#anyway the land around their home is nothing but a barely-healing burn scar

[incendiorum-arch]

the land around their cave has been laid waste to several times over. not a single old growth tree still lives. the tall pines only grow greenery at the very tops, the bases of them scorched and blackened. their dead brethren are pale white and soot-marked skeletons. small, young pines grow thick and competitive at their bases. purple flowers flourish in sunlit areas, creating bright carpets of color. most people in the surrounding area know not to venture too far into the young trees, and because of it the area is filled with often-hunted wildlife, despite the fact that a predator lives in the mountain tunnels just above their heads.

[tallstars-rewrite]

Chapter 42

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Jake was a bit nervous leaving Talltail curled in on himself in the Thunderpath tunnel. Talltail luckily didn’t appear significantly burned, but a sharp stone had left a jagged gash in his front leg that may have been singed with embers as well. Jake didn’t know how bad it was. He wasn’t experienced enough with this sort of thing to know, up until then the house cat hadn’t been used to injuries worse than a couple claw scratches. What was it that Talltail had mentioned being good for infection? To stop bleeding? Could Jake possibly apply a clan cat’s gift for healing remedies? Oh why hadn’t he paid closer attention when Talltail talked about his medicine cat friends magic plants?

Lets see, gold-something…? Merry gold was it? What did that look like again? Well, it had to be golden colored, surely. He scanned one side of the surrounding forest, then the other. Ok, there were no golden plants around. Jake had never even bothered learning all the names of plants, they all looked the same, they were just plants for star's sake, how was he meant to tell them apart? 

There were some yellow flowers that grew outside his home, but he didn’t really want the housefolk to see him right now. His paws felt suddenly heavy with a sharp flash of sadness as thoughts of Dusty and Cris flitted across his mind. He shook his head. Nope, not now, now wasn’t the time to wrestle with the heavy weight of that loss. In a small way, despite the predicament he was in with Talltail, he was relieved to have something he could do to take his mind off it. Something other than wandering alone in that far too empty house… It would never feel the same again without Dusty. 

Maybe that’s another sign that this is where I'm meant to be right now...Now if only I could find a more helpful sign to point me in the direction of merry-golds.

Feeling hopelessly lost and overwhelmed by the plants and trees that all looked identical and green and useless, there was no choice but to do what he always did when he didn’t know what path to take. Just follow his gut. ...Not that that had done him much good recently other than get him into trouble, and run straight into a bunch of very rude “ShadowClan” kits with an apparent blood-lust.

But that was just one time, what were the odds of it turning out that badly again? Jake was absolutely not about to let something as small as “having absolutely no idea where he was or what he was doing” stop him from helping a cat that he cared for. So, with that newfound surge of (possibly undeserved) confidence, Jake took a breath and closed his eyes and focused. Which direction felt right? 

...Right...? Yes, ‘right’ seems like a good direction. So, right he went.

 One of his front paws stung horribly where he’d trodden on an ember the night before. He never thought fire would be so painful. No wonder Talltail had feared it so much when Jake first showed him his fireplace. He chased the stinging away from his mind, now was not the time to start fretting over a little pain. He would not think about it, he would only think about golden flowers, and how everything would be ok as soon as he found them. 

A sharp scent hit the roof of his mouth and made his lips curl. It was familiar, though he couldn’t place his paw on what it was exactly. A looming sense of danger flooded through him from nose to tail tip, making his bright ginger fur bristle. He didn’t have time to search through his memory before his question was answered for him. A russet red muzzle poked its way out of the bushes. 

By the stars, you can’t be serious…

It was a fox. A familiar fox at that, like the one he’d pathetically swiped at before running for cover several days before. A fox investigating the remains of a forest fire for unsuspecting prey without cover. It blinked at him curiously with hungry amber-ish eyes. Jake didn’t know any better how to deal with a fox now then he did then. But he was also hyper aware of how close he still was to the tunnel, and how easy cat scent would be to track back. 

It was a stupid thing he was about to do, and he knew that, but louder then his instincts to run up the nearest tree was an overwhelming flare of anger at this predator. There was no way, after everything he’d been through, that something like this could ruin everything now. The fox took another step towards him, it’s eyes alight like a kitten eyeing a helpless baby bird. 

Jake puffed up all his orange fur and screeched at the fox as loud and as fiercely as he could. “Listen here you dung-breathed flea-brained rat-faced bastard, I have had a really bad last couple days and I am not letting you go anyway near that Thunderpath or anywhere near me! You think you're tough? I’m not scared of you! I dare you to come closer!” 

Jake lashed out a paw, yowling and spitting, and the fox looked taken aback at how this very much alone cat was not acting at all as it should. It seemed puzzled as to how it should go about hunting something that it wasn’t chasing. Jake lashed out again and caught it on the tip of the nose. The fox yelped and snapped at Jake, who barely jumped out of the way before raising both his unsheathed paws up, claws flashing in the early morning light. The fox wasn’t really so much taller than him. It snapped again and caught Jake on the shoulder. It tried to shake him and Jake twisted around in its jaws, hoping his skin wouldn’t tear, and bit it hard on the snout just below it’s eye and stuck his claws above its other eye, sinking them in as deep as he could manage. The fox, now facing the prospect of blinding itself, flung Jake to the side. The house cat saw stars as his head cracked against a tree and he landed with a thump in a pile of wet charred leaves, but he was back on his paws and hissing just as fast, driven solely by adrenaline which was thankfully staving off the worst of pain. His instincts warned him well enough to not show any sign that he was hurt. 

“Try it again! You don’t scare me!” he screamed.

 The fox took a step back, perhaps deciding at last that cat prey really wasn’t worth this much trouble. Letting out one last angry yowl, Jake lunged forward and the predator jumped back and loped away into the bushes to search out prey with duller claws. Jake slowly sat back on his haunches and licked the new wound in his shoulder. It was bleeding more than he thought and his head was spinning. He was dizzy and suddenly aware of how much he hurt now that the adrenaline was wearing off. He sat with his head pressed against his forepaws for a while, trying to convince himself to get up again. 

Flowers. Golden flowers. You need to find those flowers. If they aren’t here, maybe in the twoleg gardens? But what if I pick up the wrong ones? There are so many yellow flowers! I’m hopeless!

While crouched on the ground, he thought he heard the sound of a fox's yelp followed by a furious yowl somewhere off in the woods, but he was still dizzy and couldn’t even be sure whether or not he imagined it. If that fox decided to come back, he really would be in trouble. But there was a new scent that warned another animal was nearby again. This scent was distinctly not fox. Jake shot his head up and got to his paws, trying not to sway. What else was going to go wrong today?

It seemed to come from nowhere, a once again familiar and unpleasant muddy taste, similar to a dead rat's fur. The taste that clung to those ShadowClan brutes. He froze in his tracks and whipped around, his greatest fear was realized in the pair of fierce orange eyes narrowed at him from a raised gnarled root. He hadn’t even heard the cat approach, but there she was, hunched with one eye squinted. She was big and stormy gray with long messy fur that could certainly use a good grooming. Deep scars that warned of experience from many past battles were carved into her face and pelt, striking through the tufted murky fur. The way she hunched over and her long, faintly yellowed teeth that stuck out of her mouth at a funny angle made her seem old at first, but looking closer showed there was no out of place silver of age. No, she was much younger than he’d originally thought, but there was an aged look to her hard fire colored eyes that felt wise beyond her apparent years.

 Jake fought the urge to shrink away as she studied him closely. He stood frozen, his fur still standing on end as he tried to think what to do. Taking a peaceful approach hadn’t worked out so well last time he ran into these cats… Try to run? He wasn’t very fast even on a good day, and in his condition, he’d be caught easily. Could he threaten her like he had the fox? There is no way a cat like that is going to be threatened by me! But if she attacked him now, he would attack back if he had to. Nothing would stop him from getting back to Talltail, no matter how battle trained this clan cat was. 

But her fur didn’t bristle with aggression, in fact, she hardly moved at all. She looked like she was sunning herself, unconcerned and blinking calmly at him. When Jake thought he could not handle the tension a second longer, she finally spoke in a steady raspy voice.

“You look lost, kittypet. A puny chewed up wad of fur like you is pretty easy prey for a fox. Or so I would have thought. ‘Looked like you had some kind of death wish, picking a fight like that.” She grinned, showing her long front teeth more clearly. “It won’t be bothering us again by the way, but I suspect you have greater things to worry about.”

Jake eventually let out the breath he was holding. At this point he was more exhausted and exasperated than afraid. “Are you going to try and kill me too?” 

To his immense relief, the molly shook her head, a rumbling purr of laughter escaping her throat. “No, I couldn’t be bothered. But my clanmates may feel different. They are rather tense right now. You didn’t even notice the scent lines, did you?”

He hadn’t, but he’d been rather distracted.

 “I haven’t time for scent lines!” he argued. “And if you’re gonna be nice enough not to kill me, I just need some merry gold I think, and uh….cobweb, I don’t know what that plant looks like though...you wouldn’t happen to know, would you m’am? I’m in a big hurry and I promise I'll get out of your fur as soon as I can.”

“Cobweb isn’t a plant, it’s just spider's web.”

“Oh...literal spider web? I thought it was a weird plant name...Look, I just want to help my friend before anything else happens, you see--”

“Yes, I know. Don’t worry, he hasn’t moved from beneath the Thunderpath.”

Jake felt himself bristle again. How did she know where Talltail was? Who else knew? I shouldn't have left him alone!

“Relax kittypet," she purred, clearly sensing his immediate panic. "I have no war with your companion. Quite the opposite in fact. Running into me was quite good luck on your part.”

“I was just following my gut. I didn’t know where else to go. I know that sounds silly...”

She shrugged. “I do a similar thing sometimes. But when you're a medicine cat, you call it following the signs of StarClan. Mind you, that doesn’t mean it’s always a good idea. But sometimes it works out for the best. The name’s Ratfang by the way.”

“Ratfang? That doesn’t sound like a very nice name,” he said before he thought better of it.

Her thankfully amused purr rattled strangely in her throat. “I have little use for vanity.” Ratfang got up and stretched casually, her frighteningly long hooked claws sinking into the bark of the root she perched on. “Anyway, I have what you need. Trust me, you’ll make a mess of things if you try to do this on your own. Let's get going then, shall we?”

Jake was stunned. “Wait--you… you really want to help me? How did you know what I needed?”

Ratfang stared deeply into his eyes, suddenly looking very serious. “Why, I know everything, kittypet. My StarClan given powers show me clear visions of the future.”

Jake stared at her in wonder. “Wow...really? You can really see the future that clearly?”

Ratfang broke her composure and laughed. “Of course not!  I’m just messing with you. Imagine StarClan making anything clear. If only my job were that easy! I simply scented strange cats around our territory before sunrise and thought I would investigate. I tracked you to the tunnel earlier, saw you both looked a mess, and went to fetch what I figured you’d need. It’s part of the medicine cats code to help injured cats, even if they aren’t from my clan.”

Jake was a little embarrassed that he’d been so keen on protecting Talltail yet he hadn’t noticed some cat had already apparently found their hiding place. However, that also meant if the ShadowClan cat meant to hurt them, she could have easily done so already.

 “Well, I really do appreciate it.” He hastily dipped his head to her. “My name's Jake by the way, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Ratfang bent to pick up a large leaf stuffed with sharp smelling plants that had been folded neatly between her forepaws, then she leaped off the gnarled root and began back down the path from where Jake had come without pausing. Her response was muffled through the bundle she now carried. “Well Jake, I hope meeting you will be a pleasure as well. But we will have to see.”

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[halcyon-writings]

family

requested?: yes (anonymous) //tldr, if alucard had a sibling (the reader, of course) dealing with the loss of family, both living and not

note(s)/warning(s): canonical character death, spoilers babyyyyy, violence and injury, angst it’s rare for anyone in this series to have a good time huh?, also for this being that the reader can literally look however you want, imma say Lisa isn’t white bc I do what I want and it’s my fic :) this is also the most i’ve written in a good while omg, im highkey proud so pls don’t let this flop

Lisa Tepes is dead.

Your mother, is dead.

Killed, burned alive. Gone to ashes.

All because the church had believed she was a witch of sorts. Several thoughts dance in the back of your mind as you gaze upon the pyre. Smoldering from the heat, the flames gone. Your father leaving his message, no, his warning, that he would act in one year.

“A farce that was!” You hear a shout, and you force down the bitter laugh, throat tight and eyes burning. Especially so when you slowly begin to hear continued shouts of agreement, from voices previously silent.

Here your mother was, her final resting place. Burned to ashes for some sick show of power.

And you could do nothing as she was mocked for it.

Your fist clenched at your side, you feel your nails cutting into your skin, but you walk away to return home.

And to say that the castle was no less better was an understatement. Your father was most likely in his quarters.

And when you finally sit down, the weight of your weary finally settling against your soul, do you allow yourself cry. Quiet tears turning to sobs as you muffle your voice with a pillow.

You had failed her. Missing the chance to save your mother, too late to have done anything.

But you pause, noticing the presence at your door, your brothers familiar knocking pattern resounding suddenly through the empty hall.

“Come in,” Your voice is embarrassingly raspy. As you clear your throat, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand. But it wouldn’t hide the redness of your eyes.

Adrian says nothing, and a part of you wishes he did. His larger hand takes yours. A comforting squeeze.

You blink again feeling your eyes burn, and you squeeze his hand back.

“Father is...” He trails off, no doubt thinking of what he could say next.

“What he plans on doing, it’s not justice.”

You stare up at him, But it would be deserving. A bitter corner of your mind supplies.

While Adrian had taken after Mother in his demeanor, much more kinder, more welcoming. You were no doubt like Father. Reserved, distrusting, easily prone to grudges if you were wronged in some way.

But you bite your tongue.

“He gave them a year,” You murmur after some time, “But no doubt he’s ready to calling his armies.”

At this Adrian turns alarmed. the warmth from his hand slips away.

“We must stop him!”

You’re still reeling from the events from earlier today, and a part of you wishes to have no part in his attempt to try and stop your father. But then you remember your mother.

Her kindness, regardless of how she was viewed for being different.

And your warily stand anyway.

If only you had more sense. Your father remains eerily silent as he embraces you both. His hold tighter, and while Adrian seemed convinced, you saw the dark look in his eyes.

The year had passed. You weren’t surprised to hear of the bloodshed.

It was naive to expect otherwise. While reluctantly following your brother, you can only stand, frozen as your blood feels like ice in your veins as your remaining family clashes.

“No.” Your voice is barely a whisper.

They don’t hear you.

Glass shatters.

And foolishly enough, you rush forward.

-

With your brother injured and fleeing, and you yourself were not free from any sort of pain.

Stepping in between the two as they fought ended with a gnarly gash on your shoulder, as you fell to your knees and blood slipping past your fingers. Your father stands in front of you, like a protective pillar as your brother stares in shock, quickly wanting to help you in some way.

And then the fight is over. Your brother is gone too.

The castle is much larger and colder now.

As you’re confined to your room, the wound healing into an angry red, then to a muted and dull scar. For a moment you wished it took longer, your father guilty and you were reminded of times you had been sick when you were younger. While you had not been too keen on the typical children’s books, reading theory on physics and other sciences only seemed fun when he would read to you and you’d ask questions in between passages. (Your voice funny from a stuffy nose led to laughter and a small coughing fit but otherwise it was nice).

But now was not the time to reminisce on the happy childhood.

You know you cannot stay. Ultimately, Adrian had been right. Once you feel as though you can move your arm once again, slowly, you begin pack a small bag. You didn’t want to build up any suspicions, finding some money in your room and whenever you could take a few coins or so from your father that he would not miss.

Extra clothes were folded and put away separately.

And you make your escape on a rainy evening, the uneven droplets helping hide your tracks. But you knew now that your father had brought back Hector and Isaac, new generals to help fight in his war, you had to be weary of the night creatures that would no doubt be sent after you.

Well, you were creative. At times flying in a transformed look, no one would suspect a bat in the dark of night afterall. And it was easier to. find good vantage points that way. But to also avoid any people, you didn’t quite trust yourself to not get into an altercation with a bigot.

You rarely slept longer than necessary, especially not when those dreams were memories or nightmares.

Now that you had learned how to walk, you were a right menace. It was an uphill battle in itself to keep you in one place. You were curious and the world you knew (being your father’s vast castle) was huge. Your childlike curiosity was never let down by your adventures.

You laugh quietly, which sounds like small squeaks as you fly up and hide above the gaudy chandeliers. Your father, giant coat gone, hair tied back and in a plain dress shirt and slacks as he searched for a curious toddler.

Snickers continuing as he paces down the hall. You hop down, landing slowly and feet planting into the ground, knees bent. Before you had down the opposite direction.

The lab usually wasn’t a place you could be allowed in on your own. But having heard that your mother was there, you knew it wouldn’t be a problem! So your little legs carried you along. Until you found the familiar doorway.

Dozens of tubes and mechanisms had you turning your head as you wandered in, your shoes tapping against the marble floor.

“Now what brings you here, sweetling?” The warmth of your mother’s voice has you smiling before you see her. As you run forward and hug her side, clutching her dress in your small fists. “Not causing trouble for your father are you?”

You shake your head grin betraying your word, “Nope! I’m not doing any trouble!”

“And how since when did that happen?” She laughs gently.

“Now.”

Your brother looks up from his own books, waving before returning to work. Your nose crinkles, so much for playing experimenting. But before you can say much, your nearly yelp as you’re brought up into the air by a pair of strong arms.

“I’ve found you, little wanderer.” Your father’s voice carries no heat behind it. Then again, he was always soft hearted for you and your brother. But most of all, your mother.

“I’m not little!” You pout, “I’m big now!”

-

You’re taken away from your reverie at the snap of a twig.

With your lack of sleep, as you had insisted on traveling more, you were less than surprised to have been snuck up on.

“Peace, my friend,” The old man murmurs. You keep your knife in an iron grip in front of you. Who you’re guessing is his son or grandson, has his hands raised the same way, but no weapon to be seen, magic, oh good. Then again, not like you needed a knife when you could make your nails go into claws and the fangs. Don’t forget the fangs.

“I can’t exactly be peaceful when it’s the middle of the night and suddenly figures in blue robes appear out of now where,” You answer dryly. But seeing as how the others behind the main two have not done or said anything noteworthy, nor were their stances make them look like they could really fight, you lower your weapon slightly.

Clearing your throat, “Although, I shouldn’t be swinging my own weapon around either.”

The old man just smiles gently. And you can’t help but be just slightly comforted.

In the end, the speakers stop for the evening. And the Elder, despite looking like a frail old man, is firm in his decision that you stay and “eat properly.” And like a scolded child, you listen. Food and drink all but pushed into your hands as you’re quickly brought into conversation, the previous confrontation all but forgotten.

And then you perk up when he mentions Gresit.

“So... the sleeping soldier,” You begin, slowly chewing on the sweet bread you had been given. “It was true?”

The Elder nods, “My grandchild and a traveller, they had gone to explore it. Well, the traveller had gone to save my grandchild. I will not hide the fact that I was a bit doubtful. But Belmont had proved himself a man of his word. Although, he does need to drink more water.”

You blink, a look of a surprise clear on your face. Belmont...

Fuck. 

“Although I hadn’t expected the legend of the sleeping soldier to be realized so quickly.” 

At your inquisitive look, the Elder begins to explain. Of a holy warrior beneath Gresit, who would come to save it’s people in their most dire of hours. 

“The pair had come up with a man with long hair, like gold.” You couldn’t help but let out the breath you had been holding. So the Belmont didn’t try to kill him. you could breathe a little easier at that fact. 

“Where are they now?” You ask, holding the empty cup in your hands, as you stare down as though waiting for something.

Getting your answer, you stand, adjusting your bag over your shoulders. You wave off the concern in staying, if it had already been several days since the Speakers had left Gresit, then you needed to cover a lot of land to get to your brother. 

That is, until you saw the expression on the Elder’s face grow stern, as though he was scolding a child. With a heavier bag, one that the Elder insisted that you take some more things you could eat along the way, in exchange you give the Elder a small trinket you had been using to hide from the monsters of your father’s army, you finally set off. While your worries were not completely settled, your shoulders felt lighter. Metaphorically of course.

Of course, giving away the object that kept you hidden made it a bit more, difficult, when it came to trying to hide and travel at night. Much less even try to stop and rest. 

It had barely been two days since you had left the speakers, and already, you had run into some trouble, a beastly creature’s claws barely caught on your sleeve, leaving your arm bare as you shuddered from the chill in the air. You can only sigh mournfully, you really liked that coat. But, better your sleeve than say, you actually getting wounded. 

Your nails resemble claws, while your free hand holds the dagger in a steady grip. But being surrounded on all sides, it did not look promising.

Well, you thought mournfully, if you died you could at least see your mother again.

Until you hear the sound of what reminds you of a whistle? And then a sword flying through the air, slicing through the night creatures, giving you a chance to get some distance.

You hear the surprised shout of your name, and look up, to see your brother wide eyed, sword now returned to him, and a man and woman standing at his side.

“Um... hi.”

-

Much to your relief, the night creatures are easily taken care of.

And as you’re finally able to explain your story, you find yourself relaxing into the extra cloak given to you by the Elder.

“You mean you met the Speakers on your journey?!” A woman, petite with short blonde locks, who you learn is named Sypha, asks, and you notice the way her shoulders sag in relief.

You nod, “Yes. They all were safe.” If her shoulders sagged anymore she’d full on be slouching. You leave out the part of leaving a possibly precious trinket with them, not wanting her to think you cursed them or something.

“So you mean to tell me, Dracula, fucking Dracula, had more than one kid? That he actually had a woman not only give him not just one, but two children?” Is incredulously asked next by the scruffy looking man. Trevor, as your brother says.

You only stare in annoyance, sure your father was about to raise an army to annihilate the human populace but he didn’t used to be that way.

Before you can retort with a scathing remark of your own, Sypha elbows him harshly in the side. And you know it hurts from the way he immediately puts a hand where she hit him, eyes widening slightly. Serves him right.

“And what of...” Adrian- no Alucard as he wishes to be called, asks, near hesitant.

“Father?” You ask, arms crossed, “Same old same old. Planning the same amount of destruction here or there.”

As he looks to the snow covered earth, you roll your eyes, “Did you expect anything different?”

It’s quiet, and neither Sypha nor Trevor speak.

“No.”

You all sat around camp quietly for a while after that.

-

Your lungs feel like they’re being constricted. Your throat burns as you struggle to breathe, claws digging into your skin like knives. Before you’re thrown backwards, landing harshly against the wall. Books fall from the book case and your weapon clatters noisily from the ground. 

You take shallow breaths, barely standing before you’re thrown once more. Curse your father’s stature and supernatural strength. You close your eyes, waiting for another attack and at least hoping to brace yourself for it, but it never came.

Instead, your brother stands in front of you, as he and your father remain in a standstill. Sypha and Trevor’s footsteps are rushing towards you three. 

It all continues to move so fast, until he stops noticing the painting of your mother, as she had been holding your brother and then you as a baby, and the next thing you know, your father is staked through the heart. And with wobbly legs, you take your sword, and swing. So falls Dracula. But it felt like no victory. 

You sit up with an alarmed look, stopping yourself from shouting.

That was... a dream? You rub your eyes, feeling that your cheeks are wet and you sigh. 

When you see a shadow looming over you, the light of the fire giving slight visibility, you freeze. Before noticing it’s your brother and not his companions. 

“Sorry,” You say, making sure to not look at him, so that he didn’t see your tears. 

Quietly, he places his coat over your shoulders, sitting beside you, wrapping his own blanket loosely around his own shoulders. “You have nothing to apologize for.” 

You only grip the jacket lapels tighter, shaking slightly as you hiccup, unable to stop yourself from crying again. 

He must think it’s because you miss your mother, and you do. But this dream was far different. And you say nothing as he brings you into his arms. Your tears having long since dried when the sun rises moments later. But you find yourself falling asleep as your brother rubs soothing circles on your back, feeling the build up exhaustion finally leaving you. 

When you’re awake much later in the day you can’t help but laugh a little when Sypha scolds your brother for being mean enough to make you cry, he didn’t you assure her quick enough, although you’re back to laughing when she then turns around to scold Belmont when he makes another slight comment. 

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

Humans are Space Orcs, “Reunited.”

Just tying up some loose ends, also see the post I made right before this about a stupid story that happened to me while writing this. It is kind of funny :) 

The day was hot, very hot, and the sun beat down on fort harmony with merciless intent. Over the tarmac, the sweltering heat caused little mirrages, as puddles of water to appear and then vanish down the runway. 

The heat was oppressive enough that no birds sang, and even the roaring of the engines had been dulled by a day that none of the en were willing to venture out of the air cooled airplane hangers.

Only one figure remained outside staring up at the blue sky and the oppressive sun beaming down upon her.

