#and we did that but i twas but a child and felt horrible for bringing up a plant just to kill it

[waytoobsessed]

Everyones always about how plants are so specific about their environments

But i just think… about this one plant we have in our kitchen that cracks me up like…

Bro’s a basil sittin’ in a cold room, in a cup of water (LITERALLY) and goes like a few days where they sip up all the water and idle around until one of us goes “ohp he’s dry again” and then fill it back up…

…Like… he’s been in a cup of water for like 5 months? And he has yet to die and i think its so funny

[headheartbellarke]

EIGHTEEN | Charlie Gillespie

PAIRING(s): Charlie Gillespie x sister’s best friend!fem reader

WARNING(s): mentions of abuse, trauma, fluff

WORDS: 3.9k

SUMMARY: “So kiss me where I lay down

My hands pressed to your cheeks

A long way from the playground

I have loved you since we were 18

Long before we both thought the same thing

To be loved and to be in love

All I can do is say that these arms

Are made for holding you.”

READ ON AO3 

OR READ HERE BELOW

    Charlie smiles, watching the sunlight dance on Y/N’s face, almost like little splashes of golden paint. She hums to whatever song is playing through her earphones, a faint smile teasing the corners of her lips. Her eyes are closed, and Charlie marvels at how peaceful and serene she looks. Her h/c hair surrounds her head like a halo, and he is tempted to reach forward and press a kiss to her temple.

  He doesn’t do that, of course. Instead, he gets up from his couch and joins Y/N on the floor, lying beside her. Her eyelashes flutter at his movement and quaint, kind e/c eyes hold his stare, eyebrows raised in question.

  “I thought you said that you were too mighty for the floor.” She teases, biting her lower lip to hide a smile. Charlie almost melts at that.

  “I never said that. Is everything okay up there?” He points his index finger at her head.

  The young woman of nineteen laughs mockingly. “Why, afraid you’re rubbing off your crazy on me?”

  Charlie rolls his eyes, and shifts closer to her, their arms touching slightly – and even that slight touch makes him feels butterflies in his stomach. It’s not uncommon, of course. Ever since he realized that he is indeed in love with her, anything that she does gives him butterflies. He doesn’t mind, of course – but he hates the fact that he is unable to tell her what effect she has on him. So, he resorts to ignoring or suppressing everything he feels for his little sister’s best friend instead.

  She pulls out an ear pod from her left ear and shoves it into Charlie’s ear. Eastside. She’s had this song on repeat, ever since she came to visit him in Vancouver, where he’s filming for the first season of Julie and The Phantoms.

  “I love this song. Reminds me of my first boyfriend. Remember him?” She says, softly.

  “Aaron. How could I forget? You begged me to cover for you at home so you could hang out with him.” He says, smiling softly at the memory. They were so young, Y/N just fourteen, and him sixteen. He remembers Y/N sitting beside him on the couch while he was watching a movie, all flushed and bothered, eyes continuously flitting to Charlie. He remembers saying, “I know you’re dying to tell me something.”

  She had nodded, looking around the Gillespies’ living room where they were currently seated in, apprehensively. “Promise me you won’t tell anyone.”

  He had jutted out his pinky finger and wrapped it around hers. “Never.”

  “I think I really, really, super-duper like Aaron.”

  “Aaron as in your next-door neighbor?”

  “Yep.”

  Charlie had smirked. “He’s such a dork. I can’t believe that you like him.”

  “Shut up, Char. He’s the sweetest.”

  He chuckled. “His hobby is taking pictures of trees… if that doesn’t scream ‘dork’, then I don’t know what does.”

  She had glared at him while Megan had entered the room, plopping down on the couch beside Charlie. “What’s up?”

  “I’m telling him about Aaron, and he thinks that he’s a dork.”

  Megan shrugged. “What’s wrong with that? He’s really cute. Also, he was asking about you today.”

  “Really?” Y/N’s eyes brightened. Charlie laughed, shaking his head. “You girls are weird. But I approve. He’s a nice kid.”

  “I wasn’t looking for your approval?”

  “Yes, you were.”

  The girls had rolled their eyes at him and he had wrapped his arms around the two.

  Y/N’s voice brings him back to the present. “Simple times.”

  Charlie faces her. “Everyone after him were horrible.”

  She narrows her eyes at the boy beside her. “No, you were just too overprotective.”

  “Nope. They were all horrible.”

  They weren’t. Charlie just hated anyone who showed an interest in Y/N. At first, he thought that it was probably because he had literally watched her grow up. But a couple of months later, when he watched her kiss Levitt from the swim team, he had felt a smoldering rage rise in his stomach, along with his heart clenching. That day, he had realized that maybe there was more to it than watching her grow up. A couple more months later, on his eighteenth birthday, when she had kissed him on his cheek and handed him a present wrapped in shiny, blue paper, he had felt butterflies in his stomach. He also could feel the ghost of her delicate lips against his skin for days after, like the remnants of a fire brushing against his cheek.

  When he unwrapped the present, he found a vintage, hardbound copy of his favorite book, Les Misérables, along with a note, saying: ‘I might’ve read your journal. Only the part about how much you loved hardcovers and the part about how much you hated the fact that no bookstores nearby sold it. Well, I also might’ve read the part about how frustrated you are with microwave timers. I feel you, dude. But, yeah, remember when I said that I was going to visit my sister in Montoc? I lied, LOL. I went to a vintage bookstore in Fredericton. I’m sorry for lying, but ‘twas for a good reason, huh? Hope you like this. Also, you’re my second favorite person, after Meg. Happy 18th, Charles. Love, Y/N.’

  That moment he had realized that he was completely, utterly, truly, madly, deeply in love with his little sister’s best friend.

  It’s been about three years since that, and he still hasn’t told her how he feels.

  Now, Y/N looks at him, and rolls her eyes. “Sheesh.”

  She props herself on her elbow. “When are we going out today?”

  “Jeremy said that he made a reservation at 6. So, we’ll leave half an hour earlier.”

  “Okay. Is Owen going with us?”

  “Yeah. I don’t trust him to drive in Canada.”

  She grins. “He’s cool.”

  “Maybe sometimes.”

  “Savannah and Madi are the coolest, though.”

  “Definitely, yeah.”

  “You never told me that you had a cute roomie, though.”

  “Yeah – wait what?”

  Y/N flashes him a teasing smile and pushes herself upward with the palm of her hands. She brushes off her yoga pants and extends an arm to Charlie who is currently panicking inside.

  “Do you like Owen?”

  “What if I do?”

  Charlie must have looked as horrified as he had felt because she laughs and says, “I’m just messing with you.”

  “Thank god.”

***

  “Finally!” Y/N yells, kicking off her black, leather heels, which land near Charlie’s feet. He laughs, kicking them to the side.

  “You’re so dramatic.”

  “I dare you to wear heels like that for a day. See how you feel.”

  Owen pipes from behind them, closing the door to their apartment. “Oh, I did. My friend Dani made me wear them for a video. It was the most painful day of my life.”

  “See!” Y/N high fives his roommate as Charlie scrunches up his face. “How’d she find heels in your size, dude?”

  He laughs, and extends an arm toward the other two, who hand him their coats, muttering ‘thank you’ individually. He walks inside, yelling, “I’m fucking tired. Going to sleep.”

