#ill break down my bedroom wall and his 'room' can be his tent | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

tailorvizsla · 4 years ago

Text

A Proper Mandalorian Courtship: Chapter 7

Title: Calm Before the Storm Pairing: Paz x f!Reader (finally), mentions of Paz & various characters Word Count: ~10.1k Rating: PG-13 Warnings: References to illness, as well as the fear that someone might hurt themselves (but that’s as heavy as it gets), feelings, Paz With Children

📚 My Master List 📚

Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 8 | 9 | 10

❤️❤️❤️ This beautiful moodboard is by the amazing @huliabitch! Thank you so much!!! ❤️❤️❤️

Tags: @hdlynn @ffiiggyy50 @princessbatears @ben-is-a-hoe @oloreaa @andromedanerds @phoenixhalliwell @mandhoelorian @dornish-queen @corrupt-fvcker @kazzilla

[flashback]

Slouching in his chair, Paz stares out at the blue lights zipping by across the windows as they navigate the hyperspace lane. Exhaustion fills him down to the bone, yet he cannot find rest. When they come into range of the communication buoy, he sends a short message ahead to Doctor Shen and asks her to clear the hangar out. She does not ask questions.

In the half hour it takes to get home, Paz gets Zephyr’s things together – he grabs a spare set of clothes and does a quick spot-clean of his armor to get the worst of the filth off. After that, Paz returns to the cockpit and guides the ship into the hangar. The doors are shut and one of the people break off to leave, leaving behind Doctor Shen’s familiar white armor.

He opens the ramp from the cockpit and goes to check on Zephyr. His heart sinks as he steps into the room. The young man is sitting up, arms wrapped loosely around his knees, his glazed-over eyes staring blankly at the far wall. Paz kneels next to the bed, reaching out with a tentative hand. He places it gently onto his shoulder.

“Hey,” Paz says softly. “We’re back.”

Zephyr’s only response is a short nod.

“Doctor Shen is here,” he continues. “I want you to go sit with her for a bit while I deal with all this, alright?”

Another nod. Paz hands him the pile of clothes and sets the armor down next to him. Then he exits, turning the light on and shutting the door to give him privacy. At the bottom of the ladder, he finds Doctor Shen waiting.

“What happened?” Doctor Shen asks urgently.

“Something extremely traumatizing,” Paz says. “I need you to talk to him, just…I need to deal with this. I’m going to set up a cot for him in my room.”

Doctor Shen’s response is cut off by the sound of Zephyr’s feet hitting the top rung of the ladder.

“Hey, vod,” she says. “Let’s head to medical, and we can talk, alright?”

Zephyr turns to look at him. Paz nods encouragingly. Once Zephyr and Doctor Shen have disappeared, he turns his attention to the boxes and promptly decides it can be dealt with later. Right now, he needs to use his hands, to move and to not think. In the main hall, he finds Armorer waiting for him.

“What happened?” she asks as she falls into stride next to him.

“Can we talk somewhere more private?” he asks quietly.

“Yes, of course,” she says.

At his door, Paz types in the code, and lets Armorer in.

“What happened?” Armorer asks.

For the first time in his life, Paz is speechless. He turns to face her and leans his weight against the wall. He had tried to come up with a way to bring it up with Armorer, but now, he has forgotten everything he had wanted to say. He decides to just blurt it out. Well, there is no way to put this delicately, regardless.

“Liam didn’t die on Nevarro. He survived.”

The silence stretches on.

“You don’t seem surprised,” Paz says, his voice just above a whisper.

She understands the unspoken question.

“We never found his body,” Armorer says slowly. “Zeli looked for hours. When she brought back his helmet, I suspected he might have abandoned the Tribe. I did not want Zephyr to try and return to find his buir.”

He lets his head fall back against the wall with a dull thunk. One breath in, hold, and let it out slowly. His armor suddenly feels hot and itchy, suffocating him with its weight. His gut twists as he clears the emotion from his throat. Zephyr would have clawed his way back off the ship if he thought there was a chance his buir survived.

“Liam…Liam told us a grenade knocked him out. He said he woke up to a group of bounty hunters taking his helmet off,” Paz says. “He killed them just as Zeli came looking for him.”

“Do you believe he spoke the truth?”

He does not need to consider the veracity of Liam’s claim - deep down, he knows Liam had spoken the truth.

“Yes.”

“He did not abandon the Tribe,” Armorer says. “However, he knew what would happen if he returned. Did he know Zeli would likely be exiled alongside him?”

Paz nods once. He can still see Liam lying on that narrow cot, sick and barely clinging to life. Regret at not having said goodbye to his wife. Self-loathing. Fear. Yet as soon as Zephyr had pressed their foreheads together, it had all dissipated, like a wisp of smoke in a breeze.

“It would not have been just your decision to exile him,” Paz says.

Armorer nods once in confirmation. Like before, it would have been a Tribe vote. Given how high tensions had risen, they would have exiled the two of them on the spot without even thinking it through. Without thinking of the possible ramifications of their decision. Armorer folds her arms under her chest plate, watching him intently. Paz can feel his hands shaking, the adrenaline starting to wear off with the lack of movement.

“Where is Liam now?” she asks, but her tone indicates she knows the answer to that question.

“He was dying when we found him,” Paz says, unable to keep the sorrow from his voice. “He had growths that spread to his vital organs. Beyond what he could afford to pay.”

Armorer nods once more.

“What can I do to help?” she asks.

“Liam hunted until he could not continue,” Paz responds. “We brought his final offering back. I would really appreciate your help in going through it.”

“Of course,” Armorer says. “What about Zephyr?”

“I am getting him set up in the spare room,” Paz says. “I just need to clear it out.”

“I will go get him a cot,” Armorer says. “Do you know his door code?”

“No,” Paz says. “But I can get it from him later.”

Armorer nods and disappears. He starts moving again, losing himself to the repetition of lifting boxes and carrying them into his bedroom, trying to stop himself from thinking. From feeling. When it is completely empty, he takes a moment to breathe. Center himself. Collect his thoughts. Plan the next step.

Be strong for Zephyr, he thinks to himself. Be strong for Tribe. Be strong for those who cannot be.

Paz exits the spare room and glances out at the living space, which doubles as a workspace when he wants to be alone or needs to take his helmet off. Now, as he takes stock of the situation, the cold, harsh reality of the situation seems to sink in. Zephyr has always been such a gentle boy, always feeling deeply, always hurting when others hurt. He is still rash and impulsive, immature in some ways.

He also never had the best coping mechanisms growing up, even with Liam and Zeli’s guidance. He does not think that Zephyr might do something drastic, but Paz refuses to risk it. He unfolds another plastic crate. Balancing it on his hip, he goes from table to table, packing the various blasters and knives away. For the weapons that are still being rebuilt or cleaned, he removes the battery packs. He hides the firing mechanisms in a box and stuffs it behind linens in a cabinet.

In the kitchen, he starts pulling the narrow drawers open, tossing anything sharper than a spoon into the box. From there, he moves to the cabinets over the tiny heating unit. He has a modest collection of alcohol stored away. For a few seconds, he debates on whether to keep it, but then he remembers the bottles littering the clearing near Liam’s home. How many of those were used to self-medicate? To numb himself to the pain? Shaking his head, Paz reaches up and starts emptying the bottles into the sink, even the ones he has never cracked open before.

A tap at the door interrupts him.

“Come in,” he calls out.

Armorer comes in with a bag of linens in her arms. She is followed by Din and Terys. They roll the cot into the spare room and leave without a word. Paz checks the bathroom medkit, but he does not have any painkillers aside from a small packet of aspirin. Paz sends the door code to Zephyr and Doctor Shen, telling them to let themselves in if he is not back by the time they are finished. Once the bedroom door is locked, Armorer accompanies him back to the hangar. They stand in silence for several moments, looking at the boxes filling the cargo bay.

He reaches for the first battered crate and pries the lid off.

“Metal ingots,” Paz says automatically, lifting a bar of crude iron out of the box. “Looks like mostly iron and copper.”

He wheels it out to the main floor. From there, the two of them work quickly, going through the biggest crates first, sorting it into piles for easy moving and storage later. Liam had found several crates worth of raw metal for the Foundry. It was enough to keep their munitions cache stocked for nearly a year. In another crate, they find hard-to-get electrical components. The knives, blasters, ammunition, and explosives are moved off toward the end of the line. He can deal with it later. Much, much later.

They keep the chatter to a minimum as they sort through the smaller crates. It almost seems disrespectful to speak when dealing with a hunter’s final offering to the Tribe. The next few crates are filled with a variety of goods, ranging from rolls of leather to vacuum-sealed bags of spices and dried herbs. They are finally left with two wooden crates, both battered and worn. Paz grabs the crowbar and pries one open. The tool slips out of his fingers and clatters to the floor when he sees the armor within.

The cuirass is badly damaged, the paint worn away in some places and scorched in others. Near the karta bes’kar, the metal has been torn open to reveal the innermost electronic components. The cuisses and bracers are in worse condition. They look like they had been repaired with temporary patches, the silvery marks crisscrossing every surface. He’d been in many fights, all without an armorer to repair his beskar’gam. How had he survived so long?

Underneath the mismatched set of shoulder pieces, he finds Liam’s original right pauldron. It looks nearly pristine, save for the violent gouges where Liam had pried off the clan signet. Finally, at the bottom of the box, Paz finds the clan signet. He reaches for the mangled piece of metal.

“Leave it,” Armorer says, her sharp tone stopping him.

“Armorer?” Paz asks, watching as she reaches into the box. She picks up the signet and runs her thumb along the edge. Then she pockets it with a quiet sigh.

“Liam severed himself from his clan,” Armorer says.

Paz has heard of clans disowning or exiling members, but never the reverse. His gut twists when he considers how desperate Liam must have been to avoid including anyone else in his shame.

“And the rest of his armor?” he dares to ask.

“I will store it with the utmost respect until Zephyr is ready to decide what will be done with it,” Armorer says.

The last box is much smaller, and in even worse condition. Paz almost dreads what he is going to find inside. He lifts the lid and inhales sharply. Row after row of bes’kar ingots glitter up at him in the dull light. He picks one up. No Imp stamp, meaning it came from another source. Third-hand dealer? Battlefield scavengers? Armorer picks up a piece and turns it over in her hands. Then she raps it sharply against her bracer, causing the ingot to sing a familiar, sweet note.

“Pure bes’kar,” she confirms.

Paz picks up one of the heavier bags and opens it. Imperial credits. The next bag contains Calamari Flan. He goes through the satchels, pure ice filling his stomach at the small fortune Liam had sent back. For this kind of money, he had been taking some dangerous bounties, if not outright dealing with spice.

“He could have bought a bacta tank with all this,” Paz says, shaking his head in denial. “Hell, he could have bought ten…”

He trails off Armorer returns the ingot to the crate.

“I think that, in his sorrow, Liam truly believed that his death would redeem him in our eyes,” Armorer says softly. “That this – “ she gestures at the crates neatly organized out in the hangar “ – would make him worthy of our respect. Perhaps, even our forgiveness.”

Paz sits there for a moment, digesting her words. Even when they were young, Liam had always worried about the Tribe. He had always wondered if his offerings were enough to feed them and clothe them. He had always just worried, more than what any sixteen-year-old should have worried in a lifetime.

“I will store the money with Liam’s armor,” she says. “I know Liam said that this is a Tribe offering, but I would like to give Zephyr the opportunity to decide if he will keep a portion for himself.”

As Liam’s only surviving child, Zephyr has the right to keep it all to himself. Paz doubted the young man would want any of the money. He likely would only want his father’s armor, perhaps a bit of the bes’kar to put aside for his own children one day.

With this amount of money coming into the Tribe coffers, Paz knows he should be grateful. They will not need to worry about food or medical supplies for several years at least. Yet, he feels that pang in his chest worsen. Welcoming a Mandalorian warrior back into their ranks would have been a fortune to which no amount of money or bes’kar could ever compare.

If only there had been time, Paz thinks to himself desperately, time for tempers to cool. If only there had been more time.

Looking at the wealth surrounding them, Paz decides he would trade it all away in a heartbeat if it meant Zephyr could spend a few more hours with his buir.

He looks up as Armorer starts to leave.

“Armorer…”

She stops and looks to him.

“Is he…” Paz trails off. She watches. “Would Liam be considered…dar’manda?”

After a few moments, she speaks.

“Even with our strict interpretation of our oaths, we still show leniency to our members,” Armorer says. “Losing ones’ helmet does not make someone dar’manda. It is the willful abandonment of our heritage, our culture, and the Resol’nare that renders one unfit to join in the Manda when we pass on.”

She looks at the crates littering the hangar.

“He gave up everything he knew and loved to ensure his child had a future with us. He hunted to provide for his Tribe to the very end, even when there was no guarantee his offerings would be accepted.”

She lets the silence linger.

“If you are asking my opinion, Paz, then I would not have considered him dar’manda. He helped raise a warrior. He fought like one from the time he donned the helmet until he left us to go march,” Armorer says quietly. “He still had his soul, however much he had disappointed and shamed this Tribe. Would he have been welcomed back here with songs of glory? Certainly not. But with time, I think he could have restored his honor and earned our respect once more.”

Paz nods as an unexpected wave of relief fills him.

“Like many of us, he struggled to adhere to his path. He made terrible mistakes and he tried to rectify them in the only way he knew how – give all he had until the day he had nothing left to give. In the end, Liam was the only person who could decide if he was still a Mandalorian.”

Armorer tilts her head at him. Then she pushes the cart down the ramp. He watches as the little wheels clatter over the uneven seams in the concrete until she disappears. Paz sinks down onto the floor, one knee drawn up toward his chest, the other leg stretched out in front of him. He stares at the floor of the cargo bay, idly cataloguing all the little scraps of detritus that had fallen out of the boxes.

He should be grateful for Liam’s dedication to the hunt. He should be comforted that Liam and Zeli have reunited in the Manda. He should be happy that Zephyr had the opportunity to say goodbye to both his buire. Right now, all he feels is tired and empty, like someone has wrung his entire body out like a wet cloth. Paz lets his head fall back.

No matter how hard he tries to find his inner peace, he cannot stop his thoughts from racing. Is Zephyr okay? Would the kid let him talk to Doctor Shen? Hell, does Zephyr even want to stay with him? Shit. He probably should have asked first. Paz stares at the wall, trying to work up the will to move his body, but the heaviness in his soul weighs him down, threatening to pull him into his despair.

Peering into the hanger, you see that Paz is still sitting on the floor, his bulky blue armor barely visible from here. You don’t know what’s going on, but you know for a fact that the crates he has brought back are not the food and the medical supplies the Tribe is in need of. The others are bunched up behind you, clearly worried for him, so you turn to face them.

“I’ll go talk to him,” you say, volunteering yourself.

“He needs a stiff drink,” someone says. “I got a stash.”

“You di’kut,” you snap at him. “You know he doesn’t drink to cope. Maker, he needs someone with at least half-a-braincell.”

“Hey, it was just a suggestion, Shu’shika.”

“You all go make yourselves useful somewhere else. I hear that Hannah needs help with the kids.”

Predictably, the rest of the Tribe scatters like cockroaches, all hoping to avoid being voluntold into childcare duties. Shaking your head, you turn back to Paz. You gather your wits about yourself and edge into the hangar. Though you know he will not miss your approach, you make sure he can hear you coming. It isn’t until you kneel on the ground next to him that he looks up at you.

“Hey,” he says.

“What do you need?” you ask quietly.

His head falls back against the wall. In that moment, he looks like he has been carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. Surreptitiously, you glance over his armor and kute. Both are pristine. So Zephyr’s sorrow is not due to seeing combat on his first hunt. Something else had caused the two men this tremendous pain.

“Zephyr’s in medical,” Paz says tiredly.

“There is no force in this galaxy that could get between Doctor Shen and Zephyr,” you say gently. “I’m asking what you need, Paz. How can I help you?”

He looks up.

“Me?” he asks, almost sounding confused.

“Yes, you,” you repeat. “How can I help you bear the burden you carry right now?”

“I…” He trails off. “I don’t know.”

A wry smile crosses your lips, though he cannot see it.

“People don’t ask you that often, do they, hunter?” you whisper to him, your heart breaking cleanly in half for the warrior in front of you.

You wonder if anyone has ever shown him their appreciation for the difficult job he does. Does he view hunting as something he should not be thanked for? That it is something that he is expected to do, without consideration of his needs? How long has it been since anyone last helped him bear his burdens? Your throat tightens. You have been complicit in this – you have not shown him your kindness, nor your appreciation for what he does to care for the Tribe. Your heart burns with regret and sorrow.

You have called this man family, yet you have not taken the time to take care of him.

“No,” Paz says, at long last. “They don’t.” After several long moments, he continues, his voice heavy as lead in your ears. “It isn’t my place…to tell you what happened.”

You make a solemn vow to make sure no one else in this Tribe will ever be so woefully unappreciated again.

“Then tell me this, Paz. How do you feel right now?”

He lets out a mirthless huff of amusement.

“I haven’t failed this miserably at a hunt in almost twenty years.”

You tilt your helmet and frown.

“Was it a failure?”

“I set out for food and medical supplies,” Paz says tiredly. “I came back with none of it. I failed to provide for my Tribe.”

Ah, you think to yourself, that’s what is bothering him. Well, one of the things that are bothering him, at least. You gather your courage. You might have only known him for a few months now, but you have always secretly admired him. His strength. His dedication.

“Paz, do you really think that bringing back the wrong items means you have somehow failed us?” you ask quietly. Before he can answer, you dare to slip your own small hands around his, sandwiching his massive palm between yours. “You are so much more than just a hunter to us.”

He looks down at your hands. For a brief moment, you think he might tell you to let go, but he does not. Instead, his fingers tighten around yours. You have seen how strong those hands are, how easily he handles that massive cannon of his, yet he squeezes you with a gentility that makes your cheeks heat up.

“I know we’ve been Tribe for only a few months now, but in that time, you’ve made yourself our family,” you continue. “From day one, you looked after our children the same way you look after your own. You saw one child shiver in the cold classroom, and that was all it took for you to start waking up early enough to go turn environmental controls on.”

Paz tilts his helmet down, almost…shyly?

“Caring for the children is my job,” he says, his voice a bit gruff.

“By day four, you had every single one of our kids following at your heels,” you say in a faintly teasing tone. When his head tilted down further, you dared to continue, relishing in the warrior’s sweet embarrassment. “Gazing up at you in wide-eyed wonder, begging you to play with them.”

“They’ll do anything for sweets,” Paz muttered. “I didn’t do anything special.”

“Do you think so?” you ask. “You sat your shebs on the floor, let them all pile in around you, and taught them how to tie knots. In all those cables you spent hours organizing.”

“Learning is how a Tribe grows strong,” he counters stubbornly. “It’s my job.”

“On your next hunt, you went and picked out a small toy for each one,” you remind. “It took you so long to pick them out that you missed your return deadline by six hours. Is that part of your job?”

He sighs grumpily. A puff of laughter escapes you in response. He knows he has been caught. You forge on bravely, hoping that he will not think poorly of you for sitting here and spilling your innermost thoughts out to him. But he needs to hear it, you think.

His Tribe came from such dire straits. You do not know much of what they had gone through. Paz had not been forthcoming. All Dezha would say was that the rest of his Tribe was gone, with no presumed survivors. It was no wonder that Paz felt like he had to be responsible for every little thing. In a way, he kind of had been. He had been his peoples’ source of stability and strength, putting aside his own needs and wants to ensure the most precious members of his Tribe could thrive.

“No matter how hard you try to pretend otherwise, you are a respected and trusted figure of authority here. You are a leader, Paz. A teacher and caretaker.” You swallow. “You are dedicated to providing for each and every last person here, but you never ask for anything in return. We basically have to harass you until you tell us what you need. What you want.” He does not look up, nor does he refute your statement. He knows it is true. “We all do our part to ensure we remain strong, but you go above and beyond what is asked of you every single time. No matter what we ask of you, you give us everything you have. And I don’t think you have gotten the same back from us.

He stays quiet as he looks down at your entwined hands.

“That isn’t fair to you,” you whisper.

Then his strong fingers curl a little tighter around yours, sending heat shooting into your cheeks and making your breath hitch a little. Maker, you truly hope he did not hear that. How could holding someone’s hand make you so nervous?

“S-so please don’t ever think you are not doing enough for us, Paz,” you continue, stammering slightly. “Even if…even if we aren’t the best at showing you our gratitude…you are a trusted and cherished member of this Tribe. We care deeply for you.”

“You don’t need to show me your gratitude,” he says a bit gruffly. “This is my job, Shu’shika. Do yours the best you can. And that’ll be enough for me. For all of us.”

He still hasn’t let go of you.

“You do not need to bear this burden alone,” you say. “Let us help you. Let us take care of you, the same way you take care of us. I will – we will always be here to support you, Paz. That is what we do as a Tribe and as a family.”

“Once I can get this taken care of,” he says, gesturing at the piles of crates, “I just…I just need some sleep.”

“I can handle getting everything where it needs to go,” you say, volunteering yourself immediately.

“Can you handle those idiots?” Paz asks, tilting his head toward the doorway. “On a good day, I have to threaten to shoot them a few times before they will listen.”

“They probably enjoy threats of violence,” you say. “I have something more creative in mind.”

Paz lets out a huff of amusement, a low, rich noise that makes you grateful for the helmet on your head, hiding the way you are biting your lip and blushing cherry red.

“Alright,” he says. “Let’s go.”

Regrettably, you let go of his hand and climb to your feet. You lead the way out and make your way to the group of hunters loitering in the hangar. When you draw abreast of the group, you take a few moments to decide which hunter is best suited for which job.

“Terys, I need you to take the munitions to the Armory, please,” you say calmly, watching as his head turns down in your direction. For a brief moment, you wonder if he is going to give you sass, but in the end, he nods.

“Aye, Shu’shika,” he says, going toward the boxes at the end.

“Revala, would you please move the raw ores to the Foundry?” you ask.

“Aye,” she says. She goes off for the cart in the corner.

Your good luck ends there, unfortunately, and some of the others start to file out, clearly ready to ignore your requests.

“Neten, Lyras, I think that the two of you can handle the supplies going to the kitchen,” you say. “Hannah will need some help getting the heavier items moved onto the shelves.”

Lyras comes forward, but Neten turns away.

“Neten, come on,” Lyras says. “We have a job to do.”

“She doesn’t tell me what to do,” Neten scoffs.

All heads turn in your direction at the challenge issued by the much larger hunter.

“Neten, you do not have to do what I ask you to do,” you say calmly. “But let me remind you that I schedule childcare duties around here. If you choose to not help here, your ample amounts of free time will be spent in the nursery for the foreseeable future.”

Neten stares at you, clearly in shock at your threats. You really are not in the mood to fight right now, so you keep your posture as nonconfrontational as possible. Not only that, you’ve managed to leave your knife in your room again, so you have no weapons on your person. Neten then looks at Paz.

“She can’t do that,” Neten says to Paz. “Right? She can’t just decide – “

In that instant, Paz growls and his posture changes, making him look twice as big as he stalks forward. Even though Paz is only a few centimeters taller than Neten, he seems to loom over him, advancing with slow menacing steps until Neten shrinks back into the wall.

“Imagine the hell your life will become if Alor and Armorer find out you are refusing to do your assigned duties,” Paz growls quietly.

Neten decides to try his luck.

“But she has no authority over me,” Neten says, squaring his shoulders and giving you what you assume is a glare. “She can’t tell me what to do – “

Paz lifts his hand and places it on the wall right next to Neten’s audial, leaning in closer. Neten shrinks back against the wall.

“Well, guess what, Neten. I have decided that Shu’shika oversees you from now on. If she tells you to jump, you will do so, and then you will thank her for the privilege,” Paz says, in a soft, silky voice that makes your knees tremble. When Neten splutters indignantly, Paz jabs one finger into his chest plate, silencing his retorts. He continues in a heavy growl, “Do not test me again.”

Wisely, Neten turns his head down in a clear show of his submission. Paz lingers for another second to ensure Neten knows his place. Then Paz backs up a step, and the tension in the room dissipates entirely. In theory, you have always known that Paz’s position as Alor’ad means that he must have ironclad control over the hunters to keep them in line. Up until now, he has never had to prove that he has the biggest brass set in the room, so to speak.

Paz stares at Neten expectantly.

“I will do as I am told,” Neten says grumpily.

“You will do as Shu’shika tells you to do,” Paz corrects.

“I will do as Shu’shika tells me to do,” he repeats, though it sounds positively painful for him to repeat.

“Thank you,” you say politely.

“If any of these idiots so much as breathe in a way that offends you, let me know,” Paz says to you, ensuring everyone can hear him. He stares the crowd down for another moment, “I will come deal with the problem.”

No one dares to move. After a few seconds, Paz stomps off, clearly annoyed. As you watch after him, you realize the hunters are waiting for their orders, so you quickly finish assigning everything as fairly as you can.

For your duties, you grab some cleaning supplies and head into the Desert Lark to begin tidying up. It is not necessary, but you really would like to make things a little easier for Paz. You have a strong suspicion that Paz is going to go back out on a hunt. Given how strongly he believes his worth to the Tribe is tied to his offerings, you are surprised he is not already trying to refuel. Well, the least you can do for him is make it a little easier for him.

After a little subtle snooping, you find that Paz has been held up in medical for some reason or another. You know it has something to do with Zephyr. Your buir always said that every Mandalorian needs to take some time to themselves after enduring something stressful. Some go shooting. Others spar. Others yet meditate. You are not sure which of those would most likely appeal to Paz, but you do know he will neglect his needs to look after Zephyr. Veering off course, you go straight to the kitchen. It is closed for the night, but you figure Hannah won’t mind terribly if you reopen for Zephyr.

You put together a small but nourishing meal for him – a clear broth, hot and lightly spiced, with buttered bread and some pickled vegetables. You make sure to add some cookies from your secret stash of snacks so he can have something sweet to nibble on. For Paz, you grab some standard rations. As much as you would like to make something special for him, you get the feeling he would prefer as much normalcy in his routine as possible so he could focus on Zephyr.

Zephyr had that listless, almost catatonic quality to him, as if Doctor Shen’s hand at his elbow was the only thing keeping him upright. He has always been such a sweet and gentle young man, someone who has always hesitated to bring harm to another, even during sparring. Even though he tries to avoid babysitting duties as much as he can, he does make up for it by doing other chores around the place. Something has hurt him very deeply, and your heart aches for him. When everything is packed away, you send Paz a brief message asking if you can bring some food for the two of them. He agrees and meets you at the door. You hand the bag over to him.

“Thanks,” he says.

“If you or Zeph need anything else, we are here,” you say quietly. “Please don’t hesitate to reach out, vod.”

He glances back over his shoulder.

“Thanks,” he says, looking back at you. “I will keep that in mind.”

You nod once and turn back down the hallway, your thoughts slipping away from you. The next morning, you find a small box at your workstation. Frowning to yourself, you pick it up and open it. Inside, nestled in a ragged piece of burlap, you find a tiny carved loth-cat, barely bigger than a strawberry.

There is no note included, but you know it is from Paz. He is the only person who would ever go out of their way to find something so small and beautiful for someone he barely knows. Smiling to yourself, you put the tiny cat back into the protective box. You didn’t even know Paz had been paying attention while you were talking about how much you wanted a pet loth-cat.

