve dealt with trolls back in New York,” Derek said. “You never get used to it, but once you smell it a dozen times, it doesn’t hit you as hard.”

Trolls were definitely quite a sight… and smell. Their skin was a coarse grey, thick as an animal’s hide, and they were tall, with long arms, and large yet agile feet. They have sharp eyes and ears, but close to no sense of smell, which was why they often lived in the oddest places. This one was about seven feet tall, with a hooked nose, and green splotches across his skin.

Isaac turned to Stiles. “And how come you aren’t… why am I even asking you? You probably have a not-smell spell.”

Stiles chuckled, snapping on a pair of gloves. “I don’t. I need to smell it as part of my examination. And hard to believe, but I’ve smelt worse.” From the corner of the room, Sira let out a whinny as if in agreement.

“No, you haven’t.” Erica moved behind Boyd despite their earlier tiff. “Because that is just awful. I’m going to throw up.”

“You’re such a baby,” Stiles said. “You’re lucky I always bring some candy.”

Some of them – Erica and Isaac – perked up. “Candy?”

“Not that kind of candy, though this is actually lemon-flavored.” Stiles motioned to Sira, who had the medical bag strapped to her back. “It’s a candy that dulls the senses for fifteen minutes. The lemon one dulls your sense of smell. It’s all-species friendly, so don’t worry about allergies.”

Isaac and Erica each took one… two. Derek pretended not to see. He and Boyd passed on.

Danny took one too. “This troll’s been stinking up the lab far too long.”

Stiles clapped his hands. “So Danny-boy, give us the lowdown on our unfortunate friend here.”

Danny handed him a file. “Found dead at the basement of a local brewery by the fae owner. Nobody even knew he was living there. We found traces of some kind of booster, but mixed in with everything he’d been taking, including the brew samples, we needed to do a lot of testing on his internal chemistry. Results don’t come in until Tuesday, but we thought you might have a clue what it could be. Save us some time.”

“Sorry to call you on your day off,” Derek added.

Stiles shrugged. “Nah, don’t worry about it. I’m used to it. My days off are never really days off.” He clapped his hands. “Ok then. Let’s see this. We’ll need a–” He paused and looked towards the door. Sira let out a huff.

Derek was immediately on alert, but when he turned around, someone was peeking through the round window on the door.

Stiles waved a hand. Derek smelled the ozone of magic before the partition curtain suddenly slid sideways on its own covering the body, just in time before someone pushed the door open.

In came a… stag.

After a beat, Derek realized it was another familiar mostly because he already knew Sira and the stag’s immense antlers couldn’t have possibly fit through the door or through the hallway if they weren’t magical. Sira let out a bellow, to which the stag responded.

Sitting on the stag’s back were two little boys, probably three or four years old. They were both dark, curly-haired, chubby-cheeked, and completely identical down to their and shirts, pants, and purple sneakers, save for the fact one had blue eyes and the other had brown eyes and dimples.

“Enzo! Levi! Hello, babies!” Erica squealed and ran to them.

“We’re not babies!” the brown-eyed boy whined, but accepted cheek kisses and nuzzles. The blue-eyed boy only poked Erica on the cheek and giggled.

“Hey, I didn’t know the kits were here,” Danny said, waving a hand. “Hey, boys.”

“Hi, Uncle Danny!” again, the brown eyed boy replied. Apparently his twin was the quieter one. “Hi, Uncle ‘Zac! Hi, Uncle Boyd! Hi…” he paused at Derek. “…erm, Mister.”

“That’s Captain Derek,” Stiles said. “You remember the new officer I mentioned?”

Both boys nodded and waved at Derek shyly. Derek waved back.

“Now.” Stiles had his arms crossed over his chest. “Boys, what did I say?”

The brown-eyed boy’s face scrunched up. “But it smelled.”

“That wasn’t my question,” Stiles said. “And instead of getting away from the smell, you decided to go see what it was?”

Both boys grinned widely.

Stiles sighed, but fondness radiated clearly. “Back to the waiting room, please. Sio, I expected you to be the mature one.”

The stag actually looked offended. He huffed.

“Go back please, or else we’re not going to the aquarium.”

“Can I come with them?” Erica immediately asked.

“To the aquarium or to the waiting room?” Stiles teased.

“Erica this is part of your training,” Derek sighed.

Erica whined. “But it smells. I don’t think the candy is working.”

Derek pinched the bridge of his nose. At this rate, they were never going to finish this examination. “Fine. Go on then. But I expect you to be the one to get the results of the lab tests next week and do the report on that.”