Waffles limped over the hot pavement, the tarmac burning the delicate pads of her feet, but if she stopped walking it would only hurt even more.

Her tail drooped towards the ground,

It was so hot.

She made it across the tarmac and down to the little shaded area where someone had set up a discarded cardboard box and a bowl of water.

Her feet continued to ache, and she licked at them with her long, pink, tongue though that only brought momentary relief from the burns.

Across the tarmac two men watched her form the open hanger door. It wasn’t that they hadn’t tried to get her to come inside, they had, it was just that she wouldn't, and no amount of cajoling or bribing her had worked. THey felt bad of course, but there was nothing much else they could do.

One of the men felt bad enough to brave the heat and bring over a bag of ice which he pressed onto her paws for a time before having to return to his work.

Waffles laid her head down and closed her eyes ears drooping.

So hot 

Overhead an engine sounded. It was a familiar noise by now,and only one of her eyes cracked open to watch the shuttle descend from the sky and come to land on the scouring earth. She closed her eyes again, listening to the distant sounds as the shuttle doors open, and human voices swelled up around her.

It was then that she was hit with the smell.

IThe heat washed over her face and straight up into her nose with a smell she had been waiting for for months now. 

She shot to her feet ears up nose lifted.

Her tail began to wag 

And despite the heat of the burning tarmac, she raced across the open space yipping and barking and whining for all she was worth

***

Adam stepped out of the shuttle into a sheer wall of heat. It was like being punched in the face by the sun. The borrowed flight suit he now wore was immediately sweltering and he fanned himself with one hand already beginning to pant.

Behind him Sunny and the other stepped down onto the tarmac.

Sunny Immediately yelped and sprung back into the shuttle

Adam couldn’t help but laugh, but that was when a high pitched whining noise reached his ears. A whining barking, yipping noise that immediately had him turning towards the sound eyes wide.

It started out as a small shape barely distinguishable from the sand and grass to the side of the tarmac, and then, as it raced towards him it coalesced into a furry bullet.

“Watffles!” He shouted, taking a few steps down from the ramp as she raced up, and leaped into the air.

He caught her mid arc staggering back a few steps as she attacked his face was the kind of love that could only be bestowed by man's best friend. She whined and whimpered and her tail wagged and her body wriggled so hard he had a tough time holding onto her. 

“Hey pretty girl!”

Wavvles whimpered and barked some more licking his face and the side of his head repeatedly to the point where his hair was damp.

He laughed and held her to his chest, her tail thudding against his side and back.

She didn’t seem very inclined to get down, and the Tarmac was so hot he worried about her paws burning. So instead he held her like a large baby in his arms, and once she was finally done licking his face, she rested her head against his neck and chest nuzzling every now and against at his chin just to remind him she was there.

Not that he could forget an 80 lb German Shepherd.

Behind him the others were laughing and awing.

Ramirez had videoed the whole thing, and continued to video as they made their way across the tarmac and too one of the hangers. Waffles didn’t seem to have any intention of getting down.

Finally they stepped into the hanger, and reluctantly he set her back on the floor, though she insisted on sitting on his feet every time he came to a stop.

Across the room there was a clamouring of voices, and A group of at least five people came charging across the room.

His family hugged him so hard, he thought he was going to crack a rib, and he laughed right along with them as they stammered out nar incoherent sentences.

Eventually his mother pulled back wiping her eyes on hand resting on his cheek the other on his shoulder, “Boy, you need a shave.”

He smiled, “Yeah, can't say there are many razors in a wormhole.”

“I knew it, I knew it. Our baby brother is invincible.” David announced, slapping him on the back so hard he nearly stumbled forward.

Waffles looked up at him her tial thudding against the floor, her tongue lolling form her mouth

“Where were you!”

“Not sure if I am allowed to say just yet, but i'll tell you when I know what I am allowed to say. Let's just start by saying that it wasn’t pleasant, but it’s a great story, ad it involves  miraculous escape planned and executed by yours truly in a fantastic manor.”

HIs mother sighed, “At least you came back wit hall your body parts in tact this time.”

She turned her head to look down and smiled, “Dr. Krill we are so glad you made it back too. We were devastated to hear that you had gone missing as well.”

The doctors saved a polite hand, “No matter.”

She gave him a very light hug anyway, careful to avoid crushing him or something, which he seemed to enjoy despite himself.

Thomas crossed his arms, “Hey, is anyone gonna thank me for bringing him back in one piece?”

Martha sighed and grabbed him up in a hug, “Thank you for bringing yourself home in one piece.” She pulled back, “ How was the war.”

HE grinned, “It was awesome, we mounted a revolution.”

She shook her head, “I can’t take you anywhere because you're either discovering extraterrestrial life or overthrowing corrupt governments.”

Thomas grinned, “Plus I think this has finally made me realize what I want to do with my life.”

Adam smiled as he watched his brother, this was arguably the happiest he had ever seen thomas: who was known for his sullen nature and moodiness. Life hadn’t been easy on him, and he had jumped and bounced from one thing to another in between relapses.

“Oh, and what is that?”

He motioned back to where the rest of the group was standing, “Well I was talking to Ramirez and Maverick and I…. I think joining the marines would be good for me.” He got a slap on the back from their father, who seemed more than pleased with the idea.

Martha assigned, “Of course I should  have seen that coming.” She smile, “I am proud of you. Just try not to overthrown anymore empires while you’re at it.”

He grinned, “No promises.

Adam got hugged a few more times after that seeing as no one was really willing to believe that he was alive.

Even the men he didn’t know from around base stopped by to shake his hand and tell him how glad they were that he was back.

The UNSC sorely missed him.

At some point Krill insisted on doctoring him, and dragged him back into the medical bay where he did all he docterly things, blood pressure temperature pulse. Sunny stood in the corner with both sets of arms crossed over her chest.

He might have asked her to wait in the hall, but he had a feeling that that request wouldn’t go down so well, so he let it go.

Krill examined the three large gashes on his chest and where they had healed over into large, livid puckered red scars.

“Hmm, I could probably fix this. WIth a consultation from a plastic surgeon.” He muttered 

Adam waved him off, ‘It’s alright Krill, I think they look kind of badass, sort of a tarzan king of the jungle sort of vibe.”

Krill glowered at him, “Well one of these days you are just going to have to pick ONE vibe, because space cyborg pirate Tarzan is getting to be a bit of a mouthful.”

Adam laughed.

Sunny harumphed glowering angrily at the new scars.

Krill turned to look down at the ones on his upper forearms, which hadn’t scarred up yet, but where still in the process of being scabbed over, “And what are these.”

“Er…. I had to get the attention of the keepers, and that was the only way to do it without them heightening security on me.”

Sunny’s fists clenched even further.

Krill flipped over his hand, which was still raw and red, “Let me guess”

Adam shrugged sheepishly, “Well you know how it is.”

He turned his head to look at Sunny and quickly looked away as her stare bored a hole in his forehead.

At the end of the medical bay, the door slid open and a soldier stepped inside hurrying over to offer him a set of ACUs and a pair of boots, “These should fit sir, the brass will be here in half and hour, and will meet with you in the war room… I… mean the conference room !A.” He turned on his heels and walked out, big boots clomping on the tile as he went.

Adam changed quickly and managed to hunt down a razor in enough time to get a quick shave in before meeting with his superiors. He didn’t understand why other men wanted a beard so much, it was really nothing to be happy about, and it made his face itch. Felt so much better when the thing was finally gone and he was free.

Sunny was a little miffed when she had to wait out in the hall as he and waffles stepped into the conference room, which he could immediately see why they called the warm room. It was less like a conference room and more like mission control. The room was large, lined on all sides with massive monitors which cast pale blue light down onto the large, elongated table with its holographic touch screen.

As soon as he walked in an entire room of officers stood from their seats.

“Commander!”

“Its good to see you, son.”

“We thought you were dead.”

“Earth is going to be happy to hear you’re alive.” He smiled and greeted the others with a firm handshake despite how tired he was, “It takes more than a wormhole to take a human out.” He said taking the seat offered to him near the head of the table.

Admiral Kelly had broken from her usual serious demeanor into a smile, “We are glad to have you back, Commandr. A lot has happened since you left.”

“Can I get a quick summary?”

“Well we learned that the balck hole, or I suppose wormhole now that we know, was created in part by the burg working with the voiceless kree. The voiceless have long been in conflict with the voiced and allied with the burg to turn our ire against the voiced. However, they pose no significant threat without burg technology and so we focused mostly on the burg. Your ship was of course, in pieces, but nearly all you crew survived as they were picked up by other ships in the near vicinity. You were pronounced MIA as was Dr. Krill. ONly three on your ship didn’t make it, and one of our ships was permanently crippled with over 50 casualties and 100 additional injuries.”

HE grimaced, but held back on the guilt for a moment.

“After that battle, the GA came to council, and war was declared on the burg. We sent in the GA armada and over 1000 shock troopers on to the face of the planet. While there a small team comprised mostly of your old crew discovered that the burg king was being imprisoned in a cavern below the throne room and allied with him to replace the queen with a successor.”

He had heard that part of the story , but it didn’t cease to amaze him.”

“Beyond that it was actually quite simple.”

“And my ship?”

“We will get to that in a moment, commander, but now its your turn.”

He nodded and sighed hand to his head, “Where to begin. Of course you know I initiated the shatter protocol when it seemed there was no possible escape for my crew. I stayed behind to initiate assuming, like you, it was a black hole. However, when I didn’t die and was shot out to some unknown location, it appeared as if it was a wormhole instead. I managed to crashland the command deck on the planet below, which was habitable. It was an alien world, but seemed rather…. Jurassic…. In nature. I managed to salvage the emergency kits from under one of the crew seats and survived for a week or two on the beach well fed and warm, however,while I was out in an attempt to boost a radio signal, I ran into some sort of alien creature which attacked me. The wounds I received were pretty bad, but I managed to kill it. I was losing blood fast and probably wouldnt have survived if the Omnidroids-”

“Wait, I’m sorry, the WHAT!”

“Sorry, sir, The omnidroids are what I nicknamed them because they look like something form an old movie. Think large ball with five big stumpy legs and a tiny head on toop.”

They nodded and he continued.

“Anyway, I ran into a group of them, and they helped with my sounds. I couldn’t understand them, and I am pretty sure their speech is in a much lower register because it was like listening to whales talk. Anyway, they brought me aboard one of their ships, and kept me there for a day or two. When we landed I was let out into an enclosure of some sort, turned out to be some kind of alien zoo.”

They stared at him.

He stared back.

“Your kidding?”

“No time for joking, commander.”

He shook his head, “I am not joking. I am serious, the enclosure that I was in had perfect temperature plenty of water and lots of food, but I could see other alien creatures outside the window and above me, just looking at me. Drones came in every now and again to feed me or clean the pen.”

They staired in silent awe.

“Anyway, from there I concluded it was likely they didn’t know I was sentient, so I determined that escape was possible if I let them think that. I started trying to figure out if I was being watched, and their response time if i was. Once tht was done I picked an appropriate time to escape, and used the iron eye armor I still had one from meeting with the Kree and pried open the bars before setting all of the other creatures loose. I found Dr. Krill on my way out, and we hijacked a shuttle.”

“How did you know how to get back?”

He shook his head, “I didn’t. But that was when the space dragon showed up.”

They stared at him again.

He held up his hands, “ I swear I am not making any of this up. That is exactly what happened It created some sort of wormhole and I ended up in the middle of a burg battle in space.”

“So there is an entire alien society separate from the one we already have.”

“It seems so?”

“And the shuttle?”

“It was handed over to GA scientists for examination and potentially reverse engineering.”

They nodded.

He waited for them to say anything else before.

“So…. my crew is safe but my ship?”

They shook their heads, “Is gone,” THey held up a hand to cut him off, “However it was actually a  stroke of good fortune as we have been building new ships for the fleet over the past few years, and one of them was close to completion. So, using the scraps leftover from your ship we were able to finish the job.” They leaned forward, “Commander, despite any issues we have had with your commanding in the past, we have determined that to judge you by the standards of the old military was a faux pax on our part. Space is new, and requires something from men that it hasn’t required before.”

He waited to see where this was going.

“The new armada will be nearly five times the size of the old. The captains as they are now will be promoted to fleet commanders and will be over their own unit of ships. The ship that the harbinger was recycled to make, is twice as big as your old ship with room for over 1000 crew members. It has the latest in alien and human technology and is the most advanced space vessel humanity has ever seen.”

It was an important reminder at this point not to pee himself out of excitement, so he kept his face stony, though he wanted nothing more than to jump around like a little girl squealing.

“However, since the captains would be promoted to fleet commander, that means that you will have to be promoted against as well.”

He paused.

“I… but I haven't been commander for all that long.”

“The UNSC fleet is growing at a rapid rate, and to keep up with it, we are going to have to adapt rapidly as well.”

“So, commander, do you accept?”

He paused and looked down at his hands, “I’m not moving to a desk job, sir.”

“No, no you won't. But you will be commanding a larger ship and thousands more people. Do you think you can handle that? He paused again looking down at his hands thoughtfully.

“Yes, I think I can.” 

[memes-saved-me]

Billy was barely conscious most of the time, the pain medication sending him into deep sleep or making him drift in and out. On a good day Steve would visit and sneak him some junk food and they would sit and talk for an hour or so before he had to request morphine to stop the aches and the pain, which was becoming more excruciating. He thought for a while he would get used to it, that it would fade and he would be out of here in no time. Modern medicine and all that but it had been a month and his body wasn't healing. His lungs couldn't breathe on their own, his skin was burned and blistered, his body rejecting the new organs and for 22 hours of the day he wasn't even awake.

Being asleep didn't mean he was resting. No, he was trapped in never ending and inescapable nightmares that seemed to last forever until the drugs wore off and he was pulled back into the land of the living.

On a bad day, Steve would walk into his room and find him asleep. Nothing but the sound of his death rattle breathing and machines filling the air as he shut the door. He would sit there for as long as he could, hold his hand and try to memorise his face. Every little detail he needed to commit to memory incase....

It was September 3rd when Steve pulled up to the hospital to see Neil's truck parked. A vehicle that instantly instilled fear in him from months of slipping out of windows or hiding under Billy's bed. But, the fact he was here now sent something even worse running through him, something that sent him running towards the bushes to empty his guts onto the soil.

Steve had met, well seen Neil Hargrove once in his life. It was on June 15th, he remembered it exactly because it was the day he witnessed what kind of monster this man really was. So, as he walked down the hall to see him speaking to Billy's doctor, Susan standing close by with a tissue and tears in her eyes he didn't ask. Didn't interact, he walked straight past them and into Billy's room. Which was completely and utterly silent...

No machines or horrific sounding breathing, nothing but the sound of distant conversation and discussion could be heard as Steve approached the bed. He was so still, as if he was just asleep and for a second. A far too optimistic second, Steve convinced himself he had made a recovery and was simply sleeping without the assistance of drugs and machines.

But, he knew for sure when he touched his hand and it was cold, not freezing like they say in books or crime shows. Just cold. The tears began before he had let go, before he walked around to sit at his seat and run his hand over his scarred pale cheek. The pain in his chest tightening as he looked at his calm expression. No pain, no fear or exhaustion. It was all gone and left was a sort of bittersweet peace that washed over Steve suddenly.

That was when he heard running coming from the hall, the distinct sound of trainers on lino flooring and then suddenly Max was standing in the door way. Hair pulled into a quick and messy ponytail, her face showing the realisation that all of this was real. Very real.

Except, she didn't fall to her knees or begin to sob uncontrollably like Steve was as she walked towards the bed slowly. No, she took his hand and stood there watching him. Staring at his closed eyes as if he would open them as he did when Steve dragged his body out of the Mall and handed him over to the paramedics who somehow got a pulse and rushed him here to this building.

The building he had slept in for the week following, refusing to leave until he woke up. Every moment until his eyelashes fluttered open felt like the one when Steve saw him hit the ground, cold and struggling to breathe. Except, this wasn't like that. No. Billy wasn't covered in blood and dirt or gasping for breath, he was just still. Cold and still.

Max didn't speak, not even when the nurse who knew exactly who Steve was came in to tell him that he had simply slipped away during the night. That they had tried to resuscitate him but he was already gone. He wasn't on medication or asleep when it happened either, that he was fully himself that day. That is was a good day.

He nodded and stayed, Max did too. They stayed until he had to be moved and even after that Steve couldn't make himself drive out of the parking lot. It just wasn't fair. None of this was far, the fact Neil found out first, that he wasn't there and that he had him again. Billy was alive and he was safe, he was free of that thing and yet...he was gone.

Steve didn't leave his house until a week two days later when the service was taking place. He stood far away, under a tree until everyone left and he walked up to see the head stone himself.

William Hargrove

That was it.

After that he walked home and sat on the front step until the sky turned dark and the now cooler air sent him inside to the bottom step of the staircase. It wasn't fair, none of this was.

A week later there was a knock at the door and he knew it was Robin. That she was worried and needed him to come back to work. That he needed to come back. She stood there with a hand full of mail which she gave him and told him to call her tonight or she would be back.

He threw the pile of envelopes on the dining table and one fell to the floor, the one that simply read his name is large written letters above the address. The handwriting instantly recognisable. Steve swooped down and gragged it, carefully opened it and pulled out the lined piece of paper.

My Pretty Boy,

Well I never thought I'd be writing you a letter that didn't include a Polaroid of my junk but I don't have a camera and you already have a bunch of those so. But anyway if you're reading this then chances are I'm gone. Which is why I've sent you this.

I know you'll be moping around and feeling sorry for yourself but stop that. I mean it! I'll come back and ruin all your precious vhs tapes if you don't. Me being gone isn't a bad thing Steve. I thought when I looked up at that thing and saw you fighting up on that floor that I would never see you again but then I woke up and you were right there. Then you were always right there.

I got more time to hear that dumb laugh of yours and that is all I needed to get through the pain and the surgeries. But I'm writing this because they didn't work and that's okay. I know it's not long now and so do you really. I see it in your face when you leave or when you read my chart because you're a nosy bastard.

The fact I got to see that face of yours for more than 2 minutes is all I could ever have asked for. And I know I would never say this shit to your face but you saved me Steve and I'm not talking at the Mall. I wouldn't have held on if it wasn't for you and the chance to see you again. Without you that thing would have won and I need you to know that.

But enough of the sappy shit. You better marry some hot chick or bang some good looking guys before you come see me. I'm not having you going all moping widow. I mean give it a month or so for my sake but don't hold onto me like some life line that'll turn up one day and fix everything. It doesn't work like that and I won't have it. None of them will ever be as good as me anyway so you may as well get some while I wait for you wherever I end up.

This would be longer but you're due any minute now because you can't help but be on time. I might be gone but like I said that's okay Steve.

I love you Steve Harrington and I always will. Now go and live your life because I if you don't I will come and kick your ass or I will when you get here. I'm gonna miss you Bambi but if this universe is even the slightest bit fair I'll see you again but it better not be soon.

Billy xxx

And just for good measure in the bottom right corner were two badly drawn stick men having sex. One with curls and the other with a greatly exaggerated quiff.

Steve cried but he couldn't help smile as he read that idiots letter over and over again until he fell asleep with it pressed to his chest. He couldn't help but slip it in his pocket as he left for work two days later because he couldn't have his vhs tapes getting ruined, his parents would kill him.

[fragmentedink-archived]

Hell to Pay: Chapter Fifty-Two

I, II, III, IV, V, VI, VII, VIII, IX, X, XI, XII, XIII, XIV, XV, XVI, IX, IX, XX, XXI, XXII, XXIII, XIV, XV, XVI, XVII, XVIII, XVIIII, XXX, XXXI, XXXII, XXXIII, XXXIV, XXXV, XXXVI, XXXVII, XXXVIII, XXXIX, XL, XLI, XLII, XLIII, XLIV, XLV, XLVI, XLVII, XLVIII, XLIX, XLX, LI

cowritten by @lux-scriptum

A/N: Hey everybody!!! It’s been a hot minute. We’ve been busy lately between work and life and all that fun stuff but here’s a new chapter <3

A/N: So we’re changing a lil bit up, and adding more characters, specifically the gods as we’ve been doing more world building lately. These Gods are also from my own WIP, but have also found their way here!

“I just don’t understand why you need specific wood from a specific place for the crib,” Lev muttered, splashing the water with his foot as he watched Nik paddle around. Nik still wore a large shirt even in the pool, as if Lev and Cameron didn’t know he was pregnant.

"Well, Lev," Nik said. "Not all of us are okay with using hand-me-downs from four hundred years ago. Some of us like new shiny things for new shiny parasites- I say with love- and besides, its native to Tullum. It's home; at least as close to home as I'll likely get."

Lev huffed. “I didn’t mean that you had to get hand-me-downs, if you don’t want to. But I figured asking for wood specific to a region of angel territory when neither of us can go to retrieve it... It’s just a big fuss to make, I guess.” He braced his hands on the side of the pool, leaning forward a bit. “I don’t- Cameron had lots of very pretty options, is all, I guess.”

Nik arched a brow, eyeing him dryly. "And where, exactly, do you think some of those woods come from, Levant?"

Lev hesitated. “I assumed demonic territory?” he finally said, very unsure of the answer now.

Nik splashed Lev with enough force Lev was drenched, spluttering. Before he could think of how to respond, Cameron popped Lev gently on the back of his head. Lev hadn’t even noticed Cameron approach.

As Lev looked up, Cameron simply said, “Come inside. Biela requires your presence. Both of you.”

Lev stood, looking back to Nik, who was hauling himself out of the pool. Since Nik had already soaked him, Lev tucked himself against Nik’s side as they went inside.

Biela was standing in the kitchen. Without looking at them, she simply said, “Take a seat.”

Lev peeled away and settled in a chair, but Nik folded his arms over his stomach, which was beginning to show by that point, and said, "And why should-"

Cameron sliced Nik a look. "Nikolas, sit the fuck down."

At those cold words, Nik promptly sat on the nearest stool without another word.

Lev reached for Nik’s hand. Something told him he would not like whatever Biela had to say. Nik’s fingers tightened around his briefly as they waited for Biela to speak.

Biela fixed her dark gaze on Nik first. “I’m assuming you are keeping the fetus.”

It wasn’t a brief squeeze this time. “Why?” Nik asked sharply.

“Nik,” Lev said softly.

Biela held up a hand in Lev’s direction. “Because I'm also assuming you'd want to know the magic used to bring your boyfriend back from the dead poisoned my lands and is killing countless children. That's why."

Cold washed over Lev, colder than the death that he knew still tugged at his bones. “What?” he blurted, barely a whisper.

"You," Biela said, squarely looking Lev in the eye, "And your cousin and that witch played with forces beyond your control and decided to poison my lands with your greed because you just couldn't leave death well enough alone. I figured since your mate is currently pregnant, that you might want to know what is happening to the infants being born. Much like Nik's infant soon enough."

Lev risked swinging his attention to Cameron, eyes wide. He knew he was digging his nails into Nik’s hand as he searched Cameron’s expression, but for the most part it was unreadable, the usual shrouded calculation flickering in his eyes. Lev looked back to Biela after a moment.

“I didn’t know,” he finally said, voice small.

“Clearly not. You seem to know nothing.”

“I’m sorry,” Lev said, finally shifting his attention to Nik. “I’m sorry.”

The blood had drained from Nik’s face. “You’re lying,” he said, the words a harsh counterpoint to Lev’s whispered apology.

"And why would I lie about such a thing?"

"Because you despise me, and you loathe Lev and want any excuse to put Lev back in the ground."

Biela’s mouth curled in a non-smile. "If I was going to put your precious Lev back where he belonged, I'd do so without needing such a cruel lie. I'd just do it."

Lev tugged on Nik’s hand. “Nik,” he said, a warning in his tone this time. “She’s right.”

Tears of anger welled in Nik's eyes. "This is bullshit. This is absolute bullshit. I just decided to keep the thing. Now you're telling me it'll die anyways?"

Greif coiled alongside the fear and guilt. “You didn’t have to tell us,” Lev said to Biela. “Thank you,” he added, before tugging at Nik again. “We’ll figure it out, Nik. You- you could stay with Nate, couldn’t you?”

Nik's mouth pressed into a thin line. "But this is my home," he said, voice breaking.

Steadily, Biela said, "Not every child has been born dead or scarred. Perhaps your blood will… protect it in some way. Healing it."

Lev pressed his face to Nik’s shoulder. “You should talk to Ash. Or Sazra. Both of them.”

Nik stood abruptly. “I’m going to bed,” he muttered, as if it wasn’t midafternoon. Lev watched him go in silence, his heart aching.

Only once he was gone did Lev look back to Biela. “I’m sorry,” he repeated. “Is there anything I can do?” He meant it, knew she’d read that in his mind, and hoped it meant... something. Though he doubted it did.