Then you nestle the box into your pocket, a strange feeling taking root in you.

[End Flashback]

[Current]

Once your work for the day is complete, you check the time and find you have several hours before dinner. Normally, you would go see what other chores are available to you, but today, you consider doing something else instead. Something self-indulgent. Gnawing on your lower lip, you nervously put your tools away, sorting them into the right boxes and trays. Could you really skip helping the others, just so you can go see Paz? As you close the lid to your toolbox, you happen to look up. You jump a little when you see Armorer standing there.

“Armorer,” you say. “How can I help you?”

“I noticed you had marked your work for the day complete,” Armorer says. “I wanted to ask what plans you had for this evening.”

Ah, she needs help with something. Oh well, you think to yourself. It was a silly thing to think that you could skip for the day to go sneak in a few minutes with Paz. It had been a selfish thing to consider. Though, you do wonder how she had gotten here so quickly.

“I did not plan for anything tonight,” you respond. “Do you need something specific?” You are already reaching for your toolbox, but she cuts you off.

“Dezha was supposed to be helping Paz with the children,” Armorer says in a casual tone. “However, I need his help elsewhere. The children have been unusually unruly this week, and with Paz’s injury…” She trails off deliberately. “Would you be willing to help him?”

“Of course,” you say, the words slipping out of your mouth without hesitation. “I would be happy to help. Are we doing language lessons today?”

“No, no specific lessons today,” Armorer says. “We just need the children kept out of the way while the rest of us clean up the hangar.”

“The hangar?” you ask in confusion. “What happened - ?”

“Do not concern yourself with that,” Armorer says in a soothing tone. “Will you please help Paz?”

“Yes, absolutely,” you say, nodding. “I’ll head to the nursery now.”

“Excellent,” Armorer purrs. “I will walk you there.”

The walk to the nursery is a short one. It is past the normal work hours, yet you see no one else lingering in the hallways. Home is strangely empty. It almost unsettles you. Armorer keeps you moving at a brisk pace before she finally directs you into the nursery, physically blocking the doorway behind you. Paz is not wearing his armor – only his suit and padding – while he carries a child under each arm. It looks like he is in the middle of reenacting some science fiction scene in the middle of the toys, one foot poised over a pile of toppled blocks.

“Hey,” Paz says, as he sets the two children down. “What can I help you two with?”

“I need Dezha’s assistance with something,” Armorer says. “I brought Shu’shika as your backup.”

“Shushi!” Ola shrieks, throwing down a wad of wrinkled paper.

The little girl comes barreling over and throws herself at your legs. Immediately, you scoop her up onto your hip and tweak her nose. She has a rainbow of marker ink smears all over her face and arms. As you look at the other children, you see they are in a similar state, and you find yourself hoping that Paz had given them the water soluble markers to draw with.

“Ba’vodu!” Ellyn whines from the floor, “I want to play hunter and prey, please!”

“Sure,” Paz says.

“But your knee, Paz,” you say, coming forward a step.

“That little burn could barely be called an injury,” Paz scoffs. “Bacta took care of it in a few hours.”

Before you can think further on Armorer’s reference to his injury, Ellyn covers her eyes and starts to count. The other children scatter like leaves on the wind, scampering into their hiding spots. Paz looks around. Then at you. He comes to stand behind you. You give him an incredulous look over your shoulder. Tem comes skittering over and climbs up Paz’s leg. He scoops the child up against his chest and holds one finger up in front of his modulator as he sort of crouches behind you.

“Shh!”

You sigh quietly and stand there while Ellyn finishes counting. You are pretty sure there’s more of Paz hanging out from behind you than you actually cover up, considering how much larger he is.

Ellyn gets up and sprints to the other side of the room. She hits the timer and starts to race around the room, ripping the cushions off the couch and turning boxes over. The blood drains from your face as the already messy room becomes an actual disaster. From behind you, you can hear Tem and Paz snickering to themselves. You watch in fascinated horror as Ellyn finds all the children except for Tem and Paz. At this point, you think Paz has cemented himself as an oversized child.

“Tem!” Ellyn shouts. “Ba’vodu Paz! Where are you?”

At that moment, the timer goes off, and Ellyn lets out a noise of frustration. She kicks a stuffed animal out of her way. Paz steps out from behind you. When Ellyn sees them, her big brown eyes go wide with surprise. Then she lets out a scream of frustration.

That’s enough to set Paz and Tem off in a fit of hysterics.

“CHEATER!” Ellyn screams.

“We did not cheat,” Paz counters through his guffaws. “We hid behind Shu’shika.”

“But you can’t do that!” Ellyn wails.

Her lower lip wobbles and she goes off to sulk. Paz sets Tem down and he goes off to the pile of stuffed animals in the corner. You gingerly step through the piles of toys, still incredulous that the child had not noticed Paz hiding behind you. Well, she had probably focused on everything at eye level. And Paz…well, he is well above eye-level for most people in the Tribe.

As you are trying in vain to put some of the toys back where they belong, one of the toddlers comes forward on unsteady legs, holding a book up at you. Taking it, you find that it’s covered in something wet and sticky. When he wipes his nose with the back of his hand, you realize your fingers are covered in snot. A shudder of revulsion creeps up your spine.

“How about a story?” Paz asks the room at large, coming to your rescue.

“Let’s clean up,” you say, “Then we can all sit on the floor together.”

You quickly hand Paz the book and wipe the snot off your hand onto your pants.

“Clean up! Clean up!” Ellyn chants, rolling onto her knees. “Let’s clean up, everybody!”

The other children join in on the chant, organizing the piles of toys into their proper storage containers. You only have to corral the toddlers toward the right boxes a few times, while Paz gathers the drawings into a neat stack. From there, you settle into the chaos quickly. At times, it feels like the children are making a bigger mess than the one they are trying to clean up.

Surreptitiously, you watch Paz. You cannot help but to notice how good he is with the children. His voice is always gentle and patient. When they tackle him for a Paz Pile, he indulges them, playing for a few moments before redirecting them to the monumental task of cleaning up the playroom. The same snot-covered toddler picks up a toy ship and pats Paz on the leg. He crouches and wraps both hands around the boy’s waist.

“Alright, vod’ika,” Paz says gently. “Let’s jump up really high and put the toy away, alright?”

“Ba’vodu!” the boy squeals.

Paz lifts and the boy shrieks in delight. As soon as the others see what Ba’vodu Paz is up to, they go running over with their own toys, clamoring for their turn. Ola is halfway up Paz’s leg by the time you go to offer backup. Slowly, but surely, the room is tidied up and readied for tomorrow. Then Paz takes the book back to the seat. Ola scrambles out of his way before he sinks down.

Paz starts to read, his voice low and soothing. The story is about a beggar and a merchant. You don’t recall the exact plot points, but you do know the moral of the story is to always be kind to those in need. While Paz keeps the children entertained, you go gather up the last few toys and put them away.

Then you grab the broom and start sweeping up the crumpled tissues and candy wrappers. You purse your lips at the amount of candy he had fed them. Ah, well. If strille could be trained with positive reinforcement, so could children. As Paz gets further into the story, the littlest ones start to drift off, and you carefully nestle them onto the sleeping mats.

Ola’s buire are the first to come back for her. She presses her forehead against Paz’s shoulder as she yawns into her fist. Then she pats you on the knee as she stumbles to her parents. She is quickly scooped up and carried away. One by one, or sometimes in twos, the children go home with their parents, until you and Paz are standing alone in the empty nursery. Paz marks his place with a bookmark and puts it away. Then he gets up and stretches out a bit.

“Looks like we’re done with our assigned childcare for tonight,” Paz says. “Thank the Maker.”

“Yes,” you say, almost stammering. “Uh. Childcare.”

He tilts his helmet inquisitively, clearly having picked up on your anxiety. Before you can stop yourself, you speak up.

“Paz, what are you doing tonight?” you ask.

“I don’t have plans,” he says. “Why do you ask?”

“Want to ditch evening chores?”

“You want to ditch evening duties?” he asks, tilting his head the other way. “Shu’shika, people will accuse me of corrupting you.”

You laugh in response.

“I’ve done my fair share of double duties for at least ten years,” you respond. “How about it, Paz? Want to be irresponsible with me?”

“Yes,” he says. “Let’s go before anyone gets any ideas.”

The two of you go to the door. You peer down both ends of the hallway. Near the hangar, you can see people streaming loitering. One of them looks up and immediately turns around, grabbing a box. Weird.

“Okay,” you say to Paz, “Looks like they’re still working in the hangar.”

His hand settles at your waist as he peers down the hallway over your head. When the last person enters the hangar, you grab his hand and pull, leading him away from the others.

“Come on, let’s go,” you whisper to him.

You lead him away from the rest of the Tribe, muffling your laughter, sneaking from shadow to shadow like an oversized pair of misbehaving teenagers. At the main entrance, you find your plans to go pick berries thwarted by an incoming thunderstorm. You let out a noise of disappointment. Paz joins you outside as the wind picks up, the trees dancing and swaying as the pit-pat of rain grows louder. When you shiver, Paz’s hand settles at your waist, and he pulls you closer to him.

“Well, looks like we’re stuck inside,” you sigh to Paz, curling your face toward his shoulder, his torso blocking the worst of the cold.

“We can watch from here,” Paz says.

The first crack of lightning makes you jump, and as if the skies had been waiting for that exact moment, the rain begins to pour down in sheets. You can feel Paz tilt his head down to look at you. Rather than tease you, he runs his fingers against your back comfortingly. That is all it takes for you to melt against your warrior, eyes drifting shut as you dare to wrap your arm around his muscular waist.

When his other arm wraps itself around you, enclosing you in his tender embrace, you surrender immediately, offering no resistance to him. You can no longer deny what your heart has been screaming at you. You love Paz Vizsla. You’ve been in love with him for Maker-only-knows-how-long. As you listen to the steady thumping of his heart, you feel giddy and lightheaded, almost as if you are drunk on his touch alone. Then, his hand rises from your waist, his fingers settling at your jaw, making your breath hitch in your throat. Paz tilts your face up toward his gently. You rise onto your tip-toes to close gap, anticipation making your stomach flutter.

When only a handspan separates you from Paz, you think there could not have been a more perfect moment for this to happen, for you to finally kiss your warrior –

Then, suddenly, the door slams open, bathing the two of you in harsh, bright light. You and Paz freeze in place as the speaker starts to come outside.

“ – figure out how to make it look like there was actually a spill,” Din says, as he steps through the doorway.

When Din notices the intimate embrace you and Paz are sharing, he freezes, one foot in the air, and lets out a noise of pure despair. Dezha peers out after him and he inhales audibly. He grabs Din by the backplate and yanks him back, shutting the door behind them, but the damage has been done.

The warm pleasure that had once filled you is now gone, replaced with the mortification at having been caught in such a compromising position. Your buir would be so disappointed that you were sneaking off with someone and then being stupid enough to get caught trying to rub helmets with him. Your stomach drops straight through your feet. What if that had been Armorer?

“Shu’shika,” Paz says, in that low rumble of his, his hand falling to your waist once more, his intentions clear as day to you.

“What if that had been one of the children?” you ask softly. “What sort of example would we be setting for them?”

He tilts his head in confusion. Keldabe kisses are one of the few ways Mandalorians can show love and affection for each other.

“Paz, I can’t,” you say in a rush, “Not until we’re marr – I mean, not unless – “

You fall silent and exhale in frustration. You take a full step back, regretfully leaving that warm, wonderful place against him that smelled like leather and something woodsy.

“Paz, for my family…it’s not,” you stammer out.

“I will respect the boundaries you set for our relationship,” he says gently. “You do not have to explain anything to me.”

Our relationship? His words make your knees wobble dangerously. You take a deep, calming breath.

“I know I don’t have to, but I would like for you to know,” you say softly. “My family is conservative, Paz. Helmets only come off after the vows are exchanged. Touching each other the way we were…it is…generally discouraged.”

You swallow. Your refusal to engage in a lot of physical acts has made it difficult to find a partner. You hope Paz is willing to wait, but you do not blame him if he wants to move on.

“I know we are both adults, but I…I truly feel something for you, Paz. And I do not want you to be in a position where I might give you the wrong idea,” you stutter out, face flaming with heat. “For my tribe of origin, it’s…considered inappropriate. Not without stating my intentions.”

“…and what are your intentions toward me?” he whispers.

“Paz, I…I cannot give you my body without also giving you my heart,” you whisper, so softly you wonder if he can hear you. “I-I…I would want something permanent between us. Before any of that happens.”

He thinks for a moment.

“Would…Would it be alright if I called you cyar’ika?”

“Y-yes,” you whisper, hardly daring to believe that Paz wants to call you his cyar’ika after what you just told him.

“There’s something I would like to tell you,” he says. “Something I’ve wanted to tell you for a while now.”

You nod to encourage him, and he clears his throat, looking away nervously.

“I’m not good with words. I’ve already forgotten half of what I wanted to tell you.”

You laugh a bit breathlessly.

“Don’t worry,” you whisper back. “Speak from your heart, Paz, and you will tell me what I need to hear.”

“I…I ah…feel something for you too,” he says. “For months now, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you, all the effort you put into supporting the Tribe.” He clears his throat again, looking away shyly. “I can’t stop thinking about all the tiny things you do for me. The number of times you have stayed up to wait for me to return from a hunt. In case I need help. So, I won’t be alone another night. I have never had the privilege of having someone like you covering my shebs…and for so long, I did not see your devotion to me, the way you show me your affection each and every day.”

He swallows and reaches up with trembling fingers. A wave of tears escapes you as you tilt your face into his touch. Maker, you are falling apart at the seams. If he keeps going like this, you are not going to last long enough for him to get to what he is trying to tell you. His thumb brushes against the curve of your cheek plate, brushing away the tears he seems to know are coursing hot tracks down your cheeks.

“For years now, I’ve been holding off, waiting for the right time, waiting for the right person,” Paz says quietly. “Someone who will make me strong where I am weak. Someone who will allow me to be their strength where they are weak. Someone who will be my equal, here at home and when we hunt. Someone who will help me raise our future warriors.”

Your heart starts to pound so hard you fear Paz will be able to hear it hammering up against your ribs. Then your throat tightens up and you cannot hold the cascade of tears back any longer. They fall freely now. You just barely manage to turn off your modulator in time to hide your choked whimpers, equal measures of fear and hope filling you. Fear that he will turn you down, reject you for your decision to abstain from a physical relationship. Hope that he has come to see you for who you are. Hope that he understands. Hope that he will still want to share his life with you.

“May I hold your hand?” Paz whispers.

You place your shaking hand in his without hesitation, a choked sob escaping you, one that you know he registers. He looks down, staring at your tiny hand in his. His fingers enclose yours firmly, gently. Reverently. He clears his throat.

“When we are together, you fill me with such overwhelming joy and peace. For the first time in my life, I finally feel whole, like you’ve filled a void in my heart that I never even knew was there,” he whispers. “I can’t stop thinking about the loss that consumes me when we are apart. There are times when I am on a hunt and I cannot even sleep because I miss you so much. Every second we are parted, I long to return to your side.”

You nod vigorously, still trying to stifle the stubborn tears coursing down your face. He continues, shifting his weight nervously from one foot to the other.

“You have always been the beacon of light that guides me home through the storm, cyar’ika,” he says. He places the flat of your palm against the karta bes’kar embedded in his armor. “One day, I would like to be the same to you.”

With those words, you promptly lose whatever tenuous control you had over your emotional state. You start to sob as you place your free hand over his, and draw closer, pressing your forehead against his chest plate. He draws you into a tentative hug, resting his chin atop your head. As you nestle into that safe place in his arms, you come to a realization that steals the breath from your lungs.

This is where you feel respected, cherished, and loved.

This is where you will raise your future warriors together, as equals.

Here, in his arms, you have finally found your home.

“Cyar’ika, I have always intended for this to be a permanent relationship,” Paz says. “I’ve been talking to Armorer about asking you to accept me in courtship, so I can do this the right way for you. So, I can give you a relationship that honors the paths we have both sworn to walk.”

You sniffle and nod, struggling to stifle your tears long enough to speak. At this point, you don’t care if he knows you are crying – there’s no way you can hide the shaking of your shoulders. Maker, who knew that Paz had such a way with words? You’ve known him for years now, yet you have only now just glimpsed the passion he’s kept locked up so deeply inside himself, hidden from everyone but you. And Maker, you want to feel every bit of the passion he has for you.

There had been just one other before Paz, someone you had loved with all your heart and soul. They had promised themselves to you, promised to wait until it was time to marry, and you had accepted their promise. Within weeks, they were pressuring you for more and more, attempting to convince you to turn away from the promise you made to yourself when you were sixteen. You have always wanted to find love with someone who loved you for your adherence to your faith, for your skills, and for who you are. Someone who would respect your desire to limit physical touch to only kissing, out of respect for your tribe of origin. They had promised you all of that, but it was a lie.

When they had pulled you in for a kiss, you resisted, yet they had forced it on you, their hands falling to grope you. You had ended the relationship on the spot. That unwanted touch had been a blatant violation of your trust in them and their promise to you. It had hurt to lose them, but they had made the choice to violate your boundaries and make you feel unsafe and unloved.

You truly love Paz, in that way that makes you feel dizzy and lightheaded. You are older now, more capable of seeing those warning flags that you had not recognized as a young girl. Paz has only ever been respectful and considerate, not a single inappropriate word or gesture escaping him. He has only ever treated you like an equal. Your heart swells with your love for this man, to the point where you feel you are going to burst with joy.

Now, you find yourself aching and wanting for this man so intensely that it frightens you. And that is why you know you have to hold back – right now, you aren’t sure you have the willpower to stop yourself from giving your kind, gentle warrior anything he might ask you for.

Hearing the way he speaks to you, the gentle tone, the way he asks for your permission to hold your hand and to call you his cyar’ika…you know he will respect you. That he will not ask you for what you cannot give him right now. That he will wait as long as you need.

“Cyar’ika,” he says softly.

You turn your modulator back on.

“Yes, Paz?” you whisper hoarsely.

“Would you…would you be willing…to talk to the Elders?”

“Paz, my answer is yes,” you say. “I will accept courtship with you.”

“You have made me a very happy man, cyar’ika,” he says. “May I give you something?”

Nodding, you take a half step back and sniffle back the tears that spring to your eyes once more. You watch as Paz reaches into his pocket and withdraws something flat and small, pressing it into your hands. As you unwrap it, he speaks, and your face drains when you recognize what he is giving you – his clan signet – and not the one any regular member of the clan would wear. This one is intricately detailed, hand-carved by a master craftsman.

“I know this isn’t a blade, but I just can’t wait any longer, I want to give you something special to me,” he says shyly. “If you are willing, I would like you to become lady of Clan Vizsla. You don’t have to answer right now. Please just think about it, I just…I just want you to have that.”

As you stare down at the signet in your hands, it suddenly feels heavier, and you realize the responsibilities you will have to shoulder if you accept his request. You will be more than his riduur – you will act in his stead when he is away. You will guide the newlyweds in their journeys together. You will be there for the birth of each child to tend to the new buire. You will teach, you will negotiate, and if need be, you will wage war on his behalf. As you look, he shifts nervously again, clearly waiting for you to say something. Swallowing, you square your shoulders and take a deep breath. Looking up at your beloved, you do your best to keep your voice steady. With Paz by your side, there is nothing you cannot accomplish. You will succeed, so long as you have him with you.

“It would be my greatest honor to one day join your clan,” you stutter out, your voice shaking. “As both your wife and lady of the house, I will serve our family with pride and humility.”

Paz exhales shakily, as if he had been holding his breath. You lean in and give him a gentle hug. Paz returns it. The two of you linger for a few minutes before finally parting. You wrap the signet in the cloth and tuck it into the pouch where you keep your tools. Squeezing his hand, you look up at him, giddiness filling you at the thought of standing by his side.

[Bonus Scene]

Din sinks against the wall, pressing his hands into his bucket.

“We worked so hard to get this to happen,” Din groans, “We worked so kriffing hard for this and I fucked it up – “

“Calm down,” Dezha responds. “They haven’t come back inside yet, so that means they’re still talking. There is still hope – “

“What if he was proposing?” Din hisses at Dezha. “What if I fucked up my only brother’s proposal – “

“You said he wants a proper courtship, did you not?” Din snaps.

“Well, yeah,” Din says.

“So, he has to ask if she’s willing to accept courtship before he can ask her to marry him,” Dezha retorts. “You didn’t ruin anything. Calm down. He was probably just kissing her.”

“He said he wouldn’t do anything against the rules,” Din retorts.

“Oh, right,” Dezha says. “Let’s get going before someone comes to investigate. We do not want to spread gossip – “

“Ooh, is Paz kissing Shu’shika?” Jalyn asks in a sing-song tone from the hallway. Then mischievously, “Or is Shu’shika the one kissing Paz, hmm?”

“Jalyn, I will break every bone in your body if you spread lies,” Dezha hisses at him.

“So, no kisses yet?” Jalyn asks. “How much longer are they going to make us wait?”

“Make us wait?” Din asks incredulously.

“I have been getting my offering for the wedding feast ready for a year now,” Jalyn says, turning his nose up haughtily, “My gift will be one they cherish for decades to come.”

“Oh fuck,” Din says, “I need to get a gift – “

“Calm down,” Dezha says. “We are not going to scare either of them from – “

“Ooh, are we talking gifts?” Revala asks from the doorway. “I bought the most beautiful set of baby onesies a few months ago – “

“They aren’t even married yet,” Dezha says incredulously, “They may only wish to bring foundlings into their family – “

“Please,” Revala scoffs, “Have you seen how broody Paz gets around the babies? If that man could carry an infant, I have no doubts we’d be up to our armpits in Vizsla brats.”

“Okay, let’s have this discussion elsewhere,” Dezha says. “If they come back in and find us here, they’ll know we set them up.”

“Paz already suspects we’re trying to help things along,” Din says. “We need to tone it back before he gets mad at us.”

“Listen, we have been dying for a proper wedding,” Jalyn chimes in. “If he proposes tonight, I think Hannah could have the feast ready by tomorrow morning.”

“GET OUT,” Dezha roars, finally losing his patience. “Give them privacy, for kriff’s sake!”

“I wonder if Shu’shika will finally let him have a kiss,” Jalyn muses, as he heads toward the door.

“Jalyn, I will make your life miserable if you tease her,” Dezha warns.

“A little teasing – “ Jalyn begins.

Dezha advances, pressing one finger into the karta bes’kar on Jalyn’s breast plate.

“Do you know what an accordion is, Jalyn?”

“The…the fuck does that have to do with anything?” Jalyn asks, voice tiny with terror.

“Do you?” Dezha hisses.

“Yes,” Jalyn says. “It is a musical instrument from the Far Reaches – “

“Alright,” Dezha says. “If you do anything to make Shu’shika uncomfortable, I will cram one fist down your throat, the other up your arse, and play you like a fucking accordion. Are we clear, shabuir?”

Jalyn’s mouth moves, but no sound comes out. He eventually gathers his senses and nods. Dezha points down the hallway and they move away.

- Di’kut - idiot Buir(e) - parent(s) Resol’nare - 6 tenets of Mandalorian tradition Dar’manda - a state of being soulless, something that traditional Mandalorians fear greatly Riduur - spouse Bes’kar - Mandalorian steel Beskar’gam - Armor Shabuir - jerk, but really strong, not a nice word Shebs - rear Cyar’ika - darling, sweetheart Karta bes’kar - the indentation in the chest plate, lit. iron heart

140 notes · View notes

mommymooze · 4 years ago

Text

Death By Association

Hubert approaches the woman who is bent down at the table, silently pouring through various tomes and books in the library. He coughs into his fist. “You have requested my presence?”

You look up suddenly and stand erect, making a respectful bow. “General Von Vestra, thank you so much for gracing me with a few moments of your valuable time.”

“Yes, my time is quite valuable. Proceed.” Hubert eyes the woman cautiously. He has seen her around for several months but does not recall working with her directly.

“I am a cleric, in General Von Hevring’s battalion. I also work in the medical tents treating the wounded. Sometimes Linhardt will discuss his research with me. This particular subject is one that he has lost interest in, however I believe this is something I must share with you.”

You advise that you have been studying plagues following wars throughout history. Making notes of transmission methods, symptoms, etcetera. You have been studying this subject for several years. Thus far there have been no unknown illnesses or diseases that have affected the masses, however there is something unique you must discuss with him.

You look about the library seeing no others.

“I have seen six victims.” You begin, “the first a few years ago. The other five within the last year. It was quite gruesome. I have recorded the symptoms that I have been able to identify. Most concerning is as the illness comes to its end, the subjects begin to bleed profusely, their blood is hot, appearing to be boiling out of them. It is so hot that their clothing catches fire. Anything that was used to clean their blood begins smoke and catch fire as well. Needless to say it is a horrible death.”

“What interest would I have in this?” Hubert stares intently.

“The two most recent deaths were from your own battalion. The dark magic corps, correct?”

“Yes.” He mutters, still eyeing you suspiciously.

“The last battle at Gronder was horrific.” Your voice trembles, “Only those two were affected. Bleeding from their eyes and hands. Bloody noses that would not stop. We quarantined them. Their symptoms worsened quickly until their blood boiled out and they died. We pursued multiple ways to fight this affliction. Healing merely slows the process. We placed one subject in a deep bath filled with ice water. His temperature continued rising higher and higher. He burst into flames while submerged in the water.” You shudder, crying as you recall the gruesome deaths.

“Could it be…” Hubert abruptly stops.

Within the hour you are in a meeting room with Emperor Edelgard, Hubert, and Linhardt. Hubert provides a succinct summary of your findings.

Linhardt speaks. “It is obvious that it has something to do with the Agarthans.”

“There are quite a few in Hubert’s battalion.” You comment.

“How do you know about them.” Hubert stands, leaning over toward you and glaring.

“I am one of their failed experiments, courtesy of our beloved friend, Cornelia.” You subconsciously hug yourself, looking away.

“How do you recognize them?” Hubert’s eyes still piercing you.

“I can smell them.” You snarl.

The Emperor excuses herself after placing a high priority on obtaining a solution. The remaining three brainstorm on what is known, what is suspected, and what can be done. Tomes and books are brought in from Claude and Lin’s room as well as Abyss. Hubert assigns several of his spies to multiple battalions, other Generals battalions to monitor what occurs in his own unit.

Reviewing the data gathered thus far, it is obvious advanced magic is needed. The green haired cleric suggests Rhea and Seteth’s rooms. You split up, he takes Rheas quarters, while you take the other, agreeing to bring any items of interest back here.

You scour the books on the shelves of his office. There are a few tomes but none contain the desired spells. You search Seteth’s bedroom, moving every object you can. You check the two bookshelves. One is easily pushed to the side, the other will not budge. You resort to removing all books from the shelves until you find a lever behind a book. Once pulled, the bookshelf swings into the room. On the back of the shelf is a recessed area shelving several unique and very old tomes. Snatching them up, you return to the meeting room.

Two books are historical, probably interesting to Hubert. One is written in a language that you cannot understand. Two are filled with clerical procedures and spells. Some you’ve seen in practice as part of church services, some you have never heard referenced before.

Lin returns several hours later. Not that he had found anything particularly interesting, but he did take a nap in Rhea’s bed.