  “Don’t forget to check the stove!” Charlie yells back, hearing his roommate affirm his request.

  It’s just the two of them standing in the foyer now, and Charlie can’t stop staring at her. She’s wearing this beautiful red dress that compliments her skin perfectly, clinging to her body in all the right places – he had himself gifted her this dress on her nineteenth birthday. (Not really. His mother had picked the dress.)

  She hasn’t noticed him staring, though.

  “Ugh, I can’t wait to get out of this dress.” She walks inside.

  Charlie pauses and purses his lips, trying to stop himself from picturing him doing it. He breathes out raggedly and follows her inside – trying (and failing) to shove that mental picture away.

  Reaching the living room, he falls back onto the couch, which has been his bed for the past few days that Y/N has been here. She had protested, of course. But she already has so much trouble sleeping – she’s had it ever since she was a child.

  Y/N hadn’t had the best childhood. Charlie faintly remembers his mom pulling him and his sister into the kitchen one day when Y/N left their house after spending the whole day there.

  “Mom? What happened to Y/N?” Megan had asked, childlike innocence dripping off her tone.

  Charlie had nodded, saying, “How’d she fall down the stairs? That bruise looked nasty.”

  Their mother had sighed, and Charlie still remembers the pain in her eyes. “Honey. I want you to listen carefully, okay? And not tell anyone. You two think you can do that?”

  They nodded enthusiastically.

  “There are good people in this world – like Y/N. But there are also bad people, people who hurt the good people. And sometimes, sometimes, your parents can also be bad people.”

  “That’s not true!” Megan had protested, their mother smiling.

  “Maybe not for you. I hope so. But Y/N’s parents – they aren’t the best people, okay? They…uh… I’m not going to excuse their actions. They, uh, hurt Y/N.”

  “So, they pushed her down the stairs?” Charlie asked, his eyes widened. He could not understand how the people that loved you the most could do that to you, especially to someone like Y/N. He’s known her his entire life, ever since the Y/L/Ns moved next door when he was still in diapers.

  “I don’t know. Something happened. She was too shaken up to talk about it.”

  “But – but – she’s the best person ever! Why would her mom and dad do that to her?” Megan had protested, eyes welling with tears at the thought of her best friend getting hurt.

  “I don’t know, honey. I wish I did, I really do.” Their mother paused for a long moment. “I want you two to always be nice to her, alright? No matter what happens. Because, right now, she feels alone. I can see it in her eyes – she’s scared, confused, lonely. I know you two love her so much, and I want you guys to make sure that she knows it, okay? Make sure that she never feels lonely, all right? Make sure that she’s always safe and comfortable, as long as she’s with us, you.”

  They had nodded, their hearts welling up with love for their friend.

  After their mother hugged the two of them, Charlie’s twelve-year-old sister had run off to the other room, to call her best friend and tell her just how much she loves her.

  Charlie had lingered in the kitchen, too sad over what he’d just been told.

  “Maman?”

  “Yes, honey?”

  “Can’t we just keep her for ourselves?”

  “If we could, we would. I would like nothing more. But that’s absolutely not legal, mon chéri.”

  “Oh. That’s unfair.”

  His mother had flashed him a sad smile. He had taken both of his hands in his, and said sincerely, “I promise you, maman. I’m always gonna protect her. No matter what.”

  His mother had pressed a kiss into his tousled hair and whispered, “I expect nothing less.”

  It’s been more than seven years since, but Charlie still does everything in his power to make sure that she is always safe and happy.

  “Hey, Char?” Her voice brings him back from his childhood.

  “Yeah?”

  “That couch doesn’t look comfortable.” She shrugged one shoulder.

  “It is! I promise you.” He lied. It definitely wasn’t comfortable. The blinding pain in his neck is proof of that.

  “Don’t lie to me. Come on, sleep in your bed.”

  He shook his head.

  “You’re not gonna sleep on the couch, Y/N. Seriously. You’re right, it’s too uncomfortable.”

  “I wasn’t gonna. We’ll sleep together. That came out wrong. I mean, we can both sleep in the same bed, we’re both adults.”

  Charlie wanted to protest, but the hopeless romantic in him drowned all objections.

  “We’ll put pillows between us, okay? And it’s not like we haven’t slept in the same bed before. Remember my seventeenth? We were so drunk that we thought that the bed was a magnet, and we were screws.” She continued, looking away.

  Charlie smiled up at her, remembering the feeling he had the next morning when he had woken up to find Y/N curled up into him, her head tucked into the crook of his neck. “All right. If it’s okay with you.”

  She nods, walking into his bedroom, with Charlie following close behind. Both them wordlessly change and freshen up in the bathroom, and Charlie falls face first in his bed.

  “Oh. My. God.”

  Y/N laughs, sitting at the corner of his bed. “Knew it.”

  Charlie grins at her, feeling absolutely euphoric, especially with the buzz from all the drinks he’s had tonight still lingering in his head like a tattoo kiss. She slides under the covers, burrowing her face into the soft pillows. “I can’t function anymore. Bye.”

  He laughs softly, squeezing her shoulder, to which she softly smiles. He slides under the cover, resting on his side to face her, or rather a mess of h/c hair and soft, rhythmic breaths. He closes his eyes, switching off the light, but he knows that he will not be getting much sleep tonight, especially with the fuzzy citrus scent of her perfume everywhere and the heat from her body consuming him.

***

  It’s 1:20 AM and Charlie can’t sleep. Turns out that being in the same bed with the girl he’s been in love with since he was eighteen is a very, very bad idea. He’s put as much space between them as possible, yet he still feels vigilant and hot. His mind is betraying him: all he can think about is how beautiful she looks when the moonlight streaming through his window is casting shadows on her face, or how she’s sometimes saying things (really, really weird things, though – Charlie doesn’t understand anything), how much she looks like a little cat while she’s snuggled into the covers, or how she flails her arms while she’s asleep.

  He considers crashing in Owen’s room for the night. But as soon as Y/N starts moving around, still sleeping, he holds that thought and watches her instead.

  He can see her getting agitated, as she tosses and turns. She continues murmuring something, but it’s still all jumbled, and it hits Charlie.

  He props himself on his elbow and leans close to her face. “Y/N. Hey. Come back to me. Y/N. Honey. You’re safe. You’re safe.”

  She gasps, as consciousness floods in her system. She looks confused for a second, and Charlie sits up, right beside her. “Listen to me. You’re safe. I’m here. It’s okay. You’re okay. Everything is okay.”

  She exhales, eyes closing for a second.

  “Are you okay?” Charlie asks when her breathing has turned cadenced.

  Her eyes widen and lips part. “I’m so sorry.”

  “You don’t ever need to apologize for that. Are you okay?”

  “Yeah. Yeah. I just – ever since I left home, I’ve been getting these nightmares.” She says, softly. Charlie lays next to her, turning to face her, while she mirrors his actions.

  “What do you see?” He asks.

  “Mostly my childhood. You know, my dad pushing me down the stairs. Or my mother telling me that I’m a horrible person and no one will ever love me, and she should have aborted me. Or my dad breaking the mirror the one time I got a B in math. Or my parents fighting. Or – you know, just a montage of my parents’ greatest hits.”

  She breathes out shakily.