Biela leaned against her palms, black hair slipping over her shoulder. "What do you think you can do? You and your cousin offer your pretty apologies while countless are dead like a few well placed 'sorries' will give parents their young once more. I highly doubt putting you back where you belong would solve it, and as I promised your cousin, I wouldn't. You will live with your actions and you will think about how this has affected my kingdom. And you will think about how my mercy has been the only thing keeping you with a home. Not even your own people want you. And now, you're a mass murderer to my people. That is what you can do."

Her words hurt, as they were meant to, he was sure, but he heard no untruth. “I would never assume that an apology would fix anything,” he promised carefully. “I will never forget the cost; I promise. But-” He hesitated. “I know most demons don’t appreciate an angels healing. I have the magic to spare, if it is ever useful. I understand that- it’s not- it’s all I can offer.”

Biela arched a brow. "I'll keep it in mind. If there's something to make you useful, I'll look into it. It's the least you can do."

“It is,” Lev agreed, grief leaking into his tone despite himself. “Thank you,” he added again, before lowering his gaze to the ground. Any more, he thought, and he might say too much.

"And you're not even crying," Biela noted. "An improvement." She straightened, readying to leave. "I'll return for our check up. I expect you to behave in the meantime."

On her way out, Cameron dipped his head in a reverent bow.

Lev waited until her footsteps faded before he looked to Cameron. “What are we going to do?” he asked.

All Cameron said was, "Survive."

-----

After nearly a week of Amara seemingly dodging every appointment Ash tried setting up with her, Ash decidedly went to see Nik so he didn't hunt her down and wring her neck. It seemed like the better alternative.

It was Lev who answered the door. Hesitantly, Lev asked, "Am I allowed to talk to you?"

"Well," Ash said, looking over Lev’s head, "if you weren't, you'd be a little too late now. Where's Nik?"

Lev flushed, cheeks going a blotchy gold. “In bed,” he said, sounding sad. “I’m assuming you heard, then.”

Ash blinked. "Heard what? I just needed to check on him. Did something happen to Nik?" He asked, shouldering his way past Lev. "Is he alright?"

“Oh.” Lev seemed to hesitate. “Fine. Nik is. I think. I mean, he is, but-” His voice got smaller and smaller. “Whatever Cyrus did to bring me back- the magic- infants are dying. Not making it to birth. Biela told us a few days ago. I assumed that’s why you were here. I thought Nik had taken my advice.”

At that Ash halted in place and whirled on him, face leeched white with horror and rage. "Wanna run that by me again?"

Lev flinched away. “The magic poisoned the lands,” he whispered. “The children are dying because I came back."

"I-." Ash inhaled sharply. "I told you. I told every single one of you not to do it. I hope you're fucking happy with yourself," he snapped, jabbing him in the chest. "None of you selfish assholes would listen to me and children are dead for it." Ash whirled back around and stormed his way to Nik's bedroom. "And now I need to make sure another one doesn't die because of everyone's bad choices."

Nik jolted up when Ash burned the door in place to stalk inside. He didn't give Nik a moment to speak before he started doing what he did best. "Have you been keeping everything down? Any fevers or anything beyond the usual normal pregnancy stuff?"

Nik blinked blankly at him. "How the hell am I supposed to know? Because I'm an omega? I-"

"My mistake," Ash said. "I shouldn't have asked you. Lev, has everything been normal with Niks pregnancy so far?"

Lev hovered in the charred doorway. “Other than morning sickness that Cameron and I have been keeping an eye on, everything seems fine. I didn’t think to ask Biela how the- what was happening to the parents. I was- it was a shock.”

"Oh I'm sure," he said, shortly. He turned his full focus back on Nik. "Is there any way I can convince you to come home at least until the baby is born?" When Nik shook his head, Ash sighed. "Right. Well, at least meet me for appointments every few days in Liwen. That way you get exposure outside of Demonic Lands as well as getting a better look in my office?"

Nik sat up on his elbow and watched him warily. “Papi doesn’t want me coming home, Ash.”

Ash rolled his eyes and eyed the bruising still fading from Nik’s neck. “Hm. Well. I don’t think your father is going to get to say much of anything when I hold just as much, if not more power and sway than he does. Besides, you’re not stepping foot anywhere near him, especially when you’re pregnant. I’m sure Nate would have my head. Or at the very least try.”

Nik didn’t so much as crack a smile. “I don’t want to go home.”

Ash sighed loudly. “Alright, fine then.” When Lev tried scooting his way past to Nik, Ash shoved his face away. “Move it, I’m dealing with my patient, Lev.” When Lev huffed Ash looked pointedly at him. “If that’s too much to ask,” he suggested, “then perhaps you can see yourself outside while we talk.”

Lev’s only response was making a face. “I think I’m going to go see what Cameron’s making for dinner.”

When Lev left, Ash turned his sole focus back to Nik who was still looking rather tired. “You gotta let me help,” he said. “We both know I’m the best you’re going to get when it comes to your health.”

“Dunno. Sazra seems to know plenty.”

“Sazra hasn’t seen the light of day in well over a thousand years. That,” he said, “and from what you’ve told me, Sazra also wants to string you up by your balls. Your physiology is different from demons and as great as a healer I’m sure she is, I am your healer and I’m not trusting a demon to take care of you when I’ve known you for the last nineteen years.”

Nik waved him off. “Figure it out, Ash. I don’t want to leave.”

“Because of Lev?” Ash asked, pointedly.

“And if it is?” Nik shot back.

“Then you’re making stupid choices for your baby.”

Nik almost looked like Ash hit him. Ash tried to reel back from that very poor choice of words, but even if he was successful at it, he still didn’t regret them. It was the truth especially when there were millions of infants dead because Ash didn’t stop Amara or Cyrus and now Nik was in the line of fire for his own inactions. “Look,” Ash warned, “if you won’t come back then I’m moving in here and I will make everyone who lives in this house as miserable as physically possible.”

“Like Cameron would let you.“

Ash scoffed. “You think I’m afraid of Wonder Bread Cameron? I get what I want and what I currently want won’t come back with me.”

Nik’s brows shot up at that, but before he could say anything Lev came slinking his way back into the room. “Mami’s actually in charge of dinner tonight so Cameron’s in his office. He looks kinda grumpy.”

“Surprise of surprises, I’m sure,” Ash said. He looked back to Nik. “So what is it, you coming with me voluntarily or am I moving in here against all of your wills?” When Nik stared at him in stony silence, Ash took that as answer enough. He got up from the bed and shouldered his way past Lev.

----

Ash was still being cranky, and Nik was still in bed. Lev wasn’t stupid enough enough to bother Cameron again, and so when he heard Eden waking up from her afternoon nap he decided to go pick her up before she upset the whole house with her fussing.

Even if he was supposed to be limiting how much he picked her up.

After some well placed smacks for not getting to her soon enough, Eden buried her face in his shoulder with a half-awake growl. Lev gave her a little bounce and settled in the rocking chair, toy in hand to offer her when she bothered to lift her head.

Only when several minutes had passed did Eden finish her little sniffle-growls and take the stuffed bear. Within seconds the ear was detached.

Lev sighed as he fished it out of her mouth. Eden took the chance to sink her little teeth into his finger, hard enough to draw blood. Before Lev could pull away, Eden gave a pleased shriek, little nails digging into his hand to keep him there. Despite the surprising amount of strength the toddler had, he managed to get free, in time for Ash to stick his head in the room, eyes glowing enough of a bright green that Lev was quite sure Ash was seeing just fine.

“I just can't seem to leave you alone for five minutes without you nearly getting killed by demons,” Ash grumbled.

Lev shrugged, catching Eden’s little hand before she could smack him again. “Hitting isn’t nice, bitty girl.”

She simply screeched in his face, and then thunked her forehead on his shoulder, giggling.

Lev looked up at Ash. “I’ve been meaning to tell you,” he said as Eden took her bear back and began the gruesome work of beheading it. “Well, I mean- I wasn’t sure how to because I wasn’t sure if we were allowed to talk, and then you needed to check on Nik, and-” He paused, blinking hard. “Rambling. Sorry. I’m trying to work on that. I remembered things, about when I was dead.” He pressed a kiss to Eden’s head to buy himself some time to order his thoughts, and then went on. “I met Nature. During that time I was hesitating. And they talked to me.”

“Oh? And you didn’t bother to tell me this sooner?”

Lev winced. From what he’d gathered from the conversation with Nature, the link between Ash and the god ran deeper than Lev had ever realized. Not that Lev had ever really paid attention to it. He’d never been particularly close to Nature himself; he was starting to regret not trying to forge a connection with the only god the angels had. Maybe his magic would have been easier to access, stronger even, if he had.

“I didn’t remember for a long time,” he finally said to Ash. “But I do now, so I’m telling you.”

It’d been an intense conversation, for sure. He could see a lot of Ash in Nature. Or maybe there was a lot of Nature in Ash. Lev wasn’t too sure how the mechanics of it worked. Nature had all but berated him for dragging his feet. Just from past experience they knew if the spell failed it’d have unimaginable consequences, and Lev now knew just how bad it could have been.

“I promised them I would be the last resurrection,” he told Ash. “And I said if that failed, that I’d help take some of the- the punishment you suffered. It’s not fair for you to be in that much pain on your own.”

“Ya think?” Ash snipped.

Lev took a small breath, and then replied calmly, “I really am sorry, Ash. It was the least I could do, I thought.”

Ash rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Tell me everything you talked about.”

“A lot of it was... kind of scolding. About trying to come back,” Lev admitted. “And telling me there were going to be consequences either way. They laid out exactly what you went through while not stopping us.” Lev cleared his throat. “I- that's when I offered. To help shoulder the pain.” After tucking his cheek against Edens hair, he held up a hand, weaving his shadows through his fingers with ease. “I think that might be why my magic is stronger. I was going to try to- to find more ways to connect with them, but I’ll have to wait until I can go back to angelic territory now, I think.”

“Why? There’s temples here.”

“Oh. I didn’t-” He stopped, frowned. “I don’t know much about demons and the gods-” He sighed this time. “I’m still on house arrest. I’m not allowed to leave until Biela deems me not a security risk.”

Ash lifted a brow. “Aren’t you in a relationship with a demon?”

“We’ve never had a conversation about religion, Ash,” Lev said with an even deeper frown. “I don’t think Cameron’s particularly religious. I guess I could ask him about the demonic gods. All I know is that they’re where demons get their magic, like we do from Nature.”

“They have a name, you know,” Ash said. Lev couldn’t figure out if he sounded irritated or tired. “It’s Asmi.”

Lev flushed. “I- I’m sorry,” he mumbled. He cleared his throat, and said more firmly, “No one really calls them by their name, but I should- I should have asked.”

“Probably,” Ash said drily. “And technically they’re not even the god of nature.”

Lev stood up, bouncing Eden on his hip. “They aren’t?” He asked. “That’s what we were taught in primary school, I’m sorry.”

“Primary school?” Ash said. If Lev didn’t know better, he was teasing him now. Crankily, sure, but still.

Rather than dignify that with an answer, Lev gave up and let a very wiggly Eden down to crawl around the nursery.

“Asmi is the god of balance,” Ash finally said. “They’re tied to the earth. Anything falls out of balance, and we’re all affected. That’s probably where the angels got nature from.”

“Makes sense why the teachers simplified it like that, I suppose,” Lev replied. “If it’s- if it’s not too much trouble, could you teach me more, whenever you get the chance?”

“Sure. Looks like I’m rooming with you for the foreseeable future anyway.”

