#i can literally smell it so distinctly even though i’m home now. where is that coming from

[groupwest]

the room with the little blue window awning… was the first room i ever slept in, when i was teeny tiny. we lived downstairs though. my father grew up there too, i think, i just realised. it was his mother’s house and the house his father left them in. i could go crazy thinking about all this… i swear i can still smell it.

[staticscreenwriting]

The loneliest time of the year || Part two

Part 2 of 4

Summary: With a broken heart and the fear of having failed as a father, Frankie returns to his parents house for Christmas. What is supposed to be the most wonderful time of the year feels quite lonely. Though when an old friend shows up unexpectedly with her young son in tow, Frankie’s Christmas seems to gain a little more happiness. Can they help each other fight the ghosts of their pasts and overcome their fears ?

A/N: This is part of my 12 days of Christmas / Advent special. Likes, reblogs, comments are all much appreciated.

[additional note: I am German. Sometimes I get the tense wrong or make mistakes. I am useless when it comes to punctuation. Go easy on me, please.]

On the fourth day of Christmas my true love gave to me: Four messed up pies

By the morning of December 9th a heavy blanket of snow rests upon the world like a tick coat of marshmallow fluff. 

A restlessness surges through Frankie as he turns from his left to his right to his back then repeats the process all over again. He kicks away the blankets then pulls them back. Sleep doesn’t come easy these days. In fact sleep hasn’t come easy in a while. It’s a price you have to pay for leading the life he leads, has led. For doing the job he did. You see things, bad things, and they stay with you. Not always but in the quiet moments they creep back into your mind and all you can do is stare and hope they fade again soon. Fill your brain with other things. Occupy your mind.

It’s moments like these that his fingers are twitching and his body is aching for release. For something to numb his mind. Help him forget. 

There aren’t a lot of things that Frankie is proud of. In fact he can count them on one hand. One of them is his ability to fly. He's a damn good pilot … most of the time. (He is when someone doesn’t force him to navigate an overloaded plane across the Andes). He’s proud of Rosie. Despite his flaws and shortcomings he managed to create something so utterly perfect, that’s something to be proud of. And the. There’s the little coin in the pocket of his jacket. The one he fumbles with whenever he’s anxious or stressed. It’s gold and smooth and it proudly displays a big number 10 in the middle of a triangle on the front of the coin.

10 months. That’s a proud achievement. 

It could be more. It should be more! He really tried but after coming home from Colombia, one man less than they went in, after his girlfriend broke up with him and took Rosie with her. After everything. He needed the psi to stop. Just for one goddamn minute. He felt immediate regret wash over him when he woke up the next morning. Called Pope. Entered a 12 step program.

10 months and he feels better. He likes himself more now. But in those 10 months the voices have gotten louder, the images clearer, his heart feels heavier. 

With sleep being so far out of reach, he kicks off the blanket and drags his body out of bed. The smell of coffee hits his nose as soon as he steps out of his room, it drifts from the kitchen all the way up the stairs. 

His parents are sitting by the kitchen counter, mom holding onto a big steaming mug of coffee while his dad is deeply invested in the morning. Paper, glasses perched low on his nose. This is home, it sends him straight back to his childhood. If only, he thinks, if only he could provide this sense of warmth and domesticity for his own child. 

A knock on the front door shakes him from his thoughts. As he swings it open, a sharp sting of cold winter air whips at him, nips at his nose, his ears and his bare feet.

“Frankie hey, oh sorry did I wake you?”

(Y/N) is once again bundled up in layers of cozy clothes, keeping her warm and sheltered from the harsh weather. She looks cute. Absolutely fucking adorable. But in that moment, he doesn’t really notice that. Doesn’t notice Leo standing behind her either. His entire attention rests on the steaming pie she holds in her hands. 

“You made a pie?”

“She made 4.” Leo speaks up, his voice dripping with irritation and annoyance. 

“Thanks for throwing me under the bus, dude!”

Frankie regards the exchange with a fond smile pulling at the corners of his lips. There’s something so distinctly familiar in the way she interacts with her son, so unapologetically her. The way she’s always been. But now grown up entirely. A mother. 

“Why did you make 4 pies?” He asks, eyebrows raised in amusement.

“Well I didn’t plan on making 4. The first one I mistook salt for sugar so you can imagine how it tasted. The second one I put way too much sugar in, might’ve been trying to compensate for my mistake with the first one but yeah that one did end up in the trash as well. The third … well I got pretty invested in an episode of unsolved mysteries and forgot it was in the oven so it turned out um — “

“Black. It was burned to a crisp.” Leo chimes up again, this time more amused than annoyed by his mother’s baking escapades.

“Yeah. It burned. But number 4 is looking pretty good.”

She looks up at Frankie with a smile so radiant it rivals the sun reflecting on the snowy ground. Pride shines in her eyes as she holds the pie towards him.

“Did you make me a pie?”

“Not exactly. It’s mostly for your folks. They agreed to watch this one while I got shopping for his Christmas presents.” (Y/N) explains, her tumb motioning towards the little boy over her shoulder. “This is a thank you to them for being literal angels. “

“Oh man you wouldn’t be saying that if you had to live with them growing up. I can’t tell you how many times dad unplugged my console while I was in the middle of a game.”

It’s a joke, of course it is. He really lucked out in the parents department and he’s not too proud or too shy to admit it. Maybe, he thinks, the good parent gene might’ve skipped a generation with him. His ex will surely agree with that statement. 

“Hey uh — you mind having some company while shopping ?”

“You wanna go shopping for toys?”

“I need to get some presents for my daughter.”

“Oh that’s right, you have a kid too. “

He doesn’t blame her for not remembering. He doesn’t strike people as the father type. And really, he hasn’t seen his little one in quite some time.doesn’t see her during the entire Christmas time. Is he really much of a father anyway?

“Sure yeah! I’d love some company.”

Maybe, Frankie thinks, this will help him drown out the voice. Those that tell him bad thoughts, whisper mean things. Maybe it will help him filter out the images. The blood. The suffering.

Frankie was never overly fond of the extreme commercialization of what should be a peaceful family holiday. But maybe this year he is,a little bit at least. Because those bright colors, the loud noises, the crowds, the ads assaulting you from every corner, that all will help drown out the dark. At least for a moment. 

“Alright lemme just get changed real quick.”

On the fifth day of Christmas my true love gave to me: Five days a week

“What the fuck is this?”

“It’s uh … it’s a … a game?”

“A game where you have to catch a piece of … poop.”

A wave of laughter tumbles from (Y/N)’s lips as Frankie holds up the brightly colored box, proudly displaying a drawing of a smiling turd. 

“It’s so dumb. And that says a lot coming from me, I can appreciate a good fart joke. But this is …. this is just dumb. “

“ It's what the kids these days want. I guess …”

“Would you buy this for Leo?”

“Absolutely not,” (Y/N) replies before taking the box from his hand and placing it back on the shelf between several more games of a similar kind. “But he wouldn’t like it anyway. Leo likes books and animals and fantasy movies. He’s so smart sometimes I wonder where he got it from.”

“You kidding me?” Frankie exclaims, “you’re so smart and if I remember correctly, you always carried around books when you were younger.”

(Y/N) just shrugs at his words though Frankie can’t make out a faint blush of red dusting her cheeks. “Leo is such an easy kid, always has been. Sometimes I wonder if that’s really the way he is or if he just tries to be that way because of me. Because he knows that I have to do all the parenting by myself and he feels he’s responsible for helping me along.”

“Don’t be silly. You’re doing good with him. Least you know what to get him for Christmas, what he cares about, what he’s interested in.”

His heart feels so heavy. His words seem to weigh down on his tongue like a stack of bricks. To admit your own failures to yourself is one thing, to admit them to someone else is quite another story.

“What do you mean ?”

“I — I have no idea what to get for Rosie. I don’t even know when I’ll see her next. She stays with her mom 5 days a week. I only get her on the weekends and even then her mom often finds a reason not to let her stay. Special occasions? I don’t get to spend those with her. Bet she doesn’t even recognize me anymore next time. She’s just a baby …”

This can’t be happening. He’s not going to start crying in the middle of a Toys R Us like a hyperactive toddler on a temper tantrum. Not in front of a beautiful girl who has been nothing but kind to him. This can’t be happening.

(Y/N)’s hand settles on his arm with a gentle touch. Almost as if she’s afraid he’ll break any minute now. And honestly, he might.

“Tell me about Rosie. I know she means the world to you and that’s all that matters Frankie. You’re trying. You’re trying so hard and I’m sure there’s lots about her that you know that no one else does. She’s your baby too. So tell me about her and we’ll figure out what to get her.”

And so they sit down on a swing set, one that’s definitely not meant for adults to sit on and have deep discussions, and Frankie starts talking. Once he starts it’s like a cork has been popped. It pours out of him, all of his pride and admiration and love for Rosie. All that has been brewing for so long now bubbles over. 

“... and she, she loves cuddling onto my chest and just listens to me. She doesn’t understand a word but she looks at me with her big beautiful eyes and it feels like I’m telling her all the biggest secrets of the universe the way she looks at me. Sometimes I sing and she — she falls asleep immediately.”

“That’s adorable.”

“Nah I think it's because my rendition of Eric Clapton is just real bad and boring.”

Their laughter is quiet, almost as if they are afraid of breaking the spell of this moment. Sometimes you find yourself at your most vulnerable during the big moments of your life and sometimes you do in the middle of a Toys R Us, sitting on a swingest that just barely holds your weight while a plastic giraffe looks over your shoulder and Kacey Musgrave’s rendition of “I’ll be home for Christmas” plays over the same overhead speakers that have been installed there in 1983.

“I just don’t want to disappoint her.”

 He’s already disappointing himself and that hurts bad enough.

“Frankie, let me be honest with you. She’s a baby, she’s not gonna care what you get for her. This is more about you than her. Whatever you get she’s gonna like it. Babies are easy to please, gets harder the older they get. We’ll find something cute for her but um … I think you should call her.”

“She’s a baby, she doesn’t have a phone yet.”

“ Really? I had Leo on a newborn data plan the second he popped out.”

Frankie raises his eyebrow in confusion.

“I was joking you dingus. Of course you’re gonna call her mom. There’s this thing, I don’t know if you’ve heard about it, it’s called FaceTime. You can actually see ther person on the other side. “ 

“ Very funny. I know what facetime is … “ 

“ Then call them. You said it yourself, the little one doesn’t understand a word of what you’re saying but that doesn’t matter. You’re there. You’re showing interest and taking initiative. It shows you care. And I think seeing her might be good for you too, even if it’s not in person.” 

“ You know, that sounds like a pretty good plan. “ 

“ Yeah? “ she asks him, a hopeful glimmer in her eyes, in her voice, in her entire being.

“ Yeah. “ 

“ Alright! Now let’s go find some presents for the little princess. May I suggest a cellphone? “ 

This time her laughter isn’t quite. It’s loud and radiant and the way her own joke amuses herself, is so goddamn endearing to Frankie. 

“ Ah shut up. “ he replies though his voice too is dipped in amusement as he throws his arm around her shoulders and they walk down the shiny linoleum floor, past dolls and teddy bears and Star Wars action figures.

And it feels right. Like the fit together perfectly. Like puzzle pieces slotting into place. 

And that feeling is damn scary.

On the sixth day of Christmas my true love gave to me: Six-hour flights.

The floor of (Y/N)’s living room is covered in wrapping paper. Reds and greens and silvers and golds hide what once was a nice dark cherry wood floor. There are bows and ribbons and gift tags in all shapes and sizes and colors. 

“ Looks like Santa’s workshop in here, “ Frankie exclaims as he drops down on the floor next to her. All the presents they’ve purchased, neatly lined up in front of them, ready to be wrapped. Though to be fair, Frankie is quite sure he’s not gonna do a lot of wrapping himself. Sometimes you gotta admit defeat. And he ain’t too proud to admit that he is a horrible, horrible wrapper. 

“ Yeah, I know I’m making a big fuss over things like this. Wrapping and the tree and stuff like that. I just — I don’t know it just makes me happy when I see that my actions put a smile on the faces of the people I love. “ 

“ Oh I wasn't judging. It’s sweet. “ 

For a while they stay in comfortable silence. Just them and the radio playing old Christmas songs. (Y/N)’s hands do quick work on the presents, Santa’s elves would be jealous. 

It’s the first time in a long time, that silence doesn’t make him feel uncomfortable. That it doesn’t open up the gates for the voices to grow louder and the bad images to consume his head. No, this silence feels comfortable. It’s soft and warm. It’s tinted in golds and reds. 

Maybe, he thinks, maybe seeking the company of someone who exudes joy and warmth does him good. Someone who knows him but not the bad. Never the bad. The faults, yes, the fears even, but not the blood that stains his hands or the vices he so desperately tries to fight.

“ What was the best Christmas present you ever got? “ (Y/N) speaks up as she glides a pair of scissors along the ribbon turning it into shiny curls. 

“ Millennium Falcon playset.” 

“ You and a million other little boys. “ 

“True. What can I say, I was easily pleased. What was yours ?”

(Y/N) thinks for a moment before a wistful smile settles on her face. 

“My bubblegum pink roller skates.”

“Oh, I remember those!”

And he did. Squeaky pink roller skates with 4 pastel blue wheels and glittery silver laces.

“I remember the following summer all you did was skate up and down the street.  “

“Yeeeah but that wasn’t entirely because of the skates.”

Frankie combs his hair from his face, he really needs to get it cut, and looks at her in confusion. “Huh?”

Another chuckle falls from (Y/N) ‘s lips. “I can’t believe you didn’t notice.”

“ Notice what?”

“That I had the biggest crush on you.”

Frankie is grateful for the fact that he’s not taking a sip of his drink right then, it surely would’ve ended in a spit-take. He was a nerdy kid, a nerdy teenager too. Kinda shy, a little lost. He wasn’t usually the boy that girls fancied.

“Me? You had a crush on me? “

It doesn’t make sense, not really. She was the one that was fascinating and exciting. Though he didn’t think of her that way when they were kids, he knew she was beautiful even back then. He hadn’t been interested in her romantically because she was a few years younger but that didn’t meanie didn’t realize the magic she held.

“Yes, you. You were cool, Frankie. You were older and you knew stuff about cars and planes and you could name every Star Wars spaceship and you had a skateboard. “

“I was a horrible skater.”

“Sure but it wasn’t so much about the skating as it was about the aesthetic. You were cool and you still are cool”

Frankie shrugs his shoulder nonchalantly. She thought he was cool, still does. No one ever thought he was cool. He isn’t a smooth talker like Pope and even he himself can admit that look wise he isn’t even playing in the same league as Will and Benny. But if (Y/N) thinks he’s cool that must mean something. Right ?

“You were the one traveling all over the world with your dad and you thought I was cool?”

She sets down the scissors, let’s her hands rest on her lap. There’s a sense of nervousness exuding from her now. Like the words she wants to speak are resting on the tip of her tongue and yet they are so difficult to speak.

“Maybe that was part of it too. I never had a real home. Nothing stable at least. Except for my grandparents’ house. This was home and you were, you are, forever entwined with my idea of home. Sometimes I missed this place so much that I’d sit in my room and my little brain would think of all the fun adventures we could go on if only I was old enough to hop on a 6 hour flight by myself. I’d ask grandma about you every time I called and she always told me what trouble you got into.”

“Oh no.”

“Oh yeah and that only made you more exciting in my eyes. Then she’d offer to let me speak to you but I was too chicken shit to do it. Thought you might look right through my facade and realize how into you I was.”

“I was so oblivious, I can assure you I wouldn’t have noticed.”

“Well … it’s too late now.”

“I guess so. Just — next time you fall in love with me let me know, alright.”

Her laugh rings through the room like bells, like songs, like whispers of a childhood magic long forgotten.

“That only sounds fair. It’s a deal.”

“Good, now …. would you mind wrapping my gifts for Rosie?”

“Nope, but in return would you come see Leo’s play with me next week? My dad can’t come and I think Leo would like to have some more people there that support him. And he seems to think you’re cool so …”

“Huh guess if you both think so it must be true.”

“Don’t let it get to your head.”

“Of course I’ll come. “

She smiles and it sends a weird flicker through him. Like fire, like electricity. 

“ Now let me teach you how to curl the ribbon properly.”

[fanficteen]

stale blood (4)

chris argent x reader

Beacon Hills wasn’t exactly where you’d expect to find a bog cat. There definitely wasn’t a bog, and it wasn’t even coastal, no major water sources… There was the lake an hour or so out of town, but the bodies were near the school. Your light flickered and you glanced up. 3am. Your tea was cold beside you and the rabbit hole had so far proved worthless, so you flipped your laptop closed and poured the stewed drink down the sink. A muffled click brought your attention and you frowned, letting your senses roam a little wider. Something was breathing – something big, rasping, and close. You fumbled for your phone. The breathing drew closer. You unsheathed your claws, hurrying towards your bedroom in search of the painted nettle plant you’d bought. This was as good a time to test that hypothesis as any. One hand out behind you held the front door shut as you passed it, heading for the stairs, your magic holding strong though you could feel something bashing at it. Then the door splintered under the weight of clawed hands, and a man stepped through. He was unnervingly tall, with eyes the colour of torchlit fog and black fur beginning to sprout up his arms. You growled, lowly, urgently tapping through your phone. He leapt forward and suddenly you were jumping out of reach of a full-blown paw, claw marks scraping down your chest. The man was gone, and you were faced with something entirely feline, and entirely feral. His hackles rose, fur bristling up so you couldn’t get a clear view of his true size. He hissed and you bolted before he could pounce, sprinting up the stairs.

“Hello?” Allison’s voice was quiet, confused, when she answered the phone. “Allison,” you greeted, trying to keep your voice steady as the cat’s quiet footsteps approached. “It’s (Y/N). Your, uh, your Dad isn’t home is he?” “Yeah, he is. Are you okay? You sound a little out of breath.” You heard her muffled voice call for Chris on the other end of the line. “Well, on one hand, I’m great, because we were right.” The door to your room slammed open, and a huge paw sent you hurtling across the room, crashing into your closet with a thud. “On the other hand, there is a giant cat in my house.” “There’s what?!” Allison exclaimed, and you heard shuffling in the background. You ducked under the cat’s next swipe, but he caught your arm and your phone tumbled from your hand. Growling, you sent it crashing back into the hallway with a wave of your hand. He yowled, but was back on his feet in a moment, hurtling towards you as you lurched towards the windowsill. You snatched up a handful of painted nettle and tossed it, desperately. The cat hissed, darting backwards, a few burns patterning into his fur where the leaves settled. You could hear Allison trying to talk to you, something about calling Scott, then the telltale beep of the line cutting off. Wary now, the cat circled you as you held the painted nettle plant between you and him, distinctly aware that the only way out was under the cat or out the window. He darted forward and you shot out a hand, throwing him back. But he landed on his feet and ran for you again, slamming into an unseen wall between you. You could feel the wound in your chest still oozing blood, though it should have healed by now, and your head was beginning to spin. Headlights flashed across your window as the Argents’ car hurtled down your quiet street. Your shield flickered with your focus, just long enough for a stray claw to slash across your face, and then you flipped, one clawed foot smashing into the cat’s jaw as you shattered through your bedroom window, plant still clutched to your chest. A few shards of glass embedded themselves in you, but you were more worried about the snarling of the cat behind you. There was a crash as he followed you from the window, then you were both blinded by torchlight. A ragged hiss, and it bounded away, disappearing into the woods behind your neighbour’s house. “(Y/N)?” Allison questioned, as you blinked against the light of her torch, staggering towards their car. You hummed what you hoped was an agreement, holding the plant out to her. She took it, raising an eyebrow. “It works,” you managed, after a beat. Chris rounded the other side of the house, gun still raised.

“Where’s Deaton?” Chris demanded, as Scott let you all into the vets. “He’s on his way.” “Why aren’t you healing?” Stiles frowned. “I think he laced his claws with wolfsbane,” you admitted, looking down at the already-festering cuts on your chest. “He what?!” “He knows what he’s dealing with. That means he didn’t come to Beacon Hills accidentally,” you realised, aloud, as Scott and Chris helped you up onto the operating table. “If he’s laced his claws with wolfsbane, how are we meant to fight him?” Scott fretted, as Chris already began setting to work cleaning around your wounds. “With that.” Allison was still holding the plant you had handed to her, as though she wasn’t sure what the hell else to do with it. “It smells like weed,” Stiles commented, sniffing it suspiciously. “Are you going to feed the killer cat weed? Get it stoned?” “It’s scaredy cat plant,” Deaton corrected, making Stiles jump as he entered. “Plectranthus caninus.” “I was looking into it,” you explained, “As possibly useful, but I wasn’t sure.” “So you went up against this thing with no idea how to hurt it except maybe a plant?” Stiles clarified. “I didn’t invite it over,” you snapped, muffling a shout as Deaton poured antiseptic into one of the scratches. “Can we talk about this after the wolfsbane is out of her system?” Chris prompted, raising an eyebrow at Stiles. Deaton held up a needle, and you groaned, but let him push you down onto the table anyway. “Don’t look at me like that. This will be out of your system in thirty minutes,” he scolded, lightly, jabbing the needle into your neck. “Just lie there and be glad you’re not a real dog.”

When you blinked awake again, the room wasn’t any quieter. Stiles was complaining loudly about supernatural creatures targeting them, while Deaton very patiently pointed out that the town was literally a supernatural beacon, Stiles, and your best friend is a once-in-several-lifetimes rarity, you can move away to college if you want. “He enjoys this too much,” Scott snickered, making Stiles glare at him. “What, it’s true! You’re the one who dragged me out to murder investigations before I was even a werewolf.” Stiles grumbled a response, but you were too busy with the sudden pounding of your head to bother absorbing it. “It’d be really nice if being bitten cured migraines.” The room fell silent, then Chris was at your shoulder, helping you as you struggled to sit up. “How are you feeling?” “I no longer feel like I’ve been attacked by a large cat,” you started, wincing against the lights as Deaton quickly dimmed them. “But I could do without the jackhammer in my head.” Deaton passed you some painkillers, and you smiled gratefully. “You didn’t hit your head or anything, did you?” Scott asked, peering at you worriedly. “No, this is distinctly a migraine. Give me a few hours of sleep and a handful of painkillers and I’ll be fine,” you assured him, finally settling on just closing your eyes. A shiver ran through you, and you instinctively leaned into the warmth at your side, before it shifted, and you remembered, as Chris’ arm wrapped around your shoulder, engulfing you in his warmth. You didn’t see the three teenagers exchange glances. “We should all get some rest,” Deaton spoke, eventually. “You three – four, I suppose – still have school on Monday. You’ll keep an eye on (Y/N)?” You shot your eyes open, feeling Chris nod above you. “Hold on, I don’t need babysitting!” you protested, though your voice was barely above a whisper. Stiles snickered and you glared at him. “Well you’re not going home alone,” Scott insisted, folding his arms. “Your house was trashed anyway,” Allison pointed out, making you grimace. “There goes my deposit.” “You almost died and you’re worried about your deposit?” Chris raised an eyebrow. “We aren’t all renowned arms-dealers, Argent,” Stiles put in, before you could answer. “In this economy, I’m with her.” You felt the heave of Chris’ sigh, but he didn’t respond.

You climbed out when Chris stopped the car, and barely even bothered protesting as he took your bag. You’d almost given up on arguing with him, he won every time, and your head was already pounding. “I’m going to bed. You know where to find me if you need anything.” Allison kissed her father goodnight and padded up the stairs. “I’ll sleep on the couch tonight, I’ll make up the spare bed in the morning,” Chris offered, leading the way upstairs as Allison disappeared into her room. “I’ll come by and check on you every couple of hours – I know you’re a shifter, but you still jumped out a window and took a solid hit of wolfsbane.” “I won’t kick you out of your bed, Chris. I can take the couch,” you answered, tiredly. He plopped your bag down at the foot of the bed and turned to you, raising an eyebrow. “You’re already housing me, you don’t need to give up your bed. Or your sleep, for that matter.” You reached for the bag. Chris blocked you. “Just take the bed.” “No!” “(Y/N) –“ “Either we share, or I’m sleeping on the couch.” Chris blinked. “It’s plenty big enough, and then I won’t have to talk you out of checking on me when you need to sleep.” “We’re not teenagers at a sleepover! You were seriously injured!” “Will you two make up your minds so we can all sleep?” Allison called across the hall. “Fine. We can share.” You smiled, triumphantly, as Chris ceded.

[spiltscribbles]

Any chance you could give us some Arabic speaking Remus headcanons? Loved your latest fic ❤️ 📚

OMFG gorgeous sugarplum! I legit only just was reminded of this while scrolling through my inbox right now! But my heart is finna burst!!! Thank you SO SO much and yes I would love to give some Headcanons about this! Especially since the next long story I’m working on includes this dynamic, and I’m so excited about it!! However, common disclaimer that while I am Arab and culturally Muslim even if I don’t practice like the rest of my family lol, I am Palestinian and not Syrian. So with every identity there are different experiences and customs no matter how closely intertwined. So I apologize for any inconsistency   that a Syrian may read and disagree with, and please feel free to correct me<3 <3

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The FIC this HC is from 

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So first off some background on his mum in the story 

I chose the name Vivian based off a friend of a friend who’s uncle married a woman by that name back in Palestine,  so it’s definitely extremely uncommon, but a fully Arab lady was named it, so like it’s my defense bahaha. But it also means lively, and coupled with Hussein as her maiden name which means beautiful, it just fit her personality to a t!! 

She was born into a pretty secular family in Syria in the late 1920s, so there was a lot going on in that time period. But her dad was pretty influential, working in the government and such. Vivian was also the youngest of four girls and three boys so she was pretty spoiled tbh

She attended a boarding school in France through out her adolescence and decided to go to university there too, so she’s fluent in both Arabic and French, with pretty great English as well. Though she wasn’t exactly white passing, even though like a bunch of Syrians/Palestinians/Lebanese folk she was somewhat fair, she had distinctly Arabian features, like the large almond shaped eyes and thick lashes and thicker brows, and a long, largeish nose, accented by full lips. So she experienced a good amount of jeers and discrimination, especially when folks found out her surname. So I think she’s able to relate to Remus in that sense of being a wolf at least, and later on  when he comes out as gay.

It was 1950  when she and a few of her girlfriends went to Wales for holiday after completing university. The second Lyall first spotted her in the woods while she was trying to make it back to the cabin near the Irish Sea with her mates, it was something like love, because duh. She was a fucking knock out!! A babe and a baddy! Literally so far out of his league its ridiculous! But on Vivian’s side,  she was mostly just amused and a bit enamored by this cocksure Welshman who had the most endearing of crooked smiles that their son would inherit a decade later. So obviously she didn’t make it easy on him, but eventually she let him take her out on the last night of her trip, and was pleased to find out that they had the same sort of humor and the same passion for their careers and even the same love for the outdoors too.

 They had a long distance relationship for two years while she went to grad school so she could teach about classics while Lyall himself was rising the ranks in the Ministry for regulation and control of magical creatures— Unbeknownst to her, the Floo network  was very helpful with the distance. Just thank God Lyall himself is a Muggle born because he really had to fake the hell out of it lol.

So just to speed things up they got married on a lovely June evening in  1955,  subsequent to  Vivian excepting a professorial job in Cardiff after Lyall told her about the Wizarding world. At first Vivian thought e was tripping on some subpar edibles until he proved it by transfiguring her snuff box into a lovely broach that she kept for the rest of her life, So after Vivian was convinced, she became  absolutely enthralled by all of the magic so completely. 

They were trying for a few years when she finally became pregnant with Remus in 1959, and they were both so over the moon (pun unintended).

So like I said above, Vivian’s family are pretty secular, so I see her mostly practicing the cultural aspects of Islam. For example, every Friday— which is the equivalent to Sundays being the holy day  for Christians— she lights up the instance that she always keeps herself stocked up on after her annual trip to Syria, instead of the typical candles she ordinarily prefers.  And Remus swears that for the rest of his life whenever he smells it, he’s back to being a baby, puttering around the house and watching her dusting the shelves while humming quietly an Arabic song that’ played out the gramophone  by a man who’s music would soon become regarded as the song of the people. Or Remus would recall being snuggled into her lap while she read him a novel on the windowsill. Or he’d simply remember listening to his parents laughter fluttering in the air while he fell asleep by the fire, subconsciously making the flower buds closest to him bloom with his untapped magic.

Remus’s first clear memory— thanks to the endless pictures— is when he was around four years old, before the attack, and they were staying in Vivian’s home town in Damascus. While the men congregated out doors for cigars and cards and the women in the living room chatting while snacking on watermelon seeds, his older cousins— who were all girls— dragged him off to one of the bedrooms and doted on him because he was the baby of that side of the family. And he remembers walking out in a set of one of their heels and a headscarf wrapped around his head which made his Mama and Tata and Aumties laugh out loud and croon over him, and all his uncles and Sido call him Aumty Remus.

The attack by Greyback happened soon after they returned to Wales, and I’m not gonna touch on it becs I’ not finna depress myself. But it was a January morning after his first transformation and he remembers that when he woke up, he saw the cookies stuffed with dates resting on his bedside with a glass of milk that Lyall had put a cooling charm on. And they’re indulgent treats that Vivian makes for both Eids every year even though they don’t celebrate them in any other way lol. But the cookies always reminds him of family and of feeling safe in his mother’s arms, and they still work to make him feel better even after the worst thing he has ever experienced in his short life.

Remus’s love of poetry came from both sides of his parents, but it was listening to his mother recite the story of Majnun Layla in it’s original Arabic that really made him glow for the art form, and brought him to discovering his favorites like Auden and Neruda. 

There’s a ornate, wooden prayer box that has been past down on the Hussein side of the family for five generations, it was originally  meant to hold a Qran but for the past three it’s simply just been a beautiful piece of decoration. So when Vivian gave it to Remus when he was headed off to Hogwarts, little Remus asked McGonagall to help him with locking  charms so it could become a safe place for him to keep his most cherished of nicknacks ant momentos, so obviously,  she silently added a charm to keep the wood nearly unbreakable and the extension charm atop of that, like Hermione with her bag, so that he could keep as many happy memories as possible inside of it, and she prayed that there would be so many that it threatened to burst. 

The last time Remus opened the box was in 1996, when he was putting away the ring Sirius gifted him as a match to his own in some feeble promise of forever only weeks before James and Lily’s own engagement. 

Once during first year, he and the lads were staying up late, trading stories about how they got their most ridiculous scars— after seeing the one that scraped across Remus’s left shoulder blade— But it got to a point where they were all feeling a bit nippish, so they went down to the kitchens for some of the chocolate pudding that was served during dinner that night. And Remus idly asked the house elves if they could make him a batch of Kinafa because he was getting home sick and missed when he and his Mama would dash over to the city whenever they were feeling antsy, and she’d take him to their favorite hooka bar after buying a round of the dessert— which is basically sweetbread stuffed with cheese— from down the block. And they’d stay sitting beneath the starlight, and talking about her job and his lessons from school while she’d let him try a discrete puff or two and they’d laugh about everything and nothing at all.

The next time they stopped by the kitchens one of the younger house elves presented him with the snack gleefully, and it tasted fine, just not like how they do back home. So Remus smiled warmly at Tipsy, the house elf, and thanked her with real sincerity.

But his face must’ve betrayed him because after easter break, Sirius plops down a fresh batch of them on Remus’s bed before leaping into his own, casually mentioning that he saw how grossed out Remus looked when trying the one the house elves made, and it was from a restaurant close to Grimmauld so it’s not that big of a deal, and then he rushed to cursing at James for stealing his favorite pen and swearing that  if he broke it he’s gonna have hell to pay. Remus had only blushed and chuckled  with a small smile on his face when he cut himself a small piece and finished the half sheet off with the rest of their house later that night during an impromptu party that the Marauders would become infamous for in later years.

It was the summer after second year when all the marauders visited Remus back home in Wales and when they heard Vivian call him Qamar practically every other sentence, which of course lead to endless ribbing and eventually  to his nickname of Moony— even though it’s so fucking obvious and Remus loves and hates it in equal parts. God his friends are so fucking stress inducing!

Remus teaches the other marauders funny Arabic curse words and they use them in class so that they can talk shit about particularly disgusting Slytherins without them being any of the wiser. (Yes I did do this with my friends, and I’d do it again! POW! POW! POW!)

It’s from Vivian that Remus has an affinity for coffee as strong as shit, but also prefers his tea weak— specifically two sugars and a dash of milk. But seriously, if you’ve ever tried Arabian coffee you’d understand, that shit is so fucking strong it’s literally a hate crime LMFAO. But yeah, this habit is definitely a point of contention between him and Sirius— who’s actually so fucking posh no matter how much he wants to be punk, and he stands by only drinking black tea— like Merlin intended— and saying bugger off to any and all coffees. “Leave that shite to the French and Americans.” And Remus would try to keep himself from making eyes at him from across the table, because God Sirius is hot when he’s all fiery  and impassioned, even when it’s about the dumbest, most inconsequential shit.