“Fiiiine.” Erica waved a hand. She beamed at the boys. “Come on, kittens. Let’s go play and leave your Dada to his spellwork.”

“We’re not kittens, Auntie Erica,” was the last thing they heard before twins, stag, and woman left.

“You do know Erica’s going to bully Isaac to do that for her,” Boyd said.

Isaac protested. “Hey! I’m not going to do it for her!”

Derek ignored them and turned to Stiles, realization coming to him. “They’re your kids?”

It wasn’t as if Derek was actively thinking of asking Stiles out, but they’d seen each other a handful of times around town and in the field… and Derek… well, he had been interested. Stiles was interesting, funny, and incredibly intelligent. He was charismatic, charming, mysterious, and fun. And Derek never saw a ring or heard of a boyfriend or smelled a significant other.

But apparently, Stiles was off limits.

Stiles grinned, proud. “Yep, those two brats are mine.” He glanced at Derek. “Adopted, though.”

…maybe not so off limits then?

“We were on our way to the aquarium, but then you called me so…” Stiles trailed off.

There was a pause and Derek studiously ignored Danny’s smirk, Isaac’s intent gaze, or the fact that Boyd actually looked curious instead of his usual passiveness.

“Anyway, going back… Danny boy, let’s get back to this.” Stiles shook off the awkwardness. “I’d still wait for the results to be sure, but sure you want my opinion on this?”

Danny nodded. “Yes, please. Because we all know your best guess is more often than not an accurate one.”

Stiles nodded and got to work.

Derek watched him, thoughts whirling. He liked children and he had a good opinion of Stiles so far and it seemed, maybe, possibly, Stiles also thought well of him. It seemed Derek just had to adjust his plans a little.

FOUR.

“Living in the big city is fine and it took a while for me to make the decision,” Derek said, watching over the playground. “But my wolf and I have always preferred living somewhere quiet and smaller.”

“Why Beacon Hills, though?” Stiles asked, legs and purple sneakers bobbing up and down as he jiggled his leg. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m glad you picked this place out of everywhere else,” he blushed lightly, which Derek adored, “But I’m surprised you found this off the map.”

“My family went on a road trip once and passed this place,” Derek said. “I always remembered it, and when I was thinking of where to go, this place came to mind. Guess I was drawn here.”

“Beacon Hills has a pretty good energy,” Stiles said. “And we’re pretty all-species friendly, so I’m glad you decided to stay here.” He scratched his nose, awkward and endearing all at the same time. At times like these, Derek saw the man underneath, not just the powerful and intelligent spark.

“So your family,” Stiles mused. “That’s your parents, two sets of grandparents, your six siblings, plus all your parents’ siblings and their families, and all your cousins and so on and so forth. That’s a lot.”

“Hence me moving away,” Derek said, chuckling.

There was a loud shout and they both turned to the playground immediately. It was fine though. Enzo was screeching as Sio chased him around. In comparison, Levi was in the sandbox making a sandcastle as Sira dozed on the grass nearby.

“My immediate family is smaller in comparison,” Stiles said. “Just me, my Dad, and those two kits.”

Stiles had opened up over the past few weeks they’d been seeing each other. Levi and Enzo were found by a fae scout team close to their borders when they were only a month old. The twins were left in a fruit crate with a letter that explained that the babies were ‘payment’ for some life debt the parents owed.

Derek had seen red at that, even his wolf had growled angrily.

The Fae Queen informed FAITH of the matter and an investigation was immediately launched. However the faes could not relinquish the children easily. They would never trade the life of innocent newborns for another, but they took life debts seriously. The parents’ offering, morbid as it was, had already evoked a magical barter. Unless another payment was provided equal to what was owed, not even the Queen could stop the magic from taking the twins’ lives. They had six months.

As a show of faith, the Queen allowed a Fae Friend – a non-fae with ties to the fae people– to guard the twins in the meantime. She chose Stiles, because if the man wasn’t already impressive enough, Stiles happened to be good friends with the Fae Queen – something that definitely boggled Derek’s mind, because how? – Stiles was also approved by FAITH – a doctor, affiliated with the police, lived at a secure neighborhood, and powerful enough to protect the children.

It became even more of a mess when, at three months old, the twins’ orientation manifested.

They weren’t just kids, but kits – twin kitsunes, a rare combination, which was probably why those horrible people taught they would be ‘suitable payment.’

The life debt, realizing how valuable they were, shortened the window to three months.

Stiles said that FAITH, the faes, and him had never found the parents – which Derek knew was a bold-faced lie, even though Stiles’ heartbeat and scent never once wavered – but they managed to find a way to pay the life debt with time to spare.