“Thank you,” Lev said, smiling at Ash. He didn’t get one in return, but considering the amount of pain Ash had gone through in the past several months because of Lev, he didn’t blame Ash. Not one bit.

~~~

There was only so much of Nik’s day being spent in bed Lev could stand before he felt restless himself. Even taking care of Eden couldn’t shake his inherent need to be a busy body. So when it occurred to him that Nik had not yet actually celebrated his pregnancy, he decided it was high time something good be associated with Nik’s pregnancy.

After all, it was tradition.

Lev waited until Eden was down for her nap to corner Cameron and Ash in the kitchen. “I think Nik deserves a baby shower,” he said without preamble. “And I think we should throw him one.”

“Of course you do,” Cameron said, not even looking up from the meat he was searing in a skillet.

Lev looked expectantly at Ash, who just gave a shrug. “Might as well get him out of that foul mood of his.”

“He’s no reason to be happy about what’s going on,” Lev replied reasonably. When Ash narrowed his eyes at Lev, the lack of a glow to his green gaze letting Lev know he wasn’t actually able to see him right now, Lev was quick to add, “So I want to... give him some happier memories about this pregnancy. He’s so miserable right now and all he’s gotten is bad news. A party will cheer him up and maybe give him something to look forward to.”

“Are you suggesting he isn’t looking forward to the several horrendous hours of labor to push that fetus out?” Cameron asked, flicking a look Lev’s way.

Lev blinked. “Well. No, I doubt that. But. The after? Holding the baby? I don’t think he’s thought that far. He’s just stressed and worried.”

“That was sarcasm, Levant,” Ash pointed out.

“Oh.” Lev rubbed his nose. “Um. Well. I do think it’s a good idea.”

“Alright. Fine. I’m sure we can have something set up this weekend.”

“Thank you,” Lev said to Cameron, looking pleased. Up until he realized... “Who can we invite”?”

“Well, that is indeed the question, isn’t it?” Ash mused.

“Can Nate be invited?”

“I sure hope so, Nate practically raised him,” Ash said dryly.

Lev grimaced at him, knowing very well he couldn’t see it. “Yes, but- am I allowed to be there if he is?”

“I think it’ll be fine, especially if Bay is with him.”

After considering that, Lev gave a small nod. “Okay. Can I help plan for it, Cameron?”

“I suppose,” Cameron said.

Lev gave a small hum. “Ocean themed? To match the nursery?”

“Sure,” Cameron said, with the same amount of indifference as before.

This time Lev huffed at Cameron. “I’m going to go see if Mami wants to help,” he said, knowing it was a little petty.

“You do that,” Cameron said.

As Lev... well, even he could admit he was flouncing off a bit, Ash followed. Lev took that as a silent agreement to actually participate in the planning.

---

Darius found himself in Cyrus’ office with a mug of tea in front of him and Cyrus across from him with his own coffee. Even if Darius couldn’t drink the tea, he did appreciate the gesture. It would be nice to be able to drink tea once more.

“Why Cameron?” Cyrus asked, not in an accusatory way, but genuine curiosity.

“Why not Cameron?” Darius asked, splaying his brown fingers along the desk.

Cyrus gave a shrug as he continued to flip through his notes, coffee seemingly forgotten. “He’s not exactly the sort most people seem to be attached to. Outside yourself, Nikolas, and Levant, of course. Most others seem frightened more than anything.”

“I don’t see why,” Darius said. “Cameron’s never been frightening to me.”

“Perhaps it's the amount of people he’s tortured and killed,” Cyrus pointed out mildly. He looked up briefly. “I mean no offense, I simply want to understand.”

Darius thought on that, and he thought on the boy he had known when he was alive. And he thought on the hell that was unleashed upon Cameron once it was found that Darius had died at Cameron’s own hand. And then he said, “Perhaps. Though, I do not judge a person by their occupation. One could say Sorin has killed his own fair share of people, no?”

Cyrus looked over at Sorin, who was curled up as a cat on a pile of papers, orange tail twitching against his white flank as he dozed. “He did,” Cyrus agreed. “And he retired. But you made your point. I see where you’re coming from.” He looked back to Darius. “The war made a monster out of many people. But something tells me the war is not what happened to Cameron.”

“Just a different kind of war,” Darius sighed. He traced along one of his rings. “Have you come up with a solution that would not let Cameron die in the process?” Even if Darius was quite sure Cameron wouldn’t blink at the idea of giving his own life to right this particular wrong- even when the last five hundred years had Cameron’s story of survival written in betrayal and blood.

“I considered just... any life. But- that doesn’t seem a fair trade,” Cyrus sighed, running his own ringed fingers over his face. “I’m not willing to attempt the spell without certainty. The cost of failure is too high, and it’s your only chance.”

“Of course,” Darius said. “I do not take any of this lightly. I am very grateful to you, Cyrus.”

Cyrus gave a small smile, though his face was tired. “Don’t thank me,” he said. “Not until after I guarantee this will work.” He propped his chin in his hand. “It’s starting to look like there’s no way for me to be sure what is an acceptable trade, unless I speak with Nature themself.” Cyrus paused. “Which would be difficult, because I’ve never tried to form any sort of connection with Nature before. I didn’t get the education most witches do from their covens, and I was learning so much about the practical side that it slipped my mind.”

“Well,” Darius said, “I am sure there is no time like the present to get acquainted with your god.” Something Cameron, too, was unable to do. “Asmi seems… sturdy.”

Cyrus hummed. “Sturdy. Concrete. Something like that. I think.” He tapped his cheek. “I have no idea how to go about it, though.”

“I could reach out,” Darius offered. “Seeing as how I’m in the same realm as they are. And there’s less risk to you if I were to approach them first.”

Cyrus considered that. “That would... be very helpful, actually,” he mused. He leaned back in his chair with a sigh. “Though perhaps after I take a nap.”

Tagging:  @incandescent-creativity @solangelo3088 @lil-miss-red @halstudies @littleyellowdinosaur @caelisis @idreamonpaper

[doctorreids]

folklore - spencer reid x reader

CHAPTER TWO - cardigan 

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summary: reader reflects upon her first time with spencer, upon the loss of her father and whether or not she did enough to save their relationship. 

warnings: death/loss of a loved one.

word count: 2,494

“sequinned smile, black lipstick, sensual politics. when you are young they assume you know nothing.”

This case hit the team particularly hard. Child abductions could either end with a happy ending or… This one was not one of those times. She was sure Reid had a statistic but they were all too exhausted to even keep their eyes open on the jet. The air was somber and tense - everyone feeling all too guilty to indulge in any kind of conversation.

By the time the plane had landed, none of them had slept and it was completely dark outside. She knew she needed a drink and a strong one at that. Reid had sat by her the entire flight home, she noticed how he could barely focus on his book in front of him, his shoulders completely tense. The 20,000 words per minute was slashed to 10 minutes. She hated yet understood that they all felt guilty, but there was always a special sadness in her when Reid was upset. He was the one negotiating, all that weight fell on his shoulders and she just wanted to hold him and tell him that everything will be okay.

They all filtered into the office, Reid following sluggishly behind her. This was routine now, having only been at the bureau for just shy of a year, she had learnt how everyone took their coffee or tea, what time they all headed home with Hotch and Reid being the last out of the doors. She’d become accustomed to joining them in burning the late-night oil.

Reid didn’t even spare a glance at the kitchen as he sat down at his desk, a frown etched onto his face. She just wanted him to smile.

Making his coffee was second nature to her now; she knew exactly how much sugar he took depending on how he was feeling. Smiling to herself, she placed his mug on his desk and as he glanced up she walked back to her own desk to start working on the post-case paperwork and other cases she’d been asked to consult on.

She didn’t see it but he smiled. Only slightly but he did.

A few hours passed when she was finishing up her last file when a note was dropped onto her desk as Reid walked past her desk.

'Would you like to get a drink at Dan’s tonight? - S’

Grinning, she packed up all her files into her go-bag, grabbed her coffee cup and jacket meeting him in the kitchen. Silent words were exchanged as they met each other’s eyes, walking in sync towards the elevator.

“Didn’t take you for a Dan’s person, pretty boy.”

He blushed at the nickname, she rarely used it. “I-i just thought you could use a bit of respite is all.”

“We both could.” She giggled, nudging him with her shoulder. “You barely read your book on the way home and you couldn’t concentrate on your files, is everything okay?

She didn’t want to push him into talking to her, he would talk when he felt comfortable. However, his silence after her question and his eyes trained on the pavement made her nervous.

“N-not that you have to tell me! I just worry about you.”

His head snaps up. He meets her eyes with a slight smile.

“All I know is that I’m okay when I’m with you.”

After nursing a few drinks between them, despite both of them knowing they were lightweights, they stumbled out of Dan’s and into a cool January night. Pressed up against a streetlight, she grabbed onto the lapels of his suit jacket.

They’d spent the night talking about the case. How much she saw herself in the kids that were abducted. How he felt as though he had let everyone down. Her heart broke at his vulnerability.

Their noses were so close, she could feel his hot breath fan across her face; the smell of whiskey and wine mixed together. On a cold, winter night, they were each other’s warmth. Taking him in under the dim, amber streetlight she traced his features as if it was the last time she would ever see him, ever hold him, ever be this close to him.

His hair was short yet long, he was growing it out. She liked it either way. She’d have him anyway just as long as he was hers.

His eyes bore into hers, occasionally flickering down to her lips, filled with the same yearning and desperation she felt herself filled with.

His lips. She watched as he swiped his tongue across them. Suddenly she was sixteen again at homecoming waiting for that first perfect kiss.

In his embrace, she felt whole. No feeling of loneliness nor was this just pure lust. That underlying promise of something more made her stomach sink. She tried to figure out what was going on in his head.

“Penny for your thoughts?” She laughed.

They pulled back from a moment, the intimacy of their embrace broken.

“Can I kiss you?”

She nodded.

Their lips connected and winter disappeared. It was sweet, his lips soft against hers. Her hand rested on the nape of his neck, his on her hips pulling her into him. Moving together, they were intoxicated by each other. She could now taste the whiskey on his tongue, each of her senses was consumed with Spencer. Just Spencer. Running her hands through his hair, she doesn’t want to let go.

Their lips parted, the cold breeze cut between them. Giddy smiles graced before their faces as he brushed her hair out of her face. A mutual understanding that they need each other, unspoken they know how much they do. She’d never needed someone as much as she needed him.

She tries to calm her breathing, her heart beating so fast it might burst out of her chest, as they walk wrapped in each other back to his apartment. His hand rests on her hip, rubbing small circles into it as they walk home. She had never seen him as brave as he was tonight.

Yet nervousness surrounded them both. They were so young, they knew so little but so much about the other.

She wanted everything.

“when i felt like an old cardigan under someone’s bed, you put me on and said i was your favourite.”

The note he wrote all that time ago is tattered now and she toys with it. She’s kept all of the notes he’s passed her since her first day at the Bureau. She knew that he would profile her, it’s why he left the notes.

She knew that he understood that she sometimes needed a reason to smile, that he wanted to make her laugh and to make their working days just that little bit easier.

She wonders if he ever kept her responses.

The warmth of his cardigans that she used to wrap around herself when they queued up a new documentary on Netflix or when they watched an episode of Doctor Who together always reminded her of the warmth between them that first night they shared together.

Curling up further in her leather armchair, she tries to recall his touch. Trying to remember how his hands felt as they brushed her inner thighs, on the small of her back, or the place where she needed them most. She can’t remember where he used to hold her but she remembers how it made her feel.

Even on her worst days, the days were the grief, frustration and sadness were all too much, his embrace made her feel as though he was the sun; the centre to her universe and she was a whole galaxy of stars passing through. Old wounds healed and winter turned to spring in his arms.

But even that feeling has started to fade as his eyes no longer look at her as though she lightens up the night sky, now they just look through her.

It’s hard for her to pinpoint the exact moment things went wrong. Maybe they just left their rose-coloured glasses on for too long to avoid the reality that everything was collapsing around them.

The pain she held in heart, all the times she felt used or abandoned, became non-existent in his presence. The pure happiness he brought her she finds hard to describe; he reminded her of hot chocolate on an autumn night, but he also reminded her of the hot sun beating down on your back as you lie on the beach with nothing but the sound of gentle waves to keep you company.

She wonders if she ever brought him the same happiness he did for her?

It keeps her up at night. All the questions. What did she do right? What did she do wrong? Can it be fixed? But she reminds herself that it’s been months, if fate wanted them together she’d still be waking up on the other side of town to the smell of coffee and Beethoven.

“you drew stars around all my scars, but now i’m bleeding.”

The monitor flatlined, piercing through the silence of the blisteringly white, pristine hospital room.

She knew that she would lose him eventually. Just not like this.

This was her father - the one constant in her life since she lost her mother. He was her closest friend, confidant and companion. He taught everything she knows about life, love and good food. She needed more time. She was only young, she even believed their assumptions that she knew nothing and this was proof.

Finally, she allowed herself to weep. Hopeless tears rolled down her cheeks as Spencer wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into him. Her head pressed against where his heart lay in his chest. Even his heartbeat couldn’t calm her down.

Too weak to carry herself, the doctor’s words to her barely registered to her. All she knew was that it wasn’t painful, he didn’t suffer. Her father was finally at peace.

That provided her no comfort in that moment.

She can’t recall the week leading up to the funeral. Every day felt as though she was outside of herself, watching everything else happen. She felt numb, frozen in one place, and unable to move. People tackle grief in different ways, she knows the stages, yet she never felt herself go through any of them. She was completely and utterly disembodied by grief.

She listened to the kind words at the wake, at the funeral. She tried to remember them all but all she could think about was Spencer’s hand in hers. His gentle squeezes brought her back down to earth, out of the turmoil in her mind.

She thinks about how her Dad told him to take care of her. She remembers overhearing a conversation about blessings but she let that go a long time ago, they were too young for marriage her father would always joke.

She knew he was trying to be there for her as much as he could be, he couldn’t take time off of work to provide her with the support she needed. All he could do was call, check in as often as he could. The distance only made her heart shatter more and more. He didn’t urge her to talk about how she was feeling, he knew it would come in time but she all she wanted was that embrace. She wanted to feel his hands lightly trace her skin, the feeling alone mended the scars on her heart. But he wasn’t there.

“i knew you, tried to change the ending, peter losing wendy.”

She didn’t blame him for not being there. Work was as demanding as ever, that was the excuse time and time again. Then again, they were both not ones for sharing their feelings - she knew that he agreed with her when it came to spilling their souls. Sometimes it felt as though they were burdening each other with the weight they both held on their shoulders. Despite all the instances where they told each other that they would be there for it all, they still held back.

She didn’t know how to trust him with it.

He didn’t know how to express how scared he really was.

Their love was reminiscent of first love; full of childlike wonder, hope, and open to the world and its seasons.

But everyone grows up. Everyone is faced with the reality of life. Things come to end, there is suffering and there is happiness - everyone, whether you believe it or not, is in the hands of fate.

She laughed at the thought of Spencer believing in fate, he was a man of science after all. She believed that it was fate that they met that day, that they fell in love. She always will but she wonders if it was fate that pulled them apart or just a set of cruel circumstances and their fears of vulnerability.

The loss of her father impacted her in ways she struggled to comprehend herself. Her heart started to come apart that day, the cracks starting to show.

She loved her father, she was grateful for all he did. Her mother passed when she was 7 and her father never faltered. He taught her all she needed to know about love, about who to love, and who to let go. She didn’t know who to be without him. She had so much more to share with him.

She needed Spencer there and he wasn’t. Somedays he was so quiet she wondered if he had left his or her apartment. He never made her a cup of tea when the jet landed late, he never left her any notes, he never touched her anymore.

She tried to convince herself that she had done all that she could to try and save the sinking ship that was their relationship; cooking his favourite meals, bookshop dates, movie dates, long walks whenever they could. She tried talking to him, to try and get him to tell her how he felt but he shut it down. She knew it was easy to point fingers and place the blame on him for the end of their relationship but it’s not that simple. Maybe she stopped paying attention to everything he said, maybe she was too closed off, maybe she missed the signs. Maybe she clung onto him too much or maybe she left him alone too often.

For now, the loss is too much. From her father to her love, it crushes her. Each glass of wine provides her with the liquid courage to press that call button. But each time she reaches for it, she retracts and her nerves kick in.

Letting go is easier said than done, but all she needs right at this very moment is his embrace. Maybe just one more glass. Maybe then she’d call and he’d come back to her.

[hearteyesemergency]

TK Accidentally Takes Carlos Home While His Dad’s There

Request: TK forgets he’s living with his Dad, and takes Carlos home and they get caught?

A/N: This has been on my mind recently. Semi-established Tarlos for this fic. It got a lot longer than I expected, but I really wanted to show some of smitten/pining TK that we haven’t seen much of yet in this canon slow burn. And I really wanted to keep this canon Carlos who gives TK the space to breathe and heal.

Summary: Considering how close TK is to his Dad, it‘s astounding to anyone that he forgot they lived together. After a pretty successful dancing date, TK takes Carlos home with him, and scar’s Owen with the sight of them all over each other once barely inside the door. TK could die of embarrassment, and Carlos just really wants Owen to like him.

Warnings: Course language, Mild sexual themes.

TK stumbled backward into his home, not worried about the key that slipped from his fingertips and landed somewhere on the floor beneath their feet. All he cared about was Carlos’ lips on his, and how somehow they made him feel so incredibly wanted.

They weren’t even together, not officially anyway, they hadn’t had that chat yet, but Tyler didn’t know any word other than ‘loved’ to describe the way Carlos made him feel. TK had rarely felt worthy of anything as powerful as that, and yet here Carlos was, making him feel like he was drowning in it.

It grew this need in Tyler to have Carlos closer. Like, impossibly close, limbs tangled, body to body, even a thin shirt between them was too much. All TK wanted was to get the clothes gone, he just needed to feel Carlos.

He had gotten far too invested lately in the fleeting power trip that came with lost buttons on Carlos’ shirt when he tore it off the man. So far, Carlos had lost four button-ups and counting. TK had only managed the top half of this shirt when someone cleared their throat in the next room.

TK sprung back with a gasp. In the kitchen stood Owen, glass of milk in hand. He looked tired, wrapped in a sweater over his pyjamas and socks on his feet. Another half hour, and he’d probably have been in bed. Just Tyler’s luck that his Dad finds him with kiss swollen lips, trying to rip the shirt off a man who may as well have been their colleague.

“Hi boy’s,”

“Dad,”

“Uh, hi, Mr Strand,”

“Don’t be ridiculous, you can call me Owen,”

“To be honest, Sir, right now, I don’t think that I can,”

Owen shrugged understandingly.

TK couldn’t look at either of them, a blush settled on his cheeks. How the fuck he forgot that he lived with his father, he wasn’t sure.

“So, fun night?” Owen guessed,

“Uh, yeah... I mean, we just went dancing at the bar- TK only drank water,”

“I know,” Owen nodded, “I trust him, and you’re a good influence,”

Carlos sighed in relief through a smile, “thank you, Sir.”

Owen grinned back.

“Well, this has been sufficiently awkward,” TK finally piped up, “good night.”

TK took Carlos by the hand and lead him to the stairs. Now was not the time for his Dad and the guy he was seeing to bond. They were halfway up when he heard his Dad at the bottom.

“TK!”

He sighed, “Yeah, Dad,”

“Door open,”

He whirled around, “You’re joking, right?”

“No, I’m not joking. I’m literally in the bedroom next door. Door open.”

TK pulled a face.

As if your Dad interrupting a hot make out session with the guy you’re seeing wasn’t a turn off enough, him being in the next bedroom, in a house that had possibly the thinnest walls in Texas- THAT was an even bigger turn off.

TK couldn’t lock himself and Carlos behind his bedroom door fast enough after that. He took a moment to rest his head against the wood, composing himself as he left Carlos to make himself comfortable in the room.

At this point, he didn’t care if Carlos looked around, what he’d see was now officially the least embarrassing thing TK could face that night.

He had no reason to be concerned though, the police officer cared more about gently pulling Tyler out of his dramatics, and away from the door. He sat TK down on the bed before he flicked the lock back, and opened up the room once again.

“But-“

“I want your Dad to like me, TK. I don’t want him thinking I’m encouraging you to disobey his rules in his house,”

“Okay, first of all, he loves you. Second of all, I’m a grown man-“

“Who still lives with his Dad, which means we respect his rules. And your Dad loves me as a cop, he doesn’t know me as his sons boyfriend, or whatever this is,”

“...we could call it a boyfriend thing,” TK shrugged, though didn’t meet Carlos’ eyes,

“Yeah?”

TK nodded.

Though he still didn’t look, he felt Carlos come crouch down in front of him, taking the firefighters face in his hands. Reluctantly, TK turned to make eye contact with the man, and found a soft smile waiting just for him. Carlos caressed his cheek for a moment, before he kissed him.

Not like earlier, no, this kiss was soft and sweet, there was no lust in it at all. TK may have literally whimpered into it. Carlos had a way of making TK seem like he was breakable, not in a bad way, in a good way. Like he was precious, and invaluable. Like it would be the worst thing in the world if something were to hurt him.

TK let himself collapse forward against Carlos, foreheads together as he took in the man’s scent. It calmed him, not that he had been nervous or anything, he was just generally a little chaotic, and Carlos had a good affect on him in that respect. He was once again coming to love the super intimate moments in a relationship. The staring, the feeling, the silence, and it was all thanks to the man right in front of him.

“You really think your Dad’s cool if I stay the night?”

“Are you joking?” TK pulled back and looked at his boyfriend, “you’re going to wake up to a cooked three course breakfast,”

Carlos chuckled, “you sound sure,”

“I am sure, I can see it in his eyes- he really likes you,”

“I hope so,” Carlos caressed TK’s cheek,

“I know so... Now get up here and give me cuddles since you’re playing by my fathers boring game of innocence.”

Carlos rolled his eyes, though complied anyway. He borrowed a pair of sweats from TK’s dresser as they both changed out of their date attire, though didn’t bother with a shirt, he didn’t want to stretch anything out. TK watched as the man crawled into his bed for the very first time, and was certain that he could absolutely get used to this.

When Carlos was comfortable, TK sat up and faced him, so that he could look at him and admire the man that had taken things so slow with him to get to this point. He couldn’t help but run a hand through Carlos’ hair, it was usually the other man who was so gentle and understanding with him, somehow able to draw out TK’s most vulnerable side, and help him accept and grow with all his past traumas and flaws.

Carlos grinned up at him, and it was nice there like that. They fell into a soft conversation, talking about nothing and absolutely everything. TK sat against the policeman’s hip, enjoying the warmth that radiated from the bare skin. Their hands tangled or explored the others soft skin, never still. It was very possibly the most intimate situation TK had ever been in. Intimacy far beyond sex, something he was not in the slightest experienced with.

Carlos was certainly his most grown up relationship, and he put every other boyfriend TK had ever had to complete shame. TK understood why his Dad liked Carlos, everyone liked Carlos, but his Dad especially, because he didn’t have to worry as much with Carlos around. He had a strong head on his shoulders, and he wasn’t afraid to pull TK in line when he needed it, but was equally as understanding and there through the hard times as well.

“Good night.”

TK looked back over his shoulder to his father at the door, and smiled, “good night, Dad,”

“How do you like your eggs in the morning, Carlos?”

TK chuckled, and gave his boyfriend one of those ‘I told you so’ looks.

“I’ll cook,” Carlos countered, “my Mum used to make our breakfast every day... you have to try it,”

“I won’t say no to that,” the Cap agreed, “good night, boys.”

Owen switched the light off as he left, and TK couldn’t help but relish in how fucking domestic this was. It was like when you live in a different city, and you and the husband go home to visit the father who calls every other day because he misses you, and would do anything to have you home.

In the darkness, TK laid back down beside Carlos, leg thrown over the other man’s hip, arm around his waist as he nuzzled his face in Carlos’ shoulder.

“Is it weird that I don’t find any of this awkward?” Carlos wondered,

“My Dad has that affect on people.”

TK didn’t elaborate on the fact that he knew his father had never been this relaxed and instantly accepting with any other guy TK had dated. It was too much too soon to say out loud. For now, both Carlos and his Dad knew where his feelings stood, and that was enough.

Carlos made him feel light, and safe, and fuck he hoped this time it worked out.

If Carlos was bothered by how much TK would toss and turn during the night, he didn’t let it on. TK figured he knew the struggles with shift work body clock himself. Despite his inability to stay asleep, TK felt like the hours that he did get in had been the best he’d had in years. He also enjoyed the times when he was awake, when he could stare at how peaceful and perfect Carlos was.

TK couldn’t think of a single thing he had done to deserve the man beside him, but he knew damn well he wouldn’t give up their rollercoaster ride for anything. He’d rather spend one hard day with Carlos than infinite ‘easy’ days with anyone else.

It was around 4am when TK had last laid awake, staring at the back of Carlos, fingers gently trailing absentmindedly up and down the officers back.

“You think awfully loudly,” Carlos whispered, though it was enough to startle TK,

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you,” TK reclaimed his hands,

“Wanna tell me what’s going on in that pretty head of yours?” Carlos rolled onto his back and looked across to TK,

“I was just thinking about how happy I am... and I really mean that.”

It was too dark either of them to really see each other, but they stared anyway. A moment later, Carlos grabbed a hold of TK, and drew him into his chest before rolling back to the other side. Now TK was practically cocooned in Carlos’ arms, snuggled in his chest and he couldn’t help but smile.

“Be cute in the morning, I’m trying to sleep,” Carlos’ voice was light,

“You and I both know I’m not this good with feelings in the light of day...“

“You don’t give yourself enough credit... you’ve come so far since I met you. I’m so proud of you.”

To TK, those words meant more than ‘I love you.’ Anyone can love another person, but to make someone proud, especially with the parts of yourself you hate the most... that was something else.

TK closed his eyes and sighed contently, “you are the best thing that’s ever happened to me... thank you. For everything,”

“Ride or die.”

TK couldn’t help but laugh at that, and he didn’t care how loud he was. He wondered who the fuck taught Carlos that, because Lord knew that he didn’t figure out that was a ‘thing’ on his own.

With one last kiss to Carlos’ neck, TK willed himself to go back to sleep, a much easier task when he could count to the beats of Carlos’ heart.

It was morning when he woke up, after eight, and he knew that his Dad would be out on his morning run. His back was to Carlos now, the man’s arm only loosely around TK’s waist. He could tell from the awkward placement that Carlos was still asleep, and if he wasn’t afraid to wake him by moving- probably far too late- he would’ve wrapped the police officer up in his own arms and returned the favour.

A small glimmer caught TK’s eye on the night stand, and he looked over to find three blue buttons sat neatly in a row. TK couldn’t help but smile like an idiot. Sometimes, he was sure he and his father were too close, way too close, though he still wouldn’t change it for the world, and he was so glad that his Dad liked Carlos, because TK was fairly certain one day they’d walk down to isle to Carlos waiting at the end. At least he hoped so.

[honeytea8]

“With you, forever” - Guido Mista/Reader

A/N: Discord prompt for the week was Greek AU and the first thing that popped in my head was Mista’s hat, since it kinda looks like a Trojan warrior’s helmet, so that’s where this came from!

Word Count: 1.6K (becuz why not)

Ares!Mista and Milkmaid!Reader insert for you :)

Not once had Mista ever been jealous of Apollo. Not once, until the moment it dawned on him that you—the very object of his affections—spent many of your days under the sun’s watchful eye. 