Something that’s sort of funny is that Remus was the first among them to become a fucking pot head and could drink them all  under the table even though Sirius himself has got two stone and three inches on him. But Remus still refuses to eat ham, purely because he never grew up eating it and doesn’t care too now. Sirius had to specifically ask Euphemia and Monty to make turkey for Christmas dinner their sixth year just because he knew that Remus’s head would probably implode with the decision between being rude and not eating it or forcing himself to gag down the unfamiliar meat.

When Remus is really, really fucking drunk he definitely spends the night only speaking in Arabic! (Don’t look at me I’m trash just because I stole this from my own life lmfao) But yeah, it’s really fucking hilarious and Sirius swears to God he’s so fucking in love with him while listening to Remus ranting in the unfamiliar language. And he’s like positive that half the time he’s actually just cursing Sirius out but he doesn’t even care because it’s SO! DAMN! CUTE!  And sometimes Sirius decides to speak French at a drunk off his arse Moony, who occasionally replies back in a stiff staccato before returning back to the easy Arabic. And it’s just a mess.

Ok so sadness warning

In my head, Vivian loses her fight against breast cancer the July after the Marauders graduate from Hogwarts, and afterwords Remus gets a tattoo of her name in Arabic on his chest, and the word for soul on the nape of his neck. He locks away that battered copy of Magnun Layla in the wooden box she gave him years ago, along with a woolen  scarf that smelt like her perfume.

 It’s Sirius who buys a set of prayer beads to hang off her photo above the mantel in the flat he and Remus share, and when Remus sees it he literally feels like  he might crack open with tears, but opts to kiss Sirius thank you instead, and they stay tangled on the sofa for the rest of the day in quiet contemplation.

One night, in late 1979, while  the war was only getting worse and worse—  Sirius was hit by a cutting curse to the ribs. And it was really fucking bad, but thankfully James got him to his house in time for Lily to help and heal. He slept for the most part for nearly an entire day, but remembers snippets. Like when Remus had sprinted into the room with fear painted all over his soft features, and when James put a cooling cloth to his head. But most distinctly, Sirius recalls Remus gingerly lying besides him and Sirius talking gibberish at his boyfriend while Remus plunged his entire face against his back, eyes wet with tears and body shuttering as he squeezed him softly, saying something quietly in Arabic. Sirius obviously didn’t understand like 99.9% of it, but he did catch the word “Habibi,” which he instantly remembers as an old pet name Vivian use to call Remus with so much love it made her entire countenance sparkle. It’s an endearment  that means beloved, or darling, and it feels like Remus is begging Sirius to stay with him and Sirius’s throat is still raw from the screaming, so he can only  reply by dragging Remus’s hand up to his mouth and kissing his knuckles tenderly. And he knows that whatever he does for the rest of his days, he loves Remus Lupin with every cell in his body.

Oof this got mad depressing…. Chow anyways, I can add a picture of the container you’re suppose to use for the instance if anyone wants that?

Thank you again dear Nonny!!!

Ask Me For Headcanons About A Story I’ve Written Or For One You Want To See Written

[sabraeal]

Minimum Distance

If there’s one thing Obi’s sure of, it’s that this is Hisame’s fault.

Not the lockdown-- though honestly, he wouldn’t put it past the bastard if it meant having things go his way-- but everything else. This fucking party. That stupid fake dating plan. The kiss.

He scrapes a hand down his face. This whole ‘day trip’ is turning right into a disaster weekend and god, if he had the ability to fly right back to DC right now, he would. But instead he’s trapped here, in the middle of the New Mexican desert, in the Smart House of some elusive and shady billionaire. He must have kicked a puppy in the last life-- no, bags of puppies-- if the universe is exerting this level of karmic violence on him.

His back hits the door. He needs like, five minutes. Just until he learns how to breathe again.

Which he’s not going to do, if he keeps replaying that kiss in his head. You know, the only thing he’s been doing for the past twenty-four hours, including breakfast, where Rougis just stared at him with that grin on his face. Like he knew. Like he could somehow see every last mortifying second of his dreams last night, and thought it was funny.

Doc’s informed him this whole pandemic thing is serious, that there’s stuff with r’s and knots and things being close to two. He is tangentially aware aware of how a logarithmic scale works, and he’d never wish anyone actually sick, but-- if Hisame could just shuffle off this mortal coil in the next few hours, that would really pluck one of the bigger monkeys off his back.

He takes a deep breath-- more like a deep hiccup, honestly-- and lets the tension fall out of him. It’s fine. He doesn’t have time to stand here and freestyle mental scream. He has to work on getting them back home. Which means getting this Rugilia guy to sign off on funding.

And then he can hop on a plane, pandemic permitting, and get instantly fired for kissing his boss’s girlfriend. Bingo bango bongo. Job well done.

God, it would be just great if he could resist fucking up just one good thing in his life. At least Ryuu will still write.

Right, no time for catastrophizing. They’ve got a billionaire to woo. Or something.

He swings open his door-- no, it’s her door, but also his, because switching rooms seemed prudent when the guy holding all the keys spent a night trying to get Doc alone in a garden-- only to run into Doc. Literally. Right there. In her borrowed pajamas.

Whatever intel Rugilia had on her was clearly not as good as his, since Doc is really a matching pajama sets kind of girl, and not--

Well, after living with her for three years, Obi can firmly say he’s never seen a cotton teddy. At least, not on Doc herself.

He could get used to it, though.

“Oh, Obi!” She blinks, taking a step back. Adjusts her glasses, too. Tugs at a hem that is not going to get any lower, no matter how much she tries. “I was just coming to see you.”

“Ah.” He scrubs at the back of his head; it gives him as good an excuse as any for looking anywhere else. If he gives her more than a glance he’ll start counting freckles, and well-- they have separate rooms for a reason “Me, too. I was thinking--”

“The room thing isn’t going to work.”

He blinks. Blinks again.

“I mean...” Her cheeks bloom to a pale pink, the start of what’s sure to be a painful blush. “We should be sharing a room.”

He hopes there’s an actual, medical doctor in this group of useless socialites, because he’s about to have a cardiac event, and Doc’s doesn’t have the right alphabet soup to handle that kind of thing. “UH.”

“No, no!” She waves her hands, and god, they’re so close her fingertips practically brush his chest. Which wouldn’t be a problem if she didn’t follow up with, “I just mean, we should be sleeping together.”

Oh, it’s too late for medical intervention now; he’s already dead. “Ah, Doc--?”

“I just mean,” she yelps, fingers fluttering nervously between them, making it real hard to not look down and get some solid ideas about her cup size. “I know we switched rooms. For safety.”

“For safety,” he echoes dumbly, because that’s the level of thought he’s at right now. Or at least, the level he can safely be at without risking a real containment breach on all the things he’s not allowed to think when Doc’s around, wearing almost nothing, and telling him they need to put their bodies in close, horizontal proximity.

“But if we’re trying to be a couple, I don’t think...” Her tongue pokes out, pink and spongy, and draws his eyes right to the lips he definitely shouldn’t be staring at. “Well, I just don’t think that we-- that you-- that it looks--?”

“You mean,” he says, so slow, like she’s a rogue possum and he’s animal control, “I don’t look like the kind of guy who wouldn’t be taking advantage of a king bed and silk sheets?”

“Ah...” She’s the one that blinks now, eyelashes fluttering against red cheeks that are begging him to take their temperature. “Not-- not the way you were, um...”

She lets the implication hand in the air, and god, fuck Rougis for putting that fucking idea in his head, for even allowing the memory of her against him like that, sighing into his mouth--

“I thought we were supposed to be keeping it on the down low,” he says, leaning in with a grin. “Since you’re slumming it with the help.”

Her mouth goes from sexy to scowl. “I’m not slumming it with anyone.”

“Right, right, I know that,” he assure her, “but Rugilia--”

“No.” It’s loud enough that he flinches, because fuck, he can pretend to be normal all the live long day, but the second a voice raises-- “Oh, Obi, sorry, I didn’t--” her palm wraps warmly around his arm, thumb rubbing over the cotton of his sleeve-- “I just meant that I’m not-- it’s not-- being with you isn’t slumming.”

It’s all a little much having her so close, having so little of her be clothed, and smell so good as she does. She must have taken a shower or something before rushing out here to make herself his own personal problem.  In any case, all he manages is a half-dubious, half-distracted hum.

“Besides,” she adds, one of her eyebrows rounding in a teasing arch, “as far as I was aware, doctors and lawyers were considered the same pay grade.”

Obi coughs on his own spit. “I’m not a lawyer.”

“And I’m not that kind of doctor.” Her arms fold neatly-- distractingly-- beneath her breasts, A cups giving off a distinctly B-cup vibe. “But Eisetsu doesn’t know that. I told him I was here about a vaccine, and you said you were here to keep me out of trouble.”

And with a man used to dealing with pharma rather than the academic side, the legal representation would be implied. Obi scrubs a hand through his hair, staring down at his silk pajama set, and tries to discern what about him says ‘went to a four-year college,’ let alone law school. “Me?”

“Well...” She really shouldn’t look at him like that, all coy from the corner of those big eyes, if he can’t give her a repeat performance of last night. “It only makes sense. I mean, who else does Zen hang out with.”

Now, that-- that gives him pause. Mitsuhide, lawyer. Kiki, lawyer. Doc, doctor, but Not That Kind. Him--

“Fuck me,” he breathes, “that actually makes sense.”

“It does,” she agrees primly. “I’d thought the keeping it quiet angle was more along the line of, uh, conflict of interest, rather than, um, other reasons.”

Other reasons, like that half of his other aliases were on No Fly lists. “Conflict of Interest?”

“Well, um...” Her flush is brighter this time, spilling over her cheeks and down her neck, flirting with the lace edging her neckline, and he certainly is feeling both conflicted and interested about how far it might go-- “There’s probably fraternization rules.”

He blinks. “Fraternization?”

“You know,” she says slowly, taking a step back, right into the doorway of her-- his room. “That employees can’t date or, um--” her skin’s barely a shade lighter than her hair-- “do other stuff. At least without clearing with HR first.”

It shouldn’t be so cute that a woman with a doctorate can’t say sex, but this is it, this is his type now.

“Other stuff, hm?” He steps close, their toes sharing the jamb. So close that when she sucks in a breath, shallow and quick, her chest brushes against his. “If we’re supposed to be fraternizing in this room tonight, a few things are going to have to change.”

She shuffles back, an arm’s length--one of hers, at least-- toes curling on the carpet. “O-oh?”

The thing is: Obi can’t resist a good joke. It’s why he works so good with the boss-man; no matter how transparent, how dumb it is, all his teasing crawls right under that lily-white thin skin of his and sends Wisteria climbing right up the wall. It’s satisfying.

So when he closes the gap between them with a single long stride, he expects Doc to just-- tell him to quit it. Yelp maybe. Slap his chest. Scold him, if he’s lucky.

But instead she just peers up at him, chest quivering, and doesn’t get the joke. By the way she’s looking at him, she--

Ah, well, it doesn’t look like she minds overly much either. Which is going to make this Not Funny real quick in a southerly direction.

Strange, he doesn’t feel much like laughing either.

“The bed.” His hips guide her back a step, then two. “For one.”

She really needs to stop him, to put her foot down, to really get it through to the parts of him below the belt that she’s not interested in bringing some realism to this little show they’re putting on.

Instead, she lets him herd her four more steps back, body following every slow, rolling suggestion of his. “Bed?”

“Yeah.” Her knees hit the edge of the mattress-- well, considering how tall these beds are, her waist. She wobbles, hands bracing on his chest. “We need to get this bed messy.”

Her breath sighs into the air between them, eyes so round, so dark, and--

She realizes what he’s about to do five seconds too late. “Obi, n--!”

Feathers fly everywhere. Damn, this Rugilia guy really did spare no expense.

There’s a long, quiet moment, Shirayuki staring up at him with confusion and betrayal warring in her eyes, and she-- she laughs. It’s all the warning he gets before he’s blind-sided, pillow knocking him to his knees, and god, she’s going to regret starting a fight with--

Tap tap. Tap tap.

They both freeze, staring at one another. That was on the door. Her door. No, his door.

“It’s Eisetsu,” comes the soft voice through it. “Can we talk?”

[letitrainathousandflames]

ILL INDULGE!! Alpha-17 + escaped from Empire + being comforted from a nightmare?? I've got more once I finish some mother's day things!!

THANK YOU! Here goes:

-

Rating: Teens and Up

Tags: PTSD, Nightmares, Crying, Trauma, Hurt/Comfort, Reader/Clone

-

Ever since the two of you had moved in together, Alpha-17 had been sleeping on your couch rather than your bed, despite your insistence for him to join you in the bedroom.

Don’t get it wrong, he would give you everything you could want and more as the loving boyfriend he was, and this was literally the only thing that bothered you about him.

(“I’m a noisy sleeper,” he would say every time, “I’ll end up keeping you up. Can’t do that to my cyare, now can I?”)

The two of you have been living together since... well, since he had to escape the Empire and you had met him, working as a bounty hunter so he wouldn’t starve and maybe be able to eventually pay for a one-way trip to the outer rim, as far from the capital as possible.

When he asked where he could find shelter for the night for fifty credits at the bar you were working, you looked at this man, his unshaven face and exhausted eyes and told him that not even the cheapest places would take such small pay... but he was free to crash at your couch for the night.

And so he did. Thank the stars, he accepted your offer to crash at your place whenever he needed or his job took him close to your planet again, and every time the two of you met - including the one occasion you had to help him fix some nasty work-related wounds - you grew closer. One night after a few sips of Corellian wine you ended up sharing a long, tender kiss and before you knew it, you were straddling him, grinding on his codpiece and-

Well, let’s just say that your friendship to the clone had some extra benefits after that.

The steamy nights of mindless sex led to long conversations afterwards, and lazy mornings with breakfast in bed, the whole process so organic you took a while to realize that you two were no longer two strangers sharing the same space and occasionally fucking each other senseless: you were dating.

-

Which brought you back to now.

“I’m your girlfriend, Alpha.” You cross your arms, rubbing at them with hurt clear in your voice “I wanna sleep together. Please, I swear I won’t mind some snoring.”

Alpha looks away from you, fixing up a pillow on the couch and the blue blanket you would always lend him for the night. His entire demeanor is awkward, his jaw set and his throat bobbing as he swallows down, gritting his teeth.

“It’s-” he hesitates to then lightly punch the pillow in place “it’s not snoring, I just- I like having my space.”

“Alpha...”

“Just let it go.” Alpha’s tone is harsh but it softens quickly “Please.”

You huff, shaking your head and turning your back on him to enter your bedroom. You can’t help feeling rejected and upset, huffing a breath.

“Fine. Goodnight.”

“Goodni-”

You click the door shut before he can finish, undressing and angrily throwing your clothes to the floor before shoving your head into your long sleeping shirt and climbing into your bed.

You just wanted to have him near you. It was cute having him out of your room before you two admitted to each other and yourselves that you were actually dating, but now it feels just stupid. You would understand him not staying if he had to leave for some early mission, but having him at your place for the night, sleeping on your couch when your room is about five steps from there is ridiculous.

You wanna snuggle to him just like you do after sex - although even then, he sneaks out of the room as soon as you are asleep. You wanna wake up looking at his handsome face and his beautiful brown eyes.

You shove your feet under the covers and press the remote on your nightstand, turning the lights off. The room becomes dark, and you are still thinking of what could possibly be the reason for Alpha not wanting to sleep with you when you hear two soft knocks on your bedroom door.

You sit up, turning your small nightlight on and piping out:

“Yes?...”

There is a long stretch of silence before alpha’s voice comes through, small and sheepish:

“It’s me. I...” he cracks the door open, and the dimmed light of the living room spills through the opening, “...can I still sleep with you?”

You straighten yourself up, all your anger vanishing in an instant while you toss the covers to the side, nodding repeatedly:

“Yes! Yes, you can! Please... come in.”

Alpha walks in, dragging his feet on the floor, his chin dipped down and his gaze low. He is carrying his pillow under his arm and wearing only his black sleeping pants.

“Hey there, handsome.” you say affectionately as he shuffles to your bed, placing his pillow next to yours

“Hey.” Alpha climbs on the bed, shimmying close to you and snaking his arm over your middle, nuzzling at the crook of your neck; he feels incredibly warm, making you melt at his touch “Moons, you smell so good.”

You giggle, throwing the covers over you both and snuggling up to his muscular chest as he lies half-sitting on your bed, your palm resting over his stomach. He’s one to say it, his warm body smelling of your soap and something distinctively… his. A scent that makes you feel safe and at home.

“So do you.” You press a kiss to his face, fixing your pillow so that you can lift your upper body as well, letting his arm drape over your shoulders as you sit up, pressing yourself to his side “What made you change your mind?”

Alpha stays quiet, his chest moving slowly with his breath. The more your eyes get used to the darkness, the better you can see him even with only the dim nightlight on. He brings a hand to your face, cupping your cheek.

“I love you. I don’t want you to think I don’t.”

You wince at the restlessness in his gaze, shaking your head:

“Alpha, I never said-”

“But” Alpha interrupts you, and you can distinctly notice the tension tinging his voice, taking over his features “I need you to know that this isn’t about me snoring, or moving around too much, it’s just that...”

There is a pause where he clicks his tongue and he turns his face away even though you can barely see it in the poorly-lit room.

“...I have nightmares. And sometimes I-” he pulls his arm back from over your shoulders, swallowing down as his breath hitches “sometimes I wake up in a frenzy, kicking and screaming. It’s not pretty. I don’t want you to see it. It’s why... it’s why I’ve been hiding away from you.”

Your mouth drops open, eyes going wide in shock. Of everything, you did not expect this to be the reason why he wouldn’t sleep with you. All this time, you had thought he just didn’t want to get attached to you, and…

You bring a hand to his face, cupping his jaw and watching as he reluctantly draws his gaze back to you, low and timid.

“What kind of nightmares?” you ask, trying to understand more and immediately regretting it as he purses his lips tightly, swallowing down in clear discomfort “Sorry. You don’t have to tell me.”

Alpha places his hand over yours – his fingers calloused from years of combat and firing blasters. His tone is hushed, a low murmur that matches his sheepish expression.

“I just… don’t wanna scare you if it happens.”

“Oh, love…” you lean closer to him, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth to then lay your head on his shoulder, looking up to him “You won’t scare me, I promise. I’ll be here for you, and we’ll get through this together, okay?”

Alpha’s hands met your back, wrapping you in a tight hug. He exhales heavily with a hum, muscles losing tension as the air leaves him. One of his hands move up to your nape, fingers caressing your scalp.

“Stars, I can’t imagine what I’ve done to deserve someone like you.”

-

Alpha ends up spooning you, one leg draped over your waist and his arm clutching you flush to his body. You are surrounded by warmth, hearing the gentle sound of his breathing. This feels so… intimate, more so than the many nights of steamy sex you two had shared. Sleep weights your eyelids down, and your mouth parts open, every inch of you loosening into relaxation. The thoughts swirling in your mind lose form, dissolving into nothing, and you sink into sleep with a content hum.

You don’t know how much time has passed. You don’t know what time it is. All you know is that its definitely still night as you are jolted awake by a blood-curdling scream.

Panicking, you sit up in bed to another scream in a voice you know too well. Alpha. Alpha is screaming right next to you, and you scramble for the nightlight switch, turning it on and whipping your head back to look at the man lying next to you.

Alpha seems to have tossed the covers, lying on his side with his back facing you. His whole body is curled tightly in a ball, biceps jutting up as his hands clutch at his head, his fingers buried in the dark hair as they grip and tug at it. There is a sheen of sweat glistening over his skin, and his face is all red.

One of his legs give a sharp kick towards the end of the bed, and the other does the same, as if he’s fighting an invisible enemy. He screams again, loud and full of agony as if he is being stabbed.

“Al-” his next scream ends in a sob, and as he rolls over to lie on his back, you see his eyes wide open, tears running rivers over the bridge of his nose and down the curve of his cheek “Alpha, love, what’s wrong?!”

Alpha squeezes his eyes shut, his sobs making his whole body shake and his chest shudder as his head lolls side to side over the mattress. He covers his face with his hand, whimpering and crying nonstop, his words muffled by his palms and distorted by his hitching breaths.

You can manage “m’sorry, so sorry-”, “-all dead-”, “-forced me to-” as you sit on your haunches, placing a hand on his chest that is damp with cold sweat. Your free hand goes to pet his hair with light, soothing strokes.

“Love? You had a nightmare. Can you hear me? Y-you’re safe.”

Alpha’s breathing is ragged, and he drags his hands down his face; you can see his eyes, wild and lost, eyelashes wet with tears that spill down his face. His voice comes from between his fingers, small and terrified.

“-said we were betrayed, we had to follow orders, I never wanted to-”

You gently push his hands to the side, cupping his face instead and looking deep in the brown eyes that dart back and forth. As scared as you are, you manage to speak in a firm, mostly collected tone.

“Alpha, you’re safe. You’re with me. I got you. Hm? I got you.”

Alpha looks up to you, his teeth chattering and lower lip trembling. His entire face is wound in utter despair.

“…it was all my fault.” he breathes it out as if it’s a single word strung together, sucking in a harsh breath “their blood’s on my hands” more tears spill from his eyes as he squints in pain “I can still hear their screams…!”

You have questions, hundreds of them, but you know better than asking them now. Instead, you cup Alpha’s face more firmly, leaning closer so that he has no choice but to look at you and hopefully be brought back into reality.

“It wasn’t your fault. You did your best. It wasn’t your fault.”

“No, I didn’t, I should’ve been faster, I should-”

“Shh…” you press your forehead to Alpha’s “Breathe. Just breathe, Alpha.”

“They needed me, and I-”

“I know.” you say reassuringly “I know. Breathe.”

You don’t know. Not really. You had noticed the hint of blue lines that tinged his armor under the noticeably fresh coat of dark silver the day you two first met. The way it resembled a mandalorian’s, but the helmet was unmistakably a clone trooper’s, and the black shirt he wore under it actually had the republic’s crest on it.

It wasn’t that difficult to do the math and realize he was probably a clone trooper of the fallen Republic, which makes him a deserter and a traitor to the Empire.

Alpha is slowly becoming less frantic and agitated, his screaming ceasing and turning into a long wail that ends in more desperate sobs, his teeth grinding and his hands trembling over his chest.

“I never asked for any of that- I never-”

“Shh… I know…” you lean down over Alpha, covering his upper body with yours like a blanket, feeling the way his chest heaves for air over and over as you keep your forehead pressed to his “You’re safe now. It’s over.”

The two of you stay like this for a long time, and after what feels like an eternity, Alpha’s breathing starts slowing down, his back no longer tensed up in an attempt to arch off the bed sinking back down on your bed. He is still shivering, beads of sweat glistening on his face.

And then his hands reach up to the small of your back, hugging you tight enough to almost push all air out of your lungs. He shifts his head to the side, pressing his cheek to yours and sighing heavily.

“I’m sorry.” he mumbles quietly “I’m so sorry. You shouldn’t have to deal with this… I must’ve scared you to death…”

“No, no.” you whisper just as quietly “I’m glad I was here to help you through it.”

Alpha sighs again, hums to then gently roll the two of you on the side, keeping you close still. He looks exhausted, but at least he doesn’t seem to be panicking anymore. His eyes are weary, puffy and red, and his face is flushed, hair messily plastered to his forehead. Th sight of him makes your heart clench painfully in your chest.

“Do you always have those?” you ask in a hushed tone, tracing his jaw with your finger “Every night?”

Alpha purses his lips, swallowing down.

“Not every night, no. But with more… frequency than I’d like.”

“Do you wanna talk about-”

“No.” he cuts you off sharply to then soften his tone “Not now. M’sorry, I still need… time, I guess.”

“Hey, don’t apologize.” you brush his hair off his forehead, running your fingers through his hair “Is there anything I can do for you? Hmm? To help you with this?”

Alpha seems pensive for a moment, and he looks up, indicating your hand caressing his head.

“This is a good start.” he pulls you even closer, pressing you flush to his body “This, too.”

You chuckle, stifling a sob. Alpha’s relaxed expression shifts into a distressed one as he notices the tears in your eyes.

“Oh, no, no, don’t cry, cyare.” He kisses your cheek, reaching for your nape “What’s the matter?”

You sniffle, shaking your head.

“Nothing, nothing, I just…” you snuggle against the crook of his neck “Just wanna make you happy, Alpha.”

Alpha presses a kiss to the top of your head, his whole body loosening up with a long exhale of his.

“You already do. More than I ever thought I could deserve to be.”

[five-rivers]

Exile

Prompt by @halfaqueen. My goodness, this took forever to write. I have no idea how it got so long.

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.

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Danny hadn't realized that exile was still a thing, but when he and Jazz had gotten expelled, and their parents had been banned or barred from basically all public places, and all of them had gotten restraining orders of one sort or another, and dozens of lawsuits had been filed against Fentonworks... Well... Officially, it wasn't exile, but that was what Amity Park was clearly aiming for with this harassment campaign.

He watched his city, his haunt, disappear over the horizon from the back window of the GAV. It was all he could do not to cry out aloud. Leaving like this felt like tearing part of himself away.

"Don't worry, Danno!" said Jack, leaning over the back seat. He wasn't driving, as he had lost his license early on in the city's war against them. "Just give it a few weeks! They'll be begging for us to come back, what with all the ghost that'll attack!"

This did not make Danny feel better.

"Jack," said Maddie, drawing out her husband's name. As clear as day, her tone said, Don't get their hopes up.

"You betcha! Because nobody can catch a ghost better than the Fentons, that's for sure!"

Jack Fenton hadn't ever been good at reading things as abstract as tones.

"They think they can stop the ghosts by closing the portal? Please! If it was as easy as that, we'd have closed it ages ago!"

Danny cringed, and sunk lower in his seat. No. None of that made Danny feel better.

Amity Park had hired other ghost hunters, blatantly replacing the Fentons, but Danny didn't know how good they were. He didn't know how good he should hope they were, either. On one hand, he wanted them to be bad, so that Amity Park would drop the restraining orders and he could go home. On the other, he wanted them to be good, so that Amity Park would be safe, so that everyone would be safe and no one would be hurt. But, then, if they were good, and everything was fine, that meant that Amity Park didn't need him any more, that he wasn't helpful, and, even though it was selfish, part of him wanted to be needed.

But, worse, what if they were good enough to defeat the more common ghosts, but then someone powerful come through, someone big, and they couldn't handle it? What if the new hunters worked for the GIW and would send the ghosts they caught off to be experimented on?

Danny had warned away as many ghosts as he could about what was happening before they left, but it didn't seem to be enough. And what if that warning got to someone who would see it as an invitation? As an opportunity to strike, now that he, Phantom, was gone.

He'd been so worried, stressed, and paranoid that he'd made himself sick. He was probably going to make himself sick again before the day was out.

"Where are we going, anyway?" he mumbled.

"Didn't we tell you?" asked Maddie. Danny shrugged. "We're visiting some relatives of Jack's. They have an interest in the supernatural, and they offered to let us stay with them while we look for a more permanent solution."

"Yep!" said Jack. "My favorite cousin, Cory! She's not quite a ghost hunter, but she has that Fenton blood for sure!"

"Cordelia Nightingale," said Maddie. "I don't think that her branch of the family has been Fentons since the sixteen-hundreds."

Danny swallowed. He was not a fan of the name 'Nightingale,' all things considered. It reminded him too much of pain and Sam pushed up against a wooden stake.

He decided this, on top of everything else, was a bad omen. He bet that 'cousin Cordelia' was going to turn out to be a ghost or, somehow, something worse. Like a witch. Or she had something like Freakshows staff. Or she grew blood blossoms for fun. Or she was part of a cult.

Ugh, why did that sound like something that might happen? What was his life?

Half gone, that's what.

Jazz patted him on the knee. "Maybe it'll be nice?" she said, hopefully.

"Maybe," said Danny.

He didn't have high hopes.

.

Sam probably would have liked the house. Danny didn't. The Gothic architecture only accentuated his fears. He frowned up at the spikes on the railing and the darkly painted boards. No. He didn't like this house at all.

He wanted to go home.

But, at his mother's prodding, he bent and picked up his suitcase. Most of his things were still at home and, if this lasted longer than a week, would then be put into a storage locker along with the rest of the family's belongings, to await a time when they once again had a house of their own to live in.

Jack bounced up the steps and pressed the doorbell with his thumb. Almost at once, a thin woman with graying brown hair opened the door. She wore a black turtleneck and a dark, straight skirt that ended at her ankles. Somehow, she made the outfit look practically Victorian.

"Cory!" exclaimed Jack, giving her a trademark Jack Fenton hug.

Both Jazz and Danny cringed slightly. That felt a bit too familiar for someone who he hadn't seen for literally their entire lives. Danny just hoped this wouldn't be Vlad all over again.

But, to his surprise, Cordelia gave Jack a thin smile and hugged him back. She extracted herself and stepped away from the door, into the house.

"Please," she said, "come in. You must all be tired. Amity Park is hours away."

One by one, the Fentons passed through the door, Danny bringing up the suspicious and paranoid rear.

"You must be Jasmine and Daniel," said Cordelia, closing the door. It wasn't quite dark inside the house, but it did feel rather dim. It smelled sweet, but dusty. Like flowers. Old, dry flowers.

"Jazz and Danny, please, Ms. Nightingale," said Jazz.

"Call me Cordelia. We're family, after all."

Was that ominous, or was Danny just paranoid? Well, it wasn't paranoia if people really were out to get you, right?

His breath went cold in his mouth, and something moved out of the corner of his eye. He whirled, trying to trace it.

He couldn't see anything. His ghost sense hadn't gone off.

"Danny?" said Maddie. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I just thought I saw something."

"Probably my cat," said Cordelia, calmly. "She's a shy little thing, but curious. Don't be surprised if you don't see her again."

"Right," said Danny, doubtful, but not wanting to press the point.

"Now, I've cleaned out rooms for you upstairs," she gestured, and began to lead the way.

Danny started to follow, but another shadow moved at the edge of his sight, this one distinctly humanoid. He turned again, trying to find what cast it. There was nothing. He hurried to catch up with the others.

"Do you live here all alone?" he asked as they climbed the stairs.

"Oh, no," said Cordelia. "This place is much too large for one person. I let out rooms to some nice young ladies who work in town. None of them are here right now, of course, but I'll introduce all of you at dinner."

Well, there went that theory. He glanced back down the stairs. There was definitely a chill in this house.

"You didn't have to give us this much space," said Maddie, snapping Danny's attention back to the conversation. "We should pay you."

"Nonsense. You're family, and those rooms weren't being used anyway. Here, this one has a king mattress, so you two will want this one, even if it is a bit tight, and Daniel, Jasmine, you two take the ones on either side."

Danny and Jazz shared a look. It was a lot easier for Jazz to cover for Danny, or for Danny to sneak into her room for help, when they were next to each other. But there was nothing to be done. They shrugged.

It didn't matter who took which room. Jazz went left. Danny went right.

The room was a lot like the rest of the house. Old-fashioned and dark. It was also meticulously clean and decorated like something out of an old movie. It looked like a set piece. It really did.

Then again, Cordelia did say she had just cleaned the rooms. It wasn't anything to get nervous about, even if it did make Danny feel like he was the main character in a horror film.

He put down his suitcase.

"The bathroom is just down at the end of the hall. The schedule is posted next to it, make sure you write down when you want to shower, so you don't disrupt anyone," said Cordelia, still talking to Jack and Maddie in the hall. "The kitchen is downstairs and in the back. If you take the last of something from the refrigerator, write it down on the shopping list. Otherwise, go ahead and make yourselves at home. Freshen up, take a nap. Dinner is at six."

"Do you want any help with that?" asked Maddie. "You're cooking for an awful lot of people."

"No, no, I'm more than used to it."

"Alright. Did you catch all that, kids?"

"Yes," said Jazz.

"Yeah," said Danny. He wanted to look for whatever was giving him this chill. He didn't like the idea of something supernatural sneaking up on him or his family while he slept.

.

He couldn't find it, and it was driving him crazy.

There was something in this house, even if Danny couldn't see it as anything but a shadow in his peripheral vision. Jazz couldn't see it at all, but she believed him after that whole thing with Youngblood.

Even if they couldn't find the thing, however, they found lots of other... things. Creepy things. Dead-eyed porcelain dolls. Dusty portraits. Bundles of dried herbs. Weird sculpture things. Light fixtures that should have been updated before Danny was born. A stuffed cat. A closet full of brooms.

"You know what I haven't seen?" asked Danny, as it turned five o'clock.

"No," said Jazz. "What? Ghosts?"

"A litter box," said Danny.

"That doesn't really mean anything," said Jazz. "It could be in one of the bedrooms, or there's a cat door and the cat goes outside."

"Maybe," said Danny. "Let's check out the yard."