  “Getting away didn’t stop the nightmares, huh?” He asks, resting a hand on her warm cheek.

  She scoots closer. “No. They still text me sometimes, mostly to remind me that I’m a terrible person and that I’m gonna go to hell for walking out on them and not going to Harvard.”

  “Y/N, don’t you dare –”

  “No. I’m happier than I’ve ever been. Walking out was the best decision that I’ve ever made.”

  He smiles softly at her.

  “You and Megan… god, you two saved my life. I would never have had the courage to get this far if it wasn’t for you guys.”

  “No, honey. It was all you. You’re the strongest person we know.”

  “Shush. Let me compliment you in peace. You guys are the best thing that’s ever happened to me, you know.”

  She smiles, reaching forward to tangle run her hands through Charlie’s hair. They were dangerously close now: Charlie could see the curve of her nose, the lingering red lipstick color on her lips and count the number of eyelashes she has.

  “You’re the best thing that’s happened to us, too.”

  Charlie can feel something in the space between them, something pulling them close. It is cold outside, but here, in the cocoon they’ve created, he feels warm and at home.

  “Like, thank you so much for pushing me to get into law school. Now, I’m learning how to help millions of little girls who are going through what I went through, and it makes everything worth it. I feel like I don’t say this enough, but Charlie. Thank you for everything.”

  He smiles, trying to retort something funny but her proximity has jumbled his mind.

  “I know you’re really busy with your life, but thanks for still thinking of me sometimes.”

  That breaks Charlie out of his daze. “What?”

  “You know. You’re in a Netflix show, working with Kenny freaking Ortega and all these incredible people – and I’m enormously proud of you, by the way – and… well, you’ll soon not have that much time for your little sister’s best friend, you know?”

  “You’re not just my little sister’s best friend, Y/N.”

  “Yeah, I’m your friend, alright. But soon you’ll be meeting celebrities and models and actors and then you wouldn’t have time for me anymore.”

  Charlie furrows his brows. “Where is this coming from, Y/N?”

  “I just had a lot of time to think today.” She turns on her back, facing the ceiling.

  He hates the fact that she is so unpredictable: he never knows what’s going on in her head or what she is feeling. That’s one of the reasons that he’s kept his feelings for her a secret for almost three years.

  “I saw you with that model today. At the bar. Uh. So, I thought that you’re probably gonna meet a lot of them in LA. Models and Hollywood girls and all that. So, you’ll probably not have any time for me anymore.”

  Charlie shakes his head, recalling the model he was talking to earlier today. Or rather, yesterday. Carol. She was really nice, sweet, and beautiful – and definitely interested in Charlie. But his focus had been on Y/N, who was having a dance off with Owen and Savannah, all evening – or rather, all the time. He had tried to focus on the Carol, he really did – but after an hour, she herself realized that he wasn’t into her and whispered a ‘good luck with her’ to him before leaving to go back to her friends.

  “Y/N, that’s not true –”

  “It’s okay, Charlie. It’s good. Your life shouldn’t be stuck in the same place. It should be getting better, and you should be meeting new people, you know? You’ve been alone for a weirdly long time and it’s freaking your mom out. So, I know you’re gonna fall in love with someone and then you’ll be too busy –”

  “God, Y/N, how are you so fucking oblivious?” Charlie snaps, annoyance coursing through his veins.

  Her eyes widen at his harsh tone of voice, and it shocks Charlie, too. He’s never, ever raised his voice at her.

  “What?”

  Maybe it’s having her so incredibly close that causes him to finally snap. “Y/N, I have been in love with you ever since I was eighteen. You’re the only person that I want, and you’re the reason that I’ve been alone for a weirdly long time.”

  He immediately regrets saying that. Y/N is sitting up, and she is looking around everywhere, trying to avert Charlie’s eyes. He hides his face behind his hands, sinking deeper into the covers and trying to create a hole and fall down to the center of the earth.

  “I think you’ve had too much to drink today.”

  He groans into his hands, glad that he’s under the covers and the girl can’t see his absolutely scarlet face. “Oh, for god’s sake. Dude. I wrote you an entire ballad when I was nineteen because I realized that this is exactly what’s gonna happen – that I’m always gonna be in love with you, and you’re always gonna think of me as your best friend’s older brother.”

  He feels the covers shift above his head, and is greeted with Y/N’s face, a vulnerable look in her eyes. “Do you really mean it?”

  “Of course, I do. You’re my family – do you really think that I’m gonna joke about something like this and ruin our friendship? The only reason I’m even telling you this is because I’m incredibly frustrated that you’re so oblivious and you’re so fucking pretty. And so close. See, this is exactly why I wanted to sleep on the couch. Because I knew that I would lose it.”

  There’s a sudden flurry of movement and her lips are on his’, and they’re kissing, kissing, kissing. Charlie is too shocked to do anything at first but as soon as the warmth courses through his system and the butterflies go wild in his gut, he pulls her closer, rising up. She sits in his lap, straddling him, their hands getting lost in each other’s hairs – both of them trying to be closer, closer, closer to make up for all the lost years and to keep feeling the contentment that they feel from just being close to each other. She tastes like Charlie’s mint toothpaste and his dreams – like everything he’s ever wanted.

  As they separate for air, Y/N rests her forehead on his. “I thought you knew.”

  “What?” He’s surprised to find his voice hoarse.

  “That I’m in love with you.”

  He can’t stop the grin on his face from escaping. “What?”

  “I thought Meg told you. Or your mum. Or anyone really. Everyone’s called me out on it. I’ve always had a crush on you but dating all those guys in high school made me realize that I was kind of, you know, in love with you.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Same reason as you. You’re my family, Charlie. I didn’t wanna lose what we have just because of… you know.”

  Y/N slides off his lap and lies on the bed, next to him and he mirrors her actions, and she rests her head on his chest, the frantic beating in his chest her background music. He drapes an arm around her shoulders, desperate to have her close.

  “We’re both cowards, eh?”

  She giggles.

  “Wait. Meg knew?”

  “Of course. She’s my best friend.”

  “You know, one day I got drunk and told her that ‘I’m 100% attracted to your best friend sexually and emotionally and everythingally.’ I kept wondering why she was laughing.”

  “I hate her.” She buries her face in Charlie’s chest, giggling.

  Charlie laughs and pulls her in for another kiss, desperate to hold her again, to feel the high he only feels around her. She smiles against his lips, before a thought occurs to him. “Wait. You were jealous of the bar girl, weren’t you?”

  “Shut up, you dork.”

  They’re only half aware of the snowstorm raging outside from the warm cocoon they’ve created in each other’s arms. Maybe miracles really do exist.

***

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[magnoliasinbloom]

The Midwife - II

AO3 :: Previously

TW: miscarriage / abortion

XII

Morag lay on a cot, in a room she shared with other kitchen workers. Her face was waxy and white, lips almost blue. There was a basin on the floor next to her, where she had been sick. That was not the most alarming thing, however; she was covered in blood from the waist down. For the first time in my time as a midwife, I felt faintly nauseated myself.

The other kitchen girls huddled together, and I recognized one of them, Iona, who had helped me along with Morag in cleaning the surgery when I had first arrived. They were all pale and wide-eyed, frightened at what they saw. I asked them to light as many candles as they could. I leaned over Morag, wiping at the cold sweat on her forehead. Her eyes fluttered open, and she regarded me with pain.