The warm coloring of your skin was proof of this, as you shepherded the sheep and tended to your father’s cattle. Even as sweat licked at your forehead and the fine little hairs on your nape and hairline stuck to your skin. To Mista, you were an oasis to a thirsty, dying man. The healing balm to tortured souls and the one who had seized his ravaged heart. 

You were an unassuming young milkmaid, with skin smoother than wax and hair softer than cotton. Every time he caught a glimpse of your flawless skin, his throat grew parched and the thoughts buzzing in his head came to a screeching halt. You, the beauty of your hometown, stood second to none in his book.

Being the god of war that he was, one thing Mista greatly admired was your devotion and hardworking nature. This truth was punctuated by the sturdiness of your limbs; the sinew and muscle of your thighs alone could bring a lesser man to his knees. You filled him with desire but Mista didn’t push or prod, content with simply watching you and pining from afar. 

When he overheard your father’s talk of marriage, it was then Mista determined in his heart that idleness would do him no good. Somehow, he must have you by his side forever.

He was Ares, a trojan warrior battle-bred and destined to be a hero. This simple endeavor should be easy enough. There wasn’t an inkling of doubt in his mind that he wouldn’t be able to win your love. With a single goal in his heart, he took a leap off his lofty throne beyond the clouds.

Mista found purchase near a well, the only well in the entire village. He had memorized your routes by now, so when the sun shifted a few centimeters to the left, he knew you would begin your trek up this specific hillside. You would carry with you a wooden pail, like you always did, but this time, he would be there to ask for a drink. You would grant it, he’d confess, and then whisk you away from this land to one far greater.

This was what he thought, however, reality was quite different from fantasy.

When Mista had asked for a sip of your water, your pouty lips screwed into a frown; with pinched brows you questioned, “What kind of a traveler leaves home without a waterskin?” 

The sound of your voice had him floundering for a moment. Not only because it was the first time his ears were blessed to hear it, but also because it was so soft and sweet, despite the harshness of your tone. 

How foolish he must appear now? His suave bravado completely dissipated at your words. But mercifully, you still scooped your little dipper into the pail and offered him a drink anyway.

Mista grinned boyishly, “You have refreshed me, amore. I owe you my life.” 

“Keep it.” you huffed while turning on your heels. “Don’t need it.”

In that split second when your gaze left him, your eyes showed a fire he had never seen in you before, one that burned brighter than the embers of Hephaestus. If he didn’t love you before, he was positive he did now. 

Mista gave chase, keen on following you even to ends of the earth.

“My name is Mista, god of war. You may have heard of me? Ares? The Olympian?”

You said nothing to indicate that you’d even heard his boasting.

“May you grant me the name of my savior, at least?”

“Nope.”

He blinked slowly, “Then...will you marry me?”

At his words, you paused for only half a second, “Are you mad?”

“For you? Possibly.”

Again, reality was quite far from fantasy but Mista wouldn’t complain about the fickle inner workings of fate. He would have your heart eventually, it was really as simple as that.

But by the day’s end, you had rejected him countlessly.

.

.

.

“You need a different approach.” 

Apollo, or Giorno rather, greeted him with a knowing smile on his lips. Mista slumped further in his throne, shaken but not defeated. 

“Of course you saw the entire thing.” 

Was there such a place on earth Giorno’s scrutiny did not reach?

“It’s in the job description, amico.”

Giorno took a seat upon a cloud beside him. The two gods remained silent, watching you as you went about your evening. Mista had been watching you more intently since you spurned his advances. It was a stinging blow to his pride, but he wouldn’t be much of a warrior if he quit. No, he would surely see this through to the end.

“A different approach,” Mista murmured. “Like how?”

“Hmm, well, have you tried showing your intentions rather than howling it into the high heavens?” 

Mista scratched his neck sheepishly. “That bad, eh?”

“Indeed, our dear brother would’ve come to slay you himself had I not managed to intervene.” Giorno’s warm grin spread into something a bit more teasing, a part of himself he only liked to show Mista.

The warrior god laughed, “I can handle Abbacchio’s temper, god of wine that he is. Dionysos hasn’t seen battle in over a thousand years, he could never slay the great Ares.”

“Be that as it may, it would do you well to let your actions speak louder than your words in this case. That mortal is different; your journey will only be as difficult as you make it, do not neglect the beauty of surrender.”

Mista hummed in thought, sobering up a bit at his brother’s prophetic words. Giorno was right—not that he’d ever doubted! Mista wondered in what ways he could best show you that his intentions were true. What would it take to get you to accept him? 

“Ever the wise one, Giorno?”

“Again, brother, it’s in the job description.”

.

.

.

Mista was a brute—a force of nature on the battlefield, and the absolute manifestation of chaos, destruction, and violence. He had killed countless men in times of war, using his body like an ax to cut down every foe. He was no strategist like Fugo or mischievously clever like Narancia. He could not think his way through this. Mista could only follow his instincts.

For the next several months, he devoted himself to your cause. 

When you arose at dawn to feed the chickens, he was there to help. When you hand-washed your linens in a river downstream, Mista was there with his robes hiked up, ready to assist. Whenever you drew out your hoe to till the land, whether for plowing or for harvesting, he followed suit. 

Did the sheep’s wool need to be taken for the winter? Did the meat need to be salted and preserved? Were the cows properly milked so they wouldn’t moo all day and night? Whatever it was that you required, Mista was there to serve. He’d even stayed with you when your father fell ill, procuring herbs for his tea and medication.

Until then, you hadn’t warmed up to him at all. You would glare and make snarky remarks to get him to leave you alone. Sometimes even ignoring him completely. But after seeing him dirty and bruised from scaling a mountaintop just to obtain a rare healing herb for your father. Well, after that, you couldn’t quite remain unaffected by his charm.

Soon, you realized there was more to this strange god than what the eyes could see. His humor, his confidence, his quirks and antics. (Honestly, who in their right mind numbered their weapons while skipping every number with four in it?)

You were surprised that he hadn’t mentioned marriage again after that first day. Of course you knew it was what he ultimately wanted, but he’d left it alone until you were comfortable.

Meanwhile, Mista had given himself over to you as a friend and much needed companion. He listened to you bare your soul with rapt attention, clinging to every word that fell from your lips. The many talks you both had well into the night were some of the most interesting and indulgent you’d ever had. You had never felt this way with anyone; it was the kind of happiness that made colors brighter and food taste better!

After much consideration, you finally agreed to take Mista as your love, though it wasn’t easy. You still couldn’t reconcile the yearning you had for him with your duties here on earth.

One evening, as you both sat out in the yard, you broke down and cried. He had floundered, again, but regained himself enough to move closer and lend you his shoulder. Please don’t cry, my love, is what he wanted to say but the lump in his throat was unyielding. What could bring you to tears like this? He hoped it wasn’t his doing.

“Mista,” you said, taking a shaky breath. “I don’t think I can leave with you…” 

Ah, now he understood. 

This was your life after all, and Mista had foolishly thought he could snatch you away from everything you knew. That he had been doing you a favor by wanting to take you to a place he thought was better than this.

It was true he wanted to remain by your side, but not unless he would get to see your smile or that wicked fire in your eyes. 

The god looked down at the calluses riddling his palms, the various cuts and scars each had a story to tell. They were innumerable. These were the very hands he wanted to hold you with. In this battle against his heart and mind, who would win?

Mista shifted closer to you, drawing an arm around the slope of your shoulder.

“Okay.” he said quietly. “So, what if I decided to stay here with you, forever?”

[voidandradiance]

all you get is | 2.5k

tw for andor having a typically bad time.)

the choice to leap is not much of a choice at all. the cloying shadows and shining servants are at his heels, as they always are. all his life has been spent hiding and fleeing and hiding and fleeing. his footfalls pound in time with his racing heart, and he runs. he runs far and fast, and he flies from his pursuers.

flies. ha.

he's not doing any flying now.

even after being freed from the inertia, he has not had a moment to rest. his aunt had not been able to stay and care for him; his father had sent soldiers, and mianite had sent trackers, and the god's terrible ally had sent shadows. they had all followed him after they had split up, or so he hopes. he had fled to the thick forests, then the wild seas, and had been pursued every place. he had run to the corners of the world, and was still found.

he had hidden in his uncle's dimension, but found little respite in the burning fire and dead, cold inhabitants. his uncle had been able to hold off his pursuers, at least, closing the portals until he could emerge. but the follower of ianite is not meant to withstand the nether, especially not with an opposing bias. he had caught his breath, readied the healing potions he could, and set off running once more.

now, his boots send clouds of dust up from the endstone he races across. his grandmother's realm is kind to him; the endermen hide him amongst their hordes, and the magic hums in his hollow bones. his pursuers are slowed, but not stopped. his grandmother has no champion, and the balance of the world is shattered; she is dying. she cannot protect him. she can hardly protect herself.

andor is hungry, and hurting, and so very exhausted. his back screams and his lungs ache and his feet bleed. he has not eaten more than a few bites in days, nor slept more than a few moments in weeks. if there was no trace of ichor in his veins, he would be dead a dozen times over. there is so much that a mere mortal boy would not have survived. this has proved, if nothing else, that his divine heritage has given him more than his stolen wings.

mianite stands unopposed, as missing as the gods' champions all are, but andor refuses to die quietly. when his too-bright, inhuman blood is finally spilled, the entire realm will know.

he comes to the edge of the island, and skids to a halt. only moments later, there is a clatter of arms and machinery behind him. he turns, slowly.

from the line of men and machines steps the man who he least wants to see. the lieutenant, the man who stalks the edges of his nightmares. alister, the devout and unquestioning servant of mianite. al, the older boy who had let him sit on his shoulders and played with him and alva as children. "it's over," he says coldly, as if they had never known each other, had never laughingly fought with fallen sticks, as if he had never held andor up to reach the lanterns at the harvest fair when they were seven and twelve and young and whole and free.

andor takes a breath. "i know."

silence hangs between them, and then he steps forward. andor steps backwards on sharp, frightened instinct, and the cold, cruel lieutenant laughs. "look at you now, princeling. no place to run, no place to hide. no weapons. nobody to save you."

"i raise no sword," andor says, and the words taste like ash and blood on his lips where they had once been fire and hope. "i wear no armor."

that sword, that sword that had left its mark on his back twice and again, is drawn and raised and pointed at him. he can barely suppress his flinch. its wielder smirks. "your loss," he drawls. "don't make this any more of a chore. there's no way out, now. you've got nothing."

true.

andor feels his lips curl up into a bitter smile before he even fully realizes what he's about to do. they respond to it, which they should; he is backed into a corner, up against a drop into the void, and he should not be grinning as they close ranks around him. "i don't," he agrees quietly. "look at me. no plan, no help, no defenses worth a damn. you know what else i haven't got?"

the lieutenant narrows his eyes. he does still remember what a wild grin and challenging tone mean. good. andor hopes that this moment itches under the man's skin for the rest of his miserable life. "what would that be?" he asks, sneering.

"anything left to lose," andor says, and steps back with intent. there is no stone beneath him, suddenly, and the broken thing in his chest suddenly soars. they rush to the edge, but even as their faces shrink, he can see the shock in al's eyes. the shock, and the fury.

no, the choice to leap is not much of a choice at all.

the cold void embraces him, the dark emptiness rushing up around him, and it's almost like flying again. he almost feels a brush of attention from ianite.

and then he knows blinding light.

then he knows nothing. it's better than knowing pain.

he plummets into the sea, and the fall knocks the breath from his lungs, and the salt stings his wounds and scars and eyes. he kicks up anyway, well-practiced at forcing himself to move, the son of a port town and the grandson of a sailor and the grandson of the sea goddess. he drags his exhausted limbs into sweeping strokes, and breaks the surface of the water.

the air is sweet and clear and it burns his lungs, and his heart pounds in his chest, and his head swims with the sudden barrage of sound and color and wild magic and warm breezes and gentle currents. the shimmering, sparkling sunlight dances on the slight waves, and warms his face like it hasn't since he was a child.

in hindsight, perhaps that was less to do with him, and more to do with the gradual corruption of the god of the overworld.

wherever he is, it is not his home. the opposite side of the world, perhaps, or even another one entirely. he had leapt into the void, after all, without any hopes of where he would land. he hadn't thought of where he was running towards, only what he was running from. it's alright. this wild, strange place seems to be bright and warm and welcoming enough.

all he has to do is avoid drowning.

she holds out a hand to shake. her skin has the blue-tinted cast and strange chill of the sea's dead. "captain capsize," she says, grinning. "don't mind the rot, my goddess made sure that all the important things are still intact. i just sunburn badly."

that, at least, is easier than he expects. a ship comes, and the captain pulls him out of the water, and she orders her crew to find dry blankets and a decent meal, and gently asks his name. nothing left to lose. "andor," he says, and then defiance flares in him. "andor conway."

andor knows that he can hardly breathe, knows that his eyes are wide and his jaw is dropped. "your goddess?"

"aye," capsize agrees, smile falling. "i helped free her. problem?"

"no," he says hastily. "no, no, i've just- i've never known- there weren't exactly any others who followed her. ianite. or-"

she sets her hands over his, sorrow and understanding in her ink-dark eyes. "ianite," she agrees, cutting off his worries. "where are you from, lad? not ianarea."

he takes a breath, braces himself. the reputation of the kingdom has not exactly been a positive one. "dagrun," he says, and surely enough, she stills.

"dagrun," capsize says. "i know that name. dagrun, port town, built for ianite by her husband?"

andor nods.

"shit," she hisses, and then leans back to shout to the upper deck. "red! we're going to the mainland. now."

the skipper turns the wheel without complaint. "is this about the kid?"

capsize raises an eyebrow, and her brother shrugs and turns away. it is an easy acceptance, casual trust, and andor misses alva so sharply that for a moment he can't even breathe. they had loved to go sailing, laughing and childish and not dead and not broken. he's not quite sure why his chest aches so suddenly.

but the undead woman sighs, and tucks a pair of rather coarse but blessedly warm blankets around his shoulders, and makes sure that he eats the oversalted but filling meal that she has found, and andor could weep in relief. her sleeves are rolled up to her elbow, and purple flashes at her wrist, and it is the most wonderful thing he has ever seen.

andor falls asleep under the protective gaze of an undead pirate, in a strange realm where he does not know a single soul. the waves lap against the hull of the ship. it is the safest he has felt in weeks.

they spend two days at sea. capsize hesitantly explains what this realm has endured; dianite working with the shadows to imprison ianite, the young champions who had freed her, her own death and return. the fact that he is not the first to fall from the sky. the fact that four others had been ripped from their lives and brought to this realm by unknown forces. the fact that one of those four is a man named spark conway, husband to another ianite, king in another realm.

andor holds his composure by a thread.

they land on the shores of the apparent mainland, in the shade of a towering tree, rolling hills and steep mountains visible in the distance. capsize smiles, and leads him to a staircase almost hidden by vines. they're going to see ianite's champion, she says. with the way her magic seeps into the air around them, in the trees around and the stone underfoot, he can believe it.

capsize follows the path between violet flowers and weeping willows, and comes to a stop before a young man who can't be more than a few years older than andor is. "sparklez, mate," she says, as the man smooths the dirt over whatever he's just planted. he looks up, and grins, standing upright and brushing the dirt from his knees. "how have you been?"

"fine," the young champion replies, and rests his hands on the fence of his garden, leaning forward and grinning. "how about you? i didn't think you'd be back for weeks. something happen?"

capsize nods at him, and the champion glances over to andor, his eyes going dark with worry. no, he probably isn't going to make the best impression, not looking like this. "the lad's name is andor conway," she says, and the champion's gaze snaps back to her, understanding immediately. "do you know where the old man is?"

"not at the moment, no," the champion admits. "but i can ask. inside first, though. you both look like you ought to sit down."

"mate," capsize sighs, but she's smiling. the champion grins, and jumps his own fence, waving them into the sharply angled birch house and at a pair of sleek wooden chairs. capsize sits, and watches him expectantly. andor does the same.

the champion closes his eyes, and then suddenly the goddess's ambient magic flares into focus. andor inhales sharply, but keeps his mouth shut. ianite is strong, here and now. she is strong and alive.

"at home," the champion says after a few moments. "but it'll be dark before we get there. you're both welcome to stay here for the night."

and stay they do, as the champion finds them food and spare beds, as they make awkward conversation. they ask gently prying questions, and andor answers as vaguely as he can, enough to both tell the truth and avoid discussion of the inertia. he hides behind a mouthful of bread when he can't make himself speak, and they all know it, but nobody comments.

they talk into the night, but eventually andor falls asleep in a spare bed in a stranger's house in a strange world. it is still far safer than he had felt in his own realm, in his own home.

in the morning, he is confronted by one of the last things he expects to see. there is a teenage girl standing and arguing with the champion, her arms crossed and brow raised, bickering half-seriously over some petty thing involving horses. her dark hair is pulled back, and her wings gesture as her arms stay folded, and he can't help but ask, "alyssa?"

she startles, and then stares, then steps forward. "andor?"

his chest tightens. "hey," he says lamely, and then suddenly his old friend has flung her arms around him in a clinging hug. he can't help his flinch as her hands land on his shoulders and waist, but at least she doesn't touch the jagged wounds. he all but crumples around her, because they had been best friends, separated only by distance and two months of age. he had been eight when she and her father had vanished; she had been seven. and yet, here they are, clinging to each other.

"andor," alyssa breathes. "how did you get here? are you alright? what happened, how in all the gods' names did you find this place?"

he opens his mouth, but no sound comes out. he takes a deep breath instead of speaking, because he can't, and that makes her shift her hand.

and they both freeze.

"andor," murmurs his best childhood friend, her hand gently patting at his lower back, where there should be folded limbs and shining feathers under her touch. she pauses, and leans back, and looks him in the eye with a wide, frightened gaze, her grip tightening steadily on his arm. "andor, where are your wings?"

he closes his eyes, and shakes his head slowly. gone, that's where they are, incinerated at best and kept as trophies at worst. taken, torn from his back, stolen by a god and cut by someone he had once called a friend. "don't. don't ask."

her hand lands on his cheek. "andor," she whispers, stunned and horrified, and then surges forward to throw her arms around him once again, now tucking her own wings around him protectively, as if she could shelter him from what's already over and done. "i'm so sorry. i'm going to find a way home just to go kill whoever did this to you, gods, i can't believe- i'm sorry, andor."

she is still shorter than him, and yet she clings to him, wraps him up in her arms and wings and worry and care, pulls him into an unhesitant, unashamed embrace. there is no reluctance, no awkwardness, just old friendship and genuine worry.

and that shatters something in him that nothing else has.

he clings desperately, and can't stop the building tears.

[s-trawberryv-eins]

Daisy

NOT MY GIF

Daisy

Summary: Daisies on the beach, daisies in his bed. She didn’t really have much business whisking him away like that. But thank the gods she did.

Warnings: Angst, fluff, smut, swearing, shitty writing, everything tbh. Gonna fuck ur feels up boo. Please don’t read if you’re under 18. I don’t want to deal with the consequences. 

Bucky x fem!reader

A/N: This is my entry for @sourpatchkidsandacokecan​s writing challenge! My prompt was Mariners Apartment Complex by Lana Del Rey.

Word count: 3725

Reader Insert Masterlist

-

And who I’ve been is with you on these beaches

Your Venice bitch, your die-hard, your weakness

Maybe I could save you from your sins

Sandridge beach seemed like the perfect place to go. She needed the beach, said he did too. He never argued. Part of him thought this trip, holiday, whatever it was, was more for her than for him. It didn’t matter. He watched her a lot. He’d never noticed her before, not really. Not in any way other than the fact that she always smelled like daisies. Not in any way that didn’t require a gun or the room she came from.

Sitting out in the salty air, on something she’d called a Sarong, he swore he could count the amount of words they’d exchanged on two hands.

“Don’t know you very well. Not really. Who are you?”

“Who do you want me to be?”

Silence.

“Here on these beaches, I’m whoever you need me to be.”

-

“We’re kinda similar, don’t you think?” Smiles were sweet and sickly and she’d look at it forever if she could.

“If you think that’s the case, you’re worse off than I thought, Sarge.”

-

“I’m taking him someplace far. It’ll be good for him.”

“How would you know what’s good for him?”

“You’re not the only person he talks to, Stevie.”

So they left. She hadn’t looked back much since.

-

“Stop calling, Stevie. I mean it.” Pointy pink acrylics toss the phone on the bed where it lay abandoned, unwanted and imposing. A hindrance to healing, she’d called it.

“Darling, we’re going to the market.”

“The crowds, I don’t know.”

“You lose your way, just take my hand.”

“You smell like daisies.”

Daisies wherever she went.

-

I’m the board, the lightening, the thunder

Kind of girl who’s gonna make you wonder

Who you are and who you’ve been

“It’s important.”

“No it isn’t.”

“Shut up. Yes, it is.”

“Fine. I’ll humour you. Why is it important?”

“Because it is, Barnes. I see the way you look at yourself. List three things you like about yourself by the end of the day and tomorrow I’ll take you out for ice cream.”

“I’m not a child.”

“Stop acting like it then.”

A promise. To him, to Steve, to herself. But that’s not why she did it. She made the promise because he deserved it. She kept the promise because he deserved it. And maybe she did, too. Because if she could do right by just one person on this god forsaken planet, maybe she’d sleep better at night. But the fear that that notion reduced her actions to nothing more than a way to clear her own name kept her up anyway.

“I can’t do three.”

“One, then. Tell me one thing you like about yourself right now.”

He sucked in a breath and she saw any trace of comfort evaporate from his body. Torment gripped him silently, an image of every horrible thing he’d ever done flashing in his brain. A minute had passed and doubt pushed its way through her mind, trying to find somewhere comfortable to settle and tell her she’s making the man’s life worse.

“The colour of my eyes. I like the colour of my eyes.”

He rolled his eyes at the victory smile that appeared on her face.

“So do I.”

-

She wandered often. He followed, never straying from her side. After several weeks, he’d come to realise that she wandered and then she wandered. It dawned on him one sunny morning that she needed help too. She’d told him that he’d taken her sadness out of context, but he never understood her meaning. He followed anyway, knowing that she’d come back to him later on, when she was ready.

But this time, it was almost dark before she did. The sand beneath her feet grew cold and her heart threatened to stop beating as her breathing grew frantic. Her hair whipped around her face in the wind and despite how hard she wracked her brain she could not for the life in her remember where she’d left the bag with the fresh fruit in for tomorrows breakfast.

“Bucky?”

“Right here.”

And he was. Bag in hand, there he was.

“It’s okay. Don’t ever have to look too far. Right where you are, that’s where I am.”

And for the first time, he led, and she followed.

-

Catch a wave and take in the sweetness

You want this, you need this

Are you ready for it?

“Have you spoken to him today?”

“Yes. Have you?”

“Yes.”

Short and awkward and tight-lipped. Sunglasses pushed up into her sea salt laced hair, lips damp with iced tea and chap stick.

“I’m sorry. Okay? I was an idiot-“

“You’re right, you are an idiot.”

“I’m tryna apologise here.”

“Sorry.”

“I shouldn’t have snapped at you. I’m still adapting and you’re very persistent and you caught me at a bad time.”

“Okay.”

She knew he was waiting for more, but her head was a mess. Half the time she thought this whole thing was a mistake and that none of this was even remotely her business and nobody wanted her or her input.

“It’s hard for me too, you know. I sorta went into this blind, in case you hadn’t realised. I know I’m pushy and I mess up. I’m sorry, too.”

Tears rolled down her cheeks as she spoke but he raced to stop them. Holding her face in his hands, he took her in. Sunkissed cheeks, the freckles that the sun had brought out dancing across her nose, shining eyes and he just wanted to take the whole morning and throw it somewhere far where she’d never think of it and it couldn’t hurt her. Thumbs brushed the wet marks away and she tilted her head up and oh-

Her kiss tore his heart apart in the sweetest way, and if this was all he’d ever feel he’d happily surrender himself to it. It occurred to him that her lips were far more important than oxygen and he let his lungs burn, not caring for a moment that the pain was increasing with every second of pleasure. Soft and sweet and the taste of peaches and salt and when she pulled away, he felt colder than he ever had.

“Swim with me?”

-

You’re lost at sea

Then I’ll command your boat to me again

Twice he’d tried to leave.

The first time; a few weeks in.

Fear. The thunder came as he slammed the door, the lightening as his bike peeled away in the darkness. The rain came when he returned, angry and guilty and full to the brim with apologies, sodden and dripping. Thunder again at the door, lightening as they fucked each other rough on the carpet, not making it all the way up the stairs.

The second time; an angel had died, and God mourned violently.

“You want to control everything! You’re a control freak!”

“I am trying to help you for crying out LOUD!”

“I don’t want your help! I NEVER asked for it! YOU brought me here. YOU decided you could fix me!”

“YOU’RE NOT BROK-“

“SHUT. UP. YOU DID THIS. I’M DONE.”

As God wept, so did she.

-

He’d returned under the cover of the night, creeping in through his bedroom window despite knowing she’d known of his every move since he left her. She hadn’t tried to hide it. She’d ask him why he came home eventually, but he didn’t know when.

He didn’t know why he came home.

Home?

Is that what this is?

More daisies.

The smell haunted him, only strengthening as he buried his head into his pillow.

Daisies in his pillow.

A girl in his bed.

She’d been in his bed?

Of course she’d been in his bed.

Where else would she go?

“You lose your way, just take my hand.”

Why’d he leave again?

-

It took her two days to speak to him again.

“Spoke to Steve. If you’re serious about leaving, he can come to pick your stuff up tomorrow.” He bled and he bled. He bled until he found the strength to take a stand.

“Tell him to piss off.”

She appreciated the sentiment but conveyed the message to Steve slightly differently.

-

Even in the dark I feel your resistance

You can see my heart burning in the distance

Restless nights or horror filled sleep; the former was preferable, but God were they long. Trained feet took him away, landing outside her door. Then again to her bedside. The bed dipped with the extra weight, but she knew he was there long before he climbed in beside her.

Fingers finding each other in the dark, tracing and just barely touching. The gap closed and his chest was against her back and before he could think his lips were on her neck and the sigh that fell from her lips tore his heart in two. She was good at that.

Her body moved from his and ice bloomed in his chest as the distance grew. As his walls crept back up, she caught his face in her hands, setting his gaze on her before peeling her clothes off. Watching as she peeled off her clothes, he dared not move an inch.

How could when all he could smell was daisies and slick and heat? Drunk off nothing at all, it burned in his blood and threatened to have him on his knees for the rest of time. Even in the dark his adapted eyes could see the chill on her skin from the sudden exposure, the way she made no attempt to hide herself from his view.

Undressing her, undressing him, lips ghosting over his skin, brushing every muscle and scar as he softened and hardened underneath her in equal measure. She took him in her hand and he cursed before pulling her in, his nose buried in her neck and daisies and as he moved to set himself on her lips she sank down, slow and damp, surrounding him and filling herself entirely. The noise that released itself from his throat would forever ring in her ears and she fought for control over her own body.

His hands lay at his side and god they itched to be everywhere else but he wasn’t entirely sure what was allowed and what wasn’t. Of course, she read his mind and worked to banish his resistance as she worked him so sweet that he knew nobody that came before came close.

They’d fucked before, just once. Messy and rough and quick. This was different in every way.