By the time the twins were five months old, Stiles had applied to be their legal guardian. Two months and an accelerated process later, Stiles had children – Dylan Levi and Tyler Enzo Stilinski.

“Enzo, get down from there!” Stiles called. Enzo was standing on tiptoes on Sio’s back, an arm threaded through the stag’s antlers and the other reaching for a succulent-looking, low-hanging fruit.

“Excuse me,” Stiles said to Derek, and walked off towards his mischievous son.

Derek watched Stiles help Enzo reach the fruit, mounting Sio’s back, and then lifting the toddler up to the tree. Derek stood up and decided to head over to the other Stilinski twin.

“Hello, Levi,” Derek said to the quieter, shyer twin. “Your sand castle looks lovely. May I join you?”

Levi looked up at him through curly locks. He looked unsure and Derek hesitated. He knew he tended to look rough and unfriendly, but he gave the boy a small smile. Levi looked at Sira, who let out a snort. He then turned to Derek and slowly nodded, even handing Derek a toy shovel as he sat down.

They worked side-by-side silently, adding towers to make Levi’s castle bigger. For a child, he had quite good engineering skills. Derek felt Stiles look their way and smelled the sweet dew of fondness. He kept his head down, embarrassed yet pleased.

Enzo’s voice rang out. “How come Levi’s playin’ with Cap’n Hale? I wan’ play too!”

Levi turned to his twin and made a motion with his hands. Enzo let out a whoop and wiggled until Stiles let him down. Enzo started crawling around on hands and knees, looking for whatever it was Levi signed at him.

Derek watched them curiously, but kept on working on the sand castle. He wasn’t quite sure if Levi was mute, but it was obvious that he preferred talking with his hands and face. It wasn’t ASL, because Derek knew that, so he wasn’t quite sure how the twins communicated, though they seemed to understand each other perfectly well, so did Stiles.

Stiles plopped down beside Levi and pressed a kiss atop his curly head. Levi beamed at his Da and waved his hand.

Stiles nodded at whatever that was. “Of course, kid.”

Suddenly, there was a howl and then a loud, distressed cry.

Derek whipped around, a growl of his own already forming.

There was a werewolf stalking out from the tree line.

And he was bloody.

He was stumbling fast on unsteady steps, dripping blood from head to toe, headed right for Enzo seated on the grass. The stranger howled again, making Enzo cry.

“Enzo!” Stiles stumbled to his feet. “Sio, get Enzo!”

Derek was instantly in motion, rushing towards the approaching stranger. Thankfully, Sio was fast, easily approaching the frozen and wide-eyed kit and grabbing him by the collar of his shirt before retreating to safety. Derek cast a passing glance at the kit dangling from the stag’s snout and ran straight for the other werewolf. He pressed the emergency button on the walkie-talkie he kept with him at all times.

“Stiles, go and get help!”

Derek recognized the man, light hair, broad shouldered, and a cleft chin. This was one of the two men that got away during the oxyhexfaro bust months ago – Carson, the righthand man. His business had collapsed following the bust and he had been on the run since. All nearby counties had been on alert, but FAITH certainly didn’t expect him to come back here to Beacon Hills where he had the most chances of being captured.

Derek faced Carson. The wolf seemed to be bleeding from multiple cuts all over his body, one eye was swollen shut, and he didn’t even have all his claws in his hands and feet. His eyes looked crazed and a fine tremor was running through his entire body. A sniff of the air gave Derek the scent of slowly burning flesh, as well as the sharp, underlying stench of drugs.

Derek wasn’t sure which end the wolf was tilting towards; if the wolf had hurt himself in his… Withdrawal? Overdose?

“Carson, my name is Captain Derek Hale of FAITH,” Derek spoke slowly, raising his arms, no claws out, nonthreatening. “Do you require assistance?”

Carson growled and dropped on all fours. Derek hesitated. As far as their information went, Carson couldn’t do a full-alpha shift, but considering the man was drugged, he was unpredictable.

Carson didn’t attack though. He switched between whining and growling, shaking his head from side to side.

“Carson, can you talk? Can you understand me?” Derek tried to get through to him. “If you can understand me, I need you to look at me right now.”

Carson trembled. After a minute, he raised his head at Derek. He looked at Derek with a red eye full of… fear.

“…help …me …”

“Okay, okay.” Derek stepped forward. “Carson, I can–”

The next thing Derek knew, Carson was barreling straight for him.