“Mistress, I am sorry… I lied.”

“Do not worry about that, love. Do you feel pain in your stomach, or lower?”

“Did it come out of me?”

Mon Dieu. I rolled up the sleeves of my shift and peeled back the stained sheet and Morag’s own night rail. There was a dark mass nestled between her legs, in a puddle of blood. Chills ran up and down my spine. She had made an angel.

I reached for a linen towel, a single tear sliding down my cheek. I could only imagine Morag’s desperation, like so many other women who are left alone, with child, and no one to turn to for help. I wrapped the remains in a bundle; small discernible limbs, tiny fingers and toes, eyes closed. She must have been a few months along.

The girls gasped at the bloody towel in my hands, and Mrs. Fitz, who had trailed in behind me into the girls’ quarters, cried out. Only Iona, lips drawn in a tight line, looked unsurprised. I gathered she had known about it, perhaps even helped Morag.

“She tried to slip a bairn?” Mrs. Fitz whispered.

“She was successful,” I replied grimly. “I need someone to bury the body, under a tree.” Iona stepped forward wordlessly, holding out her hands. I gave her the bundle with a nod; the other girls shrank back from  her as she walked past. I turned to Morag, to try and save her life.

I packed wads of rough cotton between her legs, to stem the flow of blood. There was too much of it, and that was very serious. It reminded me of Émilie. Morag only blinked slowly and stared at the ceiling, until she doubled up in excruciating pain and vomited into the basin. Swallowing past the bile in my own throat, I lifted the basin to see its contents by the light of my candle—there were traces of red in it. The movement also caused a rush of blood to gush between her legs again, maroon in the dim light. This time, it would not be staunched. I massaged the spot on her body where her womb would be, trying to get it to contract. Something seemed to have torn inside her, and the blood seemed to pour out of Morag, along with her life.

I heard Mrs. Fitz and the girls weeping, their sobs and wails reminders of my futile attempts to save Morag. I wiped a hand across my forehead, frustration and rage welling up inside me. There was nothing left to do, save ease her passing. I found laudanum in the supplies that had been brought from my surgery. I held Morag’s head in my lap, and coaxed her to drink straight from the bottle until it was drained. There was a bluish tinge to her lips, and the tips of her fingers. It looked like she’d been poisoned.

“This dying… it hurts me, mistress… I’d have it over…” Morag’s voice was faint and wistful, already drifting away.

“Dinna fash,” I said to her softly, like Jamie would, smiling through my tears. “Tell me about your home. You’ll be there soon.” I stroked Morag’s hair while she whispered haltingly of Skye, the crags and valleys and the sea that called to her as she left this world. I only realized much later in the deafening silence that followed that Morag was already gone, peaceful at last.

I eased her head off my lap, and left a weeping Mrs. Fitz and the girls to prepare Morag’s body for funeral rites. The priest, Father Bain, would be called, and hopefully would ask no questions about how the girl had died. The women alone would know the truth, complicit. They would change Morag’s clothes and the linens, leaving behind no trace of what had occurred.

Outside, I found Iona kneeling by a large alder tree. She was crying silently, the kind of raging storm fueled by pure sorrow. I laid a hand on her shoulder. “She’s gone. I helped her… sleep. In the end.” Iona’s crying settled into sniffs and hiccups and I joined her on the ground. “I need to know what she did. Was it an instrument? Or something she drank? Either one, it hurt her badly; it is what made her bleed out.”

“I told her to go to ye!” Iona cried, fist pounding the freshly turned soil. “When she first missed her courses. It was a boy with the Campbell clan, from the Gathering. And ye seemed so sympathetic, and Mrs. Fitz had said ye came from Paris. We’d heard what the lads and lasses are like there… ‘twas likely ye knew how to slip a bairn.”

“I do,” I said cautiously. “We called it angel-making, at the place where I apprenticed. There are ways—safer ways—of doing it. But Morag… it did not have to be that way.”

Iona shook her head. “There wasna much choice. The lad wouldna assume responsibility for her. He left, and it was all Morag could do…” she trailed off, tears slipping down her face, for her friend.

* * *

“What was it then?” Jamie pressed gently, holding my hand in his.

“I do not know, exactly. Iona said it came in a bottle. That it smelled horrible, and tasted something awful, according to Morag. It could be any sort of mixture.”

“I’m sorry, Sassenach. Sorry it happened, sorry ye feel ye couldna help more.” He scooped me into his arms, rocking me back and forth while I wept.

“She was told it would bring on pains, like her courses, only stronger. And the babe would slip, and none the wiser. But it made her so ill.” I wiped at my nose, clutching at Jamie’s shirt tightly.

“Where did she get this brew?”

“Maisri.” I thought back to Iona, pulling a cork-stoppered clay flask from her apron pocket.

“From the ban-sidh in the woods. She makes such things from time to time. To help.” She handed me the bottle, and I uncorked it and sniffed it. It was foul. I thought I detected coriander seed, and perhaps mugwort. I dipped my finger inside, and it was coated with a dark sticky substance. Around the neck of it a bit of red cloth was tied. It looked familiar. Goosebumps prickled on my arms.

“Iona, does Maisri make ill-wishes too?”

“Aye, she would.” Iona looked frightened.

“Do you know where her cabin is?”

[secretobsessionstuff]

Riley and Madix go on a date, but Riley finds his meal really isn’t agreeing with him, and is giving him horrible indigestion. He doesn’t tell Madix anything until they get home, and Madix tries rubbing his stomach. Riley keeps getting up to go to the bathroom, because his intestines are not happy. It’s nearly midnight and he’s so uncomfortable that he doesn’t even realize his aching stomach has developed into nausea. Neither of the boys expect it when a burp turns into a mouthful of vomit. 😈

Twas such a good request I had to write it right away! 

Both plates were nearly clean by the time Riley felt the first twinge of pain. He set his fork down and hoped that a burp would come and relieve the pressure in his stomach. It didn’t, and the mild discomfort quickly turned into an ache that he couldn’t ignore.

Across from him, Madix had successful scrapped off every last piece of food from his plate. He leaned back in the booth and sighed. Riley did the same, seeing his chance when his boyfriend wouldn’t question his deep exhale. Although, Riley suspected that he was sighing for a slightly different reason.

Madix rested his hands on his middle and looked sleepily at Riley. “Do you want dessert?”

Riley really didn’t. Something about those last few bites had made Riley wish he could take back the whole meal. He was certainly full, but this felt different. He wasn’t the warm and sleepy type of full, it was the Oh-that-doesn’t-feel-great type of full. He declined the offer to split a slice of pie and suggested they go home before Madix ordered the entire dessert menu. That boy often had eyes bigger than his stomach but that night it seemed he was perfectly fine, unlike Riley.

Despite having driven to the restaurant, Riley hopped into the passenger seat, using fatigue as his excuse. It wasn’t a lie; he really was quite tired but that’s not why he didn’t want to drive. He didn’t think he’d be able to focus with his stomach aching the way it was.

Dinner had left a horrible aftertaste in Riley’s mouth that no amount of gum could fix. He shut his eyes and leaned his head against the window in hopes of falling asleep. He would let his unconscious self deal with the difficult of digesting his meal, instead of suffering through the process that wasn’t going very well so far.

