#cut her open and you find a graveyard of memories shes a living tomb; a mausoleum of unspoken hellos and goodbyes said too soon [ about ]

[griefwrecked-blog]

so i’m watching the gifted and reed and caitlin are talking about their parents who are gone now and how they weren’t very close with them and caitlin says,

“ i think it’s almost worse when you aren’t close because all you can do is think about all the time you missed. “

and all i could think about was grace and hodge because she never got to know her father and she’s never going to, she’s only going to know him through letters and stories and files but, she’ll never know him as her dad or even be able to tell him .. maybe she’ll never be able to tell anyone and it honestly just hurts me a lot thinking about that, about how everything with grace is always too little , too late

[crispys-laptop]

aeonian (h.h.j)

genre: fluff, angst, immortal au

word count: 1.4k

~warning: mentions of death, character death

Network tag: @stayverse

a/n: thanks to @blueprint-han for the banner and helping me with this fic. I swear if it's not for you, it wouldn't turn out this good 🥺🥺 (and I come back to tumblr :3)

The first time you saw him was when he stepped inside the cafe that you worked at. His presence was enough to captivate people, their gazes lingering on his form as he walked past them and went to the counter.

"One cup of Americano, please."

His order was simple. Just a cup of Americano. He ordered the same thing the next day. Until it became a routine. He would walk into the cafe and come up to you. You would be ready with his usual order. You both exchanged smiles, you being too shy to start a conversation.

"I think he likes you." Your co-worker would say, giggling.

You shook your head at her ridiculous statement, continuing your work as you felt his gaze on you, watching you intently.

A few weeks later, you mustered up enough courage to talk to him. As you made way timidly towards his table, your heart beating frantically, fearing his reaction.

"Excuse me? You come around a lot but I haven't caught your name yet. Mine's Y/N and I just hope we can be friends?"

His smile was beautiful. Too beautiful to be human. Yet his eyes were carrying something, like sadness and longing but you couldn't pinpoint it.

"The name is Hyunjin. Nice to meet you."

"Why do you keep coming to our café even though it's miles away from your place?"

Hyunjin looked up from his cup to stare at you, lips lifting in a smile. He pushed the cup away from him, finger drumming on the table as you waited for him to answer.

"Your coffee is delicious. They remind me of someone. That's all."

You frowned at his answer. Hyunjin seems to notice that you were not satisfied with his answer yet he didn't say anything.

"Why don't you ask that person to make your coffee then? Did you guys fight or something?

You asked, absentmindedly stirring your coffee. Hyunjin went quiet for a while before opening his mouth.

"She died a few years ago."

You stopped stirring, guilt starting to fill your being. You grabbed his outstretched hand, nearly knocking the cups over.

"I'm sorry. That's rude of me. I don't mean to bring that up." "It's okay."

Hyunjin smiled lightly, patting your hand as you kept on apologizing. You eventually picked up your head to look into his eyes, fighting back his gaze.

A wave of nostalgia suddenly hit you. You didn't know why but his eyes seem familiar somehow. Like you already saw them before.

"Y/N? Are you there?"

You jerked out from your trance as Hyunjin waved his hand in front of your face. He looked worried.

"I'm okay. It's just I think I remember something when I stared into your eyes." "Oh. That's good."

And the next day, he didn't come back.

People think being immortal must be nice. You won't die. You won't get hurt. You could live for so long and you won't ever get old. It's a way of avoiding death, the thing that people feared so much.

But not for Hyunjin. If he had to choose, he chooses death.

For starters, he needs to see all his loved ones die with his own eyes and it will continue to haunt his memory forever. He can't stay in one area for a long time just in case anyone noticed him. No matter how much the town means to him, he had moved away to avoid causing a ruckus.

He needs to change his identity often which is the only way so people won't recognize him and sell him out. He hates being immortal.

Not to mention, it's hard for him to fall in love. Hyunjin has been falling in love with the same person every time for 400 years now. No matter how much you changed over time, he still falls for you.

It hurts to see you falling in love, getting married, having kids, and hearing you passed away. He could have approached you yet he knows he won't stand a chance with you and the thought of seeing you dying hurts him.

Yet, this was the first time you approached him first. He still looks after you from time to time, helping you in secret if you have ever been in trouble and it surprised him when you approached his table shyly, asking to be friends.

And so Hyunjin agreed.

But when she started to remember a little bit from her past life, Hyunjin knew it was time for him to flee. He couldn't risk you remembering him. As much as he hated to leave, Hyunjin knew it was for the best.

For 40 years, he lived alone, far away from your city. He suppressed his desire to see you, to know if you're doing good, to find out if you got over him.

Until one day, he couldn't take it anymore. So he went back to your city, just to watch you from afar. Seeing you after all these years, still smiling brightly while running the little cafe, made him feel relieved to see you doing so well without him.

He was surprised to find out you still didn't get married yet, like your other past life. Until he found out you were still waiting for him and you already knew the fact about him being immortal.

Turned out, Hyunjin stupidly left his sketchbook, the one where he keeps all his sketches of Y/N from her different life after their last encounter together. And it seems like she pieced it together to form a conclusion that he's immortal.

And so Hyunjin decided to come back. This time, to stay until your very last breath.

The bell on the door chimed merrily as someone stepped inside the cafe. You picked up your head from the old cash register, smiling at the person in front of you.

His presence, as always, drew people in to look at him, gaping at his figure. Even after 40 years, he still had that dazzling smile on his face.

"You didn't change much, Hyunjin." "And you aged beautifully, Y/N"

You chuckled slowly, shaking your head as tears collected at the brim of your eyes. Hyunjin helped you to get out from the counter, his hand gripping yours tightly.

"I may be old but I'm not fragile yet."

You mumbled as Hyunjin fussed over you, asking if you were comfortable. You sighed, smiling, a bit amused at his antics. You pulled his hand to sit next to you. Smiling, he held your hand tenderly, as your tears once again flooded the brim of your eyes.

"I missed you."

As the noises from the background faded into silence, you focused solely on Hyunjin as he did the same, the feeling of longing evaporated as you both basked in each other's presence, letting out the yearning for each other.

"Me too, Hyunjin. Me too."

Hyunjin took one last look at the graveyard, focusing on your tomb. He watched as your close ones went back along with him. His mind flew back to the last conversation you had with him yesterday before you passed away in your sleep.

"I'll try to remember you in my next life."

Hyunjin smiled as he fixed your blanket gently, patting your hand. You smiled back as his hand intertwined both of your hands together.

"Don't bother, Y/N. It's never gonna work."

You chuckled but it was quickly cut off with a cough. Hyunjin quickly handed her some water as he helped her sit up on the bed. You waved his hand away as the cough subsided, shaking your head.

"We just need a miracle, Hyunjin. If I can remember you after our last encounter 40 years ago, why won't I remember the next time we meet?"

You reached out to your nightstand and took out his sketchbook, handing it to him. Hyunjin reluctantly accepted it, feeling a bit lost.

"If you show me that sketchbook in my next life, I'm sure I'll remember. After all, I won't forget the person who draws me so beautifully like that."

You chuckled as Hyunjin flipped through the pages. He nodded.

"Now let's get you to sleep. It's late."

That night, Hyunjin drew you while you were sleeping peacefully with a smile on your face as you breathed your last air.

He gripped the sketchbook tightly in his grasp, willing himself not to cry. He let out a watery smile as he walked away from the graveyard, promising himself to do what you told him to do before.

Except, you were never reborn.

[griefwreckeda-blog]

where was grace mayfield ?

grace now as healed as she is ever going to get is still on wary terms with alec after he benched her last week calling her a liability and it’s taking an obvious toll on both of them . 

she’s been training against medical advice determined to never be a liability again , to never be that weak in battle ever again . 

grace is battling the edomei in the city with the team when they attack and fights against being dispatched to lake lyn with clary and jace before whatever tension between her and alec builds to a point and snaps which leads to a screaming match which leads to her staying there and the bond between them weakening still, rift growing stronger . 

grace waits with izzy who tries to get grace to open up in that wonderful izzy lightwood way of hers but , thankfully alec is back with magnus before she can crack the vault that is grace mayfield . even when the rift is sealed grace can’t get rid of the uneasy feelings coursing through her veins like something terrible maybe multiple somethings are about to happen . 

she needs to kill valentine , once and for all she needs to look him in the eyes as she kills him , to tell him who she is and how no matter what she’s won this time , not him . she doesn’t know what she’ll do if he slips through her fingers again . 

she’s stood by alec’s side , looking over the map hoping against hope that clary and jace have made it to lake lyn when his gasp of pain takes her by surprise , his collapse next and she’s by his side, trying to cushion his fall while unfamiliar and irrational fear floods her as she searches him for any source of pain as he screams and writhes . . . she’ll do anything , anything , in the universe to never have to hear alec scream like that again . 

his parabatai rune burns away like ash right in front of her eyes , panic/fear chokes her as she tries to think of any way to protect alec from this pain , to wipe away the look of disbelieving shock on his features because suddenly the past few days of fighting , of yelling , of blaming alec seem so petty and so small she would do anything to take them back , do anything to save the boy she had come to call one of her closest friends both for alec and for all of them . 

clary and jace mid makeout session wasn’t something she thought she’d ever want to see but , if it meant they were both alive , both okay than what the hell let them make out plus it meant she would never have to see that look on alec or izzy’s face ever again . 

. . . valentine is dead , valentine is dead , valentine is dead . the man who tore her family apart , the man who manipulated her father , the man who sacrificed and killed her father is dead and not by her hands . . . and she doesn’t know how to feel anything about it .  her ‘ mission ‘ was all she had left , it was supposed to be the thing that helped her finally get closure or whatever the hell you were supposed to feel , it was supposed to help but , now it’s gone and she feels . . . empty . 

it’s time to celebrate because the downworld is safe , the shadow world is safe , valentine is dead and she’s drinking a glass of ridiculously expensive champagne surrounded by all the people she swore she would never care about , people were the closest she would ever get to family again . . . all except for one adorable , reckless , too brave for his own good , sarcastic , goofy vampire . 

maybe it’s the same paranoia that swarmed her veins earlier , maybe it’s some ridiculous overheightened protective instinct or maybe it’s even all the champagne but , she doesn’t like the idea of simon all alone out there or even with the other vampires . . . turns out he wasn’t even with the vampires . 

grace finds out from maia and luke that after a talk simon had with the queen they were suddenly free to go, couple that with simon’s sudden disappearance and the queen’s creepy obsession with him and she knows exactly where to go , the queen might not be open to visitors right now but , it’s a good thing she has nothing but time to kill and an itchy trigger finger when it comes to people who hurt her the ones she cares about or maybe just an itchy trigger finger in general 

[rocknmeme]

william fitzsimmons prompts lyrics taken from various albums. death mention.  

“the place that we called home will someday watch you leaving.”

“years cannot change all the secrets we gathered. years cannot change what you still mean to me.”

“don’t let your love grow too deep. i don’t think i’ll be around.” 

“i was fucked up when you needed me the most.”

“since we split apart the family, all the pictures are updated, all of us are separated.”

“mom wants you to come back home. she keeps crying when i call her on the phone.”

“last night i had a dream that i was in the graveyard, looking at my father buried in the ground.”

“there’s lions between us. they’ll cut us to pieces.”

“what i do remember is you.”  

“it’s a lonely place to live with just a ghost.”

“you were kind enough to let me back into the house after all the things i said when you had thrown me out.”

“hold on, this will hurt more than anything has before.”

“my selfish heart hopes you don’t go first. god knows i couldn't make it one day.”

“i’m not comfortable with how we never talk. and i miss you since you went out for that walk.” 

“and i will call for you ’til my throat cannot make a sound.”

“you’re the seed that's softly sowing ever to my side.”

“and these sidewalks speak of demons.”   

“my children are born but i’m still half afraid they’ll turn out like me and this mess i’ve made.”

“and when you find the other side, i will still be here, to measure out my love.”

“my demons waltz with me. i begged them not to leave me alone.”

“fateful first-time meeting, life is in the ground.”

“loved you first when we were children. you broke my heart but all that’s forgiven.”  

“let water run through. won’t you open your eyes?”

“there is a curse in my bones that’ll breathe and fly again.” 

“lost my way and gave up my treasure. hid my heart and lost you forever.”

“whose side should i take when both of us were wrong? when we both share the blame.”

“we lost our chance to love one another. we’ll love again just not each other.”

“i want to be changed from the shadow and the tomb.”

“there are words inside my bedroom scribbled all across the wall.” 

“you feel like home.”  

“no, they’ll never take the good years. god i wish i would’ve learned.”  

“she is like a splinter that I caught in my toe running from the dog that chases me.”

“every day’s another chance to bury my regret.”

“walked back home from this disaster. saw your ghost under the plaster.” 

“i know you’ll leave me by myself.”

“and memory only serves to remind of all the bruises you forgave.”

“the door to the bedroom doesn’t close as tight as you’ve made your heart to keep me out.”  

“she is like a gravestone sitting in a church yard, crooked from the ground in which she sleeps, whispering our name until i go to meet her. underneath the ground she finds her peace.”

“so your phantom follows me like a child would his mother.”

“i’m not comfortable with how the story ends.”

“we'll fall just like stars being hung by only string. everything, everything, here is gone.”  

“we latch on to a heart. meant to hold but we get torn apart.”

“and i tried to find the heart to hold. but my arm was tired. had to let you go.”

[sp00kworm]

Withered Leather (Vergil Sparda x Reader)

The leather was beginning to crack. Vergil blew air out in a stream as he ran a finger over the cracked spine of the book. Poetry was his pastime when he was younger, reading words upon words of the craft before he’d cast is aside. To feel was to be weak. Or so he had told himself for many years. He curled a perfect nail into the crack and dug a little, feeling the rot beginning to set into the glue and paper underneath. It was old now, the book stashed away inside their crumbling childhood home, only for his human counterpart to find and resurface. V was gone. Inside of him, part of him, but gone nonetheless. He was outraged at how much of him was human in the end. His enjoyment, and his drive, still lived within the man he had separated from himself. V had fought to reunite himself with the demon half. Urizen. Vergil had a concoction of memories in his head, from both sides. V fondness for the humans, and his brother, then also the burning hatred that came with Urizen. Vergil was whole with the both of them, but their conflicting views at least settled into a firm peace.