Instinct took over and Derek let out his wolf’s half-shift. He stepped back just in time to avoid Carson’s claws, but before he could blink, the wolf managed to get a swipe at Derek’s shoulder. Derek roared and swung his arm, managing to graze the man’s face. Carson jumped back, hissing and spitting.

Derek rolled his shoulder. It was a shallow cut, but damn the man was fast and he seemed far stronger than their information on him suggested. If Derek had to guess, the drugs were taking effect.

Before Derek could figure out how to stop him, Carson’s movements suddenly stopped.

Derek looked up and Stiles was there. He had his arms out, a rope of violet magic around one arm leading right for Carson, wrapped around the werewolf’s jaws, around his arms, waist, and legs to hold him back. Stiles tugged and Carson stepped back, roaring but unable to move. Stiles held out his free hand, palm out, and when his fingers curled into a fist, Carson dropped into a ball, the ropes of magic wrapping around him like a cocoon.

Derek stumbled back, taking a deep breath. He glanced at Stiles, who looked back worriedly, looking Derek over for injuries. Derek was relieved this hadn’t led to a full-fledged fight.

“What happened to him?”

“As of now, I’m not sure.” Stiles slowly edged towards the bound wolf. “Possible overdose, but we still don’t know why he’s bleed–”

Stiles paused and Derek let out a shout when Stiles suddenly cried out, falling to his knees, a rope of deep green magic appearing around his neck. Before Derek could help him, Derek felt the sizzle of magic so strong it made his wolf howl.

He remembered now. Two escaped that police bust, Carson and the other one was… Merle, the leader, a warlock.

Derek turned. Merle was behind them. He had long, dark hair and a hooked nose. Similar to Carson, he was almost as bloody, but the difference was that Merle didn’t smell as strongly of drugs and the blood Merle was covered with wasn’t his, but Carson’s.

Merle had his arms out towards Stiles, the tattoos on his arms flashing a deep green. “Give me back my wolf, spark,” he hissed, eyes flashing and hair standing on end. “It’s mine.”

“You used drugs and blood magic on him!” Stiles growled in anger, but the green magic held fast. “He’s a person, you sicko!”

Merle scoffed and made to reply, until his eyes landed on Derek.

“I know you… Captain Hale of FAITH…” he said, voice grating and tilting his head to the side. His face broke into a wide, maniacal grin. “I think… maybe… you’d make a better subject.”

He swung a hand and next thing Derek knew, a similar rope of green was wrapped around his neck. He cried out. He now knew how Stiles felt, because it seemed like he had on a collar of nails.

Merle glanced at Carson who remained crumpled on the ground, eyes glazed, and wheezing with every breath.

“I don’t need that useless thing anymore.” Merle’s eyes flashed, and Stiles screamed as Carson’s eyes rolled to the back of his head and he fell, unmoving.

Stiles stood up, the magic around his neck and Derek’s splintering like glass. He swung a fist in the air, sending something like sharp violet lightning shooting off. Merle was caught in the arm and he screeched something unholy. Stiles swung his other fist, but Merle countered, sending green spikes flying at Stiles. The next thing he and Derek knew, Sio had appeared, acting as a barrier. Merle’s magic shattered as it hit the stag’s skin, not even leaving a mark.

“Sio!” Derek looked back. Sira was standing far away but still in sight, and he could easily pick out two tiny kits on the doe’s back.

Stiles’ face paled in fear. “Sira! Get back!”

Merle followed their line of sight, but before he could see the kits, Derek growled and ran right for him. The warlock noticed him, but before he could attack, Sio seized the opportunity and also charged, antlers pointed right at the man. Stiles waved his arms, trapping Merle’s arms against his sides, making the warlock scream bloody murder.

Derek punched him right on the chest and Sio swung his great head, antlers clipping Merle’s side and sending him sailing to the trees. Merle was crafty though and the man spun a rope, lassoing Derek’s arm and pulling him along. He cackled loudly and sunk green claws into Derek’s arm. Derek was jarred even more by the impact they made against a tree.

“Derek!”

Stiles was suddenly there, physically wresting Merle off of Derek. Before Derek could help, Merle sunk the claws of his other hand into Stiles’ left side.

“Stiles!”

Sio roared and charged.

Derek was an Alpha too, but while it wasn’t a secret, not many people knew he could do a full-alpha wolf shift. Guess now was the time. Derek left his wolf out completely and felt the shift envelop him, skin covered by fur, limbs cracking and lengthening, face morphing.

Between an Alpha wolf, and an angry, overprotective stag, the warlock didn’t stand a chance.

FIVE.

So apparently, Sio and Sira weren’t Stiles’ familiars.