Riley managed to zone out for a bit but never actually fell asleep. He hadn’t even realized that Madix had parked the car in the driveway, until he felt his boyfriend shake him awake. Madix unbuckled his seat belt and helped him out of the car.

Riley felt like a child as Madix held his hand all the way into the house. His hand was cool and comforting so it didn’t bother him too much that Madix was being extra touchy that night.

A hand on his cheek made Riley really open his eyes. He was sitting on his bed, looking into Madix’s eyes. He grabbed Madix’s wrist and held it to his chest.

“You okay, love?”

Riley shrugged.

“You got real quiet since leaving the restaurant,” Madix spoke in a hushed voice. He tossed a shirt onto Riley lap and sat back next to his boyfriend.

Riley played with the soft fabric between his fingers. It was his favourite cotton v-neck that had seen more of the bed sheets than the laundry. Just feeling the cozy navy fabric was making him want to doze off, but then a sharp pang in his belly made him double over.

His stomach let out a loud gurgle while his body was hunched forward.

Madix was taken aback by the sudden change. Before his boyfriend was sluggish and cute, now he was alert with what seemed to be pain. He heard the sloshing and churning coming from Riley, and cooed softly.

“Oh honey, was that your stomach?”

Riley nodded. “That meal really isn’t agreeing with me.”

“I’m sorry. What can I do?”

Riley looked down and continued to play with the hem of his shirt. “Can you rub my stomach?”

The side of Madix’s mouth turned up slightly. “Of course. Put your PJs on first.”

Once both boys had changed into something comfier than their date clothes, they found themselves on the bed, Madix as the big spoon and Riley as the little. It was often this way.

Riley relaxed into the familiar spot. He liked feeling Madix’s chest move in and out against his back. Though he was at rest, his stomach was far from it.

Using his fingertips, Madix made his hand dance lightly across his boyfriend’s bloated abdomen. He could feel the boy’s stomach churn around his heavy meal. The organ continued to make upset sounds.

After one long and low gurgle, Riley curled up tighter. He moaned and excused himself to go to the washroom. Once he was no longer nestled against Madix, he shivered from the lack of the warmth and the ache in his gut.

Riley sat miserably on the toilet for some time. With his head in his hands, he hadn’t even realized how long he’d been in the bathroom until Madix knocked on the door.

“You doin okay, love?” came Madix’s voice from the other side of the door.

Riley nodded then remembered that Madix couldn’t see him. “I guess.” He finished up and flushed away the mess that had upset his intestines.

The room was darker when Riley came back. The curtains were closed, and the light was off. He crawled into bed, hoping to find Madix there with him. His boyfriend was in fact waiting for him, and immediately put his arms back around Riley’s body.

Madix resumed his gentle massaging of Riley’s stomach, easing up on the pressure whenever he felt his belly bubble beneath his own hand.

“I feel really gross, Madix,” Riley mumbled.

“I know.” Madix kissed the back of his boyfriend’s neck. “Sleep. I’ll rub your belly.”

And so, Riley tried to fall asleep. He was warm and safe, though in pain. He shivered against Madix’s chest, who in turn hugged Riley closer to his body. Riley tried to match his breathing with his boyfriend’s steady breaths until they both feel asleep. 

When Riley awoke, he no longer felt the soothing circles being rubbed onto his stomach. Madix’s arm was still draped over his body, but it had gone limp. He wasn’t sure how long, if at all, he had slept for, though he did not feel rested. His stomach was still upset and felt just as full.

The mattress moved as Riley shifted around. Madix make a low sound in his throat then lifted himself up on his elbows.

“Feeling alright?” he asked groggily.

“No.” Riley sat up and leaned against the headboard. His face was overly hot, and his jaw felt heavy. It was nausea, he realized. A cold shot ran down his spine, just as a burp started building in his chest.

The bedside light was suddenly turned on by Madix. He was repeating a question, but Riley had no clue what he was saying.

Riley swallowed thickly before a wet belch erupted from his mouth. A rush of acid and something warm hit the back of his throat, soon coating his tongue in sick. He parted his lips and vomited a mouthful of barely digested food onto the bed sheets.

Madix’s drooping eyes quickly shot open. His hand instantly went to Riley’s shoulder and he gripped the boy firmly, keeping him upright as another surge of puke fell past his lips. “Oh honey, I’ve got you. You’re okay.”

Riley’s shoulder rolled forward as he heaved up his dinner. He spotted chunks of chicken and speckles of green, causing him to bring up more vomit. He choked up a few more mouthfuls of foul-tasting liquid before slumping into Madix’s arms.

“There we go, Ry.” Madix said as he pushed back the damp hair that stuck to Riley’s sweaty forehead. “You’re gonna start feeling better now.”

Riley exhaled sharply, choking a small sob out. “I – I didn’t know I was about to –”

“Shh, it doesn’t matter, love.” Madix felt Riley quake in his arms then gag emptily into his chest. 

“…my belly –” Riley gagged again and slapped his hand over his mouth. Pale vomit began seeping between his fingers.

“Okay, let’s get you in front of the toilet.” Madix lead his poor boyfriend down the hall with puke dripping down his arm. He rubbed Riley’s back firmly as he retched over the toilet. “Alright, that’s it. Just get it all out of your system.”

The smell and sound were starting to get to Madix, especially since his own clothes were partially wet vomit, but he continued to rub Riley’s back. He winced every time Riley retched harshly over the toilet, feeling the boy’s misery. He didn’t think about the mess in the bed, or the next few hours he would stay huddled with Riley on the ground. He thought only about the slow circles he traced into his boyfriend’s back.

[bee-kathony]

Four Years | Year Three “March 3rd, 2016″ 

a/n: thank you all for the response to the last chapter! it was very touching to hear so many of your own stories <3 the fraser’s have had a tough go of things, but stick with me! 

Year One | Year Two

January 9th, 2016 | January 24th, 2016

March 3rd, 2016

Jamie’s POV

It’s been thirty-eight days since we went to the hospital and Claire has barely spoken more than a few sentences to me. I see it in her eyes — the hurt, the wall she’s built around herself. When she had the brain tumor, not even on her worst days was she a shell of who she once was.

I laid by her night after night, stroking her back as she fell asleep, bringing her ice to keep her body cool. I’d held her hand when she had her chemotherapy and I’d made sure she had drank enough water that day. No matter what I did now, there was nothing I could do to help my wife.

She was lying in our bed, curled on her side, but I knew she wasn’t asleep. It was only 4pm. About a week ago, her tears had stopped and now she was almost like a zombie — no signs of life.

Jenny, Murtagh, Joe and Geillis had all come over in shifts to help with Fergus. There was still a lot I was learning about taking care of a two year old. When he would cry or refuse to eat, I would sigh and run my fingers through my hair. Claire would have known, she would have figured out what to do. That was the worst of it — she was missing out on Fergus’ first few weeks, nearly months now of him being a part of our family.

The doctors told me not to push her though, to let her rest as much as she needed. Her body had been through something painful and horrible, but I knew it would heal as it had before. It was her mind and soul that I was worried about now.