 Vergil peered at the van ceiling, nose curling at the odd stain over his head, teeth flashing when the door was pounded on.

“Vergie!” Dante cooed from behind the window, hands cupped around his eyes as he peered into the van, grinning at Vergil’s sprawled out form over the small couch. He clicked the blade of Yamato from its sheath and wondered how Dante’s blood would look splattered on the glass. The temptation to drive the sword through it and add another point to his hit count was tempting. Tempting but foolish. They were out in the middle of the countryside for a reason, even if he had no desire to move from the small seat he had stretched over. Dante’s grin made him sneer, scoffing as he rolled back on his bottom, sitting up in the van, Yamato held between his hands, the sword pressed to the floor, leaning his weight against it as the door slammed open. Dante grinned through the doorway, saluting as he trogged blood and muck into the van. Nico span around from the driver’s seat, cigarette between her lips as she screamed at him to get out.

“Hey hey, calm down!” Dante held his hands up defensively, leaning back out of the van before signalling for Vergil to come to him instead. The elder twin ignored Nico’s squawking.

“Dante! I only promised to drive you two muscle heads out ‘ere if ya’ would pay me! Mucking up ma van wasn’t in that deal!” She pointed at him threateningly before taking a drag from her cigarette and slamming the van door closed, “Ya can come in when you hose yourself free of Impusa guts!”

Dante rolled his eyes before shrugging and laughing, shaking his hair, which miraculously, remained a perfect silvery white.

Vergil stood, coat rippling as he sniffed and placed his sword in front of him, leaning against it, “Did you find the lead?” He asked coolly, nose turning at the smell of devil guts plastered to Dante’s coat.

“Oh, I get it. No ‘How are you Dante?’, just straight to the cut. I’m wounded, brother, really.” He sighed and shook the ends of his coat, slapping Impusa blood onto the stone pavement, “And, for your information, I did, find the contact that is.”

“Then why am I here, Dante?” Vergil sneered, eyes glancing at the run-down cottages set back from the lane.

Dante chuckled, “I wouldn’t bring you here to just leave you in the van. Take another whiff of the air by that gate.” He leaned against the side of the van and cursed as he smeared blood against the tanned metal.

 “DANTE! I SWEAR TO GOD I WILL TAKE BACK THAT LAUNCHER IF YOU’VE SMEARED GUTS OVER HER NEW PAINT JOB!”

 Vergil ignored the spat, snatching Yamato by the sheath as he moved over to the edge of the graveyard Dante had pointed to. The church was crumbling, old and in need of knocking down correctly. He leaned over at the waist and sniffed, fingers curling over the edge of the iron fence as he closed his eyes, silver lashes sitting on top of his cheeks. Inhaling, he tasted the fresh air on the back of his tongue before tasting something rotten. Rotten but hidden behind a perfume of allure. Jasmine and Frankincense. It was a powerful smell and he shook his head, snapping his head away from the fence with a growl, peering to look for a demon plant spewing pollen.

“Dante.” He growled as he marched from the graveyard, “Was it your intention to trap me in an allure spell?” He snapped the sheath of Yamato forwards and Dante grunted softly, catching it before it could slam into his gut.

“Nope. Well…It would have made this job a little easier if you had. Could have just followed you straight to the succubus that’s been growing fat on blood.” Dante grumbled, tossing Yamato backwards before rolling his shoulders, “Brother dearest,” He announced with a flourish of his arms, “I brought you here to hunt a Succubus!” He posed by the gate and laughed at the annoyance on Vergil’s face.

 “Is it really that much of an issue? If the devil is hiding, its too weak to even cast a proper allure spell.” Vergil pulled his hair backwards and looked at the large mausoleums in the back of the yard. One of them lead to the creature that was weakly snatching men from the village. He was already growing bored and turned to the van to snatch his book from the seat, tucking it into the inside pocket of his coat, ensuring it wouldn’t get lost. He could mend the spine when they were on their way back to the shop, hopefully when Dante had fallen asleep.

Dante rolled his eyes, “Whether it’s doing shit or not isn’t the issue. The village want it dead for stealing a few boys and men the past couple of days. There’s some rich guy too that wants his son back.” He rubbed his fingers together and walked into the yard, taking a whiff of the spell like it wasn’t meant to make men swoon.

“His son is dead.” Vergil spat as he stepped into the graveyard, Yamato held by his side. The smell was putrid and offensive, but he walked along the path behind Dante, who seemed all too happy to breathe in whatever bodies were rotting by this creature.

“Even if he’s dead, we’ll get a handsome little reward for killing it and the nest its gathered.” Dante kicked over a tombstone and watched as the ground underneath it crumbled downwards, quickly dashing over the ground and grappling himself upwards with the tree roots. Vergil stepped back three steps and watched as the sunlight poured down on what was the beginning of a deep underground nest.

 Dante groaned as he hauled himself back up, standing over the edge with a smirk as he spotted several fat Impusa. They hissed as they peered upwards, the light burning their darkness adjusted eyes. Dante grinned and drew his blade as he dove into the fight, sword flashing with crackling red energy as he sliced three Impusa in half, running at a speed that only Devil eyes could follow. Vergil watched the fight, bored, before looking around the spell ridden graveyard, his eyes looking to the large family tombs again. He hummed as he walked away from Dante, leaving him to his boringly easy fight as he walked towards the stone. They were listed with entire families on the front, the family surname in time consuming cursive in the stone. It must have taken a craftsman some time to carve all the individual letters in such a fashion. Vergil rolled his eyes as Dante gave a great roar of his style. Why on earth the male thought it was cool to announce everything he did, Vergil didn’t know. When he’d asked Dante about it, he either feigned ignorance, or genuinely didn’t know he was announcing himself in such a way. The half-devil hummed as he stepped between two stones, feeling the tension of some sort of grave trap. There was probably some sort of vine creature waiting in it to chew on him.

 His boots clicked on the stone as he hopped over a snapping tendril, sword flashing out and returning. The green tentacle wiggled on the flagstone, spewing dark red blood before twitching and going still. With a breath, Vergil spread his stance and drew the Yamato, feeling the ground rumble under his boots. His coat flared as he exploded upwards, the jaws of the trap creature snapping at the stone balanced on top of it’s fat, flat snout. Vergil flourished the Yamato, snapping at the vicious tentacles aiming for his head. He took a breath and sprung backwards, hands twisting on the handle, sending slicing high velocity energy at the tentacles before slicing through the stone, a burst of energy behind his step as he hurtled at the devil’s top jaw. He turned the Yamato with a growl, splitting the flat snout and nose open with a spray of blood before flipping again and dragging the edge of the blade deeper through the creature’s head, splitting the bone and brains open over the flagstone. The devil screamed, scales pinging off against the stone as it collapsed over the tombs, two tongues laid against the ground, blood gushing from its head.

 “Pathetic.” Vergil snapped the Yamato in his grasp, blood spraying up the stone as he cleaned it and slid it back into its sheath. Dante was still roaring inside of the hive, and Vergil turned his head with a sneer at the rev of a motorcycle engine.

“He’s taking too long with a simple Impusa nest.” Vergil complained to himself as he stepped over a crack in the path, looking at the family memorials with mild interest.

The sound of crayon on paper made him scowl even deeper. One of the tombs was open. The elder twin placed a thumb beneath the handle of Yamato as he stepped into the light filtering into the mausoleum. A human was curled over the top of one of the intricate stone tops to the resting places, paper pinned over the print and a black crayon in her hand, concentrating on ensuring the details of the casket were captured as well as they could be. A camera hung from her neck and a satchel over her shoulder made Vergil tilt his head.

 You scowled at the lack of light over what you were trying to take a print of. The stone was old but the name engraved was of interest. They weren’t documented as part of the family in the texts you had already read. You took the paper away and noted the name and dates in the corner with a click of your tongue.

“You are either ignorant or foolish to ignore me stood here.” A calm voice broke through the silence you had settled over yourself in the little tomb.

“Jesus Christ!” You jumped, paper crimping at the corner from where your fist clenched around it, “What is wrong with you?”

The male stood in the doorway, illuminated by a halo of light, sneered, clicking his tongue as he took the two small steps down into the family tomb, “You are the one so engaged in your work that you failed to notice a threat. If I were a devil, you would be dead.”

As he stepped down into the tomb, you took note of his features. A sharp jaw was accentuated by slicked back silver hair, the points flaring behind his head as he moved further into the cool tomb. He was tall and broad, cloaked in a heavy dark coat, blue waistcoat littered with silver accents. He was almost entirely in shades of blue, and the trousers were perhaps too tight, his thighs stretching the material a little more than necessary. It was then that you noticed the pretty sword in his hand, the sheath covered in beautiful blue and white flowers, the hilt wrapped with expensive leather and metal.

 “Wait...” You pointed at the sword in his grasp, “Devils? Wait, why the fuck do you have a sword in a cemetery?” The question made his scowl worsen. If he smiled, he’d probably look more attractive. It was a thought quickly shot down as he twisted the blade in his grasp.

“Surely you know about the nest? You are an idiot and a fool for coming here if so. You could easily be dragged under the creature’s spell.” He paused then sighed, “It really does just want males then. If you are fine, then this beast truly is fickle and weak.” The rambling stopped as the man frowned, lips poured before he took you by the arm.

“Hey Mister Bitchface, let go!” You dragged your arm away from him, but his grasp was iron clad, dragging you up the steps of the mausoleum, paper and pencils flying as you grabbed at your notes with a growl.

“If you wish to stay and rot with the corpses of the town’s men, then be my guest.” The man spat before letting you snatch back your arm, his fingers scooping the single strand of hair, that had fallen, back into its slicked back place.

 “Maybe I’d be more inclined to follow you if I had a name!” The tone made the tall man growl again, his eyes flashing a crisper blue, anger evident around the creases in his eyes.

“Vergil! My name is Vergil, now come! Before you are swallowed by some other trap creating devil.” He hissed before pressing his hand to the base of your spine, eyes looking around the deathly quiet graveyard as he led you away from the tombs and back towards a great hole that had opened. The ping of bullets sounded off the rocks and Vergil stood at the rim, hands resting on his sword as he waited for Dante to finish with his playing.

“Where the fuck did this come from?” You stood behind the man, mouth open as you dared to peer down, “Oh god those are Devils! Vergil, we’ve got to go!” You reached for him only to receive a glare. Vergil twitched away from your grasp with a sneer.

“Devils that are barely a threat. Just wait.” The man waited, coat billowing as he sunk down, crouched at the edge, leather gloves ringing at his gloves, a smirk on his face.

 There was a great howl.

 “Uh. What the fuck was that?” You dared to inch closer to Vergil. He was grinning now as the ground thundered under your feet.

“The beast is here.” Vergil pressed a thumb to the top of his blade as a man in red was sent flying upwards out of the hole. He went with a great scream, spinning in the air, leather coat flapping until he span, swinging his legs, rotating in an amazing display of dexterity, before landing by the trees, his foot slamming through a grave as he landed.

“Ah...shit.” The red male swore, rubbing at his stubbly chin as he shifted his booted foot from the rocks, “Sorry pal, shit happens. Hope you don’t come to haunt me or anything.”

Vergil ignored him, staring into the hole as the ground rumbled. The red male sauntered over and smirked, placing a blood slicked hand on the other’s shoulder. He was promptly shrugged off, Vergil reached for a handkerchief to wipe away the mess.

“So prickly, Vergil.” He teased.

“Did you kill it, Dante?” Vergil asked with a sharp look.

 The ground exploded a way away from the two of them, and you gasped. Dante reached for the sword on his back, “What the fuck do you think, Verg?”

“You failed, evidently.” Vergil snorted, standing up to face the creature that had rushed from the ground. The Succubus was hardly gorgeous, its insectoid body quivering, scaley wings spread and clawed feet clenching. Its breasts bounced before a mouth opened between them, snapping with rows of sharp teeth. Its face was humanoid, hair made of vines, snapping as she landed, legs shedding feathers as she screamed, scent firing into the air. The two men drew out handkerchiefs and covered their faces. You gasped and covered your nose, reaching for the surgical mask you carried for those old, spore filled tombs. Vergil glanced over his shoulder, nodding when you had already covered your mouth, holding his long beautiful sword close.

“Hey babe.” Dante gave you a wink, “You think you can run?”

“What?” You gasped as Vergil dashed backwards, hands outstretched, snatching you mid-stride as the Succubus screamed, clawed paws slamming into the dirt, vines bursting to produce great fungal flowers. Vergil grabbed you by the waist as Dante sprinted behind him, huffing, sword dragging in the dirt as the Succubus flapped its wings, abdomen quivering as it shot acid and more scent into the air.

 Vergil growled behind his handkerchief, “What did you do to it, Dante?”

Dante rubbed at his hair, blood smearing through the white strands, “Oh I don’t know. Killed its nest, cut off one of its legs!” He jumped over a tomb stone before rushing to face the demon, long sword gleaming with red, violent power. Dante twirled, slicing a thick column of vines with a blade of flying energy before rushing upwards with a burst of speed. You looked from Vergil’s shoulder in awe as he burst into light, form twisting and covering in scales, flames roaring in his chest as he launched himself like a bomb, screeching through the air, sword slicing with amazing power.

“What the fuck are you two?!” You slapped a hand repeatedly against Vergil’s powerful shoulder.

“Half devils.” He answered nonchalantly as he shoved off from the ground, sword slicing at a flying rock as he landed up on the surrounding cliff. The man placed you down on the ground with a grunt before turning to join the fray, coat flapping, “Sons of Sparda if its that important to you.” He rolled his shoulders and dropped off the edge of the rock face, hair flying and coat flapping as he landed. Light blue light poured from him as he jumped, clawed, bird like feet appearing. The rest of his form followed, blue fire streaming from his hair as horns grew and his arms grew great attached wings. Like a Wyrm of legend. You watched with an open mouth as he soared upwards and crashed downwards, sword slicing with a great crack of thunder.