The green haired healer peers at the spell book you wave in front of his face. His eyes widen as he reads through the runes and incantations that are recorded. The spell you have the greatest interest in is “Purifying Light.” The two of you begin to make notes, dissecting the spell into its component parts.

Early the next morning Hubert enters the room bringing coffee, which you graciously accept. You have been so absorbed in the research you had not noticed the sun is just starting to rise over the horizon. You and Linhardt have nearly completed the mapping and logic stream of the spell. Hubert, having very little experience with this type of magic, does not completely follow your cryptic writings, that does not stop him from asking many questions about the effects, the intent.

You explanation the dissection of the spell. “Its purpose is to banish the darkness from a person. A spiritual exorcism. If they are too far gone, it may simply end them, in a peaceful manner hopefully. The texts do not discuss unexpected effects or results. Primarily the intended target is a victim of a high level dark magic spell. If you are banishing the darkness, what will happen to those that have cast nothing but dark magic all of their lives? We still have much more to investigate. The Agarthans live in near total darkness. Surely a spell creating a pure light would have a pronounced effect on them as well as those that they have contaminated.”

The sun traverses the sky and begins to descend in the west when you finally decide your productivity level is too low and you need sleep. Heading to your room you think of Hubert. He has been helpful throughout the research, frequently checking on you, bringing food and coffee and insisting you take breaks, walking with you around the monastery getting exercise.

Several weeks pass, you are prepared to test the spell. Hubert is away on a mission, his battalion with him. You and Lin agree the timing is perfect, keeping the Agarthans unaware of this spell. The pair move to the magical training area, specifically the fireproof area. You cast the spell, the sigils glowing before you as you concentrate on the proper movement and sequence while reciting the verbal components of the spell, at the final words a bright radiance fills a glass sphere that is floating in a basin of holy water, the two physical spell components. The orb rises into the air and glows with a bright whiteness, the intensity of the light increases to the point of needing to shade your eyes. Suddenly the room is in complete darkness as the spell concludes.

Blinking your eyes to readjust to the normal light in the room, both of you inspect the walls and floors of the stone structure to see if anything has changed. Besides feeling physically warm there is no affect to your person. The room smells…clean. You cannot see any traces of mold or mildew on the walls.

The components are reset. Linhardt casts the spell, it does not seem to be as bright as yours, his movements are not as crisp, nor did he care to be as precise as you. Still, you both feel warm. The room is unchanged. You casually wonder if it can remove that permanent funky smell in the laundry room.

Two nights later, Hubert warps into the monastery. He is accompanied by one of his spies hiding within his battalion.

“This man was standing next to an Agarthan when they were killed. As we have seen in the past, many of those that slither crumble to dust when killed, especially in the daylight. We had to wait until my man was separated from the rest of the battalion. I believe he is showing signs of the illness.”

The spy, now patient, is holding a cloth to his nose. Blood runs down his face and hand, pooling under his fingernails. The clerics don thick aprons and gloves, a table is moved to the spellcasting training area. The fireproof area is chosen again. Losing the infirmary to an explosion or fire would be devastating.

The patient is calmed and lying prone on the table. You remove the patient’s shirt, exposing more of his skin to the light that will be created by the spell. Fresh holy water is poured into the basin next to the patient, the glass orb is now floating.

Reviewing the spell a final time, you raise your hands to cast, warning everyone to shade their eyes.The patient uses one hand to hold the cloth under his bleeding nose, the other covering his eyes.

Casting the Purifying Light spell, you manipulate the sigils, then recite the verbal incantation, your voice more powerful than the last time as you have gained confidence having cast the spell before. The orb floats high into the air, the water pulled up into it to fuel the light, then a bright flash occurs, the spell ending with a distinct ‘pop’ and the room goes dark.

Uncovering your eyes, you run over to the patient, fingers to his throat. He still has a pulse! He removes his hand from his eyes, suddenly turning away from you, coughing and hacking viciously, then vomits. Linhardt takes a cloth to wipe the disgusting mess from the table.

Studying the expelled liquid on the cloth, Linhardt comments. “This is very black and fine. Much finer than blood in his system. It resembles a powder.” The green haired scholar surmises. “Like dead Agarthan dust.”

Linhardt checks the patient further. “He is breathing well, no longer bleeding. His fingers now look clear, no blood pooling.“ He asks the man on the table, “How are you feeling?”

“I feel warm. There are other things, but mostly warm.” He says with a smile, happy that he can breathe again.

You turn to Hubert, bolting to where he was standing. He is now lying on the ground. You realize nobody had warned him it would be in his best interest not to remain within the room during the spell casting as you had no idea how it would affect him. You hastily sit him up, sitting on the floor next to him, anxiously checking him out. His pulse is fine. You put your ear on his chest to listen and see if anything is wrong.

“Mmmmm.” Hubert hums. “It is incredibly warm.”

“I’m so sorry, Hubert. Did you hit your head? Are you hurt?” Your hands brushing any dirt from his clothes. He looks to be a bit dazed. You pull his eyelids open checking his pupils, grasping his face to turn his head this way and that.

“No, I recall a bright light and then found myself on the floor. I am not experiencing pain.” Hubert says slowly, as if he has to think twice before speaking any word.

“When you are ready, I will help you to stand. We should take you to your room, as well as inform the Emperor of the current events.”

Hubert takes a moment to situate himself then takes your hand, with your assistance is able to stand.

Hubert looks down at your hand in his. “Your hand is incredibly warm. Not hot, not burning. Just…warm.” He at you. “You also appear to be glowing.” His brows furrow.

Linhardt interrupts without looking up from the patient, “Yes, she was last time she cast this spell too.”

You look at Hubert unsure if he is well. “Let’s get you to your quarters, General.” You turn him around to make certain any dirt from his fall is brushed away.

As you lead him to the door he takes your hand in his again. “Still warm.” He smiles walking toward his quarters holding your hand,

He arrives, opens his door, then waves causing several candles flicker to life. He ushers you inside and closes the door behind you.

“How are you feeling now? Any dizziness?” You cautiously ask, heaven forbid if you did anything to one of Adrestia’s greatest generals. You lead him to sit on the chair next to his desk.

Hubert thinks for a moment, rubbing his hands up and down his thighs. “I do not recall striking my head or falling. I recall the spell, the bright light and the popping noise. Then you were assisting me to stand. My hands feel oddly sensitive.”

You frown, quite concerned. “Hubert, please remove your gloves?”

“This has nothing to do with me or my hands.” Hubert responds curtly.

Well, that sounds more like him. “Humor me. I’ve seen them before.” Your voice stern, sounding more like the cleric you are.

The dark mage reluctantly pulls his gloves off his hands, you grasp his fingers in yours and pull them closer to the light. You notice the fingers are not as dark black as they had been, the purple streaks only going into his palms, no longer covering his wrist. You take your fingernail and scrape it under his pinky finger.

“Why did you do that?” he snaps at you hastily pulling his hand from your grasp.

“Because I could. Look.” You take his hand, showing him his palm.

Hubert stares, first at one hand, then the other. Touching his fingertips together. There is a look upon his face that you have never seen before, a look of awe.

“How…?” The man is mystified, staring as he clenches his fingers into a fist, then uncurls them.

“My apologies, Hubert. Linhardt and I had discussed that prior to performing the spell that we should ask you to remove yourself from range. We were not certain how the spell would affect you. Our error is serendipitous for you. It appears to have reversed some of the scarring.”

Hubert shakes his head. “I have not had this much sensation of feeling in my fingers for years.” His voice softens as he stares at his fingers again.

“We must report to Her Majesty.” You remind him. Definitely distracted.

“Absolutely.” Hubert stands, brushing himself off and then taking your hand in his as quickly guides you to the Emperor’s room and knocks. “Apologies, my Emperor, there is a matter we must discuss.”

He pulls you by the hand into her room, keeping it clasped in his. He explains his rushed return, the performing of the spell and that everything thus far is considered a complete success.

Emperor Edelgard peers at the two of you slightly squinting, spying that he is holding your hand tightly. “Thank you, Hubert. Anything else?”

“No, my lady, you will have your report in the morning.” The general bows and so do you. He shows you to the door, returning to his room’s interior, refusing to release your hand.

He proceeds to sit on the edge of his bed, you stand next to him.

“Hubert, you should rest.” You whisper softly placing the back of your free hand to his forehead to see if he is warm. He’s not.

“I will take your recommendation under consideration.” He says, less curtly than usual.

“I have had a busy day as well.” You say softly, looking down. “If you do not mind…” you look to your hand in his.

“What if I do mind?” Hubert says, looking into your eyes. “I find your presence comfortable.”

You think to yourself, others have said many times of how Hubert’s presence is so frightening, how he gives off a scary aura, however you have never seen him to be that way, never felt cold chills at his approach or terrified should he look at you.

“As I do yours.” You sit on the bed, a bit of space between you.

“I wish to thank you for restoring some sensation to my hands. We have tried many different spells and cures. How can I thank you?” Hubert looks a little overwhelmed.

“I charge you one hug.” You shyly slide your hands between his arms and body, pulling him into a hug, putting your nose into his neck so he cannot see the bright red flush of your cheeks.

Hubert, not the most practiced at hugs, wraps his long arms around you one hand above the other at the center of your back resting his cheek on top of your head.

You hear the most beautiful sigh as you give him a little squeeze.

#fe3h x reader #fe3h #feth #hubert von vestra #FE16 #Fire Emblem Three Houses #linhardt von hevring #myStories

49 notes · View notes

theredleopardposts · 4 years ago

Text

Servitors Chapter Two

Chapter Two: Lay of the land

By HMK07

Beatrice Montes sniffed the afternoon air as her leathery wings glided her pitch black white veined demon form through the air at speeds comparable to a jet. "Ah Freedom, how ive missed it! I could eat all up." Beatrice mused as she twisted her body in the air ripping through the Detroit Michigan skyline. She then spied a dark haired, brown coated figure with blue transparent wings ahead of her about half a mile, The Unifying King. Both the murderer of her father warlock Michio Montes and her liberator The Unifying King alias Ardor Joncour sparked a mixture of emotions within Beatrice but for now she had no choice but to trust him. The Unifying King slowed his pace "You needn't worry Beatrice Montes, my home isn't much further".

Beatrice frowned trying to sound polite as possible "Just great your majesty. Im sure grateful for your offer as are my friends". Beatrice turned her head back and noticed her companian's the fire and ice demons, Paul and Frank flitting through the air. The two demons had served her and her father Michio Montes before her they were the closest thing she had to family allowing her to boss them around even though they were both older and stronger than her. Paul sped up towards Beatrice flanking her right side as Frank flanked her left as they followed the Unifying Kings pace. Paul smirked at Beatrice "Just look at him, youd think he was born into royalty or something! So B are we gonna get the drop on him and take his home from him? I mean killing the king would earn us alot of cred and allow us to establish ourselves in this new era".

Beatrice had considered the option of betraying the Unifying King but if half the stories she, Paul and Frank had heard from other paranormals about his majesty had been true then backstabbing him was not an option. Beatrice shook her blonde head of messy hair "No, boys we will wait until the time is right after weve regained our strength. Understood?" Paul nodded in agreement "Gotcha B". Frank nodded his agreement as well "Yes Beatrice". "Ahem, were here" the Unifying King spoke interrupting the trio's plotting as a massive three story mansion began to come into view. "What the hell, he actually owns a friggin castle?" Beatrice marveled at the size of the building, it was made up of three stories of greying dusty bricks with a red brick roof, dirt stained windows, a tower on both side of structure. Beatrice also noticed healthy green vines stretched across its outer walls giving the mansion an eerie feel to it. The Unifying King then lowered himself from the air to the ground landing no softer than a feather degenerating his light construct wings and motioned for Beatrice, Paul and Frank to join him.

Beatrice then tentatively landed her demonic form from the air clawed feet first with her companian's following suit onto the mansions grounds shifting back into human form. Beatrice stretched her inhuman senses towered the mansions structure and heard no other heart beats save two coming from inside the two towers of the mansions and though she couldn't tell there origin she knew they weren't human. Beatrice grimaced "He lives here all by himself? How can he stand it?" she then walked up towards the massive wood front doors of the mansion her sense of touch let her know that something was moving underneath her feet below grass itself. Beatrice hastened her pace followed by Paul and Frank respectively practically racing towards the massive doors. The Unifying King had a look of amusement on his handsome face at his three guest bowing his head as he opened the massive doors with as shove of his hands.

"Welcome to my home, or should I say our home as long as you'll have it" The Unifying King stated as his voice echoed along the mansions first floor which was had several tables made from fine wood, statues carved from marble, paintings by various artist and fancy furniture along with a hundred doors and a stair case that led up to the subsequent floors. The massive scope of mansion seemed to engulf the four occupants. The Unifying King began the tour "I built this place for...myself quite some time ago". The Unifying King paused as if remembering something "There are a hundred rooms on each floor, below us is the basement, and garage". The Unifying King looked at Beatrice Paul and Frank to make sure he hadn't lost their attention "The towers on the mansions sides house two dragons, one per tower". Beatrice was flabbergasted "You own dragons? Seriously?" she asked half shocked. It was true that every sense paranormals came out that dragons were revealed aswell but for someone to own one was almost unheard of, just what had she gotten herself and the boys into?

The Unifying King began heading towards the stair case "The first floor contains the kitchen, living room, library, game room and throne room among others." The Unifying Kings foot steps appeared to become more weary as the group made it up the stairs as if something weighed on him. "A throne room, really"? Beatrice mused inwardly "just who the hell does this guy think he is....oh wait" She continued walking. Upon reaching the second floor the Unifying King motioned his right hand towards the various rooms "Here on the second and third floor are the bedrooms and observatory! After ive given you the tour you can choose whichever room you'd like to stay in, they all come with baths and clean clothes within the closets. "My own bathroom, thank god for that" Beatrice mused. At the facility she couldn't get a decent bath due to the showers being coed. Having all those eyes on her naked body was not a good feeling and all the more awkward was having Paul and Frank starring at her and eachother. The Unifying King headed back down stairs leading the small group with him guiding himself down the silver stair case back to the first floor and quickly led them behind the back of the stair case. Once at the back of the stair case the Unifying King pressed his hand against its base causing a door to open revealing stone steps leading down a shadowed hall way. "Down here is the basement and garage" The Unifying King led the way down as Beatrice, Paul and Frank followed. "Down here is were I keep my armory of weapons and my vehicles" The Unifying sated as the group reached the base of the stairs through suffocating stone stair case. The basement was just massive as the floor above with various medieval weapons adorning its walls swords, axes, bows. Just about every weapon linked to knighthood was on display like a museum.

The floor of the basement was a different kind of museum, cars galore decorated the stone floor from Detroit muscle cars to european sports cars as well. Paul was impressed "Hmph, his majesty apparently has taste" Paul grinned as he drank in the sight of all classic, new cars and the weapons. The moment of awe was interrupted as the sound of rolling thunder was heard through the basement. The Unifying King smirked "Ah its time to feed the dragons, follow me" he urged the three. Beatrice instantly steeled herself even with Paul and Frank by her this was still a frightening moment this was the first time shed seen a real dragon up close. The Unifying King spoke as if reading Beatrice's thought's "There's no need to be afraid you three, my dragons are tamed, I assure you" he stated as he led the three up the winding towers stairs to the towers metal chamber door. "That's what Im afraid of" Beatrice thought herself silently reeling herself for whatever terror laid behind the towers thin metal chamber door. The Unifying King dug through his pocket looking for something and produced a gold key pressing it into the doors lock. The opened door revealed something only spoke of in legends, before her eyes was a massive long tailed brown scaled reptilian creature with green slit eyes. The creature spread massive leathery wings similar to her own when she'd shifted into her demon form. "Effing huge" Beatrice whispered as the creature took notice of her and released a low growl towards her and the two demons with her. Beatrice was instantly on her guard with Paul and Frank in front of her with a blink. "ENOUGH HANK" the Unifying King roared to the dragon causing it to seat itself on its hind claws and pure out a mixture of a chuckle and growl. The Unifying King then walked over to the left side of the dragons chamber and produced a massive slab of raw meat too large of one man to carry from a large freezer.

The Unifying King laid the slab of meet down with ease of a bag of rice "Here you go boy. Eat up!" The dragon sniffed the meat growling a low grown through its fangs and bellowed forth a large a blast of flames onto the meat charring it and proceeded to eat it up breaking whatever bones it contained down its throat. The Unifying King then looked distantly distracted for a moment "There's no need to check up on Drew, my other dragon he's asleep best too let him stay that way". The Unifying King then led the trio out of the Dragon's chamber and back down the stairs into the basement. "So what do guys think of the place so far?" The Unifying King asked quizzically of trio. Beatrice speaking for three cleared her throat "Its a lovely home, but we don't have any way of paying you for letting us stay here" she shrugged. The Unifying King narrowed his eyes as if considering something "Why don't you three work for me for now on? Ill allow you to live here and Ill even pay you!" The Unifying King offered. "Why would you do that? After everything you've done to us and vice versa" Frank questioned the arrangement. The Unifying King smiled "Because Frank its a new world and I could've killed you three on the way here, particularly when you were plotting to kill me" The Unifying Kings gaze penetrated the three of them.

Paul shifted on the balls of his feet uncomfortably somewhat regretting what he proposed to Beatrice on the way to the mansion. "Anyway, Ive business to attend to Ill leave you three to decide the duties you'll take on, feel free to explore the rest of the house, Ill expect as answer by morning" The Unifying King then disappeared back up the basement stairs with a blur of motion no human could've have tracked with there eyes. Beatrice, Paul and Frank stood in the vast basement mulling over the choice before them and the dragon chambers between them. Frank spoke up first "Ok Beatrice what's the play?" The Ice demon looked down onto the young half breed woman before him. "What ever choice you make ill stand beside you as I always have." Paul nodded in silent agreement with Frank. Beatrice looked between the two demons, they'd been with her through the death of her father, the owning of her club, imprisonment and now this. "Ok boys lets go to the game room" Beatrice commanded as she led them up the stairs like a general with her troops. Beatrice at a normal pace despite her inhuman stamina she was exhausted mentally at least and she just needed a moment after all she just went participated in prison break and had been offered a home and job by a the half angel warlock that killed her father. Beatrice, Paul and Frank had made their way up the stone stairs and closed the basement entrance behind them making their way towards the game room opening the wooden door that guarded it. The game was big enough to host a party in a bejeweled chandelier eliminated the room, its selves packed with board games and video game consuls alike. In the corner a television caked with dust the smell ruffled their sensitive noses.

"For someone with the title "King" he really doesn't take care of this place does he?" Beatrice questioned aloud. "Yeah" Paul and Frank agreed breathlessly. On a table the laid a deck of cards "Ok boys how about a game of old maid, who ever wins get to pick our jobs! Sound fair?" Beatrice asked with a sly grin. "Well I guess but I have to warn you Im not gonna go easy on you little lady" Paul said a devilish grin on his face. Frank chuckled as he pooled up a chair "I think you two better get used to working under me for now on." Beatrice rolled her eyes pulling up a chair sitting in it and began cutting the cards using her paranormal speed to blur the motion of her hands and the cards. Her father Michio Montes had taught her how to cut cards when he raised her and she'd often when against Paul and Frank while imprisoned so this was merely a formality if anything their jobs had already been decided. After cutting the cards Beatrice dealed the cards to the other two players with a stone walled look on her face. The object was simple each player had to pick a card out of the other persons hand eliminating their cards careful not to pick the joker. Whoever was left with joker card lost the round. "Ok boys Ill start" Beatrice said with a sing-sing voice. Beatrice quickly reached over to Paul's hand picked out a card "Ace of spades, how about that?" Paul eyes betrayed a sense of worry "Oh bullshit on this, I quit...fold whatever just pick the jobs already." Paul had played enough card games with Beatrice to know what she was up too. Beatrice looked over at Frank who still held his cards fast "Then that means you get to be the...Butler Paul" Beatrice ordered her friend. "Oh goodie, boss" said Paul with and obvious air annoyance. Beatrice looked over at Frank like a shark trolling for prawn "OK Frankie boy its just you and me". Frank reached over towards Beatrice's deck with a air of caution and pulled a card Frank looked it over revealing it to be the Joker card and frowned. "Well I guess that you the chef Frank and me...the caretaker" Beatrice said with a smirk liking the title. Paul frowned "Well funny how that works out for you B" Paul said tensing a bit and getting up and making his way to his second floor room. "Im gonna get myself familiarized with the kitchen I guess" Frank grumbled feeling awkward about his new position.

"Don't worry Frank you'll do fine, Ill see you in the morning for breakfast" Beatrice teased as she ushered Frank out of the game room and back onto the first floor of mansion. "Ill see you two in the morning" Beatrice called to both Paul and Frank as she sprinted up stairs to the third floor at a normal human pace. Beatrice wondered the vast third floor and flitted from room to room noticing they all bore same design: A king sized bed against the wall, with the a window on the side and wardrobe with at the foot of the bed along with a bathroom in the corner. All the rooms were the same except for one, The Unifying Kings room. For starters it had twin wooden doors that seemed to peer at a person. Beatrice hesitated. "After all this was his room" Beatrice thought "Oh what the hell, why not? After all come the morning He'll be our employer anyway" Beatrice mused to herself as she pushed the double doors wide open to reveal a messy king sized bed with a telescope and window at its foot looking out onto the night sky. A wardrobe to side housed the Unifying Kings clothes and belongings and a bathroom at at the corner. Beatrice noticed the head of the bed had a sword rack on it presumably for the rapier sword he kept around. Beatrice Quickly held out her had sending a pulse of magic energy through the room only for it to slam right back into her sending her to the floor with slap to the chest. "No wonder he wasn't worried about us trying to kill him, he's enchanted his house. Just how powerful is this guy?" Beatrice thought as she picked herself up off the rugged floor of the Unifying Kings room and headed towards the one she picked out for herself.

When Beatrice reached her room she looked at the marsh mellow sheets on her new bed admiring them. No longer would she have to sleep on musty mattress of the facility she was in hearing the boys snore up close. She smiled and fell over onto the bed letting her mind drift onto sleep, before blacking out however she could have sworn a blue transparent winged figure had put covers over her resting body.

15 notes · View notes

midnightactual · 4 years ago

Text

@mysteriousshopkeeper submitted:

“Yoruichi-san! I’m glad I caught you. I… thought you might be on a beach somewhere by now, since you just hosted a significant holiday party. In any case…” His fingers were idly tapping on something clasped between them as a subtle change came over his demeanor, like curtains being drawn open. “There are some… things I’ve been meaning to say. And considering my track record… I thought it best to let someone else say them.” His hands moved forward, and before she could object, he’d captured one of hers and pressed his gift into it.

Once she’d unwrapped it, she’d find herself holding a vintage, authentic Sony Walkman WM-D6C, in perfect working order, pre-loaded with a cassette – not just any commercial label, no, no – but a genuine, bona fide, old-fashioned mixtape. He’d invested considerable time and effort in selecting songs that suited his sentiments, first building a playlist on Spotify. He hadn’t even known all of them before he started searching, but he certainly did know them when he heard them. A tentative smile encroached on his lips. “At first it didn’t have tangible form, but as you can imagine, it proved difficult to wrap, so… I made this.”

The exercise had presented him with a delicate balance to maintain. His relationship with Yoruichi was… complicated. Lately, he’d come to the reluctant realization that what he’d been giving her was not what she needed from him, at least not here, not now. But disillusionment had proven a sticky, time-consuming process. Would-have-beens and could-yet-bes clung like lint to an old sweater; every time he looked, he found more, and some were nearly indistinguishable from the knit. He’d begun the process at the outset of what had become an unexpectedly eventful couple of weeks, but it had been time well-spent; the effort had had a clarifying — and surprisingly calming — effect. Each day was a process of refining and crafting, loosely following a rubric laid out in a movie he’d seen once. As a finishing touch, he’d even added liner notes, just to arrange specific lyrics into a unified narrative. The result was a musical, emotional journey that moved through a spectrum of humor, introspection and encouragement.

Because there was still, at the base of it all, that deep and abiding foundation of their friendship. The pedestals and shrines he’d erected in her honor weren’t serving either of them; it was time for a little iconoclasm, a little restructuring. Perhaps they could begin afresh and he would, again, be dependably her friend. He was aware that this playlist may not reflect her musical tastes, but it wasn’t so much about winning her heart as revealing his —she’d long deserved that much from him. Besides — at this point, what had he to lose? He’d quit castles in the sky for solid ground.

“Happy birthday, Yoruichi.” His face met hers with a soft, bright smile. “If you go, you’ll have something to take with you. And if my company would be welcome…” And here, the smile grew a bit dubious. “—I’d offer to go with you. I’d even make the arrangements; I could use a change of scene myself. You’d get good massages given on good behavior, with no lip service—” He smirked grimly, realizing how difficult it was for him to suggest without selling. “That is to say, I’d enjoy giving them. Quietly. But should you choose to stay, and celebrate your birthday here with us this year, I wouldn’t min—" Again, he caught himself; his face clouded for an instant, then cleared, transparent and a bit wistful, as he half-turned to make his graceful exit. “Rather, I would very much like that.”

Liner Notes

Listen on Spotify!

We Go Together / David Tennant & Catherine Tate - Lyrics We go together like the news and the weather / We fit like hand in glove! It’s All Been Done / Barenaked Ladies - Lyrics And if I put my fingers here, and if I say / “I love you, dear” / And if I play the same three chords, / Will you just yawn and say ‘I’m bored’ / It’s all been done Partners in Crime / Arkarna - Lyrics As I feel, we are, we must go on, I will stand, with you, forever / Ever more / But without you it’s a bore, It’s no fun breaking the law / Anymore, anymore, my partner in crime True Colors / Justin Timberlake & Anna Kendrick - Lyrics Show me a smile then / Don’t be unhappy, can’t remember / When I last saw you laughing / If this world makes you crazy / And you’ve taken all you can bear / You call me up / Because you know I’ll be there Paradise Valley / Honey and the Sting - Lyrics Take what you want from me / I bring it willingly / The paradise valley Got Your Back / Mike Taylor - Lyrics If you need a friend to party - I got your back / If you wanna get naughty - I got your back / Just tell me where to hide the body - I got your back

Somewhere Only We Know / Keane - Lyrics And if you have a minute why don’t we go / Talk about it somewhere only we know? / This could be the end of everything / So why don’t we go / Somewhere only we know? We Belong / Pat Benatar - Lyrics We belong to the light / We belong to the thunder / We belong to the sound of the words / We’ve both fallen under / Whatever we deny or embrace / For worse or for better / We belong, we belong / We belong together

I Won’t Give Up / Jason Mraz - Lyrics And in the end, you’re still my friend at least we did intend / For us to work we didn’t break, we didn’t burn / We had to learn how to bend without the world caving in / I had to learn what I’ve got, and what I’m not / And who I am Clear the Area / Imogen Heap - Lyrics You find your way back down. / And I’ll keep the area clear…please clear the area. / When you find your way back down…in one piece / Then I’ll just be waiting here…right here. / Slowly…darling…nobody means any more to me than you. Fortress Around Your Heart / Sting - Lyrics And if I’ve built this fortress around your heart / Encircled you in trenches and barbed wire / Then let me build a bridge / For I cannot fill the chasm / And let me set the battlements on fire

Undercover / Pete Yorn - Lyrics And we held and we tried / There was hardly lust between us / I will love you / I won’t let go / ‘Cause we are one inside these walls / Undercover

Black Heart Inertia / Incubus - Lyrics You’re a mountain that I’d like to climb / Not to conquer, but to share in the view / You’re a bonfire and I’m gathered ‘round you / Set this old black heart inertia aflame Invincible / Muse - Lyrics ‘Cause there’s no one like you in the universe / Don’t be afraid / What your mind conceives / You should make a stand / Stand up for what you believe / And tonight / We can truly say / Together we’re invincible

Yoruichi was actually a bit surprised when her hand was taken and the classic piece of audio kit was pressed into it, not having expected such a forward approach. For want of any other recourse—it was her birthday, and it was a gift, apparently given very sincerely considering his affect… what else could she do but take it?—she willingly grasped the Walkman and heard him out.