Soft hands on softer skin, hips feather light as she lifted up only to sink back down again earning a string of whispered curses from the soldiers lips. Whimpers and moans and everything hushed and finally, finally he found the courage to move his hands slowly up her thighs, fingers barely touching her skin until she moved at just the right angle and suddenly the grip on her waist was almost bruising as his back arched up and he sounded so perfectly sinful.

Pushing impossibly deeper inside his eyes screwed shut, and he knew it was an action he’d forever regret as he missed the look of pure sin on her face as she hit her high, too busy experiencing his own to watch. He’d cling to the sounds she made in the meantime.

Climbing away with a soft gasp, slick and mess trickling down her thighs, she headed towards the door and his heart began to slip. The sudden thunder of water against tile was too loud in his head and panic rose from the remnants of their shared moment when –

“You coming?”

He’d never been up and in the shower so quickly in his life.

-

They mistook my kindness for weakness

I fucked up, I know that, but Jesus

Can’t a girl just do the best she can?

“When are you coming home? Can we come and visit? It’s been three months.”

“Fine. I’ll see what he’d prefer, he’s kinda…protective over this place. We miss you Stevie, I’m sorry it’s been so long.”

“Love you, kid. Both of you.”

-

They’d arrived at noon. Sam, Steve and Natasha. Steve insisted on making lunch; nobody protested. Three months apart made no difference. Old habits quickly resurfaced and she knew Bucky felt at home like this. It showed in the soft crinkles around his blue, blue eyes.

The early afternoon was spent catching up, five bodies huddled in around each other, the girls eager to be close after so long apart. Stories of the others were told fondly, and an entirely foreign homesickness settled in.

“Bucky, can we go to the beach?”

Soft eyes met bright ones, and he knew he couldn’t say no.

Not that he’d ever really wanted to.  

The girl beamed down at him, daisies on her skin and the sun in her smile.

He knew he’d taken too long to answer when he saw Sam smirk out of the corner of his eye.

-

The girls lay on the sand, towels spread out underneath warm skin, as the boys had abandoned them to wander to town. As they winded through the markets, enjoying the late afternoon sun, curiosity seemed to get the best of Sam, despite the warning he’d received from Steve before they arrived.

“So how are things? With you and her?”

“Things are good. It can be a little difficult sometimes, it just being the two of us, but we get through it.”

“Are we really gonna do this man?”

“Drop it.”

“She’s telling Nat as we speak, ya know?”

He’d never win. Truthfully, he wasn’t interested in winning this one. He hadn’t been fighting very hard to begin with.

“It’s good, Sam. It’s all so good.”

“All of it?”

“I’m done. I don’t know how else to say it but she’s it for me, man.”

There was a moment of silence and a look exchanged between Sam and Steve. It didn’t come as a surprise, not really.

He’d tell them one day.

He’d start from the beginning and he’d tell them everything she was.

But not yet.

-

“Since when does Bucky cook?”

“Turns out we were letting him get away with far too much back at the compound. He’s fairly talented.”

Natasha smiled brightly, happy to be beside her friend once more.

“He’s different. Lighter.”

“It took a while. We didn’t talk much at first. But he let me help him. He helps me too, more than he knows I think.”

She didn’t need to say much for Natasha to understand. Reading between the lines and requiring little to no explanation of what she could see. One question rang through her head, however.

“And when you come home? What then?”

A harsh inhale and a furrowed brow and a flash of denial and the girl admitted that she truly and honestly did not know. And her heart was breaking.

-

The frown on her face as she watched her friends drive off triggered a wave of guilt to pour through him like a flash flood. She’d left her home for him; her friends, her family. For him.

“Natasha was asking questions.”

Hm?

“A lot of them.”

Oh. They were talking?

“I couldn’t answer most of them.”

Why wouldn’t she meet his eyes?

“What uh…what kinda stuff?”

“One sorta stuck out. What happens when we go home?”

He didn’t have an answer. He stayed quiet. A mistake, he’d learn.

“I’m going for a walk. Don’t wait up.”

-

An hour had passed and despite the nausea gripping her stomach, she headed back to the house. The sand between her toes was cooler now the sun was gone, and although it wasn’t cold she couldn’t help the chill that she felt in apprehension of seeing him.

Or maybe she wouldn’t see him.

With every passing minute it became harder to decide which she’d prefer.

Maybe he listened when she said not to wait up.

“It’s been almost two hours.”

Relief and dread filled her bones in equal measure when his voice reached her ears.

“I figured you’d be half an hour. You didn’t even take your phone!”

“I’m sorry, Bucky. Needed to clear my head a bit.”

“Did it work?”

A pause.

“No.”

Another pause.

A stretch of silence.

The loudest she’d ever lived through.

“This is it, then?”

So vague. Why did he have to be so vague? There were a thousand possible ‘it’s and her heart begged to know how the next 5 minutes would play out before they did. The pain in her throat rapidly became unbearable and the girl cursed the Gods for having her fall so irrevocobly for the man she promised nothing but help to.

How cruel of her, to offer herself as a guide and a shoulder and a light and then to do something as selfish as love him.

Because she did.

She loved him.

She loved him and-

“I love you.”

And he loved her.

A sob tore from her throat and he was by her side a second later and taking the weight of her body when she couldn’t anymore. Tears fell without pause and her cries rang out and pierced his heart like a sharpened blade.

Hands crept around her body and lifted her from the ground before heading inside the house.

Their home.

Is this home?

Wrapping her hands around his neck, she buried herself within him, desperate to feel the words he uttered so candidly outside. As the door fell shut behind them, she wriggled free from his hold and landed clumsily on her feet. A cloud of uncertainty gathered above them and as she screwed her eyes shut she fought to banish it.

“Say it again, Bucky.”

There was no hesitation; only a peace in his voice that felt foreign.

“I love you.”

“Take me upstairs, Bucky.”

-

Catch a wave and take in the sweetness

You want this, you need this

Are you ready for it?

It was his turn now; to give her what she gave him that night in the dark. And again in the shower afterwards. So as he lay her on the bed, on his bed, he knew he wouldn’t rest until she knew how deeply his love for her ran.

Flicking the light on, he thought back to their last time and made sure to correct every mistake; he wanted to see her this time, to see her properly and entirely and witness everything that she was.

Lips latched onto the flesh of her neck, feather-light kisses and soft flicks of his tongue over the bruises he made, the bruises she’d come to adore as much as she did him. Staying quiet was both useless and entirely unwanted, so the girl didn’t bother catch the whimper that fell from her lips as his hands wandered underneath her dress, fingers grazing the skin of her thighs.

They undressed quickly and seemed to move in sync. She lay on the bed all but encased within the man above her and she savoured it, locking the feeling of him so close into her memory. Pausing his assault on her skin, he took her in; pupils blown and lips swollen, breath heavy and shallow and a crease in her brow that deepened as she whimpered underneath his touch.

His eyes never left her, taking in everything she’d give him as he worked her with his fingers. Slick and warm and trickling with the heat that he pulled from her body, it didn’t take long for her to unravel entirely underneath him and he saw everything. The way she bit her lip to quieten her moans and the way she grabbed herself when his fingertips grazed just the right spot and the way her mouth fell open in silent ecstasy as she hit her high.

Leaving her without a minute to recover he sank himself into her, full and hot. She tried and tried to bring him closer, burying her face in his neck as he brought himself into her time and again. Crying out as her teeth bit down on his skin, he snapped and oh harder, please and he obliged happily because she was so far gone and the noises she made were delicious and all for him.

Sweat slicked bodies gripped each other tightly, closer she begged and his body answered for him. Need clouded his vision and he slowed his movements and how she sang for him. Pressing hot kisses to her fevered skin, he felt her approach and eyes on me baby, please as she tightened, body rigid and the wet heat flowing between them and oh, gods.

Gasping for breath, her grip on the man loosened and she relaxed into the plush pillows that surrounded her body. Eyes met again and it burned her with a warmth that had her losing her breath once more and he didn’t waste a second.

It was unforgiving and filthy and bruising and so wet and she tried to hold on, but when she felt his hips stutter against her own she lost the fight. They gave everything their bodies had, emptying within and around the other with no care for the volume of their moans and whimpers.

He collapsed next to her and sleep beckoned her relentlessly, but-

“Baby, we can’t sleep like this.”

“Mm why not Buck?”

“We’re messy. A shower and then we can sleep in the other bed, okay?”

“Suppose so Buck.”

-

A freshly brewed pot of tea sat on the windowsill next to her as she watched the sun climb higher in its efforts west. Hair in a loose braid, decorated prettily with a daisy she’d picked the day prior. Last night’s lovemaking still evident by the soft glow of her skin and he knew he was looking at everything he’d ever needed.

“Bucky?”

She didn’t look at him, instead kept her gaze fixed on the sand and the sun and the water and the clouds.

“Yeah?”

It was nonchalant, the way she said it. Twirling a bunch of dying daisies between her fingers, gaze still fixed on the horizon.

“Can we go home?”

 -

You want this, you need this

Are you ready for it?

[takadasaiko]

Aftermath (a Veronica Mars one shot)

FFN II AO3

Part of my Spanning Years, Continents series

Notes: I know these one shots were supposed to be movie to the beginning of S4, but this idea popped into my head a while back and I wasn't able to shake it, so here we go. It does take place after the S4 finale, but with the exception of Logan getting to live because I'm not a monster.

Summary: In the aftermath of Epner's last bomb, Logan struggles with recovery and what it cost him.

Aftermath

It wasn't that the waves were much louder on the ground floor than the third, but in the early hours of the morning when the rest of the world was silent, they sounded like they were. It was just one of the many things that Veronica had had to get used to in the new apartment over the course of the last few months. They'd been lucky, she knew, to catch an empty unit a few sections down from their own and on the ground floor so that Logan didn't have to struggle up three flights freshly home from the hospital. He would have given it the same stubborn effort that he'd given everything since the bomb had gone off, leaving him clinging to life without great odds at pulling through. He had, though. Stubbornly. Just like he had stubbornly pushed through surgeries and rehab. She had no doubt that he would have been willing to climb the stairs if that's what had needed to happen, but she hadn't wanted him to.

Anyway, this unit had a washer and dryer, she'd told him when he'd rolled his eyes at her from the hospital bed. It all worked out.

It had nothing to do with the overwhelming fear and guilt she had felt at seeing him lying on the street below their old unit or the fact that every time she risked a glance out their bedroom window she saw it happen all over again. The glass cutting her face and the pressure from the bomb sending her stumbling back. It had sent him flying too, but instead of a bed to catch his fall, he'd been tossed like a ragdoll into the building itself. The collision with the unyielding wall had broken bones and given him a bad concussion while shrapnel had done the rest of the damage. Nearly six months later he still wasn't back up to speed and the doctor warned him that there was a good chance he never would be.

Not that Logan listened to him. That could be for better or worse. The doctors had also told Veronica to make sure her new husband's affairs were in order and he'd proved them wrong there.

Veronica pulled in a deep breath, the sound of the waves doing nothing to lull her back to sleep with those thoughts rattling around in her brain. She turned in the bed, hoping that holding onto him and feeling his steady heartbeat would help ease her nerves, but found only empty space and rumpled sheets on his side. She sat up ramrod straight in the bed they shared, looking around the room still drenched in pre-dawn shadows. "Logan?"

Shuffling could be heard from the other side of the bathroom door now connected to their bedroom and, for the first time, she saw the light peeking out from under it. It opened and Logan shot her a curious look. "Hey. You okay?"

Veronica squinted against the fluorescent light shining into the bedroom and Logan seemed to notice as he reached back to switch it off. She watched - noting the very subtle limp that still worked its way into his step some mornings - as he made his way back to the bed and eased himself down. "You okay?" he had asked again, his brows drawn together with the question.

"Yeah. Yes. Just —" Just what? Thought he was really gone? Thought that the last six, nearly seven months had been a kinder dream to replace a realty her mind couldn't accept? It all sounded silly now that she was actually awake, so she forced a smile and rocked forward onto her knees. Her fingers teased at his hairline and the burn scars there, gently guiding him in until he met her halfway for a kiss. She leaned into it, feeling one of his hands against the side of her face and she tilted them both over so that he landed on his back, Veronica leaned over him with an impish smile. There was one way to banish those recurring fears. "I love you," she said firmly.

His thin lips quirked up into that lazy, amused smile she loved and he brushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "I love you too, but I need to finish getting ready if I'm going to make it down to base by seven."

Her pre-caffeinated brain spun trying to figure out why he needed to be down at the base at all that day before it slammed head first onto the answer. "You have your physical today."

"Yep," he answered, kissing the tip of her nose and his tone a lot cheerier than she would have expected. His last physical had not gone as well as the Navy doctor - or Logan - had hoped. After about a day of moping around the apartment Logan had very pointedly brushed it off as still healing and buckled down to work even harder than before. Wanting it - needing it - had been what had gotten him through ROTC, through OCS, and continuing through one of the toughest military training programs there was, but it might not be enough to keep it now. Veronica had heard his physical therapist remind him the last time she'd picked him up that sometimes there was just no bouncing back to before an injury.

"You want me to go with you?" she asked, hoping he wouldn't read too much into the offer.

"Aren't you working a case?"

He rolled a little and she slid off of him, letting him up. "Yeah, but I can make time if you want me there."

"I'll be okay," he promised, leaning in to steal a quick kiss. "How about you make reservations and we'll celebrate good news at dinner tonight?"

"Logan —"

"It's fine. I've got this."

She watched him carefully, and damn it if he hadn't convinced himself of it. She just hoped he was right.

Slowly she unfolded and stood on the bed, stepping to the edge so that she could wrap her arms around his neck and look down on him, her fingers teasing his short hair. She took a breath and went in with him. "Yeah you do. We'll celebrate good news."

"You keep looking at me like that, Mrs Echolls and I'm not gonna make it to base," he muttered, mischief dancing through his eyes.

Veronica snorted and released him. "Then go get 'em, Mr Mars."

And on the heels of a joke they'd held onto throughout his recovery, he turned to finish getting ready to drive down to San Diego.

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

She knew the moment she saw him walk through the office door that the news had been less than he'd hoped for. They canceled the reservations and went home with takeout and a bottle of wine. He didn't talk. No quips, no brushoffs, not even an honest opinion or an explanation of exactly what the doctor had said or what it meant. Veronica didn't know if they were forcing him into retirement - or was it discharging him? She wasn't entirely sure - or if they'd pushed the decision down the line. His squad had already been deployed without him two months earlier - this time for a longer tour - and while she hated the idea of him shipping out to join them, the idea of him losing the job he loved so much - because of hers, the pesky thought tried to push its way to the forefront - wasn't any better. Sure, he'd be safer, but he loved what he did. He'd tried to describe the way it felt to fly his jet to her one time. The rush of an aerial dogfight, the thrill of hitting supersonic, and the way he could trust that his Wizzo Dave Riley had his back, both literally and figuratively. Even when his duties had shifted in the last couple of years and he found himself with boots on the ground from time to time, the people he trusted were right there with him. "They're family," he'd explained one time and she knew what that meant to him.

Now she was afraid that he'd lost that and she had no idea what to say. She'd never been particularly good at finding the right words to fill the awkward silence following a disaster she couldn't fix. She was good in a fight. She was good on a case. Something winnable. This…. she couldn't do anything for him besides be there and support him, but that never felt like enough. Too often she brushed past, opting instead to focus on anything tangible, but not here. She couldn't do that to him here.

Logan had barely touched the slice of pizza sitting in front of him, but his wine glass was almost empty. Veronica reached over to the bottle and poured the same amount she tended to reserve for his impromptu deployments: up to the lip of the glass. He shot her a look at that and she shrugged, finally pulling a mirthless snort that was close to a chuckle as he was capable of giving her in that moment. He reached over and she took his hand readily, feeling his fingers close around hers, his wedding band cool against her skin. He heaved a sigh, squaring his shoulders a little as he started to speak. "You know, right after I woke up in the hospital my first thought was shit, I bet that explosion just fucked my hearing. Woulda grounded me instantly."

"You got cleared on that three visits ago," Veronica murmured.

"Right? Didn't lose a limb, didn't damage my eyes or ears. I was lucky. I know I was lucky." She shifted on the bar stool and reached up tentatively, her freehand resting on his thigh. He tried for a smile and failed miserably. "I just couldn't pass the physical."

The words were like a knife to the gut and Veronica tightened her hold with both hands, feeling his own fingers around hers and he squeezed his eyes shut. He was done. They were taking his wings. They were taking the thing from him that had helped him find purpose in and that he'd devoted his adult life to.

She had taken it.

Veronica scooted off the stool and wrapped her arms around him, her forehead pressed against his arm as hot tears streaked down her cheeks. She felt as much as she heard him choke back a sob as he reached to hold onto her arm, his entire body trembling under the strain of it all. He'd fought so hard, but even he couldn't fight hard enough to win this one.

"I'm so sorry," she heard herself say, the words tumbling out again and again, faster and more desperate each time until he turned on his seat and suddenly he was standing there, his arms around her too and pulling her in.

He didn't say anything and her apologies eventually dwindled to get swallowed up by the sobs that still shook her. She felt his hand tangled in her hair, though, stroking it gently and he had her pulled close in that way that had always been meant to comfort. Even now, even after being responsible for this, he was trying to comfort her in whatever way he could manage. It wasn't fair.

She felt him pull in an unsteady breath and kiss the side of her head before leaning back. His eyes were rimmed red, the lines in his face a little deeper than usual with the strain of trying to hold himself together. "Veronica," he said firmly, even if his voice was rough. He waited until she met his gaze. "This is not your fault."

"Bullshit," she managed and swallowed hard, determined not to let another wave of sobs break free. "He was after me and he nearly killed you. I knew. Back in college I knew how dangerous this was. It's why I left. It's why I didn't come back until…"

"Till I asked you to."

"I knew this job was dangerous. Not just for me, but for everyone around me. Everyone I love. I went back to it anyway. I could have used my degree at a firm in San Diego or LA and lived here, but I was….so selfish. I knew I was putting everyone -" No, that's not right, Mars. If you're going to start, you better damn well own it."That I was putting you in danger. I did it anyway. I did this."

"No," he choked out, fresh tears building in his brown eyes and she hated that even now he was trying to defend her.

"This is my fault!" she shouted and lost the battle with her own will as she folded forward, unable to drag in enough air to satisfy her lungs.

He pulled her back in and held her close. "Don't ever apologize to me for being who you are. You're good at what you do and I…. I wish it weren't as dangerous as it is. You know I wish it wasn't, but that's for you. What happened to me is Epner's fault, not yours." She felt his finger under her chin, guiding her to look at him again. "You hear me?"

"Yeah," she said smally.

"You believe me?"

"I want to."

That pulled the tiniest of smiles from him and he leaned forward, kissing her forehead. "I love you. The Navy was everything once, but you…. I love you. I've loved you over half my life."

Veronica sniffed hard. "What now?"

He leaned down, catching her lips with his like that was his answer, and the moment she kissed him back he was lifting her off the floor. Veronica wrapped her legs around him and she could taste their tears in the kiss as he carried her back to the bedroom. He wasn't going to magically be okay with losing his career just like she wasn't going to instantly be able to - appropriately or not - redistribute the guilt she was feeling onto Penn Epner, but she could be there for him. And maybe, in time, she'd find a way to be a little better at that.

---------

The world didn't stop just because Logan felt like it should have. There were things to do, papers to sign, and - worst of all - a call he dreaded making. Thankfully he managed to hold it together on the Skype call with his squad, even if Riley of all people looked on the verge of breaking down. Riles wasn't the only one that reminded him that just because he didn't ship out with them didn't make him any less their family or them his.

Veronica spent the first few days after he got the news close by. She didn't ask him to talk about it, but listened when he wanted to . Even that couldn't go on forever, though, and eventually she started slipping out to the office. The bombing case had put Mars Investigation on the map even outside of Neptune and calls were coming in from all of the country. She wasn't taking anything out of town just yet, but Keith wasn't able to carry to load himself, even with the adjustment to his medication that had helped his memory issues. It was fine. Probably better than fine. Hopefully it meant that she was starting to accept that this really wasn't her fault.

Logan wasn't sure how long a person was supposed to take to mourn the loss of their career, but he was pretty sure he was due at least a few more days of moping. Dick hadn't agreed with him on that and had shown up on his doorstep with a surfboard and a chest full of beer that morning to drag him out to the beach. Well, it had always helped him clear his head when he was younger.

It was bordering on noon when he and Dick trudged their way back to where they'd left their things to find Veronica had brought her own beach towel and was stretched out with a magazine on cameras. She flashed him a bright smile. "Hiya, handsome."

"Always knew you had a thing for me, Ronnie," Dick chirped at his side and Logan rolled his eyes, elbowing the other man in the ribs.

"Hey. You calling it a day already? Careful, or someone's going to accuse you of keeping '09er hours."

"Well, I did marry one," she answered him with a wink.

Dick snorted and Logan elbowed him again before he had a chance to add to his earlier comment. He feigned injury. "That's what I get for trying to cheer you up, man."

Logan's lips stretched into an almost-smile. "Thanks."

"Anytime." Dick turned his attention back to Veronica. "You got him?"

"I do indeed," she answered cheerfully and popped to her feet. "You -" she directed at Logan this time - "go hop through the shower, then I'm kidnapping you."

"What for?"

"You'll see."

He glanced at Dick, looking for any hint he might give, and the blond shrugged.

"You think I'm dumb enough to give him details?" his wife laughed. "C'mon. We're on the clock."

Logan gave up trying to figure it out and did as he was told. Twenty minutes later he was showered and dressed, being ushered out to the convertible he'd bought four months before when he'd been cleared to drive again and it became clear that Veronica couldn't continue giving up her car or all of her time to make sure he made all of his doctors' appointments. He tried to swipe the keys from her, but she just smirked as she hopped into the driver's seat. "You don't know where we're going."

"Would if you'd tell me."

"Where's the fun in that?"

They worked their way through the back roads and he could tell she was trying to throw him off, but he knew the town too well and recognized the roundabout path she was taking to the private airport on the edge of town that Duncan's family used to fly their private plane out of. He didn't bother asking why, but settled into the passenger seat a little deeper and tried to push back the twinge of pain that the roar of a Gulfstream climbing overhead stirred in him.

"Veronica…" he started, suddenly finding himself utterly sapped of energy and wanting nothing more than to go home. They had come out here over the years and watched the planes coming and going. Veronica didn't get nearly as much out of it as he did, but he had loved to go on and on about them, always teasing her that he was going to buy some little single engine one day. She had rolled her eyes at him and told him not to even try it. He'd come close a couple of times, but the judgement would have been strong if he had.

"Trust me?"

He sighed, giving her a sharp nod.

They pulled around towards the hanger and parked off to the side. Veronica kept glancing at him, like she was constantly trying to gauge his mood. He could have saved her some time if she'd just asked: worse by the minute. "I'm really not in the mood to watch them."

"Good, because I thought you might want to fly one." She motioned to where a late 90's model Bonanza sat out on the runway. "You said that you can still fly, just not like the Navy needs you to be able to. I did some research and talked to Riley to make sure I understood everything correctly. He said you had gotten certified in a Bonanza several years ago and all you'd need to do to… re-certify?"

"Get current," he corrected and she nodded.

"Right, that's what he called it."

"Yeah, I just have to do what they call touch-and-goes. Three take offs and landings."

"Super easy, right?"

"Yeah." He felt his lips quirk upward despite his best efforts. "How long do we have her?"

"Unless Riley lied to me and you don't really love this model…. as long as you want?"

Logan stared at her. "You bought me a plane?"

"Well, technically, you bought you a plane, but apparently that marriage certificate means that your finance guy was willing to listen to the crazy idea and set everything up." The beautiful blue gaze of her latched onto him and Logan felt his heart stutter in his chest. "I know it's not a Hornet and I know it won't go mach… whatever, but you'll be in the air." He wasn't sure what his face was doing, but apparently it caught her by surprise. "Shit… do you hate? Is it too soon? I just -"

He leaned in, the kiss cutting off whatever she was going to say and he lifted her up off the ground and spun her a little before letting her feet drop back down and begrudgingly releasing her. Oh. That's it, he realized as he blinked through blurred vision. Tears could definitely give the wrong impression. "I love it," he swore. "It's perfect."

"You're not just saying that?"

"No. You wanna go up?"

She flashed him a bright smile. "See you fly first hand? Absolutely. I think we have to talk to the guy in the office before we just take off in it though."

"Probably so," Logan chuckled and caught her hand in his, pulling it up to press a quick kiss to her knuckles before starting into the hanger. The aftermath of the bombing, recovery, and his eventual medical discharge had been more than he could have ever handled alone, but he had her. Through all of it and for whatever came next. They'd figure it out together.

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

Notes: So, fun fact: my dad has been a pilot all my life and when I was little (and it didn't break the bank to do it) he used to rent Bonanzas to fly us to different places. I have some very early and very fond memories of those flights, so when I needed a single engine for Logan to be certified in, that was my go-to.

[scribblestatic]

Katsuki wakes up with a start in the middle of the night, hands burning from overuse, right wrist aching with strain, the smell of scalded paint and cotton strong cloying and blocking his nose, his body shaking with a terrible, cold sweat, and his father’s arms wrapped around him.

“You’re okay, son. You’re okay. Just breathe, Katsuki...breathe.”

He tries to follow his instructions, but it’s a struggle. He has to fight against himself, against his memories, to get his body to stop hyperventilating and suffocating itself. But it’s much easier to do with his dad’s warm body against his, Masaru’s heartbeat and lungs working much less strenuously than his own were.

Slowly, he’s brought down from his nightmare-induced panic attack, and, exhausted, he doesn’t try to wipe away the angry, scared tears in his eyes. Katsuki sags against his dad, not hugging him back, but not protesting the hold either.

They stay like that for a while, Masaru whispering slow, calm words to him like he did when Katsuki used to have really bad tantrums. As he does, red-eyed and exhausted, Katsuki takes stock of his room.

He’s burned up the wall next to his bed pretty badly. His sheets are still smoldering a bit, but the little burn spots aren’t yellow anymore. The lower left edge of the single All Might poster he has up on his wall is unsalvageable. When he strains his eyes to look upwards, he spots a darker, more burned spot on the ceiling right above his bed.

As a child, nightmares used to be accompanied by involuntary quirk usage. He remembered the scratchy, heat-resistant sleep gloves he used to have to wear. Back then, he’d hated them with a vengeance, so he trained himself to work through his nightmares quietly. To take the brunt of his terrors and kick their asses in his dreams rather than in reality. His efforts had paid off then—at eight years old, he was finally allowed to sleep without the gloves.

He doesn’t complain the next morning when his old man silently presents some new sleeping gloves to him.

These aren’t flashy or full of cool designs like his kiddie ones had been, no exploding red and orange on a black background, bombastic enough to hide the buckles that would be strapped around his wrists to keep them on. These are a simple black on the backhand, orange on the front, the buckle plain to see, but not nearly as daunting to look at now as it had been as a kid.

“I’m sorry, Katsuki,” his old man says as he takes the gloves without protest. “I know you hated these as a child, but—”