 The Succubus reared and roared to the heavens again, mouth spraying blood and acid as she grasped for the two sons. An arm was laid in the grass, bleeding red, black marrow leaking from it. Her leg followed it and she hobbled to catch Dante’s sword in her grasp, twisting the blade at the expense of her fingers. The two claws thumped against the floor, and Vergil roared with a mouth full of teeth, rushing forwards with a detached brutality, his sword diving deep, gauging at the Succubus’ abdomen. She reared on her leg, pulling the blue devil closer to her snapping chest-mouth. The teeth dripped spittle onto Vergil’s horns and he growled as it dripped down his scales, eyes burning as he looked for Dante.

“DANTE!” His gruff baritone howled, “Finish her!” He roared as her weight pushed on him heavily, the claws of his winged arms slamming into the rock to push back against the devil’s over-bearing weight.

Dante appeared in a streak of fire, his mouth open, spewing fire as he moved with his massive sword. The devil rushed upwards, splitting the demon from belly to head, slicing her mouth open fully. A great scream sounded, and the two devils rushed away as her abdomen wobbled.

 A blue scaled form rushed up the cliff face, red following it as a terrifying face snatched you again, wings folding around you. The Succubus’ abdomen exploded with a great spray of acid. Vergil wrapped your body tight with his own, his brother leaned against you both, his own scaled wings spread wide to cover you both again. The acid erupted in a great spray, raining down in a harsh slap of fluid over the area. The cliff was sprayed with it and you heard the two demons hiss as the fluid sprayed down their scaled backs. It dripped downwards and you felt the males stand, leaving you curled on the floor. The grass sizzled around you as you looked at the destruction. The graves were melting under the acrid hose down, and you felt saddened as the trees groaned, bark peeling and chipping away with the poison. Vergil flexed his arms as Dante spread his wings, the two stretching out in front of one another as acid dripped from their backs and wings. They were unharmed by it, but both took a skydive from the cliff, twisting in rapid spins to remove the last of the toxin. The rapid spinning made you dizzy by just watching. You peered away and gathered your notebooks and charcoals, stuffing pages back into your book as you stood in the only living patch of grass.

 The two devils roared at the bottom of the cliff and you swallowed, pulling your bag closer before you were faced with Vergil.

 “Intending on running off, were you?” He snarked, clutching his sword tight, looking completely human once more. Behind you a thump sounded before a hot hand rested on your shoulder. Dante sighed behind you, spinning you with a gentle pressure.

“Ignore him. He’s an ass at the best of times.” Dante smirked at his brother’s scoff, “How about we give you a ride back into town? Our ride is parked not too far out.” He offered kindly with a smile that could melt the iciest of hearts. Except maybe his brothers. That seemed to be ice cold, you remarked sourly as you nodded.

“That would be great, thank you.” You smiled back at the red covered twin before following him down towards the path along the cliffs.

“Your welcome, babe. Now tell me, why the fuck were you out here chilling in an abandoned graveyard?” He gave you a look with a smirk as you opened your notebook.

“I was looking into a family tree. There was something fishy about their records. Turns out the man probably had a few bastards in his lineage. I was just taking prints of the names from the tombs.” You smiled, “I do a lot of family history work around the area, but this one might be a bit of a hobby at this point.”

 Dante nodded, looking at the notebook in your hands with mild interest. Both of you ignored the furious elder twin to your right. His eyes however, followed your finger over the pages, admiring your cursive and your meticulous notes alongside the prints of names and dates of death. Macabre but you seemed to take great pride in it all. He had a certain amount of respect for you because of that. His eyes wandered upwards, and Vergil caught himself as his icy gaze lingered on your face for a little too long. He scoffed under his breath at Dante’s commentary of the pages, looking out at the rotting graveyard as you chuckled next to him.

“It’s Don Vacile, Dante.” He grumbled, looking back at his younger brother sharply as the two of you smirked at him. He didn’t like that Dante’s crass attitude was already spoiling you.

“Vergil is right, Dante.” You teased as you closed your notebook. Vergil felt a swell of pride at winning one over his younger brother.

Dante blew a raspberry before rolling his shoulders, “Vergil is never wrong. But Vergil never gets laid.”

Vergil shot a look of fire at his brother, “Who’s the one with the son, brother?” His smile was tight lipped and poisonous.

“Someone’s who couldn’t wrap it up.”

You choked on your own spit laughing at the two of them as you made your way back to the van they had arrived in.

 After that day, you saw very little of the twins. Their streaking figures were on the news at times, huge scaly demon forms tearing apart some new threat as the tv crew struggled to follow them. Dante had winked at the camera once as he flew by. It was all very strange. They’d only asked that you tell no one about what you saw, but who would believe you? The city was quick to forget tragedies and the sleepy unaffected towns never saw it. You sat in your cottage and watched the news and days roll by, wondering if you would ever see the two oddballs again. It didn’t seem likely in your profession.

 A knock on the door one frosty morning confused you. You had a meeting in the next city for a family tree trace, but that wasn’t for another three hours. It was barely morning, the sun having just peaked through the fog to try and warm the air. You wrapped your gown a little tighter and unlocked the door and latches, looking outside with a shudder.

“Good morning.” Vergil uttered into the cold air, unchanged and wrapped in the same intricate coat he was in last time, minus the stains of blood from Dante’s careless hands.

Your mouth hung open for a moment, looking into the man’s icy eyes, looking up at his slicked back hair, the spikes unwavering in the chill, “Uhhhh.”

“Are you merely going to gawk, or can I come in?” Vergil gave a haughty roll of his shoulders, “I…I have something to ask of you.”

“Sure. Sorry, I just didn’t expect to ever see you again, let alone on my doorstep.” You let him in through the door and closed it behind him, rushing to go and fetch him a drink as he looked around your small home, ducking under the low beams before stepping down into the living room and taking an uneasy seat on your sofa.

 A tea made him smiley loosely, the edge of his lip quirking before he sipped and coughed, trying his best to dispel the awkwardness he had dragged in with him.

“I…” He paused and sighed, “I am not good with words. I enjoy poetry yes, but I cannot wax words like the greats. I know you are wondering why I am here, and I will tell you.”

The constipated look on his face did not help his case.

“I would like for us to speak more.” That was his simple statement.

“If you really just came around to my house at seven am, to tell me that, then you better come up with a better excuse and quick.” You threatened behind your mug.

Vergil looked caught off guard, “I…” He paused again, “I would like to speak to you in a romantic setting.” He confessed; his eyes guarded yet steeled.

“So, like a date?”

Vergil seemed to grumble at the term, “I suppose courting would be the logical conclusion yes.”

Your brain fried for a moment. His attitude was no different, yet he held your gaze with determined ferocity.

 A chuckle made him flinch, ready to accept defeat and humiliation as second best once more.

 You took his hand and didn’t flinch at the burning of his fingertips. He gasped and held his breath quietly as you leaned over and kissed his cheek.

“Sure thing, Vergil.” You pulled away from him and shook your head, “But can it be later? I have to go to work like a normal person soon.”

He nodded stiffly before feeling heat colour his cheeks as you stood and moved up the stairs. On the fifth step you leaned over the bannister and smiled, “Pick me up at eight, Sparda, and then we’ll see if you’re worthy of this considering your attitude.”

Vergil smiled, the insult brushed away as he watched you go up the stairs, the doorknob in his hand, “Eight it is, my dear.”

 As he sauntered out the door, he pulled his poetry book free and pressed his fingers into the cracks and grooves of the leather, remind himself to once again, patch them up.

[justatadmystic]

Holy shit it’s finally time to reveal it, isn’t it?! I can’t believe it! I actually had this mostly finished like a month ago when I first got the assignment but I’m so happy to share this!

To the lovely @official-volta, I present you your gift for tagss2018! I hope I did your prompt well!

Oh, and perhaps for an easier reading experience, I will be posting this on AO3 under the same title! Not posting a link cause of the obvious issue.

Of Charred Bones

All that remains now is the gnawing hunger, and the dirty white of bone splinters. Regardless of her prayers, her gods cannot pass into the claimed territory she calls a home. Only the Devil and his demons remain here, awaiting their prey to drop dead.

The shallow tally marks on the headstone marked the 77th day Volta had called the abandoned, overfilled graveyard her new home, at least that was the last time she counted. Attempting to count backwards, it would be… a lot of days since she was taken from her family and village, deposited in a burned down husk of a village far, far away from home. She had been deemed useless by the raiders, and tossed aside like garbage. She sits down beside the headstone she had used to mark any semblance of time passing besides the sun, thinking back as best she could.

They left her with only the dirtied dress on her back, her leather boots, the smallest parcel of food she had even seen, and a knife. They rode off, leaving her abandoned in the smoked out tomb of her people, with no hope of escape.

She scoured the buildings for any hope, for any scrap of food or drink, of reliable shelter. She found very little, and in the end she couldn’t even call the husk-like buildings a definite home. She wrapped herself in the smoky-smelling blanket she scavenged, collected her tiny supplies, and sought out shelter.

She found the cemetery quickly, just a few minutes walk from the smoking town. On the grounds was a small building, most likely used to prepare the dead for their burials. The town’s water supply luckily flowed into it, and it was still fresh and untouched by the fires, or perhaps luckily kept it clean for her. She drank happily from it, thankful that at least one thing was secure in her exile.

There was at least a bit of shelter in the graveyard, but it was a terrifying place and she didn’t know if it were any safer then the burnt out village. She returned to the remnants of the village, and just tried to find somewhere that would guard her, at least partially, from passersby and the weather if it got rough.

Settling down in what had to be an old seamstress shop, she picked carefully at the few bits of food she had, and tried to think. Her mother had told her that keeping her mind straight in times of terror would be the way she would survive, that pushing away confusion and delirium would allow her to live through the horrors of their day-to-day.

She stretched her food out for a week. Her blanket kept her warm in the partly chilly nights. The sounds of raiders in the far off forests and towns scared her, but she held firm. During the late afternoons of the day, she foraged for anything and everything nearby. Much of the berry bushes were burned away, but there was just enough for her to get by.

On the two week mark, raiders came back. She had been getting a drink from the waters flowing through the undertaker’s building when she heard them, and smelled fire. Looking through the dusty window, she watched the raiders burn the little that remained of the village.

She was grateful she had grabbed her blanket, and that she had carried her few little berries back to her, as sour as they were. That night, she sat on the steps of the building, and watched the buildings of the village burn into piles of ash, now only left with the cemetary to call a home.

From that day on, her life spiraled into a living hell.

She had water, but food was quickly disappearing. Berries wouldn’t sustain her, and the rats that occasionally weaved through the tombstones soon became too fast for her to catch. She was terrified of taking a further step with the bodies around her, and promised herself to never go so far. She continued to try and forage and hunt anything, but soon all of her prospects dried up. She cut down heavily on her water to avoid the pains that had already begun.

Her shoes were first. Leather was far from edible, but starvation was slowly twisting her mind around in confusing and debilitating circles. Whatever could fill the void in her stomach was better then letting it grow. Raiders moved in once more, ignoring her graveyard pointedly, perhaps fearing the consequences of stirring the dead like many would. She dug into the shallowest graves, her fractured and hungry thoughts breaking her promise. She gnawed on the bones of a person buried, sucking out whatever she could out of the coarse and dirty things.

A braver band of raiders came to her home. She only had a knife to defend herself, but at this point, she was practically rags and bones. A cruel man maimed her, blinding her in her right eye. Blood was spilled, and they left her behind screaming pathetically. Now without her right eye, her knife broken, and hunger still tearing her up from the inside-out, she was left with little hope of survival.

She ripped up parts of her dress to cover her wounds. She stared into the reflection of the water at her eye, her eyelid hiding the worst of the damage to the eye. They had torn and popped her eye open, leaving it a mess of whites and her original brown irises. Time moved on, and she stopped counting the days in the graveyard. Her wounded eye soon faded from brown to a white-brown mess. What will she had to try and have her eye work left as quick as her hope for salvation.

Her memory-searching is broken with the painful growl of her stomach, still trying to get anything to fill it. The words of her mother were but muffled whispers in a storm, meaning nothing in the tempest. She stood up slowly, clutching the dress that barely hung on her shoulders. It was deep into the night, she realized.

She dug on her hands and knees until she hit her target at the foot of the headstone, pulling out a small, shattered bone from the dirt. She sucked at the ends for the marrow, and gnawed on it to get anything else. Shards of the bone stuck into her throat, but the pain barely rivaled the horrific sickness of starvation. She threw it away when there was nothing left, and didn’t bother to settle the grave. She shuffled to the door of the undertaker’s building, still standing somehow despite everything.

Resting her foggy head on the crumbling steps, and pulling her fraying blanket over her shoulders, she tried to find the will to sleep, and to wake once the sun was up again. Her eyes shut quickly, too heavy from exhaustion.

“Such a poor, pathetic thing…”

The words were unfamiliar, the voice deep and terrifying down to her own brittle bones. The voice came out of the darkness of her slumber, a rumble not unlike horses approaching.

“You must be so hungry.”

I am, she whispers into nothing around her, I really am.

“Such a strong girl, to survive so long without real food.”

I want to eat!, she finds herself sobbing, her starvation inescapable even in her own dreams (or perhaps now it was her nightmares), I miss eating, I miss being full, It hurts so much!

“What if I told you, starving girl, that I could give you that which you wish for?”

The blackness opened up into a grey field, a grassy plain left in greyscale. Color didn’t exist here, leaving it feeling empty. It was a hollow, unsettling feeling, but not even it could best her overwhelming hunger. Before her stood a tall being, with fur and claws, and horns upon his head. Staring into the eyes of a goat-headed man, her hunger-muddled mind told her it was reality. The weak rationality she clung to spoke in terror of the being.

“Y-you could?”

Red eyes bore down on her, evaluating her pathetic, bony, and dilapidated body. Desperate for a miracle, she didn’t shield herself from the gaze of the being. They rounded her like a predator eying its dinner. She mindlessly thought that there had been vultures circling the graveyard earlier that day. In the distance of the dream, the cries of the vultures echoed, the reminder of what would become of her soon.