She was in for another surprise at how little he had to say, comparatively. Sure, some of the usual banter and salesmanship eventually filtered in, but the facade was cracked and the underlying sincerity streamed through the act like sunlight through mist, burning it off right before her very eyes. It was striking, and she stared at the spectacle of it, growing increasingly uncertain.

And then, just like that he… left? She was sufficiently taken aback by what he’d said—and how he’d said it—that she hadn’t yet had time to formulate a reply when he was turning and departing. Her mouth opened, but no sounds came out of it, and by the time she thought of something to say—even just, ‘Wait’—he was gone.

She stared after him for long seconds before shutting her mouth and looking at the Walkman that’d been handed to her. She considered it for several moments more before going to a closet drawer. She already owned a pair of vintage Walkman headphones with orange foam earpieces; they seemed the most appropriate thing to use to listen, and listening seemed to be the only thing to do.

Considering both components, she put the headset on, plugged it in, and clicked play. There was a delightfully mechanistic moment as the button sank in, giving that chunky, electromechanical experience you simply couldn’t get with fully digital electronics. It made her nostalgic as the first song began, and she listened, at first just standing where she was. The first song was a bit cornball, and she wondered if the whole mixtape would be that way, eventually sitting on the edge of her bed. But by the third song she was up and pacing about as she listened, a pit growing in her stomach.

By the seventh, she had retreated from her bedroom entirely, going to her bathroom almost on autopilot. Some part of her knew it was even farther away from scrutiny—harder to reach, harder to be heard from, even if her rooms and the building itself were very well soundproofed. Some other part of her felt almost ill. And then there were her eyes.

Crying had never been acceptable. That had been made abundantly clear to her from the very beginning. She didn’t cry. She hadn’t since she’d been a toddler. She’d watched her kōhai have a breakdown without crying. She’d torn off her own arm without crying. She’d cradled her little brother after he’d been shot through the heart three times without crying. As she leaned on the wall beside the tub, she almost didn’t recognize the pressure around her eyes. Her motions were automatic, and she clambered into the dry basin while she fought to keep herself under control. Things started getting blurry as a titanic clash raged within her.

Yet the music kept going, and she refused to stop it. Trembling with held in sounds, she finally punched the stone tiles before her. The strike wasn’t very hard by her standards, although it pushed her gigai—but it wasn’t enough to even chip the rock. Her arm stayed extended and she ground her knuckles into the rough surface, before retracting and striking again. And again. And again and again and again, until the stone was smeared with her blood and her hand throbbed and ached in protest.

The pain wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough to compete with what was already filling her, and she gasped as it became overwhelming, hot tears spilling down her cheeks as she lost and it became entirely impossible to see. Her sobs were silent at first, wracking her whole body, before she smacked the bottoms of both fists against the wall, leaning forward to put her forehead on it as she finally let out a noise, something between a growl and a low wail.

She beat against that wall ineffectually, clenching her jaw as she still tried to keep it all in, trying to refuse this, but it was no use. ‘Volatile’ was wholly inadequate to describe the mixture of emotions flowing through her—it was a hypergolic cocktail that was already ablaze and demanded venting. And so, finally, she tipped her head back and screamed. Agony. Frustration. Despair. Self-loathing. Rage. Sorrow. Regret. It had all built and built, not just lately but for far, far longer, and she had no choice but to let out all the fruits of her failures at once now, like some kind of ravening nuclear death beam rendered in sound.

What her reiatsu did in response, she had no idea and no care to know. Presumably the gigai kicked in to contain it, but she was caught up in the maelstrom, a billion light years away from such concerns. She cried out and pounded at the wall until there was nothing left, until she was hoarse, until she was empty, until she was panting from the intensity of the chemicals unleashed, until her tears carried away enough of their torrent that she could breathe.

Spent and dazed, she slumped back, then outright toppled back against an edge of the tub, sinking down and shivering. Still, the music played, and it drew her back to the moment. She could think of doing nothing but flopping onto one side and curling up in a fetal position, desperately hugging herself and simply trying to be small, wishing to just disappear entirely. She stayed that way for a long time.

#In Character #Long Post #Music #submission #mysteriousshopkeeper #Identifier: MERCURY GREEN #Verse: BLEACH MAIN #Era: IMPERIAL

6 notes · View notes

clintbartonswife · 5 years ago

Text

Forever

@witch-of-letters thanks for requesting this! I diverted from it slightly but I hope you still like it

Pairings: Steve x Reader, brother!bucky Warning: swearing, mentions of abuse masterlist

For as long as you can remember, it had been the three of you against the world.

When you and Bucky were 6, you had gone to the park to play when you saw a scrawny blond getting the ever-loving shit kicked out of him in an alley way by a guy who was easily a good few inches taller than him.

“Hey!” Bucky had shouted, rushing over to help, “Leave him alone”

You had followed your twin, and without much of a struggle had sent the boy on his way.

“I had him on the ropes”

You had offered a hand to help him up, offering him a soft smile.

“Sure you did punk” Bucky said, matching your smile as he rested his hand on the boy’s shoulder

“Jerk”

When you were 8, you learned the reason why Steve never backed down from a fight.

Bucky and you had snuck over to Steve’s apartment after dinner one night, climbing the fire escape into his room, only to be met with the sound of muffled sobs.

“Oh my god Steve are you okay?”

You rushed into his room through the window, Bucky close behind you.

“What – what are you doing here?” he asked, trying to choke down his sobs, “you shouldn’t be here”

“We were gonna ask to see your sketches, punk. What’s happened?”

The two of you fell into silence as a heavy thump was heard through the thin walls of his bedroom walls, followed by Sarah’s heaving sobs. The sound made Steve curl up into a ball again, whimpering at the sound of his mother’s crying.

“She locked me in so I couldn’t help” he sobbed, “he won’t stop hitting her”

You exchanged a look with Bucky, pure shock overtaking you. You had no idea this was going on, but suddenly a lot of Steve’s stubbornness was starting to make sense. Pulling him into a hug, the two cocooned him between you for the rest of the night, holding him as the repetitive thumps echoed through the small flat.

When you were 15, the love you had for Steve started to blossom into something more.

You were sat next to him, eyes closed as the familiar scratching sound of charcoal on paper filled your ears. Bucky was out on a date with a girl called Belle, leaving you and Steve alone together. For the past few years, due to Bucky’s ‘charming good looks’ as your ma had put it, he had been going out with a lot of women, meaning that you and Steve would often hang out in the afternoons together.

“Are you drawing me Rogers?”

“Wha – no – I thought you were asleep”

You had opened an eye lazily, an easy-going smile on your face.

“And waste time with you? Never. It’s just relaxing to hear you draw”

You noticed that the more time you spent with him, the more nervous you got, and every time he’d call you ‘doll’ you’d get a weird feeling in your stomach. Rebecca had called you out, saying that you were sweet on him one night – something you avidly denied at the time – but the longer it went on, the less you could deny it.

When you were 17, you couldn’t deny your feelings anymore.

Men had started taking an interest in you in the past few years, often trying to ask you out on dates around the town. Thankfully Bucky had managed to scare most of them off from the outset with his protective brotherly nature, but unfortunately some were still brave enough to ask.

“Want to go out dancin’ sugar? You look real pretty in that dress”

You had resisted the urge to roll your eyes, sending a silent plea for help to Bucky and Steve before turning back to the man in front of you.

“No thank you, but I’m sure Cindy would be interested, she’s been making eyes at you since you walked in”

Setting his eyes on the blonde at the booth opposite, he gave you a polite nod before making his way over to her.

“Why wont they stop” you groaned, slumping back in your seat unceremoniously, “I’m not interested in them!”

“You haven’t been on a single date Y/N, it’s become a sort of competition in the neighbourhood” Bucky frowned, obviously disapproving of them using you as a bet, “what’s the reason you haven’t gone on one anyway?”

You glanced at Steve quickly, crossing your arms.

“I’m waiting for the right person”

Bucky caught your gaze and his mouth dropped open, slapping Steve’s shoulder rambunctiously.

“Well would ya look at that!”

“Bucky!”

“Are you gonna tell him or am I gonna have to do it for you? Both of you are blind fools I swear”

You blushed, making eye contact with Steve before looking away to the floor, leaving Steve a stammering mess as he figured out what was going on.

“Me?”

“It’s always been you”

When you were 18, you both said ‘I love you’ for the first time.

You had forgone going to the dance hall with Bucky and his date, opting instead to stay in the boy’s apartment. With the gramophone you had borrowed from Mrs Gillert upstairs, you twirled around the room in Steve’s arms, bare foot and care free.

“I’ll never understand why out of all the boys in Brooklyn you chose me” Steve admitted quietly, “I always dreamed about it, but I never once thought I’d be good enough for you”

“You’re everything to me Stevie”

“I love you, doll”

A blush bloomed on your cheeks, happy tears filling your eyes as you met his lips in a sweet kiss.

“I love you too”

When you were 20, you saw Steve break for the first time since you were children.

His mother had been ill ever since his father’s death a few years prior, Bucky picking up an extra job just to help him pay for her medicines, but she was just getting worse. A few hours before she went, Sarah had grabbed your hand, intertwining your fingers and placing them over her heart.

“You’re good for him” she said, voice shaky and weak, “Promise me you’ll look after him”

“I always will – Buck and I have his back Sarah, you know that”

You held him that night as he sobbed, the last of his family dead and gone, only passing him over to Bucky to make some dinner (which you forced him to eat). The situation felt very reminiscent of that night years ago, the three of you knowing that in that moment, there was nothing you wouldn’t do for the other.

When you were 24, your life started to crumble around you.

After the announcement that the USA was joining WW2, Bucky and Steve started training in Goldie’s gym every day for 3 hours, eager to join the fight.

They ignored your protests, Bucky insisting that it was the right thing to do.

He was approved, Sargent Barnes of the 107th, ready for deployment in a few weeks. Steve, on the other hand, was not so lucky. Though it was horrible to say, you had never been so glad for his illnesses as that day.

He wouldn’t stop though, and on Bucky’s last night he ran off to the sign-up tent again. As always, the two of you followed him, ready to stop his mess, only for Bucky to cave in and let him try.

“You stay with him, okay? I’ll see you back at the house”

You just nodded, giving your brother a hug before following Steve again, holding his hand in yours.

“Steve please, you’ve tried enough. I can’t – I can’t lose both of you”

“I have to try, don’t you see? If I had stood up to my dad then maybe – maybe ma wouldn’t have gotten so sick and-“

“No. Steven Grant Rogers don’t you dare think like that. That was out of your control-“

“But I can help here. Please, just let me try. One last time, doll, I promise”

You sighed, ducking your head to hide the tears that had begun to gather in your eyes, nodding dejectedly. Steve pressed a kiss to your forehead, his hand slipping out of yours as he began to walk away.

“I’ll be back”

Not a minute later, you were approached by a middle-age German man, and the rest was history.

When you were 25, you rescued your brother from HYDRA’s clutches.

After deciding that, fuck it, you’d follow Steve to the ends of the earth, you had accepted Dr Erskine’s offer and became the first female candidate for the super soldier serum. The following madness that ensued left you, now dubbed Liberty Prime, and Steve, Captain America, new dancing puppets for the government. That is, of course, until you heard of the 107th’s fate.

Taking the jet offered by Howard Stark, you and Steve had ignored your orders and broken out all the POWs that had been taken, eventually finding Bucky in a small lab, strapped down onto the table. After a very quick argument (“What the hell have you done?”, “joined the army”) and a dramatic fight with a dude with a red face, you were on the way back to base camp, holding hands with your two favourite boys.

Once Bucky was out of the med tent, the three of you went back to your bunk, huddling together like you did when you were kids the silent promise of forever suspended in the air.

When you were 27, the realities of war caught up to you.

Being a member of the Howling Commandos, you had seen a fair amount of horrifying stuff, but nothing could prepare you to see your twin falling from the train, mere centimetres from Steve’s hand.

The two of you were inconsolable, only talking to each other because you were the only ones that understood. Nothing would ever be the same.

So when it came to making the call to put the plane in the ocean, you both decided stupidly fast.

“I love you, doll” “I love you Stevie”

You tucked your head into the crook of his neck, fully submerged in his embrace as the jet went down.

“’Til the end of the line”

But now, as you woke up in the sterile hospital room, you were alone.

No Steve, no Bucky. Alone.

“What the hell?”

Your last memories of the ship crashing into the cold sea made no sense as you stared at the blank white walls around you, eyes blowing wide in panic. Your fighting instincts instantly kicked in, pushing yourself off of the bed and into a defensive position.

A crackly tune filtered out of the radio, the weird calmness of the room making you uneasy.

“Miss Barnes, it’s good to see that you’re awake”

You spun around to stare at the newcomer, the woman looking an awful lot like Peggy.

“Where am I?”

“You’re in a –“

She was cut off by a large man pushing her out of the way, his eyes wild and searching.

“Y/N?”

“Steve?”

“Don’t listen to them – somethings sketchy – the walls aren’t real” he urged, grabbing my hand and punching his way through the set’s walls, “We need to get out of here”

“How are we alive?” I asked frantically, keeping up to speed with him as an alarm started to blare through the building.

“I don’t know”

As you burst out of the building and onto the streets, you could immediately tell something was wrong. Your hand immediately flew to his arm, clutching his bicep as you were forced to a halt by black cars surrounding you. He pushed you behind him slightly, taking a protective stance in front of you as you searched the area for a way out.

“At ease, soldiers! Look, I’m sorry about that little show back there, but… we thought it best to break it to you slowly”

You moved to the side slightly, coming out from behind Steve, despite his quiet protest.

“Break what?”

“You’ve both been asleep. For 70 years”

Ever since Fury had broken the news you refused to be separated from Steve. They seemed to have expected that though, as the housing they provided was set up for two people.

“We’ll leave you alone for the rest of today for all of this to sink in” an agent explained, “If you have any questions just press this button and someone will come running”

You nodded politely as she left, still in a slight daze as you stared at the luxurious apartment.

“They’re going to want us to fight”

“I know”

“Will you?”

“Im with you Steve. I’ll follow you til the end of the line”

He took your hands in his, pressing light kisses to each knuckle.

“For Bucky” he said, voice cracking slightly.

“For Bucky”

_______________________________________________________________

Steve Taglist: @patzammit

265 notes · View notes

mldrgrl · 6 years ago

Text

What it Feels Like For a Girl

by: mldrgrl Rating: NC-17 Summary: I had several Anons, and one non-Anon, requesting a body swapping story where instead of Morris Fletcher and Mulder swapping bodies in Dreamland, it’s Mulder and Scully. So, here’s the result. Mulder and Scully swap bodies at a very inopportune time. (Or very opportune, depending on how you look at it). Note: I’m going to be honest here and say, I don’t think this is a concept that works well on paper. A visual medium serves this thing a lot better. Oh, well. A big thank you to @kateyes224 for being the first to get through it :D

As the blinding light in the sky hovers closer, Mulder takes hold of my wrist and squeezes. I can’t see past the light, now shining directly into my eyes so strongly that I have to put my hand in front of my face because squinting doesn’t cut it.

There’s a flash and a moment of equally blinding darkness where it takes a moment for my sight to recover itself. Morris Fletcher still stands grimly before us, flanked by military personnel who look a little too trigger happy for my taste.

“Come on, Mulder,” I say, but the strange thing is, I don’t hear my voice, I hear his. When I look to my right, he’s not there. When I look down, he’s still gripping my wrist, except I feel like I’m the one doing the holding. And then I’m looking into my own startled eyes.

“What the fu-?” she says, right about the time I’m blurting out “oh my God.”

“Mulder?” I whisper.

“Scully?”

We’re both interrupted by an impatient Fletcher, barking at us that we are trespassing on government property. She...he looks annoyed, clearly about to make an ill-advised retort and I shake my head at him.

“Come on,” I say, tugging on the sleeve of my own jacket. “Let’s just go.”

There’s an awkward moment of confusion as we move to the car, heading to our usual sides. Mulder stumbles over his feet and then tip-toes towards the driver’s door with miniscule, shuffling steps.

“What the hell are you doing?” I hiss at him.

“I can’t walk in these shoes!” he hisses back.

I don’t fit into the passenger side. I’ve never not fit into any space ever. But, here I am, knees folded up and knocking into the glove compartment. He’s not faring much better, unable to reach the pedals and clearly distressed about it.

“Maybe we should switch?” I suggest.

“Not until we get out of here and find out what the hell is going on. How do you...Jesus, I can’t reach anything!”

This is surreal. Whatever’s happening feels like a nightmare or a bad acid trip. I keep pinching the skin on my wrist trying to snap out of whatever this is, but it’s not working. Out of curiosity, I reach up and touch my face, feel my fingers scrape across the five o’clock shadow dusting my cheeks. This can’t be happening. This can’t possibly be happening.

*****

We don’t talk much on the way to our motel. I can’t speak for Mulder...well, actually, I am speaking for Mulder, currently, but I think it’s just too damn weird to try to talk to each other and hear someone else speaking. It’s jarring. We do agree on one thing though, and that’s the fact that we need to get back to DC as soon as possible.

Actually, we agree on two things. We get back to DC as soon a possible, and we don’t tell anyone about this until we know for sure what’s going on. To that end, I book a red eye out of Santa Fe and Mulder hastily packs up our motel rooms.

“Don’t you have any flats?” he whines, digging through my duffel bag.

“At home.”

“I feel like I’m going to break an ankle.” He takes tentative steps across the motel room, trips twice, and nearly takes a header into the wall, but I happen to catch him.

“You hurt me, I’ll kill you.”

He stands there wobbling like a baby giraffe. I’m afraid if I laugh at him he’ll think I’m enjoying this situation. Trust me, I’m not. Of all the messes he’s gotten us into, this one surely takes the cake. So, I just stand there, with my arms crossed, watching Mulder hobble back and forth until he can assure us both he isn’t going to fall on his ass in a pair of two-inch heels.

The flight home is the most uncomfortable flight I have ever been on. I prefer a window seat when I fly normally, but my whole body feels too long to fit anywhere but the aisle. Mulder, on the other hand, looks almost pleased with himself and leans back in the seat and stretches.

“This is great,” he says. “I’ve never had so much room before.”

As soon as I get my own body back, I’m going to kill him. Slowly. Using lots of torture.

Maybe it’s crankiness from the unbearable cross-country journey, or the awkwardness of being in someone else’s body, but as soon as the flight lands, I have the compulsory need to be as far away from him as possible. It’s so hard to look at him and see myself, but to know it isn’t me.

“I think we need to stick together,” he says to me as we head to the taxi line. “Just stay by each other’s sides until we come up with a way of fixing this.”

There’s a moment where he starts to put his hand on the small of my back out of habit, but his usual aim is thrown off by our change in height and instead lands directly on my ass. I jump.

“Mulder!”

“Wha-oh! Sorry.”

“Be careful.”

“I said I was sorry.”

“Well how would you like it if I smacked your a...nevermind. Have you come up with any solutions?”

“No. You?”

“None. I do think we need to behave as normal though. Go about our days like nothing unusual has happened.”

“Days?”

“We don’t know how long this is going to last, Mulder. Hours, days, weeks-”

“Don’t say months.”

“Years.”

“Years,” he barks.

“Keep your voice down,” I whisper, bending so our heads are closer together. I don’t think I’ve ever had to bend down to speak to anyone in my life. Why do I have to be so short and why does he have to be so tall? It’s a wonder neither of us has suffered a neck sprain in the past six years.

“How can you be so calm about this?”

“I am far from calm, but I’m not going to freak out in a taxi line.”

“Well, then what do you want to do?”

“It’s Saturday. We go home. We think on it. We come in on Monday, go over our ideas, and hopefully, one of us will have thought of something brilliant.”

“You want to split up?”

“I want to think. Which means, I don’t want to be distracted and I don’t want to get dragged into any other of your crazy schemes until I’ve had the chance to process this.” There’s a taxi approaching and we’re next in line, so I do the gentlemanly thing and open the door for Mulder. He reluctantly slides into the back seat and I hand over my duffel bag to him.

“Oh, and Mulder,” I say, just before I close to door. “Do not, under any circumstances, get me into any trouble. Just remember, I already shot you once.”

“Scully, I really think-”

I slam the door to cut him off. I just want to get home and come up with a solution.

*****

I am well and truly exhausted by the time I get to Mulder’s apartment, my home sweet home for the next...however long it takes to fix this mess. I want nothing more than to lay down, take a nap, and hope I’ve dreamed up something truly amazing by the time I wake up. What I didn’t count on was the fact that Mulder really and truly didn’t have a bed.

All these years, I really thought he’d been joking when he said he never got around to buying a bed since he preferred his couch anyway. He referred to his bedroom as the storage closet, and though I have glanced into it a time or two, all I saw were boxes. Surely there must be a bed hidden under there somewhere, so I thought. Well, I was wrong.

I almost called Mulder to berate him right then and there, first for getting us into this mess, second for not living like a proper adult, but what would that really solve? I’d still be without a bed for the foreseeable future. So, I did what a normal human being would do and I looked up the nearest mattress store in the Yellow Pages and drove down. I probably spent an hour trying them all out, found one I liked, and with the swipe of Mulder’s credit card conveniently located in the wallet in my back pocket, bought him a mattress and bedframe that would be delivered bright and early tomorrow morning. One night on the couch probably wouldn’t kill me.

With that done, I went to the mall and bought some sheets and pillows for the new bed and then on to the grocery store for food. I’ve seen the science experiments growing in Mulder’s fridge and, though I’m pro-science experiment, I’m anti-eating them. It also occured to me, once I got back and fixed myself a nice salad, I had better clear out all that junk in the storage closet so the bed would have a place to go.

In the midst of packing boxes and cleaning, I used the time to think. I don’t know though, something about being in Mulder’s body must have affected my brain, because the only ideas I could come up with were ones that he would’ve thrown at me. We could see a psychic. We could hold a seance. We could try time travel.

By the time I’m finished turning the bedroom into an actual bedroom, it’s past dinner time, and I do the most Mulder thing I can do. I order a pizza and sprawl out on the couch in front of a movie.

At this point, you’re probably wondering why I’m boring you with all this stupid, mundane crap when you must be thinking oh my God, you’re in an entirely different body, why haven’t you inspected it from head to toe and tried out all the...new body features. Well, look, I am curious beyond belief about what it’s really like to be a man, but I’m going to have to look Mulder in the eye again and I don’t know if I can satisfy a curiosity and still maintain a professional relationship after that. There are boundaries.

But, fine, I may have changed into a nice pair of jeans and a sweater within the full length view of a mirror, not that I was looking, but I think the few glimpses I caught will allow me to keep my integrity intact. I mean, and I did have to shower, so that was interesting. I didn’t attempt to shave, but I will compliment Mulder on the body wash he uses. It was very nice and I might try to find some with a more feminine smell when things are back to normal.

The only real challenge I run into is how to use the bathroom. It’s one thing to check out Mulder’s body, but another thing to touch certain parts that need to be touched, I assume, when one uses the bathroom. I mean, I didn’t know what would happen. Do I just stay still and hope it aims itself, or what if once I start it’s like an out of control fire hose situation? I know it’s not very manly, but I opt to sit down to pee. Mulder doesn’t have to know.

*****

It’s late I think, at least past 10pm, and I’m dozing on the couch when my cell phone rings. “Scully,” I mumble out of habit. “Um, I mean Mul-”

“Scully, it’s me.” There’s an edge to his (my?) voice that doesn’t sound good.

“Mulder?”

“You don’t...you don’t happen to feel like you’re dying, do you?”

“Excuse me?”

“Oh God,” he moans. “Scully...something’s wrong.”

“Mulder?”

“Something is really, really wrong.”

“Mulder, I’ll be right there. Don’t move.”

I’m off the couch in an instant, thankful for my suddenly longer legs that get me out of the apartment and down the block to Mulder’s car in what feels like two minutes flat. I’m also grateful that I gave him a key a few years back and I use it to enter my apartment about fifteen minutes later. All the lights are off. I call out to him and he answers from the bedroom.

I find him curled up on the bed, still wearing the same pantsuit I threw on before accompanying him on that wild goose chase to New Mexico. There’s just enough light filtering in from the street lamps outside to highlight the anguish on his face. Let me tell you, it’s a little disconcerting to see yourself in pain. I crawl onto the bed and put my hand on his forehead, but he’s cool as a cucumber.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

“You don’t feel it?” he answers, lifting his eyes up to me.

“Feel what, Mulder?”

He bursts into tears and rolls away from me. “Why didn’t you tell me!”

“Tell you what?”

“I thought it must be an effect of whatever this thing is that’s going on, but if it’s just me and it’s not you, then it can’t be and it hurts so much. Scully, why didn’t you tell me the cancer was back?”

“What?” If I wasn’t panicked before, I certainly am now. “What the hell are you talking about, Mulder?”

“Your body is dying, I can feel it. I’m dying.”

“What hurts?”

“Everything! Everything, God, my head is...and there’s this pain in my back - I think it’s the kidneys. Scully, I think your kidneys are going to explode. And then the light was too bright and I feel sick and then like right here…” He presses a hand to his hip, a little lower and off center from his abdomen. “It’s like...I don’t even know. Something is happening right there, something bad.”

It dawns on my almost immediately and I do some quick math and think about the date. If it wasn’t so tragic, I’d laugh.

“Mulder, you’re not dying.”

“Do you think it’s appendicitis?”

“It’s not appendicitis either. You’re PMSing.”

“I’m what?”

“You’ll be starting your period tomorrow.”

There’s a monumental silence that follows as he stares at me, silent tears trickling down his cheeks. And then he gasps loudly and starts weeping.

“Why am I crying!” he chokes out.

“Hormones.”

“What am I going to do?”

I try not to roll my eyes. “You’re going to do what every woman since the dawn of time has done, you’re just going to deal with it.”

“But, I have no idea what to do with...the things and the...you know…”

Yes, I do know. And a few moments ago I’ll admit I was feeling a little smug about Mulder having to getting to experience what it’s really like to be a woman, but he’s got to experience that in my body, which means…hoo boy. And of course he’s not going to know how to handle the finer details of a menstrual cycle, which means it’s going to be up to me to show him. What other alternative is there?

I’m never going to New Mexico with him again. In fact, I’m never going anywhere with him again. This is all his fault. If not for his stupid, wild goose chase, Mulder wouldn’t have cramps and I wouldn’t be on the verge of showing him how to use a tampon. Jesus, but there’s another even more embarrassing conversation we’re going to have to have in a minute and it’s going to make the rest of it seem like a picnic.