This far from the nearest town, the yard was big and cut into a forest that loomed darkly over them even in the bright sunlight. The yard itself was full of flowering plants, but...

"I think these are all poisonous," he said. "At least, a lot of them are."

"Isn't that normal for decorative plants?" asked Jazz. "They weren't bred to eat."

"Yeah, I guess," said Danny, frowning. "But would you necessarily want a cat out here with all this?"

"Cats are carnivores. They wouldn't eat the plants. Can you see the neighbors?"

"No. Too many trees."

"How far away are we, I wonder?"

"It can't be that far," said Danny. "Not if her boarders commute to town."

"That's true. We're not in the wilderness." Jazz scanned up and down the height of the trees. "Not really."

"Maybe a little bit," said Danny. He could imagine some of those trees being hundreds of years old. The ground might not have been untrod by human feet, but... "Does everything here just sort of feel... off? Or is that just me?"

"I don't know," said Jazz.

Gravel crunched in the driveway, audible even from the other side of the house. Jazz and Danny walked to the corner of the house so that they could see around the corner and watch what was happening.

A small white car was pulling into the driveway. It stopped next to the GAV. As they watched, three young women stepped out. One of them had long, dark hair and wore a red sweater and skirt, reminiscent of Cordelia's. The second had pale blond, almost white, hair and wore a deep brown shirt and skirt. The third had red hair, and wore white. All of them had wicked looking boots and matching leather purses.

"Okay," whispered Jazz, pulling Danny back around the corner. "I... Maybe they just like to match?"

"I hate this so much," said Danny. "I want to go home."

"Maybe whatever is going on here is friendly?"

"We are literally never that lucky," said Danny. "I hope it's just a ghost. I can deal with ghosts. It's probably a ghost."

"Really?"

"No. Let's go in. We're going to have to meet them eventually."

.

"This is Sofia," said Cordelia, indicating the dark haired woman. "This is Alison." She put her hand on the blonde's shoulder. "And this is Morgan." She nodded at the redhead. "Girls, these are my cousins, Jack, Maddie, Jazz, and Danny."

Three sets of eyes moved sequentially from Jack, to Maddie, to Jazz, to Danny. They stayed on Danny.

"It's nice to meet you," said Sofia, still looking at Danny.

He tried to hide his discomfort. Could they tell he was half-ghost? He hoped not. That was his trump card if everything turned out as badly as he feared and he had to get his family out in a hurry.

What he wouldn't give for a piece of concrete evidence right now. Without it, his parents would never listen to him. They hadn't with Vlad.

They were still looking at him. Jazz slipped in front of him.

"So!" she said, brightly. "Dinner?"

Danny pushed back in front of Jazz. "Yeah! It's six, right?"

"Well, it sounds like the kids have inherited that good old Fenton appetite! Huh, Cory?" added Jack

"Yes, yes, come along. Girls, why don't you go ahead and get the table started. No, Maddie, the girls know how I like it, I'll show you later. You just sit down and relax." Cordelia disappeared into the kitchen.

The three younger women moved smoothly around the room, pulling plates and silverware- real silver silverware- from a china cabinet. They set the long table in the middle of the room with rigorous formality. There were more kinds of forks at each place setting than Danny had seen even when having dinner at Sam's. They topped it off with two candelabras.

Cordelia emerged with a casserole dish. Whatever was in it was thick, roughly cylindrical, and covered with a thick red sauce.

"Wow! Is that a roast?" asked Jack.

"Yes," said Cordelia. "I always make this when new guests arrive. The girls have all had it."

The 'girls' nodded as one, and retreated to the opposite side of the table. They almost moved in sync with one another.

Cordelia put the roast on the table, and went back to get side dishes. This gave the three women more time to stare at Danny.

On occasion, Danny did want attention, acknowledgement, what have you, but this scrutiny would have been a bit much even when he was at the height of his 'look at me' phase. He kept a tight hold on his core to keep himself from flickering invisible.

Cordelia came back with two serving dishes full of green... things. Possibly vegetables, but Danny didn't recognize them. She then started to, with excruciating slowness, carve the roast.

The slow exposure of the meat under all that sauce was enough to make Danny vaguely ill. It was too... wet. Too vibrant and too gray all at once. He swallowed against the smell.

"Wow!" said Jack, as Cordelia dropped a slab of meat on his plate. "This looks great, Cory! What kind of meat is it?" He was already sawing away at the flesh. It was all Danny could do to keep himself from slapping it away from him.

"Beef," said Cordelia, smiling at him as she carved. "Locally grown and harvested. It's an old family recipe, from before our branches split and we were all Nightingales."

"You mean Fentons!" said Jack around a mouthful of meat.

Cordelia's smile turned brittle. "However you would like to put it, Jack." She went around the table, serving herself last.

Danny made no move to pick up his utensils. The women on the other side of the table ate while watching him, barely looking at their food. Jazz was the only one who seemed to notice, and when Danny caught her eye and shook his head, she put down the bite of meat she had picked up, turning her focus to the vegetables.

"So," Jazz said, "what do you three do?"

Sofia's eyes flicked briefly to Jazz. "Graphic design," she said.

"That must be interesting."

"It's a job."

Danny didn't eat that night.

.

"I have some granola bars," said Jazz, grabbing his arm before he entered his guest room. Not that he intended to sleep there. Or anywhere.

"You keep them," he said. "I'm fine. You didn't eat much, either."

"You didn't eat anything," said Jazz.

"I'll be okay." Danny flared his eyes. "I've got an extra reserve, remember?"

"If you say so," said Jazz. She was frowning. "Danny... Let's share a room tonight."

"What?"

"I don't like how those three were looking at you," she said. "I can't believe Mom and Dad didn't notice..."

"They don't notice anything," said Danny. He pulled Jazz into the dubious safety of his room. He didn't want to have this conversation out in the hallway. "Wait," he said, eyes flicking over the room. "Where's my suitcase?"

Jazz shrugged. "Kind of reminds me," she said, not quite whispering. "I was thinking about barricading the door."

Danny hissed through his teeth. "I put my thermos up here when we went to eat. It's gone, too."

"If this were a horror movie, this would be when we yelled at the screen for the characters to leave."

"Think we can convince Mom and Dad?"

"Maybe together?"

Danny shrugged. "Let's give it a try."

They left the bedroom, and knocked on their parents' door. There was no answer.

Jazz frowned. "Maybe they have their earplugs in already," she said. "Can you, you know." She made a gesture where her arms crossed each other.

"Let's see," he said, going back to the bedroom. He waited until Jazz shut the door to turn invisible and phase through the wall.

Passing through the wall felt... odd. Like walking through layers of cobwebs. He shook his head as if to clear it and surveyed the room. Jack and Maddie were already in bed. He made a face and stepped back into the other room, becoming visible and tangible for Jazz.

"They're asleep," he said, shaking his head.

"First thing tomorrow morning, then," Jazz said, wringing her hands. "Maybe- Do you think we should sleep in the GAV? Put up the ghost shield?"

"I'm not even sure that this is a ghost," said Danny. He walked around the bed, part of him still looking for his missing suitcase. "But you have a point, I just..." He glanced at the wall his room shared with his parents'. If he and Jazz slept in the GAV, Jazz would be very safe, but their parents would be vulnerable. If he stayed here, and Jazz slept in the GAV, she'd be safer than sleeping alone in the house, and his parents would be safer, but if something happened to her, he wouldn't be able to react to it, he wouldn't be able to protect her. "I don't know."

"Let's at least go down and look. Maybe you left your suitcase in there, after all?"

"I don't think so," said Danny.

"We can get the weapons locker."

Danny blinked. "I almost forgot about that. Yeah. Let's go."

They were halfway down the stairs when Jazz grabbed his shoulder. "What?" whispered Danny.

"I can't hear anything."

"Huh?"

"This house is old. These stairs creaked when we were walking on it before. Why isn't it now?"

Danny bit his lip. "Let's keep going." He put his hand on Jazz's and made them both invisible.

"I can't see my feet," said Jazz.

"Just be careful," said Danny, continuing down the stairs. "I'm going to phase us through the front door, okay?"

"Fine."

It was still twilight when they stepped outside, the first stars just beginning to show. It wasn't hard for them to navigate, slipping around the white car, but when they did, and finally got a good look at the GAV, they froze.

Jazz said something very un-Jazz-like. Danny let his invisibility fade.

"What happened?" asked Jazz, in shock.

"It looks like someone beat it with a crowbar," said Danny, almost reverently, touching the crumpled metal. "A really big, really fast crowbar."

"Danny, this glass is supposed to be bulletproof."

"And ghost-proof," agreed Danny. "Let's go barricade your room. Think it can get through a dresser?"

.

The thing about being under high levels of stress for long periods of time was that it was tiring. Exhausting, even. So, even though Danny didn't intend to sleep, he did.

He woke up unable to move, something heavy weighing down his chest. His eyes fluttered open. Something huge and dark, the shadow he'd only glimpsed before, loomed over him, pressed down on him. He could see Jazz's bright hair hanging off of the bed above him. He tried to call out, to warn her, to get her to run, but he couldn't speak.

He couldn't breathe-

.

When his eyes opened again, light was weakly streaming through the thick glass of the windows, making the dust in the room sparkle gold. He sat straight up, breathing hard. He was still in Jazz's room, the dresser pulled across the doorway. Why do that and then leave him here? It didn't make sense.

"What's wrong?" asked Jazz, voice deep and crackled with sleep. She yawned.

Danny told her.

"That sounds like sleep paralysis."

"Like what now?"

"Sleep paralysis," said Jazz. She yawned again. "Some people get it. They wake up, but they're still asleep and they can't move. And also they hallucinate."

"That sounds fake."

"You sound fake."

"You know what? That's fair. That's actually fair. This whole situation sounds fake, so why not add sleep paralysis to the whole thing? It's better than an actual literal demon." He took a deep breath. "What do we do now?"

Jazz licked her lips and ran a hand through her hair.

"We tell them that the GAV has been trashed, that those women were staring at you like they wanted to eat you all dinner, and that your clothes were stolen. And then I'll spell it out for them, if I have to."

"What, that this place is probably haunted or possessed and Dad's cousin is a witch?"

"No," said Jazz, making a face. "That'll probably only make them want to stay even more. That those three are probably pedophiles who stole your clothing and wrecked the GAV so we couldn't leave, and that neither of us felt safe sleeping alone. Sorry. Then we'll make them call a cab."

"No, no, that's fine. That's a better explanation than I could come up with. Let's do that. I would honestly rather stay at Vlad's than here."

"Yeah," Jazz dragged her hand through her hair again, and grimaced. "Let me get dressed, first. Do you see my brush over there?"

"No," said Danny.

Jazz looked around the room. "Actually... Where is my suitcase?"

"It was-" Danny stopped. "It was in that corner when we came in, wasn't it?"

"Yeah," said Jazz. "Okay, forget getting dressed. We're talking to Mom and Dad now." She swung out of bed and made her way to the door.

Danny phased through her, so he would reach the dresser first and easily pushed it out of the way. He stuck his head out the door, looking both ways for Cordelia and the borders.

The door to the room next to Jazz's, their parent's room, was open.

"Shoot," said Danny. He walked over. "They're not here."

"Downstairs? Maybe they went to get breakfast." Jazz emerged from the room crossing her arms over her chest.

"Maybe," said Danny. He had a bad feeling about this.

Cautiously, they made their way down the stairs and peered into the kitchen. No one was there.

"Hello, children," said Cordelia, directly behind them.

They jumped, both trying to get away and spin at the same time. Jazz clipped her elbow on the doorway and almost fell. Danny caught her and pulled her back up.

"If you are looking for your parents, you just missed them."

"What do you mean?" asked Jazz, a little more sharply than she usually would.

"I mean, they just left," said Cordelia mildly. "They took that vehicle of yours to town to go shopping. Something about not eating me out of my house. It was very kind of them."

"But the GAV was wrecked..." said Jazz, even as Danny gave a tug on her arm.

"Was it?" asked Cordelia, smiling. "It seemed fine when they left. You should get dressed, though, Jasmine, and, Daniel, are those the clothes you were wearing yesterday?"

"Our clothes are gone," said Jazz.

"You left them in your car? Well, no wonder you're looking for your parents. I think I might have some old clothes that will fit you. Come along, now." She turned.

Possibilities tumbled through Danny's head. A large part of him wanted to just grab Jazz and fly away to find their parents in town, but he estimated that there was a pretty good chance that they weren't in town, but trapped here somewhere. Jazz had apparently made that same calculation, because she was giving him the 'don't you dare use your powers' head shake.

Fine. Okay. Play along it was, then.

Cordelia lead them into a dusty ground floor room full of chests. She opened one, knocking free a number of cobwebs. "These are a little old fashioned, I'm afraid, Daniel, but it has been a while since a boy your age lived here." She handed him a small, neat stack of clothing. "And these are for you, Jasmine. I wore them when I was about your age. I grew a few inches, after that."

"Right," said Jazz, already backing away. "We'll just go... change... then. Right Danny?"

"Yeah," said Danny.

Jazz didn't speak to him until they were back upstairs. "What now?"

"Now," said Danny, "I go ghost and see if Mom and Dad are trapped in a dungeon under the house or something. If not, I take you and get the heck out of here. If they are, I rescue them, we get the heck out of here. We'll steal Cordelia's car or something."

"Not much of a plan."

"Don't kid yourself. We never have a plan. Do you want to get dressed, first, or...?"

"Pass."

"I'll have to bring you with me. I don't want to leave you alone up here while I'm searching," warned Danny.

"I know. I don't want to be alone here, either."

Danny took a breath and-

Did not go ghost. He doubled over, gasping for breath, transformation rings flickering to nothing around him as the shadows pressed inward, suffocating him. The huge fingers around his chest- The almost-human silhouette-

"Danny?" asked Jazz, alarmed, shaking his shoulder. "What's wrong? What's happening?"

"Not," wheezed Danny, "sleep paralysis."

The shadows crept up over his eyes and everything went dark.

.

When he woke up, he was wearing different clothes. Very different clothes. They were all white and loose. He wasn't sure if he should call them robes, but they had that kind of feeling. His shoes were gone. He was in his guest room, on the bed. Jazz was nowhere to be seen.

Danny should have taken his family and run as soon as he saw that not-ghost shadow. He swallowed, shaking, and clenched his fists. It was still here, watching him. He could feel it, even if he couldn't see it.

Okay. First step, get out of here.

He swung his feet off the bed. As soon as they touched the floor, something twined around his ankle and rapidly climbed up his leg. He gasped and yanked himself back, trying to free his knee from the shadow twisted around it. It held fast, firmly squeezing his thigh.

Danny growled. This wasn't the first shadow he had fought. He gathered ectoplasm in his hand and poured energy into it until it burned brighter than magnesium. The shadow retreated, and Danny scrambled to stand on the middle of the bed, ectoblast still in his fist.

"Now, now, no need for any of that."

Cordelia stood in the doorway, not the least bit surprised to see Danny wielding supernatural powers.

"Where's my family?" demanded Danny.

"Safe," said Cordelia, neutrally, "and they will continue to remain so."

Danny shifted, and the bed springs squealed. "What do you want?" he asked.

"My heritage. Come along. I will explain as we go." She turned in the doorway and looked over her shoulder. "Our shadow will not trouble you, should you follow now."

Danny clenched his jaw at the threat but gingerly climbed down from the bed and followed Cordelia across the frigid floor.

"Our last common ancestor was Elizabeth Nightingale," said Cordelia. "She was married to James Fenton. They had two children, John Fenton-Nightingale and Mary Fenton-Nightingale." She paused. "Elizabeth was knowledgeable in what would have been called witchcraft, and she was very, very good at it."

They climbed down the stairs to the first floor. All of the lights were off.

"But, as these things happen, she died. A mistake with a summoning." Cordelia turned into a long hallway Danny had missed in his earlier explorations of the house. "John and Mary were divided on how to handle her legacy. John," the name was said with anger, "decided that Elizabeth's craft, her knowledge, was evil, and decided to destroy it. He burned generations of Nightingale knowledge in a single night. When Mary tried to stop him, to salvage her mother's legacy, he tried to burn her, too. He denounced her as a witch."

"I'm sorry about that," said Danny. "I really am." After all, he knew exactly what that felt like. "But I don't see what that has to do with us. That was hundreds of years ago. A bit late for revenge, don't you think?" A sufficiently disturbed ghost wouldn't, but Cordelia was, as far as Danny could tell, human.

"This isn't about revenge," said Cordelia. "Besides, it has everything to do with you. Of the two of us, you are the one who met the man, Phantom."

"What are you talking about?"

"There's no need for you to play coy with me, young man," said Cordelia. "Why else do you think I put so much time and effort into getting you here? The magics to turn your town against your parents weren't child's play, after all." She bent and seized the corner of a rug, pulling it up and back to reveal a trap door. "Neither was calling the shadow to keep you bound." She lifted the ring handle on the trap door, pulling it open. "After you."

Danny stared down the dark hole below. There was a metal ladder, but he couldn't tell where it ended. A very faint light from somewhere to the right reflected off of some of the rungs.

"Is this where you reveal you're a cannibal?" asked Danny, unimpressed. "Is that what horror movie this is?"

Cordelia rolled her eyes. "Hardly. Although you and Jasmine refusing to eat with us last night made everything harder than it had to be."

That definitely wasn't Danny's stomach growling at the reminder that he hadn't eaten since lunchtime yesterday. "Drugged, was it?"

They stared at each other over the trap door.

"If you refuse to cooperate, we can always use Jack. Or Jasmine."

Danny's lips twitched as he held back a snarl. "Fine," he snapped, angrily climbing down, into the hole.

It turned out that the ladder wasn't terribly long after all. It descended into a basement of normal height.

That was, however, the only normal thing about the space. Far from simply being unfinished, the floor of the basement seemed to be stone. So were what little he could see of the walls. It was like the basement had been carved from one huge piece of bedrock, but that couldn't be possible. Danny didn't know, well, anything about geology, but he was pretty sure houses usually weren't built on stuff like this.

To the right, there was a small table with a single burning candle on it and two chairs, one on each side. Beyond that, Danny could make out a circle on the ground marked with chalk.

The cold feeling that had been plaguing Danny since yesterday was a hundred times stronger in this room. His core was alert, but the relief that his ghost sense usually brought just never came.

The strain was beginning to ache.

"Sit down," said Cordelia, indicating the chair closest to the chalk circle.

Danny complied, tense, and Cordelia moved the candle to one side, taking out a book and setting it on the table. The book was old and singed, the edges of the leather cover and several of the pages burnt and curled. Cordelia stroked it, reverently.

"This is all that Mary managed to salvage from the flames," she said. "Just this one book, out of so many. All that knowledge lost. Elizabeth was the last one to have it."

Danny heard movement in the dark corners of the room and turned his head to Sofia, Alison, and Morgan emerging, all of them in robes similar to his own, but in their own colors. They came close, and grabbed the back and arms of his chair.

"You asked me what I wanted. I want Elizabeth Nightingale."

A surprised laugh, almost a scoff, forced its way between Danny's lips. "Well, I'm sorry, but I don't exactly have her in my back pocket. Do these pants even have pockets?"

"You might not have her," said Cordelia, annoyance creeping into her otherwise level tone, "but you can get her. Bring her back from beyond."

"Uh, not sure what's in your book, but, contrary to popular belief, not all dead people know each other. She might not even be a ghost. She might have moved on."

"She hasn't," said Cordelia, almost smiling. "Not with the summoning she was doing. We are going to send you to her, and you are going to bring her back." She tilted her head to one side. "We could do this with any blood relative. The original plan was to use Jack, but your condition makes you so much more open to this kind of thing. Your chances of success are much higher."

Danny crossed his arms. "And if I don't succeed, you'll make Dad and Jazz try."

"That's right."

"Why don't you do it?" asked Danny. "You're a blood relative, aren't you?"

"Sadly, the ritual requires four people."

"Yeah, that's the only reason, huh?" said Danny, because he liked to antagonize people he couldn't strike back against in other ways, and also because he was an idiot.

"As I said, we can always use one of the others if you do not cooperate."

"And you'll let us all go if I do?"

"If you bring back Elizabeth, yes."

"Fine," said Danny. "What do I need to do?"

"Very little," said Cordelia. "Give me your hand. Your right hand."

Reluctantly, Danny held out his hand. Cordelia took it and wrapped a thin, white cord around it.

"That will lead you to her."

"I thought you were sending me to her," said Danny.

"You won't be in exactly the same spot," said Cordelia.

Then she whipped a knife out from under the table and sliced deeply into Danny's hand. He pushed back, away, holding his bleeding hand close to his chest. The only reason the chair didn't tip back was because the other three witches were holding on to it.

"Go stand in the circle," ordered Cordelia.

In a fit of pique, Danny phased backwards through the three women holding the chair, not bothering to wait for them to move away to let him go. The shadow pushed uncomfortably against his shoulders, but did not otherwise protest.

The circle was simple, no runes or symbols, just a single line of white chalk on the dark stone. Danny stared at it for a long moment, before stepping over it and standing at the center, his elbow dripping blood as it ran down his arm from his hand.

"Alright, girls, you know what we need to do," said Cordelia.

.

Danny stood in a field of washed-out red grass. Overhead, the sky billowed with rolling, boiling gray clouds. They seemed too close. The air smelled of smoke. The horizon was blurred and warped, as if Danny were looking at it through thick, wavy glass, or as if in a dream.

This wasn't the Ghost Zone.

He took a deep breath, the smoke washing through him. Okay. He was here. Now he needed to find Elizabeth Nightingale.

He looked down at his hand. The white cord had been turned red with his blood, and it had grown longer, reaching back over his shoulder.

"Eat your hear out, Ariadne," muttered Danny. He looked over his shoulder.

A forest was on fire.

The tall, straight, slender trees burned from their tops, like candles. Their trunks were bare, entirely free of leaves, needles, or branches. Danny should have felt the heat, even at this distance. He didn't.

The bloody cord led between the trees.

"Right," muttered Danny, "because nothing can be easy."

Resigned, he started walking towards the trees and discovered that the 'grass' on the ground actually consisted of thin-walled ceramic-like tubes. Fragile ceramic tubes. The ones he stepped on shattered and cut into his bare feet. He hissed, resisting the urge to hop around and get even more shards stuck into him. The bottoms of his feet felt wet and hot. He tried to phase the shards out and couldn't.

"Is this hell?" asked Danny, aloud. "This has to be hell. Ancients."

He couldn't feel the shadow near him anymore, but that didn't mean it wasn't there. Despite the 'grass,' he hesitated to try and go ghost to fly over it. He didn't want to pass out onto the tubes and break them even more. He didn't want those shards in his face or hands.

The squelching of his blood as he shifted his weight decided it for him. He couldn't walk over all of this.

He sent one last look around him for the shadow and summoned his rings. He was relieved when they flowed smoothly over him, transforming him into a ghost, into Phantom.

His normal hazmat suit did not appear, however. Instead, the white robes he had been dressed in turned black. Danny frowned at this. He was not a fan. He wanted his hazmat back.

Whatever. There were more important things to focus on. For example, both his blood and the cord had turned a lurid, ectoplasmic green. Much easier to see against the red-hued backdrop of this world.

He lifted up off the ground and flew on, occasionally pausing to pull shards out of his feet. His accelerated healing made the wounds scab over quickly. The cut on his hand, however, continued to bleed freely. This was beginning to concern him. He didn't have an infinite supply of blood. Or ectoplasm. Whatever.

As he approached the burning forest, he expected to start feeling heat, but even when he was right at the treeline, hovering midway up the impossibly tall, thin tree trunks, he couldn't feel anything. It wasn't hot. It wasn't cold. The smoke didn't smell any stronger.

Even so, he knew fire didn't have to be hot to burn. Fire was a chemical reaction, and Danny had no intention of being one of the reactants.

That was, if this place obeyed anything like normal physical laws. Since the trees hadn't actually burned down at all, the fire staying at the same height, he had to conclude that they didn't.

Still. He was going to stay away from the fire. Briefly, he considered flying over the forest, but the cord angled ever so slightly down, and he didn't know how the cord would fare trailing through the fire. Nothing the witches had said made him think it was indestructible.

He flew under the fires. It was bright underneath the trees, in a sort of inverse of a real forest. Bright, dry, and somehow brittle. Danny flew cautiously. This might nor be the Ghost Zone, but he didn't trust it not to have carnivorous landscape features, and even Earthly forests had their dangers. Lions and tigers and bears.

Oh my.

The angle on the cord began to point down more sharply. Danny was getting closer. The forest was also becoming stranger. The tree trunks bled, and glowing eight-legged flies licked at the ichor. Flowers of sickly fire bloomed from the ground in intricate geometric patterns.

Then, amid the burning brightness, Danny saw a house. A big house. A castle, even, its sides built into the burning trees, its pennants alight with flame, smaller fires moving, no, patrolling the battlements.

Danny quickly went invisible. He had a horrible suspicion that Elizabeth would be in the dungeons of that castle. The cord was going to make him hilariously easy to see, not to mention that he was still dripping blood. This was going to suck so much.

But as Danny approached, the fire creatures did not appear to have noticed the cord at all. Some of them even passed through it without slowing down.

Okay. So, as shocking as it was, Danny had actually caught a break.

Slowly, relying on the fire creatures to open the doors, Danny made his way through the castle and down. Down. Down.

The walls down here glowed, as if with heat, but it was a dull, old, tired glow. A rosy cherry color that burned Danny's eyes and made his head pound. Doors in the walls were made of wood that burned from the inside, veins of embers streaking their surface. The bars set in them glowed white-orange.

The green cord snaked across the floor and wove in between the bars of one of these doors.

Danny stopped. He was quite sure Elizabeth was behind that door. But...

Was freeing her the right thing to do? He had gotten the impression that she was dangerous. At least as dangerous as those witches. Even to save his family, should he set someone like that loose on the world?

But Danny had made this decision and all decisions like it the moment he died in the portal. That was the essence of an Obsession.

Besides. Elizabeth was family, too.

He held out his hands, letting frost form on his fingers and palms and pressed them against the door. Once again, he wondered why he couldn't feel any heat. He should. His ice should at least be registering the pressure, the power drain, of something trying to melt it. It didn't.

Ice spread over the door, extinguishing the light and making the metal creak. Feathery tendrils wound up the bars and encased the hinges. The wood began to fall into ash, as if the fire had been the only thing holding it together, and the bars clattered to the ground.

The inside of the cell was incandescent white. The only dark spot was a huddled, burnt black figure in the corner. The cord let straight to it.

Danny, very emphatically, did not want to go into that room. He hovered at the threshold.

"Elizabeth Nightingale?" he called, softly. If the falling bars hadn't alerted the fire creatures to his presence, he wasn't going to ruin that luck by speaking too loud. "Elizabeth?"

The figure abruptly lurched sideways and fell. Danny flinched. Bit by bit, the figure clawed their way towards the door, dragging itself onward.

Danny could hardly bring himself to watch. Part of him wanted to help. Part of him wanted to run far, far away and never come back.

But, at last, the ruined and horrible body made it to the threshold. It reached up with a claw-like hand and grasped Danny's ankle. He cringed at the feeling of the flaking burnt flesh, but didn't try to shake off the hand. He bent slightly, unsure if he should try to help the figure up.

"You," rasped the figure, ash falling from its jaw, "not from here."

"Um," said Danny. "No. I'm not."

The figure began to pull itself up. As it did so, it sort of began to piece itself back together. Danny had seen similar things before, with ghosts returning to their base form, healing, after an unusually devastating attack. Usually, though, it was slower and usually-

Danny abruptly pulled away. Usually ghosts who were doing that were draining his energy to do it. He glared.

"One of mine?" asked the figure, that was now decidedly feminine. It finally drew itself to its knees. Her knees. "One of my," she coughed, "grandchildren?"

"I'm a descendant of yours, I guess," said Danny, cautiously. He wasn't quite pressed up against the far wall, but he was close.

"You came for me," she said. Her voice was still too rough and dry for Danny to detect any emotion in it.

"I was sent," said Danny, flatly. "If I pick you up, are you going to start draining me again?"

She didn't respond for a long time. "No," she said, finally.

"Great," said Danny. "Let's go."

Elizabeth wasn't hard to carry. She wasn't much larger than Jazz, and he flew her around all the time. The problem was, he couldn't seem to extend his invisibility to her. Any power he sent to cover her was simply absorbed.

"Okay," he said, finally. "We'll just have to be fast, then." Mentally, he began to map out the path he would have to take, and how many doors he would have to blow down. It made for a discouraging picture.

"They can't harm you," croaked Elizabeth.

"What?"

"Pure soul. They can't harm you." She reached up to trace his chin and cheek with her still-charred fingers. "You don't feel the heat. You can't. You can't be harmed."

"Uh. Yeah. I don't think that's how it works. I stepped on some sharp stuff when I first got here, and, let me tell you, it hurt."

"The fires can't burn you. Sending you was clever." Elizabeth seemed to have exhausted herself at that; her hand fell back into her lap.

Right. Well. Whatever. The fires hadn't burnt him yet, but he had stayed well away from them. He was going to continue to do so.

He took a deep breath and flew out of the dungeons as quickly as he could. As expected, the fire creatures spotted him quickly, and they began to shout and shriek in a language Danny couldn't even begin to understand.

They also threw fireballs. And fire spears. And fire chains. Just, a lot of things made out of fire.

It was a good thing Danny had ice powers. Otherwise he would have had a hard time combating all this. A few fireballs passed far too close to his head for comfort. His ice also seemed to be unusually effective on doors.

Finally, Danny was able to get above ground, and, no longer constrained to follow the cord around his wrist, he escaped through a window. He spiraled up, almost high enough to hit the underside of the flames licking at the trees, and then dove away.

"So," he said, "what now?"

"You don't know?" Elizabeth looked a lot better now. Almost human.

"I wasn't given a whole lot of information when they coerced me into doing this. They just said to follow the cord to you, and I did that." Speaking of which, what had happened to the cord? It had just vanished, without Danny even noticing. "I was half-expecting to just get zapped back the moment I found you."

"Coerced?"

"They said they'd make my dad or my sister do this, if I didn't, and they can't fly."

"They're alive."

"Yeah."

There was something like a frown on Elizabeth's face. "They shouldn't have done that."

"Yeah. You don't have to tell me that." More shrieks were approaching from the direction of the castle. "They did this with one of your books. Please tell me you know how to get out of here."

Elizabeth licked her lips. Her tongue was pink. "We go out where you came in," she said.

Danny looked at the trees around him. He only knew where the castle was because of the noises coming from that direction. Otherwise, everything looked the same in every direction. He was pretty sure that even if he went back to the castle, he wouldn't be able to tell which direction he had approached it from, and after that...

They were screwed.

"Follow the blood," said Elizabeth.

It was better than nothing, Danny supposed. His green blood did stand out against the red, but he's been high in the air when he shed it. Following that trail was going to suck, and it still required going back to the castle and avoiding all the fire creatures.

Some of this must have shown on his face, because Elizabeth said, "Not like that, boy, look." She pointed to the small puddle of ectoplasm that had dripped from his hand while they had been talking.

Flowers and vines were growing from it. Ghostly green and blue flowers and vines. As he watched, the vines grew longer, the flowers opened wider.

"Oh," Danny said. "I guess that makes things easier."

.

Easier was, of course, a relative term. Was following the trail left by ghostly plants growing out of Danny's blood easier than stumbling blindly around the burning forest? Yes. Was it easy? No. No it was not. Especially not with the fire creatures hunting them through the trees and how far apart the blood spatters could be.

Still. Danny was able to follow the trail for an hour before the fire creatures caught up to him.

When they did, they seemed almost, confused. They didn't attack. It was like they were waiting for something.

Danny would have run, but he was worried that he'd lose the trail if he tried to do that, and he didn't think he'd be able to find it again. He and the fire creatures stared each other down. Every few seconds, one of them would make a noise and another would answer.

Rapidly, Danny was becoming surrounded. He would have to make his move soon. He really didn't want to lose the trail, but he didn't think he could win this fight.

Too many enemies. Too much fire. Maybe if he flew straight up, he-

The fire creatures attacked. Danny ducked, wove, and conjured shields of ice and ectoenergy, but there was a limit to what he could do against this many attackers, especially while carrying Elizabeth.

He saw a ball of fire coming that he couldn't dodge and instinctively twisted to spare Elizabeth.

It splashed against him harmlessly.

Everything stopped. The fire creatures froze, even their flames going still, as though they were videos that had been paused. One began to wail, and then they all fled, disappearing into the brightness of the forest.

"A pure soul," said Elizabeth again. She patted his shoulder. Her skin was a burnt red, now. Her eyes were as blue as his were when he was human. Her frown was deeper, more obvious. "It was clever to send you... but they shouldn't have."

"Sure," said Danny, a little surprised. He scanned the trees, trying to see if any of the fire creatures were waiting in ambush. Seeing none, he continued.

.