“...could you really do it?”

The being smiled at her, a toothy grin. He reached out and gently patted her head, smoothing down the wild and ratty strands of her hair. With the tip of a claw, he parted a more stubborn strand out of the way of her dead eye.

“I can feed you. In return, you will do something for me.”

It was crippling, the overwhelming feeling of happiness at the thought of eating once again. She could eat food again! She could finally feel full, and content, and not have to gnaw on bones and leather and bugs to survive any longer.

“I could eat again… what would I have to do?”

“Help me. While you help me, I will ensure you can eat anything you desire.”

“I would just… help you? And I could eat?”

“Help me with some of my endeavors, and in exchange you will be fed. That is all I ask. Do we have a deal, Volta?”

Her name on his lips didn’t scare her, though it should have if she had been in her right mind. It was perfect, the only escape she had from her hell in the graveyard. The being offered his hand to her, and she… hesitated. Claws and fur awaited her consent, her final agreement.

Her eyes snapped open at the sound of the forest around rustling. Blinking her eye quickly, she lessen the amount of sunlight crossing her face. She sat up slowly, looking to the rising sun not yet peeking completely over the trees. Her dress slumped forward, baring her chest with little care for decorum. What was once covered in muscle and a little fat was skeleton, her body eating away at her own flesh to try and keep moving. She shrugged it back up what was left of her shoulders, and watched the sun.

Her dreams lingered, and for a moment they chased the chasm of her hunger away. Her body had chased away her chance, though it felt bone-deep that it would return to her. Shadows behind her stirred and shook, the sun dispelling them from their hold on the world. She stood up quietly, slowly folding up her blanket and stowing it inside the undertaker’s building. The shadows were more pronounced in the building, the few windows only allow a little into the still air.

It had been home for her for… who knows how long now. The village was burnt to ash just as long. Her separation and isolation was in a time she had long forgotten, her happy life just as easily lost and replaced by red and anger and hunger.

The being’s offer. He could feed her, in exchange for helping him. Her muddled thoughts ignored the obvious ‘how longs’ and ‘what kind of help’ questions, focusing on what she earned and gained.

Food. Feeling full again.

Whispers chased her as she wandered during the day, aimlessly moving just to avoid her limbs from locking up. She ventured through the empty grounds of the village. She ventured into the forests, ignoring the pain in her soles as she stepped onto stones and branches, watching life move on as it should. The cry of a vulture sounded. She returned to the graveyard as the sun begun to dip back behind the trees. She dug down further into an already desecrated grave, looking for the longer bones that had to be there.

She didn’t have the strength to continue digging, her brittle and broken nails unable to dig enough to get the bones she needed. In the end, she had dug only a little further down, and was left with nothing. If she wanted bones, she would need to dig for hours… hours she didn’t have now that the sunset was upon her.

She lay herself on the grave she defiled, ignoring the chittering of the woods, and the ever approaching vultures above.

Staring into the melting sky, reds and purples and yellows spreading over the blue, Volta wondered for the first time since she was dumped there what had become of her family.

“Are you ready?”

Pulling herself up to sit up was painful, her skin and bones aching alongside her stomach. She looked up at the being, who offered his hand to her once again. Reality bleeds away with the sky as it splatters across the ground in grotesque fashion, burning the green of the grass into brown and black.

“Can I know your name?”

The question seemed to phase the being for a moment, before he smiled to her again. The undertaker’s building shatters soundlessly, dissolving into the empty sky.

“The Devil. Now, Volta… will you take my deal?”

Knelt in the dirt of another’s grave, stomach eating away at what little remained, she reaches out for the Devil’s hand. The world around her gives away to a roar of beasts, and an overwhelming red. She grasps his hand tightly, and he squeezes it back. His smile turns wicked as he lifts her to her feet.

The world turns upside down, and she’s left staring into the red-black of the Devil’s eyes. Chains fill her vision, wrapping around her gently. They encircle her, wrapping around her limbs as light as a feather. She watches them curiously, too focused on the hollow hole her stomach was. They fade once one of the chains has wrapped around her stomach, leaving her curious about what they were.

The Devil beckons her with a gentle call of her name as an apple appears in his hand. Red and shined, it was the first real piece of food she had seen in many days. She pounces for it, snatching it out of the Devil’s hands, clutching it in her own. In the grey world she ignored, the red apple was a thing of beauty.

She realized her mistake quickly, looking sheepishly up at the Devil. She had rudely taken it, ignoring the being who so graciously fed her. The Devil didn’t look mad at her, instead giving a soft huff, and patting her head.

“I promised to feed you. Now, eat.”

She doesn’t need anymore approval. She takes a bite of the apple, crying as she tastes the flesh of the apple, the juice dribbling down her chin.

She doesn’t notice the blood dripping out of the apple she feasted on, nor the Devil’s accomplished grin as she seals her deal for life.

“There will be more to eat. Now… you’ll help me with a problem of mine.”

[musicallisto]

ϟ Good Times (Sirius Black & Remus Lupin)

So I finally managed to get my shit together and write this little, quite sad piece. I was listening to Good Times by All Time Low (which I recommend you listen to while reading this) and this came to mind. I know I'm a bit late since Halloween was almost a month ago, but hey, let's just go with it. There’s no reader insertion in this, just a little one-shot about my babies; hope you’ll like it!

word count: 2300+ words

summary: In which it's Halloween again, but two lone wolves find it hard to enjoy the festivities.

Molly struggled to make her way through the many people, mostly redheads, gathered in the dining room, and the joyous laughter that filled her ears. It had been a long time since she had last witnessed so much happiness among her family and friends, and didn’t try to control the effusive exaltation surrounding the teenagers and adults she had grown to love. It seemed that all of their scars were lighter to bear when bliss lingered in the lonely twelve, Grimmauld Place, and she could have sworn she even saw the glimpse of a smile curling Mad-Eye Moody’s lips.

It had been a long day but Molly was proud of what she had accomplished. As she looked at the mischievious twins she could easily tell apart - although they liked to think she was too ignorant for that; as she looked at her eldest son, sipping from his glass of wine and conversing lightly with his younger brother and Tonks; as she looked at Hermione and Ginny, who were laughing over something stupid Ron had just said; as she looked at Harry, the boy who lived, the boy she had come to consider as her own seventh son; as she looked at her husband, whose eyes wore the same glint of curiosity and intelligence she had fallen in love so many years ago; as she looked at the freshly cooked meal and the thoughtfully arranged decorations, she knew she was proud, and hopeful.

“Remus, would you be so kind as to-” she started, turning around but bringing her sentence to a halt when she saw no one was in sight.

Fallen dead silent, she inspected the empty corridor a few seconds, then sighed. She should’ve known better, she should’ve remembered some scars were much deeper than the silver marks on his face.

“For some reason, I knew I’d find you here.”

The deep voice cut through the silent night. A man glanced at the direction the voice came from, squinted his eyes, then shook his head and continued walking down the sidewalk, a bit faster though. For a second there he had thought the tall man in the cemetery was talking to the massive, black dog sprawled right next to one of the tombstones… he shrugged it off; it was probably just a strange, lonely man on a cold Halloween night.

Remus was cautiously walking towards the guard dog as if the tiniest of hasty movements could’ve made it run away. The dog’s ears rose for a few moments, registering the familiar voice, before dolefully falling again. It had not even bothered looking up at the tall man who was approaching him; in fact, its eyes didn’t leave the mossy rock of the tombstone it was laying on, even when its sandy-haired friend sat carefully by its side. Remus’s coat would be drenched and covered in mud, but he didn’t mind. He kept quiet for a minute, the littlest of smiles on his lips.

“Sirius Black ditching a party. What a great day to be alive.”

The black dog groaned, and Remus chuckled lightly. Suddenly, they weren’t two ragged, abandoned souls in a little cemetery; they were seventeen, young and a little too reckless, their whole lives ahead of them.

“It’s not that I don’t like the company of your smelly dog self,” Remus stated after a few more minutes of quiet, “but could you turn back to your human form? It’s easier to, you know, communicate.”

Reluctantly, Sirius shook himself and soon the dark fur and canines were replaced by a sharp jawline and sorrowful eyes, sitting on the mere ground.

“Did you… apparate here?” Remus asked softly, not wanting to disturb his best friend’s tortured peace.

He simply nodded.

“Sirius… Someone could have seen you,” the werewolf warned, although he knew Sirius was very well aware of it; he had never played by the rules, after all.

“I know, Moony, I know, but I was just going mad in there. I had to get away, especially tonight. I’ve been trapped in this rathole for sixteen years and them… they just expect me to stay still and not help them when they’re risking their lives! At least in Azkaban, I didn’t have to stand for my mother’s yelling,” he finished with a bitter laugh.

“But couldn’t you wait until tomorrow for your little escapade?” Remus insisted. “It was… surprisingly great, back there. You would’ve been with the rest of us, plus you would’ve got food.”

“I guess I could have stayed for the food,” Sirius commented with a smile, more sincere than the previous ones.

He couldn’t help reminiscing the old times, the good times; he was the social butterfly, envied by boys and girls, adored and abhorred by his professors at the same time, and surrounded by the three best friends he had ever had. Every memory, every mouthful of firewhiskey in the Gryffindor common room, every hour locked in detention with James and every crack of laughter; everything felt so real, so palpable, that he almost felt like he could have reached his long lost best friend’s hand if he had dared to touch the tomb. Fearing it would only remind him of what had become real on that Halloween night, so long ago, he didn’t move.

“It’s been fourteen years,” he finally breathed out.

“I know.”

“I know you know. It just… feels like it was yesterday we said goodbye to them, doesn’t it?”

Remus sighed, the hot cloud of his breathing dancing just before his lips. He didn’t like this conversation. He dreaded it. For the longest time, he had tried to turn his back on his past, keep his head up and carry on. For the longest time, he had tried to be brave, to live up to everyone’s expectations - he was a Gryffindor, after all. For the longest time, he had tried to run from October 31st of 1981, and he almost would have succeeded, had it not been for Sirius. He loved his best friend like a brother, and he was the person he cherished the most, but his torturous questions and melancholic sighs were like a steel vise constricting his throat. However, Sirius needed someone to talk to. A shoulder to cry on, a partner in crime to laugh with and a mature figure to yell at. And Remus was willing to be the shoulder, the partner in crime and the mature figure. He was willing to do anything for his best - and last - friend’s sake.

“Yes, it does.”

They remained silent until Sirius threw a pebble across the graveyard with a contained fury.

“I wish I hadn’t been so stupid. So naïve… I thought… I thought Peter was trustworthy. If I hadn’t insisted-”

“No one could have known. Don’t blame yourself for it, Sirius, it’s a waste of time.”

“But they would be alive! Both of them! Harry would have parents, and we would have friends!”

“And Voldemort wouldn’t have been defeated. And Harry would’ve died at eleven, without Lily’s love protecting him. Would you like this outcome better?” Remus questioned, still calm.

Silence.

“I guess not,” the black-haired man admitted in a murmur, shaking his head. “How is it that you’re always right, and I always look like a damn fool?”

“I reckon you couldn’t be granted both good looks and intelligence,” Remus shrugged.

Sirius’s laugh was long to come, but when the bark-like sound escaped his lips, it was the warmest and most familiar sound Remus had heard in a while.

“It’s always been this way,” Sirius reminisced, smiling wildly this time. “Remember in Charms in fourth year, when I was convinced Accio worked on living things, and you told me it didn’t? I think we argued for at least fifteen minutes until the Professor had to separate us.”

Remus’s smile spread as well, and he felt like he could breathe steadily again; remembering his time as a Marauder, when all of them were together and simply happy, was much easier than facing the consequences of the war on their broken alliance.

“Of course I remember! You were so stubborn - didn’t you write that in your exam?”

“Yeah,” Sirius laughed. “But I still got an O, so joke’s on you.”

“I never understood how you managed to have such good grades without ever working. Or even opening your books. That wasn’t fair! I spent hours in this goddamn library and you barely lift a finger and always came top of the class!”

“I’m just so naturally talented, Remus, you can’t even begin to imagine the extent of my abilities.”

“Oh, Merlin, shut up, you're so annoying,” Remus laughed wholeheartedly, gently hitting his best friend in the arm. He had missed his playful arrogance, his characteristic cockiness no one could really replicate.

It felt right, respectful, to be giggling like schoolboys right next to James's and Lily's tombs. They both knew their missing friends were somewhere, watching over them, and chuckling without a care was the best tribute they could have paid them - the best way to remember them.

"You've always been this way,” Remus commented after a few seconds of placid silence. "So... overly confident. So fond of yourself. I never understood how you did it- I still don't."

“I'm not the same cocky teenager I used to be... I lost a lot of my ego in prison,” Sirius answered with a smile, although the bitterness in his tone was obvious. "Serves me right, I guess. 'Twas my pride, after all, that got me into this mess. I shouldn't have run after Peter...”

“You didn't deserve any of it, if that makes you feel any better.”

“Not really, but I appreciate the help.”

The both of them fell silent again, and Sirius couldn't help meditating on Remus's last words. "You didn't deserve any of it"... did he really mean it? Was it true? Could he really be so easily forgiven after putting his best friends' lives in the hands of a traitor, of a coward, and then taking the fall for their murder? Could he be so easily forgiven for not sending a damn letter, not showing any sign of opposition nor resistance, not even trying to plead his case, at least for Remus, at least for himself? Did he deserve to get out of prison? Did he deserve freedom, mercy, and consideration? Was he worth anything more than Sirius Black, the most dangerous fugitive in the wizarding world? Sirius Black, the criminal on the run, the murderer, the Death Eater?