“Alright, Mulder, I have medication I’m going to get for you,” I tell him. “I’ll be right back.”

“Okay.” He wipes his eyes with the backs of his hands and I slip off the bed.

I grab the prescription bottle from the medicine cabinet and fill the water glass on my sink. I consider for a moment just leaving it as this - giving him the pills and walking away - but, I can see him behind me in the mirror, doubled up on the bed, probably praying for swift and sweet relief and I know all too well what it’s like and how it feels to just want someone, anyone to come take care of me when it’s as bad as this. So, I have to bite the bullet and get him through this the best that I can because in a way, I’m doing this for myself.

“Take these,” I say, handing him two pills and the glass of water when I return to the bedroom. He sits up, just enough to swallow them down and grimaces as he tries to lay down again onto his back. I put the bill bottle and the glass on the nightstand and stare at the top drawer for a few moments before I sit beside him.

“Thank you,” he whispers, shutting his eyes. That’s good. It might be easier to talk to him if he’s not looking at me.

“Mulder…”

He sort of grunts-slash-whimpers in response. I reach over to gently untuck his shirt from his slacks. “Why haven’t you changed?” I ask. “I’ve-you’ve been in this suit for two days.”

“I didn’t feel right about it.”

I unbutton the top button on the slacks and rest my hand low on the bare skin of his abdomen. I press down, slowly increasing the pressure.

“Oh,” he breathes with a sigh. “Your hand is warm. Oh, that’s nice.”

“I know.”

He puts his hand on my wrist like he’s afraid I’ll move away.

“You need to get undressed,” I whisper to him, making a gentle circular motion with my hand. “You need to get more comfortable.”

He doesn’t move, although he gives a tiny shake of his head and his brow furrows slightly. He grips my wrist a little harder. “I’m good here.”

“Come on,” I tease. “Nothing I haven’t seen before.”

“It isn’t right.”

“You have my permission, Mulder, if that’s what you need so we can deal with this.”

It’s an interesting thing to watch Mulder’s expressions of struggle play out on my face. I can see him even if I’m looking into my own eyes. It’s bizarre. But, then again, I’ve always said I could read his face as easily as I read my own. I just never imagined for it to be so literal.

“How about this?” I say. “You’re the only one that can take care of my body right now and I need you to do what I ask of you because you’ll get sick if you don’t. I trust you.”

That seems to do the trick. He nods a little, but still clutches my wrist.

“I was wrong when I said we should go about our days like everything is fine. You were right, we need to stick together on this, so I’m not going anywhere. I’ll get you through this, I promise.”

“Okay.”

“What’s going to happen right now is, I’m going to go into the other room. You’re going to get undressed. You’re going to open the top drawer of my nightstand and you’re going to take out the blue velvet drawstring bag.” I pause. “Um, I’m sure you’ll figure it out from there. And when you’re doing, take a nice hot bath and go to bed. As for tomorrow...we’ll cross that bridge when we get there.”

“Wait, wait, wait!” Mulder stutters, taking a vice-grip on my arm. “Are you asking...no. No, no, no.”

“It’s okay. You just need to do this and...it helps. I promise.”

“No way. For one thing I’m not...and for another it’s...no, Scully, I can’t.”

“Listen, the medication alone isn’t going to solve everything. I’ve learned over the course of dealing with this for the last 20 years, so you’re going to have to true me.”

“I do trust you, Scully, but I’m not...I’m not you.”

“You do know how to bring a woman to or-”

“Yes! Yes, but that’s different. And it’s...it’s what you said before, this is your body.”

“Which you’re currently occupying. If you think I’m not dying a little of mortification right now that I have to explain all of this to you right now, you’d be wrong. But, I’m telling you, from personal experience, that an orgasm increases the blood flow to the uterus and contracts the muscles, which will ease the cramps you’re having now. It also releases dopamine and endorphins, which are going to make the migraine you’ve got building up to go away and will let you sleep. So, there’s a really nice, really expensive, very trustworthy vibrator in that drawer and if you just...tonight is going to be a lot easier for you to handle if you do what I tell you to.”

“No.”

“Mulder!” God, but his stubbornness is exasperating.

“You do it.”

“I can’t do it. You’re me and I’m you.”

“Exactly.”

“Exactly, so-”

“You know what to do. You do the thing with the...thing. That way you’re the one taking care of things.”

Oh my God. “Well, that’s not really…”

“See. You can’t tell me it’s okay for me, but not for you, if your argument is you’re me and I’m you.”

“I mean, that is the argument, but then if I’m involved, it would really be you that’s involved because I’m you and you’re me.”

“That doesn’t make any sense, it’s the exact same argument for why you should versus why you shouldn’t.”

“Well, I’m sorry, this is the first time I’ve been in someone else’s body and I don’t really know what’s okay and what isn’t!”

“Scully, I can definitely tell you it’s not okay to ask me to masterbate in your stead because I don’t even think it would technically count as masturbation since I’m not you. So, if you want this body to get off, you’re going to have to be the one to get it off because it’s your body, not mine.”

I realize this argument has gotten a little out of hand and though we’re not quite shouting, it’s louder than it probably should be. I take it back down to a decent level. “Alright,” I say. “I see your point.”

“Good. So, I’ll go ahead and take that hot bath if you get a swimsuit for me and as for-”

“I mean, alright, Mulder.” I know this is insane, but I really do see his point. I also know that if he’s up all night in pain, if he doesn’t get any sleep, if he can’t shake that headache or the cramps, it’s only going to get worse from here. He’s leaving me no choice.

“You mean...wait, I don’t know if…”

“We both agree. It’s my body, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.” First thing’s first, we need to get him undressed. Maybe what I need to do is stop thinking about him as Mulder, but as me. We need to get me undressed. “Sit up,” I say.

He does as I ask with quite a bit of hesitation and doesn’t look at me. But then, he lifts his eyes and I sit back as the air leaves my lungs. He’s reclined slightly, hands pressed back behind his hips, a little flushed, hair mussed, smudges of mascara under his eyes, and I have this moment of complete awe. He looks...I look beautiful. It tightens my chest and sends a flutter to my gut.

“What do you want me to do?” he asks.

Christ, Mulder, I think. I want you to stop looking at me like that. There’s fear there, but also trust, and expectation, like I have all the answers to all the questions in the world. It’s making me feel flustered and incompetent. Is this why Mulder always stutters when we argue?

“You’re so beautiful,” I whisper, and I feel the heat rise to my cheeks in embarrassment.

“You are, you know. I mean, you say that like you have no idea.”

“Okay, maybe this really wasn’t-”

“Scully.” He puts his hand on my cheek and it feels soft and delicate, but it feels like Mulder.

“Take your shirt off.”

His hand slides away slowly and then he pulls at his shirt from the back of the neck, typical man. I stop him before he can stretch it out and break any threads in the collar. I happen to really like that shirt. I take it up from the bottom and he lifts his arms to help draw it off. He blinks a few times. I have to lean into him to reach around and unhook his bra. Surprisingly, I fumble slightly, unaccustomed to the length of my own fingers.

“You smell like me,” he says, and I can feel his breath against my neck. It raises the hairs on my arms and stirs my groin. Oh God.

“I had a shower,” I answer, pulling back.

“Oh yeah? How did that go?”

“Nothing to say about it.”

“Did you look?”

“Look at what?”

“It’s okay if you did.”

“Mulder, I’m a doctor.”

“Hm.” He studies my face for a moment and then lays back and closes his eyes.

I lay down as well, on my side, propped up on an elbow, and put my hand on his chest, palm between his breasts and fingers splayed. My chest, I remember. My breasts. I start with a soft caress, knowing how sensitive and achy my chest would be right now.

“I should tell you,” he says, cracking one eye open a little and shifting his gaze down to my waist. “Sometimes...he’s got a mind of his own. I don’t know if anything will happen, but right now my hand is on a beautiful woman’s breast, so you might want to start thinking of Santa Claus.”

“Santa Claus?”

“I don’t know why, but it helps.

“Okay, thanks for the warning.”

He closes his eyes again and takes a deep breath. My hand rises and falls with his chest and I pick up where I left off, this time slowly sliding the back of my hand around the curve of his right breast. His mouth opens a little and he takes another deep breath. I take my thumb and circle over and around the nipple, gentle enough so that it’s hardly a touch at all. He bites into his bottom lip and scratches at the bedclothes.

It feels like there’s electricity in the room, humming between our bodies. I’ll blame it on the charge and say that it’s what compels me to lean over and kiss his neck. I know the spot to hit, just below the ear and at the edge of the hairline. For whatever reason, it’s always made me light up like a Christmas tree. He whimpers, and one knee bends up ever so slightly and then slides back down, but his brow furrows like he’s in pain.

“Mulder?”

“Yeah?” he squeaks, and then clears his throat. “Yes?”

“Are you okay?”

It takes a few seconds to answer and he shifts his hips. “Um, I think so.”

“Open your eyes for me.”

He blinks rapidly and then holds his eyes open to mine. They’re wide and dark, but when I sweep the back of my hand down along his side, they droop almost sleepily. It’s encouraging and I move on, bending my neck to place my lips against the top swell of his breast, with gentle suction, just how I like it. His knee slides up again, higher this time, and bumps the side of my hip. Without thinking, I catch his leg, hand wrapped around the inner thigh, and hold it there, slightly open, as I work my mouth down and across his chest.

He breathes my name and his fingers suddenly slide into my hair, first one hand and then the other. Damn, but it feels good. I’ve always loved the soothing act of having my hair washed at a salon, but it’s incomparable to having nails scratching at your scalp and thumbs skimming your nape. It’s like I can feel it in the roots of my hair down to my toes.

Before I know it, I’m looming over him like it’s a natural move to make. I know at this stage when I’m with a man, I’d be pulling him into that perfect cradle between my thighs where they fit so nicely, but the compulsion for me right now is to slide into that space myself. As I sink down, I’m conscious of what the weight of a man is like, pressing you down, making you feel more delicate than you are at times. And I’m conscious of just how much larger I feel. The body under mine, my body, feels vulnerable, and I have the urge to protect it, to treat it carefully, and by extension, to protect Mulder, treat him carefully as well.

“Is this alright?” I ask.

“Mmhm,” he says, shifting beneath me. His bent legs are pressed to my hips and his hands move to my shoulders and then I begin to waver.

I’ll be completely honest here, I have no idea what I’m doing. I don’t engage in any foreplay when I’m by myself, mostly because I don’t need to, but even if I know the ins and outs of my body, I don’t know what it feels like for Mulder right now. I know what I’m feeling like in his body, and all the images of a fat, bearded man in a red suit that I’m trying to conjure up are no match for what’s happening to me.

It’s insane, I know, but this has got to be the single most erotic thing that’s ever happened in my life. And I also I know that the brain is a powerful organ, but it’s a mind-bending concept to be able to touch yourself with someone else’s hands and not recognize your own body. As it happened, I had to wonder, has my breast always felt this soft and heavy, or is that just how it feels in Mulder’s hand? Has my abdomen always felt so smooth? Has my hip always curved so invitingly?

And I’ll be damned if the ache of arousal is any different now than when I’m in my own body. The pressure is the same, if not a little lower in the pelvis. The heavy, swollen feeling between my legs is the same, but with a different consequence. And yet, I’m still overwhelmed with the urge to grind my hips into the bed, just as I would if I was myself.

I make a move to back up just a little lower, and oh my god, the friction and the pressure is both delicious and unbearable. I reflexively groan a little and Mulder opens his eyes.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

“Fine,” I breathe, recognizing the hoarseness in my voice as the same one I’d encountered on occasion from knocking on our connecting motel doors and being told ‘just a minute.’

I move up and off of Mulder to sit back on my heels. His eyes travel down to my lap and back up again when I unzip his pants. The pressure against my jeans is tipping past the border of pleasurable to painful. ‘Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house…

I grit my teeth, wiggling his pants off his hips and drawing them down his legs. I notice with a little bit of relief that even if he couldn’t manage to get undressed, he did at least remove my socks and shoes. All that he’s wearing now is navy blue panties, not the sexiest pair I own, but it could be worse.

Faced with this moment though, this turning point, I have to pause. He’s aroused, I can see it and I can smell it. I’m aroused, which is becoming more and more painfully obvious with each passing second. So, what do we do about it? Should we keep running from what I’m fairly certain we’ve both wanted for quite some time, or do we give in and experience something no one else on this planet has likely experienced before? Jump or turn back?

“Mulder, I...I asked you to take care of my body for me and I never...I should’ve asked if you want me to do the same.”

“You looked, didn’t you?”

“Of course I looked.”

“Did you like what you saw?”

“I want this. I want this if you want this, but I need your help.”

“You need a hand?” He smirks and reaches for the fly of my jeans.

“I want you to show me what you like and I want you to tell me how it feels for you.”

“Well, the first part’s easy. I like everything.” He sits up and pushes my open jeans off my hips, a little rougher than I would have, and takes the boxers down with it. Without any hesitance, he wraps a hand around my shaft, making a tight fist, and tugs up once, leading with the thumb to circle the head lightly.

“Holy mother of fuck,” I groan. His grip remains firm and his rhythm is steady. He twists his wrist just a little with every upwards jerk of his hand. It’s not the slow climb towards ecstasy I’m used to. There’s an immediate gratification that comes with it, but also no satisfaction. I want more, but it’s also too much. “Sss...stop…” I pant.

He releases me and I swear all the air leaves my lungs with a whoosh. I already want the feeling back. Instead, I lean over and kiss him. It’s not what I expect it to be and I’ll admit, I’m a little letdown, but I suppose that’s only because I’ve fantasized about being able to run my tongue over that pouty lower lip of his. We both pull away with as though the disappointment is mutual.

I’m overwhelmed by a feeling of bashfulness and as I look down and sit back, suddenly remember that I’m still fully clothed. Nervously, I take off my shirt and then I have to lay down to kick my shoes and pants off. And then I just lie there, fully naked, staring at the shadows on the ceiling.

“Hey,” Mulder says, laying down beside me putting his chin on my shoulder. “We don’t have to do this.”

“I know we don’t. I want to though, it’s just…”

He takes my hand, twines our fingers together and then brings them to his chest. I can feel the swift thump of his heart which matches the beat of my own, quick and strong. I roll towards him so we’re face to face, nose to nose. He leans his forehead against mine.

“I wouldn’t do this with anyone but you,” I say.

“Me either.” He let’s go of my hand and reaches down to slide the panties off. “Is it weird that I keep thinking how much I want you inside me right now?”

I shake my head. “Not unless it’s weird that I keep thinking about how much I want to be inside you.”

“I want to know what it’s like to feel what you feel.”

“I do too.”

“How do you want to do this?”

“How about just like this?”

“Okay.”

But, neither of us really know how to start. We make some abbreviated movements towards bringing our bodies together, but fall short. Finally, I take his leg and pull it over my hip. I don’t know if I want to watch his face for this moment, or if I want to watch us. Ultimately, I settle on us and leave it up to Mulder to guide me inside.

We don’t magically come together like I’d imagined. There’s fumbling and just as I feel myself start to ease into his warm, wet folds, he let’s go and I slip away. He grips my shoulders, breathing hard, and I reach up to push away the hair that’s fallen in front of his face.

“You okay?” I ask.

“It’s different. Stings a little. I don’t want...I don’t want to hurt you somehow.”

“It’s just for a moment, I promise. You won’t hurt me. But, if it’s too much, or too soon, we can slow down.”

“What if I’m not ready? How would I know?”

At first I think he means emotionally, but it’s the follow up question that changes things. And since he has no first-hand experience, that’s true, how would he know? I reach down between his legs and dip my middle finger inside. He tenses and I can feel the resistance of his body.

“Relax,” I whisper to him.

“I’m trying.”

I understand his nervousness. I think back over my first few times during sex, when it felt like an invasion of my body, no matter how much I wanted it. I adjust my hand, pull my finger out slowly just a little, and then slide back in, curling it as I do. I must admit, having longer fingers makes hitting my target a lot easier. His mouth drops open with a sharp gasp and his hips push forward into mine.

“Good?” I ask.

“Uh huh.”

I do a bit of lazy exploration with my thumb, skimming indirectly over the sensitive little bud that’s going to ultimately make Mulder’s toes curl, before I bring it out of hiding. He moans and pulls my hip closer with his thigh.

“You have to tell me,” I say.

“It’s so fleeting. I don’t know.”

I slow down and make exaggerated circles with my thumb, increasing the pressure and tightness of the motion little by little. I know when I’ve got it just right when his hips roll forward, but then he jerks back and my hand slips free.

“Oh, that was…” his breath hitches.

“It’s okay. Move with it, not away from it.”

We start over from the beginning, but quickly find our way back to before. My hand cramps a lot quicker than usual, but quitting isn’t an option. Fortunately, he’s learned quickly how to match the rhythm of my hand with his hips. There’s just one more thing I think he needs for me to get him there.

“I want you to try to squeeze my finger,” I say.

“What?” he breathes.

“Think about those muscles down there, and try to squeeze.”

His inner thighs tighten against my hand.

“Not the legs. Inside. You can do it, you just have to concentrate on it.”

A determined look comes over his face and I slow just enough to make him want it that much more. “Oh, don’t stop,” he says, just as I feel the slightest bit of pressure against my finger.

“I’m not.”

“Don’t stop, don’t stop. Oh, Scully, that’s...oh…”

He tenses and rocks forward. His nails dig into my shoulder and it sends a jolt of desire straight down my own body. The heavy ache I felt earlier is becoming tight and painful again. I slip my hand out of Mulder and wrap it around my shaft, just as he’d done earlier. There is a need in my gut like being thirsty with a glass of water just out of reach.

“I need you,” I murmur. “Mulder, please.”

“I need you too.”

With less fumbling this time around, I manage to push guide myself inside. And oh my god, to be enveloped by the heat and the wetness and the tight grip of his body is just...oh my god. But, Mulder is whimpering, making a short little gasps in the back of his throat and I stop halfway in and hold onto him.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

“Nothing,” he breathes. “Nothing, this is just...it feels so...it’s so different.”

“You feel amazing.”

“More. I want more.”

“Are you sure?”

“All of it. I want to feel all of you. Please.”

I push deeper, until our hips meet, and then I stop and relish the moment. Our bellies press together, our thighs are twined, our chests expand together with every breath and I actually don’t know where I start and end any longer. When I move, he moves. When I put my arm around him, he puts his arm around me.

The pleasure sensation is different, more acute, more like tingling pressure. It drives my hips forward. The rapid beat of my heart matches the quick pulse between my legs. Blood rushes through my veins, heats my chest, swells in my groin. I have the urge to move faster, but this position has me restrained.

I stop, only long enough to roll Mulder onto his back and press up on my knees. The new position forces Mulder’s legs wide apart and I take his right leg and drape it over my shoulder. He grips my ass impatiently and I slam my hips back into his, grinding down a little with my public bone this time.

“Oh my god,” he cries out. At least, that’s what I think he says. It’s one long exhale and a groan, but that’s what it sounds like.

I have to agree though. Oh my god. Ohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygod. Everything below my pelvis starts to tighten. This must be it. I can feel the release is imminent. And Mulder’s got that pinched-brow expression of deep concentration again. I can feel him. I can feel him pulling me deeper, squeezing me tighter, and my eyes start to roll back in my head.

“Oh god, oh god.” I’m not sure who yells it, but I know I feel like a bottle of champagne that’s just been uncorked. All the pressure that’s been rising up explodes into stars behind my eyes. The force of it is so strong that I can’t breathe. I can only groan and quiver. Beneath me, Mulder is also moaning softly. The heel of his left foot digs softly into my ass.

I’m on the verge of collapse and muster up enough strength to pull his leg from my shoulder and turn onto my side. I want to weep when I feel our bodies disconnect. I reach for him just as he reaches for me and we twine together again, a lot stickier and sweatier than before.

“Wow,” he says.

“Yeah.”

“I can’t move.”

“Me neither.”

“You were right about the orgasm thing though. It’s like the cramps never happened.”

I chuckle a little. “That’s good.”

“And, like, Scully...twice? In a row? It’s not even like a wham, bam, thank you, ma’am kind of way either, those are just...wow.”

“It’s not always like that.”

“Really?”

“No.”

“Huh.” He stares up at the ceiling and considers this. “Does that mean I should be flattered, or should you?”

I laugh and shrug a little. Mulder presses his cheek to my arm and sighs. Laying here like this doesn’t feel that strange at all.

“Do I still need that hot bath?” he asks.

“You should. Even if it’s just to clean up.”

“You want to join me?”

“Yeah. Sure. I might need a minute.”

“Should’ve warned you. Sex makes me sleepy.”

“Not me.” I yawn.

“I’ll go get the bath ready.”

“Okay.”

“Scully, about tomorrow.”

“Heating pad, Advil, and you’ll get to learn how to use a tampon. Wait, there was a short in the wire of my heating pad. I had to throw it out. We’ll think of something.”

“Yes, I can’t wait, it’s going to be great.”

I chuckle again, this time with my face pressed to the mattress and my eyes closed.

“But,” he says. “What I mean is, what happens tomorrow? Where do we go from here?”

“First we figure out how to get things back to normal. And then...and then we’ll see.”

“Okay, I’ll go run the bath.”

“Okay.”

*****

I wake up with the sun on my cheek, a soreness in my thighs, and a twinge in my abdomen. I pick my head up and turn it to the other side. The bed is empty.

“Mulder?” I sit up and look at my hands. My hands. I’m wearing a pair of flannel pajamas I don’t remember putting on.

I get out of bed and walk through my empty apartment. Something feels off. I feel like I’m in a dream or I’ve just woken from one. And where is Mulder? But, wait, why would Mulder be here?

I return to the bedroom and stare at my bed. I can feel flashes of my dream or a memory bubbling up to the forefront of my mind, but they’re also not quite clear. I’m making love with Mulder, but my body isn’t my own. I am Mulder. My cheeks flush. How strange.

My thighs though. They’re sore and ache in only the way my thighs will ache after a night of passion. Why would I wake up with Mulder’s name on my lips? I pick up the pillow next to mine. It smells like him. It smells like us.

I find my cell phone in my duffle bag by the front door. I remember packing a bag to go to New Mexico with Mulder, but almost nothing after that. I call his cell, pacing in front of my table as it rings.

“Mulder,” he answers.

“Mulder, it’s me.”

“Hey, Scully.”

“Mulder, were you…?”

“Was I what?”

How do I ask him if he was here last night? How do I ask him if this blurry image of the two of us in my head is real? And if it is, well why did he leave? It can’t be real. I’m just being ridiculous.

“Nevermind,” I say. “I think I had a weird dream or something.”

“Hang on, Scully, someone’s at the door.” I hear him open his door on the other end of the phone and a distant conversation. “A bed? I didn’t order a bed.”

I gasp and hang up. I ordered the bed. I remember. Oh my god.

*****

An hour later, Mulder shows up at my door and I open it, but I don’t move back to let him in. He sighs and leans his head against the jamb and then holds a gift bag out to me.

“What’s this?” I ask.

“It’s a heating pad.”

“Why did you leave?”

“Can I come in?”

I back up and let him through. He’s wearing what I wore yesterday, what he must have picked up off my bedroom floor this morning before he walked out.

“How are you feeling?” he asks.

“I want to know why you left.”

He sighs and runs his fingers through his hair. “When I woke up this morning, I was a little disoriented. I didn’t know where I was or what happened. I thought at first that I might have been drugged - that we may have been drugged.”

“And then?”

“And then things started coming back to me in pieces. It was like deja vu at first, but then I remembered the lights in the sky and you being me and...the rest of it. And I remembered you telling me that you didn’t know what would happen after things were back to normal, and I was afraid that you would wake up and be embarrassed or regret what...or that you would shut me out and we’d never acknowledge it or speak of it again.”

“I’m sorry you felt that way.”

“I don’t remember everything. There’s parts that are clear and parts that aren’t. I do know that, for me, it was pretty incredible.”

“It was for me too.”

“Well, yeah.” He grins. “The only time I crash hard like that is when the sex is really good. I mean, like really really good. So…”

I feel my cheeks get hot and I look down at the gift bag in my hands. Some men bring women flowers. Mulder brings me a heating pad.

“You bought me a bed, huh?” he says.

I huff at my feet and nod slightly. He shuffles closer, takes the bag out of my hands and puts it on the table. I pluck at the blanket hanging off the back of the couch.

“Guess I was past due,” he says. “There is one thing I think we need to settle though.”

“What’s that?”

He cups my face and leans down. This time, I get to taste that bottom lip of his that I’ve always wanted. It’s even better than I dreamed.

The End

#xf fanfic #msr #i wrote this #humor #dreamland #there be sex here

390 notes · View notes

sideofwritingsandramblings · 5 years ago

Text

Day 17: Hypothetical

For @sheithmonth prev / on ao3 / next July 17th - Eighteen

Keith stood back, admiring his handiwork, chuckling at the ridiculousness of it all. The fact that he had taken a fighter jet all the way back to Earth to get real roses had been a bit overkill, but it was worth it for the aesthetic. Candles, rose petals, new silky sheets, and even some peaceful music playing from a tablet in the background. It was practically the stereotypical romantic honeymoon suite he’d seen in movies.

But, he supposes for their eighteenth wedding anniversary, his husband deserved all the sappy romantic treatment he could get for the night. Keith sighed, stretching his arms above his head and smiling. Their anniversary was technically tomorrow, but Keith supposed starting a little early and staying up till midnight would be a great way to start it.

Shiro should be getting back soon enough. Keith had asked him to grab some supplies from a nearby planet to bring back to their main ship.

Keith put a hand on the wall, reminiscing a bit. The ship they had bought from a junker eight years ago had needed a lot of work. But with some time, salvaged parts, and elbow grease, they had turned the ship into a real home. And they’d been traveling the universe together ever since.

Keith walked out of the room and moved to wait in their kitchen. He paused as he passed by the empty guest room. They had a few different ones on the ship but this one was closest to their room.

They had often talked about how they would turn it into a nursery, if or when kids came into the picture. Keith’s heart twisted a bit in his chest. As time had gone by he’d slowly warmed up to the idea of having kids, because he knew Shiro would be a great father. And Keith was starting to think he could be a good father too. But as more and more time went by, the idea of setting down roots somewhere to raise a kid wasn’t that appealing to them.

Not to mention, they weren’t getting any younger. Although… they weren’t getting that much older either. Keith had learned early on from Krolia that his Galran heritage would increase his lifespan by a fair amount. That had scared Keith at first. Of Shiro getting older faster than him. That is until they realized Haggar had inadvertently done two surprisingly good things for Shiro: cured him of his illness and increased his lifespan as well. Shiro and Keith were both well into their 40s but they both looked no older than 30.

So, in all honesty, kids still weren’t out of the question but…

Keith shook his head. Now was certainly not the time. This was about his and Shiro’s marriage. Kid talk could come later.

Keith continued on his way to the kitchen, opening their fridge and pulling out the champagne bottle he’d been chilling. He also pulled open the cupboard and grabbed two wine glasses and set them out on the counter.

As if on cue, he heard Shiro’s ship dock in the hanger and Keith sat down on one of the kitchen stools to wait.