They reached the field of tubes, and Danny followed his blood trail back to where he had lacerated his feet.

"Now what," he said.

"Land," said Elizabeth.

Danny grimaced, remembering what had happened to his feet the last time he had tried to walk here. He landed carefully on what looked like the thickest part of the vine growing from his blood-

-and was abruptly back in the chalk circle in Cordelia's basement.

The shadow pounced on him. Unprepared, Danny dropped Elizabeth and fell. Pain sparkled along his limbs as the shadow pulled at his ghost form. It was too much. The lack of sleep, the hunger, the stress, the energy he had spent finding Elizabeth and bringing her back, the blood loss and pain from the wound in his hand, his inability to protect his family, and now this attack. He curled up, trying to protect his head and hand, and abandoned his ghost form.

"Stop this at once!"

"Grandmother, I-"

"Call off this shadow."

A beat. "Very well." The shadow stopped its assault, and Danny stumbled up and out of the circle, scuffing the lines beyond all recognition. Cordelia and Elizabeth were the only women standing. The boarders were all kneeling, faces hidden.

"Grandmother, many times great grandmother, I greet you. I am Cordelia, the last descendant of your daughter, Mary, and I have labored long to bring you back to this world, so that your works will not be lost."

Elizabeth, Danny noted, was standing very straight, her skin sunburn-pink in all but a few places, her arms crossed over the burnt rags of what might have once been a shirt. She did not look pleased.

"So my works won't be lost," repeated Elizabeth.

"Your son betrayed you," said Cordelia. "He burned all your books, all your magics. This is all that survived." Cordelia held up the singed book.

Elizabeth pressed her eyelids together briefly. "And so, you forced your cousin, a child, into that place after me, rather than coming on your own?"

"There was no choice-"

"There is always a choice," said Elizabeth, cutting her off with a sharp gesture. "Better that book should have burned as well, and I was imprisoned forever. You were lucky in my captors. Others would have delighted in taking a pure soul as an ornament for their court, even if they couldn't have harmed him."

"You can't mean that-"

"I do. Is it true you have imprisoned the other members of this boy's family?"

"He would never have agreed, otherwise. Please, this is all we have left of our heritage. We need you. This was all necessary. I beg of you, teach us."

Danny began to back away, to the ladder. Maybe if he got out fast enough, he could trap them in the basement and look for Jazz and his parents.

"Do you know how I wound up there? In that place?" asked Elizabeth. "I went too far, and I ignored the rules. What's your name?"

"Cordelia."

"Cordelia. Cordelia Nightingale-Fenton?"

"Just Nightingale."

"I begin to see," said Elizabeth.

Danny was almost to the ladder. Maybe he could tap into his ghost powers a little bit and float up, quietly.

"If you had come to get me yourself, if you had even asked him-" Elizabeth gestured to where Danny had been. Both women did a double-take, and then their eyes traced up to where Danny currently was.

"What are you doing?" hissed Cordelia. This was the first time Danny had seen her visibly angry.

"Stop," said Elizabeth, grabbing Cordelia's shoulder. "What is your name, boy?"

"It's Daniel Fenton," said Cordelia, when Danny didn't answer.

Elizabeth considered Danny for a moment. "Go to your family, Daniel. Whatever curses or enchantments Cordelia cast on them should be lifted. Including that hate curse." She ran her fingers down Cordelia's arm. "Why on earth did you cast that?" Her eyes flicked back up. "Expect to receive my correspondence, Daniel Fenton."

.

Danny found Jazz and his parents in the attic. Their luggage was there, too, and Danny and Jazz's missing clothing. Maddie's cell phone was going off. Danny ignored it. He started shaking them. Slowly, they came awake.

"Danny?" said Jazz. She scrubbed at her eyes. "Ugh, what's that sound?"

"Mom's phone is going off."

"What?" said Maddie, groggily. "My phone?" She fumbled at her pocket. "Yes, what is it? Yes, this is Doctor Fenton. What? Well," this last word was a bit snide. "It's about time. We'll be there before the end of the day." She snapped the phone closed. "Jack, sweetheart, wake up, we're going back home. All the charges against us have been dropped, and they want us to look into a ghost attack. Apparently, Phantom didn't show up. As we knew he wouldn't."

"Huh? Ghost? Where?"

"In Amity Park, Jack."

"In Amity Park! Alright!" said Jack, jumping to his feet, and grabbing most of the luggage. "I knew they wouldn't last two days without us! Let's go, kids!"

He ran down the stairs. Maddie took a moment to look around, pursing her lips. "How did we get up here?" she asked. She shook her head, dismissing the question. "Do either of you kids know where Cordelia is?"

"She went out," said Danny. "To town. She won't be back 'til later."

"We'll have to leave a note, then. You two should get dressed before we go, or you'll have to try and do it in the GAV bathroom."

"So what really happened?" asked Jazz, after Maddie went down the stairs.

"Long story," said Danny, throwing on a pair of jeans, "and we really do need to leave. Fast." He took his luggage and rushed down the stairs.

.

Danny watched Cordelia's house shrink in the rear-view mirror of the GAV, right up until it shimmered out of existence like a mirage. He clenched his teeth. He had seen worse.

He turned in his seat and put his hands in his pockets, intending to brood over what had happened, but his hand encountered a stiff piece of paper that had definitely, absolutely, not been there before. Well. Elizabeth had said to expect her correspondence.

He pulled a crisp white envelope out of his pocket. On the front, in spidery cursive, was his name. He turned it over. On the back flap was written the name Elizabeth NF.

She was family. Distantly. He put his thumb under the back flap, and began to open the letter.

[ladylore97]

SU FF Deleted Scene: Making Amends, Chapter 11

Words: 2790 (it was a long one to cut!) Summary: Steven and Spinel are established friends. Steven invites Spinel to stay over and have a slumber party. Spinel has a nightmare and Steven comforts her.  Warnings: Panic attack, nightmares.  Ships: One-sided Stevinel(?). Spinel has a big fat crush on Steven, and Steven is in a happy relationship with Connie. Nothing that deviates from canon other than the fact that they are close friends. 

You can read the full story on AO3 or on FF.net

(I literally don’t remember what dialogue I took out before this but basically it’s getting late and Steven and Spinel are deciding what to do)

“You can take the pad upstairs back to Homeworld if you want. Or you can spend the night. I won’t be doing much, though. Humans have to sleep for about eight hours every day to recharge. If we don’t we get really slow and cranky and could even get sick.” Eight hours every day? That sounded inconvenient.

“What’s sleep?”

“Oh, it’s when you close your eyes and get comfy and let your brain shut off for a bit.”

“Oh! I did that sometimes. Never that long, though.” Not until after the initial 3,000 years, when Spinel dared to occupy herself with any activity that would hurt her chances of hearing that desired sound of a warp pad activating. She had learned to be the lightest of resters, closing her eyes for only a few minutes, ears vigilantly trained to hear even the slightest sound from the warp pad.

“You can try it if you want, and if you don’t like it you can use the warp to go back home or hang out in Little Homeworld or whatever you want to do while I sleep.”

“I’ll…try it,”she said after a moment of thought, “Yeah, who knows? It might be fun.” Steven beamed, and her doubts were instantaneously lifted.

“Alright, slumber party! I’ll get out a sleeping bag.” She followed him around the house with an air of excitement, nervously anticipating a different experience with rest than the one she had before. With the comfort of Steven in the room and nothing to vigilantly listen for, nothing to keep her from snapping back awake, maybe Spinel would actually enjoy sleeping.

“Here you go! I even found my old cuddle buddy for you – M.C. Bear Bear! He was a favorite back in the day,”he said, proudly handing her a stuffed….well, Spinel didn’t quite know what it was. But it was soft in her hand, and the fact that it was a treasured object of Steven’s made her smile. She held it against her chest while Steven arranged her pillows, privately taking a moment to inhale its scent. It smelled distinctly of Steven mixed with the must of dust.

“All set! First time sleepers, get comfy and warm under the blankets, close your eyes and try to think of nothing. Or count backwards from 100. Math always tires me out.” Spinel did as he suggested and apprehensively watched him climb into his own bed, then she laid down on the sleeping bag on the floor. She laid her head on the pillow the way he did, curling her body toward Steven’s bed and holding his bear tightly against her, her nose buried into the back of its head.

“I’m going to go to sleep now. If you can’t or wake up before me, you’re welcome to get up and do whatever you want. Just try to be quiet if you can. Night, Spinel.”

“Good night…” She listened intently, curiously waiting for a sign that would tell her what to expect from sleeping. She found it when Steven’s breathing began to even out and he had stopped moving as much. Spinel let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, realizing it was her turn. Closing her eyes, she tried to get comfortable. The room was dark, like the garden had been, but she wasn’t alone this time. There was nothing to fear here, she reminded herself. Nothing she had to stay awake for. Nothing she had to force her eyes open to see. Steven was here, and she could rest.

Spinel didn’t realize she had slipped into sleep until she was met by a vision entirely different than the floor of Steven’s room. She was back in the garden, her feet tethered to the ground by familiar vines and grassy debris. A beam of light ahead of her made Spinel’s gem feel like it had leapt out of her chest.

Pink Diamond walked slowly toward her, the frown on her face deep and impossible to ignore.

“You couldn’t do it, could you? You couldn’t even do one simply thing for me. Even though they were such easy rules.”

“Pink! I’ve stood still this whole time, just like you said. I-I’ve been good, I promise I have!” The elation of finally seeing her friend’s face was drowned out by the sudden terror that seized her. Pink was looking at her with such disappointment.

“You lost, Spinel. And now…” The stars in the sky began to blink out, one by one, until it was just Spinel and Pink, swallowed by darkness. From the dark, a pink shape emerged, larger and larger until Spinel’s injector filled her vision, its sheathed base hovering threateningly above her.

“…I don’t need this garden any more than I need you.”

“Pink…” Her diamond turned, and Spinel was helpless to run after her as the vines around her legs tightened their grip. The injector rotated above her, its drill head emerging and taking aim, but Spinel hardly noticed it. For all her power, she suddenly couldn’t stretch, couldn’t speak, couldn’t do anything but watch Pink walk back to the warp pad. Her hands remained locked tight in the position she had waited in, impossible to move.

“PINK!”she screamed, but nothing came out, and the injector made its mark. Spinel sat up with a start, her face already streaked with tears as she looked around Steven’s room. A choked sob burst from her throat before she could slap her hand over her mouth, remembering too late that she needed to be quiet to let Steven sleep. Steven stirred slightly from his place in his bed.

“Spinel? Spinel, are you okay?” Spinel couldn’t move, her hands tightly pressed against her mouth, silent and speechless as she was in her dream. A dim light illuminated the room next to them as Steven reached for his salt lamp in the dark. But she couldn’t move, couldn’t turn her head to see the surprise on his face.

“Spinel! What happened?” She didn’t answer. She couldn’t answer. The very particles in the air around her seemed to have frozen, sound suspended, time stopped.

“…Did you have a bad dream?” Steven’s voice was drifting, muddled and distant, as if he was speaking underwater. She clung to it, faint as it was. A dream? What was he talking about?

“…I can’t move,”she whispered, so softly he barely heard her over the muffle of her hand over her mouth.

“You can move now. It was just a dream, Spinel.” She could barely hear him. Her legs felt like lead, too heavy to lift, a permanent fixture to the floor. Fear flooded her as she wondered if this was just part of Pink’s punishment, to keep her from moving forever, trapped in one place for all eternity.

“I-I can’t move,”she repeated, voicing the only piece of truth in her otherwise disorienting world. Her vision swam, the world veiled in distortion as tears burned her eyes. Though she couldn’t see, she could feel someone’s hands, big and warm, coming up to gently tug her hands away from her mouth. His voice sounded far, far away, as inaccessible as the warp pad had been, even though both Steven and the portal were right in front of her.

“…-ome on, that’s it. It’s okay, Spinel. Just look at me and breathe.” Except she couldn’t. She couldn’t move, couldn’t see or hear Steven, and the more she tried, the more she panicked. Vaguely she registered a firm warmth wrapping around her, and a faint voice whispering in her ear. Tears streamed down her face as she focused on that voice – the only sound that felt remotely real.

“It’s okay, I’m here,”it was saying, “Just breathe in and out with me. I’ll count.” And then she heard numbers. Yes, she could focus on numbers. Numbers were familiar – a counting game she knew well how to play. She let the voice count for her, squeezing her eyes shut to anything else, letting its warmth and deep cadences gently relax her. It didn’t matter what the voice was saying. It didn’t matter if she had to wait a little longer, she tried to tell herself. Do what you did countless nights when the worry and the fear became too much. Just count. Count until you forget your place, and then start again. Nothing else matters except for the next number. Forget your worries, forget your sadness. Just count. Spinel closed her eyes and focused.

She had lost count of what number she had ended up on when she realized the warmth she had felt was Steven holding her. The voice, she finally recognized, was Steven’s, still gently whispering soothing assurances to her. Other sensations began to register as well – the fact that she had been crying, the wetness on his shoulder where her cheek rested, the tightness in her hands as she clenched fistfuls of his pajama shirt. He must have sensed that something in her had shifted, because he gently released her to lean back and look at her. Her tears welled and spilled over, freeing her vision to see Steven’s concerned face. Steven’s eyes, reflecting hers. Steven’s hands, holding hers. It was the most welcome sight in the world, she thought with a shaking sigh of relief. Suddenly it didn’t seem to matter where she was, or whether she was stuck in it or not. If Steven was here, she would be okay.

“…There you are,”he sighed with relief, gently cupping her face with his hand. The gesture was too much in her sensitive state - so painfully sweet, and so undeserved for such a wreck like her. Her welled-up tears spilled over onto already damp cheeks as she leaned into his hand, a soft whimper escaping her throat before she could stop it. He was too good, much too good for her. He deserved so much more than his mother’s hand-me-down broken toy, and yet… Her fingers had curled around his without realizing, anchoring her worthless, unwanted self to him, as if she had any right. With a half-broken sob she fell face forward into his chest, the silk of his pajamas soaking up her tears and her arms instinctually wrapping tightly around him.

“I’m sorry,”she sobbed, though of what, she couldn’t say. There was simply too much to be sorry for. For being such a fool, for being so forgettable, for being such a mess and a bother – he could take his pick. His arms came around her regardless, encasing her in his warmth.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, you just had a little panic attack. You’re okay. Whatever you saw when you were sleeping, it’s not real. They’re just pictures in your head when you sleep.”

“You didn’t tell me that could happen,”she accused, her fingers clenching tightly around the fabric of his pajamas. She felt his hand gently touch the back of her head.

“I know, I’m sorry. I didn’t think your first dream would be a nightmare.”

“I d-don’t wanna ever d-do that again,”she sobbed, hiding her face in his shoulder. Steven held her against him, tiredly petting her hair as she sobbed, her arms coiling tighter around him of their own volition.

“You don’t have to. You’re safe now.”

“She was so angry and disappointed with me,”she blurted out without thinking, “She wanted me shattered.” Steven squeezed her tighter, knowing full well who she was talking about.

“She’s not here anymore. It’s just us, now.” Spinel’s arms made another loop around his shoulders.

“I don’t want to go home. I don’t want to be anywhere she touched right now.” Steven thought for a moment. Tired as he was, even he knew Spinel wasn’t in any state to wait quietly in the dark for him to sleep, and he wasn’t in any state to pull an all-nighter staying up with her.

Exhaustion smashed any reservations. “Just stay here tonight. You can stay by me until I wake up. You don’t have to sleep if you don’t want to.” Spinel slowly sat up to look at him, her eyes still wet and glassy.

“You won’t leave?”

“Of course not. I promise, I’ll stay right here with you.” He patted the space above them, motioning for her to join him at the edge of the bed. It took a long while until she was calm enough to move, but when she did she followed him onto his bed, looking apprehensive as he resumed his position laying down, their hands still tightly connected. He looked over to see she hadn’t moved to lie down yet, staring at him with glassy, frightened eyes.

“What’s wrong? You look scared.”

“Are you going to leave to a different place when you start dreaming?” Steven yawned, too tired for the philosophical implications of the question. He motioned for her other hand and gently guided her down to his side.

“Nobody disappears, Spinel. Dreams are just stories projected in your head. My body won’t move if I start dreaming, so I’ll be right here.” His answer didn’t seem to ease Spinel’s nerves. Steven could feel the pull of sleep weighing on him, heavy and thick.

“If you’re worried I’ll move, you can hold my hand while I sleep.”

“You won’t let go?”

“I won’t let go,”he promised, “Just, don’t talk too much, okay? I can’t talk and sleep at the same time.”

“…Okay,”she answered, her voice dropping down to a whisper as she stretched her hand to gently clasp his. In a matter of seconds his hand had gone limp in hers, but still she held on. His hand fit nicely in hers, large and warm and soft. Calloused fingertips, rough from years of playing guitar, gently curled around her gloved hand, a safe anchor in her otherwise tumultuous storm. She was safe here. She was safe with Steven.

Slowly she laid her head down on the bed, watching him studiously in the dim light of the stars from the window. His chest rose and fell evenly with each breath, hypnotic and calming. The sound was the only noise permeating the otherwise perfect quiet left behind by Spinel’s previous crying. Spinel couldn’t help but close her eyes and savor the sound - soothing, repetitive, grounding. The peace she felt laying by Steven was in such stark contrast to the panic just moments ago.

“You’re still shaking,”his voice cut through the silence, soft and sleepy. Shame filled her – she couldn’t even hold his hand without keeping him awake.

“M’sorry! I was starting to calm down a little, I promise. I’ll be quiet for you.” A beat of silence as Steven seemed to register what she said at half the normal processing speed. Then sluggishly he extended an arm to her, lazily wiggling his fingers to beckon her closer. She took the invitation with tentative surprise, scooting closer to the boy nodding off until they were just barely touching. Her figurative heart lurched a little as his arm came around her, cacooning her in a loose embrace.

“Better?”he mumbled, barely awake. She felt her cheeks flush at their proximity, all thoughts of fear and insecurity wiped from her mind instantaneously and replaced with the single all-consuming though: Steven is holding me.

“Y-yes,”Spinel stammered. She was surrounded on all sides by a comforting warmth that could only be Steven’s body heat. His arm around her back, his body protecting her front, there was nothing that could touch Spinel here. With nowhere else to put it, her free hand tentatively rested against his chest.

Daring herself to try to relax despite being wide awake now, Spinel allowed her head to very slowly lower onto Steven’s shoulder, her eyes never leaving her now sleeping companion. Absently her thumb stroked the back of the hand that was resting around her waist, attempting to calm herself with the simple grounding gesture, even though her senses felt on fire. It didn’t take long for her previous terror to melt away into something softer.

There was a stillness in sleep unmatched by any quiet Spinel had experienced before, even in the garden. She couldn’t help but stare, taking in the sight of her most important friend in the universe, trusting her to be so close to him at his most vulnerable. How many people got to see this – this total surrender and trust to someone when he was completely defenseless? Spinel hardly felt worthy of it – no, she knew she wasn’t worthy of it. And yet Steven gave it nonetheless, comforting her as best he could simply because he could. Her hand tightened around his instinctually, her thumb gently brushing over large, warm fingers. He was so kind, so good. She dared to lean in closer to allow their foreheads to touch, breathing in his warmth, his patience. She felt so safe, like the wounds of the past simply didn’t matter here. 

(the ending is the same as in the full chapter, maybe go read it wink wink ;)

[sortasirius]

Destiel Kissing Prompt!! In a bar, because need, if you like?

Hellllllll yeah!!  This one is a little ~steamy~ just so everyone knows lol

Hope you like :)

Words: 975 (one day I’ll calm down but probably not anytime soon)

Castiel had never been able to appreciate how truly drunk you could get until he was fully human.  It had taken an entire liquor store once, all those years ago, and that had barely done the trick, he was still at least semi functional.  But now, without his grace, without his wings, he was smashed off of four shots of tequila (with lime, Dean insisted) and three beers.

It’s Dean’s birthday, still frigidly cold in Kansas, and Dean wanted nothing more than to go out and get trashed, eat obscenely greasy burgers, and talk about how “fucking old I am.”  He insists that Sam drive them home, and Sam rolls his eyes basically into the next week.

“Fine, but only because it’s your birthday.”

Cas isn’t sure what that means, but if it means he gets to see Dean smile that wide and radiant smile for the rest of the evening, he wasn’t going to ask too many questions.

He was always amazed that, though they lived in a relatively small town in Kansas, the bar was almost always packed.  Usually with drifters, motorcyclists criss-crossing the country, truckers pulling in for a hot meal before getting on the road, the locals that would never miss a happy hour on Thursday nights, but there was almost always more than a smattering of people there, filling the dusty space with laughter and smoke and the smell of beer and liquor and food.  A distinctly human pleasure, something that Cas had never been able to revel in before.

The evening had progressed quickly, Dean ordered a round of shots the second that they found a table, taking Sam’s for him since “you’re driving and you aren’t gonna wreck that car.”

The burgers and fries help with the haze that’s coming over Cas’ mind, but all the same, he’s feeling a little freer with two shots and a beer and a half under his belt.  Dean is loud, boisterous, more relaxed than Cas had seen him in months.  His arm is slung around the back of Cas’ chair, and he’s telling a story of a hunt that he had told around a hundred times before, and Sam’s eyes have completely glazed over.  Cas is noticing the tips of his fingers are feeling like there’s electricity at the end of them, and his face his warmer than normal.

Is Cas imagining things, or is Dean sitting a little closer to him than normal?  Is he imagining Dean’s fingers ghosting across his knee when they take their third round of shots?  Is he imagining a shadow behind his smile, a shadow that’s asking for something that Cas desperately wanted to give?

“It’s too loud in here, I’m going to call Eileen,” Sam pushes back from his chair looking at them with something that Cas can’t quite determine, but Dean’s ears turn red.

“Going to Facetime Eileen?  Tell her we say hi.”

Sam just rolls his eyes and heads out the door, throwing another look at Dean before the door swings shut behind him.  Cas thinks his emotion sensors must be broken, he’s usually much better at reading people than this.  It must be the alcohol.  

“You wanna play pool?”

Dean’s voice is like molasses, he sounds a little more southern than usual.  It certainly didn’t bother Cas.  Cas simply nods, and Dean leads him over to the back of the bar, where it’s dark and smoky and somehow a little quieter.

Cas leans against the wall as Dean sets up the game. His fingers are still tingly, but upon inspection, he can’t see anything wrong with them.

“Why’re you staring at your fingers, Cas?”

Dean’s voice is practically in his ear, and they’re literally inches apart.  Dean had once told him to respect personal space, but it seemed that that was out the window, not that he was complaining.  

“Cas,” Dean whispers, and Cas feels so warm and heavy and is slinging his body across Dean’s, letting his fingers, drag across Dean’s chest, “Cas Cas Cas Cas.”

They’ve somehow ended up in a dark secluded corner of the bar, somehow where no one else was looking, somehow Dean’s hands were under Cas’ t shirt, somehow their noses were bumping together, somehow Cas’ hands were in Dean’s hair.

His heart is beating like he’s run a marathon.  Dean always seemed to elicit that kind of response in him, even when he was an angel.

“Dean,” he gasps, the weight of the ebb and flow, of they will they, won’t they becoming too much for him.  He just needed it to happen, for one of them to take the initiative.

The kiss is needy, desperate, like both of them need it to breathe.  Their chests are pressed flush together and Cas can taste the sharp sting of whiskey and tequila on Dean’s tongue.  It’s intoxicating, forget the liquor, the very feel of Dean, the way he sighs into Cas’ mouth, it’s enough to get any angel drunk.

Dean’s the one to break the kiss, and Cas instantly wants more, because Dean’s lips are pink and he’s all flushed and so tempting that it’s something Cas is completely unprepared for.

“Come on,” Dean’s voice is rougher and lower than usual, “Let’s go home.”

“Dean,” it’s a mix between a whine and a whisper, Cas is not used to feeling this needy.

“If we don’t leave now we’ll get banned, and this is the only good bar in town.  Let’s go home.”

There’s an edge, a promise to his voice that is a little dark, and a little more than Cas can bear.  He’s a little less drunk on alcohol and a little more drunk on Dean, and when they get back to the bunker, Cas wastes next to no time sneaking from the kitchen to Dean’s room, and closing the door quietly behind him.

Link to OG post

Prompt me up!

[ajokeformur-ray]

Keep these times like a photograph // Rosie x Patrick x J

This is a personalised gift to @loveletterstoledger​; you’re such a sweet and kind person and I just want to give back to you. I truly hope that you enjoy this, and please don’t hesitate to tell me otherwise so that I can write you something else. I’m thinking of you and wishing you well! <333 ILY <3

Summary: It’s late at night and you’re unwinding for the evening in bed with your Patrick. He clings like the koala he is. J’s out in the city doing who knows what, but when he comes home and finds his two loves cosied up in the bed, he finds himself unable to resist. OT3 cuddles and loving!! <3

No warnings on this one; I behaved myself skskksk. I’m quite nervous to post this so I hope that you like it.

Word count: 1, 602.

You had had a long, hard day at work and you were. Exhausted. Your feet ached, your mind had been reduced to balls of cotton wool, and you had had enough. You just wanted to curl up in a ball with Patrick and with J and go to sleep, to forget the world and to just succumb to all that was making you numb. Your loves were the centre of your universe, your reasons to work as hard as you did. You just wanted to make them proud, to make them smile, and you couldn’t have known that even when, and perhaps most especially, in your quietest moments during which you just simply were, that they were the most proud.

Pat and J loved you for you, for all that you had ever been, all that you were and all that you would ever be, and the fact that you were you made them more proud of you than anything else. Both of them had suffered in their lives, immeasurably so, as had you, and at the core of your relationship lay trust, respect, understanding and so. much. love that it threatened to knock you off your feet.

You had fallen for your men, and hard, but they had caught you, as always they did when you stumbled and fell. Likewise had they fallen for you, in their own ways and at their own paces, and though it had been difficult to begin with, the three of you had soon sunk into what you shared for one another the way one sinks into a hot bath; slowly, at first, to test the temperature, but then all at once with a full bodied sigh of relief.

As you moved through your home, shedding your outer layers, kicking off your shoes, and finished taking care of your physical needs so that you could truly feel comfortable, you became aware of two things at once: one, Pat’s long sleeved grey shirt was unceremoniously chucked over the back of your sofa and two, J’s royal purple trench coat was missing from the coat rack.

Half of your wish had come true this night, it seemed.

You picked up Pat’s shirt and brought it up to your face, just closing your eyes and sinking into his scent. He smelled of apples and faintly of cigarette smoke and of something so distinctly him that it almost made your head spin as you felt that last stray piece of your soul click back home. Tears stung at your eyes but you blinked them back, pushing the shirt further into your face. 

Patrick was home. Patrick was home.

As if aware of your thoughts, you heard a low whine coming from the bedroom. It sounded like Pat, half asleep, had tried to call out your name.

Still holding onto his shirt did you make your way through your home. You cracked open the bedroom door to find that the previously made bed was now dishevelled and disordered. The mound of duvet which greeted you looked positively inviting, though you weren’t entirely sure if that was because Pat was in there, or because you were just that tired. It was likely a bit of both, you reasoned, and you wasted no time in getting into the bed, the sweetest of smiles on your faces as you pulled back the duvet to reveal a halo of dark curls splayed around your pillows.

“Patrick!” A happy calling of his name made him chuckle as he opened his arms, pulling you down, down into his broad chest, his legs wrapping around you as well so that you were fully secure in the cage of his embrace.

“Hey, girlie,” Pat rained kisses down upon the top of your head, making you smile as you lifted your head to give some kisses of your own. “How was your day?” Pat shifted his weight so that he was more solidly against you. He had missed you so badly today; you had been gone for almost twelve hours.

“Hi, pretty boy!” The shirt which you had brought into bed with you was trapped between your bodies, but neither of you paid much mind to it. It would become another blanket, in the end, until one of you (or maybe J) put it in the wash when you made the bed tomorrow morning. “It was... exhausting. I’m so tired. How was your day?”

“Oh, you know...” Pat trailed off and you understood what he wasn’t saying. He had spent the day with J, then. You could only wonder what the two of them had been getting up to.

“Where is J, anyway?” You moved to kiss the underside of Pat’s chin, your lips trailing up to the sharp angles of his jawline. Your lips found purchase on every inch of skin which was available to you, and Pat hummed pleasantly, his hands flexing, fingers digging into your flesh as you loved on him. Oh, but the feeling of his heartbeat pounding against your own chest, echoing your own thundering heart, his soft darls curls which slipped between your fingers like ink in water, the warmth of his body and the solid weight of the heated duvet atop your bodies... this was almost heaven. Almost.

As if J had been waiting for you to ask after him (and he probably had, so dramatic could he be) did the sound of the front door bouncing off the wall resound through your home.

“Honeys, I’m ho - me!” J cackled like he had just told a joke and you could hear him stomping his way through to the bedroom. He could be so stealthy at times that you didn’t even hear him until the precise moment that you could, but other times he just liked to stomp around to make his presence known.

You gasped, excited, your physical exhaustion pushed to the side by the rush of adrenaline which J’s gravelly voice invoked in you, and Pat whined when you got off of him, sitting up in bed.

“J!” A happy cheer as you reached forward with both hands, taking J’s gloved ones in yours as you tugged him down, down, into a hug, burrowing your face in his stomach and squeezing so tightly that he grunted. A large hand smoothed down your back.

“Well, hel-lo beautiful,” J’s voice was saturated with humour. You always greeted him so enthusiastically and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy it. “How was, ah - your day?”

You shrugged. It didn’t matter now, anyway. Both of your men were home, which meant that you were home. J understood, though, and he pushed back the wave of anger that threatened to overtake him. He could provide for you anyway, he didn’t understand why you still felt the need to maintain a job even with how many bank heists he pulled off on a yearly basis. Money was no trouble where he was concerned, but he respected your decision and he never pushed for you to leave your job. Instead did he decide to support you silently. “How was your day, J?” You knew that he wouldn’t answer you. He never did. It was dangerous for you to know even some of the ideas - for he never had a plan - that he had,because if you ever got captured and questioned by the police, J needed to make sure that you didn’t have anything which could incriminate you. He protected you in the most subtle of ways and it had taken you a while to learn how to read his love language but oh, what a loud tongue it was when one was proficient in it.

J grunted and toed off his shoes as he slid into bed. Pat shuffled back easily, used was he to his afternoon naps being disturbed by one or both of you. J had done a perimeter check of your home before he had come inside, imperative was it to he that you were safe and secure within your own home in the physical sense - his presence, and Pat’s, was your emotional and spiritual security and safety. 

With much shifting around literal whining from Pat - he was a puppy in a past life, you were sure of it - it came to be that Pat was your big spoon, one of his legs between yours, his arm your pillow and his other hand curved over the slope of your shoulder, which moved down arm and back up in slow, solid movements. J had his forehead pressed against yours, one hand holding yours between your bodies, fingers interlocked, and his other arm slung over your body so that he could reach Pat, too. All three of you were physically connected and so much love was there between you that love itself felt like an unnecessary fourth presence in the room.

“Sleep, Rosie,” J muttered, his breath ghosting across your face gently, “Ya’ tired, doll. Need ya’ rest. We’ll be here when you wake, won’t we?”

“Mm,” A sleepy noise from Pat, a clumsy kiss pressed to the back of your head. Pat left his nose in your dark strands, breathing you in, and your hazel eyes met J’s intense chocolate ones. Your eyes slipped closed and you felt J tip his head so that he could press an almost tender kiss to your forehead before his own came to rest there once more as finally, finally, did your mind, body and soul all find rest in the arms of the two men you loved more than life itself.

Patrick Verona @jokershyena @loveletterstoledger @itsthejoker@royaleclownx    @tsukiakarinobara    @arianatheangelworld

[kunrendeotaku]

Chapter 12

I’m not sure how much longer Star drags me along before I finally look up, thinking that surely we should surely be home by now. To my surprise, I can’t immediately place where we are, but I think I see the mall fairly close by? That’s halfway across town! How far has Star dragged me? Ugh. I guess I have to put my own personal pity party on hold to ensure I can end up in my own bed tonight. The sheer amount of despair that thought provokes nearly makes me give up and lay back down, but I guess I’ve become more tired of sitting in this wagon than I thought, because the shaking now feels unbearable.

I roll out of the wagon and land on the concrete, but Star continues determinedly pulling her load along. I pick myself up, brush myself off, and rush to catch up with her. It causes a litany of aches and pains to run over my body, unfortunately, but I guess that's what you get for fighting above your weight class twice in the span of two days. Professional fighters usually spend months between fights, but I sure ain’t a professional. Still… they remind me of what I’ve been up to since I met Star. I fought monsters, I just finished fighting a fuckin demon! And I literally haven’t been bored even a single moment, the whole time. In spite of my grief for Rodrigo and his many brothers, I find a smile on my face.