“I get it,” he replies, stuffing his hands—the left one free, the right wrapped in a fresh ACE bandage—into his pockets as he turns to head back to his burned room. “I get it.”

Before he’s completely out of the living room, he hears the dining room chair slide back.

“Maybe...maybe if you talked to the counselor at school, it would help you work through those nightmares. Or, well, you could tell me.” Katsuki stays staring at the floor, back to his dad. “I won’t be able to fully understand what you’ve been through, but son, you...you have to talk to someone. You need someone to help you.”

Help…

Katsuki clenches his teeth tightly. Not out of anger, but out of the pang of panic that strikes through him at the mere mention of the word.

Help.

He’d cried for help.

Begged for it.

As that sludge clogged his lungs and slowed his heart, he’d pumped as much adrenaline into his body as he could to keep exploding, keep moving, keep trying to force it out, don’t drown, don’t drown, don’t drown—

He’d needed help. He’d looked out into the crowd and begged for it.

And not a single living soul reached to help him.

The crowd had stood stock still, looking around for heroes to come help. Hell, the heroes who were there didn’t...they didn’t even try. They didn’t reach for him, didn’t use what the could to help him. Nothing. They were going to watch him die, they were ready to watch him die, he was dying and they…

But he’d felt it.

A cold, clammy hand forcing his wrist back into the sludge, backwards, straining, before forcing a solid kick against his back. It had shoved his face out of the sludge long enough to breathe, long enough to make a good explosion, long enough that the hand forced backwards let out an explosion big enough to send him flying out like a rocket. He’d had a rough landing, a solid slab of concrete hitting him in the stomach on his way down before he collapsed and began throwing up food and drink and sticky green from the harsh hit.

He barely understood what happened after that. His hearing was already shot from having sludge shoved into him, the fucking monster of a man trying to force himself into his body in the most disgusting, horrendous ways possible. He’d still been throwing up and coughing, trying to crawl desperately away from the sloughing sludge behind him, and still, the heroes weren’t close enough to help. Were refusing to help.

It wasn’t until All Might wrapped an arm around his waist as he threw a punch that changed the weather that he felt even remotely like things would be okay. He hadn’t even realized it was All Might at first, but the body was not cold and wet and curling and forcing itself into his body, so he didn’t struggle against it.

Paramedics quickly took him after, gave him a general check up and quickly diagnosed him with pneumonia, doing their best to tell the media to fuck off as a nurse with a healing quirk—something about toxin expulsion—helped expunge him of the physical residuals from the attack. (Had it not been for her and those nurses, he’d probably have died of bacterial aspiration pneumonia, lactic acidosis, and flat-out blood poisoning. Thank fuck some actually thoughful pricks were around.)

The nurses couldn’t conceal him forever, and after a solid jar-full of extra sludge coming out of his body, another check, and a watchful bill of health with an ACE bandage for his mysteriously sprained right wrist, they were forced to throw him back to the dogs as the media, police, and heroes hounded to hear something from him. But he’d barely said a word. The only thing he’d really managed to say occured when a crowd of heroes tried to congratulate him, cooing over how strong his quirk is, how they’d love to have him as a sidekick. Same shit he’d been hearing all his life.

Only this time, while usually it brought him a sense of pride thinly concealing an overwhelming ball of anxiety, now it just fell flat. Numb. Like something was trying to tickle him but it couldn’t get a response. 

He just stared off to the side, where the nurses were gingerly concealing Deku’s dead body from the rest of the world. A single casualty that none of the heroes surrounding him were paying attention to. No. Only All Might acknowledged him, standing over his long cold body with slightly slumped shoulders, his body also a guard against a bunch of nosy gossip mongers from taking Deku’s slack-faced picture and posting it all over the web.

No...Deku’s face was slack. It was, but not the way the dead tend to look.

He’d seen it as the nurses covered him. Nah, the dumbass seemed like he was just sleeping. Just a little opening of the mouth, the lack of chest movement and the severe impact scar scraped into his chest the only indications he was dead. Yet, his face hadn’t been scrunched in pain. No, he was serene, like he was having a good-damn dream.

He stared as the nurses covered his red shoes, and slapped one of the heroes’ hands off his shoulder as they touched him.

“Keep your paws off me. It’s too fuckin’ late now.”

Apparently his face said something his mouth didn’t, because none of the heroes followed after him as he left.

Katsuki kept it together all the way till he got home, right up until his dad rushed in his room and held him close, thanking every Shinto god he could think of that his son was alive. Then Katsuki pressed his face into his dad’s shoulder and finally shattered to pieces, not caring that the old hag hovered in the doorway, unsure and concerned.

She ended up occupied anyway. Had to console her best friend during the loss of the woman’s only son. But just hearing the call start up opened up another can of beans because he’d seen Deku’s face last. Before the silent, sleeping face, there had been a terrible, teary-eyed, wide-pupiled grin before Deku’s dead maw had opened, peering eyes peeking out from his already cold body, spewing forth death that quickly surrounded Katsuki and tried to invade his body and take him with it.

But even that isn’t what haunts him most. Haunts him so much that he can’t yet bear to talk about it, because he’s sure if he tries, he’ll be admitted to the nearest psych ward and he’s not sure he could take that.

So instead of answering his dad back, he just keeps walking forward. Keeps heading to the stairs and shuffling to his room. Silently closes the door and stares at his charred wall and the new bed sheets that have replaced the newly burnt ones. Stares at the crispy All Might poster that he’s still going to leave up on his wall.

Then, once he’s sure he’ll be left alone, his gaze shoots to his closet.

See, in his time off school, he’s had time to think. Time to process some shit and really get his head into gear. Actually use his brain after it had been so rudely thrust out of its usual orbit. And he’s still not quite back, but he’s aware enough. Thoughtful enough. Observant enough.

And he’d observed something he’d thought he’d imagined, but still has proof of, and has vigilantly kept it hidden in the ice box in his closet.

He shoves his hanging clothes aside to reveal the ice chest and pulls it out, a strange mixture of sewage and car air fresheners seeping just the tiniest bit out of the corners of the top. He shoves the top off and pulls out its contents, ignoring the rush of smells with only the scrunch of his nose.

He stares.

It’s still there.

On the back of his gakuran is a single dirt stain. The thing stinks like sewer sludge, but he just contains it by wrapping the jacket in plastic and spraying Febreeze on it until he can’t smell anything but Bamboo Essence. Cloying and flowery, but better than sludge. But see, he has to save it. Has to save his gakuran as his proof. 

Because the single dirt stain is of a shoe print. And that is enough to convince him that he’s not crazy.

He can still see the stain where an already dead Deku had kicked him in the back to save him.

[hillnerd]

Waking Up - Chapter 1

Rating PG-13      A03   ff.net      Chapter word count- 6791  

fic summary: The war is over, but there’s still plenty of battles ahead for Hermione and Ron. Her parents are still in Australia, Ron is hiding secrets, and she has to wonder when she’ll wake up and it’s not from a nightmare. My version of an ‘Australia fic’ - Romione abounds Thank you to @abradystrix for the betaing and birtpicking! :) Thanks to @amysthefardareismai for a quick look over as well! 

Chapter warnings:  cursing, graphic descriptions of violence, romantic touching

Chapter 1-  Hiding Spots and Whisks

The spell ripped through her. She was sure that muscles tore away from bone. She was flayed, raw and screaming. Ropes cut into her skin. Her back arched unnaturally. All she could feel was the pain searing through her, again and again. Unrelenting pain. 

Please kill me...

And then it stopped, and she let out a pitiful cry, rocking back and forth as much as the ropes would allow. 

“I think the Mudblood enjoys it. Otherwise it wouldn’t continue to lie.”

She brokenly sobbed. Every muscle spasmed, and all strength left her. She couldn’t even twist her face away as Bellatrix Lestrange’s nails cruelly dug into her jaw.

“That filthy goblin will reveal your lies, and when he does, nothing will be able to save you,” Bellatrix whispered in her ear. Hermione whimpered, trying to repeat that the sword wasn’t theirs, but she couldn’t speak. Her tongue was slack and nerveless.

“The sword is the true sword of Gryffindor,” the little goblin declared.

An unholy shriek wrent from Bellatrix. She roughly pulled Hermione to her feet and snapped back her neck. All Hermione could see was the chandelier. A knife was brought to her neck and painfully pressed into her flesh.

“Let’s see how filthy that blood is.”

The knife tortuously sawed through her larynx. Blood was choking her, and gushing down her body. Was she was dying from the wound, or from drowning in her own blood?

With a gasp, Hermione woke up, hands going to her throat. 

Her throat had not been slit; it was whole, with only had a small scar marring the otherwise smooth skin. She wasn’t in Malfoy Manor being tortured. She was at the Burrow, probably one of the safest homes in all of England. 

She gave a cold shiver. The patchwork quilt was wet through with perspiration, and her clothes clung to her. Her throat felt raw, which meant she had been screaming in her sleep again. 

The silencing charm seemed to have held for another night, as Ginny was sleeping away in the bed beside hers. She puckered her lips to give a small whistle, but no sound came with the blow of air. Good. The charm was still working perfectly. With a wave of her wand she undid it. 

There was no point in trying to fall asleep; she never could after a vivid nightmare like that one. She snuck out of the room and walked down the wooden steps to the sitting room with practiced ease. Making the journey almost every night, she had quickly learned how to avoid the creakiest floor boards. Her path along the hallway was pitch black, but the last bit of moonlight illuminated the sitting room, along with the earliest tinges of morning light. 

In the darkness at the end of the sofa sat Ron. She wasn’t surprised to see him. He’d been down there almost every night the past few weeks. It didn’t matter if it was midnight or four in the morning, there he’d be, as if keeping watch for the house. She didn’t think anyone but herself and perhaps his parents knew. She'd heard his mother admonishing him for his poor sleep habits, having come across him early in the morning.

From what Hermione gathered, he almost never went to bed until someone else was up, as if he were still taking watch outside that horrid tent. He would hold his wand and stare out the window, for hours sometimes. On a few nights where she hadn’t felt like talking to anyone, she’d sat on the steps from the first landing and watched him pace back and forth, occasionally taking breaks to sit and bounce his knee. He didn’t even have much of a lie in the following morning. He looked exhausted, but continued on as if nothing had happened, waking early and tending to everyone in the house like he was fine. 

Tonight he was hunched over his chessboard. He grimaced in pain as he rubbed at his left shoulder. Fingers dug along his trapezius, before he gave a rough roll of his shoulder, stretching it around a bit. He let out a hiss, whether in pain or relief she couldn’t say, until he gave a small smile and stretched, rotating his hand with a satisfied look on his face.

Hermione slid her feet along the floor a little louder than necessary to announce her presence. She knew better than to startle him, otherwise she would meet a wand pointed in her direction. Of course, this was true of almost everyone after the war. Harry was the fastest draw, but Ron was a close second, with equally flayed nerves and fast reflexes. 

“You should be in bed,” Ron chastised, but his actions belied his admonishment. He budged over and patted the sofa for her to sit beside him, which she happily did. 

“Have you even been to bed yet?” 

“Yeah, but I can only sit and listen to Harry’s snoring and moaning about my sister in his sleep for so long.” Ron had great purple bags under his eyes, but he skillfully changed the topic and she was too groggy headed to pursue it further.

“Well, you shouldn’t have to sit in the dark like this just because you’re having trouble sleeping. It can’t be good for your eyes.”

“I don't want to wake anyone with lights,” Ron said with a tight shrug. “Past few nights Mum has scurried down the second I turned them on. She needs the sleep more than anyone. Plus, I wanted to be alone.”

“I'm sorry I intruded,” she apologized. She knew how hard it was to be around people anymore. Of course he needed an escape. Especially from her! She was rotten company anyway. “I'll just scarper back— ”

She moved to get up, but he put a staying hand on her arm and gave her a faint smile.

“I'm happy to be alone with you, though,” he said, smoothing a bit of her hair behind her shoulder, his hand lingering around her jawline.

“Oh!” she replied, a smile breaking across her face. Her cheeks burned as she settled in and leaned into his good shoulder. It wasn’t as bony as it had been even a few weeks ago. He was back to having a deceivingly solid build for one so tall and thin.

He was always handsome to her, but the hunger they had experienced while they were runaways had made them all rather emaciated. During the war it was hard to take in the gradual changes they had gone through physically. In the fleeting moments they’d changed clothes in front of each other there wasn’t the time to take in each other’s forms. They were too focused on getting warm, and surviving, to even spare a glance much of the time. 

It wasn’t until they were at the Burrow, scrubbed clean of all the muck and dust that Hermione could finally see how hollow they all were. Ron had looked the most normal of them. He had always been tall and thin with broad shoulders, so no matter how much weight he lost, the width of his shoulders basically stayed the same size. He looked almost his usual self when dressed.

Normally Molly Weasley would practically be force feeding them, but the loss of her son kept her out of the kitchen. She stayed sequestered in her bedroom, sobbing for well over a week, barely leaving the room except for the myriad of funerals. Ron and Fleur had taken over the task of feeding everyone during the first weeks after the war. 

A few days after Fred’s funeral, Mrs Weasley finally started taking an interest in her remaining family again. She had little energy for cooking, but enough to start working on healing them all up a bit more properly. 

One by one she sat them down and used a number of spells and tonics on the scars they’d picked up. Hermione thought Mrs Weasley’s ministrations would be wasted, given how long ago their injuries had been, but she was able to achieve great progress on a few of the burns and scars. 

One morning Hermione had come downstairs to see Ron shirtless in the living room, his mother tending to his shoulder to see if she could heal it any better.

“You did a number on yourself, Ron, splinching yourself like this,” she heard the matron tut at him. It was Hermione’s fault he’d been splinched so horribly, but he said nothing to correct his mother. 

Hermione had quietly tried to read in the corner, but her eyes kept going to his body, specifically his left shoulder and the terrible scarring that was all her fault. She realized that day how skeletal he’d become. 

His ribs, even the ones near his collar bones, were all apparent, the knobs of his spine far too pointed, and his hip bone, just visible from his sagging jeans, stuck out like a handle.

After that, his mother seemed to see it as her personal mission to make them plump up again. The boys were able to tear into her meals with fervor and pack on the pounds quickly, but Hermione found it difficult to eat much of anything. 

Eating Molly Weasley’s cooking for weeks had Ron filled out almost magically fast, and with it Hermione realized that he was broader of shoulder and taller than ever before. His threadbare clothes were all far too small for him, and no stretching charms could make them fit him much better at this point. She quite liked it when his jeans were a bit too tight, but she had never dared tell him that. 

For all the ways their relationship had changed and brought them closer, there were still boundaries she hadn’t dared to cross. She’d been able to cover up her nightmares from him for weeks. She didn’t want anyone to know, but she especially wanted to keep the nightmares from Ron. 

It was not just her that he was always watching over. He was watching over everyone. He was carefully watching Harry and prodding him to come out of his shell. He was watching his mother and making sure nothing disturbed her when she was in a somewhat calm mood. He was watching his brothers and making sure they got along. He was hunting down George and making sure he got home in one piece after drinking a bit too much. He was watching his father and making sure he had privacy when he was about to cry. He was looking after his sister, to make sure Harry and she were getting on. And he was suspiciously watching any stranger who came near them whenever they ventured from the confines of the Burrow.

He’d watched his brother die right in front of him, and he was doing his best to comfort everyone. He was so overwrought, she didn't want to burden him further. 

“You’re being quiet,” Ron commented, not for the first time in the last few weeks. 

She gave a sigh. Her mind was buzzing, but blank. She felt like her mind had been put through a french press, and all that was left was the grounds to be thrown out with the rubbish. 

Even if she had her wits about her, it's not like she could sit and tell him about the fascinating day she’d had. Most days she sequestered herself in a dark corner and pretended to read until she nodded off. Anything interesting he’d probably seen, as they were quite joined at the hip. Under no circumstances would she tell him about her nightmares.

She gave a shrug, and wove her hand into his. 

"I suppose I'm just tired.”

And she was. Her whole body ached and she longed to curl up where she sat for a long nap. She wasn’t even missing out on that much sleep in the scheme of things. She might have been woken by horrible nightmares, but she was getting so much sleep during the day she didn't see how anyone could still be so tired. Of the two of them, it was Ron who didn't sleep, yet he seemed more capable than ever.

Ron hummed in response.

“Let’s go for a walk.”

“A walk? It's four thirty in the morning!”

“And who doesn’t enjoy a good early morning walk?” He rose and offered a hand to her. “Personally I think they’re meant for a comeback.”

“You do love an underdog,” she replied, taking his hand, which pulled her to standing with ease. 

He grabbed jackets and wellies from the scullery. They had a small collection of weathered canvas jackets, all smelling of hay and bonfires. She felt quite dwarfish when she put on the heavy jacket and its sleeves fell past her fingers by nearly a foot. 

Ron laughed as she struggled to fold the heavy fabric back from her hands.

“Here, let me.” Ron folded the fabric up her arm in a sweet doting way.

“Merlin, you’re tiny. This is the smallest one they have!” he said, as he finished the job and held her hand in his own.

“Why don’t you have a small one for Ginny or your mum? Neither of them are taller than I am.”

“Oh they just wear the same ones we do if they happen to need them. Plus it’s not like Ginny was made to shovel chicken coops, or dig up fence posts. Her chores were always more domestic.” 

The tiniest bit of morning light was beginning to peek from behind the hills, catching a few clouds and staining them pink.

“We can watch the sun rise soon,” Ron said, seeing where her eyes were looking. 

“It's funny. Technically I know when sunrise is, but somehow it always surprises me how early it starts getting light.”

“I think that’s because you grew up in the city.”

“Why would that make a difference?”

“Well, when you grow up in the country you get pretty familiar with getting woken up early to do the chores before it gets hot.”

“I don't remember you waking up early for anything,” she teased.

“Course I did. We all had to at least a few times a week. We had a chart and everything for whose turn it was to feed the chickens, check the fences, get eggs and veggies. I never was a morning person, of course, so half the time I’d just go back to bed as soon as I was done with my lot.”

"I never once noticed.”

“Well you were asleep, weren’t you, city girl?” Ron cheekily grinned as he easily hopped the wooden three rail fence they’d come upon. She struggled with her footing and awkwardly tried to climb it rail by rail. She’d never been particularly athletic or balanced, and found getting her boot over was a predictably unsteady affair. She had just managed to awkwardly straddle the fence when Ron put his hands at her hips, taking most of her weight and guiding her to the grass.

She gave her thanks and gave him a shy, but pleased, smile. He’d become more and more bold with touches here and there, but also a bit more tender and gentlemanly in how he looked after her. He’d always been chivalrous when it came to defending her, of course, but now he was practically gallant on a daily basis, putting out a hand to assist her, pouring her tea, holding an umbrella for her as they walked outside. 

He had his elbow out for her to hold as they journeyed through some longer grass that hid a bevy of roots that she nearly lost her footing on. If it weren’t for his heavy cursing and deep dose of sarcasm, he could easily fit into a historical romance novel from the way he doted on her. 

“Where exactly are we going?” she asked, looking around at the unfamiliar bit of field. 

“To get a better view of the sunrise.” 

Ron got to a tall tree and began hoisting himself up its branches.

“Ron! I can’t climb the tree in—in wellies! I can’t bend my ankles enough to do that in these and I’m not much for climbing, if I’m honest.”

"I know that,” Ron laughed, his upper body disappearing among some leaves. “Stay there a moment.”

“Oh don’t worry, I'm keeping my feet firmly on the ground! I don't care how good the view is, I'm not climbing that tree!”

“As fun as it’d be to see you try, that’s not the plan.”

In the twilight the upper branches were still blue hued and hard to make out. If not for the loud rustling of the branches, Ron would be easy to miss.

“There it is!” he cried in triumph. His feet dangled, as if he’d taken a seat. “Stand back!”

A wood and rope ladder clattered and unrolled itself from the tree before magically becoming rigid and straight as any staircase, complete with rope handrails. 

“Come on up!”

She smiled as she easily ascended the stairs to join him. There was a little wooden platform, not much longer or wider than a bench. She wasn’t afraid of heights, she liked to tell herself, but she also didn’t enjoy them and would avoid them whenever she could. 

Seeing her hesitation Ron rolled his eyes.

“There’s a barrier around the edge I just reinforced. You couldn’t fall off if you tried.”

He flicked a twig at the edge and it fell no further than the edge of his trainers.

She sat beside him and leaned against his shoulder.

“I imagine that spell was your mother’s work?” 

“Dad’s. We have a couple of these tree blinds hidden around. We’d sort of half-arsedly build them, then Mum or Dad would put protective spells around it so we don’t break our necks or something. This one was usually Charlie’s getaway place. And the- the twins… They were always trying to follow him up, so Dad put in some spells to make it safer if any of us weaseled our way up, but still afforded Charlie some privacy.”

“I can just imagine you all now: sticky fingered,muddy knees, running about the property, climbing any tree you come across and throwing rocks into the pond to watch the ripples.”

“It was pretty nice, yeah,” he said with a pained smile. 

“It sounds like the idyllic wild sort of childhood that I’d only been able to wish for.”

“Your childhood never sounded so bad to me.”

“It wasn’t bad at all, really. I had everything I needed, and it was quite lovely most of the time. It just afforded very few places to commune with nature. I remember loving the local hardware shop my father would take us to when he had some home project to take care of. They had a wonderful garden area I loved to get lost in. I’d pretend I was in the jungle like the Swiss Family Robinson, and wanted a house like theirs so badly.”

“So are these, like, famous Muggles or something?”

“They’re a made-up family in a book. They got shipwrecked on a tropical island and had to make do. They built an amazing treehouse in the film, and we watched it every Christmas. It wasn’t a particularly Christmassy movie, but it was a tradition of sorts for us.”

“Dad would fish out the ornament boxes from the attic, cursing the whole time as he crawled in the cramped attic. Mum and I would make hot chocolate and hang the lights on the tree. It was a tradition that the tree would remain clear of everything but the twinkle lights until the whole family was together. Then we’d put the ornaments on together. We’d try to time it out so we’d put the star on top of the tree as the song ‘O Christmas Tree’ played in the film.”

Hermione could remember her father trying to time it out year after year and they made it a sort of family challenge to get it right. They’d only properly managed twice, but the large whoops of glee they’d given had drowned out the film. 

The last time they’d done it, was the Christmas of her sixth year. One by one they’d each hang ornaments. ‘Baby’s first Christmas,’ woven lolly stick stars, fine German ornaments, and a few ugly old plastic electric ornaments from the 70s. Those had little child figures spinning in them that would short out the room if they were all plugged in to the same power strip. All the ornaments were placed on the tree with equal care. Her family grinned ear to ear at one another. 

They were so happy. What had her parents done this year? Hermione had left the ornaments in the attic as she didn’t have time to sort out the ones connected with herself, or that had their former names on them. Had she ruined their Christmas? Had they continued the tradition without Hermione? It wasn’t like it was their first Christmas without her. She’d skipped four in a row, from ages thirteen through sixteen. 

“That sounds loads nicer than Celestina Warbeck,” said Ron. “I’ve never seen a film. Was the Swede Family Robins alright?”

“Swiss Family Robinson. It’d probably be slow paced for most people, as it’s an older movie that came out back when my parents were just kids. It made quite the impression on me nonetheless. I begged and begged for a treehouse like the one in the film, but they said I’d grow tired of it too quickly and that it wasn’t worth the danger of me falling. I tried to make myself a secret fort under a large rhododendron bush and got a good scolding from my nanny for it when she saw I’d dragged a nice table cloth in there. She tried to get me to leave, and I wouldn’t. No matter how she grabbed for me, she couldn’t get a hold of me. It was one of my first bits of magic. She thought I was wiggling out of her grasp somehow, but her own arm had gone rubbery and useless every time she thrust it into my little fort.”

“How old were you when you had this little adventure?” Ron laughed.

“Oh, four or five. And don’t make fun!”

“I’m not! I just like picturing that angry little look on your face. I can see it now, so tiny with hair twice as wide as your body, curled up with a book in your little fort, all excited for a piece of adventure and rebelling against nannies,” he said, with a warm smile. “Did any of your friends have a playhouse or something you got to adventure in?”

“Oh… Well, I didn’t… There weren’t many children in my neighborhood, and I attended a small Church of England primary school, so even if I had friends, it was quite a lot of work to see anyone, make arrangements to be driven over and everything, so I didn’t.”

“So it was just you and some posh nanny?”

“Well don’t think me a terrible snob for having a nanny. Both my parents worked, so there was no one else to tend to me until I was old enough to attend school all day,” she rattled off, a bit embarrassed by her relative privilege. She felt silly complaining about it now. The poor little rich girl who didn’t get a tree house!

“Sounds a bit lonely,” he said, with a sympathetic look.

It had been lonely. Sometimes it felt like he could see right through her. Until Hogwarts Hermione had never had any real friends. There were a few children here or there that she’d gotten to play games with, but no real friends. Her parents were very loving and gave her every opportunity, but it wasn’t like the loud warm familiar household of the Weasleys. In some ways her somewhat distant parents made it easier for her to leave for Hogwarts. You couldn’t miss what you didn’t get to see much of. She never resented it. It was just how things were. It also made it much easier to lie to her parents. She lied and lied, then finally just erased herself from their minds, and they’d never forgive her for it.

Hermione shivered at the thought and brought her knees to her chest.

“Well, that’s enough about me,” she said, trying to center herself. She plastered a smile on. “Did you have a hiding spot like this tree house?” 

Ron jerked up sharply. The warm smile and deep eye contact he’d been giving her broke.

“No nothing like this.”

He stared down at his hands and began to fidget and pick at his cuticle. She wondered what could have caused such a change in him, but perhaps it was just memories of Fred. She hated how good memories could become so painful. She gave his hand a squeeze and after a moment his big warm hand squeezed back.

“There it is,” said Hermione as the sun began to peek over the hill. The puffball clouds became a lovely mix of peach and coral. “This really is a spectacular view. Thank you for— Ron, you’re bleeding!”

Ron blinked before confusedly looking about himself. She grabbed his left hand and inspected it. He’d ripped the cuticle so deep it made her wince in sympathy. It had to sting with how deep he’d torn it and how much blood there was.

“Your thumb...”

“Oh…” He blankly took his left hand from her hold and sucked the blood away. She gave a tut. 

“Don’t put your mouth on it! Your mouth has all sorts of bacteria!”

“It’ll be fine. It doesn’t hurt at all.”

And now he was pretending it didn’t even hurt, and he was bound to get it infected.

“Well I don’t care how fine you think it is, you shouldn’t mutilate your finger like that then introduce bacteria to it.”

“It’s really not a big deal.”

“You’ve messed up your fingers enough,” she admonished, taking hold of his hand to point to his missing fingernails. “You don’t need to mess up your thumb too.”

“Just leave it, Hermione!” he snapped, ripping his hand away and marching down the ladder, shoulders tight and high. He was a few meters away from the tree when he sighed and turned around.

“I’m sorry. I’m just…” he shook his head. “I don’t have a proper excuse. I was just thinking about— And you were pushing me and I… I’m sorry. Do you wanna continue watching the sun rise or did I bollocks it up?”

Hermione was about to shout back that he’d bollocksed it up pretty well, but stopped herself when she saw how pale he was. He was biting his lip and his hands were so clenched the knuckles had gone bone white. Something had rattled him, she just wasn’t sure what.  

“Are you alright?”

“‘M fine,” he said with a shrug. 

The magic of the sunrise had been a bit tainted. She left the light of the sunrise and stepped down the wooden steps to hold his hand. 