The door slid open and Keith smiled as Shiro tried to bring in all the supplies he’d bought in one trip. He had one large bag in his human hand and another five hung precariously on his Altean arm.

“Need some help?” Keith asked, watching Shiro try to close the door behind him.

“No no, I got it,” Shiro replied, obviously struggling.

Keith rolled his eyes, standing from the stool and crossing over to grab a few bags off of his Altean arm, “Stubborn.”

“Yeah,” Shiro smiled, stooping down a little to press a quick kiss to Keith’s lips, “Hey babe.”

“Hey yourself.”

A burst of light and a single bark was all the warning they got before Cosmo appeared beside Keith. Luckily, Cosmo knew better than to jump when they were holding supplies, but it didn’t stop all 200 pounds of him from trying to nuzzle up to Shiro anyways.

“Hi buddy,” Shiro laughed, finally placing the supplies down on the floor next to the counter, and answering the space wolf’s demands.

Keith watched his husband get down on his knees as Cosmo rolled over onto his back, so that Shiro could pet his soft stomach. He really was hard to deny when he used his puppy eyes.

Eventually, Cosmo was done hogging all of the attention and went to lie down in the living room and Shiro and Keith set about putting away everything Shiro had bought. Once that was done Keith stood next to the counter and Shiro came up from behind him to wrap his arms around his waist.

“And what’s this?” Shiro asked, and Keith could hear the smile in his voice.

Keith picked up the champagne bottle and the opener, “I just thought we could start the celebration a little early.”

“Sounds good to me,” Shiro replied, moving Keith’s braid so that he could press a kiss to the back of his neck.

Keith turned to look back at him, “Good, then help me carry this back to our room?”

“Of course.”

Shiro grabbed the two empty glasses and together they walked down the hall and back toward the bedroom. Keith made sure to let Shiro walk just a little bit ahead of him so that he could see Shiro’s reaction. Shiro pressed the button for the door and as it slid open he watched his husband’s face light up in delight.

“Keith,” He turned to him with a goofy smile, and Keith couldn’t stop himself from laughing.

“Like it?”

“I love it,” Shiro stressed, entering the room, setting the glasses down on their nightstand, and immediately jumping into bed.

“Ohh, are these new sheets? They’re so soft!”

Keith couldn’t stop smiling as he set the champagne and bottle opener down on the table as well and plopped down on the bed beside him.

“Are these rose petals real? ”

Keith nodded and the next thing he knew Shiro was pulling him into his arms. Keith went easily and settled against him.

“I love you,” Shiro said, hugging him tightly.

“I love you too,” Keith immediately replied, leaning forward to kiss Shiro properly.

They took a few moments simply to enjoy the closeness, but eventually Keith pulled back and sat up so that they could have their drinks. Keith popped it open and poured out the glasses, leaning over to pass Shiro his. They settled back against the headboard, sitting close.

“To eighteen years,” Shiro said, offering his glass.

Keith clinked his glass to Shiro’s, “To eighteen years.”

For a while they sat enjoying their drinks and just talked. At one point Shiro collected some of the rose petals on the bed only to then let them go over Keith’s head. Keith shook his head as petals rained down, and he shot Shiro a glare but with no real malice. Shiro only laughed, setting aside his glass so that he could kiss Keith again.

“Oh yeah I almost forgot,” Shiro said, “While I was getting supplies on that planet, a couple of kids recognized me. One of them even had a figurine of me that he had me sign. It must have been pretty old because it was designed with my Galran prosthetic.”

“Yeah? Are you getting nostalgic old-timer?” Keith teased.

Shiro hummed, “Yeah, a little. I don’t miss the fighting or the hours long meetings or almost dying. But I do sometimes miss all of the paladins together. I even miss the crew on the Atlas.”

“Do you want to go back?” Keith asked, “To Earth I mean? We could take a break from traveling for a while?”

“No, no,” Shiro immediately replied, “I want to stay out here. I love exploring the universe with you Keith. It’s everything I’ve ever dreamed of. But I guess I miss all that activity? I don’t know, it’s a bit hard to put into words. Maybe short visits to Earth and New Altea would be nice, but I certainly wouldn’t want to stay too long.”

“What, you don’t want to listen to Lance talk about the Lancey Lance Jr.(s) all the time?” Keith asked, only half joking.

Allura and Lance had welcomed their fourth child two years ago, and little Lily and her older siblings were all Lance ever talked about. He was a doting and very proud father which, while Shiro and Keith could appreciate, still got old after a while.

“Ugh,” Shiro groaned in mock annoyance, “He just never shuts up about them. Maybe we’d understand better if we had children of our own.”

The moment the words left his mouth Keith could see he regretted it, glancing over guiltily to see Keith’s reaction. However, Keith made sure to keep his face completely neutral.

They had never actually fought over kids. Shiro had told him again and again that kids were not a deal breaker. That he loved Keith much more than a hypothetical.

But it didn’t change the fact that Shiro would like to have a kid. Ever since he was cured and guaranteed a future, he was suddenly given the chance to consider his future. And Shiro had surprised even himself with the desire for having kids. But Shiro also knew that the topic was difficult for Keith. Growing up thinking his Mom had left because of him and losing his father early on, Keith had had a hard time working through all that. However, his relationship with Krolia had so greatly improved over time and slowly Keith had come to realize he liked and even wanted kids.

Because he knew he wouldn’t have to do it alone.

“Yeah, I suppose we would understand better if we had a kid,” Keith slowly replied, taking a deep breath, “Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to start looking into it?”

Shiro’s eyes widened and Keith could see his brain processing this new information. Keith felt his heart squeeze as he saw Shiro’s lips twinge into a tentative smile and something like hope in his eyes.

“Keith, are you sure? Because I don’t want you to feel like you have to do this for my sake. I love you, and I am more than happy to spend the rest of my life like this, no children required-”

“Shiro,” Keith cut him off, and Shiro immediately shut up, “I’m sure. I’ve thought about it a lot lately and I think I can finally be ready. I really do like kids. And, I want to have a kid. With you. I want to give a home to a kid who needs one and I want that home to be with us.”

Keith smiled as he saw Shiro get a bit misty eyed before pulling Keith into another tight hug.

“As long as you’re sure,” Shiro murmured against his neck, “This isn’t set in stone, and we can back out at any point.”

“I know babe,” Keith replied, rubbing his hands soothingly up and down Shiro’s back, “But I do want this. Because I know you’ll be a fantastic father and I want to be one too.”

“You will be,” Shiro pulled back to kiss him quick, “I know it.”

Keith smiled and dragged Shiro back down onto the sheets. He glanced at the clock, realizing it was shortly after midnight.

“Happy anniversary Shiro.”

“Happy anniversary Keith,” Shiro replied, moving over top of Keith to kiss him senseless.

By their twentieth anniversary, Keith and Shiro were already happily enjoying life with their adopted daughter Mila. At four years old and already a bundle of energy, they had their work cut out for them. Krolia, in her new role as grandmother, was already absolutely doting on the half-Galran girl. And Cosmo absolutely refused to leave Mila’s side.

There were, of course, challenges and changes to be dealt with. But as they lay curled up in bed with Mila between them, her arms wrapped around Keith and her tail wrapped around Shiro, they knew they’d made the right decision.

“I love you daddy,” she whispered.

“I love you too Mila,” Shiro replied.

Mila paused and tightened her arms around Keith.

“I love you papa.”

“Love you too baby,” Keith replied, kissing the top of her head.

#sheith #sheithmonth #sheithmonth2019 #voltron #fanfic #my fics

7 notes · View notes

aliceslantern · 6 years ago

Text

Beyond this Existence, a Kingdom Hearts fanfic, chapter 7

Summary: After Xehanort's death, Demyx finds himself unexpectedly human in Radiant Garden. With nothing but fragments of his past and a cryptic statement from Xemnas, he's left to figure out who he is. When Ienzo asks for his help with a project, the two find common ground, but the trauma and secrets in both of their pasts could tear it apart. Zemyx (Demyx/Ienzo), post-KH3 canon compliant

Read it on FF.net/on AO3

Of course resting wasn’t easy.

He took a bath, and then sat washing his clothes, kneading the fabric again and again against the side of the old-fashioned tub. Usually he dreaded the castle’s lack of real modern conveniences (they didn’t even have a microwave), but for some reason the manual act of washing was comforting. With nothing else clean to wear, he had to put on the old black coat, and for the first time it felt uncomfortable against his skin.

Demyx didn’t want to risk going out in the black coat, so he sat in the kitchen, nursing the same cup of weak coffee, as he waited for everything to dry enough to wear. He so had to do some shopping. This was tedious.

“Oh, Demyx. You’re alright. What--” Ienzo flinched at the sight of the cloak.

“I did laundry. I had nothing else to wear.”

“Yes, I see. That makes sense.”

“I made coffee. It should still be hot.”

Ienzo poured himself a cup and then sat across from him. Demyx noticed, again, just how tired he looked; his face was pale and he leaned against his palm as though he couldn’t support his own weight. Ienzo only ever looked this tired when he’d spent the day with Ansem; even when they worked together on the translation, he was able to at least sit up straight.

“...Are you okay?” Demyx asked. “You look terrible.”

“I should be asking you the same,” Ienzo said in a soft voice. “I’m very tired.”

“Why don’t you get some rest?”

“Haven’t the time lately.”

“I don’t get it. You keep saying yourself that we have so much time now, but you aren’t using any of it to take care of yourself.”

Ienzo took a drink. “I assure you I am in good health.”

“You don’t look like it.”

“I’m surprised after your illness yesterday that you’re worried about me.”

Demyx blinked. “Of course I am. We’re… we’re friends.” His voice faltered on the last word and he looked down into his mug.

“I suppose we are, aren’t we,” Ienzo said. He smiled. “I find I rather enjoy your company. When you’re not collapsing, that is.”

Demyx felt a blush creep into his face and for several heartbeats couldn’t speak. “What is it you’re doing with Ansem?” Demyx asked.

“Like I said before, we’re trying to find a way to help Sora. But we’re working almost entirely in theory, in the metaphysical, with completely untested hypotheses. I’ve been programming simulations to try and come up with any way to test them. It’s very complicated work, and… emotionally taxing to boot. There’s a lot at stake here. And while the ideas we’ve had are exciting, I feel as though I’m approaching something beyond understanding. And that frustrates me.” He looked up suddenly, and turned pink. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to complain to you.”

“No, I mean, you’ve dealt with all my stupid shit. This is big. No wonder you’re so stressed out.” He clapped his hands together. “I know. You need a break.”

“I haven’t the time--”

“You can’t help Sora if you’re burning out. Which, clearly you are. You’re important too, you know.”

He traced his finger over the rim of his mug. “...I suppose you’re right,” he said softly.

“Course I am! Listen, if anyone’s an expert in slacking off, it’s me. Once my clothes are dry I’m taking you out of the castle to get some fresh air. In the meantime, you’re going to go to bed.”

“But I--”

Demyx shushed him. “You need sleep. When was the last time you had a full night’s, anyway?”

Ienzo looked down. “...I cannot recall,” he mumbled.

“Exactly. Go take a nap.”

“Yes, I… that sounds much needed.” Ienzo stood and he actually stumbled a little. Demyx caught him by the elbow.

“I’m going to keep an eye on your door,” Demyx said. “If I see you leave to go off do work I’m going to be super pissed. And I can be scary.��

Ienzo laughed a little. The sound made him feel tingly.

“No, really! I can be!”

“You’re sweet to care,” Ienzo said. “Thank you.”

“Go nap.”

He watched him walk down the hallway and go into his bedroom. His heart was beating fast again. This was the opposite of what pain felt like. He sighed, and then becoming aware of how he was feeling, he shook himself out. “...He’s my friend,” he whispered allowed. But he’d called him sweet...

“Ah, Demyx. Good morning.” Ansem’s deep voice startled him out of the reverie. “I’m surprised to see you dressed so.”

“It’s the only clean thing I have,” he said.

“Yes. That slipped my mind. Easily fixable. I should hate for you to be uncomfortable during your time here.” He lifted the coffee pot off the burner and, finding it empty, exhaled sharply. “Have you seen Ienzo? I was running some of his simulations and I had a question about the code.”

It occurred to Demyx at first that he should lie, because Ansem was kind of pissing him off. Can’t you see how tired he is? Aren’t you supposed to know him better than me? “He looked exhausted, so I told him to get some rest.”

Ansem put a hand to his forehead. “Of course. He never complains, that boy. He’d work himself to death if you’d let him. Unfortunately, I was too distracted to notice. I’ll try to keep a better eye on him in the future. Thank you for that.”

“Least I can do.”

Demyx was starting to feel antsy. He knew Ienzo was only probably just falling asleep, but he wanted to check and see if his stuff was dry. “So I hear you’re interested in ancient Keyblade history,” Ansem said.

“Yeah. Um. After everything that’s happened, the X-blade and all that, I just. Wanted to know more.” His mouth was dry and he drank down more of his coffee.

“It is fascinating how we can inadvertently make myths into history. The power of the human will is not to be underestimated.”

Demyx frowned. “It’s not a myth, though. It actually happened. Hundreds of years ago.”

“Yes, but, before that, it was nothing more than a prophecy, a legend, part of perhaps some religion. It was the belief of strong-hearted individuals that made it come true. To the horrors of the rest of us.”

“So you do know about it,” Demyx said. “Ienzo said there weren’t many texts.”

“There are not. I only know what was passed onto me by my predecessor, the last sage queen of this world. This sort of storytelling gets diluted over time. I’m sure you know that. You’ve studied folk music, I presume. It’s similar in that regard, things getting passed down and changed over time.”

“Yeah, I do,” he said. “I’m gonna go. See if my clothes are dry.”

Several hours later, the Organization cloak once again in the empty drawers of his dresser, Demyx went to check on Ienzo. He brought him some water and braced himself to have to tell him off.

Ienzo’s bedroom was a bit bigger than his, and clearly had been lived in before. The deep cherry wood of the furniture matched and had been taken care of, unlike the random pieces in his own room. A roll-top desk was piled with books, a lamp nearby. A poster of local constellations was on one wall, old and very faded. And of course there was a bookshelf, piled high and bursting to the seams, but what Demyx really noticed was a threadbare purple stuffed cat, barely visible behind some candles.

Ienzo was fast asleep on the double bed. He hadn’t even taken off his coat, and his shoes were piled haphazardly by the side of the bed. He was curled in on himself, as though sleeping hurt. Demyx set down the glass of water, took the edges of the quilt folded at the foot of the bed, and pulled it over him.

Ienzo stirred. Demyx couldn’t see his face under the layer of hair. “...Master?”

“No, it’s me, Demyx. I was just bringing you some water. Go back to sleep.”

“...Why is this happening?” He curled even tighter on himself, the blanket rumpling. “It hurts, why does it--”

Demyx shook him, trying to free him from the nightmare. After a long moment, his bloodshot eyes opened. “Hey. It was just a nightmare. You’re okay.”

Ienzo stared at him as though he couldn’t quite see him. His face was flushed and he sat up slowly. Demyx could hear that he was trying to get his breathing under control but failing, starting an agonizing descent into a panic attack.

“Try and breathe, okay? It’s over now. You’re safe.”

He put his hands to his head, his panicked breath dissolving into sobs. Demyx was utterly at a loss for what to do--he was afraid to touch him, lest he somehow made it worse, but he didn’t know how else to provide any comfort. He rested a tentative hand on Ienzo’s back and rubbed gently. To his surprise, Ienzo leaned into his touch. Demyx hugged him lightly. Ienzo was shaking all over. “It’s okay,” Demyx said over and over again. “You’re alright now.”

After what seemed like a long time, the sobs subsided, though he was still trembling. Ienzo pulled away and Demyx let go at the first sign of resistance. He mopped at his eyes.

“Better?” Demyx asked. He handed him the water. “Here. Drink this.”

He obeyed. He loosened the cravat and buttons around his throat.

“That was a memory, wasn’t it?” he asked.

Ienzo nodded. “...You’re here,” he stuttered.

“Oh. I mean, I was just checking on you. But then I saw you were dreaming, and I couldn’t leave you in the nightmare.”

“I’m sorry you had to see me like this,” he said. “Sometimes the memories are stronger than others.”

“Come on. You’ve seen me worse off.”

He hugged himself tightly.

“...Do you want to talk about it?” Demyx asked.

Ienzo shook his head. “No. Let’s… let’s go to town.”

“Are you sure? You just had one of the biggest panic attacks I’ve ever seen. Maybe you should just chill. Catch your breath.”

“I need to get out of here,” he insisted. There was a raw wildness in Ienzo's eyes that he had never seen before. He'd always been so put-together, but for the first time Demyx realized it was all an act. This was likely the tip of the suffering iceberg.

Demyx understood. As much as this castle had to be Ienzo’s home, there were a lot of dark memories wrapped up in it. “Sure. Whatever you want.”

Outside, the sun was starting to set. The air was cooling rapidly. Demyx was glad he’d thought to grab his sweater this time.

“It’s getting dark,” Demyx said. “You sure it’s safe? Neither of us have weapons.”

Ienzo nodded. “The Heartless haven’t been as plentiful as of late. There’s also the town’s defense system.” His voice was flat, dull. Demyx could tell he’d been shaken to his core.

“...Right, but we see something, we’re heading back. ‘Cause I am so not in the mood.”

Town was brightly lit; string lights were stretched across the buildings, making things glow and providing an extra level of protection against Heartless. The marketplace was still busy, the smells and sounds catching up to them. Demyx noticed a flyer pasted onto one of the buildings.

“There’s a concert in the square,” he said. His heart catching in his throat. “We have to go.”

“That must be new,” Ienzo said. “I haven’t seen anything like that here in a very long time. I should like to see it myself.”

They waded through the crowd in the marketplace, taking a circuitous route that actually spit them out near the foot of the castle. A small stage had been set up, and people were sitting out on lawn chairs and blankets. A warm, fizzy excitement gathered inside of him; it had been so longsince he’d heard any music, especially music that hadn’t been produced by himself.

“There’s a bench over there,” Ienzo said. “I’d rather not sit on the cold ground.”

“No problem.” He spotted a concession stand. “Are you hungry? Let’s get snacks.” The main product was popcorn, so he got enough for two of them. There was also hard apple cider, which sounded interesting. “Do you want one?”

“I’m not a big drinker, but… admittedly it sounds nice.”

After only barely having claimed their bench from other people, they settled back down. Demyx was glad to see that the tension in Ienzo’s shoulders had lessened slightly. “I take it you don’t get out much,” Demyx said.

“Not at all,” Ienzo said. “It’s very easy for me to forget about the mundane. I feel like all I do is look at the bigger picture. Especially lately.”

“It’s helpful sometimes. Otherwise it’s so easy to lose perspective. When I would do recon missions, I spent so much time picking apart everything about a world--its culture, its people, the power dynamics at play--that I would forget that everyone there is living. Sometimes I had to join them, to talk to someone, to just… remember I’m real. It’s the only way you can hang onto yourself.”

“Perhaps you’re right,” Ienzo said. “But how can I afford to put myself above everything when there’s so much at stake?”

“You’re not putting yourself above it. You’re treating yourself as having worth. Which is something you keep lecturing me about.”

In the faint light, Demyx could swear he saw Ienzo turn pink. “I think it’s starting,” Ienzo said quietly, which was the perfect thing to distract him.

For the first set, his attention was rapt. The musicians were just a random group of people from the town who clearly hadn’t spent much rehearsal time together, and the songs they played were old Radiant Garden folk songs, well-worn and remembered. Technically, the musicians weren’t even very good, but it was the love with which they played the songs that compelled him.

The second set was more uptempo, and clearly meant to get people on their feet, which it did. Demyx exhaled; it felt like he’d been holding his breath forever. Hearing the music had grounded him, gave him some clarity. He realized Ienzo was staring at him and jumped.

He smiled. “I’m sorry. It was just so interesting to watch you watch them, so to speak. It was like you were in your own little world.”

“No,” Demyx said. “No, it made me feel a part of this one.” The silence and eye contact made him bristle. He stood. The pint of cider he’d had must have been a bit stronger than he’d thought. He was woozy in a good way. “Do you want to join them?”

“Me? Don’t be absurd.”

“Come on. It’ll be fun. Give me one good reason why not.”

“We’ll look foolish.”

“More like you’ll look dumb for being the only one still sitting. And besides. I bet half of these people are too drunk to care.”

“...I wouldn’t know how.”

“It’s not exactly rocket science.” Demyx offered his hand.

Ienzo sighed and drummed his fingers against the seat of the bench. “ Fine. But do not tell anyone about this.”

“That’s the spirit.”

He took Demyx’s hand, then froze. “I changed my mind.”

He blinked. “...Are you embarrassed? Hey, it’s okay. I’m just trying to help you relax a little. Do you want to go back?”

“Yes… perhaps.”

They left the noise and light of the town. The cool, dry air shook some of the tipsiness he was feeling. Demyx realized Ienzo was still holding his hand. His breath caught. He didn’t understand what this meant--was he also a little drunk?

“Just another moment,” Ienzo said when they reached the postern. “Look at the sky.”

The night sky seemed impossibly bright, brighter than he’d ever seen in years. The worlds that had fallen to darkness were healing, one by one.

“I haven’t seen… I can’t believe…” He reached up, as if to touch the stars. He squeezed Demyx’s hand with his other. “Why is it that I’ve never looked up? Look, Cassiopeia is there in almost its entirety. It’s been ten years since I’ve seen it in full. And Calliope.”

“It’s over,” Demyx said softly. “Finally.”

“No, there’s still so much work to do. And yet…” His voice hitched. In the semidarkness, it was hard to tell exactly, but Demyx could have sworn he saw tears in his eyes. “I thought this would all be over… because of me. Because of my mistakes, my insistence we did those experiments, almost everything was destroyed…”

“But the darkness was always there. You couldn’t have known what would happen. Anyway, you were a kid. Someone else should have known better and helped you.”

“You’re too kind to me, Demyx.” He shook his head and took his hand back. “Part of me will probably always feel guilty.”

“Then… let me help you with that. And I’ll be there to remind you of all the good you’ve done.”

“I appreciate the sentiment, but this is my pill to swallow.”

They lapsed into a silence. Ienzo kept watching the stars. Demyx couldn’t see his eyes through the hair.

“I… have enjoyed your company,” Ienzo said after what felt like an eternity. “You’ve shown me there is more to life than… well, guilt and research. It reminds me that I am human, and… real.”

“I know what you mean,” he said. His heartbeat was making him jittery. “I always thought I would be alone somehow. And now I’m not.”

Ienzo turned to face him. “Rather succinct.”

Demyx was close enough to feel his body heat. He reached up with a trembling hand to touch Ienzo’s cheek. He seemed unsure of how to react to the touch, though he didn’t pull away. He put his hand on top of Demyx’s.

Do it, you coward.

He leaned in and kissed him. It was a light kiss, borderline chaste; it was over as soon as it had begun. Ienzo was gripping his hand painfully tight. Demyx couldn’t see his expression. Had he been reading the signs all wrong? Was this a terrible idea? Had he just fucked it all up?

“I’m sorry,” he said. Anxiety burrowed under his skin. “I thought-- Look, I--” He had no way of defending himself without outright lying. You could explain away most other gestures as friendly, but not this.

Ienzo shook his head. He let go of Demyx’s hand.

“Will you say something? Please?”

He kept shaking his head. He put his hand to his throat.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you--”

Ienzo knotted his hands.

Panic hitched in his chest. “I’m sorry. Oh god. I’m going to leave you alone. I’m so sorry.” He turned away and ran.

In a panicked daze he got back to his room, and collapsed onto his bed. He thought his heart might explode. How had he been so stupid? He hoped the damage wasn’t too extensive, but how could he be sure? He’d rendered Ienzo speechless. Why had he thought it was even possible--

The night was long. His heart was racing too fast to let him get any sleep. He played the moment over and over again, feeling a bit sicker each time. There was no way to take it back.

Around dawn, as he sat tangled in sheets, shaking all over, there was a faint knock at the door. He sat up.

Ienzo poked his head in. He looked terrible, pale and exhausted again. No doubt he hadn’t had any sleep either.

“I’m so--” Demyx began, but Ienzo held up a finger.

“You’ve done nothing wrong,” Ienzo said in a tired, low voice.

“Of course I did. I forced myself on you--”

“You did no such thing.” He leaned against the dresser. “I’ve thought… and I’ve thought… I’ve felt… something physical between us. The hints have been piling up, and this… longing I feel… I can’t categorize. I have to explain myself.”

His heart was pounding again, but in a different way.

Ienzo kept his eyes on the floor. “When I was a child there were times I would go mute,” he said. “Whenever I felt something strong, or experienced something traumatic, I would shut down. These spells have gotten less common as I’ve gotten older, but when I experience them, it’s impossible to communicate. It still happens now when I’m under exceptional stress, or surprised. And you surprised me. I’m sure it was an odd thing to witness.” He was wringing his hands together. “I thought about it all night. Part of me wonders if this is displaced desire, and hormonal impulses on both of our parts. I don’t pretend to understand these things. I never had reason to in the past. Maybe some would consider this a poor match. But I am tired of denying myself good things.”

The muscles in his chest were so taught with tension that his next breath hurt. "You mean--"

Ienzo crossed the remaining few feet between them and kissed him.

He tensed. It was more of a collision than a kiss, awkward and messy. Ienzo's anxious reaction suddenly made a whole lot more sense; he was completely inexperienced. “I know what you mean,” Demyx stuttered. “About this being confusing, and weird, and probably a bad idea, but I… I’m all in, Ienzo.”

Ienzo sat down next to him delicately, like he would fly apart if he moved too quickly. In the early morning light, Demyx could clearly see the flush in his face. He took his hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. "I didn't know what to expect," Ienzo said. His other hand lingered near his lips.

“When I kissed you? That was your first?”

“I never had the desire before. Or really, the time. I presume the same isn’t the case for you.”

“...Well. That’s true.”

A few beats of tense silence. Demyx put an arm around him, lightly. He remained tense, but did not flinch away. “Did you want me to do it again?”

“...I should… I should like that.”

He ran a hand through Ienzo's hair. It was deceptively soft, almost like down. Demyx kissed him. It took him a moment or two to begin to figure it out. He moved slowly and almost tentatively. Ienzo's hands dropped to his waist. He was learning, and quickly, and soon he began to kiss back with a little more fervor. This was more what Demyx thought it would be like. Warmer. More natural. He could hear him breathing rapidly. Ienzo reached up to touch his hair, his face. Demyx wanted nothing more than to pull him close and not let go, but he had to be careful. Still. It had been so long since he'd been touched in any capacity, romantically or otherwise, and he felt something like shock.

Ienzo pulled away. He was, if possible, even redder, and he didn't make eye contact when he said, "I didn’t think it would feel this way.”

“Disappointed?”

“No. The opposite.” He withdrew his hands. Demyx ached when the touch disappeared, but it was crucial that they take their time. “But I’m starting to feel ov-oversti--” He touched his throat.

“Overstimulated?” Demyx finished for him. “It’s okay if you need space. This is all new to you. We can take it really slow.”

Ienzo moved away a few feet and pulled his knees to his chest.