“I see you finally decided to get up.” Star sounds completely miffed, perhaps understandably so. She must have been dragging me for miles. A twinge of guilt runs through me, she protects me (Mostly?) from Janna while I’m unconscious, then carries me away from the queen of creepiness herself? And I respond by making her drag me miles in a little metal wagon. I chuckle a bit nervously, scratching the back of my head. “Yeah, well, sorry about that. Janna… really gets to me. Where are we going anyway?”

Star glances over towards me with her lips pursed, but after only a few moments her gaze softens. In addition, that flush crops back over her cheeks and she looks away. Suspicious. I might have to find out if Star has anything to be guilty over herself. “Uh, yeah. We can call it even I guess. We’re heading to the school! We came out for your bike, we’re gonna get it.” Star declares, before pumping her free fist vigorously to punctuate her statement.

“Star…” I look at her in pity. “Did you take directions from Janna?” She blinks, tilting her head. “Yeah, why?” I grimace and rub the bridge of my nose. Stress levels rising. “Janna will literally never give you correct directions. Something about a middle school dare. We’ve been heading in the wrong direction for like, two hours.” I’m treated to my second view of Star’s cheek marks shattering in the same day, though unfortunately far less enjoyable this time. She groans, tossing herself back into the wagon to take my place. Her gigantic mass of blonde hair cushions her fall and honestly makes the thing look much more comfortable.

“C’mon. We’re pretty close to McDonalds, let's just grab some lunch.” Only unintelligible muttering comes from the bed of the wagon, and so I decide it's my turn to drag her around. I grab the handle and begin wheeling her along the sidewalk, wondering how in the world she’d managed to pull me for so long. A person is crazy heavy! Stupid warrior princess muscles. Probably the very same things making it so heavy for me. Luckily I don’t have to drag her nearly as far, but it's still going to be a grueling ten minutes of exertion all the way to our McDonald’s parking lot. “Listen, Marco, about earlier. You’re my guide to all Earth stuff, right?”

“Urgh. Yeah, that's right.” I answer, grunts of effort sometimes leaking out. Are these wheels even turning? “Well, you’re really smart about Earth stuff, but like… crazy dumb about magic. In the future, I’m gonna need you to follow my lead on that stuff. I’ll be your guide to the weird and wonderful magic of the multiverse!” Talkative when she’s not the one pulling, huh. I take my time to think that over, pondering what that would mean. On the one hand, that means I’m putting my safety and sanity in the hands of someone I’m pretty sure would classify as crazy. On the other hand, I really do have no clue what I’m doing when it comes to magic. That demon could have killed us, and it was all my fault. If we’re gonna keep seeing things like that…

“Alright, alright. That makes sense. We’ll just have to *gasp* teach each other.” Star bounces up onto her knees with a manic grin, shaking the whole wagon. “Great! First rule from your magic teacher: Unless I say otherwise, everyone who claims to be an Earth magician is doing real magic.” I slap my free hand into a vigorous facepalm, already feeling that that particular misunderstanding is definitely going to come back to bite me. “God-fine, sure Star. Every wacko who claims a mastery of voodoo or card tricks is a real wizard.” I hope my heavily slathered sarcasm makes it through that glitter filled skull of hers, but if so, she doesn’t react to it.

“Great! Also, I think we’re here.” Star jumps out of the wagon and points up at the building in front of us, done in beige and yellow. McDonalds written out in nice big letters, guess she’s right. I wonder if her dimension uses English in their writing as well, or if she learned before coming here? She does have a weird accent, now that I think of it. Something distinctly European, almost like a British accent's weird hyperactive cousin? About the best way to explain it. I of course park our wagon perfectly in the center of a parking space, finding myself compelled to click an imaginary electronic key. “Beep beep.”

I feel a hand snag my hoodie and drag me violently towards the door. “Hurry up, Marco! I smell food!” We blast into the door, which is thankfully push, rather than pull. I honestly think we might have busted the glass the other way around. Star thankfully releases me after I give her an affronted glare. The nerve, going after my hoodie. It could have stretched! She herself is bouncing up and down giddily, eyes swerving from place to place at lightning speed. I can tell the only reason she hasn’t gone any further into the room is that she simply can’t decide which to explore first.

“Earth Guide, rule one. When you find yourself in a place you don’t understand, do exactly as I do-or what the majority of others seem to be doing.” I gesture to the line of people getting ready to order, and step into line myself. “Oh, oh yeah. I can do that. No problem.” Star slides into place beside me, rather than behind me. Close enough, I guess… I’ll be paying for her food anyhow. “See that sign above the counter? Some of the items have pictures, some don’t, but that's the menu. Pick out one item from there, and a drink size.”

Star responds only with a few rapidfire nods, eyes already locked onto the menu. I wonder how she’ll do at her first time ordering a meal in an Earth restaurant? Unfortunately she’s not the most observant. I doubt she even hears how everyone else makes their orders, focused as she is on picking out her items. Eventually it comes time for us to make our orders, and she glances at me first. Good girl! She can learn! I step up and make my order quickly. “I’ll take a number three with a large fry and a large drink.” She asks if I’d like to make it a combo, which, obviously. I nod, then glance over at my new friend to see if she can follow along.

Star takes a deep breath, then holds up her wand and points it at the employee taking her order. It begins glowing with a menacing pink light. This isn’t exactly a promising start. “I don’t know what any of these are! I’ll just take the corn nuggets with the largest drink you have!” I quickly elbow her and shake my head, the poor confused lady just staring at us. “Star, there aren’t any corn nuggets on the menu!” She blinks, suddenly seeming just as befuddled as the rest of us. “What kind of food place doesn’t have corn nuggets?! I didn’t even bother looking for them, since I figured they weren’t one of the items with pictures!”

I sigh. Of course she only looked at the pictures. I slowly move Star’s wand arm down towards the floor so she can stop threatening the nice lady taking our orders, and thankfully she lets it stop glowing shortly after. “Look, she’ll take the 8 piece nuggets, large fry, and a large drink. Yes, Combo, whatever. Listen-thrown in a kids meal toy and she’s less likely to cause another scene.” The look of sheer exhaustion on my face must have clued the employee into something, as she suddenly gives me a look of sympathy and nods. I snag our two cups and lead Star over to the drink machine, a confused look on her face.

“Star. Can you tell me what you did wrong there?” She blinks, then frowns, thinking back over her actions. “Well, I greeted the lady, asked her for the food, and told her my drink size. Honestly, I think I did great. Pretty much the only one in the wrong is this place for not having corn nuggets.” Star scoffs, clearly unrepentant. We have a lot of work to do here. “No, Star. You threatened an innocent woman, demanded food instead of asking, and didn’t read the menu. At all. Worse, you didn’t observe anyone else to figure out the right way to do it-even me! You could have literally only repeated what I said and been fine!”

“Ohhhh. I just figured princesses behaved differently, so I never really think about how other people do things.” Star begins holding up fingers in turn as she lists off “Always meet a new person vigorously and with your weapons at the ready, from Dad. Never ask for anything as it makes you look weak, from Mom. Annnd both of them always said it was other people’s responsibility to match my demands. I did it all right! Three boxes checked, woo.” Star pumps her arms, a proud grin on her face.

I simply shake my head, wondering where this spoiled side of Star has popped up from. I mean, when she said she was a princess, it was always kind of hard to see-she treats me like an equal, along with my parents, and even Janna. But I guess service people automatically ping as ‘peasants’ for her royal upbringing? I wonder if it's even possible to overwrite fourteen years of habits built while considering yourself one of the most important people in your country. “Second Earth Guide rule: Marco’s orders supersede princess training. You can’t be a normal Earthling if you follow all the crazy rules of being a princess at the same time-heck, I find it hard to believe you follow them even half the time anyway, so this should be easy!”

[spideypool504]

Little Things

KamiDeku

Kaminari x Midoriya

Denki x Izuku 

The gentle morning sun is what woke up Midoryia  this morning. Which he's thankful for because normally Denki is the first one up, which just would not do for what he has planned today. 

It's their tenth  wedding anniversary and thankfully it's Izuku's turn to plan something for them. Ever since their first anniversary when they first started dating 15 years ago when they were 17, they've unintentionally slash intentionally  switched off every year with the planning.

Three years ago Denki surprised him with a three day trip off of work to go to America to visit Izuku's parents  in New York. After his mom got remarried  to the really nice man, James  Barnes, they lived in Japan for around six years before moving to America. They visit every few years or so and he and his mom talk to each other every Wednesday like clock work, but for Denki to go out of his way to not only get them the time off but book the tickets and plan things with his mom and step dad and fly them all the way to America? Izuku fell even more in love with him than he thought was possible. 

Then again Denki does things daily that make him fall more and more every day since their first together. It's small things like bringing him a cup of coffee made just how he likes it on his breaks even when Denki has days off. Small things like making sure to bring an extra one of Izuku's jackets with them to work because he knows that his husband will most likely get cold later on that night but won't admit to it unless he sees the jacket in Denki's hand. Izuku loves all the little thing Denki does for him in their daily life both at work and at home. 

He's the sweetest most loving person Izuku has ever met and it is a privilege that he chose Izuku to spend his life with. Izuku knows how lucky he is. 

Not only is his husband the sweetest, but he's also the most handsome and adorable person around. He's not the only person that knows this, the more than several magazines that have come out over the years ranking Denki as the cutest thing alive proves him in his drunk rants. He's just speaking facts. 

Denki knows Izuku better than he knows himself and takes care of him so well that he does his damnedest to make sure his husband knows just how much he means to him. That he really truly is the love of Izuku's life. 

So this year he's decided to make sure Denki knows it irrefutably. 

First on the list is go make breakfast for this human form of sunshine. Which sounds easy enough but that includes getting out of bed without waking up said sunshine who is currently latched onto him with a vice grip with no signs of loosening anytime soon. He's going to try though. 

He starts with the arms that are wrapped around his chest and clasped together at his side. Denki's often said that if he doesn't hold hands with himself while he cuddles Izuku then his arms will just fall to the side and "that's just not real cuddling babe". He can hear his  Honey Bee's  voice in his head and he has to hold back a chuckle but lets his smile make up for the suppressed chuckle. So he takes Denki's hand that's resting on top and gently pries it away from its twin. 

Which is when Denki intertwines their hands together and snuggles even closer to him. Okay so at least he's got his hands unwrapped from around his chest, even if it did create another obstacle to get through. He just has to try to slip a pillow in his place and he should be good, right? Well he slowly starts to slide his shoulder  out from under the blonde's head, keeping it level with his hand so he can put a pillow under him and then-

He's up.

He's staring right at me with amused sleepy eyes.

He's got his eyebrow arched in a way that he knows I know that he knows what I'm trying to do. 

"Are you trying to es-capay my sweet husband?" The humor in his voice brings a blush to the tips of Izuku's ears. 

Izuku mildly panics and draws out a "Whaaat? I have no idea what you're talking about. I'm just laying here giving my husband the best cuddles, and I'm being accused of trying to leave him. I'm hurt. Truly." Izuku throws his head back on the pillow and huffs dramatically. 

"Just callin' it like I sees it." Denki shrugs his shoulder that isn't pressed to the bed and smiles up to Izuku. "Why were you trying to get up though, KuBear? We don't have to be in to the agency till tonight. What nefarious plans are you up too, good sir?" He snuggles his face into the broad and scarred chest in front of him, wiggling his body in content like a puppy would, even though they're 32. Well Denki is 32, Izuku's birthday is in a few days, today being July 9th and all. But he's positive that his short blonde husband will remain a child at heart for the rest of his life. He can't wait to see a grey haired Denki  pulling pranks on their friends, it's going to be great. 

"Nothing too serious, I just wanted to make you some breakfast before you woke up." Izuku pouts his bottom lip out because now his plan that started with a surprise breakfast is no longer a surprise. Even though he knew if he didn't give up his "nefarious plans" he would have gotten a zap to the hip till he gave them up.

"Aww! Babe! You're too sweet to me." The blonde stretches his neck out to reach Izuku's and plants a soft chaste kiss on his lips. He pulls away before it Izuku can even process the kiss. 

"Uh uh, come here." He pulls his giggling husband back to him and smiles into the kiss he gives the blonde. There's no fighting in the kiss, it's all soft passion filled to the brim with love. 15 years, countless fights and smile, laughs and tears and they're still hopelessly in love with each other. They truly married their best friend and it was the best feeling in the world. 

When they pull away from each other, Izuku is almost blinded by how big and bright Bee's smile is. He's mesmerized by it every time he's graced with it. With nothing but pure warmth and joy in his heart he starts covering Denki's face in kisses. He starts with his nose and then his cheeks to his eyelids, from there to his forehead and then hugging  him to his chest and a finally kiss placed on the crown of his head. He breaths in the smell of thunderstorm with is so distinctly Denki that he's come to look forward to when it rains so he can be even more surrounded by what reminds him of his love. 

"Okay, so I already had something in mind to make for breakfast but any suggestions or special requests?" His muffled by the hair he's burrowed himself into but he knows Denki heard him, or at least he knows what was asked. Just like he understood Denki's muffled response that was muffled into his chest. 

"Well what did you have in mind?" 

They pull away from each other and Izuku squints an eye at him and asks, "Well what do you want?" 

Denki squints back and it's quiet for a moment. Then they're both smiling at each other. "Same time?" They're in sync with their speech. They give a small laugh and nod to each other. 

"1"

"2"

"3"

"Banana stuffed french toast with chocolate chips"

"Banana stuffed french toast with chocolate chips"

"I knew it." Izuku does a little victory wiggle of his head at knowing exactly what his husbands favorite breakfast is. 

Denki sits up to give a full deep from the belly laugh and lightly pushes Izuku's shoulder while he's still laying down. "You dork!" he laughs loudly again and scoffs. Then the cracked door flings open and the bed dips and there's a total of two tiny bodies and a wiggling pit bull piled onto the bed with a 16 year old  leaning against their doorway. 

"I told them they had to wait till at least one of you were up and being loud. They heard y'all laugh it was on. Happy anniversary Dad and Pops." Wade sounds nonchalant but there's a really big smile plastered across his face. 

"Thank you, sweetheart. Wanna come join the pile? You know you wanna." Denki enticed their oldest son to come join the pile including his brothers and family fur daughter with a waggle of his eyebrows and overly big smile that pulled his face tight. 

Wade laughed at his Dad's antics and came to sit next to Izuku who wrapped an arm around his son's shoulders. The whole family was in the King sized bed  and the small family decided that before they got up for the day they'd watch an episode or two of cartoons, just because they could. 

Izuku watched his family enjoy the morning with no worries in sight and felt content with the world. He began to think back on how they'd gotten to where they were right now and smiled back at his memories. 

While the two were in America visiting Izuku's parents, they ran into the then 13 year old. Like Wade literally ran into them. After settling the situation between Wade and the shop owner who accused Wade of stealing, which he didn't by the way, they walked the boy back to the orphanage he lived at. While they walked him home, they got to know the boy and were actually sad when they finally reached the orphanage. The boy ran had run inside before they could ask him any questions so they left back to their hotel room. 

He and Denki talked about it all night before canceling their lunch get together with Izuku's parents, telling them that they had something important pop up, but not to worry because they were still going to make it for dinner that night. Then they made their way back to the orphanage that they'd dropped the boy off at and walked inside to speak with the social workers. When they told the social worker there that came to the front desk after recognizing them, when they mentioned Wade by name the lady had gotten exasperated with the situation before they'd even said another word. She told them that she apologized for whatever Wade had done to them and said that she'd make sure to reprimand the child herself. Then she went on a mini rant about how terrible of a child Wade was and Denki had cut her off before Izuku could, which was probably for the best.

Well what happened then is for another story. By the end of Denki's quiet and polite "go fuck yourself" rant the head social worker, Pepper, had shown up and taken them into her office in the back. She actually listened to what they wanted and needed to say and to say she was just a little  surprised at what they wanted was lying. She had brought them to one of their meeting rooms the was filled with toys and had a table and two sets of chairs  in the middle of the room. There were also bean bags so of course Denki had drug one over next to the table and plopped down on it. Before Izuku could call his husband an "overgrown child" and ask him to pull another one over for him, Pepper had walked in with a disgruntled Wade. 

He had looked surprised to see the two of them  but sat down with a weary eye nonetheless. The boy had seemed to be on edge like he wanted to get right to the point, so with a quick look between Izuku and Denki then the former just came out with it. "We want to adopt you." 

The way Wade's face went from surprise to excitement and then watch his face fall and then have him tell them, "I don't to be adopted by you. Either of you." He looked heartbroken.

Then he had startled at Denki asking him,"Why's that? Is it because I accidentally zapped you? I'm so sorry! I didn't mean too! I promise my quirk doesn't misfire almost ever anym-"

"It's not that. I promise." Wade held his hands out to stop Denki from trying to apologize any further. Which had calmed Denki down considerably, he'd always been afraid of accidentally hurting anyone with his quirk after a small electrical fire when he was younger that burned his mom. 

"Oh." Denki paused and then looked back up to Wade. "Why then? If you feel comfortable telling us that is. It's okay if you're not, we're not here to push you into anything that you don't want. We're just curious if there's anything we can do to maybe change your mind? We'd really like for you to be apart of our little family." Denki looked hopeful but there was an acceptance in his eyes that told Izuku that he'd be crushed if Wade decided in the end to not allow them to go through with the adoption. It would be hard to walk away but he knew neither him nor Denki would force the boy. 

Wade stayed quiet for a moment and looked around the room for a moment till Pepper spoke up. "How about I go get some water for everyone? Would it be okay if I left you with Izuku and Denki for a moment Wade?" Wade looked up to the red head and gave her a small smile before nodding. "I'll be right back then." With that she nodded at Izuku and Denki and closed the door behind her quietly once she stepped out. 

Wade's shoulders dropped a bit like he'd relaxed when he heard the door close, it made Izuku quirk his eye up and look towards Denki who was almost hyper focused on the boy in front of them. 

"Would you like to tell us now? Or is it something you'd rather to keep to yourself? We'll understand either way, Wade." Izuku tried this time, letting him know that it wasn't just Denki who was hoping to fix whatever it was that was keeping Wade from telling them that he wanted to be apart of their family. 

Wade was quiet for a moment before he uttered out a quiet reply. "I'm sorry, I just get kind of nervous around any of the worker here. They don't really like, Mrs. Hogan is really nice to me, but I just don't want to accidentally say or do anything that would change that." The duo nod in understanding, they'd noticed the side looks they got mentioning Wade's name. They didn't like it one bit. 

"That's okay, there's no need to be sorry." Denki was quick to reassure the brunette boy. Wade nods and then looked like he wanted to say something and then bit his lip to stop himself. "What? There's basically nothing you could tell us that we'd get mad at, hun." The word "hun" coming from Denki in his Japanese accented English was... it was something else. He's so glad he spent so many hours with Denki on his English work in school. He struggled sometimes but he was pretty fluent because of all the interviews the duo have ended up doing in the past 13 years of being pro heroes. 

"It's just," Wade looks like he's struggling to find the words to put with his thoughts, "they're not going to be mad, White." There's a pause and the husbands look to each other in concern. Was wade okay?  "They said they wanted to know how to fix it, they actually want us. No, Yellow. Just because they'll know about him won't mean they'll just throw me to the side. They said they wanted me first, they can't go back on that. But they're not like the others White!" Another pause and the duo look to the boy in concern, what was going on in the boy;s head?Wade had his face turned towards the table so they couldn't see his expression but they could tell from his voice he was getting desperate in his thoughts, or conversation it seemed.  Izuku almost had a flashback to when he used to mumble bad when he was still in school. He only really ever did it anymore when he was really excited or nervous or stuck in an extra delicate or complicated situation. This though seemed like Wade was talking to someone, two someones, in head head. "Peter!" The two across from the boy jumped a little at the outburst. 

"Peter who Wade?" Izuku asks him quietly when nothing other than the name comes from the boy's mouth. 

"Parker. Peter Parker. My best friend." Wade looks up with tears brimming on his eyes and Izuku sees Denki clench is hands in his lap to keep from going to hug the boy who seemed to be almost on a mental break. 

"What about Peter Parker, Wade?" Denki is quiet in his question trying to not startle the boy. 

"I can't leave him. I can't leave him here Mr. Midoriya." Wade's bottom lip wobbles and Izuku knows his husband is already on the move to hug him before he even looks over. "Pete is so tiny and he gets picked on because of his quirk and I have to protect him because he doesn't deserve that! Just because his quirk lets him be like a bug doesn't mean he is one! Spiders aren't even bugs! They're arachnids! But none of the kids care so they call him Bug Boy and it hurts him and it makes me angry and it makes me want to hit them but if I did that then Peter would get mad at me and then he'd be sad because he's mad at me because he hates being mad at me and then I get sad because he's sad and I JUST CAN'T LEAVE HIM!" Wade was full on sobbing into Denki's chest now and they could barely make out half of what Wade said but Izuku heard enough to be mad. 

With both Izuku and Denki being victims of bullying as children they knew how bad other kids could get when they latched onto something. Izuku growing up quirkless and Denki growing up being teased for his quirk misfires, it was hardly a thought they needed actually discuss with words. Just one look into Denki's bright yellow eyes and Izuku was up and walking out of the room to ask Pepper to find a little Spider quirk boy named Peter Parker. 

Peter now sat snuggled next to Denki, who was holding their youngest and newest addition to the family Hitoshi. Hitoshi was supposed to be just a foster child that was with them for a short while but with how well he got along with  Wade and the way he and Peter almost clung to each other through mutual bullying experiences over their quirks and the way Denki looked at him like he was already apart of the family, Izuku had just filed the papers to adopt him not even a full three weeks after he started staying with them. 

Wade was almost as broad shouldered as Izuku, so he laid back in Izuku's lap with his arms crossed. Their rescue pit, Knick Knack, was contently laying at the foot of the bed  sleeping not bothered by the random laughs and giggles of her family. 

Izuku looks over to his right and finds his husband mid laugh at something Bugs Bunny was doing and fell just a little bit deeper in love with him. 

It's mornings like this filled with hundreds of little things with the love of his life and his sons that keep him happy. 

"Pops, I'm hungry. Can you and Wade make breakfast already?" Peter pipes up from his position cuddled into his Dad's side. 

Izuku chuckles and asks Wade, "Wanna help me in the kitchen?" Wade's head thunks against Izuku's chest to look up at him and then a smile graces his face accompanied with an enthusiastic nod of his head. "Alright, then." Izuku turns his had to kiss Denki, Peter, and Hitoshi's foreheads. A groan comes from all three of them.

"You're blocking the screen Pops!" Peter pouts  at him. 

"Yeah Pops!" Denki sarcastically agrees with Peter with a pout of his own. 

"Alright, alright. We're going. I'll come get you guys when we're done." The smile on Denki's lips warms his heart. 

He and Wade duck under the television that's mounted on the wall and make their way out of the room to happily go make their family breakfast.

[nelllraiser]

palentine’s day | nate, nell, nadia, alain, bea, lynn, winston, remmy, carrington, and hope

DATE: february thirteenth. LOCATION: the vural house. PARTIES: @deadicated-nate, @nelllraiser, @humanmoodring, @carbrakes-and-stakes, @beatrice-blaze, @phobiasarefood, @danetobelieve, @whatsin-yourhead, @carringtonblackwood, @thiswanderinghope

— - a much needed summary because this beast is twenty-one pages long:

very strong drinks poured.

winston is a bartender now.

empaths are confused by one another = spiderman pointing at each other meme.

bea is BAKED. 

alain is invited onto the back porch by baked™ bea .

carrington smells people. 

lynn came for the party, stays for the fear ‘food’.

remmy says stabby man is here do not want. 

nell says read the balloons, alain. ‘no boys allowed’. (except for nate)

nate represented by this gif.

blanche is drunk in the bathroom for the entirety.

It was just about time for the festivities to begin, and Nell was vibrating with excitement, though there was a tinge of nerves to her as well. After all, she wasn’t actually certain anyone would come, and she didn’t need a repeat of her tenth birthday party. The entire class had been invited and- well- there had just been a lot of extra cake leftover in the end. Hopefully today there wouldn’t be as much extra brownies leftover, even if they were pot brownies and she wouldn’t completely mind. There were two plates of them, one distinctly labeled in big, bold, letters as “WEED” while the other simply read “REGULAR.” Still- the somewhat anxious energy was making her rush around, trying to make sure things were in order. “Bea! Blanche!” I think I heard the front door ring! Can you get it?”

Nate was already nervous walking up to the Vural house, even more so than usual. He and Nell were currently in a weird place after he had not so quietly accused her of drugging him at karaoke, but she was one of his only friends and he wanted to get back to normal as quickly as possible. He wasn’t sure if a party was the best place to do it, but Hope had invited him and he honestly felt so bad about their last encounter he couldn’t justify not going. He shuffled up to the front door with a bottle of wine in one hand and a container of hummus in the other. Nate stood there for a good five minutes before ringing the bell, trying to smile in the least awkward way possible and failing miserably. 

Apparently, no one was going to get the door for Nell. Where were Bea and Blanche anyway? With a bit of an annoyed grumble, she went to open it herself, perhaps a bit too quickly in her need to make sure everything was going well and get back to figuring out where the hell the other two party hosts had gotten to. But her disgruntled expression quickly turned to confusion as she took in who was standing there. “...Nate?” she began somewhat stupidly. Did he need something? How did he even...know where she lived? But the bottle of wine and...was that hummus? They were telling enough of why he was here. Thankfully, she was quick enough to stop herself from saying something stupid like ‘but the invitation said no boys allowed’. She liked Nate, even if she wasn’t quite sure he liked her anymore. “I- um- come in! Happy Palentines!” she said, perhaps a little too brightly. 

Nate’s smile faltered as he took in the decorations behind Nell. Everything read “Happy Palentine’s!”, was bright pink and white, and covered in hearts and other Valentine type decorations. His face fell as he realized this was a Valentine’s party and understood why Nell hadn’t told him about the gathering herself. “Oh- uh...Hope mentioned a party- am I early?” His heart hammered against his ribcage and he wondered if it would be rude to shove the wine and hummus at the girl and run away but a presence behind him told him his exit was blocked. He was trapped.

Hope had arrived before Nate and her heart had sunk into her stomach when she saw all the decorations. She’d been hovering nervously, not knowing anyone so well as to ask if the no boys thing was for a laugh or for real. Also far too awkward to shoot Nate a text about it either. But when she heard his voice she shot off towards the door. Her hand shot out as if reaching both to comfort him in the face of all the decor, and also herself with a familiar face. She mumbles a quick “This is okay, right?” to Nell quietly, with a hopeful smile.

Winston had been dragged into this when they had decided that they were going to have a party. Not that they entirely minded being kept busy, but valentines day had never been a big event for them. Sipping from a beer, they strode down the stairs. They’d dropped their bags off in Nell’s room, after all they’d been sleeping over with their friend since they were kids and this was no different really. Striding in they spotted Nell, Hope and Nate. “Someone want a drink?” they asked heading straight for the table groaning under the weight of alcohol that had been purchased for this event, “I’m making myself a drink so y’know, no trouble.” They grabbed a solo cup and filled it with something that they had picked up off of their roommate, Jack and Coke. They didn’t have class tomorrow after all. 

Nell saw the way uncertainty crept into him, and she quickly was trying to save the situation, not wanting to somehow make herself even more disliked by Nate. And then there was Hope asking with a smile and her tone that made Nell automatically say, “Of course!” Again, perhaps a bit too eagerly. “Nate’s my friend.” Or at least, she hoped he still was. “Everyone get in here already!” She refused to let this broil into a overtly awkward moment. The party would be over before it started. And then she saw Winston, and instant relief washed over her. Oh, thank god. “I think we all need a drink. Might as well get this started, right? I’ll help you, Winston.”

Nadia was a little unsure when Nell invited her to a party because those usually weren’t her scene (too many people), but she wanted to go. She wanted to hang out with people and have friends and just enjoy herself. If only for a moment. She’d seen that it was a sleepover party, but, seeing as how her last “sleepover” had been in a morgue, she wasn’t really sure she’d stick around that long. Still, she packed a bag, even though she left it in her truck. As she walked up to the door, there were already several people standing around. All at once, Nadia felt anxious and relieved, and she could see those emotions playing out on the people in front of her. She looked at Nell and kind of smiled awkwardly. “Glad to see I found the right place.”

Nate’s grin was too strained for the expression to look convincing and he could feel the heat entering his cheeks, but he stepped into the house nevertheless. He nodded an awkward greeting to Hope, stifling the memories of home that accompanied her. He glanced around the room, realizing how long it had been since he’d even celebrated a Valentine’s Day. Shifting awkwardly from foot to foot, Nate stood in the doorway, his flight response on high alert. “Where uh...should I put these?”

Remmy waffled. They’d tried leaving their apartment three times before they finally made it to the building exit. It was another two more tries to convince themself that it was safe out because it was the middle of the evening and there were people around, and leaving wasn’t going to give them away. Moose had waited very patiently for them to make up their mind. And while normally walking would have been nice, Remmy piled onto the bus that took them as close to the Outskirts as possible, before literally running all the way up the driveway to the front door. Safe. Moose was panting, licked his lips, looked up at them. “Just for a bit,” they said to no one in particular, “I’ll just stay for a bit.” Remmy raised their hand and knocked.

Everyone was arriving, and all Nell could continue to wonder was where the hell were he co-hosts still. “Hi, Nadia!” she greeted brightly, trying to ignore how they’d nearly gotten into a knife fight last time they’d seen each other. “Remmy! You came, too!” She began to was a bit more into the party spirit, feeling more at ease as more familiar faces came out of the woodwork. “And Moose!” Her exclamation was fairly delighted with the realization that everyone was here, and she’d already locked Dia and Taki away in case Remmy did decide to come. Dia tended to be wary of dogs, and Taki generally disliked them as well. “Um- I can show you where to put them if you want, Nate.” She waved a hand to beckon him in the direction of the food and drinks. “Also if anyone brought sleepover stuff- you can just put them in the first room on the right down the hall.”

Spotting Remmy, Winston waved at them before heading towards them and Moose. “Hey,” they said careful to make sure that they treated Moose like a working dog and not a pet, “I didn’t know you were coming.” They smiled before looking at the drinks table. “You want a drink or something?” they asked as they watched several more people arrive. How did Blanche, Bea and Nell suddenly become the most popular people in town? Winston wasn’t sure that they had this many friends on facebook, let alone actual people that they were willing to invite to something like this. 

Hope smiled brightly at every new face, she was trying to memorise names and faces as quickly as she could. Sticking to Nate’s side despite his faint feelings on the action. When he looked at her he got a jolt of emotion strong enough for her to feel, but he was kindly ignoring it and she was just selfish enough to ignore it as well. What she couldn’t ignore however was the two that arrived that felt like...nothing? She parted from the man to stand a little closer to the newest arrival and their dog curiously. A smile plastered on even as her eyebrows furrowed unable to pick anything up from a ‘Nadia’ across the group. Odd. Very odd. 

After her house was partially destroyed, Bea wasn’t sure she wanted a party at her home. However, Blanche and Nell were nothing but persistent and so she caved and said yes. Of course, she made pot brownies for the party, though she claimed no credit for them. She ate a piece of brownie before any of the guests arrived which led her to take way too long to get ready. She passed through the living room waving at the guests that had showed up before going outside to make sure that the decorations were nice out there as well. Seeing a man’s form running past, she squinted her eyes, (she really needed glasses, but refused to get them) and she just called out to the person, assuming they were a guest,“Come in! The party’s here!” 

Et merde. Alain was well known in the neighborhood as that guy that never showed to parties but was always there to help out if you needed something. And on the rare occasions he showed up, he would always bring good food with him. This, on the other hand, was not a party he had been invited to, and so, he did not immediately react to being called out. "What?" Well, they would probably tell from the way he was dressed, that he had nothing to do in there. Dirty running shoes, complete with black running clothes and a sweaty eyebrow. Just your casual party goer look. "Are you sure you got the right person?" Running his hand through his hair, the man had approached the front door with caution.

Barely through the doorway and Nadia was already feeling overwhelmed. Every time she looked at someone, she felt so much. Except for two people. The person with the large dog that walked in around the same time she did was just. There was nothing there for her to “pick up” on. And then there was the girl that kind of disentangled herself from the incredibly anxious man to walk over to the dog. It was like white noise. That was the only way Nadia could explain it. Like, there was something there, but she just didn’t know what. She literally couldn’t tell. However, she could tell that there was definitely something paranormal going on with the girl. Nadia could see the shadows around her and felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. Skirting as far as she could away from the girl, she followed after Nell and Nate, she thought, to the kitchen. She kept her eyes down and away from the spirits as she said, “I could totally use a drink.” 

Remmy was extremely grateful to see Winston there, even though they’d canceled plans on them like...more than once. And dropped the Skylar stuff on them. And not messaged them about what they were. They smiled nervously, waving at them. Moose whined a little as another girl skirted closer to them, and Remmy patted his head to help calm him down. He was usually good in crowds. “Oh, um...sure! I don’t uh-- I don’t drink alcohol, though. I’ll just have...whatever else there is.” They glanced around, catching a glimpse of Nate heading off to the kitchen with Nell, feeling a small pang of guilt, before focusing back on the party. “Hey, have you seen Blanche anywhere? I-is she here?”