“Claire,” I said softly and knelt down in front of her, stroking her curls off her forehead. Her eyes met mine, glassy and emotionless. “Do you want a bath? I can draw ye one, Fergus just went down for a nap.”

I waited for her to respond and just when I thought she wouldn’t, I saw the smallest nod from her.

“Stay there, Sassenach. I’ll turn on the water,” I smiled and kissed her cheek. It hurt to see her in so much pain and not know what to do. I missed my wife — I missed her spirit and her fire. I was afraid that she wouldn’t be able to find her way back to me.

Walking into the bathroom, I dimmed the lights and then turned on the water. Claire always had oils and bubbles that she liked so I added a bit of those in too. After lighting the candles around the edge of the bath, I walked back into our room.

“It’s almost ready, come on then,” I stroked her arm and then helped her to sit up. I would have carried her but thankfully she rose on her own and I led her to the bathroom. When she had been her sickest, I had helped bathe her like I was about to now. Even then… she still felt like my Sassenach.

I pulled her shirt off over her head, tossing it in the laundry basket followed by her sweats and panties. Her stomach was almost back to being completely flat as it had been before the pregnancy. Claire’s hands wrapped around it now, her head dipping low and I stepped forward, taking her in my arms.

“Shhh, a nighean,” I rubbed her bare back. “It’s goin’ to be alright, love.”

“How do you know?” She whispered. I’d almost forgotten what her voice sounded like.

Pulling back, I put one hand under her chin, “Ye’ve been through so much, Claire. More than most can bear and I ken that ye’ll get through this as well. Yer heart is hurting and mine is too, but yer strong, ye ken?”

“No,” she said quietly and turned towards the bath. “I’m not strong. I couldn’t even grow a baby inside me properly.”

“Sassenach,” I sighed, walking over to her to help her climb into the bath. “Claire… this isn’t your fault. You have to know that, tell me ye understand that this isna yer fault?”

As she sank down into the water, her eyes stayed focused on the wall in front of her. She clearly wasn’t going to answer my question. I bent down on my knees and scooped water to pour over her head.

“I can bathe myself, Jamie,” she muttered, turning to reach for the shampoo. “You can go do something you like.”

“Mo ghraidh,” I touched her shoulder and she shut her eyes.

“I need to be alone,” she whispered. “Please.”

“Okay, okay,” I stood back up and walked to the bathroom door, pausing as I looked at her curled up in the tub. “Let me know if ye need anythin’.”

++++++

Fergus had been shy at first, always hiding his face in my shoulder, especially when he met new people, but now he was slowly opening up. I was usually the only one he would let hold him, but Jenny had just come over to drop off dinner and he was crawling all over her.

“Fergus, get off yer auntie,” I laughed.

“Non!” He giggled and continued to run a circle around her. Of course, Jenny loved it, having five bairns of her own, she was used to this. I on the other hand was exhausted. Between taking care of him and making sure he was acclimating well to his new environment and keeping an eye on Claire, I had barely slept.

“The lad is verra playful,” Jenny smiled, reaching out and capturing him in her arms. “And the curliest wee hair I’ve ever seen. A lot like yers, Jamie.”

“Aye, he does.”

Jenny started tickling Fergus’ stomach making him burst into a fit of giggles. As I watched my sister and son playing, I felt tears spill down my cheeks and hurried to wipe them away. Jenny was fast though and she knew me very well.

“Here, Fergus, play wi’ the new toy dog I brought ye,” she moved him off her lap and then seeing that he was absorbed with the new toy, came and sat by me. “Are ye okay, Jamie?”

“What? I’m fine,” I gave her my best smile.

“Ye dinna have to be fine, Jamie. I would expect ye no to be actually…” she laid her hand on my back. “Ye lost a child, bràthair, ye’ve earned the right to no keep it together.”

“I have to!” I threw my hands in the air, “Claire isna herself, she’s — she’s gone, Jenny. I fear I’ve lost her.” Her hands came up to my head and pushed it down on her shoulder and then the dam I’d been trying to hold up came crashing down.

“Papa crying?”

“Yer Da is just so happy to see that ye like yer new toy, Fergus,” Jenny said to him and it only made me cry more. Claire should be here, out in the living room as we watched our son play and discover new things.

“I dinna ken what to do, Jenny,” I sniffed and leaned my head up. “I dinna think I can raise a son and try and bring my wife back to life at the same time.”

“That isna yer job to fix her, Jamie.” She raised her hand as I started to open my mouth, “Yes, she is yer wife and ye love her, but she is going through something verra painful. Her body wasna prepared to lose her babe.”

Jenny took a deep breath, looking over a Fergus with a smile on her lips. “I havena told ye this, only because it happened a few years ago and we werena on speaking terms,” she smirked up at me. “Ian and I lost a bairn. Twas only a few weeks along, but it’s no somethin’ ye’ll ever forget. When I lost the bairn, my heart was broken and I didna think I would ever recover, but ye ken that I did, Jamie. Claire will be alright.”

“I’m sorry, Jenny,” I squeezed her hand.

“Time doesna heal all wounds, I’m afraid, but it does help,” she squeezed my hand. “Ian and I went to grief counseling for a few months after it happened, just to manage the pain and hurt we were both feeling. Perhaps it’s something ye should consider,” Jenny smiled and then rose to join Fergus back on the floor.

I leaned back on the couch, wondering how much time Claire would need. Grief counseling was something I’d thought of, only briefly though. My hope was that Claire would come back to me all on her own, but maybe this time she needed more help than I could offer.

“Would ye talk to her, Jenny?”

“I will,” she nodded.

“Thank you.”

With Fergus occupied, I went into the kitchen and started preparing the table for dinner. I put out four placemats with hopes that Claire would join us out here instead of taking it in our room.

When I walked down the hall and into our room, she was sitting on the bed — not laying — with a towel wrapped around her body and hair.

“Did the bath help?”

“I’m sorry I snapped at you,” she smiled weakly and I went to her, kneeling at her feet. “I’m just so tired.”

“I ken, Sassenach. So am I,” I kissed both her hands. “Jenny brought dinner and is stayin’, would ye come out and eat wi’ us?”

“Sure,” she nodded. “I’ll just change.”

“No need,” I winked and saw the smallest hint of a real smile. She had told me I couldn’t wink and laughed every time I tried to. “I like ye just like this.”

“I’m going to change, Jamie,” she cupped my cheek and then rose from the bed.

Throughout dinner, it was mostly Jenny and I keeping up conversation as Claire ate a few bites off her plate. She had grown thinner since we lost Jane and I tried to make her eat, but I wasn’t about to force food down her throat. After Fergus had cleaned his plate, Jenny offered to put him to bed.

“Would ye mind waitin’ on the couch, Claire? I’d like to talk wi’ ye,” she smiled, grunting softly as she picked up Fergus. I was in the kitchen, washing our plates and putting them in the dishwasher, trying to give them space.

Jenny was back ten minutes later and I peered around the corner to see Claire sitting beside her. This had been the longest she’d been out of our room since before the miscarriage. I stood in the kitchen, a cloth in hand, drying the same plate over and over again as I listened to Jenny.

“I told this to Jamie earlier, but I ken he might not have had time to tell ye,” Jenny smiled. “Ian and I lost a bairn a few years back. Nine weeks. I was devastated and I didna know how to move on wi’ my life after it happened.”