After a few minutes of breathing, Demyx broke the silence again. “You go quiet?” Ienzo nodded. “That’s okay. We can just chill here.” He swung his feet a little. Somehow, now that they kissed the longing was stronger than before. Demyx wondered why the body had to be so greedy. He should’ve been happy with this much; he was happy with it, and eager to see what this meant for them. “Is it okay if I talk?”

He nodded.

“It was really unexpected for me too,” Demyx said. “It just felt so much more real than anything I’ve experienced. Maybe it’s because I have a heart… or part of one, or whatever. I’m just… glad. I’m still barely catching my breath.”

They sat there for a while longer. Demyx thought he would get bored, but he found he didn’t mind this neutral sort of space they’d made. Sitting with Ienzo in silence was far better than sitting alone. He couldn’t stop smiling. After what could’ve been an hour or more, Ienzo cleared his throat.

“Better?” Demyx asked.

“Quite. I’m very… I’m very tired.”

“Go try to sleep. It seems like you’ve just gone through a lot. If it makes you feel better, I’m probably going to turn in too. Hard to sleep last night.”

“Yes, I agree.”

Demyx kissed him once more. “I’ll see you later.”

He watched him leave. Once the door was closed Demyx curled up tightly, feeling a reckless giddiness. He couldn't believe what had just happened, but the shock was pleasant for a change. Surprising. For once, being human wasn't so terrible after all.

#beyond this existence #demyx #ienzo #zemyx #demyx/ienzo #yeah it finally happened #demyx and ienzo are touch-starved disasters and you can pry that from my cold dead hands

8 notes · View notes

themalhambird · 6 years ago

Note

Claws, fangs, etc. image-- Richard having to go somewhere (before he's turned) on the full moon, so this month, Robert has to watch over Anne.

Robert walks through front door and in to barely controlled chaos. The servants are hurrying down the stairs with boxes and trunks, and up above-

It sounds like shouting. Richard and Anne, shouting at each other, which is so unprecedented that Robert had assumed it was just against the laws of nature for the two of them to be out of temper with each other. “Thompson!” he calls sharply. His Butler, supervising the proceedings with a sharp, discerning eye, leaves off scolding the footmen for tilting trunks as they carry them down and comes over- not hurrying, never hurrying- but moving just swiftly enough that one might consider him to be hurrying-

“Lady Joan has been taken ill, milord,” he explains without prompting.

Robert frowns. His mother in law is one of the most hale, hearty people he knows, the idea of her falling prey to some kind of illness is almost laughable- illness was far more likely to fall prey to her, and her brisk, no-nonsense, no time to waste lying languidly about– “It’s nothing serious,” he says. The corner of Thompson’s mouth twitches downwards.

“Captain Holland was sent for two weeks ago,” he says quietly. Robert goes still. The world itself seems to stop moving for a moment, and in that lull Anne yells:

“You’re being ridiculous!”

Robert doesn’t bother with the stairs.

He leaps straight for the landing, balancing briefly on the bannisters before heading for Richard’s bedroom. He can hear a commotion behind him, the servants unsettled by the reminder that he isn’t human- but he couldn’t care less, the servants are not important, what’s important is Richard-

“I am not!” Richard shouts back at Anne- Robert arrives just in time to see him stamp his foot as Anne glares back at him, hands on her hips.

“What’s going on?” Robert asks, looking between his lovers: Anne turns to him, eyes burning with a faint, wolfish amber; Richard turns away and runs a hand through his hair. Anne is in the right, then, Robert thinks, and she proves him right in turn when she snarls:

“Mama’s ill enough that the doctors think that Richard ought to be there; he won’t go because he thinks I can’t manage a full moon by myself.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Robert agrees. Richard’s shoulders tighten.

“It is not,” he says. “The full moon starts tonight; we won’t get up to Kent in time for you to be somewhere safe and secure for the change and you can’t be left alone-”

“She won’t be alone, I’m here.” Robert says, without thinking- without needing to think about it, which surprises him a little, but he means it. Anne lights up, eyes suddenly brimming with what looks suspiciously like tears; Richard turns around. He looks pale and tired, his eyes rimmed red, and Robert’s heart breaks when he considers that when he left the two of them three hours ago, they were wrapped up in each other, kissing and giggling and perfectly content- he had expected to come home and find them - well, not like this, at any rate. “I’m here,” Robert says again, stepping forward and cupping Richard’s face in his hand. He caresses Richard’s cheekbones with his thumbs. “I can dog sit,” he says, hoping to raise a smile- he gets a snort from Anne, but Richard just leans forward and rests his head on Robert’s shoulder.

“What if she dies?” he whispers, trembling.

“Oh sweetheart,” Anne says, stepping up behind him. She wraps her arms around Richard’s waist and presses against his back as Robert wraps his arms around Richard’s neck and presses his lips to the top of Richard’s head. They hold him close, and let him cry, until one of the footmen knocks tentatively on the open door and tells them that the carriage is ready.

“I would be fine by myself,” Anne says a little later. She’s pacing the drawing room. “Richard might need you.” She’s shown him the letter than came from Captain Holland, Richard’s half brother whom Robert has only met once and doesn’t much like- though he supposes he ought to be grateful the man only punched him in the face a half dozen times when he walked in on him feeding off Richard, rather than trying to stake him, and that he actually stopped when Richard through a pillow at him and told him to get out, he was fine. Anyway, the point was- if Joan was ill enough for Holland to be granted extended leave from the army, then it was serious, and Richard probably would need them, sooner rather than later, but for now-

“He needs to know that you’re safe, I suspect,” Robert says quietly. “You know Richard, he can only manage one source of upset at a time, and even that’s asking a lot. His brother will be there, and Simon Burley. We can always go up after the full moon, if…” he trails off, ‘if we’re not too late’ hovering unspoken in the air between them. Anne growls in the back of her throat.

“I don’t like it,” she says. “I know making him go was for the best- he’d never have forgiven himself if- but I want to be with him. I need to know that my pack is alright. I want to be able to comfort my mate-” she breaks off. “My husband,” she corrects, “if he needs me-”

“You know,” Robert says idly, “Vampires speak in terms of mates, too. When we’re in groups…with other vampires…”

Anne tilts her head. “I didn’t know that,” she says, “I thought - well, I thought vampires were normally solitary.”

Robert thinks back to the last century- to James I and his obsession with Witchcraft, to Oliver Cromwell and puritan fanatics- to Edward VI and Mary I, both with their obsessions over heretics, the spying that had sprung up under Elizabet I… “We are now,” he says softly. “There aren’t a lot of us left, and it became safer…” he shivers. Anne is watching him with an odd expression, and he forces a laugh, trying to dispel the discomfort. “Anyway, how does this work? You, changing?” Up until this point he’s done his level best to stay out of the way: the wolf is as possessive of her mate as Robert is of his and the person who would come off the worst if both of them failed to stave off the worst of those possessive instincts, is their fragile, squishy human, who would try to stop them fighting and probably end up broken and bleeding if not outright torn in half for his troubles.

Anne gives a half shrug. “I’ll go upstairs and get undressed in a bit,” she says, glancing at the windows where the sky is just beginning to turn pink. “Then I’ll turn, and come and find you- well,” she amends. “I’ll probably try and find Richard- it might be best if you wait in his bedroom, that’s where-”

“His scent is strongest,” Robert says, standing. “I know. Alright, my dear, I’ll see you in a little while.”

Anne stretches and shakes herself out, wagging her tail happily as she’s hit by an abundance of wonderful sounds and smells. She casts around for her mate- he’s usually here when she changes, ready to pet her and fuss and play, but he’s missing, and Anne whines. She can smell his scent next door- not as strongly as if he was there, but it’s a star-

She sniffs, and growls, hackles rising as she smells the Dead Thing, too, hanging about next door. Her mate is not a wolf, and likes the Dead Thing to touch him- even likes it to feed off him, because her mate is not a wolf and therefore sometimes very very stupid. The other Anne allows it because the Dead Thing makes her mate happy, and their mate being happy is more important than anything- and because the other Anne thinks the Dead Thing is friendly (and handsome), and because she is not a wolf either and therefore sometimes stupid- not as very very stupid as their never-wolf mate, but still. The Dead Thing should not be here while Anne is- and if it has her mate, then Anne will eat it and make it give him back.

The only reason Robert isn’t sinking his fangs in to this bloody creature’s neck is because Richard will, for some unfathomable reason, be sad about it. That and the fact he doesn’t much fancy a mouthful of fur. That, the fact he doesn’t fancy a mouthful of fur, and also the fact that he is in fact loosing the fight to the werewolf, not that he is ever going to admit that to Richard when he tells him about it- if he survives to tell him about it-

“Oh, get off,” he snarls, finally managing to through the wolf off him- and straight in to the wall. He winces. Well- he jumps up on top of the wardrobe out of the wolf’s reach and then winces, hoping he hasn’t done too much damage. It’s not Anne’s fault she’s a moron like this, after all. She seems to be alright- at least, she gets herself up on all fours, shakes herself off, and growls up at him, glaring malevolently. “Truce?” he offers. Anne barks loudly, and Robert gets the distinct impression that she’s threatening to rip out his throat and eat his face. He glares back. “Don’t even think about it,” he says, “Richard likes my face,” and then, because he is feeling irritable and petty, adds: “ He liked it long before he ever saw yours. I had him first, remember?”

Anne bares all of her teeth. The Dead Thing is hiding on top of the hollow tree, which is cheating, and whining about something or other. She flicks her tail irritably, and wonders whether or not it’s worth trying to get at him. Her mate isn’t home- she would have heard him, by now, or smelt him. The room is emptier than it is normally, and she’s getting a vague recollection that he had to go away somewhere, so the Dead Thing probably doesn’t have him and hasn’t hurt him. And it is faintly amusing, watching it perch up there, glaring ineffectually…

“Three nights!” Robert snarls. “Three nights your hellhound of a wife had me trapped on top of your wardrobe!”

Richard laughs as he shrugs off his coat and Robert rips his cravat from his neck. The vampire glares at him, and Richard tries to school his face in to a more sympathetic expression. “I’m sorry, my darling. But it was an enormous help.” His mother had been fine, by the time he had arrived in Kent- well, not fine, but recovering- she had been ill, and it had been-

Still, she was getting better, and Richard was glad he had been there to see that for himself, rather than find out from the letter that had arrived for him two days after he’d left. “Thank you,” he says, stroking Robert’s face. “You must be hungry,” he suggests, tilting back his head and exposing his neck. Robert bares his fangs and licks his lips, lowers his mouth to Richard’s throat- and then hesitates.

“The hell hound is asleep?”

“She’s a werewolf, Robert, not a hellhound-”

“Are you sure?”

“And yes, she’s asleep- also as human-shaped as she has been for the last week…” he trails off. Robert is still hesitating. “What is it, love?” he asks.

“It’s just- I think I ought to be here, the next full moon. With Anne. And with you- definitely with you, but- if you could get her to like me, as a wolf, it might…I mean, what if you’re sick one month? What if your mother is taken ill again- or one of your uncles- what if, for any number of reasons, you can’t be here?”

“Put pillows on top of the wardrobes?” Richard quips, and Robert glares against the smile tugging at his lips.

“I just think it’s something to consider,” he says.

“You don’t know how happy I am to hear you say that,” Richard says. Robert smirks.

“Reward me with a nice supper?” he says, and Richard’s laughter is turned in to a gasp of pleasure as his husband’s fangs sink deep in to his neck.

#claws fangs and opulent cravats #vampires #werewolves #threat of violence tw

7 notes · View notes

daydream-hobii · 6 years ago

Text

Roses & Thorns | Chapter 18

Genre: Hybrid!AU, fluff, angst

Pairing: Hybrid!OT7 x Female!Reader | Alpaca!Seokjin, Panther!Yoongi, Fox!Hoseok, Wolf!Namjoon, Bear!Jimin, Tiger!Taehyung, Bunny!Jungkook

Summary: Y/N is a rehabilitator of hybrids who have been abused or being sold for auction. It’s an illegal thing to do, but she feels strongly that this is the right thing. For many years, she has saved hundreds of hybrids who have needed her help, even for her young age, and six of them decided to stay with her. Namjoon, who was the second saved, initiated an intimate relationship, which Taehyung, who was the first saved, wanted in on. Over time, some of the hybrids that came after the two wanted to join in on the relationship. Now, Y/N has saved a very rare fox hybrid named Hoseok, who is very curious and even more broken. He has the choice to stay with these people and maybe join their relationship or move on to a rehabilitated district where he can have a life of his own. What will he choose?

Warning: Mentions of Abuse, Sexual Assault, Suicide & Mental Illness! Read with Caution <3 | Suggestions of Smut? (I’m not good at writing smut, so it’s just implied… ^_^); Profanity; GORE!! High talking of suicide!!! Please read carefully <3

Word Count: 1,993 (OOH THIS IS LONG!!!!)

Chapter 1 // Chapter 2 // Chapter 3 // Chapter 4 // Chapter 5 // Chapter 6 // Chapter 7 // Chapter 8 // Chapter 9 // Chapter 10 // Chapter 11 // Chapter 12 // Chapter 13 // Chapter 14 // Chapter 15 // Chapter 16 // Chapter 17 // Chapter 19 // Chapter 20 [FINAL] //

Author’s Note: Welcome to Chapter 18! Please let me know what you think of this chapter, I love getting feedback! I hope you enjoyed it!!! ^_^

When I opened my eyes, I was staring at a building that I hadn’t seen in years. I could feel myself bite my lip, but I know I wasn’t doing that. It’s like I was watching a movie through my own eyes, and I had no control of my movements.

I clutched my bag, walking into the building, listening to all the hybrids and humans talking. I was at a shelter, and I had a feeling that I hadn’t had a hybrid before. I walked to a preppy woman who sat behind the desk, attempting to keep myself from shaking.

“Hello, here to adopt a hybrid?” She asked, smiling bright.

“Yes ma’am, I haven’t had one yet,” I mumbled, looking down. I had just turned 18 and had been living on my own for a while before the government began to threaten me.

“Dog, cat, or exotic?” She asked, smiling softly.

“Exotic, please,” I replied. I remember thinking that I may as well be protected, exotics were stronger.

“Right through that door,” She said, pointing.

I walked through it, taking note I was the only one in there. Only people with little kids would go to shelters to adopt, and kids do better with dog and cat hybrids. I looked around, noticing it was filled to the brim. They all stared at me, getting super excited and hopeful. I remember my heart breaking.

I walked through, seeing wolves, giraffes, pandas… every exotic you could think of. Finally, inching towards the end, I noticed a single empty room. There was no hybrid there, but there had to be one in there if it was as packed as it was. I walked over to it, looking through the glass door into the small room. It was about as big as a prison cell, and it looked like one too except for the white walls. A tiger hybrid was lying in bed, shaking. Tears streaming down his cheeks, he gave me one glance before turning to face the wall. I looked at the information sheet next to it, eyeing his name.

“Taehyung…” I whispered, making his ears twitch at his name. “Tae, I’d like to bring you home with me, if you want.”

I closed my eyes, and when I opened them, I was in a new room. It was the library back at my house, and a salamander and elephant hybrid sat at the tables, reading some books. I remembered them from a while ago, when I first started helping hybrids. I was rearranging the books, when I listened to a low growl and both hybrids leave. I winced, and could feel my heart begin to race, both from fear… and love.

I turned around to be greeted by the wolf hybrid, whose name was Namjoon. He had been cold and distant since he arrived, and no matter how hard I tried, he continued to hate me.

“I’m leaving tomorrow, with the others,” He growled, ears twitching.

“That’s your choice,” I replied, looking away and continuing to rearrange the books. “Namjoon, I hope you have a wonderful life, much better than the one you had here.”

Time jumped, and I was laying in bed, in and out of sleep. I was always overly anxious when it came to escape day. I heard my bedroom door open and shut softly, and I expected it to be Taehyung, a body crawling in bed beside me. I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned around, rubbing my eyes sleepily. I looked at the owner of the tap and was surprised to see Namjoon.

“Namjoon? Are you alright?” I asked, concerned.

“I don’t want to leave you…” He whispered, my heart beginning to soar. “I’m so sorry for how I treated you…. I just wasn’t used to a human being so nice…. I think I was scared of you….”

“Why?” I said, looking at him, worried.

“Because I fell in love with you…” He whispered, making my heart ache with love.

When I blinked, I was in a new time. I was staring into the garden from the backdoor, Taehyung’s arm wrapped around me while we watched the alpaca hybrid softly talk to Namjoon. It was only the three hybrids and I at the time, Jin being a special, emergency case. Jin would occasionally smile and laugh, a small blush appearing on his cheeks.

“I think Joonie is getting through to him,” Tae whispered, squeezing me lightly, making me giggle.

“I think you’re right,” I replied, biting my lip. I walked over, Taehyung following close behind. Jin frowned, looking bashful and shy all of a sudden.

“Hi, boys,” I said, making Namjoon reach for me, bringing me in for a kiss, causing Taehyung to pout. He got a kiss right after me as I sat down, chuckling as Taehyung’s tail twitched in happiness. “What are you talking about?”

“Oh, Jin here was just telling me about himself… He likes to cook,” Namjoon said, giving a comforting smile towards Jin, who blushed.

“Oh? Jin, if you could teach me, I’d be forever grateful… I’ve never been good, and could never come to teaching myself,” I said, gently, making him look at me. He smiled, making my heart melt.

“Of course,” He whispered.

I closed my eyes, opening them to find myself running through the house. I had just been told Yoongi had locked himself in the bathroom again. I had about ten hybrids living with me at the time, Namjoon, Taehyung, and Jin all included. I ran to the second-floor bathroom in time to see Namjoon bust through the door. I walked in to see Yoongi sitting on the ground, looking pale from the lose of blood from his arms. I began to cry as Namjoon lifted him up, taking him to the kitchen for Jin to save him.

It skipped time, and Yoongi and I were sat in the garden. It was night, and you could barely see the outline of his black ears and tail. The panther was stone cold, his bruises and cuts all over his body glistening in the moonlight.

“Please, Yoongi,” I choked out, beginning to sob. He looked at me in surprise, and watched carefully as I reached over to him, grabbing his hand. “Stop doing this.”

“I have no reason to live,” He replied coolly, shrugging.

“Find something,” I begged, making his ears perk up as he raised his eyebrows at my answer. “Trust me, I know it’s easier said than done, but please. I hate seeing you in so much pain, I don’t want you to die.” He was silent for a while, hot tears streaming down my face. He stood up, making me follow his motion. I thought he would walk away, but he stepped forward, wrapping his arms around my waist and hugging tight. I followed his action, wrapping my arms around his neck. I started to sob, knowing I had finally gotten through to him.

“Thank you for caring…” He whispered, making me hold on tighter, his bandaged arms brushing under my shirt. “Don’t leave me….”

I blinked, and a whole new area was formed. I was walking in town at night, cursing under my breath as I realized how late it was. Namjoon and Yoongi would most definitely scold me. Again, it was just me, Namjoon, Jin, Yoongi, and Taehyung at the time, so the house was nice and quiet.

I heard whimpering coming from an alley, causing me to stop. I looked down it, squinting my eye. The whimpering was quiet, and I could tell someone was crying. I slowly walked down it, my hand on some pepper spray in my purse. I rounded a giant garbage can and couldn’t help but gasp, dropping to my knees.

A bunny hybrid was lying in his underwear, blood all over him. There were cuts along his body that were so deep, you could see his muscle. The worst was across his chest, and I believed he had a broken arm. He looked terrified when he saw me but was too weak to move away.

“Oh my god,” I whispered, inching closer. “Please, let me help you, I can help you.”

Time jumped, and I was running into the house, Jungkook in my arms. Jin was already waiting for me, and I knew they could smell the blood a mile away. Namjoon followed suit, taking Jungkook into the kitchen. I was sobbing, and tried to follow, but Yoongi and Taehyung stopped me, beginning to comfort me.

“He’ll be okay, let them work,” Yoongi said as I sobbed in his arms. Taehyung was called to help, so Yoongi just held me, kissing my head. “Have faith, Jin’s good at what he does….”

When I closed my eyes, I opened them to me storming through a circus tent, rage boiling through me. My close friend was following suit, and I could practically feel his anxiety as I went to the back, where the hybrids were being held.

I froze in front of a cage on wheels. A beautiful bear hybrid was sat in it, crying into his hands, his body curled up in the corner. He was naked, and I could see all the scars and cuts covering his body. I slowly walked over to it, making him jump and stare at me. Just like that, he stopped crying, staring at me with soft eyes. I gave him a small smile and wave, and I could see his nose twitch in curiosity.

He crawled over to me, and I didn’t move a muscle. I stood there, placing my hand on the bar as he got right in front of me. He reached his hand out, only hesitating for a second, before placing his hand on my cheek. I leaned into it, and just as I was about to say something, his master came charging, whipping the bars, causing Jimin to go to the furthest side and scream. Just as I lifted my fist to hit the master, time skipped.

I sat with Jimin in the yard on a blanket. It had been maybe two weeks since he joined, and he seemed to cling to me. I was reading him a book he wanted to hear, and his head was in my lap. He sniffed the air and tensed up, causing me to look up at Yoongi approaching carefully. He looked bashful, his black tail swishing.

“Jimin?” He whispered, making Jimin sit up quickly, sniffing and staring at him with wide eyes. “I’ve wanted to read this book too…. Is… is it okay if I join you both?” He said this carefully, making me smile softly at him and nod. Jimin paused, seeming to calm down. He began to such on his bottom lip anxiously, eventually giving a shy smile to the panther.

“Would… would you like us to start over? We’re only a couple chapters in…. It’s really good so far…” He whispered, making my heart swell.

I closed my eyes, sighing in content. When I opened them again, I was carrying Jimin inside from being hurt by Jungkook and Taehyung. They still didn’t understand how fragile Jimin was, and a curious fox hybrid followed suit.

“How strong are you?” Hoseok asked, making me smirk at him as I set Jimin down for Jin to clean up.

“Strong enough to take down anyone who tries to hurt you,” I said, smirking at him, causing him to blush. That was the moment my heart swelled… the moment I knew Hoseok would be a part of this family….

When I closed my eyes and reopened them, I was in an endless darkness. I felt frightened at first, but soon, a light popped open. It was similar to a tunnel, and I bit my lip, realizing what I had just gone through. My life had literally flashed before my eyes…. My boys…. They’re my entire life, the loves I always wanted…. I was dying.

964 notes · View notes

huphilpuffs · 6 years ago

Text

flares

chapter: 13/? summary: Dan’s body has been broken for as long as he can remember, and he’s long since learned to deal with it. Sort of. But when his symptoms force him to leave uni and move into a new flat with a stranger named Phil, he finds that ignoring the pain isn’t the way to make himself happy. word count: 2733 rating: mature warnings: chronic illness, chronic pain, medicine a/n: a huge thank you goes to @obsessivelymoody for beta reading this for me!

Ao3 link || read from beginning

Dan hates being alone.

He realizes it suddenly, with a painful twist in his gut and clench in his chest. Phil’s gone back to work and Dan’s leaning against the hallway wall, staring at the empty sofa. His grey blanket is still draped over the back of it, the heating pad Phil had gotten him resting by one of the armrests. But his mind conjures image of colourful pyjamas and messy morning hair and he has to swallow against the well of sadness it brings.

Arm aching, he pushes himself off the wall and limps forward to the spot he’s occupied for a week. Illness lingers on his skin. The blanket, when he settles against it, reeks of body odour. Dan wonders how Phil’s dealt with an it, the smell, the silence, the darkness.

“He’s too good,” he huffs to an empty room filled with strangely good memories.

His eyes fall closed, head tilting back against the sofa. His shift isn’t for another few hours, enough time erase the tendrils of restless sleep from his mind, the stiffness of morning from his joints.

Dan sits there for a while, until the prickling at the back of his mind grows too loud. He blinks his eyes open, ignoring the spots of black that burst in his peripheral. The silence is too still, too heavy on his mind. He’s grown too used to the quiet taps of Phil’s fingers against his phone screen, to whispered conversations about nothing just to drag his mind away from it’s incessant focus on pain.

The lack of distraction is acute, a worsened stab between his ribs, increased burning over his arms. If Phil were here, he’d be murmuring about whatever stupid app he’d downloaded that morning.

But he’s not.

And Dan’s left to focus on the cramps in his chest, the stinging pressure around his legs, the painful drag of fabric over his bare skin. He feels the burn of tears before they well, blinks them away before they can. It’s stupid, he thinks, to be so dependent after so little time.

When he was younger, he’d curl up on the sofa and watch cooking and home reno shows because they were mindless and easy and Dan’s mum wouldn’t accuse him of staying home to watch cartoons. But some days, his father would force him to stay in his bedroom, mumbling and punishing bad behaviour, and Dan would spend his time staring at the ceiling until tears blurred the ceiling fan overhead.

He shoves himself off the sofa so quickly his elbow crack and ankles wobble. His weight almost topples forward, a gasp trapped in his chest.

If Phil were here, he’d be standing next to Dan, whispering quiet support.

“One, two, three, four,” Dan says to himself.

He drags himself to the kitchen. Time must have passed, but his phone is on the sofa and his legs ache too much to walk back and forth. His hands flatten against the counter, holding him upright. Dan waits until his body feels steady before looking up again, gaze flicking to the fridge.

There’s a post note stuck to it. Dan stumbles forward, plucking it between his fingers.

I wasn’t sure if you’d be okay to swallow so I made you a smoothie. Have a good shift and call me if you need anything. - Phil

There’s a smiley face in the corner, wedged between words Phil barely had enough room for. Dan stares at it, a little crooked, eyes uneven,

Dan feels like his own face might mirror it, as he sticks the note to the countertop and reaches into the fridge to get the smoothie Phil made for him.

It’s mango-pineapple flavoured. Dan wonders if Phil noticed it’s his favourite.

---

He lasts an hour.

His boss had only scheduled him for four, but a quarter into his shift Dan’s hands are shaking, his vision swimming in blurry swirls. His one hand grips at the edge of the counter, the other pressing buttons on the register, desperately hoping they’re the right ones.

He wonders if the customer notices the sweat building on his brow. If they can tell he hasn’t properly showered for a week, or that standing is growing painful enough to bring tears to his eyes.

“Have a good day,” Dan chokes, handing over a bag of bread and … something else. He hears his own voice crack, watching the small smile that curls at the customer’s lips as she turns and walks away.

Dan blinks. Someone’s coming up to stand beside him, reaching under the counter and setting the closed: please use next register sign in place. It takes him a second to realize it’s Sue.

“I’m fine,” he mumbles.

“No you’re not,” says Sue. “I’m not having you faint on my watch again, Dan.”

He swallows. Without the distraction of customers, his mind can focus on the pressure on his hips, the weight heavy on his shoulders. He wants to fold inwards, collapse onto himself until every weakened part of his body supports another.

“Dan?”

Another blink. His knees wobble. Dan reaches out and flattens a palm against the counter so he doesn’t collapse.

Sue offers a soft smile. He remembers his first interview, lying about how long he could stand, how much he could lift. Wearing jeans that scraped his thighs and a button down that made his neck tingle where the collar touched his skin, he’d smiled against the ache in his back.

His eyes had still burned then, a remnant of long months forcing himself to read uni textbooks until he couldn’t keep them open any longer.

She rests a hand on his shoulder, gentle and tentative. “Come with me, to my office, okay?”