Bea typically overdressed for everything and this party was no exception with her heels and meticulously picked out outfit. She continued to squint at the man approaching her. As he drew closer she realized he was not here for the party. “Sure do. Come join the party,” She told him with a confident smile. She could have easily told him it was a mistake, however, if there was one thing Bea was good at it, it was never admitting that she made mistakes. “It’s like a Valentine's Day party, but for friends. I don’t know, my little sister and her friend decided to throw it and now here we are. We have food and drinks.” She contemplated not telling him about the brownies for a moment, before remembering that they were just out on the table so he would see them if he came in, “And pot brownies.”

Oh come on, she obviously could see that he had no business being here, right? And Alain being too polite to decline the offer was now stuck here with someone who looked like she was going to the Artesian later, while he looked like he had ran across the woods, which was exactly what he had been doing before he approached this house. His expression got worse as he heard of little sisters, valentine's Day parties and little sister's friends. What the hell was this party ? He looked away, scratching at the back of his neck. The mention of pot brownies made him scoff. Since he had not been in his twenties for a while now, those did not really interest him. "Whatever happened to normal joints?" He asked, walking up to the friendly woman with his kindest smile.

Nate shuffled off after Nell toward the snack table, feeling a little more calm but no less awkward. Not only was he clearly not supposed to be here, but they still hadn’t really addressed anything since he alluded to the fact that she may have drugged him which only made him more awkward. He set down his additions to the party and bit the inside of his cheek. He turned to Hope, wondering if maybe she would be the easier one to speak to. “T-thanks for inviting me! I uh...don’t really go to parties. Oh! And- hosting! Thanks!” He added quickly, addressing the actual tenant of the home. “What’s uh-” he nodded at the array of beverages. “What’s good to drink?” What didn’t have drugs in it is what he wanted to ask, but felt it might be a little too rude to just blurt it out.

Bea was well aware of how ridiculous it all sounded, but she kept her best smile on anyway. She had never done one of these parties before and hadn’t heard of them before Nellie and Blanche’s decision to throw the party. Her smile grew at his scoff and the way he was standing. It was kind of fun to see people like this. “I didn’t think anyone would come out and have one with me,” She replied, declining to mention that she could, in fact, not roll to save her god damn life and that was the reason there were no joints at this party. “I mean, there’s always the option to roll a joint now.” 

Carrington stood on the edge of the property, eyeing the little house with no small amount of curiosity. He’d heard the noise from nearly a mile away - he hiked out in this part of the forest from time to time - and ventured closer to see what the source was. Only to find it was a party of some kind. 

Christ, there was so much… pink. 

What he was more curious about than the choice of eye-torturing color palette was the handful of familiar scents that drifted towards him. Along with a dozen more that he didn’t recognize. It was the recognizable ones that kept him where he was, leaned against a pine tree, not lurking like a creeper. But merely… observing. For now. 

"Kids these days, I swear," untying a running jacket from his waist, Alain dressed up some more. The nights were cold these days, and if he could probably handle it for a while, he wasn't exactly fond of feeling that way. Glancing around him, he noticed that the garden was very well kept and he wondered for an instant if the backyard was equally well kept. "I'm sure I can help with that, I must admit to not being thrilled by spending my evening with young girls," he obviously was way too old for that. This stranger, at least, was pleasant. He remembered then that they had not been introduced. "I'm Alain, by the way," he pointed in the general direction of his house. "I live in the house over there."

Nell did her best to try not and seem upset that Nate had apparently elected to basically ignore her after she’d shown him where to put his items. If she was being honest, she wasn’t entirely surprised. After all, he probably thought she was leading him to the drinks to try and drug him or something. A wave of sadness washed over her as she turned to Nadia, though her smile was still carefully in place on her lips. “Drinks are a definite yes.” Hopefully that’d help distract her from the feeling of not being wanted. She could only hope Nate didn’t try and ‘save’ Nadia or something as she pulled over some of the bottles to her, making them a couple of drinks. Her’s she made...relatively strong, hoping the alcohol would quickly rectify these pesky feelings she was having. “Do you have anything you like in particular, Nadia?”

An eyebrow raised as Bea took in his words. Looking down at herself, she laughed a bit playfully, “Are you counting me as a young girl?” She certainly didn’t feel like a young girl. She was nearing thirty now and she felt ancient next to Blanche half the time. She glanced in the direction he pointed. And then she suddenly remembered that she knew that name. “You’re Alain? My little sister, Nellie, is obsessed with you. I’m Beatrice or Bea, whatever works.” She let out a little laugh, “Funny, I don’t think she realized you lived so close by.”

Nadia needed something to focus on. Anything, really. And, Nell was right there, and, yes, there was some weird awkwardness between her and the Nate guy, but at least it was something. Something that wasn’t ghosts or white noise or Carrington-like levels of weird nothingness. So, yes, she’d definitely be drinking tonight. “I will literally drink anything. I’m not picky.” As her friend… roommate… friend, Brooke used to say, Mama didn’t raise no bitch. “But, uh, preferable something strong. It’s been a long day.” And it’d be a long night, if the trend was going to continue.

Winston moved back to the drinks table before collecting another cup, filling it with soda and handing it over to their friend. “Here you go, no alcohol in there,” they replied with a gentle smile as they raised their own cup to their lips and swallowing a mouthful of Jack and coke. Grimacing, they realised that they definitely made this too strong, but now wasn’t exactly the time that they were going to stop. Swallowing several more mouthfuls, they winced at the taste before looking around. “It’s something that she is throwing with Nell, so I would guess that they’re around here somewhere or will be soon, I haven’t seen them though.”

This time, Nell’s smile was a bit more genuine as Nadia gave her reply. “That’s my kind of gal,” she teased, reaching over to grab another cup for Nadia as well, and pouring a generous amount of hard liquor into it before topping it off with the mixer. “You’re preaching to the choir, though.” This time, her words her a bit more under her breath, not exactly wanting to advertise how she was not entirely her usual self. “There you go.” She remembered Nate again, turning to him in what might have been a last ditch effort to diffuse at least the smallest portion of tension between them. “Um- would you like some- celery?” she asked, picking the veggie at random from a tray. A celery would probably be hard to drug, wouldn’t it?

Remmy took the drink gratefully from Winston, holding it with one hand while keeping a vice grip on Moose’s lead with the other. They’d put his little vest on, but mainly because the didn’t feel like telling ten different people tonight that he was a service dog and they shouldn’t distract him. But now they were feeling the self-consciousness that came with calling that attention to themself. “Oh, um...right! Yeah, of course they are. She’ll probably...show up.” They looked back at Winston. “How um-- how are you? These your only plans?”

Winston shrugged though they had to admit the gentle crinkle of the cup flexing under Remmy’s grip was a little odd. They ignored it, chalking it up to nerves. Winston sometimes found themselves in positions like this and that is when they decided to drink, it helped with the social awkwardness. “Apparently there are some weed brownies, I don’t know if that’s your thing.” Winston shrugged and craned their neck to see if they could spot Blanche. No dice. “I’m sure she’s around,” they said before nodding, “yeah, I’m not popular enough to get invited to multiple social events on a thursday night.”

Nate reached out tentatively and took a piece of celery, eyeing it carefully before dipping it into the hummus he brought. “T-thanks,” he muttered, watching the party grow larger and larger. A long moment of silence surrounded him and he felt like he was literally raining on the entire party. “H-hey uh, Winston? Is it? Would uh...you mind...mak-making me something?” He nodded to the bottles of liquor, not caring what exactly it was that he drank, so long as it made any of this less awkward. 

Lynn walked up to the front door, pulling her jacket tighter around herself. She hadn’t originally planned to show up, but the idea of this party was fascinating. And she figured there’d be quite a few others in attendance so maybe she could network and find some new patients. From what she’d seen on the online social network, half the town was in desperate need of her services. She briefly thought about knocking before shaking her head and just walking inside. It sounded like there were already quite a few people inside so it wouldn’t have made sense to knock. Looking around for a drink table, she found it quickly and headed straight over. “Okay, what have we got here?”

Remmy nearly jumped when Nate came out to the drink table. “Nate! Hi!” They said quickly. They looked around the room again, searching for Blanche-- but still no sign. Was she avoiding them? It would make sense….But Remmy really wanted to talk to her. To apologize. It seemed like it needed to be an in person thing. They were about to say something more when Moose gave a low growl as the new woman strolling over to the drink table. “Moose,” they said, giving a little tug. He looked at them with a strange glance before quieting, sitting at their feet. “Hello! Uh-- I think whatever you can imagine. Um…” looked between everyone before backing away slightly, “I’m not a big alcohol person. Maybe Nell um...knows.”

Nadia downed her drink as quickly as she could, enjoying the lightheadedness that accompanied it. She liked how warm alcohol was, how it made the cold feeling she got from being near the girl standing beside Nate. And it made her less anxious, more willing to enjoy the feelings coming in. Not that there was much to enjoy. Almost everyone around her was feeling some sort of negative emotion: awkwardness, anxiety, white noise, nothing. Focusing on Nell was making her head spin a bit. She closed her eyes and leaned against the table.

“Is there a good answer to that question?” He bit his lip and thought about it for a second, “Old enough to not be called a girl, I’d say,” Alain gave her a smile although that one faltered away as she mentioned the name of her sister, who was apparently obsessed. Timing. Oh well. “Oh, she’s your sister, we met, she’s very nice. A bit clingy, but…” He gave Beatrice a shrug. It probably was best if he stayed out there with her, then. And from the look of it, the place was crowded, and he had never liked crowds too much, or at all. “I suppose I’m glad she’s not that obsessed with me, that would be a bit creepy,” he laughed under his breath. Oh Nell knew exactly where he lived, but apparently she had not shared this information with her sister. “So, are we still smoking or not?” Best try to change the conversation. 

“For sure Nate,” Winston replied with a beaming smile as they quickly replicated their own drink although they elected to put less alcohol in this time round. Handing it over, they picked up a brownie and chewed on it. It had a somewhat earthy taste to it and as they swallowed they wondered if eating pot brownies was really the best move. Should someone stay responsible in case something went wrong? Winston wasn’t sure that they cared about it right now. They just wanted a good time and a care free experience. 

“Probably not,” Bea laughed. “Not calling me a girl is good though.” She hadn’t really see her sister being clingy since they were young kids, but she supposed the other woman would cling to someone she thought was cool and she had told Bea that Alain was super cool all the time. “Yeah, well, you can blame her clinginess on your apparent coolness. She’s talked about you to me a few times. Blanche is here too with her, it’s their party.” She told him, very unaware of the issues that her sister and Blanche had with the man. “She hasn’t hit creepy yet, but maybe one day she will,” She teased a bit. She was glad to be outside of the party for the moment. She didn’t know a good amount of the people in there, most being invited by Blanche and Bea. She nodded, her smile brightening. “Yeah, ‘course we are.”

“So I did find a suitable reply to this dangerous question,” Alain scoffed, shaking his head. He was not usually so smooth about those tricky things. Crossing his arms over his chest, he listened to her speak of Nell being bewitched by his so called coolness. Well, it was not like he ever tried being cool, but he appreciated the compliment, even if he did not believe that Nell would be calling him cool these days. “Oh, right. Blanche is such a nice person too. The two are very close, it’s endearing,” or concerning, depending. It felt like Nell was an extension of Blanche lately, and Alain would have wished to have met her sooner. “Right. I’ll start buying a gate to keep her out, then,” he laughed and rubbed at the back of his neck. Yeah, like a gate was gonna keep that witch away. “Well, I don’t have an habit of doing my jog with weed in my pocket,” he raised his eyebrows. Then, because he had been wanting to ask for a while already, he questioned her about the garden: “That’s a great garden you have here. Did you plant all of these?”

Nell downed her drink in tandem with Nadia, spurred on by Nate’s very tentative acceptance of her celery, and his then his then his requesting what seemed to be anyone else but Nell to make him a drink. She didn’t want to be sad! This was a party! That was the thought process that had her making another fairly strong drink for her and Nadia, and then beckoning the other girl with her towards the designated dance floor simply exclaiming, “It’s time to dance” She spotted someone she didn’t know, Lynn having just arrived and power pointed at the woman immediately. “You too!” She was gonna make this fun if it was the last thing she did.

Bea blinked at his words, realizing that she had never taken pulled the little bag of weed from her back pocket and a thing of rolling papers from her front pocket. She was planning on asking Nellie to roll later, but this worked out. Maybe the brownie was still affecting her a bit. She let out an awkward giggle,“I forgot that I hadn’t taken these out. Sorry.” She hated not feeling smooth and that was not her smoothest moment, but she would push forward. She glanced at the garden,“All Nellie’s handywork. When our parents were trying to get her to come back home they got her a greenhouse in the backyard and the garden has just grown since. I cook a lot with the stuff she grows in the green house.”

“Nell, please, I don’t dance!” Nadia groaned as she followed the other girl, but she didn’t resist. Between the alcohol and the desire to remove herself from the ever present white noise that came from the girl next to Nate. So she drank deeply from her cup and followed Nell immediately onto the makeshift dance floor, only pausing when Nell pointed at a blonde woman who’d just walked in. Jesus, there were so many people at this party. So many people with their loud thoughts that she didn’t know.

That was all rather endearing, although as Alain could tell that she was feeling embarrassed, he turned his back on her and resting his weight on the wooden railing, silently took his time spreading weed across the paper, and handed over a old fashioned rolled joint to Beatrice, which he had decided he would call by her full name. "I'm afraid I don't run with a lighter either," he shrugged and smiled as if to say my bad. His attention was brought toward what was going on inside the house for a moment, although considering how bad things would get if he got in there, his attention went quickly back to his kind and generous host. "I have a garden as well. I too believe that cooking gets a thousand times better with fresh products," it was nice, having a conversation that did not revolve around dead people or his moral compass. 

Bea blinked. She had forgotten other people needed to carry lighters around. That seemed ridiculously inconvenient. As he glanced inside she took the opportunity to simply snap her fingers to make a tiny fire and lit the joint. She hoped he was distracted by the party enough to miss the lack of lighter. “I got it,” She said simply with a smile. She even pretended to slip something back into her pocket. “I don’t have much of a green thumb, so I didn’t even know how important it was until Nellie came around with everything. If you want we can go see the garden?”

Alain saw the fire from the corner of his eyes and if she thought she was being discreet it was probably because she did not know that he could see every detail of what she was doing even in the middle of the night. He did not comment on it, only because knowing already about Nell, he was not surprised that it ran in the family. “Thanks,” he gestured that she should keep it for now, “ladies first,” he turned to have another look at the garden. “Sure, we don’t want them to come steal this from us, once they find out that those pot brownies are not worth it,” and he did not want to ruin anyone’s night. Beatrice seemed to be more chill than her sister and he appreciated that too.

Lynn glanced cautiously at the dog that she hadn't noticed before. Shit maybe this was a bad idea. Even just one animal around was enough to make things harder for her. They never left her alone and acted strangely when she was around. And now the person holding him was backing away. Were they scared of her? She wasn't even trying. "Thanks, I'll uh, just take a look at what's here and then go mingle or something." But before she could actually get something, she heard someone say that it was time to dance and then point at her, including her in their proclamation. "Oh well okay then." She came to meet people and have fun right? And dancing was fun. So she would go with them. Following the woman, and the other one with her, she made her way out onto the dance floor. "Oh I'm Lynn by the way. Lynn Edwards."

 Most situations had Bea being as careful as she could, but this was a party and she was in the dark. She doubted that Alain would be able to tell anything was different with her. She smiled at him before taking a puff of the joint. She wasn’t a smoker usually, but she did enjoy a joint. Another hit and then she passed it over to him. She pulled off her heels, leaving her now shorter than Alain before starting towards the garden. “I’ll have you know that I make great edibles,” She said with a cheeky smile over her shoulder. She took a little bit of pride in her brownies, she had had a lot worse than the ones she made.

Three familiar smells (well, four, if one counted the herbal addition) prompted Carrington to stroll towards the home’s garden as if he’d merely wandered off the forest path and needed directions. He moved casually, taking in the surroundings with an idle curiosity, and wondering if Nadia (one of the three familiar smells) was having a good time. He remembered her telling him she didn’t like crowds, though there didn’t seem to be much of one. More than a handful of voices could be heard, but nothing too overwhelming. 

The other smell that was close-by was unfamiliar. A man, youngish, who smelled faintly of gasoline and oil. He was with another familiar smell, Beatrice, who Carrington had met. They were both surrounded by the acrid smell of marijuana. He wasn’t sure what prompted him to follow them, but he did, glancing aside at the house now and then when traces of familiar voices drifted out into the night. 

“Well you do, now!” Nell simply exclaimed to Nadia as she began to match the rhythm of the music that was playing, dancing along with the other girl and...Lynn? She took another long draw of the drink she’d brought with her as she realized this was the doctor she’d briefly talked to online. Doctors were generally...not people Nell instinctively trusted, too mysterious of creatures that had only flitted briefly in and out of her life. “The brain lady?” she confirmed. At least she hadn’t denied Nell’s demand for dancing. Honestly, now that she had a decent amount of alcohol in her, paired with the music- she was beginning to feel more at ease. “Brain-lady Lynn, this is Nadia who doesn’t usually stab people. And- vice versa.” She didn’t think she’d be able to repeat that sentence in reverse at this rate.

Nadia glared at Nell but matched Nell’s movements as she danced. She took a sip of her drink and looked at Lynn. “I really don’t stab people. At all. There was a slight misunderstanding.” Lynn reminded her of a few other people that she’d met in town with her watered down feelings despite the fact that Nadia was letting the alcohol go to her head. She seemed a little unsure, but that feeling was quickly overpowered by Nell’s newfound ease. It might have had something to do with the fact that they were away from Nate and his friend with the ghosts. Did Nell also sense ghosts? Was she a medium as well? She was certainly something. Speaking of mediums. “Is Blanche here?” Nadia asked Nell. She wanted to meet the girl in person, perhaps even discuss the ghosts in the house to see if that was allowed. 

Nate shrunk into himself, wondering what the easiest way to escape might be, but then Remmy was there with their support dog and Nate vaguely wondered if he could borrow Moose for the night. He smiled through his teeth, his stomach doing a continuous somersault until a drink was in his hand. “Thanks,” he mumbled. He watched Nell drag some people out onto the dance floor and felt like he was giving off visible “I’M AWKWARD” waves at the mention of dancing. Luckily, no one had asked him to join. He took a tentative sip of his drink, not tasting anything that explicitly said drugs. Plus there was no way Nell would have spiked something that everyone here was gonna try, right? He felt guilty just thinking it. “Are you- uh…” He glanced at Remmy and tried to smile. “I’m not really a uh...party person…”

“Far from me the idea of criticizing your cooking, but I’ve always considered those to be a waste,” Alain followed her behind. If he was surprised to see her remove her shoes, he did not make any comments. Bringing the joint to his lips, he had a look at their surroundings for his gut feeling had started to startle him. No longer the neighbor, but rather the hunter again, he turned on his heels and for a moment, stared into the darkness, searching for a silhouette. Seeing nothing, his shoulders relaxed and he caught up on Beatrice, handing her back their smoke. “So, what do you do for a living?” Clearly she did not work as a human lighter.

Winston had managed to get pretty intoxicated on a mixture of weed and booze. They were having a good time and they somehow found themselves stood alongside Remmy and Nate once more. “You’re not a party person?” they asked with a frown, they weren’t sure why, but between Nate, Remmy and themselves they got the impression that there was maybe no one in this party who was less of a party person then the three of them. But yet, here they were, at a party and Winston could only hope that their companions were having as good of a time as they were.

Bea shrugged,”It’s easier and doesn’t make my clothes smell. Plus Nellie doesn’t know right away if I’m high, so she can’t make fun of me for finally relaxing.” She knew that it was pretty easy to tell after a few minutes with her, but at least if Nell breezed through the house to her room she didn’t know. When Alain paused, she looked over her shoulder at him. He probably just heard something in the forest, which was a little creepier at night, she had to admit. She smiled as she took the joint,”I’m the owner of Illusions of Grandeur and a performer there. You’re a mechanic or something like that right? Nellie mentioned it once but I can’t remember off the top of my head.”

“I will admit that the smell is not too delicate,” Alain shook his head. It was true that pot smelled terrible, but he stubbornly would keep on consuming it the way he did his whole life. Besides, if teenagers and young folks did it, it couldn’t be that great, right? “Your sister makes fun of you for that?” He raised an eyebrow, glancing away from her to have a look at the garden. It was really well kept, and he did not imagine that someone as angry as Nell could have done this. “Sounds to me that your sister is the one who needs to chill,” he pulled a lawn chair away from the garden table and sat down, crossing his legs. He glanced up at the sky as he listened to her. It was a beautiful night, and even if the light coming from the house ruined the obscurity a bit, you could still appreciate the beauty of the sky above them. “A magician, then? Why am I not one bit surprised?” Maybe she would understand that he saw her doing that trick earlier, or put it on the account of an air she carried that gave her a mystical look. Both were receivable options. “I am a mechanic. I prefer the old cars, but obviously, I also repair more recent ones.”

“I smell like regular smoke enough from work, I don’t need to add weed smoke to it,” Bea laughed. The smell of smoke was light on her, but she knew that it clung to her. She wondered if because of her elementalist status  it was just a part of her normal scent. “She makes fun of me for everything. I’m a high strung stick in the mud to her, but I mean when compared to her who isn’t.” Her voice was light and matter of fact. She didn’t dislike that her sister saw her as high strung, she was rather aware of how high strung she could be. She raises an eyebrow at him with a grin,”Because my magnetic personality screams performer?” She couldn’t be sure if Nell had told Alain what they were, but she wouldn’t put it past her. Her little sister was more liberal with who she told and when. “I don’t know that much about cars. It must be hard work, seems complicated with all those parts.”

“Or you could tell yourself that if you’re going to smell like smoke, you might as well make it enjoyable,” always the pragmatic. Alain was starting to feel more relaxed, which was both thanks to the weed and his company. If he usually had a bad feeling about people, Beatrice seemed like a genuinely nice person to him. “I understand, I can’t seem to get rid of the smell of oil either,” it was etched so deeply in his brain that he could smell oil when there was none around. He felt the same about ash, and that was not an odor he really appreciated. “Heh, sounds exactly like my sisters, always making comments,” he mumbled to himself, eyes still up looking at the sky. “Why, yes. You are a very sociable person. I don’t usually make it an habit of smoking with strangers,” he eyed at her and smiled kindly. “Most people don’t. It’s a well kept secret. Here’s another secret : most issues on cars are easily fixed,” he shrugged. “It is hard work, but I don’t see myself doing anything else.”

Bea let out a laugh,”That’s a good way to turn it around.” She, probably, got high more often than her sisters, but even then she wasn’t partaking more than once or twice a week. It helped her relax, especially at things like this where she often got stuck in her ‘host’ mode, which the entire reason she ate part of her brownie before company showed up. She took a hit of the joint, “There are worse smells. Some people like the smell of smoke or oil.” She sat down with him as she passed over the joint. “Younger sisters?” She asked. She laughed again,”To be honest, I don’t really either, but here we are. Glad you decided to?” Bea tucked her feet under her legs, her posture finally relaxing a bit. She was usually very worried about her appearance and what people thought of her. “Most magic tricks are easy to learn. It’s all about practice. Same with you I imagine.” She smiled with a nod,”Once you find your thing, it’s the only thing you can picture yourself doing right?”

“I actually do enjoy the smell of oil,” Alain glanced at her to get the joint from her. “I can’t stand the smell of tobacco, however. Or maybe the bad habits smokers have, such as throwing the end of their cigarettes everywhere,” he shook his head. Even in the middle of the mountain, you still found goddamn cigarette ends. “Way to ruin an otherwise spotless environment,” he leaned back in his chair, bringing his feet up to rest on the end of the seat to keep his legs a bit warmer. Now he regretted leaving his house without running leggings. “Two sisters. We don’t talk much anymore,” or at all. He nodded, handing her back the weed. “I’m not regretting it yet,” he gave her a cheeky smile, knowing too well that his answer was not a very optimistic one. “I mean, I don’t usually make friends or whatever, easily, this is nice,” he looked away with no sign of embarrassment on his face, which was nice, for a change. “I mean, I could have been an astronaut, but my parents said that this was not a good idea. I still stubbornly learned the name of everything you can see up there, just in case,” he laughed, shaking his head. He was still very stubborn, and he still remembered the name for all the stars.

“It’s not a bad smell, neither is smoke, but I think I want people to associate me with things like cloves or cinnamon. You know?” Bea hoped she wasn’t talking too much. She knew she was a rambler in general and she could get worse when she was smoking. “I don’t mind tobacco on other people but it being on my clothes is so irritating. That smell never goes away.” When she was with one of her exes, he smoked throughout high school and she hated going home smelling badly. She hummed, not wanting to dig into his personal life, but she couldn’t imagine how much it hurt not to talk to his sisters. She had a feeling that she would struggle not being able to talk to her sisters. She wasn’t sure her sisters would reach out as much if they didn’t live together. “Yet is the keyword,” she laughed. “Let me know when it changes.” She smiled at him, imagining how different this conversation could have been if he had been an astronaut. “Well tell me the names of some things. I want to learn from the could have been astronaut.”

Lynn laughed at Nell’s description of her, but nodded nonetheless. “Yeah, you could say that.” She sipped at the drink she’d managed to snag before joining them and smiled at Nadia. “It’s great to meet you Nadia who doesn’t usually stab people. I believe we’ve spoken online once or twice.” She danced with them, feeling more comfortable the longer she stayed with them. The alcohol was probably helping too. She heard Nadia ask about Blanche and her ears perked up. Lynn had spoken with the younger blonde a few times and couldn’t help but be mildly interested in why Nadia was asking about her.

Nate danced from foot to foot, unable to contain the awkwardness he felt. “I’m gonna...go for a walk.” He wondered if he could just slip away, no need to say goodbye to Hope or Nell or anyone, no need for awkward excuses as to why he should have never come here in the first place. He shuffled off to the side, slipping out the closest door. Unfortunately, it wasn’t the front door leading out to his car, but rather a path leading to a small garden area with the familiar scent of marijuana. Suddenly worried about any underaged smokers, Nate continued down the dark path until he ran into two figures who were clearly old enough to make their own decisions about the drug. Two adults who were also clearly in a private conversation. “Oh! Oh- I’m sorry- I- was looking for my car, obviously it wouldn’t be back here, I got turned around though and-” he raised the solo cup full of alcohol Winston had made for him. “Maybe this was stronger than I thought!” He laughed briefly before his face turned serious. “But uh...careful with that stuff. No one should drive after you smoke it. Being high is just as bad as being drunk.” 

“No,” Remmy answered through a lump in their throat, “not really a...party person.” They used to be. They used to love going to parties and being around people and talking to them. They had so many late night “parties” in boot camp and circuit, and even when they were stationed. They celebrated every small thing because no one knew when it would be their last. Maybe that was why parties had a sour taste now. Maybe it was because they now had the danger of hunters coming after them. Nate excused himself after a second, and Remmy made to follow. “Are you leaving alrea--” they started, but stopped, eyes falling on who was outside on the porch Nate had walked onto. Immediately jumping back inside, a spike of terror running through them. They beelined back through the party to Nell. Tugged on her shirt. “He’s here,” they murmured.

Finally Nell felt like she was able to loosen up, laughing a bit at Nadia’s glare. “What? I said you don’t stab!” Then she became the smallest bit disgruntled before saying. “Blanche is supposed to be here! I don’t know where she went!” She was going to let Nadia and Lynn acquaint themselves for the moment when she was vaguely aware of a familiar face coming towards her rather quickly. “Remmy!” she greeted brightly at first, but her dancing stopped as it became clear that her friend was clearly not having a good time. “What’s wrong? Who’s here?” It took a moment for her slightly fuzzy mind to make a connection. Who was Remmy afraid of that she knew about? A long moment later she was asking in a quiter, somewhat sobered tone, “Alain?” Automatically, her hand searched Remmy’s wrist for the protection bracelet she’d made, trying to make sure it was on them. “Where? Don’t worry- I’ll talk to him. You go stay in my room upstairs, if you want.”

Remmy nodded at Nell, fiddling with the bracelet. Moose was getting antsy as well, whining quietly by their side. He could sense their rising anxiety levels. “Outside. Outback.” was all they said, the fear pouring off of them like a waterfall. They glanced at the people Nell had been with, felt like maybe they should apologize for interrupting, but just nodded again and waded back through the crowd, grabbing a cup from the table and straight into Nell’s bedroom, closing and locking the door, sliding to a sit behind it. They never should’ve come to this party. At least everyone else was having a good time.

Nell wasted no time in excusing herself from Nadia and Lynn. “I uh- I have to go- check one something.” It was a lame excuse as far as things went, but she couldn’t think of anything better in her current state. Gone was the careless fun she’d been leaning towards with the two women, replaced by a feeling not all that different from the one she’d had when she’d thought Nadia was going to hurt Regan. Fierce determination, a mental readiness to fight. But she was momentarily thrown as she got to the back porch. Foolishly, she’d assumed Alain would be alone. Instead- here was Nate and Bea as well? Well this...complicated things. “Bea-” she addressed her sister first, figuring that was safest. “Didn’t you show him the balloons? No boys allowed.” Then she sent a glance towards Nate. “Ah- except Nate, of course.” 

Nadia was beginning to not like parties. This one wasn’t even crowded, and yet it was already too much. The person (Remmy, she sort of knew Remmy, she remembered talking to Remmy) had come up and seemed worried, and that was fine, but Nell reacted so violently. Nadia felt it like it was her own, and suddenly she was ready to pick up a knife and start protecting someone again. Except she didn’t know who she was fighting or who she was protecting. She turned to Lynn. “Yeah, no, we met online. I probably need to schedule an appointment with you. Will you excuse me a moment?” She stumbled off, not really caring where she went, just trying to find somewhere quiet. She ducked into a hallway to pace for a moment, trying to walk off all of the energy and unfounded aggression. She took a large gulp of her drink. It didn’t help. So she leaned against the wall and tried not to pound her fist against it. Best not to cause a scene.

“I think the only times I don’t feel like I smell like oil is when I’m cooking too,” Alain nodded silently at her comments about clothes and tobacco. This was another reason he hated that. He had never been fond of smoking cigarettes and yet, if you had the misfortune of standing near a smoker, you were doomed to smell like one. “I’ll make sure to let you know,” he scoffed, pointing at a specific bright star in the sky. “Alright,” he began, but deadpanned at the could have been astronaut comment, “if you’re gonna be mocking me like that, I’m not sure I’ll be willing to tell you thing. As if. He couldn’t resist talking about the sky. Although, as he was about to keep going, a familiar silhouette approached them, and brought a smile to his face. God, he really was high. “Nate, right? How’s the elbow?” Alain paused and raised a confused eyebrow at Nate’s comment. “I came by foot. Although, if I may, I’m not sure you should be driving yourself if you can’t remember where you parked,” he did not notice Remmy, as they appeared right when he glanced back at Beatrice. It wasn’t long before another person showed up. Nell. Maybe this was his cue. “That’s alright, I’ll head back home if this is a problem.”

Hope had been keeping her distance. She was still quite new to this group of people, and as much as she was most familiar with Nate and had invited him to the party she couldn’t bring herself to feel his heart sink when he looked at her. Not to ruin his night she’d vanished off to have a few drinks to herself and observe the the people milling around. However a call from her boss took her into the hallway away from the noise, a few moments and they’d both agreed she was in no state for a power cut call in at this time of night. With her phone pushed back into her pocket she paused as she turned to return. The unnerving radio silence was back, and the girl causing it was in the hallway too. There was emotion on her face but without being able to feel it, Hope was too useless to place it. “Hey, are you okay?”

There was a lot going on and Bea had to be honest, she couldn’t follow any of it for the life of her. She was too high to follow all the sudden movement and people coming outside to talk to them. “I live here,” She replied to Nate with a laugh. “No driving for me.” She pressed her fingers against her temples, shaking her head. “There’s a lot of people talking to me right now.” This is why she got high alone in her house or just with another person. This was a lot speaking she couldn’t follow right away. She liked the simple talking that her and Alain had been doing just a few minutes ago. “He didn’t come in so it’s okay that he’s a boy, Nellie. Plus, you love him. You talked about him for like forty five minutes last week.” She turned her eyes to Alain,“You can stay if you want. I don’t see why there would be a problem.”