Derek wrapped an arm around Stiles’ shoulders as they leaned back on the porch swing. It had been a few days since the attack and the frenzy had finally died down. Stiles felt it was time to let Derek in on the family secret.

“Remember when you asked me about the deer? And I said Sira was a familiar. I never said she was mine.” Stiles chuckled, leaning against Derek’s chest. “I’m not that powerful, to be honest. My spark’s not bad, but I consider my brains my real superpower.”

He tangled the fingers of one hand with one of Derek’s, playing with them idly. “I don’t know who’s whose. After I adopted the kits, the familiars just appeared and one of them started following me around, probably as protection or to watch over me. People started talking, said my spark must’ve evolved or something when I became a Dad, just rumors and stuff like that. My Dad and I thought it was better than to reveal just how much potential the kits had.”

“Not to mention it’s a good boost for someone’s reputation,” Derek teased, poking Stiles at his ticklish side and sending the doctor flailing about like a fish.

Derek laughed. Stiles pouted, but accepted Derek’s soft kiss. It stretched on for a time, close-mouthed, warm, and sweet in a way Derek had never been with another person. He felt the curve of Stiles’ grin against his and pressed one more chaste kiss before pulling back. Stiles smiled at him, eyes bright and face flushed and Derek had never felt more at peace and in love.

“Everybody decent out there?”

“Dad, you’re embarrassing me,” Stiles whined.

“You do enough of that yourself, dear,” Derek said. Stiles turned to him with a harrumph and lunged, trying to tickle Derek.

John stepped out, only to sigh. “Oh, stop it, you two. We’re back from the store.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “But, er… We picked up something along the way.”

Stiles groaned. “Daaad, did you get the kits the sweet cereal again?” He tugged at Derek’s hand and tangled their fingers easily as they followed John inside. “You know Melissa told us we need to cut… down… Oh my god!”

Gathered in the living room were two, trouble-making kitsunes and what was supposed to be two, but now were three deers. Levi and Enzo were hiding behind Sio and Sira, their stubby kitsune tails fanning out and twitching like they knew they were in trouble. A third deer was curled up beside them. At a glance, Derek saw she was shorter and slimmer than the other two.

“Kits! You made another familiar?” Stiles gaped. “Wha– How– You–”

John sat down on his chair, sighing. “She knocked on the car window, almost gave me a heart attack and almost tilted the pickup over with three darn deers squeezed in at the back.”

Stiles kept gaping at his sons while Derek just grinned.

“Think of how in awe everyone will be that apparently you have three–”

Stiles covered his mouth with a palm and glared lightly at him.

“Sona.”

Derek froze and he felt Stiles did too. John looked intrigued. Derek turned to Levi. Levi was looking right at him, not at his father or grandfather.

Stiles kept digging a pointy elbow at Derek’s side. Derek pinched his hip before crouching down in front of the kit.

“Is that her name, Levi?”

Levi nodded. Despite his silence, his voice wasn’t grating or rough from disuse, but his was softer and quieter than Enzo’s exuberant tone.

“Sona, hello.” Derek waved a hand at the deer, who nodded her head with a soft cry. “Now, you and Enzo and your Da can have one of each.”

Levi and Enzo giggled, sounds so sweet that Derek immediately committed them to memory.

“Sona is ours!” Enzo said.

“So Sio is yours,” Levi added.

Derek felt like the breath was taken out of his lungs. “W-What do you mean?”

Stiles fell to his knees beside Derek. He made a motion with his hands, to which Levi replied with some hand-waving of his own before pointing a finger around.

“Sira for Dada. Sona for me, Zo and Grampa. And Sio for Derek.” He paused, suddenly looking at Derek nervously. “…Right?”

And Derek knew what that meant, the gravity of the question a child was asking – if Derek was here to stay, if he was going to accept this incredibly generous and personal gift, if he cared about them all enough to stay forever…

The other two Stilinskis waited on Derek with bated breath.

Derek reached out and Levi trustfully lifted his arms for Derek to pick him up and cuddle him on his lap.

“That would be perfect.”

Levi smiled, so did Enzo who immediately scrambled up to squeeze himself onto Derek’s lap too. Derek fell back, but Stiles was there, arms wrapping around all three of them and pressing a kiss to Derek’s mouth. His eyes were bright and his smile was almost bursting.

“Well, then. Welcome to the family, Captain.” John grinned, pleased.

Derek pressed a kiss to the kits’ heads and one on Stiles’ cheek.

A spark, twins, and three deers – moving here was the best decision he had ever made in his life.