“How about we fix up your thumb, and then you show me your morning chores I’ve never gotten to see?”

“And I’ll try not to be such an arse.”

“And I’ll try not to be so pushy about something so minor.” 

They walked in silence, hand in hand, back to the house before Ron gave her his lopsided grin. “Was that our first fight?”

“Of course not! We’ve fought loads of times!”

“Well yeah, but never when you were my girlfriend… At least I don’t think?”

A thrill passed through her. Girlfriend! It felt silly, but she quite liked hearing him call her that. 

“You’re right,” she agreed. She was sure she had a goofy smile on her face, but she didn’t care.

“I guess I owe you a make up kiss.”

“Yes, I’d say you do.”

He gently pushed her up against a nearby tree and leaned over her. She stood on a root that helped narrow the height gap. His uninjured hand trailed up her arm before cupping her cheek and stroking it. His eyes were trailing all over her face and she couldn’t bring herself to look directly at him. The intensity of his stare made her tremble.

“Aren’t you going to kiss me?”

“I’m thinking about it,” he said with a crooked smile. He leaned down, but missed her mouth entirely, his lips finding their way to her jaw and slowly working their way to her neck. She let out a small moan as he sucked at her pulse point, and her hands went to his copper hair. His kisses trailed back up her neck to finally find her mouth. A flush went through her as he kissed her deeply, one hand cupping the back of her head, another trailing up her side. She was just starting to kiss back with equal furor, hands on his hips when he pulled back with a hiss and jerked away from her.

“What’s wrong?”

“Er… My hand got trapped,” he explained, flexing his hand a bit.

“Oh right! We really need to fix that up.”

“Sounds good,” he said, turning away from her. “I think Dad has some Dittany and plasters in his shed.”

“No argument?” she said, following his long strides.

Ron gave a shake of his head, before giving her a tight smile.

“I figure sooner I’m fixed up, sooner I get to kiss you again.”

She beamed at that. He helped her over the gate again, and by the time they reached the shed she was quite grateful to be indoors. The morning dew had seeped through her pajama trousers and she was shivering. The shed smelled of musty wood and dust, and the floor wasn’t paved. They called it a shed, but it more resembled a small barn. Ron turned a knob and the lamp above them glowed warmly, lighting up the dark space.

She’d never been inside Mr Weasley’s shed before, and it was a fascinating sight. As Ron went to find some plasters, she took her time looking about. Everywhere she looked there were collections of Muggle paraphernalia she couldn’t imagine anyone else in the world wanting to collect. She found boxes of twisted up slinkies, wires, batteries, holographic stickers, magnets and even a box of old fashioned rotary whisk.

She’d not ever used one of the mechanical whisks before and took it out to give a quick whirl of the handle.

“Found one of Dad’s collections have you?” Ron asked looking at the whisk with a mix between embarrassment and distaste.

“Yes. I hadn’t seen one of these in a while.”

“What’s it for? No, lemme guess! Looks like it could be  a hair curler or something, doesn’t it?” he said taking another whisk from the box and haltingly moving the handle. It gave a terrible rusty clatter. “God, do all muggle things have to make such terrible sounds?”

“No they do not,” she laughed, demonstrating her own whisk. 

“Oh, hand over the good one then,” he said with a grin, giving it a test. “So is it something so people can get hair like yours?”

“Nobody would make a device to purposefully have hair like mine,” she replied with a shake of her head. She could just make out her reflection in the mirror and frantically started to comb her fingers through it. “Oh no! I look like I’ve been snogging!”

“You have been,” he laughed.

“Yes, but I don’t want to look as though I have! Your mother will be up any moment and then she’ll think I’m ghastly.”

“I doubt she’d notice.”

“How could she not! I look like a bramble patch.”

“But a very attractive one.”

“Oh! You’re no help!”

“How am I supposed to help? Use this thing?” he said holding up a whisk.

“Don’t you dare!” 

He pointed the whisk at her and gave a pretend menacing look. She gave a laughing shriek as he gave chase. She weaved and ducked out of his way as he pursued her, twirling the handle all the way. When he’d finally cornered her, she was quite breathless as they smiled at one another. His grin faded into that same piercing look from earlier. 

Her eyes fell to his lips, and she gave a rough swallow. He slowly wrapped a free hand around her waist, leaned down and kissed her again, this time so deeply she thought she might pass out from the pleasure of it. Their tongues began to dance with each other, and she felt a deep hunger growing within her that had nothing to do with food.

Her hand trailed up under his shirt and stroked against his solid frame, and his hand was making a similar journey up her top, just grazing the underside of her breast when the door to the shed burst open with a resounding crash.

They wrenched their lips apart, practically making a popping sound like a cork from a champagne bottle. 

Mrs Weasley was pointing her wand at them in a menacing fashion, but upon seeing their intimate hold her eyes went wide and she dropped her wand to her side. It took considerably longer to retract their hands from each other’s shirts.

“M-Mum!” 

“I was feeding the chickens when I heard what sounded like screaming,” she explained, face red. The sheepish look on her face quickly turned stern. “You two shouldn’t be doing that with all sorts of dangerous Muggle things about… Skulking about in the dark. You’re lucky neither of you ended up eklecktrified or worse! You should know better, Ronald Weasley. And what in the world is that?”

She said pointing to Ron’s hand. 

“Er… Hair curler?” Ron said.

“Well neither of you has use for that, now do you? Put it away before you poke out an eye or something.” 

Ron mutely nodded and put the whisk in its place, face a flaming red. Hermione imagined her face was a similar color, given the heat she could feel burning through her cheeks.

Mrs Weasley stood in the door and opened it, ushering the teens out and towards the house. They walked ahead and she marched behind them, until they reached the kitchen step. Ron made to open the door but Mrs Weasley gestured them to sit on a pair of weather worn wooden chairs beside the door.

“Now, you two, I understand something of young love and all that. Arthur and I weren’t much older than you when we got married. I won’t delude myself and think you’ve not… done certain things. After all you were off alone for months with no supervision, and you’re of age—”

“Merlin, Mum!” Ron bleated, face the shade of an overcooked radish. He seemed to know where his mother was going with this. Hermione was in pure denial. Surely Mrs Weasley wasn’t inferring that she and Ron had…. Had relations during the war? They’d barely snogged more than five or so times at this point. Hermione was mute with mortification.

“Honestly, Mum! We weren’t doing— Doing that.” 

“I saw you two not minutes ago! I have seven children, and I know where that sort of snogging leads! If you’re going to be taking things to that level of intimacy you really must make sure to use all the correct charms and potions.”

Hermione’s cheeks flamed as she closed her eyes tight in embarrassment.

 “Now Hermione, I know you won’t have learned them from your parents, of course, but do you know about contraception charms?”

“Mum! Please stop— We weren’t—!”

“If you’re caught snogging like that by your mother, you have to put up her making sure a pair of unwed teenagers don’t make a silly mistake!” She turned again to Hermione. “Ron and all his siblings were taught this, but I want to make sure you know them too, dear. You need to use it every single time. I know some people will say it feels better without it, but that’s complete rubbish! Do you know—”

“I know them, Mrs Weasley, thank you!” Hermione said, voice unnaturally high and loud. 

“We both know them, Mum! Now can you please stop!”

“Fine! But don’t make me catch you like that again!”

“Believe me, no one wants a repeat!” Ron said with a rueful shake of his head.

“Well, that’s said then. Why don’t you tend to the chickens and get some eggs, and I’ll start on breakfast. Sausage and egg sandwiches?” Mrs Weasley asked lightly, not waiting for an answer as she went back into the house.

Hermione sunk her head into her hands. 

“So….” Ron began. “That was— ”

“I don’t want to talk about it!” Hermione squeaked from behind her hands. Ron gave a laugh.

“Thank Merlin the twins didn’t hear tha—” Ron cut himself off and blanched. Hermione quickly made a movement towards him, but he’d already risen from his chair, shoulders tight. She didn’t know what to say in these moments. 

Ron took a rattling breath, and Hermione was fairly certain he was stifling a sob. What would Ron do if the situation was reversed? He’d put an arm around her, let her say anything she needed, then distract her or make a joke. She was no good at jokes, but she could hold him and distract him.

She gingerly put a hand on his arm and gave it a squeeze. He wiped at his eyes.

“For a second I honestly forgot…” Ron said with a shrug. “What kind of bastard forgets their brother’s dead?”

She bit her lip. Seeing him hurt like this was painful. It would be so easy to start crying alongside him, but she refused her body’s instincts. The last thing he needed was her sobbing all over him.

“I think it was more a behavioral habit than you actually forgetting. You’re used to saying ‘the twins’ and noting what they’d find funny. It doesn’t mean you did something bad. It will take a while, but eventually your habits will change.”

“I don’t know if that’s not worse…”

Hermione didn’t see how that was worse, but thought it was best not to argue the point. 

“Well, if I want an egg sandwich, I’ll need to get Mum some eggs, won’t I?” Ron gave a deep sniff and smiled.

She hated the brittle smile he’d put on in these moments. 

It had been weeks since the Battle of Hogwarts, but Fred’s loss was still raw and painful for everyone. She couldn’t imagine the family would ever really recover. Fred and George were always ‘the twins.’ It wasn’t the first time someone had forgotten for a moment that Fred wasn’t alive and referred to the twins this way. It was probably why George had been holed up in a Muggle hotel for weeks. At first she thought he’d want to be home, surrounded by family. He hadn’t. 

The morning of Fred’s funeral George went missing. They looked all over for him, but no one could find him. When it was time for the funeral itself they kept waiting for George to arrive, or for him to pull some sort of prank in Fred’s honor, or do something like set off some fireworks, or turn the somber event into a joyous wake. He hadn’t. 

Angelina had tracked him down to a Muggle hotel and informed the family with a Patronus. A few of them had wanted to track George down, but in the end they decided to honor his wish to be alone. They thought he’d change his mind and come home, or start up the shop again. He hadn’t. 

Ron had looked so lost that day. The whole family had, but seeing Ron look so devoid of focus had been disturbing. Even on the Horcrux hunt, when all of them were dazed from the locket, he’d managed to be a bit sharp. Yes, he’d complained and been aimless as she and Harry, but he’d been present. It was the one day Ron had taken to see to himself. He’d gone to the funeral, then spent the rest of his day in his bedroom unable to talk. She’d held him for hours as he stared off into space. The next day he was back to catering to everyone and fixing everything. He was back to hyper focusing on everyone’s needs, and keeping himself so busy that he didn’t have time to mourn.

She couldn’t very well make him stay still, so she followed him to the chicken coop. She might not be able to fix anything for the Weasleys, or for anyone, but at least she could get them some eggs.

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Thank you for reading :) If you enjoyed it please reblog or review :) 

[NEXT CHAPTER]

[beerecordings]

AND FOR MY SECOND TRICK: Desmond!Jackie has activated the Eye and saved the world. And then he wakes up again. (Immediately after, some years after, back-in-time after, you pick. Bonus points for figuring out how Jameson Jackson, soon-to-be-Mentor of the London Brotherhood and Marvin Kazmarek, Animus Subject 16 might play into this. :D)

They think they can catch him.

He hears the laugh bubble from his mouth, breathy and bright in the chill London air. He leaps forward like a stag over rivers, feeling the world give out and drop away beneath his feet before he tuck, rolls, leaps up again and keeps running. Someone screams behind him, shuddering to a stop before the edge of the building, forced to step back and gain speed again before they can leap over.

They think they can catch him. Ha! He laughs without noise and races, just as silent, across the cold pavement of the rooftops. No one can catch him. This is his home, London his kingdom! This is his fierce little body, with hands that have known the blood of tyrants and legs to carry him for miles, swift as a bird! This is Jameson Jackson, assassin, monster-slayer, the quickest and most blood-thirsty little messenger in all of England. Nothing stops him. Nothing catches him. He is the courier, the Assassin, and right now he has a message to carry.

“Stop!” someone is screaming behind him. “Stop, come back! Please, please!”

Come to think of it, he isn't exactly sure what message he is carrying.

Something important, wasn't it? It must have been. It always is, and he is the deliverer.

Where is he going?

This almost pauses him in his tracks, his sneakers skidding a little on the concrete.

Sneakers? He glances down again, hearing the air puff out of him. No, no, not sneakers, of course not. He doesn't even know what sneakers would be. He's wearing his boots. He's always wearing his boots. He doesn't remember them being red.

“You're going to get hurt!” shrieks his pursuer. “Please stop and listen to me!”

Despite their words, remembering that they're behind him only spurs him on to greater speed. Still, he can't recall where he's going. Or even... how he got here.

Or even where this is.

A shaky breath parts from his mouth. He turns sharply and races over the edge of another building. He's beginning to be afraid, but no matter. No one ever catches him. He'll run until he's gotten away, and then he'll gather his bearings, find his allies, deliver the message. Might be he has a head injury. He just needs to keep running.

A huge gap separates the buildings in front of him. He can't jumps it and land on his feet, but his arms are strong too, and his aim is perfect. He leaps, his arm reaching out –

His arm.

Oh, oh.

His right arm is completely gone.

For a second, the Bleeding Effect is gone with it, and London disappears. He doesn't know what this city is – doesn't know where he is or why – but it isn't London, and it isn't 1868.

And he's not... he's not...

“Jackie!” someone howls behind him.

The empty space where his right arm should be threatens his life. He chokes on a gasp and lets out a small scream – what? I can't scream! My voicebox is torn through! – and scrabbles out with his left arm, barely catching the ledge of the building, wrenching his shoulder hard.

Someone crashes into the side of the wall beside him and pulls themselves up on two strong arms, hurrying to grab his wrist and the stump of his right arm, dragging him up. Maybe they aren't an enemy after all. He's too shaken to protest, anyway, letting himself be hauled up over the ledge.

Cool wind rushes past his hair – hair longer than he remembers it. He grabs at what remains of his arm, whimpering.

Burn scars coat his puckered flesh, ugly and red against white. Tears well in his eyes. His arm... this... this isn't right... what's happened to him?

“It's you, it's you,” the stranger is sobbing behind him, clutching him by the shoulders and burying his face against his back. “I thought you were going to fucking fall, Jackie, Jackie...”

His vision flickers. On the streets below, horses and petticoats, top hats and the stink of iron – and then, a moment later, cars and passers-by in leather jackets or puffy coats, phones in their hands, the world racing on around him, surviving, alive...

“What's happening?” he signs desperately, feeling warm hands rubbing at his shoulders as the stranger cries. “I'm dreaming! I'm dead!”

“You're not Jameson, Jackie,” the stranger whispers, voice broken and tired. “Jackie, it's you. It's me, it's Marv. We're in America. It's 2013. You saved the world, Jackie. You saved us. It's you.”

“This isn't real,” he signs, frantic, lost. “My friends! My family! I have to go home! I have to go back to London!”

“You can talk, Jackie, you can talk,” begs Marv, clinging to him. “Please, darling, find yourself again. Here, look at me. Look at me.”

Long brown hair curls around a round face with huge blue eyes. A soft mouth is down-turned in fear, thick eyebrows drawn back in despair. Earrings and a cloak around his shoulders.

He doesn't even remember him, not really, but the sight of him is like a balm to him.

“Say something for me,” murmurs Marv. “You have to start coming back to me. This was a bad one, Jackie... when you got away, I thought maybe... I'm so glad I caught up with you, fuck...”

He stares at him, reaching tentatively out to touch his hair.

“Marvin?”

Marvin's face melts with relief. He hides his face between Jackie's shoulderblades once again and rocks them together on the roof of the building.

“Jackie, my Jackie, my friend... you're not him. You're you. You're here. You're alive.”

“Oh, no,” he whispers, beginning to grasp the situation. “I'm Bleeding again... enough that I forgot who I was... forgot about...”

He grabs his own amputated arm, breathing through his teeth. Shaken. Exhausted.

“It's okay. All that matters is that you're here. That you remember now. That you survived. She couldn't kill you.”

“Couldn't she?” croaks Jackie, beginning to feel his whole body tremble. He stares down at his one remaining hand.

That's the thing he remembers more often than anything. Jameson's hands.

Waking up from the machine, he would see his palms flex the way Jameson's flexed. Reaching out for help, he would see the long and graceful fingers they both share. Lifting a hand to shield his eyes from the great, bright sun of the world reborn, he sees Jameson's hand upraised before him.

The ghost of him seems to reside within Jackie's skin. Ancestral.

You are in the curves of my jaw, he thinks to the image of himself. The cut of my chin, the flash of my eyes. You are in my bones and flesh.

Dividing the image of himself from Jameson? Impossible.

But it doesn't matter, because he died on the 21st of December.

It happened. He remembers. He was there. And his flesh burnt away and his heart overloaded and electricity and power and light filled him up like a vessel meant for nothing else, and in a second the stress severed parts of his brain and killed him.

Dead.

But they came back for him in time, his friends. Don't ask him how Schneep saved him. He doesn't understand it, and, secondly, he doesn't like to think about his friend sawing his arm off in the back of a van on the way to the hospital.

And since then?

Recovery has been – fuck, if not for the healing in what remains of his arm, he wouldn't call it recovery at all.

Jameson Bleeds through every moment of consciousness. London rises up like a ghost from the city around him. Technology becomes incomprehensible at random moments, the people JJ loved make his heart ache with longing and grief, and most of the time, everything is terrifying and large, and he wakes up from nightmares believing he's Jameson, and comes so close to death he thinks maybe he'll have the chance to truly meet his great-great-great-grandfather after all.

Tears are slipping down his cheeks.

“She did kill me,” he sobs. “It's just still happening.”

“No, Jackie, no,” pleads Marvin, gripping his shoulders. “No. You're here with me. You came back to me. That's all that matters.”

“One day I'll die like this!” He grips his friend's arms in return, pulling them to his chest, and squeezes his eyes tightly shut against flowing water. “I can't even remember who I am! Even if I am alive, I'm dead!”

“Jackie – ”

He tears out of Marvin's arms, leaping to his feet, hanging halfway over the edge of that precipice.

“I'm dead!” he repeats, shrieking, tearing at his hair. “I'm dead, I'm dead! I'm gone! Jackie's gone! There's just memory and loss left! I don't know why Henrik brought me back! I let myself die in that fucking machine and now – !”

“Jackie!”

Marvin tears him back from the edge and they crash to the ground together, panting.

Cold stars overhead. Cold wind through his hair. Cold people moving far below.

Alive because of him.

And this... this was the cost.

His shoulder aches. His body strains from the exercise, weak after weeks in hospital, excruciating and endless. He wants to go back to London. Back to people who never even knew his name. He wants to go home to JJ's daughter and sweep her into his arms. She should be his. She is his. Why isn't she his?

He slumps back against Marvin's body, trembling. Aching. Lost.

He's crying into Marvin's shoulder.

Marvin holds him closer and doesn't move.

“Jackie,” he says, again and again, soft, in his ear. “Jackie. Jackie. Jackie.”

An anchor for this ship, rocking on a hateful sea.

He clutches to Marvin and doesn't let go.

.

In his dreams, he is Jameson, and the world is right around him. The sun gleams. He throws his daughter into the air and catches her in two arms.

Jackie opens his eyes.

“Hey,” murmurs Chase, shifting from his guard duty, reaching out to touch Jackie’s wrist.

Jackie stares back at him, feeling like a dead thing. He doesn’t want to think today. He doesn’t think he can.

“I’m sorry, buddy,” says Chase. “I’m sorry. I know this is hard. But you have to keep fighting. We’re going to make this right again. Okay?”

Going to make the world right again. Going to make this right.

He hears the laugh bubble from his mouth. Chase sits back, surprised.

Nah. No way. He doesn’t buy that shit. Yeah, he saved the world. For everybody but him.

“Can’t fix shit for dead men,” he mutters, and rolls over, and goes back to his dreams.

[willows-adventures-in-words]

I think it took me almost three weeks before I finally decided this was ready to be posted. I decided to write about a first meeting in my wings AU. The one where Henrik meets his namesake. I just realized that this is the first thing I’ve written for this AU that wasn’t based off of a prompt.

Wings AU word count: 1912

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Henry sighed as he stood by the door leading outside. The thunderstorm really picked up in the last hour. Pulling the door open he took a step outside and hesitated under the overhang. It really wasn't worth using his umbrella with how strong the winds were. If he did he was just going to fight with it to keep the wind from claiming it. Either way he'd be soaked. So instead he just ran for his car. After buckling up, he flipped his windshield wipers at full then pulled out of his parking spot and started his way home.

“You can not see shit,” Henry muttered as he drove through the small section of trees just before the road to his home. He had to slow significantly so he could be at least a little aware of his surroundings. When he came to a stop, turn signal blinking, a loud crack of thunder sounded. He leaned forward and looked up, a little unnerved with how close that was. Slowly he pulled out onto his road and under the last of the trees when he faintly heard something above him in the trees. Suddenly something crashed against the trunk of his car and tumbled onto the road.

Startled, Henry slamming on his breaks before getting out of his car. He walked around back to see what happened, only to stop in his tracks. “... My god.” A hybrid. And it wasn't moving. He pushed past his shock and stepped over crouching down next to it and checked for a pulse. It was alive. No, he was alive. Though his pulse was weak. He needed medical help. But there was no way he could take him back to the hospital. Not only did he not have time but he wasn't sure how good of an idea it was to bring a hybrid there. That only left him one option.

Without much contemplation, Henry got up and attempted to open his trunk. With the big dent he was surprised it actually opened. He grabbed for the blanket he kept there with the intent on putting the hybrid in the back seat on top of the blanket. But he had no idea how he would maneuver him in his car. There was another option though. Spreading the blanket out in the trunk he turned and lifted the hybrid up and laid him on top of the blanket. Once he had him situated, he shut the trunk and hurried back to his open door. He cursed as he sat down in his wet seat, then started the short distance to his home.

He stopped as close to his front door as possible before shutting off his car and hurriedly getting out. Henry moved quickly, rushing to the door to unlock and crack it open before going back to his car. Opening the trunk, he reached in and carefully lifted the hybrid in his arms. With a bit of difficulty, he shut the trunk. As he headed back to his house the wind pushed his door open. When he stepped inside he pushed the door closed with his foot and hurried to his guest room. After laying the hybrid down on the bed he checked his pulse again. It was the same as before. This isn't good. He had to find out the extent of the damage before he could even begin to tend to him.

Thoughts ran through his head; some useful, some not so much. As it stands he didn't have the time to concern himself with bird anatomy. Not until he found out what was wrong. The hybrid wasn't bleeding. Nothing severe anyway. A few cuts, scraps, and perhaps soon to be bruises. His shirt had a few tears and... singed? The lightning! He was struck by lighting. Carefully, and as quickly as he deemed possible, he rolled him onto his side. Just below his right arm on his back was a nice sized burn. Was he hit directly? Henry shook his head. Right now it didn't matter. What mattered was he do what he could. Take care of the burn as best he could and try to warm him up. Quickly, he left the room.

Thunder cracked loudly. The hybrid jerked awake. A strained sound emitted from him as he moved in an attempt to get up. He had some difficulty with his right arm but he managed in a mostly seated position. His whole right side and wing felt stiff. Sore. Where was he? His eyes moved to the movement in the room. He stared at the human, who was on his feet and looked surprised. Things started to click. The strange room. The building he was in. He was trapped. Captured? He pushed himself back putting distance between them as he tried to hide his wings from his view.

The man put down what he had in his hand and carefully lifted his hands. “Do not be scared. I promise I mean you no harm. I found you. You were hit by lightning. I brought you to my home. To heal you.” Wary of taking his eyes off of him, the hybrid looked around. Eyes landed on the window behind him. The storm. He was caught in the storm. Going more inland to find a place to hide when he felt the sharp pain. Barely conscious he fell from the sky, crashing through the trees before he hit something hard before going unconscious. Turning his attention away from the window, he glanced back to the human to see he hadn't moved, then looked down at himself. He now realized his shirt was undone at his back and hung loosely from his arms. There were vine like scars peeking out from under his arm from his back. He could also see part of the bandage that was on his back.

“Can you understand me?” The hybrid hesitated. Did he put trust in him? He did always find humans interesting. But now that he found himself in the home of one he felt a little unsure. He meant him no harm though. He even helped him. And the hybrid nodded.

Henry let out a sigh and fell back into his seat. “That is a relief. It will certainly make this easier.” He sat himself up to look a little more professional. “Do you know what happened to you?” The hybrid nodded again. “I am surprised you are awake. Your pulse was weak. I had been sure you would have been out longer.”

“... Pulse?”

A look of surprise came to Henry. He'd never had direct interaction with one of the hybrid's before this so he didn't know what to expect. “Yes. Someone's pulse is a way of checking someones health. Another way of checking for a heartbeat.” He lifted a hand and pressed his index and middle fingers to his neck. “This is one of the most common places to check for a pulse.” Henry watched as the hybrid copied him. They sat in momentary silence when the hybrid's wings fluttered slightly. The doctor wondered if he'd found it. He couldn't help the soft smile that touched his lips.

Thunder rumbled. The hybrid tensed and looked back to the window. The smile fell from his lips. “You are safe from the storm,” Henry said, trying to reassure him. Silence settled over the room. Henry watched him with interest and curiosity as the hybrid stared at the rain hitting the window. Then he relaxed. Henry could actually see his wings better now that he wasn't trying to hide them behind his back like when he first noticed him. But it was when he saw him shiver that Henry realized the problem. Not only were his wings damp but the bedding was wet from where they had been laying.

Getting to his feet, Henry asked, “Should I get you a towel to dry your wings?” He glanced over to him before spreading out his wings a bit but quickly stopped and lowered his right one. “Does your wing hurt?” the doctor asked when he noticed the change in his expression.

The hybrid lowered his other wing back down. “Yes I would like to dry my wings.” He watched as the man left. Reaching back he lightly touched the base of his right wing. It did hurt, and ached a little more so at the touch; he just didn't want the human touching his wings. He dropped his arm next to him on the bed. Really he could just shake his wings dry, well, mostly dry, but he didn't think that would be appropriate to do. And with his wing hurting he'd rather have an alternative method to dry them.

Taking another look around the room didn't tell him anything new. There was the window behind him. An exit in front of him. The spot the human had been seated at was next to the exit. He could hear him coming back. As he stepped back in the room, he paused for a moment. “You can use this to dry your wings.” After he finished his statement he held out one of the two items he had and stepped closer. The hybrid sat still and waited. Cautious. When he was close enough, the hybrid reached out and accepted the item in question. “I also brought you a throw blanket.” After he took the blanket the human stepped back. The blanket was very soft. “When you're done with the towel you can set it at the foot of the bed,” he explained. “I recommend resting and letting your body heal. Since you seem to be in good health considering the circumstance, I will come back and check on you in the morning.” He waited a moment more then left.

He turned back to the blanket and towel. The towel was large and had some softness to it. But it was the blanket he liked. It was so soft. He lifted it to his face and nustled into it for a moment. Then, carefully, he set it aside. Picking the towel back up he proceeded to try to dry his wings. By the time he was done he was laying on the non wet side of the bed with the towel draped on the bed behind him. The blanket was draped over his chest and he had nestled his face into it. It was a nice blanket...

Waking up in the morning, Henry was again relieved that what happened last night had happened when it did. He had the day off of work so he could stay in and look after the hybrid. Going downstairs he headed to the guest room where he left him. Except when he got there and carefully looked inside, he found the room empty. Stepping inside he quickly looked around but there was no sign of him. Though the throw blanket he offered the night before was missing. Did he leave? Henry walked around his house to make sure. There was no sign of him. Heading back upstairs to his bedroom he stepped out onto the balcony attached and looked out towards the ocean. It was safe to assume the hybrid left. He left and stole one of his throw blankets. Henry let out a sigh but then smiled; happy he was able to help him.