Nell was all too ready to cling to Alain’s offer to go home. Honestly, it was probably better for everyone. Those who know he was Hunter wouldn’t be uncomfortable, and Alain wouldn’t get ten million pairs of daggers staring at him. Win-win, right? It seems she’d been wrong to hedge her bets on Bea, though. Nell had counted on the age-old practice of good ol’ sister not so telepathy, but she saw the problem as she got closer. Bea was fucking baked. “I don’t love him! It wasn’t- it was not forty five minutes!” she denied childishly in her embarrassment, a higher pitch entering her voice. It couldn’t have been more than a half hour. Why was this happening now? “Besides maybe he’s just tired and wants to go home!” As a last ditch attempt, she was hoping Alain would get the hint, and remove himself from the situation. “After all, he’s very old. And the balloons- the balloons are rules for outside too.”

Alain raised his eyebrows and pursed his lips, watching the two sisters discuss whether or not he should be leaving. Wait, forty five minutes? Well someone was obsessed. He looked up at Nell from his chair, as if to say what the fuck. His nose wrinkled at the sound of Nell’s voice. Okay, he silently mouthed, glancing back at Beatrice, as he wondered if she was feeling the same as him about this : Nell needed to chill. “What? I’m not old, you and Blanche got to stop saying that I’m old,” he shook his head. Leaning forward to have a look inside and maybe see at least a part of the balloon rules, he didn’t see anything and with a confused look on his face, added : “I don’t see any balloons outside. So technically…”

Bea couldn’t help but let out a laugh when she saw Alain’s facial expression. She nodded at him as if to agree that her little sister had to chill out. “You talked about how much of a ‘badass’ he was. And told me like a few times that he was hot.” She shrugged,“I actually think the words were ‘hot man muffin’, which I still don’t know why you decided to use those words. Just saying hot works, which he is, so good job for having good taste.” She studied Alain’s face for a second, he didn’t seem that old. “He looks like he’s thirty five, Nellie. That isn’t old.” She wondered why her sister was freaking out so much. She would have thought the girl would have loved that Bea was getting along with the guy she seemed to want to be. “He has a point, Nellie. You should chill, it’s fine if he stays.”

Nell’s eyes grew to saucers as Bea repeated words that- well- no longer had any place in her vocabulary. “Bea!” she exclaimed, the beginnings of an outraged shirek in her voice. “That’s all- that is very out of context! I didn’t even- you’re high! High as a kite!” It seemed alcohol didn’t make for formulating good arguments when it came to things like this, and Nell was thankful for the dark of the night that hopefully hid the rosiness in her cheeks. “The balloons are obviously- all encompass-” she stumbled over the word for a moment. “-all encompassing. I just think- think that some people, Alain included, would have more fun at home.” At this point, Nell was staring at Bea as intensely as she could, trying her best to convey an essence of ‘please just help me out for these two seconds.’

Nate realized his mistake as soon as Nell came bursting out of the house and he found himself once again trapped in the most awkward of situations. He stood there, clutching his solo cup as his eyes darted back and forth between the sisters as they discussed Alain’s age, hotness factor and whether or not he was allowed to be at the party. “Just- I mean...I didn’t know it was no boys allowed...Alain probably didn’t either?” He smiled lamely and chugged the rest of his drink. He didn’t want to get in the middle of the sister’s argument, and for a split second, he totally understood why people got high.

Nadia knew who was approaching her before she even looked up. That strange girl who felt like white noise. Something was there, but it was hard to place and annoying to dwell on. That, coupled with the fact that she still felt like she was going to hit something, probably made her smile seem a little strange. “Oh, yeah, no. Totally fine. Never been better. I just don’t like crowds. Not, you know, that this place is crowded. It’s just, like, people.” She paused. Then, because she lacked a fucking filter at this point, she said, “I don’t get out much.” 

Alain barely had time to cover his mouth before he started laughing. "Alright that's embarrassing," standing up from his chair he glanced at Nate and patted his shoulder with a friendly smile on his face. "It's alright pal, I'm gonna head back home," turning around to say goodbye to Beatrice, an idea crossed his mind, "I should show you my garden. It doesn't have balloons or weird rules," his offer came with a kind smile although he was fine heading back home without his new friend. This was enough interaction for today.

This wasn’t fair. Now Nell had to look like the asshole, when it was Alain who was the polarizing person in this situation. Still, she narrowed her eyes in the Hunter’s direction as he dared to laugh, but let it slide for the moment being as it seemed he was willing to head out. Then she spared Nate a glance before saying, “I’m not blaming, Alain.” Now Nate probably thought she was even more of an asshole, too. But then a stab of...mixed emotions, all of them negative, filled her as he invited Bea to his garden. This was Nell’s garden. And of course he liked her sister better. “She can’t,” she said hastily, reaching out to latch onto Bea’s arm. “She’s too high. And she has to help clean up the party when it’s over. And Dia will be sad and miss her. Especially after all the noise of the party.” If the first two failed, Nell was certain the last one would get her sister.

Time moved funny when you were high and Bea was struggling to follow the quick moving events. It took her a few moments after Nell’s grab to have a response. “Nellie,” She pulled her arm from her sister’s grasp looking all the more confused. She turned to Alain, an apologetic look on her face,“I’ll come by another time. Nell’s right, I should stay. My cat needs me.” Dia wasn’t a fan of a lot of people being in the house and she knew that the kitty would tear up her room if she left her alone for any longer. “I’m glad I invited you in,” She offered to Alain with a smile. 

"Are these not all your friends?" Hope asked the other girl curiously. Although she definitely understood the desire to avoid crowds, even if Hope was sure it was for different reasons. The girls smile was strained and yet even as she leaned a little closer to try and get a read all she got was static. It was stranger than anything she'd ever felt before. People felt duller sometimes, like Nate, but never just like….nothing. "Oh well no shame in getting out and feeling overwhelmed if you don't do it often!" Hope offered an encouraging smile. Her brain whirring away trying to figure this girl out. "...is it overwhelmed you're feeling?" She couldn't help but pry. 

"It's alright Nell, I don't take it personally," he reassured her, brushing it off with a wave of his hand in front of his face. Alain nodded politely at Beatrice before he stepped further away from the house and eventually was gone. What a weird evening, he thought to himself as he jogged back home.

As the girl leaned in closer, Nadia leaned back, just a bit. At least her damned fight or fight sense was dialing down; the last thing she wanted to do was actually hit someone, and this girl hadn’t done anything. She was just being curious. Nice. “I, like, know a few people here? Nell, personally. I know Nell. Everyone else I’ve maybe talked to online a few times, I think.” She closed her eyes and tried to focus on the girl’s white noise, like she did with Remmy’s nothingness and, when they’d gotten coffee, Carrington’s, but it made her feel a little sick, honestly. Maybe it was the booze, coupled with the dancing, and the jarring shifts in emotions, but she wasn’t feeling well, as her head started spinning. I-- yeah. A little overwhelmed is all.” And anxious and awkward and ready to fight and curious and confused. Very overwhelmed really. “I need a minute.”

“I get it, almost everyone who knows me here is someone from online, the forum for this town is pretty good for meeting new people. I brought along a familiar face though, didn’t realize it was no boys allowed.” Hope made a face to express her guilt at the mistake. “But Nell took it in her stride so I figure that’s okay right? He’s friends with a few of the people here.” Hope was making conversation trying to gauge if she could feel anything from this girl. So far nothing and it was getting a little eerie, as the emotions from the next room faded. The girl paled and Hope leaned back again, feeling guilty as if she might have caused the reaction. “Do you want a seat? A drink of water? You drank a lot?”

Nadia waved the girl off. “I’m fine. It’s fine. I had like two drinks.” Strong ones, but that hardly mattered. She leaned against the wall and kind of just slid down it until she was sitting on the floor. “I might just, you know, hang out. Right here.” She leaned her head down. “I’m sure Nell’s fine you brought, uh, Nate, right? He’s nice.” Yeah, the floor was nice. It was calm. No people. Nothing but this girl and her static. “If anybody needs me, I’m just gonna chill. Right here.”

[spiltscribbles]

11 for pynch please and thank you! 💙

~Notes: TYSM sweets!!! I hope you enjoy this! A reblog is worth a thousand stars

.-

From this List  |  Send Me A Prompt

.-

Ronan wakes up unceremoniously on an ordinary Tuesday afternoon to the sound of muffled footsteps and clacking pans in the kitchen below.

No, not an ordinary Tuesday afternoon, not exactly. Not when Adam’s here, in the barns, with Ronan. It’s the first time in months that he’s been here for longer than a night or two at a time, and Ronan can hardly believe that the fall semester is finally over and he gets to actually stay here with no real time limit that makes everything feel like it’s entirely too fleeting.

Ronan feels his heart swell at the thought of finally having him here till at least mid January. Of them spending their second Christmas together as a couple, of getting to exchange champaign soaked kisses on New Year’s Ee, of just getting to exist in the domesticity of it all. 

He shuffles closer to the warmth of Adam’s conspicuously vacant side of the bed, plunges his head in the pillow that still smells like him— like lemons and sunlight and something distinctly Adam’s own, tries his best not to get lost in the memories of what they’d done only a few hours prior. Ronan lies there for a moment more, waits for Adam to exit the bathroom or come back from studying in the den (where Ronan had left him before taking a lazy midday nap). But the noise from downstairs is really getting at him. He knows full and well if he allows Opal to act like a complete heathen, with  this much noise now, that she’ll just take it and run. 

So with a long suffering sigh, Ronan rises from the warm duvet, slips on a pair of sweats and black tank before marching downstairs, a tongue lashing poised to pounce just as soon as he catches Opal making a muck of things…. The only problem is that once Ronan gets to the kitchen, it’s not Opal’s ratty old skullcap  and impish smile that greets him. 

Ronan is face to face with a child, a little boy to be exact. He’s got a mop of sandy blonde curls that nearly covers his deep set, blue eyes, and a dusting of freckles dotting the tops of his cheeks and nose. The child’s nothing more than skin and bones, at least fifteen pounds underweight. He’s trembling in what must be some sort of fear, the spout of a teapot in one hand and the rest of it in another. 

Though if Ronan’s being honest, he can’t really spare a single fuck over   that— his eyes are laser focussed on the too big, painfully familiar sweatshirt that he’s wearing— wearing is the wrong word, it’s more like he’s being swallowed up by it. It’s crimson colored and has got the word Harvard splayed out in large letters.

Ronan knows that sweater, had watched his boyfriend slink it back on only a bit ago before kissing Ronan and retreating back to look over his books and shit in the den.

Wholly fuck.

Ronan is definitely insane. He knows this. Ronan is insane which is literally the only reason why he’s even about to utter this name, but he needs to just get it out of the way. Speak it, confuse the kid, and then figure out what in actual hell is going on.

Ronan is fucking insane, which is why he’s opening his lips and actually speaking the name out loud.

“Adam.”

The kid shrinks back, eyes winced and shoulders clenched. 

“I—I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it! I, I was just trying to get a glass of water and it slipped.”

It’s like Ronan feels it when his gut shrivels up and his chest plunges down to his stomach. He literally can’t process a thing.

“I’m sorry,” is all the kid says. No not kid… Adam. No, that’s still not right because if this was his Adam he would’ve just tossed it in the trash and probably buy Ronan a knew one— even if Ronan curses at him that he doesn’t need it. This Adam, this kid— he looks terrified— like he’d be punished for it. 

“Adam… Do you know who I am?”

The kids bottom lip starts to tremble, and their’s a distinct sheen  to his big eyes. 

Ronan feels helpless. 

“I’m so sorry, please don’t tell my dad, I didn’t mean it.”

Ronan doesn’t give himself the time to curse a thousand more deaths— painful and twisted— towards Robert Parrish, instead he just shakes off the steaming hot fury, and kneels down in front of the kid— of Adam.

Jesus fucking Christ what is his life.

“Hey, it’s fine, you’re okay.”

Ronan reaches out to cup his shoulder reassuringly, but Adam just shutters back, terrified. 

Okay fine, Ronan spares himself one curse.

“Where, where am I? Who are you?”

Ronan reminds himself that if this is truly a kid Adam that it’s far before they ever met. Of course he doesn’t know who the fuck Ronan is. It’s not Ronan’s fault, and Adam— his Adam— Will be back soon. His Adam had loved him, that just doesn’t go away. This is only temporary. 

God please let this only be temporary, Ronan can’t imagine it not. Can’t imagine finally having him and then forced to let go, to lose him in a new, cruel way. More inventive than the death of his parents, because this would mean that Ronan doesn’t have the right to mourn him, only what they had. He would have to watch Adam grow up and become a man and Ronan would be absolutely nothing to him.

A voice whispers in Ronan’s ear that he’s being a fucking selfish prick, that maybe this is a blessing, a second chance for Adam. A chance where he doesn’t have to grow up with fucking Robert and Claudia Parrish. That he could be safe and tended to and appreciated like he deserved by some new parents. He never has to know what it feels like to be taken over by some dream forest or discover one of your best friends is dead and another is destined to die a second time before actually coming to life. A chance that he could meet someone better than Ronan, someone on his level.

God damn it.

Ronan crinkles his fingers to a fist and keeps it to his side, looks straight into the kids eyes.

“I’m Ronan, I’m a friend.”

The kid frowns now, brows pinched and chin jut out. 

God, he is Adam isn’t he.

“A friend? The Parrishs don’t have any friends.”

“Sure you do, not your parents, but you do Adam. You’ve got friends.”

The kid’s eyes scan Ronan’s face, studying him for a tell. Ronan has no idea why he feels so unnerved.

“Did Mis Maguire tell then? Did they take me away from my parents like my ma said they would?”

Ronan doesn’t lie, so he just averts his gaze, gnaws on his bottom lip.

“Are they okay?”

“They’re fine kid.”

He purses his lips, spindly arms crossed against his chest.

“I’m scared. I don’t know you.”

“I know,” Ronan tries not sounding so utterly helpless. “But I’m going to take care of you, okay?”

“Okay…”

.-

“He smells like Adam,” Opal announces, blunt.

“I am Adam?” The kid replies from where he’s curled into a tiny little ball on the couch, eyeing Opal like she’s a completely new species— thank god she’s still got on her boots, Ronan can’t imagine the kid’s reaction to seeing a set of hooves on her.

By the time Ronan got him to change into some of Matthew’s old clothes, and had called Blue— demanding her to come over and bring whatever fucking voodoo books she and the witches of Fox Way study, Opal had come in from a day of exploring around the barns— mud splattered and preening, curious as all get out once she spotted him. 

“You’re too small,” she tells him, making Adam’s face go a furious red. 

“You’re barely taller than me!”

“Adam’s nearly as tall as Kerah,” Opal sniffs, head tilted imperiously.

“Who is Kerah!” 

Before Ronan is forced to get between that brawl, the doorbell mercifully rings.

“Ronan, I’ve missed you,” Gansey— as glimmering as always— greets while walking in, a stack of pizzas in one hand and the other used to give Ronan a one armed hug.

“We were having a movie night,” Blue informs him. “Considering it’s Adam’s first day back we thought you two were gonna spend at least a week catching up on lost time… Though that is unless your stamina isn’t up to par?”

Ronan bares his teeth at her and Blue just cackles ebulliently. 

“Speaking of which, where is our darling Henrietta prince?” Henry asks, setting down the soda on the coffee table and looking around the room confusedly. “Thought at the very least you two would be attached at the hips.”

“When I show you pricks, you can’t make a fucking deal out of it in front of him, got it.”

“Oo,” Henry beams. “Mysterious~”

“What did you do,” Gansey asks worriedly. 

“Fucking nothing— or something. I don’t know, just don’t make him frazzled.”

They chorus their agreement, and Ronan takes a deep breath before leading them into the other room, met by Adam and Opal arguing over something about Adam being too skinny— both pint-sized and loud as all hell. 

“Lynch what the actual fuck—“ Blue marvels, causing both Adam and Opal to swivel their gazes around to the foursome.

Adam’s face goes flushed at the sight of Blue, and Ronan kind of hates everything. 

“I brought more friends.”

Adam stays quiet, just nods at Ronan and focusses on how he can knot his fingers together. 

Gansey’s the first one to step up, crouching in front of him. Ronan would like to say it’s all because of his intellectual curiosity, but knows full and well that the slightly broken look to his features is the same sort that Ronan’s been sporting for the past hour.

“Adam?” he asks, adjusting his wireframe glasses with a nervous sort of tension. 

The kid nods.

“Seriously Lynch the fuck did you do?” Henry skewers him with a look, but Ronan can’t help but feel like he deserves it.

“Nothing! I’m telling you! One moment he’s leaving our bed to go study and the next, boom. I wake up and he’s, he’s—“

“I’m sorry, is the first thing Adam says in front of everyone, voice small and self deprecating. “If I’m being too much trouble, I can go home now. It’s okay.”

“Hey!” Ronan very nearly barks. “Don’t be ridiculous kid, I told you I’m gonna take care of you, right?”

Adam doesn’t answer, but Blue swats at his arm, glaring. “Chill, won’t you.”

“Figure this out!” Ronan counters, desperate. “Won’t you.”

aggrieved, Blue just rolls her eyes heavenwards   before taking a seat besides Adam.

“Hey hon,” she starts nice and slow. “You’re not any trouble at all. But can we just ask you a couple questions?”

Adam gives her a one armed shrug. “Sure thing.”

“God he’s so adorable,” Henry gushes. Ronan feels totally justified when he elbow checks him in the stomach, hard.

“Okay,” Blue smiles kindly. “So what’s the last thing you remember?” 

Adam starts shaking again, hands clenched tight.

“M—My dad, he was mad.” One of his hands inch towards his forearm, and Ronan hates the thought that there’s a mark there— a bruise. “B—But I don’t remember much of it, when he’s like that it’s helpful to think of other stuff, like school and the cookies Ms Edna down the street makes sometimes… It helps me not feel anything totally.”

Ronan feels fucking sick.

He wants to drive into Henrietta proper and beat that bastard to a pulp all over again. He wants to not stop either.

“Is that the last thing you remember?” Blue asks, voice equal parts sad and quiet. 

“I think I fell asleep, and then someone must’ve brung me here,” Adam says. “Was I s’pose to come?”

“Yes, positively Adam. You’re meant to be here,” Gansey tells him immediately.

Ronan wants to ensure Adam that he won’t ever have to go back to that place, but if this really is just a temporary blimp in the cosmos, that would be a lie. And Ronan could never lie to any version of Adam.

He thinks that Gansey and Blue feel much of the same way if the fraught look in their eyes is anything to go by.

“Gansey, Henry, why don’t you take Adam out to the back. Show him the cows and chickens and sheep.” Blue suggests in an obvious ploy to get to talk to Ronan alone. 

“I’ll show them the way,” Opal says, chest puffed out and marching ahead like a general leading her troops.

Ronan doesn’t miss the way Adam rolls his eyes at her.

“So what! The fuck is going on!” Ronan asks once they’re gone.

“I’m not sure,” Blue tells him, biting down on her lip and reaching for the large, dusty looking book she had brought. “He was fine after we separated when we got back from that eclectic shop in DC, right?”

“He was perfect.” Ronan sits besides her, tries to feel like his world isn’t tilting off orbit and speaks out loud the fear that’s been squirming in the back of his mind. “What if this is part of that circular time shit you witches are always talking about? Like Cabeswater and all that?”

Blue shakes her head, doubtless, and Ronan’s suddenly, acutely thankful that she’s here with him, figuring it out. Blue’s always a grounding presence, she cuts out all the crap and figures out the black and white of the situation, they’ve always been alike with that practice. “He’s still deaf in the left ear, I could tell by how much he was toying with it. And he’s still got that cut on his upper lip from—“ She doesn’t have to finish the sentence, they’re still all too raw from it, unable to think of those hellish hours even now. “So, ah, yeah. He hasn’t like switched places with his younger self, it’s more like he’s been transformed back to that state. Did he ever tell you how old he was?”

“Seven and a half,” Ronan answers mechanical. 

“Jesus, a small ass seven year old.”

Ronan doesn’t respond, and Blue swallows down the thickness in her throat.

“Okay, so he’s most likely only got the memories up to that age also.”

“Then what!” Ronan almost screams.

“I don’t know!” Blue actually does shout, and he can finally take in the wetness to her eyes and how she’s shaking so much that one of the sleeves of her sweater has slipped off to expose one brown shoulder. She’s just as scared and confused  as him, all of them are.

Ronan bows his head, a silent apology, and Blue nods her own, excepting it.

“You sure nothing weird happened?” Blue asks, and Ronan rattles his brain for any innocuous thing that might’ve caused this.

“No, no, we got home, fooled around a bit and then….”

“Okay, before that then.” Blue presses. “Nothing strange when we were in DC?”

“No,” Ronan repeats emphatically. “We stayed away from all that weird mojo killing shit like you said.”

“Are you sure!” Blue asks again, shrewd.

“Yes! We were just looking at the normal, drugstore shit they kept in the back.”

“What normal shit?” Blue wrinkles her nose at him, scathing. 

“I dunno,” Ronan toots. “Those cheep ass plastic stars you can stick on your ceiling, the ones that glow up. I told him how Niall had dreamt me and my brother up some that were literal consolations.”

“And what did Adam say to that?” Blue asks critically.

“I don’t fucking remember what he exactly said!” Ronan harrumphs, helpless.

“Ronan, please for the love of God, if you ever want our Adam back, stop being such an ass and figure it out!” Blue scolds, looking like she might literally fume— as if she were a Disney cartoon or some shit.

Suitably scolded, Ronan sifts through his memories of the morning. Of Adam’s radiant smile, and husky laugh, and the way the sunlight turned his pale brown hair tawny in the light of day. Ronan remembers feeling so inn love with him, and so utterly sad when Adam had just shrugged, blasé, when saying that Robert’s never done anything like that for him. That he’s never had any real childhood.

Ronan and Blue figure it out at the same exact moment.

“Oh fuck.” They chorus.

“Do you think that was enough?” 

“Probably!” Blue scrambles up, calls for Gansey to give her a ride back to Fox Way. “I told you guys that it wasn’t a place to screw around in!”

“How was I suppose to know!” Ronan shouts back.

Gansey races in, wearing one of Opal’s pink bows in his hair and eyes frantic.

“I’m gonna ask my mom and Calla if they have the shop owners number, maybe they’ll know what to do.”

“Um, yes, spot on. But darling what did you two figure out.”

“No time,” Ronan and Blue say in unison, both of them practically shoving him out the door.

“I’ll call if we figure anything out.

“Fucking hurry,” Ronan shouts after her.

.-

It’s been at least a quarter of an hour since Blue and Gansey had raced out, probably half way to Henrietta with how Gansey drives, and Ronan feels like their’s an itching squirming beneath his skin. He can’t sit down or do anything but compulsively check his phone, heart lodged in his throat and the memory of Adam’s— his Adam’s— thin lipped half grin directed at Ronan. Soft and splendid and glittering. 

Ronan has no idea how to keep that memory forever in his mind’s eye if it turns out he’ll never get to see that warmth directed at him again. Knows in his heart that he’ll never want to feel that same sort of devotion for anyone else, that he can’t ever feel anything akin to what he felt for Adam.

Speaking of which….

Ronan hear’s the backdoor open with a clack, and gets up to find the kid— sweaty and smiling in a way he knows in his heart he’s never smiled while in the trailer park.

“Hey kid.”

“Hi,” he blinks up at him, suddenly a bit reticent. “Opal and Henry are still in her tree house having a tea party, but I got thirsty for something real.”

Ronan quirks up his lip humorously. 

“The fridge’s water is filtered, let me get you a glass pipsqueak.”

Adam’s face glows ten fold just as Ronan hands it to him with a pack of cookies, (oatmeal and raisin the weirdos favorite.)

“Thank you Mr.”

Ronan can feel the blood drain out his face with how weird that is to hear.

“Ronan, just call me Ronan.”

Adam just shrugs with a nod, inhaling a third cookie, ravenous. Ronan offers to make him a peanut butter and jelly sandwich too, reckons that he can at least start to get some meat on his frame. 

Adam nods giddily, probably accustomed not to be passing up food when it’s offered.

“So is this place all yours?” Adam asks, owlish. 

“My family’s, yeah,” Ronan tells him, pretends not to see the wistful look in his eyes. This place must be a fortress to him, who’s only ever known the doublewide. 

“It’s really great.”

“Thanks,” Ronan snorts, caps the jelly before tossing it back in the fridge and cuts up a banana next to the sandwich. 

“Where’s your family then?”

Yeah, Ronan supposes he should’ve seen that one coming.

“Ah, my parents aren’t around anymore,” he swallows down the thickness in his throat, concentrates on pouring a glass of milk.

“I’m sorry,” Adam says, nibbling on a fourth cookie.

“Don’t ruin your appetite kid,” Ronan reproves with no heat, sets the meal in front of him.

“So it’s just you in this huge castle?” Adam asks, feet kicking up and down in the air.

“Yeah, pretty much. My brothers are in the city, so it’s just me and Opal and…. Ah, my boyfriend.” Ronan isn’t sure why he says that, but is glad he did.

Adam is regarding him curiously now, big eyes peering up at Ronan while he takes a swig of the milk, and fingers tapping an unbalanced staccato on the counter top.

“Cool,” Adam says and Ronan feels a ridiculous amount of relief by. “I’m gonna live in a castle someday too.”

“Oh yeah?” Ronan smiles at him, elastic and charmed.

“Mmhmm, my dad’s gonna be so proud. Ma too.”

Ronan frowns now, heart sinking. 

“You don’t have to make them proud Adam, you’re great.”

Adam reddens, and Ronan slowly realizes that he’s probably never heard that from anyone before. So he repeats it. 

“You’re great kid.”

“Thanks,” Adam mumbles before stuffing another banana slice in his mouth, effectively cutting the conversation short. Already a pro at diversion. 

Ronan feels his phone buzz, sees a message from Blue.

Maggot: We figured it out

Maggot: Headed ur way rn with a cure

Ronan thanks God, Jesus, and the Wholly Ghost above.

.-

Adam races towards blue once she and Gansey walk in, and she kisses the top of his forehead, a ginger hand carding through his hair.

Ronan is not petty.

She sends him to get the final ingredients of the freaky spell, drink concoction that Calla had brewed, (a piece of his Adam’s clothing for the kid to wear while he’s asleep, and fucking Olive Oil of all things). And when Ronan gets back, Blue is preening and the kid isn’t looking straight at Ronan. 

They give him the drink to swallow and tell him to change before he’s off to sleep. 

Adam rubs his eyes with a yawn. 

“I don’t wanna go back to the doublewide,” he tells Ronan while they all tuck him into bed. 

“You won’t go back,” Ronan says with conviction, ruffled his  disheveled locks before picking him up and placing him in the center of Declan’s old bed— it felt to skeevy to put him in the one they ordinarily share as partners. 

It’s Henry who blankets him in and Gansey reads him an old fairytale from Aurora’s favorite storybook till he’s fast asleep. 

“He looks like such an angel,” Henry croons. 

“I know,” Blue beams.

“Get the fuck out before you wake him up too early!” Ronan gripes.

They all decide to just stay the night at the Barns, to ensure everything’s alright with Adam in the morning. 

“You know Lynch,” Blue preens like the cat that’s gotten into the cream. “You put a number on that kid.”

“Shut up,” Ronan huffs, passes over her cup of tea before pouring his own.

“It was so cute!” Blue insists. “When you were upstairs getting that old T-shirt, you should’ve heard him talk about you. Even admitted to me he had a little crush, asked if your boyfriend was just as pretty as you.”

Ronan’s heart does a stupid, hiccup, and he feels his skin burn red. Fuck his pale Irish ass.

“What did you tell’m?”

“I mean the truth, that your boyfriend is leagues ahead of you, but hey the kid wasn’t convinced.”

Ronan tosses her the bird, tries to tempt down the ridiculously gleeful grin that threatens to tear his face in half.

He must look like such a lune.

.-

Ronan wakes up the next day with the sensation of someone stepping on his diaphragm.

“Oh shit,” Adam— still sleep drunk and groggy, says apologetically. His tuffs of hair spread out every which way and delicious mouth set in a pout.

But it’s him.

It’s his Adam, beautiful and whole and there.

Ronan leaps off from where he was lying outside Declan’s door and crashes into him, squeezing Adam as close as physically possible— them pressed chest to chest and Ronan plunging his nose into the hallow of Adam’s long neck, taking him in completely.

“Ronan?” Adam asks deliriously.

“God fucking damn it Parrish, don’t ever leave again.”

“Where did I go?” Adam asks, confused, is surprised when Opal, from out of no where, pops up and takes him by the hand adoringly.

“You smell like Adam,” she grins.

“Erm, I am Adam?” 

[wemultitudinous]

@kingofdirtandnothing​ asked: “It’s okay. I couldn’t sleep anyway.”

ONE HUNDRED WAYS TO SAY ‘I LOVE YOU’ // NOT ACCEPTING

Alexander has this habit of failing to see the whole picture.

It’s not that he acts without thinking, as such. It’s just that he lives his life in a sort of tunnel vision, laser-focused with such intensity on one aspect of his actions that he’ll completely forget to take the rest into account, no matter how obvious. It’s got him into trouble before, safe to say, and no doubt it will get in him into trouble again.

Right now, it’s got him outside John’s building at three in the morning, frozen in the belated realisation that this really should probably have waited until morning. When John had called him this afternoon and extracted a promise from him to come by as soon as he was done working on his article, he probably didn’t mean literally. Or possibly, he’d taken Alexander’s assurance that he’d only need ‘a couple hours’ to finish up seriously—but that’s John’s fault. He’s been friends with Alexander long enough now to know better. 

Either way, with blame apportioned (un)fairly between them, as Alexander stares up at the dark building, not a single light illuminating a single window, it’s a safe bet that John is fast asleep, right now. It would be an asshole move to wake him up just because he’s here.

Then again, the victorious high from hammering out an incisive and thought-provoking refutation in a little over a day is fast fading, and the lack of sleep and real food is catching up with him. The thought of having to trek all the way back to his own apartment is almost incomprehensibly unappealing.

Yeah, fuck it.

He fumbles a key from his pocket, clumsy in his gloved fingers, and lets himself into the building, careful to catch the door behind him before it slams shut. He takes the stairs—an effort, and one which had better be appreciated by John’s nameless neighbours who don’t want to be woken by the ding! of the elevator in the middle of the night—and then eases his way into John’s place.

It’s dark, and warm, and smells familiar in such a comforting way that Alexander can feel himself relaxing as he crosses the threshold. Of course, the soothing embrace of the apartment becomes the distinctly less soothing embrace of utter darkness when the door swings shut behind him, blocking out the dim sodium-yellow light of the hallway bulb that had been spilling in behind him.

“Fuck,” he says, softly but with great feeling. He slides his phone from his pocket. The lock screen glows to faintly to do much except make the darkness seem even darker; he can’t unlock it to use the flashlight with his gloves on so he juggles it to one hand while the other rises to his mouth, teeth clamping onto a finger of the glove to tug it off. He feels the phone slipping from his grasp when it’s already too late.

A bunch of things happen at once. The phone tumbles towards the ground. The glove peels from his hand unexpectedly, sending his head jerking back and knocking him off balance. He lunges for the phone and punches the side-table where John keeps his keys and loose change, all of it clattering across the surface.

So that’s how John finds him when he flips on the lights. 

Phone on the ground, clutching at his elbow, glove in teeth, staggering backwards. 

John’s expression is confused and sleepy and already shifting towards amused. If his hair had been tied up before he went to bed, it’s not now, and the wild array of his hair around his head is mussed and adorable.

          (Adorable, Alexander thinks. He really must find a different word to describe his best friend; that one seems to come up a lot. He makes a mental note to sit down with his thesaurus at some point before he remembers the situation at hand.)  

“What the fuck, Ham?” John asks, grin grasped loose and easy between drowsy teeth. 

“I didn’t want to wake you,” Alexander says, around the glove, as though that’s any sort of explanation. It’s easier than I was sneaking in to sleep on your couch because I lack all proper concepts of the passage of time and home is a relative concept, anyway. “I lost track of time. And if you didn’t want me turning up at unsociable hours, then you probably shouldn’t have given me a key.”

“I mean, you demanded a key.”

“And you gave me one. Don’t go shifting the blame to me, Laurens.”

“Of course not,” John says, mock-solemn. “Shifting the blame onto an innocent party would be wrong.”

“Now you’re getting it. Anyway, go back to bed. I’ll just—ow, fuck, why is your furniture so pointy? —raid your fridge and take the couch.” Finally, Alexander pries his fingers away from his throbbing funny bone and takes the glove from his mouth, tugging the other hand free too and ducking to retrieve his phone. It’s not damaged; it’s a second-hand brick of a thing that could probably survive nuclear warfare.

“There’s pizza,” John says, wandering towards the kitchen, which is in the opposite direction to his bedroom and therefore a flagrant disregarding of Alexander’s suggestion. His sweats are loose and low on his hips, bunched up against the floor at the heel. Alexander’s not sure why he notices. “Sausage and pepper, easy on the onion.”

Alexander’s order. Which either means that John ordered him a pizza of his own that he never turned up to eat, or John has just straight-up started ordering his favourites on the off-chance that he might show up and want some.