He never told Remus in order not to worry him - he never told anyone, for that matter, but what pained him most was all the headlines he could still decipher when he wandered the streets as a dog; it was all the burning pictures of him on the cover of a newspaper mindlessly thrown to the ground, the pictures of him, staring coldly at the reader; it was all the conversations he still overheard, two years later, about the Ministry and the once prestigious Black family. He aspired to be so much more than the serial killer the media made him look like. He aspired to be something else - anything else, really, than the twisted, disturbed Black son, who followed his ancestors' path and became a devoted lackey for His Majesty the cruel, abject Voldemort. He wanted to prove everyone wrong, he wanted to show the wizarding world he was better than them, better than his parents, better than his foolish brother, better than the Dark Arts, better than all of them, and he almost had succeeded when for the first times in century, a Black was sent to Gryffindor. The joy of stomping on his family's prestige had quickly overweighed the anxiety about his parents' reaction that day, and he remembered it all so clearly. He missed those times, when everything felt clearer and more simple. He often found himself longing for the days of sweet ignorance, of blissful youth, and no matter how hard he tried, he wasn't able to bring himself to stop thinking about it. Reading everywhere his name along with the despicable title of "murderer", and associated with the horrid name of the monster he had fought for so long didn't help him anyway.

Sirius sighed. He was glad he had found Remus. He had missed him intensely when he counted down the days in his cell, feeling even more guilty of leaving him behind and on his own, with the clear conviction that his best friend was a killer. He had wanted more than once to write a letter, even just a two-letter complaint, but he wasn't allowed to, and mostly lacked courage.

His breathing steadied softly until it coordinated itself with Remus's. Those were the moments he prefered, the moments he had wished most when he was away, on his small, lost island; when everything was calm and quiet, and he could finally feel his lungs unflex and let out all the toxic smoke that threatened to asphyxiate him.

And after a few minutes of pure silence, merely disturbed by the discreet sound of a fleeing airplane above their heads, Sirius and Remus both knew they were going to be okay again, as long as they stayed together and gave each other the confidence to hold on.

Sirius's hand fell on the shivering grave that born his beloved friends' names, forever engraved into the fragile stone. Remus's fingers soon followed, holding the tombstone as if it could disappear.

IN LOVING MEMORY OF

JAMES POTTER • LILY POTTER

“Happy Halloween, Remus,” Sirius murmured.

“Happy Halloween, Sirius,” Remus whispered back.

Harry was fine and they were fine.

They all were going to be okay.

[a-dauntless-daffodil]

Between Us

Pidge and Allura accidentally start a 'Can't Sleep Too Busy Thinking About the Family I've Lost' club. 

Pidge blinks in the harsh light of the computer screen and tries to refocus both her eyes and mind connected to them. 

It's been 65 hours and 8 minutes since Pidge has managed more than two hours of consecutive sleep, and she's starting to think it might be starting to affect her.

Either that or Earthing's just weren't meant for Galra and Altean alphabets. 

Which could be possible, she supposes. 

But sleep deprivation seems the more likely cause.

It's also been 49 hours and 32 minutes since Pidge was kidnapped by a giant blue cat and named a defender of the universe by an alien princess hellbent on taking down the biggest empire the galaxy has ever seen, even if all she has to do it with is four strangers who can't even properly read the controls of the weapons they're supposed to be piloting.

Pidge has sneaking suspicion that Allura would happily chuck all five of them into a black hole if she thought it'd help them improve as Paladins and a team. 

Pidge is very grateful they managed to intentionally form Voltron yesterday. And that there are no nearby black holes to tempt Allura.

Shaking her head Pidge tries to shake the jumbled thoughts out of her mind as well.

Focus. 

Focus, focus, focus. 

Somewhere in this mess of data there might be a crumb that she could turn into a trail and trace across the galaxy to wherever Matt and Dad have been taken. 

If she can find them there's a real chance she can rescue them now.

She's got Shiro and his handy- Heh- Glara tech arm on her side. She's got a giant cat mecha of her own. She's got all sorts of incredible new tech to play with and re-purpose for her own uses. 

She's even got the promise of a princess that if Voltron gets the chance to save her family, they will- and Pidge is pretty sure she can trust Allura to keep that promise. Allura knows what it's like to lose people she loves. 

Princess Allura... 

It's weird how Pidge can see more of herself in an alien princess she's just met than she can in any of the four other humans in the Castle.

When the cryo pod had opened the first thing Allura had done was cry out-

"Father!"

And Pidge had been back on Earth, back in her mess of a room, back to being Katie Holt and waking up in a cold sweat with her brother's name on her lips, her father's face flashing before her eyes. Back to hearing the chant of 'they're gone they're gone they're gone' thundering in her ears in time to her hammering heartbeat. 

The memory makes Pidge swallow hard even now, the equivalent of two or so Earth days after being reminded of it. 

She hadn't known the stranger who had fallen into Lance's arms and put him in restraining hold a second later, but she did know what it's like to call out for your family like that. Panicked. Desperate. Terrified.

Things like that, like the memory she'd just fallen into for a second, make sleeping hard. 

On Earth Pidge had delt with that by working instead, and not much has changed since she got thrown into space. 

The only real difference is she might actually be able to do something with what she learns now. She might actually be able to find Matt and Dad bring them home to Earth and to Mom.

Mom. Mom who had probably heard by now that Katie's alias has gone missing. Mom who'd watched Katie build a scanner powerful enough to listen to the edge's of their solar system and who might be making another one of her own now.

Setting it up and listening just like Pidge had, sitting in the dark with Gunther in her lap, hoping to hear something, hearing nothing. Going home to an empty house. Going up to Matt's room or Katie's or the one she used to share with Dad and sitting there in the dark instead, looking around in the dim light that hides the dust and the year-old dates on all the science journals and pretending, for a second that they aren't really gone, that she hasn't been left behind.  

The thought makes Pidge feel sick. 

Pushing up her glasses she rubs impatiently at the telltale burn behind her eyes. 

She doesn't have time for this. 

Wallowing in homesickness and guilt isn't going to help her figure out where the other prisoners got sent, or make predicting the Galra's next move any easier. And she's going to have to do both if she wants to make any difference out here, here at the start of a war with a ruthless, tyranical empire that's been gaining strength and expanding for the last ten millennia. 

Scowling Pidge shoves her glasses back in place and bends over her computer again, determined to force the lines of code into making sense.

She's so focused on that one goal she almost doesn't see the flicker of movement to her right. 

Looking around she sees someone at the far end of corridor, walking slowly.

It's the princess.

And she looks... off. Odd. Wrong.

Maybe it's because she isn't striding around purposefully for once, maybe it has to do with the loose clothes Pidge assumes are an Altean nightgown. 

Or maybe it's the lost look on her face.

The way she doesn't look round or see Pidge even though Pidge is sitting right out in the open. Maybe it has to do with how she's trailing her fingers along the wall as she walks, feeling her way along as if the Castle might vanish if she doesn't keep checking on it.

In the end it doesn't matter what makes Pidge thinks Allura looks wrong. All that's important is Pidge thinks she knows why the princess is padding listlessly though her empty home when she's supposed to be sleeping.

It's something Pidge used to do a lot too.

She watches Allura turn a bend and disappear. She hesitates, unease twisting in her gut until she can't ignore it anymore. 

And then she gives in.

The laptop snaps quietly as she shuts it. Picking it up she hauls herself to her feet and sets off down the corridor, now focused on her new objective for the night.

Find Allura. See how she's doing, see if she's feeling okay, and if she's not-

And Pidge already knows she isn't.

-If she's not, then maybe talk to her about it a little. If she wants to. Or something. 

Just try, basically. Not because Pidge thinks she'll be any good at it but because she's the only one here, and she does know something about what Allura's feeling. 

That has to count for something. Right?

-

Allura wanders down the corridor, not heading anywhere in particular as she runs a hand along the wall, fingers trailing the familiar cool patterns and gaps. 

The Castle, her home, is filled with unfamiliar silence. 

It's a silence that has reigned here for longer than her family once ruled over Altea, but is alien to Allura. 

And so strange to find it here of all places. To walk down these halls without meeting anyone or hearing the constant announcements filtering over comms. To be followed by the empty echo of her own footsteps and turn each corner with no one there to meet her, no technician or guard or ambassador smiling as she greets them as the lifelong friends they so often are- 

Were, Allura corrects herself with a bitter smile. As they were when they lived, all of ten thousand years ago. 

But ten thousand years of silence has settled over the Castle of the Lions like a curse, and there is no one to greet her, no matter how many turns she takes.

Lifeless, she thinks as she passes a doorway and cool air opens up under her fingertips.

Even though she and Coran are still here, even with the new Paladins of Voltron making themselves comfortable in their rooms, the Castle is lifeless and dead compared to how she always knew it. With how it should be.

Coming to a stop at the door of the dining hall, Allura traces her gaze over the familiar long table and chairs, the ghosts she can still see sitting there.

The room has been washed clean of the evidence of that surprisingly fruitful food fight. Now there is no one and nothing to distract from what is missing, the people whose absence she can feel as if their silhouettes had been cut out of the air.

She has so many memories of this room. 

Memories of family instead of strangers turned allies, of safety instead of frustration undercut with fear and desperation. 

She has these memories, but they are not old enough to be just memories yet. 

They live and breath inside of her as fresh as if they had happened yesterday- Which they had, from her perspective if from no one else's. 

The gap between what she knows from reading the Castle logs and what she still expects to see as she walks it's halls is inconsolable. It makes her pull a little bit of the heavy silence into her chest with each breath she takes. It makes her eyes sting as she stares at the empty seats at the dining room table. It- 

"It feels weird, doesn't it?"

Allura spins around at the voice. 

"What?" She blurts out, the word coming out sharp as her eyes fall on the fluffy mess of Pidge's hair and the green and white of the Paladin's overlarge sweater.  

She hadn't expected anyone else to be awake and wandering the Castle halls at this time. Everyone aside from Coran should be resting in their quarters, and yet here is Pidge, still in day clothes and with an Earthling computer tucked under one arm.

"The Castle." The Paladin waves a hand at the dinning hall beyond Allura. 

"You lived here back before Zarkon killed everyone, right? So it probably feels weird to you now, empty but also full of the people who should still be here. Like walking through a graveyard."

Caught off guard by the interruption- as well as the fact that Pidge just spoken an entire sentence that did not have anything to do with technology, upgrades, or scans- Allura finds herself staring back blankly.  

Empty but full is a good way to put it. And the Castle's silence does remind Allura of a tomb, now she thinks of it. A tomb full of restless ghosts.

And at least one restless Paladin, apparently.

Drawing herself more properly upright Allura schools her expression into composure.  

"You should be resting." She tries to fix Pidge with a stern gaze as she says it. "Tomorrow will be busy as well, you five have still a lot of training to do before you can properly fight as Voltron."

Pidge, looking wholly unaffected by Allura's attempted stern look, raises an incredulous eyebrow. 

"And you've still got a whole Castle to de-bug, on top of putting us through our paces." The Paladin's tone is very dry. "I'm sorting though Rover's data trying to find some clues about where all the prisoners we weren't in time to rescue might have been sent. What's your excuse for still being up?"

Allura scowls. Of all the alien species who could have ended up in her Castle, why did have to end up being ones as argumentative as Earthlings? 

She opens her mouth to snap back, perhaps to even try ordering Pidge to sleep even though it likely wouldn't do any good- the 'no princess of ours' stance had apparently not changed at all since it spurred Allura into starting a rather childish but effective fight-

-and stops herself just in time.

The prisoners. 

She had forgotten, in the rush of reclaiming all the Lions and defeating a Galra battle ship, that Pidge had deviated from the original plan in order to rescue prisoners from that same ship. 

She had also forgotten the reason Pidge had later given for this. 

A missing father and brother. A family left broken. A very personal reason to hate the Galra and the empire Zarkon had built.

Looking at the Green Paladin again, Allura sees a hollowness to Pidge's face. 

Tired shadows linger under brown eyes, tight muscles clench unconsciously at Pidge's jaw and there's something familiar about the slight slump of Pidge's shoulders. Something Allura has glimpsed in every reflective surface she's passed since waking up to find her own family gone.

Allura feels her posture fail and droop again as all of her irritation with the Paladin drains away. 

"I don't know." She admits quietly. "And to answer your earlier question, yes. It does feel strange."

"Too quiet." Pidge suggests, voice flat and knowing.

Allura bows her head and nods.

"Too quiet." The words leaving her lips reluctantly, her throat growing a little tighter with each one. "And yet at the same time I feel as though I can still hear them, even see them sometimes, like glimpses at the corner of my sight."

What Allura sees out of the corner of her eye right now is an uncertain shift of white and green. 

Pidge hesitates, lingers for moment, and then steps over to join Allura at entrance of the dining hall, carefully keeping some distance between them by leaning on the opposite edge of the door frame.

A silence wraps around them. A silence Allura cannot stand to listen to right now.

"I did try to sleep."

Fingering the cuffs of her dressing gown she pictures the Castle mice as she had left them, curled up in a fluffy pile on her pillow.

"I know how important it is that we rest, so I did try. But..." 

Swallowing hard she feels her chest ache even at just the memory. 

"As I was drifting off I thought I heard him. My father. Wishing me goodnight. Just as, just as he always used to."

The pain in her throat makes Allura stumble and leaves her eyes stinging worse than ever. The dining hall blurs slightly and she binks furiously to bring it back into focus, pushing the threat of tears aside.

"And I know I can speak to a hologram of him whenever I want to, but that isn't really him, just a shadow of his memories..." Just another ghost. "...He can't... truly hear me now."

Her throat closes up. 

Shutting her eyes Allura focuses on controlling her breathing and keeping it steady. She does not want to cry. She is a little afraid that if she starts she will not be able to stop.

A long slow sigh fills the air. There's a soft thud as Pidge's head falls against the door frame.

"You'd think it'd be comforting or something, still having part of them with you." The Paladin's mutter is low with bitterness and anger.

"But it just hurts." Pidge goes on, sounding all the more angry for not having anything more concrete than imaginings and dreams to blame the hurt upon- A feeling Allura knows from when she woke up in room that was dark and empty and completely devoid of any sign of Alfor.  "Because the next second you remember they're not really there, they're gone, and in a way it's like-" Pidge's voice catches suddenly and goes quiet. 

Opening her eyes Allura watches the Paladin hunch inward and feels her own aching heart echoed in the the trembling line of Pidge's lips, the hard, brittle light burning in brown eyes that stare into nothing. 

"... it's like losing them all over again." She finishes for Pidge, for herself, for both of them.