“I’m so sorry, Jenny,” Claire said.

“I dinna tell ye this to ask for sympathy or to tell ye that yer pain isna yer own, but I tell ye wi’ the hope that ye can see a way out of the pain. There isna a time limit to when ye’ll feel better, but for me, the only thing that helped was doing small things around the house each day. Slowly, I came back to myself. Ian and I went to counseling for a bit, that was a help as well. But Claire, ye must know that losing a child will stay wi’ ye always and that I’m here for ye. We all are — especially Jamie.”

I didn’t hear Claire’s response so I peered around the corner again to see her head buried in Jenny’s neck, her back moving as if she was crying.

“Find ye somethin’ to occupy yer mind wi’ and ye’ll find ye willna focus on that horrible day sae much,” Jenny said, rubbing her back.

I placed the plate on the counter and walked out into the living room making both of them look up at me.

“Ye know, Sassenach. I was just tellin’ Jenny how I was goin’ to the store soon to pick up some seeds for yer wee garden out back. But I canna remember what ones ye wanted me to get,” I smiled, hopeful that she would take the bait.

Claire wiped her cheeks with her fingers, blinking rapidly. “Um, roses perhaps. I’d like to plant a rose bush and just any other herbs you find.”

“Rose bush it is,” I leaned down, placing a kiss on her head.

“Our mother had a rose bush, ye ken?” Jenny smiled and I saw Claire’s eyes light up a bit at that.

“Twas beautiful and ye’ve seen it, Claire,” I grinned. “The one near the entrance at Lallybroch.”

“Oh that’s right,” Claire said, “I always thought it was so beautiful.”

I mouthed a thank you to Jenny as I walked back into the kitchen to finish up the dishes. I knew Claire had been wanting to work in our garden for months now and maybe this would be the perfect distraction to help her heal.

[allisondraste]

24. “If only you knew what you’d brought upon yourself.” (From the angst Prompts, for any OC and/or ship)

If you only knew what you brought upon yourself, indeed.  Thank you for this prompt, friend!  

Morrigan stood, staring down the dark wood of the door before her.  It was not a conversation she wished to have that awaited her on the other side.  How was she to convince a man who distrusted her in every sense of the word to share her bed?  How was she to persuade the former Templar recruit to take part in a dark ritual?  How could she ask so much of him while his lover, her friend lay awake in the next room?  She was not accustomed to feeling guilty, but tonight was a night of exceptions in more ways than one.

Of course, she had spoken with Lucia first.  She hoped the pragmatic woman would make this proposition for her.  After all, who better for the task than the one whose finger around which he was wrapped? She refused, however, believing that Alistair would do as she bade, no matter how he felt.  She insisted that Morrigan talk to him herself, and his decision would be his own. As frustrating as it was, Morrigan did not have any right to complain considering the circumstances.

Morrigan poised herself with a deep breath before bringing her knuckles to the door, knocking three times.  Rustling and footsteps came from the other side before the door swung open.

“Yeeees?” Alistair grinned like a fool, clearly expecting anyone but Morrigan.  As soon as he saw her, a scowl crossed his face, a frown and furrowed brows where his smile had been. “Oh. It’s you. What do you want?” There was an edge to his voice that was ever present when he spoke to her, an edge she supposed she had earned.  

“I would have a word with you, if you are willing,” Morrigan answered hesitantly.  He must have sensed her unease, as his expression softened in a way she’d never seen directed toward herself.

He squinted suspiciously, but relented; sighing and opening the door completely for her to enter.  She closed the door, allowing her hand to linger on the wood, stomach churning at the thought of facing him. She had not expected for this to be so difficult.  Then again, she had not anticipated that she would care for the Warden with whom she traveled.  Her friendship with Lucia was an unfortunate, yet welcome, complication.

“You’re nervous,” Alistair remarked from behind her, amusement in his voice, “Damn.  It must be serious.”

“Indeed,” she said calmly, attempting to remain unprovoked by his teasing. It was not the time. “I would sit down, were I you.”

“No, I think I’ll stand. Thanks.” He crossed his arms belligerently and she fought the urge to compare him to a child.

“As you wish,” she said through her teeth, “‘Twas only a suggestion.”

Morrigan paused to consider her next words carefully, the silence stretching on uncomfortably as Alistair glared at her prepared to object at any moment.  

“I know what happens when the archdemon dies,” she began, “I know that a Grey Warden must be sacrificed to ensure that the beast is slain.”

“Oh really? And just how did you know that?”

“Flemeth taught me many things.  Some of these things could be invaluable to you in the coming hours if you wish to survive, if you wish for Lucia to survive.”

“Go on,” his voice was wary, but he was still listening, a good sign.

“I happen to know a way out, a very old ritual, that will make it so a Warden need not die.”

“How convenient,” he balked, “Have you known this the whole time?”

“Yes,” she admitted, turning away from him and tracing a dusty bookshelf with her fingertips. “‘Tis why my mother sent me with you, why she saved your lives in the first place.”

“So that you could perform a ritual to spare us out of the goodness of your heart?” Alistair laughed bitterly. “Unlikely.”

“Why is that so hard to believe?” She stopped her movements and held her voice steady despite the hurt mounting inside her.

“I don’t know,” he said sarcastically, with an emphatic shrug, “Maybe because don’t care for anyone but yourself.”

Morrigan turned abruptly, eyes locking with his intently. “I care for her,” she snapped, “‘Tis perhaps the only thing we have in common, you and I.”

“Yes...well…” He deflated, obviously unable to conjure up an argument against that.  “Maybe you should be having this conversation with Lucia, then.”

“I have already spoke with Lucia,” she sighed, “She wishes the decision to be yours.”

“What? Me, deciding things? That’s a horrible idea,” Alistair laughed, “Why would she say that? My opinion on rituals has never mattered before.”

“This ritual,” Morrigan began, pausing to consider her words carefully, “Requires your... participation.”

He squinted.  “My participation in what way, exactly?”

She inhaled deeply, shame creeping at the corners of her consciousness for what she must ask. “It would require that we lay together tonight, so that a child may be conceived, one who bears the Grey Warden taint.”

Alistair’s eyes widened, his lips pressing into a thin line.  Yet, he said nothing, so she continued. “When the archdemon is slain, it’s essence will seek out the child as if it were a beacon.  At such an early stage, the child will be able to absorb that essence without being destroyed, as a Grey Warden would be.”

He blinked several times and shook his head, then sat down on the edge of his bed, raking nervous fingers through his hair.  He sat silently for several moments before speaking.  

“Either you have a twisted sense of humor, or fate does.”  He laughed, clearly in disbelief of it all. “This is why Flemeth sent you, isn’t it? All along this was your plan.”

“Yes.”

“And you expect me to believe that this will work?”

It was Morrigan’s turn to laugh bitterly.  “No. I expect nothing, but I hope you are  willing to take the risk, to spare an unnecessary loss.”

“If I were to consider this,  and I’m not saying that I am… what’s in it for you?”

“Aside from protecting the life of a dear friend and someone important to her?”  Morrigan moved to sit beside him, surprising herself with the uncharacteristic gesture. “I would have a child who bears the soul of an Old God.”