He toes off his shoes, and shuffles towards the kitchen, shuffling deliberately over the hardwood floor like a kid pretending to ice skate. John’s got the fridge open, flipping open a pizza box. Two-thirds gone. Interesting. Alexander ducks up under John’s arms, worming into the space between John and the fridge to take a slice in each hand.

“You’re too good to me,” he says, and sticks one slice in his mouth with about the same measure of elegance he’d been chewing on a glove only moments ago. “Go to bed.”

“Nah, you’re good,” John says. “I couldn’t sleep anyway.”

Alexander doesn’t need to be looking at him to know that it’s a lie. Something warm ignites somewhere behind his ribs, a soft thing that turns up more often than not when John is involved and just sits there, gently expanding until it feels like something’s trying to break his ribs from the inside. No, that’s too violent an image—like it’s trying to mould itself to the cage of his chest, take up every fraction of space inside him and fill it with something light, and buoyant. It’s big and it’s claustrophobic and it’s tender, and sometimes Alexander thinks it’s going to spill from him like an oil slick that will dirty the waters between them, leave them toxic.

Alexander elbows John in the stomach, because it feels like the safe route. John lets out an oof and obligingly moves aside so that Alexander can escape to the couch. He watches John swing the fridge door closed, one hand rubbing at his abdomen where Alexander’s elbow had connected. 

“Anyone ever tell you that you’re a terrible house guest?” John grumbles, and comes and sprawls himself down on the couch next to Alexander.

“I’m a fucking delight. I bless you with my presence.” Alexander says primly, around a mouthful of pizza. 

“Bless?” John asks, wryly. “Vouliez-vous dire ‘blesse’?”

Did you mean ‘wound’? It’s not that Alexander doesn’t have an appreciation for inter-lingual wordplay, quite the reverse; but his mouth is full of pizza and he can’t bite back a witty response. He opts for the mature option and smacks John, the back of his hand finding with uncanny accuracy exactly the place his elbow had landed only a minute ago. John does his best to twist away from the blow but can’t quite manage it, his laughter gathering in the corners of the half-dark apartment like windblown leaves.

They sit together while Alexander chews through his slices, a comfortable and lethargic silence settling between them. When he’s done, he sighs contentedly and tips himself over sideways to sprawl himself against John.

“You know there’s a perfectly good bed in the other room,” John tells him, but he’s already rearranging himself on the couch, squirming back against the arm so that Alexander can settle up against his chest in turn.

“I wouldn’t kick you out of your own bed,” Alexander says, disapprovingly. “I might not have manners but even I know that’s rude.”

There’s a pause then, like John is about to say something, and then thinks better of it. The empty space that’s sitting hard and high behind Alexander’s sternum shrinks a little, or maybe it grows. Hard to tell. Exhaustion catching up with him, he doesn’t have the energy to examine it right now.

“But making me sleep on the couch is fine?” John asks instead, amusement curling warm at the corners of his words. Alexander can feel the vibrations of them through John’s chest, and hums contentedly.

“Thought you couldn’t sleep?” Alexander asks, tone fondly mocking.

“Right,” John agrees, hurriedly. “Yeah. I guess I’ll just watch you sleep then, shall I? Like an absolute psychopath.”

Alexander snorts and wriggles himself further onto John, flopping an arm across him in a way that can’t possibly be comfortable. John grumbles, but only hooks an arm around Alexander’s waist to anchor him in place.

“Is it your life goal to just be as inconvenient as possible?” John mutters. Alexander closes his eyes, heaving out a heavy sigh as he feels sleep plucking at the edges of mind already, coaxed out by John’s warmth underneath him.

“Vouliez-vous dire ‘inconvenant’?” he asks, managing an eyebrow-wiggle just to cement the innuendo more firmly in place. Did you mean ‘improper’? See, John, you’re not the only one who can do it. Even half-asleep, Alexander’s tongue is quicker than his mind.

“Oh shut up,” John says, fond and exasperated.

“Only because you asked so nicely,” Alexander says. John says something to that, maybe a question—Alexander feels the rumble of it between them where they’re pressed together—but he doesn’t catch it, already tipping sideways into much-needed sleep.    

[tysonrunningfox]

Ripped: Part 20

Hey so uhhhh, I feel like this took forever?  

Ao3

00000

“I just don’t understand how you aren’t bored.” The first thing Hiccup hears is Astrid’s voice, on edge and at ease all at once, close enough to surround him entirely. When Astrid’s fingers drag softly through his hair, he doesn’t care about the hazy confusion of waking up somewhere other than his bed. He knows exactly where he is. “There are obvious problems in the league—“

“Problems like the Patriots being the greatest and Tom Brady reinventing the game every year he postpones retirement?” Snotlout snorts, slurring the edges of his words slightly. Drunk maybe, but Hiccup doesn’t care because of Astrid’s touch lingering under his ear. “Those aren’t problems from my side.”

“Ok, but you have to acknowledge that in a league of thirty-two teams, the fact that the competition is between one team and everyone else means that there’s something wrong.” She’s emphatic but quiet, one step below a whispered yell, and she twirls a lock of hair at the nape of his neck around her finger, her nail barely dragging across his scalp. He wishes he could fall back asleep before Snotlout’s reply, but he’s not fast enough.

“Or that the one team is just that fucking awesome.”

“That’s literally impossible.” Astrid’s hand grazes along the back of his neck and pauses to rub at the least pressing knot of muscle in his back.   “The entire point of the draft and the salary cap is to keep the league competitive.”

“But that doesn’t apply, because Brady plays for less because he loves the game.”

“Is that another way to say that he married someone richer than he is and he’s a little bitch who cries when he loses?” Her fingers brush across Hiccup’s forehead before she drags fingernails through his hair again, absent-minded and sweeter for how habitual the motion is. His hip and lower back feel like he’s been sleeping for hours without moving and he gets the feeling that she’s been touching him this whole time.

His arm is asleep and his eyes feel sandy and dry, but he can’t remember the last time he was this comfortable.

“You think men can’t be emotional? That’s pretty sexist of you.”

There it is, time to wake up.

He yawns, stretching slowly with a wince and lifting his head off of Astrid’s lap, elbow on the couch cushion to hold him half upright. It takes a couple blinks to detangle his eyelashes and when he does, Snotlout is staring at him, pale but distinctly smug in the way he only gets when he’s winning arguments about sports.

And he’s in a hospital bed instead of on Hiccup’s dad’s chair at the apartment. His shoulder is wrapped in gauze and his eyes are morphine bleary instead of happy Saturday night drunk.

Right, the hospital.

“Morning sleeping beauty, are you done being a spaz?”

“I’m still breathing, aren’t I?” Hiccup looks at the window, trying to judge the time. It’s too bright to be morning, the sun peeking through dispersing clouds. Early afternoon, he’d guess, given he feels at least partially back on schedule.  

“You were snoring,” Snotlout tells him, forever helpful, “and sleep-talking.”

“Oh,” he sits up, looking sheepishly over at Astrid, “what did I say?”

“Nothing coherent,” she shrugs, rolling her shoulders and folding one leg underneath her, probably stiff from being his pillow for however long he slept. Her blue eyes are bright, teasing above the worry, and the corner of her mouth twitches. “Emphatic though. You really meant whatever you were mumbling about.”

She’s too pretty to be here, smiling quietly at him and cocking her head while he sits up the rest of the way and rubs his face. His greasy, stubbly face with gritty tear streaks from crying. Apparently he got enough rest to be embarrassed that this is the condition of the head he rested on Astrid’s lap for hours, so that’s something.

He preferred being half-asleep, her hands in his hair while she and Snotlout argued in useless circles, like this was just a usual night in a world he wishes he lived in.

“How long was I out?” He stands up and twists slowly side to side, willing the deep stiffness in his lower back to fade and losing the argument.

“Long enough to watch the same football game one and a half times,” she glares at Snotlout, standing to take a sip of water from a second glass that appeared on the bedside table while Hiccup was sleeping.

“Hiccup, you should probably get this sore loser out of here before she starts being sexist again.” Snotlout rolls his eyes, hunkering down further in his pillows and Hiccup recognizes the painkiller grogginess in his face.

That’s how Hiccup must have looked in the hospital a decade ago, down a foot and wishing his dad would leave and let him sleep off the dizzy fog in his head, while his dad insisted on staying, gray-faced and worried.

There’s a short list of days in Hiccup’s life that transected reality and made it impossible for him to go back to living how he did before them. His leg. His parents divorce. His dad dying.

Meeting Astrid makes the list, and the anxious twist at the thought of trying to explain the gravity of that to her builds on the depth of the line being drawn right now. On the precipice of a relationship he’s never thought he’d be able to manage after what happened with his parents, he’s here hovering over someone recovering from a gunshot wound, too involved to let them sleep.

Like everyone with a complicated relationship with their parents, Hiccup has of course feared becoming his dad. He always thought it would have something to do with gaining an unfortunate appreciation for bagpipes or the law, and more than that, he always thought it was impossible as long as he kept generally failing. If he didn’t try, he couldn’t come up short.

But even five years of tax dodging unemployment couldn’t save him from becoming himself. Accidentally like his dad enough for it to hurt, but entirely lacking the easy to avoid roadmap of his father’s footsteps.

“You ok?” Astrid asks, hand twining more easily than he deserves with his.

“Yeah,” he lies, “I could use some fresh air, maybe—”

“Like that’s possible until you shower,” Snotlout rolls his eyes, “it smells like the locker room in here, and it’s not Mr. Sponge-bath’s fault.” He points at himself with his good arm and Hiccup takes a self-conscious step away from Astrid.

“Ok, then some not-hospital filtered air. Will you be—I mean, if I go home for a while—”

“If you don’t, I will call Sharon to kick you out.” Snotlout’s hand hovers over the nurse call button, “don’t test me, Haddock.”

00000

It’s bright enough outside that he checks the time, squinting at his phone screen in the sudden sunlight appearing from behind a cloud. A little past two, but that seems irrelevant, considering he’s not quite sure of the day.

“So, shower?” Astrid asks too brightly, her voice snapping him out of his head for the third time in the last hour.

“Huh?” He blinks at her, sure he must have heard wrong. “If my head was so greasy that you feel like you need a shower now, I apologize. Sincerely.”

“Not at all,” she wrinkles her nose, half-teasing and half looking at him like he’s crazy and he scratches the back of his neck.

“Right, and now that I drew your attention to all this,” he waves his hand in front of his face, “I’m assuming you’re not offering to join me.”

“Hiccup!” She smacks his arm, hard but not as hard as he knows she’s capable of, and he doesn’t know how he feels about the fact that she’s laughing. A real laugh, a relieved laugh. At him, absolutely, but not unkind.

“Wait, are you?”

“The concept of a shower was the only thing to get you out of that room in three days, so I reminded you,” she blushes even though her reasoning is sound, maybe because it’s embarrassing to be essentially propositioned by someone who probably looks like they’ve written off soap as a concept. “You seem a little out of it.”

“Oh, absolutely.”

“Do you need to go back in there and get yourself checked out? Maybe you concussed yourself sleeping on that shitty couch?” The worried lines between her eyebrows make him want to smooth them out, to assure her the way she did him when nothing but the difficult truth could.

“No, I guess it’s just that nearly losing Snotlout is somehow summing up every trauma I’ve spent the last decade avoiding.”

Great, that’ll ease her mind.

“Every trauma?” She smacks his arm again, sort of gentler, “you’ve been holding out on me, I thought I got your whole traumatic past on our midnight tour.”

“I know we said that wasn’t a date, but I was still following the first date rule of baggage dumping.” He snorts, “you know, get the dead dad thing out of the way so you subliminally didn’t worry about impressing a future father-in-law, but the missing leg would have been a lot. I wasn’t looking for pity.” He can say it because he knows Astrid would never give that to him.

He fell on her when he was at his lowest, most terrified point, and she was nothing but honest and solid, and that’s more comforting than he would have ever expected.  

“Well, I would have had more warning when we found your old leg attached to a murder victim,” she nudges his elbow and starts walking, freeing his feet from the pavement they felt glued to. He thinks if she weren’t here, he’d walk right back to Snotlout’s room, compelled but entirely unable to help.

“Second out of three,” he sighs, back internally creaking like a cartoon door when he forces his gait even, “and there was the foot? With the Ryker letter approximation?”

“I haven’t thought about the note in forever,” she shakes her head, pausing to tap too many times at a crosswalk button, “not that I forgot it, I definitely didn’t forget it.” The light changes color and she starts walking again, pulling him away from the hospital in the only way he’d be grateful for. “But no, we’re talking about your trauma, not Grimborn.”

“The letter attached to the foot sent to my apartment isn’t exactly Grimborn, is it?” He understands the blurring line attached but tugs at it anyway, seeing where in the web of Astrid’s ever-fascinating mind it’s connected.

She sighs, shoving her hands deep in her pockets like having pockets is a novelty. Then she looks up at him, biting her lip and refusing to wince at what she’s about to say, facing the truth again like he trusted her to do when it mattered most.

“Snotlout’s really high.”

“That’d be the morphine for his gunshot wounds, plural, what did he say?”

There was a time where Hiccup would have been mortified to leave Snotlout alone with anyone he was interested in, in any capacity. Let alone Astrid, or someone he felt this way about. Except no, he’s never felt like this about anyone, and her Snotlout tolerance is only part of it.

A part that lets her fit into a life he wants but doesn’t understand how to have yet, sure, but only part of the reason he likes her so much.

“He told me about your dad,” she shrugs, sheepish, and he wants to tilt her chin up to meet his eyes. A sexy chin grab, she called it, mortified and adorable but he shuts that thought off before he can follow it to blood and police and complication.

“I already told you about my dad though,” he laughs, “back when you thought you’d get murdered on a tour with me, which, I guess geographically, we were both close—“

“This, he told me about this.” She stops and faces him, looking so much like she wants to shove him that he looks away, trying to be distracted. The Ripped Tavern is right there, drawing him in like a perpendicular source of gravity, but he can’t focus on it with Astrid staring twin blue lightning bolts into his face.

“My tendency to change the subject?”

“He told me about how it was when he moved in.” Her voice is as gentle as the grip on his arms isn’t. The grip tethering him rudely to present day Berk, the land of trauma wards and messes he has to figure out. The land tethered to Grimborn through mystery, one important and one ephemeral and endless, a mystery resort for fascination without commitment.

As much as people want to live on vacation, when life’s consequences follow, it gets less fun.

“He told me how you found Grimborn-ology.” Her hand slides up to his shoulder, bracing, a little uncomfortable, and worse because he knows how much he trusts her. How right she always is. “And how before, you hadn’t been leaving the house or…”

“I’d just moved here, ok?” He starts walking because he doesn’t know how to talk while standing still. Because the Ripped Tavern is an eighteen-fifties pub that makes him feel grounded and he wants to be closer to it when he says too much and untethers himself again. “When everything happened with my dad, I’d just moved here to this city that he gave his life trying to protect. It felt hostile, but going back to live with my mom would be letting the thing he died for go. And…Viggo Grimborn was the only thing that made it feel like anyone had lived in this city before my dad died in it.”

The words shed more weight from his shoulders than he thinks they will, but for once, feeling lighter is worse. Dizzy, even.  

“And now someone obsessed with Viggo Grimborn keeps killing people.” Astrid makes the leap he’s glad not to be bold enough to and he sighs, resting his head on the wall of the tavern. It’s old brick, sturdy brick, the kind of brick that weathers things it shouldn’t have to. “Centered around you.”

The bass inside kicks up a notch and the ‘Happy Hour, 3-6’ sign to Hiccup’s left catches his eye when the wall vibrates like it shouldn’t.

“Did…did Heather renovate?”

“What?”

“These walls should be solid,” he grabs Astrid’s hand and presses it against the brick, “they shouldn’t move with bass like this unless someone drilled speakers into the walls. Hundred and fifty-year-old stone walls with some cheap Amazon speaker system crumbling the mortar…” He exhales, voice heavy and tired, “there was no building code, just organized chaos relying on intuition, and when you drill into that...”

“Do you trust me?” She asks, chin set stubbornly forward like no isn’t an answer, and it hurts that she doesn’t automatically know that.

“A frankly alarming amount.” His fingers curl around hers against the wall and she nods.

“Good, come on,” she grabs his wrist and drags him after her, explaining over her shoulder as she yanks him around the corner and through the pub’s front door, “we never finished our private tour.”

He freezes just inside, bending his knees to keep her from pulling him over. It works, barely, and she turns around, head cocking under a row of tee-shirts that say ‘Grimborn 1883-?’ in drippy, red lettering, hanging on a newly installed rack on a freshly whitewashed wall. “What’s wrong?”

“Look around,” he gestures with his free hand, “she painted—is that an Alexa? I was joking about the Amazon speakers—“

Astrid cuts him off with a palm pressed a little less than gently over his mouth and chin and she’s too close for him to be this desperate and floating. He bites his lip to keep from kissing her hand like an idiot or licking it so that she jerks back and he can complain about HGTV and how it’s destroying the city’s landmarks.

“You said you trusted me.” She doesn’t let go so he nods, “then let’s finish the tour.”

“Some of the rafters in here are probably American Chestnut, and they’re coated in enough latex paint to look like shiplap,” he says as soon as she takes her hand away, “it’s—“

“You said it was my tour,” she cuts him off, pointing at the side door, her hair bouncing on her shoulder with the motion, “I want to finish it.”

“You said if you knew it was your tour, you would have specified for me to wear the hat.”

“As much as I like the hat, you don’t need it.” She pulls him towards the side door again and he looks at the old wooden booths, buffed smooth and half re-finished. “Hiccup—“

“Just a second, ok?” He impulsively kisses her too casually on the forehead, stubble scraping over her temple, and stumbles with a right-footed hop up to the bar. He raps his knuckles on the newly smooth wood counter and the busboy looks up, startled that someone is interrupting him cleaning a tap, like that’s not an insult to the impoverished people who once depended on beer drippings for calories. “Do you have a pen? And a napkin?”

The busboy stutters something to the affirmative and hands Hiccup a napkin and a branded pen that he chews on for a second to think of his message before scrawling ‘Drilling through hundred fifty year old mortar to install smart speakers, very Orwellian of you’ and sliding the napkin back across the bar.

“Give this to Heather for me when she comes in, alright?”

“Who do I say it’s from?” The busboy frowns but tucks it into his apron anyway.

“Oh, she’ll know.” He pats the counter and turns around, walking with the only immediate purpose he has left to the side door of the bar where Astrid is waiting, thumbs tucked in her pockets, “so, finishing the tour?”

“Or starting a new one, either way,” she opens the door that he’s never opened in the daytime and a direct beam of sunshine streams through, cutting paint fumes the way it never could the tavern’s usual dust.

Hiccup steps outside and half-wonders where he is, because he’s definitely not standing in the creepy, ancient alley he’s started three tours a day in for the better part of five years.

The alley is idyllic in the early spring afternoon, cobblestones clean from what could be rain if he didn’t know about the crime scene cleanup. The usually weatherized lamp post is glimmering and the crowd of people gathering between quaint, ancient brick walls could be from a picture of the outskirts of a small European city just now being recognized by tourists.

Hiccup blinks twice, his eyes measuring automatic distances from the wall to the storm drain, facts about Mary Johnson flitting through his head.

He remembers the first time he saw this alley, at the end of his first Grimborn tour when he was lucky enough to be standing at the exact spot Mary Johnson was found, just how Astrid did on the tour she attempted when she was deciding whether to have him arrested or not. Both times, it was cold and damp and the alley had a foreboding cloud hovering above the ground Hiccup still sees blood when he looks at, and he struggles to put the two images together in his head.

This alley looks like it goes with the Ripped Tavern as it was, before Grimborn-ology got a hold of it. A place where people live, a street that gets them places.

“So, fourth site,” Astrid elbows a guy out of the way of the storm drain and stands on just the right spot, “what do you have to say about it?”

“Ok,” Hiccup rubs his hands together, trying to find his rhythm with the small but irritated group of people filtering past them and trying to stand on the drain with Astrid. Oh, not people, Grimborn tourists, a phrase which makes his stomach churn like he never thought possible. One jostles her and she glares, looking back at Hiccup to hurry up. “Right. Mary Johnson, the fourth site. She was a prostitute looking for—”

“I know that,” she cuts him off, “I know all about the investigation and her last bar tab and how her murder is what got Ryker off of the suspect list for good. I’m asking why you care about it.”

He snorts, “it was always quiet. Lonely almost, except not lonely, because under that light,” he points up at the incandescent bulb that so accurately mimics the gaslights of a hundred years ago in the dark and sees a slightly cheesy-looking, oversized eyesore, “it was like stepping into a bubble where everything was the same as it was when—”

“Are you doing a tour?” A woman in a sparkly new Ripped Tavern shirt interrupts him, jostling between him and Astrid. “I thought all the tours were at night, I wanted to do one, but with the murderer still on the loose…”

“It’s a private tour, actually,” Astrid turns to stand beside him.

“He’s doing a tour!” She calls out anyway and a plump older man with a well-loved copy of that idiotic Krogan book under his arm steps up beside her. “I told you I’d find a daytime tour.”

“Do you also do a nighttime tour?” The man asks, “I think I’d prefer it with the ambiance, but my wife is scared.”

“Usually, I do, but…” But Snotlout. But the murders. But the fact that somehow in the last few months, giving tours has turned from getting to talk about his favorite thing to deflecting insensitive people away from questions that make him check corners twice before turning around them.

“See? It’s not safe to be out at night,” the woman giggles, grabbing her probable husband’s arm and tilting the book under it to better show its cover.

There’s a silhouette of a man in a top hat, brandishing a long, wicked knife and sneaking up behind a buxom silhouette of a historically inaccurate prostitute at the end of a dark alley. Hiccup bets the dog-eared pages along the bulk of it, spaced into four conspicuous chunks, are about bodies he doesn’t ever want to describe again.

“The Krogan book,” Hiccup flicks the cover with one hand and grabs Astrid’s hand with the other, “not quality research, half the dates are wrong, and he doesn’t know the difference between a ritualistic Jewish slaughterhouse blade and a steak knife at the Outback steakhouse they tore down the old kosher slaughterhouse to build.”

“Well, I’m not paying to be insulted,” the man huffs, tapping on his book and opening his mouth to make a point Hiccup can’t bring himself to listen to.

“You’re not paying at all, because I’m not giving tours,” he clears his throat like he’s doing exactly that, getting most of the attention in the alley before continuing, “you know, the great miracle of the Viggo Grimborn case is that by documenting a volatile period a little better than normal—”

“Deputy Ryker’s documentation is shit,” someone else in the crowd tries to start another argument that Hiccup doesn’t care about.

“Just a second, I’m leaving, I just want to throw something out there for you all to think about.” He pauses and Astrid squeezes his hand, encouraging even though he doesn’t need it right now, “Maybe, if you all thought about Viggo Grimborn as a fascinating window to what life used to be like, instead of fixating on who died here and how disgusting it was, maybe, just maybe, someone wouldn’t be copying it now.”

“Let’s go,” Astrid tugs his arm, half jogging past the crowd of stupid book wavers and laughing when he stumbles after her. A couple people try and follow, yelling something about the tour leaving, and he pulls her sideways into the narrow alley he hasn’t used since the night he found Jennifer’s body by the storm drain.

Two turns to the right down familiar passageways that welcome them with a faint echo of footsteps and the cool relief of damp air and he feels like he can breathe again, maybe for the first time in weeks. Maybe longer.

He’d like to think that the tall brick walls were thanking him for defending their architectural honor, separate from blood. Really, it’s him thanking them for the quiet as he pauses at the next turn, pressing his hand to the solid, cool stone.

“I doubt that counts as the rest of a tour,” he lowers his voice when the first word echoes and Astrid shrugs, a tentative, almost smug smile pulling at the corner of her lips.

“It did what I wanted it to.”

“Which was?” He steps closer, just barely, cocking his head and pressing against the ghost of a boundary when his eyes dart to her lips.

“I have dealt with so many Grimborn-ologists in the last few months,” she pokes the center of his chest and looks so defiantly at him that he can’t help but lean in, “you’re not one.”

He stops short and frowns, “what?”

“You aren’t well-adjusted—”

“We’re doing this now, ok, odd choice, I thought you were trying to cheer me up—”

“I’m not,” she smiles, pressing her hand flat against his chest, “I’m trying to tell you the truth, which is that you aren’t one of those weirdos obsessed with Grimborn.”

“I’m confused as to how you came to that conclusion,” he shrugs, gesturing at the alleys around them, “considering how we met and half of what we talk about and where we are.”

“I deal with people trying to steal Grimborn artifacts from the archives every week, at least, more often lately. A Grimborn themed bar just painted over a hundred and seventy-year-old building, to make it more comfortable for tourists to take a watered down walk past places where people died horrible deaths. Someone so obsessed with Grimborn’s methods that they had to replicate them has been terrorizing the city for weeks and murder tourism has only gone up.”

“I don’t see what that has to do with me,” Hiccup chews his lip and she sighs, shoving him gently away and crossing her arms.

“Exactly.” She shakes her head, “you have an interest, sure, but it’s like you just said, you’re interested in how people lived, not how they died. And learning that you got into Grimborn because of how much your dad loved this city…”

“So, I spend five years giving tours and you’re saying I’m a fake Grimborn geek boy?” He wants to be irritated just as much as he wants to laugh, but the result of the combination is too flat to echo even in the narrow alley. “At least my hat is an actual antique—"

“I’m saying there’s nothing cruel or destructive about the way that you learn things.” She says it like a compliment, tucking her hair behind her ear and looking importantly at him, like she can beam the meaning into his brain if she stares hard enough.

He doesn’t know how much gets through, but the fact that she means it this much makes his chest ache.

“We finished your tour, what now?” It’s either the exact wrong question or the right one because her expression softens to something like worry and she shrugs.

“I’m thinking I should probably go get my phone so that I can ask Fish if his spare room is still available,” she looks around, trying to see daylight at the mouth of one of the alleys, “how do we get out of here?”

“Here,” he gestures for her to follow him around the next corner, “why do you need Fishlegs’s spare room?”

“Because the twins couch is getting old really quick,” she squints as the sun pours into the mouth of the alley, pausing just before she trips on the low gate at the end.

“What’s wrong with your place? I thought you were pretty determined to fight off the serial killer onslaught with the home team advantage.” He stumbles slightly over the gate and catches himself on her shoulder, not that she seems to notice.

“I still haven’t been back after what happened to Snotlout,” she crosses her arms again but it’s more like she’s hugging herself than keeping him out. “I know I should feel better now that he’s obviously going to be ok, but—”

“He was sh—hurt at your place?” Hiccup feels himself go pale and Astrid’s eyebrows furrow, concerned and determined.

“No one told you.”

“I guess location wasn’t important when they didn’t know if he’d make it.”

“Hey,” she rubs his arm through his jacket, “he’s going to be fine though.”

“He was almost the fourth victim, wasn’t he?”

Astrid was right about Grimborn being destructive.

“But he wasn’t,” she assures him, “and now it’s over, the copycat has four murders under his belt—”

“But Snotlout isn’t dead—”

“How would they know that?” She trusts him to keep up with her logic and he doesn’t want to let her down, so he nods for her to continue. “The last thing they saw looked pretty dismal for him and the news hasn’t said anything about it.”

“It’s a break from method, it’s—all those other slum murders in eighteen-eighty-three that people try to put the Grimborn name on to make it a more gruesome story, we know it doesn’t fit because the injury profile was different—”

She kisses him to shut him up, hands on both of his cheeks when she pulls back, “the other sites are in alleys, even today. The first is in an inhabited apartment building that’s not in an awful part of town anymore, a drive-by was probably the most Grimborn thing they could pull off.”

“I don’t want you to stay with Fishlegs,” he tugs her hands away from his face and squeezes them in his. “He doesn’t like me, remember?”

“I don’t care, because I like you, and you have enough going on with Snotlout, you don’t need me in your hair.”

“You like me now, sure, but after a couple weeks with that moustache?” His lame teasing gets a barely there twitch of a smile before she nods to herself.

“I should still get my phone.”

He could let her go alone, he knows that, it’s the middle of the afternoon and there’s nothing dangerous about it. Especially because it’s Astrid, so she’s right, the murders are over.

She’s been good enough to tell him the hard truths though, and she deserves the same.

“I know I’m the one who’s supposed to be giving you a tour right now, but I think if you stopped telling me what to do, I’d be back at the hospital annoying Snotlout and feeling even more helpless than I do now.”

“Come with me,” she suggests but something about his expression stops her, “if I don’t want to see it, you probably really don’t.”

“I just had the Ripped back alley spoiled for me by sociopathic murder tourists, let me enjoy the ‘All Safe’ wall another day.”

“The ‘Al, I. Safe’ wall,” she corrects and he chooses to cement the image of her courtyard wall behind her, stealing his hat and correcting his tour because she couldn’t stand him thinking he was right when she thought he wasn’t, into his head. He doesn’t think it’ll do much against another pressure-washed, professionally, historically scrubbed patch of the ground, but it’s nice for now.

“Maybe you’re the Grimborn-ologist,” he teases, taking her hand and attempting a step towards his apartment, but she refuses to move her feet, one eyebrow raised. “I’m just saying, you’re awfully smug about a post-murder message.”

“A murder that I don’t even think was connected, by the way,” she insists as she starts walking beside him. The alleys aren’t much quicker than the main roads from here, and they’re close to Gruff’s anyway, so he stays on the main road, crossing the street one intersection early to avoid the alcove that Astrid doesn’t mention either.

“You’re still on that?” He nudges her side and she rolls her eyes, bumping her shoulder on his.

This should feel like taking Astrid back to his place for the first time, and it does, but the butterflies in his stomach are tired, more than tired. Suffering from insomnia, actually, because they absolutely didn’t get any rest while he slept on her lap.

She seems to doubt him for a second when he drops her hand and fishes his keys out of his pockets, taking a step back and looking up at the apartments with wide eyes.

“Is something wrong?”

“No,” she watches the key easily turn in the lock before continuing, “this is just a nice place, for a guy who couldn’t afford frozen yogurt.”

“It was my dad’s,” he steps back to let her go first up the stairs, “it was paid off when I inherited it.”

“That explains it,” she smiles over her shoulder at him and he stumbles, catching himself on the handrail. They’re too close on the tiny landing as he unlocks the front door but it’s not close enough.

Of course, his phone rings right as he’s swinging the door open, still on full blaring volume from the hospital when he was worried he’d fall asleep in the waiting room when someone needed to reach him.

“Shit, sorry,” he frowns at the Caller ID as they step into the living room and vaguely recognizes the number.

“Who is it?” Astrid looks over his shoulder her face lights up with recognition, “oh, that’s Ruffnut.”

“Oh,” he swallows hard, wondering how much Astrid knows about the last time he saw Ruffnut, “I should get this but um, make yourself at home?”

Snotlout always sounds like an adult saying that to people he brings home, but Hiccup feels like he’s about to have to scramble for an adult to take the important phone call. But he is the adult, and for the first time in a long time, maybe ever, he doesn’t want to run from that.

“Sure,” she nods, looking absently at the poster above the couch while he picks up the phone.

“Hey Ruff, what’s up?”

“Is Astrid there?”

“Uh, yeah, I didn’t realize she’d hired me as her secretary though, I definitely didn’t accept without seeing the benefits package.” He shrugs and Astrid holds out her hand for the phone, seemingly understanding what he’s hearing.

“I’ll negotiate for you if you hand the phone over,” Ruffnut sounds almost panicky enough to drown out the suggestion, “don’t worry, you’re in good hands, I know all her terms.”

“Is she asking for me?” Astrid reaches for his hand.

“Yeah,” he hands it over and Astrid holds it away from her ear for a second until Ruffnut is done with her evidently loud usual greeting. She listens for a second before sighing and sitting on the couch, hand over the receiving speaker for a second.

“Sorry, this might take a minute.”

“Yeah, that’s fine.” He sits on the other end of the couch to take off his shoes and watches out of the corner of his eye as Astrid does the same, punctuating Ruffnut’s chatter with a couple bored ‘uh-huh’ type sounds and rolling her eyes. She bites her lip when Ruffnut says something particularly objectionable and curls her feet underneath her on the couch, fingers of her free hand fiddling absently with the patch on the arm’s old leather.

The comfort he felt waking up in the hospital with Astrid and Snotlout’s gentle bickering above him hits again but harder, closer, purer without hospital antiseptic smells. He wants Astrid curled on his couch, mildly annoyed but flicking impossibly fond eyes at him when she catches him staring more than he’s ever wanted a Grimborn letter he practically bankrupted himself for. He barely stops himself from blurting that out as he jumps to his feet, hands curled into awkward fists at his sides.

“I’m going to go take that shower really quick, ok? Cool, see you in a minute.”

He shuts the bathroom door behind him and sighs, not entirely sure that wasn’t a worse thing to blurt.