A jerky nod from the Paladin. 

"Yeah." 

The word comes out rough and scratchy, makes Pidge flinch and flush with shame.

When Pidge glances over in embarrassment Allura very purposefully meets the Paladin's gaze, holds it so that Pidge can see the dampness at the corners of her own eyes.

Some of the tension fades from Pidge's face.

The sound of a throat clearing conscientiously is almost comically loud in the quiet and Allura can't help the faint upwards twist of her lips at hearing it now, right after sharing such a raw and delicate moment. 

But perhaps Pidge deliberately exaggerated the sound, because the Paladin's mouth is quirking up into a wry little smile of it's own.

"Loosing people fucking sucks, doens't it?"

Allura laughs- a bark of suprise at the wording and the tone Pidge put on so serious a sentiment- and surprises herself both with the sound and the realization that she can still laugh, even if just bitterly, after everything that has happened.

The air only rings for a moment with Allura strangely placed mirth, but it's long enough to turn Pidge's crooked smile into a small grin.  

Seeing that, Allura decides the break in the gloom between them is good thing. Good enough for it not to matter if it was achieved by a somewhat irreverent or inappropriate attitude, the dead and the missing would not know if they laughed, and would probably want them to not be utterly miserable in any case.

So Allura let's her smile grow into something real as well. 

"It is a pain in the yulschtrix." She says in the most agreeable tone she can muster, crossing her arms casually as she leans back against the door frame. 

"Which only makes me that much more eager to return Zarkon the favor ten times over."

Pidge snickers. Allura listens and feels an inordinate amount of satisfaction at having coaxed out the sharp little chuckle. 

Glass flashes startlingly bright under the dimmed rest-cycle lights as Pidge looks up at her, grin somehow becoming warmer and at the same time taking on a dangerous, eager edge.

"You know what, Allura?" 

The Paladin doesn't leave room for a reply before going on, tone friendly in a way Allura has never heard from Pidge before. 

"I think you're exactly the sort of royalty I can follow after all."

Allura stares. 

She isn't sure if she should take that as a clumsy compliment or a retroactive insult. 

Pidge probably meant it as the former though, considering the Paladin is a blunt and straightforward person with no hint thus far of passive-aggressive slyness, so Allura will treat it as such.

"...Good." Allura says finally. "You don't have much of a choice in it, but I'm glad to hear that from you anyway."

That gets another snort from Pidge, lighter and more amused than the last one.

"Fair point."

Pushing off the door frame the Paladin's arms lift in quick stretch. 

"I'm gonna go back to finishing this." Pidge says with a yawn, arms lowering and fingers tapping at the extraordinarily primitive Earthing computer. "And then I'll hopefully be tired enough to just black out as soon as my head hits the pillow. It was good talking to you, Princess. See you in the morning."

Offering up an awkward little wave the Paladin turns and heads down the corridor, obviously a bit rusty when it came to politely end a conversation.

Allura watches Pidge go with a smile. 

"Sleep well, Pidge."  

Almost at the corner, Pidge stops and slowly looks back, frowing slightly. 

The look makes Allura think the Paladin might be deliberating something internally. She tilts her head at Pidge, wanting to ask what the problem is but also not wanting to intterupt.

Brown eyes firm as they meet Allura's. The Green Paladin swallows, throat bobbing silently, and says softly-

"...Goodnight, Allura. Sleep well."

With that Pidge slips around the corner and out of sight.

And Allura is left staring, heart pounding out a slow but strangely thundering beat as she hears another voice whisper goodnight to her, a different someone she used to also have late night talks with when sleep proved hard to find.

For some reason remembering her father does not hurt as much as it did before. 

Taking a deep breath Allura casts one last glance back at the empty dining hall and then moves off down the corridor, opposite the way Pidge had gone and towards her own private rooms.

It was time to give getting some rest another try. 

Allura has the feeling she will have a better time of it, now.

Now the silence of the Castle has been lightened enough to let her breath without drowning. Now that she has a real voice to mix with and soften the one that has been haunting her, a tangible 'good night' from someone who is here, instead of the ghost of one from someone who was lost long ago.

She's glad Pidge found her tonight. 

Slightly awkward though it had been, she's grateful they talked, feels better for knowing that someone else understands this brand of loneliness. 

That is almost the same as not being alone in a way. Or at least that's how it feels to Allura. 

-

Back pressed against the wall, Pidge lets out a sigh of relief as she listens to the princess's footsteps fade away. 

"Mission success." Pidge whispers to herself. 

"You didn't accidentally make her cry and even got her to smile and laugh a little. Job well done, Gunderson. You also managed to avoid ugly crying in front of her- Maybe next time you can get through it without loosing half your body fluids in sweat, either."

Next time. Was there going to be a next time?

Was she going to start making a habit of searching the Castle at night, checking to see if Allura was up and wandering around again?

Probably, yeah. 

Talking to her hadn't just been nerve wracking, it'd been nice. It'd felt good. Like venting to a rubber duck or similar when she got stuck programming. And she'd even gotten to hear Allura use what sounded like an Altean swear word- Pidge mentally filed 'Yulschtrix' away for later research and possible use- and that in it's self is worth some embarrassment.

And getting to hear Allura laugh feels like it's worth a lot more, for some reason. 

Peeling herself off the wall Pidge cracks her stiff neck and sets off again, this time with a slight bounce in her step.

[daphnegeeksout]

The Silence Between Us (1/7) [Steve x Reader]

Read it on AO3

By: daphnethewriter

Everything would be different if you hadn’t been there. Maybe you would be normal. Instead, you’re dangerous, a threat to be contained. You don’t want to be powerful. You don’t want to be special. You don’t want to be an Avenger. But there’s something about the way Steve looks at you–warm and soft and trusting–that makes you feel like you’re still yourself.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7

Words: 4,419, Chapters: 1/7, Language: English 

You shouldn’t even be here.

It’s supposed to be your day off, damn it. The first real one in three weeks of double shifts and overtime. But Margy’s kid got sick and you are just the biggest sucker for the kid excuse. So here you are at the hospital—again—on your day off—again—doing the nursing rounds of the pediatric floor—again.

You try not to be bitter—some of these kids are terminal, for Christ’s sake—but it’s hard to keep a caring and kind attitude after the tenth hour on your feet.

Sick kids, man… they get you right in the heart every time. The staff keeps the halls and rooms in the ward bright. There are always toys and video games, but it’s hard to ignore the bags under the parents’ eyes, or the laughter that turns to coughing too quickly, or the longing looks the kids give to the world outside their windows.

Of all the kids, Melody is your favorite. She has been since she first came to the ward with bacterial meningitis. Her illness had many complications and, ultimately, left her almost completely deaf. Yet she is a ray of sunshine. Always smiling, always happy.

You wave to her as you walk into the recreation room and revel in the delight on her face. Kids have favorites too and it’s nice to be someone’s.

[happy] you sign, indicating the smile on her face. You’ve learned some ASL during Melody’s time in the hospital, nothing more than the basics, but the joy on her face the first time you signed to her was addictive.

She beams. [-????-] It’s a sign that you don’t recognize, so you repeat it back to her the best you can. She fingerspells it, as she always does when you don’t know what she means. [A-V-E-N-G-E-R-S]

The Avengers. Not the real ones, of course, just cosplayers who come to the hospital to brighten the kids’ day. They’re a routine fixture on the pediatric floor. The college student who plays Captain America even asked you out for dinner the last time they were there. Not that you have time for dating.

The cosplayers enter and, as a murmur of excitement ripples through the room, you slip out to take your first break in three hours. The bench outside the front entrance is your favorite. An elderly couple walk by in companionable silence, the wife pushing her husband in a wheelchair. A woman carries sensible heels in her hand as she rushes past. A man in glasses follows, hands in his pockets. There’s nothing remarkable about him, but he catches your attention. Something about his face rubs you the wrong way. Everyone who comes to the hospital has a similar expression, like fear and hope combined, but he’s passive. Almost… bored.

You take a breath and turn your attention back to the trickle of the fountain, letting the flow of the water lull you into a trance. If you look in the right direction, you can ignore the bustle of the sick and injured. Your friends from home suggested you take a different job, a different hospital, a different city—somewhere that doesn’t have the crime rate of Los Angeles. A few years ago, you would have scoffed at the notion. But now… the long hours are wearing on you. Perhaps a change of pace wouldn’t be so bad.

A knot forms in your stomach, the tiniest ripple of fear. You look around. Something is wrong, but what?

An explosion rocks the hospital. The shock knocks you to the ground and, through the ringing in your ears, the screams of those running from the hospital reach you. You lift your eyes. You can’t focus on the building in front of you, not with your head swimming.

Before you can think, you’re on your feet, buffeted by the crowds running out as you stagger toward the entrance. Sirens blare in the distance. The further you get, the more you regain your senses until you’re running through the halls, squeezing through disoriented patients, visitors, and staff. You find those that are trapped and direct them toward the exit. It’s slow progress, but so far people are only dazed.

The first dead body is a doctor. He was a surgeon, not someone you knew, but who was well liked by the staff. He lies against the far wall, his neck bent at an impossible angle. You keep moving. Your progress is slow now since the hallway is more rubble than tile. Cries for help echo off the collapsed walls and you race toward them.

There is no warning before the second explosion.

 +++

Darkness and pain. So much pain. You can’t tell where your body is—if you even have one anymore. Your existence is a fragmented, infinite universe of agony. You scream until your lungs run out of air, crying out for someone, anyone to help. Eventually, you can’t sustain even that. You have no idea how much time passes while you remain buried, but you stop hoping for rescue and start longing for a different release from the torture.

+++

Wanda floats over what is left of the Los Angeles General Hospital. Two explosions, five minutes apart. Whoever did this was sending a message.

Message received.

“Wanda?” Steve’s voice crackles through her earpiece.

“It’s not good.” Three days of search and rescue. No survivors, only bodies. The edge of terror lurks behind her focus. If she stops, even for an instant, she’ll be a child back in Sokovia, huddled in the ruins of her home, trapped with her dead parents. A wave of her hand raises a collapsed outer wall.

She reaches out with her mind for any glimmer of humanity in the graveyard of concrete and brick. The rubble offers no response. She lands, toes touching on the only flat surface she can find. The scene is too familiar, as if it’s ripped from the TV screens. A foot, too small for an adult, peeks through the ruins of a wall and Wanda places her hand over her mouth. The Avengers were supposed to prevent this sort of disaster. A flick of her wrist removes the concrete that crushes the child. Such a small form, broken beyond repair, eyes open and unseeing. But no fear in the features. This boy was lucky, dead before he knew what happened. Wanda closes his eyes, a tear rolling down the side of her cheek.

A stirring at the corner of her mind seizes her attention. A person. A living person.

Wanda scrambles over the debris. “Steve! There’s a survivor.”

She holds on to their mind, pulling it from the darkness it shrinks into. No, no, no. You have to survive. Stay with me. They are in so much pain, their mind flinching from even Wanda’s gentle touch. She tosses rubble aside, mixing her powers with her hands, too focused on her target to care about the cuts that the broken glass and twisted metal leave.

+++

“Don’t try to move. You’re in a lot of pain.”

The nurse doesn’t have to tell you that. Pain is your middle name now, an old friend and constant companion. Your throat convulses as you try to expel the tube the doctors inserted to help you breathe. You try to grab it, but restraints keep your hands at your side.

She lays a soothing hand on your forehead. “I know. I know. But you need to heal. Let the machine do its job for now. Your body needs to focus on resting.”

A tear slips from the corner of your eye. You don’t want this. You weren’t supposed to get out of the rubble. You had already made your peace with death. You continue your struggle, but only jostle your already tender injuries. When you try to scream all that comes out is a muffled groan. The nurse presses a button and your awareness fades. Before you drop out, the tiles on the ceiling shake.

+++

The doctors take the breathing tube out. They tell you that you’re recovering quickly, but it doesn’t feel that way. Every moment stretches into eternity. More struggle. More pain. Your throat is raw from screaming for days under the rubble.  You don’t try to speak. Even swallowing hurts too much.

A specialist arrives from New York to talk to you about what happened. A terrorist attack. A senseless tragedy. You were lucky, you survived.

You don’t feel lucky. You still feel crushed on all sides, enclosed in a tomb of debris.

You watch him, wary and curious. Specialists don’t travel for patients. Why had he come to see you specifically? He seems familiar, but you can’t place where from. The memory lurks at the side of your mind, teasing you just out of reach. You almost convince yourself that it’s crazy but then there’s something about the way that the light glints off his glasses…

The specialist wants you to try talking. “Just say something. Your name. Your favorite color. The ABC’s. Anything.” His smile is too friendly, like he knows something that you don’t, but the expression doesn’t extend to his eyes. They’re cold, sizing you up.

He says you’re traumatized. That as long as you stay silent, you’ll relive the experience over and over again. You don’t see how talking is going to change any of that. It will only hurt the same way that everything hurts. The memory isn’t going to go away.

But, damn, he’s insistent. “Can you tell me how you’re feeling?”

You glower at him.

“I know it hurts. But this will help.”

Like hell, it will. He won’t go away, so you give in and open your mouth to tell him to fuck off.

Words aren’t what come out. A screech rocks the room instead. The instruments shake, knocking into the walls. The specialist falls backwards.

Memory seizes your senses and you’re back in the explosion at the hospital as the floor drops from under you. You shrink back in your bed, your hands tangling in your hair. This must be it. Another bomb, an earthquake, something that will bury you in that horrible pain. You cry, rocking back and forth as the room around you shakes. Something cool rushes into your arm from your IV and everything turns to black.

+++

The staff whispers outside your room. Something happened and they won’t tell you what it was, but there is fear in their eyes now.

“Hello?” You whisper the words to the empty room, trying your voice for the first time since the incident with the specialist. The screech returns and the cabinet facing you shudders.

You draw back in the bed, your hand clasped over your mouth. The cabinet stops shaking. A shuddering cold courses through your limbs and your heart hammers against your chest as if it could escape. The monitor attached to you beeps in alarm and a nurse rushes in. Another sedative, another blank stretch of unconsciousness.