“My child.” He turned to look at her, a pained expression crossing his face.  It was one she’d seen many times, but this was the first time it had ever had ever evoked sympathy. “My creepy demon baby.

“The child would not know you, Alistair.”

“Fine. My creepy demon bastard, then.” Alistair stood and paced about for some time, and then stopped in front of her. “And what did Lucia say about all this?”

“She said nothing,” Morrigan said with a sigh, “She did not wish to influence your decision.”

“Of course she’d try to be objective about something like this,” he muttered, more to himself than to her. “I don’t understand how either of you think that this is even fair to ask of me.”

“‘Tis not fair. Few things in this world are.” She stood and moved to stand in front of him, meeting his conflicted gaze with her own.  

Alistair began to shake his head, hesitantly at first and then with more decisiveness.  “No,” he said, “I can’t.”

“Don’t be a fool,” she scolded, her patience with the man waning, “You would die, or have Lucia die when a solution stands before you?”

“Let’s say I agreed to this and slept with you tonight.  The ritual could work, and both Lucia and myself could live, but what then?” He pinched the bridge of his nose.  “I don’t know if I’d be able to look at her again without being reminded of what I did.”

Morrigan opened her mouth to contradict him, but thought better of it.  It was not as if it would help her argument.

“What if it doesn’t work? What if one of us has to die anyway, or what if one of us dies before we make it to the archdemon?” His voice cracked with emotion. “Then, I would have spent what could be our last night together, having sex with another woman. I can’t do it.  I won’t.”

“It will work.  I swear to you, it will,” she pleaded with him.

“I’ve never trusted you.”  His voice was grave as he looked toward the ground. “Why do you think I would start now, when there’s so much at stake?”

“If you only knew what you brought upon yourself, upon her,” Morrigan hissed, no longer caring to bite her tongue, “You would risk Lucia’s life over what? Your honor?”

“I don’t intend to let Lucia die,” Alistair said calmly, unprovoked, “If Riordan fails to kill the archdemon the duty falls to me.”

“You think you could stop her from sacrificing herself,” she scoffed, a frustrated laugh escaping her, “Best pray to your Maker that you reach that dragon before she does.”

“Get. Out.” His words were sharp as blades and pointed at her.

“Very well,” she relented, resisting the urge to taunt him once more, “Have it your way.  Should you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

Morrigan turned swiftly and exited the room, slamming the door behind her.  She did not pray, however, if she did would have prayed the foolish man would come to his senses.

[theaetherhealerffxiv]

The Mother Crystal’s Forsaken

FFXIV drabbles:

Swath leaned back against the stone - dirty, weary and lost. He had been walking for days and was unsure how he managed to lose his way between Ul’dah and Gridania, but he was.

But he was not alone. “Swath, mine child.” Her voice whispered to him, it was ethereal just barely tangible and something only he heard. “Please sleep. The night grows long and thee is weary.” He sighed sitting heavily down under a tree. Above him the leaves rustled nearly drowning her voice out. “Thank thee... I worry for thine health..”

“Thats because thee is attached to mine existence.” He grumbled, irritated. She had not spoken up in quite a long time, and he had been growing accustom to the silence in his own mind. There was a flutter of laughter. 

“I am also thine god. May I remind thee?” Her voice was gentle, but not without slight exasperation. Swath sometimes forgot that she too could feel every emotion of his - every want and need - that their very souls where barely individuals anymore. There was a quiet sound that came from her, one of true pain and sorrow. “Thee is also a god at this point.. yes. I am sorry..” Her acceptance of his feelings caused him to outwardly sigh. 

“Sophia,” He murmured, “Tell me again how thee became this. Not quite a god... not a primal... a spirit that feeds off of prayers and aether.” 

“That is a god mine child.” She chided but after a moment she conceded and instead of retreating deeper into Swaths form pushed herself outward so that the man could feel her very being tingle on the outskirts of his skin. His body thrummed with aether and power, the crystals that existed within his skin warmed and tangible aether began to roll off of him. He was thankful that no one was around to witness it. “I was chosen by Hydaelyn, I could hear her voice... feel her. I was her mouth piece. A mortal blessed with the Echo and sensitivity to her will...” She paused as if trying to recall - in his mind he could see images of the long lost past flash before him. Scenes of warm sunny days, relaxing in fields of yellow flowers a forgotten lovers touch and the cool touch of the mother crystal herself. “The elders of mine village sought mine power, Hydaelyns blessings. They elevated me to a priestess. Someone with great power... I brought balance to our simple life. We did as Hydaelyn wished, until she stopped speaking to me.”  The visions moved on to ones of pain, surprise and anger. “The elders would not listen. Why would Hydaelyn stop speaking? Why would she stop speaking to us? We had done everything she had asked.”

“She stopped because of a imbalance within the veil and various other realms. Twas that not when the Heroes blessed with her will began to crop up?” Swath murmured his eyes closed as he felt sleep beginning to tug at his mind. 

“Yes mine beloved child. This was when her glorified attention turned away from us. But the elders did not listen; they sought to elevate me further seeking more equilibrium with the mother crystal. Balance that did not exist, balance that could not be achieved. They prayed and prayed to me, not her, to me. It twas wrong, horrible but I could do naught to stop it. Naught to make them see reason. They treated me like a god when I was a mortal. And I could no longer take it.” Her voice petered out, quieting, drifting off as a wave of sadness blasted through Swath and Sophia’s collective consciousness he winced but she taking a metaphysical breath and continued. “I removed mineself, praying to the Mother that she would take me into her bosom that I would have naught more to worry about.” 

“She did not though. Hydaelyn did not give thee peace and forced thee to see the mistakes made and did not call thine spirit home.” Swath continued for her, speaking of the images that flowed between them. 

“And thus they prayed to me still. Truth falling away and the only thing they begun to focus on, what they became obsessed with was balance. Equilibrium. Things that they believed would bring me back to them.” 

“It did bring thee back to them. In a self destructive force.” Swath frowned opening his eyes. He of course was speaking of the Primal Sophia. The primal worshiped by the Mercaydian peoples in the late stages of their empire and the early to mid stages of the Allagan empire. 

“Yes. It was I, but not I. Mine form, mine body but not.. mine will.” She paused and shifted inside of him withdrawing the aether that flowed from his form dampening its light to a dull glow. “A monster created from their needs and not the truth. There was... is no glory in that creature. It does not bless Hydaelyn with its presence. It takes, it controls it does at those who created it sees fit.” Another pause. “As I am, I am not a true god. I am not of the Twelve. But as I am, it would be misinformed to not call me such. I have powers as such, I try to bring balance as Hydaelyn would want... but I am limited.” 

“Yeah, to what I thine host can do.” Swath grumbled. Shuffling down into the side of the tree as the wind picked up.

“Thee is precious and immensely helpful.” She countered obviously frustrated by Swath’s dismissal of his own abilities. “Thine is not a host but a part of me.”

He sighed. “Yet Hydaelyn speaks to neither of us and we have naught for direction.”

“Yes...” Sophia murmured fully withdrawing herself from the outer most parts of Swaths form. “Now please dear Swath sleep. Naught more can be done tonight. Rest.” 

Sighing again but knowing she was correct Swath bundled up his jacket around him and shut his eyes. “Yeah, yeah... Goodnight Sophia.”

“Goodnight mine dear child.”