Thank God.

+++

“I’m going to need security tapes since the incident. Maybe a few days before. Right after admission.”

You’ve never seen Tony Stark up close before now, but he looks just like he does in TV interviews: superior, smug, and slightly bored. His eyes rove around the room as if they can’t keep up with the speed at which his brain works.

A harried hospital staffer follows him. “Mr. Stark, we can’t just –”

Stark doesn’t let her finish, keeping up a constant stream of commentary as if no one and everyone is listening. “Medical records, scans, notes, everything. Just put it in a box, we’ll take it with us.”

“Take…? Mr. Stark, you can’t take a patient!”

Stark’s eyebrow rises in a perfectly groomed arc. “We have top specialists and state of the art facilities. You have no idea what’s wrong.”

His attention finally lands on you, as if you hadn’t been sitting in the room throughout his interruption. “Hey there, sweetheart.” He rubs his hands together. “Ready to go?”

Your eyes narrow and you pull back farther into the bed.

He’s not fazed. He looks to the staffer, sticking his hands in his pockets. “Can we have a second?” She backs out of the room.

Stark bounces on the balls of his feet. “I think we"—he waves between his body and yours—"both know what’s going on here. At least, I know what’s going on here. You must. Otherwise, you would have told me off already. I’ve seen the tapes. You pack a punch. Any idea how you do it?”

You don’t respond.

His lips press into a thin line. “We have a couple of options. You can come with me and meet with some of the best doctors in the field of enhanced beings.” He looks out the window. “Or you can come with me and we’ll keep you in a cell until we can figure out what kind of threat you are.”

Your resolve wavers. He couldn’t do that, could he? You lunge for the notepad the nurses placed on your side table and scribble furiously. The act sends a sharp spike of pain through your still injured wrist.

I haven’t done anything. You hold the note up for him to see.

He shrugs. “Maybe. But you’re one of the only survivors at the site of a terrorist attack. And you’re the only one that’s displayed any sort of powers.” Powers. Powers like what had been going on with your voice ever since the explosion.

More scribbling. I want to go home.

His smile is sympathetic, but there is resolve behind it. “We need to know what happened first.”

When someone with Tony Stark’s resources wants something, he gets it. The hospital has you ready for transport in under an hour. It doesn’t matter if Stark says that this is about getting you better, it feels an awful lot like kidnapping.

You refuse to be sedated, even though the doctors claim that it’s for your own good. The fact that they’re lying to you is the worst part. You’re a nurse, damn it. You know when a patient needs to be put out. Patients aren’t sedated for transfers. They’re given painkillers, maybe. So, if they want you to be knocked out, it’s not for your own comfort. They think you’re a threat.

Arguing the point with Stark is infuriating.

He.

Never.

Stops.

Talking.

Even if you could speak, you wouldn’t get a word in edgewise. By the time you’ve written out a response to one objection, he’s already moved on to three more. You manage to come to an uneasy compromise. You’ll stay conscious, but you’ll still be restrained. By the time that’s decided, you want to throw your notebook in his smug face.

An ambulance, a private jet, a helicopter, and a shiny black SUV later, you arrive at… well, you’d say it was a military complex, and maybe that’s still accurate, except for the giant Avengers logo stamped on everything in sight. You could have stepped into a science fiction movie, for all you know. There is tech everywhere, even on things that have no business being electronic. Every surface is either glass or a computer or both.

They don’t restrain you anymore. And you’re not in a hospital. You’re in a room, like an apartment suite, but there’s glass on all sides of it and even you can tell that it’s made to withstand something powerful. Nothing breaks out of this. You don’t feel like much of a threat, with your broken ribs and skin stained black and blue, but you don’t feel like yourself either. Your new cell just reinforces what you’ve felt ever since Stark swaggered into your hospital room: you’re dangerous.

+++

You know it’s a nightmare. It’s not real and yet the walls that close in on you are all too tangible. The cold concrete presses against your skin, your bones cracking under the pressure. Your body fragments and contorts as tons of rubble force it into impossible shapes. You scream until your throat feels as if it will shatter.

You wake when the ceiling fan collapses above your bed. It misses you, but just barely. You should stop screaming; you’re the one making the room shake, breaking the lamps and pictures, but you can’t escape the panic that slithers over your body like a straitjacket.

The screams only end when you gag on the bile that rises in your throat. You’ve left your suite in shambles. The sparse furnishings that had occupied it lie broken on the far side of the room. Each breath rasps through your throat like a death rattle and your heart pounds against your ribcage, hitting so hard you could swear it shakes the bones. The sound may have dissipated, but the fear that caused it has not. You pull your knees to your chest and press your hand over your mouth, choking on the sobs that try to escape your chest.

+++

Steve Rogers hates briefings, not that he would tell anyone that. He prefers action, purpose, missions. Sitting still makes him feel as if his skin is too small for his body. He can list twenty things he would rather be doing than sitting in the main conference room as the medical team gives a rundown on the bombing survivor that Tony transferred to the compound. There are a million problems out in the world. Should he really be sitting here while he could be out somewhere fixing one of them?

There is no life outside of work. What would be the point? There’s only the mission and, after that, the next one. He sprints from crisis to crisis, dreading the days between, when the silence and solitude remind him that everyone he ever loved is dead, dying, or a brainwashed Hydra assassin. And every time he thinks about that, he wants to punch something.

Unfortunately, there aren’t any targets available right now. Intel on the L.A. hospital bombings has hit a wall in the weeks since they’d happened. This should have been an open and shut case, another terrorist attack. Except, no one stepped forward to claim responsibility and the police haven’t found the incendiary devices. Whatever caused the massacre is a complete enigma. It doesn’t sit right with Steve.

The only lead is you, a survivor from the attack, one of a handful in a tragedy that left hundreds dead. The information that the medical team can gather from you might be the key to finding out what happened.

Dr. Cho is showing a lot of charts and using a lot of words that Steve isn’t familiar with. Medicine wasn’t high on the list of things he wanted to catch up with in the future. But even he sees what’s wrong with a massive spike in the measurements for radiation.

“…whatever happened,” Dr. Cho says, “it involved more gamma radiation than the human body is built to withstand. We ordered blood work on more of the victims and they showed the same results.”

“What does that mean?” Natasha leans against the wall. She rarely takes a seat, preferring the easy access to exits that standing provides.

“Most of the victims died from radiation poisoning. We didn’t notice before because the building collapse was so catastrophic no one questioned the cause of death. The hospital didn’t even look for radiation when they ran her blood work. There was no reason to suspect that she was exposed.”

“How did she survive?” Steve asks.

“That’s the thing… she shouldn’t have. I’ve never heard of anyone exposed to this level of gamma radiation who survived.”

“Yes, you have,” Natasha gives Steve a meaningful look.

“Banner.” Steve’s stomach twists. “We’re looking at another Hulk?”

“No,” says Tony. “The gamma may have caused it, but the result is completely different.”

“And what result is that?” Natasha asks.

Dr. Cho changes from charts to a recorded video of a hospital room. It loops over the same footage of you screaming in your hospital bed as the furniture flies against the wall. “Normal sound is created by changes in pressure in the air. But her vocal chords amplify the waves to such a degree that they can move things.”

“That’s more than just moving something,” Natasha says, watching as the hospital room shudders.

“Is she dangerous?” Steve asks.

“She’s uncontrolled,” Dr. Cho answers. “Until we can do more tests, we have no idea what she’s capable of.”

“We need Banner.” Tony looks to Steve. “If this is anything like what happened to him, he’ll be better than anyone. He’s the world’s foremost expert on gamma radiation.”

Steve rubs his fingers over the bridge of his nose. “He is also God knows where right now.”

“We still need him.”

Steve turns his attention to Natasha. “Ideas?”

“I have some rocks I can look under.” She crosses her arms.

“Give it a shot.” He looks back to Tony. “Anything new on the explosions?”

Tony pulls up the holographic reconstruction of the blast site. “We found the point of origin, but there’s no incendiary device.”

“What about Extremis? Could AIM be involved?”

Tony’s lips press together. Extremis is a sore spot, not that Steve blames him. Tony almost lost Pepper to Killian’s craziness. Having someone you love experimented on is something Steve doesn’t wish on anyone.

“The heat signature wasn’t high enough. Extremis vaporizes, this is something else.”

Steve looks back to the monitor. “What are we going to do about her?”

“Keep her here.” Tony shrugs. “Keep her quiet.”

+++

Today you leave your cell. You’re still accompanied by a medical team, but they must have reached the end of what they can do while keeping you inside the unbreakable glass walls of your room.

They guide you to the elevator, down twenty floors, and through the hallways to the compound’s hospital. Despite the isolation of the past weeks and your growing despair that you will never leave this building, your spirits lift. The smell of disinfectant feels like home and the medical equipment is soothing in its familiarity. Medicine in something you know, something you can control. You belong here.

But they didn’t bring you here to do your job.

The sight of the MRI machine—no more than three feet wide inside—sends a forceful shiver down your spine. You stop walking, but the combined momentum of the medical team carries you forward. Shaking your head in protest can only get you so far. You can’t explain to them why something as routine as an MRI frightens you, or what it’s like to have walls close in on you from all sides, or how you can only take shallow breaths because invisible bands bind your chest.  

The medical team smiles and reassures you. It will all be fine. It’s just a routine test. They have no idea. There is nothing routine about shoving you into a plastic coffin. You plead with your eyes for mercy. If you can just make them understand…

They don’t. Instead, they step out of the room to start the scan. You swallow your fear, willing your body to hold still. You try to calm down, tell yourself that you aren’t in danger. These are safe walls; they won’t collapse. You screw your eyes shut and try to imagine that you’re in an open field instead of locked in a three-foot space, surrounded by tons of metal waiting to suffocate you. It doesn’t work.

The scream erupts from something deep inside you, like it’s coming from your soul, not your lungs. It echoes through the room, mixing with the sound of tearing plastic and twisting metal. You struggle against the restraints that hold you to the table until they too break free.

+++

Steve runs to the compound hospital, mind and body on full alert. The security alarm sounds in the background, shrill and insistent. The med staff fill the hallway, exchanging terrified glances. Steve is the first Avenger to make an appearance. “What happened?”

A dozen lab techs start talking at once.

“—put her in the MRI—”

“—shreds—”

“—just went ballistic—”

“—never seen anything—”

Steve holds a hand up for silence. Through the Plexiglas window of the control room, he surveys the damage. The room is a wreck of strewn machinery that litters every corner. Dark, lights dangle from the ceiling, swinging and sparking at intervals. Massive cracks run through the walls, reaching into the adjoining spaces.

Geez. Steve has faced down Loki, Hydra, even the Hulk. He doesn’t get spooked. But with them, he knew what he was up against. You… no one knows what you’re capable of doing. Not even you.

“Where is she now?”

“Still in there. We couldn’t risk going in.”

Steve nods. It’s the right call. Your powers are undefined.

One of the staff hands Steve a tranquilizer gun. “This should be enough to put her down without getting too close. Be careful.”

Steve hefts his shield in front of him and palms the gun. He opens the door, turning the knob by inches as if to be imperceptible. A low hum fills the air, vibrating through Steve as if the floor shakes under him. It takes a few moments for him to realize what the sound is.

A moan, like a dog with its tail caught in a fence, the wounded cry of pain and misery that is universal to all creatures.

He finds you sitting in the far corner of the room, half-hidden by what used to be the MRI. You hug your legs to your chest and bury your face in your knees. It’s one thing to listen to the briefing, to hear about the destruction you’re capable of causing. On paper, you’re a menace, a monstrosity. In person, you're… scared.

Steve relaxes from his defensive stance and lays the tranq gun on the ground. It doesn’t feel right, shooting you when you’re like this. He steps forward, finding the blank spaces between the debris like a game of hopscotch. He tries to be quiet so he doesn’t startle you, but he still makes noise. Not much—just enough so you’ll know someone’s there. The moan that underscored everything else in the room stops. When he’s ten feet away, he halts, lowering to a crouch.

“Hey,” he says. He keeps his voice soft and level, the same tone he uses when dealing with panicked refugees. It’s soothing, more like Steve Rogers than Captain America.

You shift and raise your head, eyes peeking over your knees.

[griefwrecked-blog]

❝ grace ! ❞

christopher’s voice breaks the morning bustle of the institute and causes her to wince when it knocks her headache up a few hundred levels. she rubbed her sleeve across her face hoping to wipe away the smudged makeup and any other evidence of last night’s events knowing she was already in for one lecture from chris and her mom after last night’s fight and her subsequent ditching of her mission. a gusty sigh escaped her as she turned to face the head of the institute and the only man who had ever stuck around her entire life, the only able to put up with her and cover for her as much as he could, 

❝ christopher, good morning, you’re looking great and extremely forgiving. how about some coffee, my treat and i’ll even grab some of those - ❞

christopher’s blue eyes seemed to darken, something shifting in his normally calm expression that twisted something in her chest, making her hands shake where they rested by her side and her legs twitched with the urge to run far away. slowly, she backed away from chris who seemed to realize what she was doing and she couldn’t restrain the flinch that shook her whole body when christopher’s hand reached out and gripped her arm, gentle but firm. grace wasn’t sure why she allowed herself to be tugged along to christopher’s office when just moments ago she had barely been restraining the urge to run but, there had always been something about chris that she had trusted ever since she was a little girl in pigtails running through the institute happy as any little girl ever was before the reality of the world broke through and changed everything. 

❝ chris, not that i’m not loving the whole silent and serious thing because really it’s super effective but, i’ve got things to do, monsters to hunt and all that so i’m just gonna mark this down as a sucessful lecture and get out of your hair. have you seen my mom by the way, i owe her a pretty big apology for yesterday.  ❞

❝ gracie ... ❞ 

christopher’s features seemed to soften and she could see in that moment how tired he seemed, the deep lines on his face and the sadness in his eyes that seemed so desperate it made her heart beat a little faster wondering what could have happened that had brought all of those emotions to his face. there was a whisper in the back of her mind that quietly told her why but, she shook her head to dislodge it, to shove it away to make sure it never came to the light of day to make it true. 

❝ she’s probably really worried, she’s always gets worried when i stay out all night. it’s like she thinks i can take care of myself you know ? she always sees me as a little girl and then i get mad and i just need to tell her i’m sorry. ❞

grace’s motions became frantic almost as she spoke, hands moving around wildly as she spun around like her mom was just going to pop up from behind the desk or bookshelf, summoned by her daughter’s fear and desperation to see her in front of her, to hold her and breathe in the familiar perfume that was adaline’s. christopher stepped towards her once more but, she took the opportunity this time time to bolt searching blindly for her mom’s room. 

❝ mom ? mom, where are you ? it’s your crazy insane daughter hoping to apologize just tell me where you are, please mom. i’m sorry, i’m so sorry. ❞

her voice cracked as she moved up and down the halls before she found her way to her mom’s room, near falling through the door with christopher’s voice echoing behind her, 

❝ mom, mom are you here ? i need to talk to you, mom i need to say i’m sorry cause i really am and i’m not just saying it cause i’m supposed to. please mom, just tell me where .. where you are. ❞

shaking fingers brushed the sweater hanging on her mom’s chair and just the brush of familiar fabric caused her eyes to burn with tears and her throat to grow tight. christopher’s hand rested on her back, quiet and unmoving as she felt something break inside of her when the truth finally broke through and sent her to her knees, 

❝ mom ... ❞

christopher was right at her side as she fell, arms wrapping around her tightly as if he could shelter her from the truth, the way her mom used to hold her when she was upset or scared. a sob broke through and it heraled the arrival of so many more as she broke apart in christopher’s arms, fingers clutching to the fabric of his jacket near tight enough to tear it. hushed words of comfort and apologies accompanied the sounds of her grief that echoed in the room and memories of her mom doing the same had her gripping him impossibly tighter. she didn’t just owe her mom an apology, she owed her mom the world and everything else and instead the last words she ever spoke to her were full of anger and venom and the memory of her mom’s heartbroken features sent her spiraling even further into her grief until she felt like she couldn’t breathe under the weight of it, barely breaking the surface to draw in a pained breath, voice murming a quiet plea as she fought against the waves threatening to pull her under because her mom was gone and there was no mom left to pull her to safety.

❝ i’m sorry, i’m so, so sorry mom.... ❞

[griefwreckeda-blog]

where was grace mayfield

grace was at the ops meeting with the squad to talk about the mortal mirror and she hangs back with izzy to talk to alec about what happened with magnus 

she’s with alec and clary when the medical alert goes out and she’s rushes to the infirmary with her heart in her throat because max who is one of the bravest shadowhunters she’s met for how young and new he is looks so small and still in the bed

while clary and jace investigate the room max was found in grace is trying to restore the cameras to get even a few seconds of footage to help find out who did this

grace is present at the second ops meeting with the squad where they talk about max ( grace’s protective rage simmering under her skin the more they talk and even more when they realize it’s jonathan ) and when they initiate the lockdown on the institute

she is back to the cameras , checking on isabelle before sebastian gets there and she slips out when maryse and robert arrive 

she barely catches alec before he leaves to go find magnus , hesitant to let him go somewhere on his own in his current state but , eventually relents knowing she can track his phone

grace is waiting with alec when he gets back utterly refusing to leave either his or izzy’s side because they’ve snuck their way into her heart and she knows she needs to be , wants to be there for them as much as she can

grace doesn’t know how to handle a situation like this just waiting and waiting and waiting not able to do anything but hold alec’s hand , rub izzy’s arm , reassure that max is strong , a little badass and he’s going to be okay

eventually the waiting , the helplessness crawls up her spine leaving her restless and aching for something to do to help has her promising alec and izzy that she is right downstairs if they need her , hugging them once in a rare show of open affection before she goes to take the guard with jace

when jace gets the text part of grace wants to rush upstairs to do . . . anything and the other part of remembers the moment when she lost her mom and steels herself into the soldier persona not following jace right away taking over his command 

grace is standing in command when sebastian / jonathan attacks and any surprise she feels is shoved down to fight him , watching as he tears through the guard like paper , imagines him attacking max , imagines all the things he’s done and rage explodes in her strong and fast as she attacks 

she fights seb with every inch of her strength , every inch of her training but sebastian’s enhanced strength , his demon blood is too much for her and the last thing she sees before she collapses cutting at his ankle with her blade in a last ditch is sebastian looking through the subcells for the mirror

grace is found after sebastian escapes ( up to thread as to who finds her ! ) and rushed to the infirmary where she’s rushed into surgery as the medics fight to save her life

as to where grace could be found she’s in surgery at the end of the episode , possibly recovery for threads 

[griefwreckeda-blog]

where was grace mayfield ?

grace is still spending every minute trying to track down valentine  ,  still not taking care of herself but what’s new in that department  .  

she is also being a hypocrite by trying to make sure alec and the squad are taking care of themselves

she’s sometimes been helping izzy with training max because so far max is one of the few kids that she actually likes  .  

she’s with alec when he tells the others about the soul sword  ,  she’s eavesdropping when magnus and alec are arguing because well she’s an eavesdropper but  ,  she’s a concerned best friend first  .  

grace realizes once more how big of a dork simon lewis is  ,  she realizes how much she actually likes that  .

as much she wants to stick around with izzy , simon and max to help him train because she can see how worried the other girl is and she knows how that feels , she watched her mom go through it she knows with every step clary and jace take they’re closer to catching valentine and she’s not going to lose her chance this time  .  

grace tags along with clary, jace and dot to the park to find the mortal mirror when they’re confronted by jonathan slams her against the statue , she was dragged through the portal by jace and clary only to wake back at the institute . 

she can’t help but feel once more like a failure  ,  she’s supposed to be stronger than this tougher than this but at every turn she’s failing over and over again  .  

the medic wants her to stay in the infirmary overnight which of course she doesn’t listen to  ,  sneaking out when they’re not looking  . 

at the end of this episode grace can either be found hiding out in the library because it’s the last place anyone to think would look for her or ignoring medical completely and practicing in the training room determined to fight through her pain  .  

[griefwreckeda-blog]

where was grace mayfield 

grace woke up during the night after her multiple surgeries with alec by her side , a rare comfort as she tried to piece together what had happened and alec had to be the one to pratically restrain her when she ripped her iv and tried to jump out of bed determined to find valentine and jonathan . 

 the medics are doing their best to keep in the infirmary but it’s near impossible with everytime she sneaks out determined to tbe the soldier she was raised to be .

grace has lost too many people she’s not going to lose more just because she’s hurt but unfortunately medical doesn’t care about what she wants to do, they care about the fact they spent hours sewing her back together and they don’t want her to ruin all their hard work . 

the inquisitor is updated of grace’s condition wanting to talk to her as soon as possible about anything she saw , anything else that happened during the attack . 

grace manages to sneak out of medical with some help from a friendly nurse meeting up with the others decked in retraced iratzes just in time for the downworld coven to show up , just in time for the queen to piss off only to be pulled back by alec at the elbow , enough time for her to confused about the weird vibe between magnus and alec . 

grace meets up with the rest of the squad as they’re making a plan but , apparently it’s a plan that doesn’t include her . not only are they benching her but , when she tells them like hell she’s not going alec introduces her to the guard put on her to keep her from following . 

she’s furious , she’s shaking , she can’t believe they’re doing this but most of all she’s hurt that alec would do this to her , alec who knows how horrible it is to sit on the sidelines while everyone you care about is put in danger . 

grace is practically dragged back to medical by her guard forced to be hooked up once more to an iv poked and prodded , waiting helpless as can be with the only thing she can do is finally have the video call the inquisitor had wanted . 

she’s still trapped in medical , her awful talk with the inquisitor over when she hears they’re all back safe and mostly sound jace having had the worst of it and it’s almsot instinctive to want to seek out alec and goad him into telling her how he’s actually feeling , trace an iratze if he needs it , make sure he’s okay knowing he almost lost his parabatai . . . but , then she remembers how he left her behind , called her a liability , said they couldn’t do their job and look after her at the same time and she ‘s unable to move . 

in a twisted turn of events she’s still hiding out in medical this time unable to face the people she let down , the best friend who let her down after she let him down . she’s starting to wonder if she’s not doing more harm than good for everyone here in new york . . . grace mayfield the human tornado strikes again . 

[griefwreckeda-blog]

where was grace mayfield  ?

PREFACE  :  i need to preface this edition of where was grace mayfield but saying that right now she is worse than she has ever been  .  every emotion she has shoved down and buried in order to catch valentine is threatening to consume her . . . and she’s not sure if she’s going to stop it  .  if she’s not spiraling  ,  she’s going to be high / low  ,  flipping back and forth  because she’s not handling what’s happening very well  .  

grace has lived in a constant state of drunkenness for days  .  even if she’s not stumbling drunk she’s been drunk for days to mask her feelings and fears  .  

she finally got dragged back to the surface by alec who forced her to sober up  ,  unsure why she’s suddenly spiraling but  ,  assuming it’s to do with valentine  .  

she went from spending her time drunk as possible to spending every second and i mean every second searching for valentine  .  she’s not sleeping  ,  barely eating  ,  searching every moment ready to finally stick her blade through his throat  .  

she’s introduced to robert lightwood by alec  ,  not sure of how she feels about the man . . . she may or may not be eavesdropping on his and alec’s talk  .  

grace is with izzy and alec when they find the portal shards and doesn’t waste a second before declaring she’s going with izzy  ,  knowing that alec wants nothing more than to see jace alright with his own two eyes  , also because she knows this might be her last chance  .  

she’s not gonna lie she’s impressed by clary’s fighting skills especially deluded by the hallucinogenic effects of the lake . . . she’s not surprised by their moment though  ,  maybe they’ll finally get their act together  ,  not like she’s one to talk though . 

grace bursts through the door of the cabin not waiting a second to hear about strategy or plans or anything , kicking in the door with her blade lit up and ready . . . only to nearly collapse at the sight of an empty cabin  ,  moments too late . . . story of her life  .  

valentine is gone again  ,  she’s too late again  ,  it seems she’s always too late and valentine is always two steps ahead  .  

the first thing she wants to do when she gets back is go to the hunter’s moon  ,  maybe find simon  ,  maybe talk to alec but  ,  in the end she does none of those  ,  she’s lost  .  

at the end of the episode you can find her either coming or going from trying to find anything out about valentine  ,  in the training room  ,  or in the library /  research room ( ?? ) trying to research more about valentine  or any of his circle allies  .  

[griefwreckeda-blog]

okay just feel the need to clarify where grace was & what she was doing if you guys don’t mind !!

grace has been sneaking down to valentine’s cell. most times she doesn’t say anything, sometimes she’ll highlight his agony rune because she’s full of vengenance & grief...most times she’ll just stand there, stare at the man who tore her life apart. 

grace has been watching valentine constantly on the stream from the camera on his cell, definitely to an obsessive point. she’s not slept, she’s not really eaten but, she hasn’t told anyone & has tried her best to hide it from everyone. 

grace was on the rooftop with the others when they summoned azazel & she was affected / hurt just like the others by his powers, followed valentine to his cell right away afterwards determined not to let him out of her sight for a second. 

grace was torn between wanting to follow the inquisitor & kill valentine, finally, finally, get the justice ( revenge ) she had been craving since her parents were killed & trusting alec, her best friend, the person who understands her so well, the person who’s put up with her and seems to actually care about her just like she reluctantly really cares about him. 

she was with sebastian, clary & alec when they went to magnus’ to save jace &  as much as she hated to see what sebastian was doing to clary she knew they had no other way. she was going to kill valentine when they got the door open but, was too late ( like always ) and then he was back in his cell...and she had failed again. 

grace has been drowning her sorrows a little more than usual lately, which is bound to raise suspicion and get her in trouble but, she can’t bring herself to care because her feelings are popping up more and more along with her memories and she can’t have those interfering with what she has to do. 

the group still doesn’t know about the fact that she is hodge’s daughter, that she came to the institute solely for revenge to kill valentine or that she still plans on doing it. 

after the episode she can most likely be found drinking and watching valentine’s cell stream, mostly likely fantasizing about killing him....or the training room, depends honestly. 

[griefwreckeda-blog]

time to play everyone’s favorite game ;; WHERE IN THE WORLD WAS GRACE MAYFIELD THIS WEEK ?

grace has spent a lot of time trying to track down simon, torn between wanting to hit him for ignoring her & wanting to hug him because she’s been so worried about him & that scares her because feelings.

she’s been stress eating a lot of frozen yogurt because she doesn’t handle feelings or drama well & that’s all that seems to be happening lately. 

after she found out luke almost killed valentine she was furious, went through two different punching bags captain america style before going to drink her problems and her feelings of failure away. 

once she heard they were moving valentine she, well she’s shoving down her feelings but, top most is she feels like she’s failing her parents, a costant shadow following her around. 

she goes with clary to the jade wolf where luke tells them about simon which she doesn’t believe for a second because simon might be a vampire but, he’s still simon. 

grace drags alec away for a moment so she can ask what to do about simon and he can ask for relationship advice...mostly it’s just a chance for them vent to each other for a few moments. 

she wants to trust raphael because excusing what he did during the attack he cares for izzy & seems to be on their side but, it’s hard because well she doesn’t trust well. 

when they get to the club she doesn’t wait a second before busting in, blade at the ready, just in time to see simon kill quinn. he whooses out before she can do anything like hit him or hug him or anything at all. 

grace was originally going to be part of the team that escorted valentine to idris but, after finding simon she knew any more time she spent around valentine was just a salt & lemon juice in the wound reminder of her epic failure. she watches him get into the portal but, it’s all she can handle before rushing off. 

she knows clary is upset, she knows simon is upset, that something is up with magnus & she’s worried about them more than she ever wanted to be but, right now it feels like the world is crashing down around because valentine is gone...again & whatever progress she feels like she’s made is gone

normally, you could find her trying to bug alec after the episode or checking on clary or simon but, now you’re more likely to find her at the hunter’s moon or hiding out in the kitchen, drinking until she can’t see straight, until she can forget everything that’s happened since she’s come to new york.