Dan nods. He follows her through the store, ignoring the lingering gaze of his coworkers. The Tesco polo feels too tight around his shoulders and throat. Sue’s walking slower than she usually does, and Dan tries to pretend it isn’t for his benefit. That she doesn’t know how weak his body is.

The office is full of paperwork and uniforms, and Dan gaze flits across all of it, blurry and out of focus.

“What’s up?” she asks, casual and kind.

Dan shrugs.

“Are you still sick?”

I’m always sick, he wants to say. But he shrugs again.

“Dan.” It’s a sigh this time. “If you need accomodations or less hours, we can work with you, you know? But you have too tell me what you need.”

His eyes fall closed, his own voice echoing in his head. I need a doctor’s note, he’d said, sitting in a too-white doctors office, voice too high and face too young, staring at a man whose face was creased with age. Whose lab coat meant he had all the power.

I don’t have any reason to give you one, Daniel, the doctor had said.

“I don’t need anything,” he says. His throat is too tight, his head spinning as he grips his chair. “I’m not– I’m fine.”

“Dan–”

“No.” He swallows, forces his eyes open. Sue’s staring back at him, frowning. Her concern looks too genuine for a manager, too real for someone who shouldn’t care. “I’ve seen doctors,” he tells her. “They all say I’m fine.”

Sue nods.

Dan’s not sure if the bob of his own head is in quiet understanding or because his neck suddenly feels too weak to sit up straight.

---

Dan ends up collapsed over the table in the break room. His arms hurt so much he can feel the incessant shudder of muscle under his skin. His neck burns. His toes have gone numb from the jab of the chair against the back of his thighs.

Sue’s gone, left him with a gentle hand on his shoulder and quiet well wishes.

Tears sting behind his eyes, burning with memories of days spent hunched over his desk at school, mind too muddled to make sense of what his teacher was talking about. Of the day he’d sat in his guidance counselor’s office, hugged his knees to his chest, and promised to attend more if only they would let him stay.

He blinks them away, reaching for his phone and setting it on the table because his fingers feel too broken to hold it.

Dan: does yur offer fro yeteday till stand

The response is instant.

Phil: of course

Dan: im goin home

Phil: okay

Phil: i’ll be there as soon as possible, okay?

---

The flat is empty when Dan gets there.

He pulls his shirt off at the door, arms aching when he lifts them above his head. A whimper grates at his throat and the fabric scratches along his spine. His fingers fumble when he reaches down to fumble with his trousers, shove them over his hips. He grips at the breakfast bar to kick them off his feet, ankles cracking when his weight settles upon them again.

His legs are too tense. Dan grips at his own thigh, cutting crescents into his skin as he holds himself together, dragging himself forward.

The sofa is still set up for him. The blanket Phil bought is still draped across the leather cushions. There’s a water bottle sitting one corner, next to a box of paracetamol that wasn’t there last night. The heating pad is still plugged in, still sitting there, rolled up nicely.

Dan lets himself fall, feeling the press of cushions to his spine so acutely a tear rolls down his cheek.

He blinks. Another tear falls.

There’s still a blanket hanging in front of the windows. The TV’s still off. Phil’s parents’ blender is sitting on the kitchen counter.

Dan draws his legs onto the sofa, hugs them to his chest until he can feel the dig of knees against the aching bone of his jaw. The next tear that falls smears against his kneecap, leaves his cheek damp.

The fridge, he knows, is filled with fruit Phil bought for smoothies. His bedroom is still mostly empty, but his pillows have shaped themselves to the back of his skull. Phil left his softest towel hanging in the bathroom for Dan to use next time he’s healthy enough to shower.

He swallows. A nerve twinges behind his eyes and he presses his knee to it, trying to quell the well of sorrow that burns behind his eyes, aches in his chest.

If he were in Wokingham, he would have walked through the door and left the painful fabric of his uniform on. Would have locked his spine and knees and marched to his bedroom like a proper young man with a body that bloody works. Would have yelled out fine against the tightness of his throat when his mum asked how his day had gone.

Dan would have locked himself in his bedroom and collapsed onto the floor, too weak to make it to his bed.

Would have curled up in a ball and sobbed until the fragile bones in his chest throbbed from the stutter of his cries.

He used to do that, almost every day. When his dad would glare and his mum would tell him it would pass and there were no pain meds he could take because there’s no need for them, Daniel.

Today, his fingers are too weak to pop a caplet from the box. But they’re there because Phil put them there. Because Phil made sure the flat was as comfortable for Dan as anything could be.

Dan licks at his lips, dry from breathing through his mouth. It tastes of salt, of tears. He glances up again, at where Phil has sacrificed his wall of windows so that Dan could spend painful days in the lounge, less lonely than he would be in the silent darkness of his bedroom.

It feels like home.

He doesn’t want to lose it.

---

Phil’s quiet when he gets home.

He opens the door and closes it with barely a click. Dan listens to him set his work bag down, can imagine him walking towards the sofa, sweeping Dan’s clothes off the floor as he does. His footsteps are heavy, as always. It’s stupidly familiar, sitting there, listening to Phil exist.

It feels less lonely than it did with his family. Dan doesn’t bother to wonder why.

Phil settles on the armrest, and Dan cracks his eyes open. Phil’s wearing a red button down with white spots and skinny jeans, and his hair is combed into a fringe again, after a week of it being pulled back into a quiff. His smile is hesitant, crooked and comforting.

“You’re home early,” says Dan.

“I told my boss something came up with my family emergency,” says Phil.

“‘M not family.”

Phil fidgets, rolls Dan’s clothes between his hands. “I needed a reason to need a week off, so I told them I had a family emergency,” he says, voice low. “So if my boss asks, you’re my boyfriend, okay? Or brother but– Yeah, or brother.”

Dan feels his cheeks burn. “You lied to your boss?”

Phil doesn’t answer. He dips his head so his fringe is covering his eyes, still fidgeting with Dan’s clothes. “Did you take the paracetamol?”

“No,” says Dan. He watches as Phil sets his clothes aside to reach for the box of medication before letting his eyes slip closed, head falling back against the cushions of the sofa. He listens to the crinkle of foil as Phil draws the tablets from their box, the crackle of plastic when he reaches for the water bottle.

It reminds him of when he was little. When his mum would measure sickly sweet syrup for him, hand it to him in a tiny plastic cup without questioning if his pain was real.

A hand nudges at Dan’s shoulder. He cracks his eyes open to see Phil holding out two pills.

Part of him wants to say it won’t help, nothing does. But Phil’s just sitting there with a content smile and Dan still can’t entirely believe it’s not a burden to live with him.

Still can’t trust that, if he’s honest about how broken he is, Phil won’t turn him away.

“Thanks,” mumbles Dan.

Phil drops the tablets into his palm and cracks open the water bottle while Dan lets them fall into his mouth. The sip of water hurts to swallow, the phantom press of pills in his throat lingers even after a second, then third drink. He can practically feel the burn of them hitting his stomach, dissolving into uselessness that he’s long-since given up on.

This pain, he’s learned, doesn’t care about medication.

Phil’s still staring at him. Dan forces himself to crack a smile despite the aches rooted deep in his body.

“Thanks.”

A hint of concern is layered behind Phil’s smile, and Dan’s insides twist.

“You already said that,” says Phil. “How are you feeling?”

Dan shrugs. Something pulls painfully in his back. “Pretty shitty.”

Phil frowns then. He’s started fidgeting again, with the buttons of his shirt now, and reaches up to comb his fringe to the side. His palm settles against the crown of his head, and Dan would laugh at how awkward he looks if he wasn’t bitterly remembering that his stupid, inconvenient body caused this.

“I mean,” says Phil, but he cuts off, frowns again. “I just– How are you feeling, like, up here?”

He knocks his finger against his head once, twice, and Dan feels himself smile, wishing he could laugh without it ricocheting between his ribs and stealing his breath.

“Fine,” he answers. “I’m used to it.”

“But?”

His smile falters. “I’m just worried. About what to do now.”

“Oh,” says Phil. He reaches forward, letting his hand hover over Dan’s thigh before turning to face him, as though seeking permission to touch. When Dan nods, he lets his hand fall to rest on Dan’s knee. “You don’t have to worry about where to live, okay? I told you–”

Dan’s gasp is so quick he almost chokes. “I know,” he says, but it comes out as a shaky whisper that has Phil squeezing his knee gently.

He almost says more.

Almost says you have no idea how much this means to me and how do you know what to do all the time and part of me can’t believe you’re real.

But his mind hangs most stupidly on the soft brush of Phil’s hand over his kneecap.

#phan #phanfic #phanfiction #flares #callie writes words

38 notes · View notes

travelingthroughtimejjs · 4 years ago

Text

Growing up with mom

I grew up always afraid of uncertainty, we didn’t have anything for sure when living with mom, times were tough. It took a special person (mentioned later) to teach me that sometimes it’s okay to not have a plan, but for the first 21 years in my life everything had to be planned out for me to feel comfortable. This led to a very narrowed out path, set from a very young age.

My mom has been sick for all my life. She really struggled when I was a kid and never had much money. We grew up eating very basic meals but damn did this woman try her best to give me and Taylor a good life. She sacrificed so much to make sure we were being cared for. Living with a parent who was struggling gave me the mindset that I need to work hard, make lots of money and never go back to a situation like that.

After my mom stopped doing her typing job we moved to a duplex by Kinsmen park. A few things I remember about this house: There was a stage in my bedroom that allowed for me to play on. When we moved in the bedroom had Pokemon stickers all over the walls from the previous owners. I raised worms here for a science fair project ( I ended up sleeping in on the day of the fair unfortunately, but reused the same project on how Super Worms compost food scraps and got second place in the cities science fair). We also had a bunch of hamsters at this place, loved watching them role around the house in their balls. I named most of them after characters from the cartoon show Hamtaro.

When we lived in this house my started dating the first guy that I can remember after she split up with my dad. His name was Lorne and he was very abusive, as well as the rest of his family. One day when we were at his parents house I recall them hitting us with wooden spoons and washing our mouths out with soap.

After a while we moved to a house that was as west side as west side can get. My mom and Lorne ended up getting married. My mom painted the basement in this house and made it into a pretty cool play room.

One of the most traumatic moments of my life happened in this very playroom. Lorne had thrown my mom down the stairs and was beating her up. My sister and I hid in the tent in our playroom, called 911 and were forced to listen to our mom get beat while we waited for the cops to show up.

My mom thankfully left Lorne and we moved to a house on the east flat where we lived for the final 7 years I lived with my mom. This move occurred in 2nd grade so I have way more memories in this house.

My mom’s next boyfriend was an older gentleman named Tom. I have no idea what ever happened between the two but I don’t have any negative memories with him. He accepted me and Taylor into his family and we got to meet all of his kids who were all adults. A very sad day when one of Tom’s sons took his own life, I was just a kid and couldn’t really understand why he chose to do so, leaving his family behind. One time we were going to visit my grandma’s farm in Lloydminster when Tom fell asleep and we hit the ditch pretty hard in his Hummer. Tom gave both me and my mom jobs working for him. He was a roofer and allowed my mom to do some shingling while I got paid 15$ an hour to pass them shingles. To this day I have no idea why they ever broke up.

At this point my mom knew she didn’t have much left to give us. She wanted to take me and Taylor somewhere before she was unable to. She planned out a huge two week vacation to Niagra Falls and Toronto where we got to do so many activities. I have no idea how she afforded it but I know Tom helped out and came with us.

At this time my mom’s sickness got really bad. She would have to spend days and sometimes weeks in bed. Me and Taylor would find her passed out somewhere in the house and need to find help, hoping she didn’t hit her head or anything. This is a period where the woman who had always been our caregiver, needed the roles to switch. She spent days, sometimes weeks in the hospital.

My mom continued to try working, but she found it hard to find a consistent job due to her inconsistent health. She worked at Superstore for a year and a half and would use her lunch breaks to make sure i was getting to football practice. Then she worked at Prairie Meats for a bit. Finally, she worked at Value Village as the last job she’ll probably ever work.

Her health just kept getting worse, and therefore the role of me and my sister just kept getting larger. It was in early grade 9 year for myself that mom decided enough was enough. She stated that she didn’t want us young kids having to take care of her while there was so much to live for in our own lives. So she sent us to live with our dad for the rest of our young years and moved into an apartment.

The first apartment she lived in was beautiful. It was brand new and designed specifically for people with brain injuries. There were empty promises that there would be on sight nurses above other things, but this never came true. A positive was that the rent was cheap and was very liveable under the money she collected as a social benefit to her illnesses. She lived here for a couple of years while I was in high school. She ended up feeling that she needed to leave that place due to the harassment of one of her neighbours. He flat out bullied her until she ended up leaving.

Since then she has lived in a run down apartment, with higher rent prices. She has really struggled with her finances due to increase in price and the decrease in social assistance that she receives.

At the end of the day, that woman has been a fighter. Fighting against her illnesses, which have led to a poor financial situation, but this has never stopped her from showing me unconditional love. She will welcome me over at any time of the day, has offered to let me stay with her if I ever need it and cooks me meals with the very little resources she has. She has given me my fighting spirit to make a good life for myself.

0 notes

chaosmagetwin · 7 years ago

Text

Forever Fall

We didn’t stay in the hospital for long. The smell bothered both of us. The smell of... of death. Burnt hair. Burnt other things. The nurse wasn’t alone. A third generation man was with her. A patient of some sort. But it was obvious that the hospital wasn’t going to last much longer, and there wasn’t anything we could do but watch people die and help the ones who survived acclimate. If only we could acclimate ourselves, first.

I drove us home from atop a child’s seat we’d found in an open car. Even with it, I could barely see over the dashboard, and the crutches I was using to extend my foot’s reach weren’t doing an excellent job with control. Alex was too big to even fit in the seats. We had to lay the back seats down to fit him into the car at all. Luckily, we were alone on the road. There were people walking about, aimless and without purpose. Their jobs were gone. Every now and again, we passed a burning body. They weren’t going to survive unless they’d been narcoleptic.

Home was... it was empty. A simple condo. Three bedrooms, two baths, and a garage. It was taller than it was wide or long, stacked atop the garage. Before, it’d been a happy place. Pictures on walls told happy moments, and a piano from a dead grandfather had filled the home with poorly played, but well loved music.

Now it was a heartache. The piano sat empty. There was no smell of some home-cooked meal in the oven or on the stovetop. The happy pictures seemed gray, and empty. The place creaked quietly, as though bemoaning it’s emptiness. Or perhaps welcoming it’s only two occupants back.

I don’t know for long I sobbed in the doorway. It hadn’t really hit me until that moment. A moment of truth. I suppose I’d been denying it. That I’d come home, and in the kitchen Dad would be standing, a big grin on his face as he welcomed me home. Mom’s business suit’s jacket resting delicately on the coat rack, using a hanger and not the rack itself as she sat on the couch in a lackadaisical manner, a glass of wine in one hand as she read a new joke book.

Alex sat next to me as I sobbed, a hand on my back, though I could tell he was uncomfortable. It was all I needed to sob into his chest like a child.

“I’ll... go make some lunch or something.” He’d waited until I’d been quiet for exactly five minutes before saying something. I hiccoughed a laugh. Punctual.

“O-okay,” I cleared my throat and wiped my eyes carefully before standing up. I hadn’t expected to break down. Does anyone, really? My world felt shattered.

“We have stuff for sandwiches. I’ll make us a couple...” His voice carried through the halls to me. I winced at the noise. He was talking loudly, to help his voice carry. With my new ears, it seemed too loud.

“I’ll come help after I get dressed.” I’d been dressed in some ill-fitting clothes from the hospital. A eight year old’s clothes. “Maybe I’ll find some old clothes in the attic or something...”

“Don’t worry about it. We’ll head to a store later. I need to find some more clothes that fit me, too.” He’d been wearing a shirt so large, it could have been a tent. Even so, it had been stretched across his frame. He’d opted for what amounted to a kilt for his lower half, something I’d laughed about before I’d changed. “Let’s bring some scissors along when we go. We can cut a hole for your tail when we get there.”

I sighed. He was right. Even if I did find any clothes that fit me in the attic, they wouldn’t fit any better than what I was wearing right now. I’d just be exchanging one eight year old’s clothes for another’s. I couldn’t even say that we shared DNA anymore.

He’d made us four sandwiches. I could barely eat one,but he easily ate the other three, and I could see him contemplating making a fourth. It seemed we had to forget everything we thought we knew about our bodies. Suddenly, we heard something outside. A car driving by, speakers blaring out seven syllables. “Turn on your television!” It was gone less than ten seconds later.

Alex and I exchanged looks. The news had shut down the day I woke up. The entire place had gone up in purple flames during the Fourth Generation. We went to the living room and turned the thing on. A male lion stood in frame, pawing uneasily at a necktie. Still trying to look professional, I guess. It was... odd, seeing it speak.

“This message is on repeat, every hour. There’s only two of us alive, here at the studio. We... we’re not going to stay here. The Fourth Generation has fallen. The world... has fallen. The president is dead. Most of the government is dead. If you are watching this, you are either next, or already changed. If you havn’t changed, then remember this. You must be asleep to survive. You have to dream. Don’t use medication to fall asleep. If you do.. you won’t wake up.”

“Tell them about the-”

“I’m getting there, Sharon!” The lion cleared his throat. “No help is coming. You have to take care of yourselves. There will be no relief forces. No outside help. God help us all... Remember your humanity. No matter what you change into, remember who you are. We... we can survive this. Your body is not your soul. Go to the big cities. Work together. Perhaps, one day in the future, we can all work together to rebuild this great country. This is Deigo of CNN, signing off. Good bye, and good luck. God speed to all of you.”

#Forever Fall #Part 3 #Spilled Ink #Creative #Writing

4 notes · View notes

baronessblixen · 8 years ago

Note

msr 16 or 148?

Dear anon, I ended up using both! It also got long… I've been informed the "read more" doesn't work on mobile so sorry for the insanely long post

16. “I’ll kick hisass if you want me to.” 148. “Why do you only kiss me when I’m sleeping?”

The first time happens after Donnie Pfaster.

Scully tells Mulder to take her home, please, and without aword he leads her away from the scene, away from the horrors. In the car, hewatches her carefully at every turn he makes. They arrive at the motel insilence and she knows this isn’t home, and she knows they won’t get to go hometonight, but she lets him take him inside his room.

“You can have the bed. I'll…” He never finisheshis sentence; not that Scully is listening to him anyway. She curls on the bed,tries to make herself so small, so tiny that no one can ever find her here. Shewinces when the abrasion on her chin comes in contact with the oh so softpillow. Her eyes close, but the tears find a way through, tainting the whitepillowcase.

“Scully, I know you don’t want - how about you take ashower? Maybe I could have a doctor come here and-

“No. Not tonight, Mulder. I promise I’ll get checkedout tomorrow. I promise. I’m fine.” She doesn’t lift her head, refuses tolook at him; she is done with him pitying her. All she wants now, all sheneeds, is sleep.

“Shower?” His voice is closer now, but she can’ttell where he is; he is close, and she wants him to be close, as long as shedoesn’t have to look directly at him. With her eyes closed, she can almost feelhis arms around her still. His hands on her, just holding her to him, beingthere for her. But he wasn’t there before. Before. The water. In the bathtub.

“No shower.”

“All right.” His voice is a soft sound; so gentlethat she is not sure she’s still awake. Silence fills the room and she listensto her own heartbeat, strong and certain; it’s everything she doesn’t feelright now. There’s another sound chiming in; Mulder. A soft rustling tells herthat he’s trying to get comfortable somewhere around here. She is not going toask him to join her in bed. Not this time. So she listens to his tiny noisescreating a lullaby that rocks her gently into sleep.

The dream explodes in vivid colors, blinding her, gaggingher.

“Breathe, Scully.”

The words reach her, somewhere, but she can’t get away.She’s running, she’s trying, but the hands are around her throat; they’regrabbing at her, closing in around her throat, choking her, and she can’t evenscream.

“Just breathe.”

She takes a deep breath and the hands disappear. Her feetstop moving; no more running. Half-conscious, Scully realizes this is a dream.None of this is real. Not the hands around her throat, not the voice. Mulder,she thinks. Even in my dreams, he is right here by my side.

“That’s right, Scully. Just keep breathing.” Thevoice sounds so real that she almost wonders. Almost. She feels soft warm lipson her cheek, gently kissing her, and she breathes. She just breathes in andout. The lips descend again, on her lips this time, and now she knows this hasto be a dream. It has to be.

“Just keep breathing. I’ll be here.”

When it happens again, Scully has already convinced herself thatthe first time was a dream. The days after the Donnie Pfaster case are hazy atbest and the memory of him, of what happened or didn’t happen, in the motelroom are pushed aside when Melissa is killed.

Scully wants to go home, just go home, and they won’t lether. Her apartment is still a crime scene. But she can’t face her mother, whopleads with her daughter to leave her alone, please Dana, and Mulder won’t lether go to a hotel. Alone. Without a word she sits in his car and when he getsin it, he stares at her. No words leave his mouth as his eyes plead with herloudly to please, please look at him. She doesn’t.

The car makes a clicking noise, sounds as tired as Scullyfeels. Any other day she might have told him to have it checked out. Nottonight. Tonight there is nothing to say. Mulder’s hand lands on the small ofher back, some things refusing to ever be affected by tragedy, and leads herdown the hall to his apartment. She slips through the door before him andsettles herself on his couch. The leather, smelling of him, feels familiar andshe closes her eyes briefly, taking a deep breath.

Mulder lingers between the rooms for a moment, decides toleave the lights off, and finally joins her on the couch.

“You should have let me go to a hotel,” Scullysays and her voice sounds hollow, “There’s no space for two peoplehere.”

“You take the couch,” Mulder gets up again, takesoff his jacket, and sits at his desk, “I’m not tired.”

“Mulder, you’re still in recovery and-”

“No, Scully. I’m fine,” he almost spits the wordsout and she startles, “You take the couch, you sleep. I’ll be fine. I havea bedroom, you know.” She doesn’t know and in the dim light, she can’ttell if he’s lying. He probably is and maybe she should care. She just doesn’t.

Scully takes the neatly folded blanket from the back of thecouch and wraps it around her. She turns away from Mulder, facing the wall, butfeels him all around her. He’s in the leather, in the blanket and he’s keepingher safe; despite her not wanting him to. Scully closes her eyes tentatively;what is she going to see there in the darkness of her own thoughts? But it’sjust blackness, so she leaves them shut and waits for sleep to take her.

When they were little girls Melissa taught her to even outher breathing so it seemed like she was asleep when she wasn’t. Back then itcame in handy when their parents checked on them late at night. They’d pretendto be asleep and as soon as the air was clear, they could go back to whisperingsecrets or reading. As they grew older, Melissa stopped doing it. Instead, shewould stare their parents straight in the eye, explaining that she was oldenough to stay up. Little Dana was never brave enough.

And she isn’t brave enough today either.

She evens out her breath, tears falling silently,remembering a sister she will never see again. Mulder’s chair squeaks and thennothing; afraid he might have woken her up again, he waits. Scully willsherself to keep breathing deeply. It works. She feels Mulder move, and thenhe’s there. Leaning over her. She can do this, she reminds herself. If he knowsthat she’s only pretending, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he tightens theblanket around her. He still hovers over her, as if trying to decide onsomething. Then he leans down, kisses her temple, her nose and finally his lipsgraze hers. There’s a faint memory; how can she remember the feel of his mouthwhen he’s never kissed her before? Just as quickly, he is gone again. In thedistance a door clicks.

There’s no way she can pretend this is just a dream.

They never talk about it, of course. Both have signed thisunwritten agreement that prevents them from mentioning any of this. Lingeringhugs are shoved aside just like almost kisses; just a spur of the moment thing.Nothing to see here, no, this never happened.

Mulder visits her in the hospital after she points a gun onhim, thinking he was in cohorts with the Cancerman. It’s long after visitinghours, but to Mulder that’s no reason to stay away. Scully wakes almost,expecting a nurse, but her eyes immediately close again when she sees him. Hestands next to her and gently brushes a strand of stray hair away. Scully knowsshe should say something, stop this. But the truth is she craves his kiss; craveshis touch on her. The moment stretches on and on and on. Scully feels sleep tugat her heavily and finally it wins out, captures her. She dreams of Mulderkissing her softly. In the morning she can’t recall if he ever did, or if hejust made sure she was safe.

Scully slips in and out of sleep without control, withoutany agenda. Her body fights the aggressive invader and it is getting weaker,the illness taking the upper hand. She doesn’t expect Mulder to be in her roomin the middle of the night. Crying. He’s crying and her heart, what is left ofit, is breaking for him. With him. Scully wants to take his hand in hers andtell him it will be all right. There is no strength left in her and she fallsasleep to the sound of his quiet, lonely sobs. She knows he kisses her; shefeels it in her soul, feels how it kindles her flame. Even if only for a shortmoment.

Mulder kisses her cheek one night when she falls asleep onhis couch after her vacation to Maine. Alone. Not a vacation either. She’sexhausted, but she’s missed Mulder (she doesn’t tell him that) and she so shelets him order take out. He tells her about possessed dolls and how he can findbooks about this phenomenon if she’s interested. All she’s interested in rightnow is being here with him, close to him. His words follow her into her dreamfor a while before it all gets quiet.

“I missed you.” Dream or reality. A kiss on thecheek. One day, she knows, this will have to end. Not tonight, though, as sleepcarries her away again.

Mulder kisses her neck when they’re stuck sharing a bed inKroner, Kansas. They’re posing as a married couple in Arcadia, California andMulder sneaks into her bedroom, kissing her knuckles; caressing them one by onewith his lips. By the time Christmas comes around, she thinks they might beready. She thinks this might be it. They almost kill each other, so maybe not.Not quite yet.

It happens in New York.

She should be dead. People keep telling her that she shouldnot be alive and she nods, staring into the other direction. The implicationstoo heavy to face here, now. Mulder flies out to visit her (another reminderhow close she’s gotten, once again) and hardly ever leaves her bedside.

“I’ll kick his ass if you want me to.” They’resharing her jello, because Mulder looks like he hasn’t eaten (or slept) in daysand Scully is beginning to get sick of it already.

“I can kick his ass myself, thank you.”

“Not right now you can’t. I’ll do it, Scully. Just saythe word.”

He calls her mother for her, explains everything. When shewakes up he’s staring at her, his eyes heavy with worry, but also with love.She smiles back at him, silently thanking him for being there. For doing it allfor her.

He makes his move the third night she’s there. The nursesare well acquainted with him now; they know they can tell him to leave, buthe’ll be back as soon as they turn their backs on him. So they no longer tryand just greet him, smile even. Mulder is, after all, quite charming if hewants to be. Scully, too, is used to him being there day and night. She tellshim to get some sleep from time to time, just leave her alone for a while, buthe is adamant about staying.

“You only get into trouble when I’m not around.”

It’s late when Scully feels tiredness wash over her. Sheyawns and Mulder looks up from the book he’s reading.

“Do you want me to turn off the lights?”

“No, I don’t mind. Good night, Mulder.”

“Good night, Scully.”

For a while, he reads. Scully hears him turn pages everyonce in a while. She’s tired, but she just can’t sleep. She’s never been a goodpatient, and all she wants is to go home and sleep in her own bed. Her thoughtsdistract her for a moment. The book is closed softly and something about thisfeels different than all the other times. Mulder appears beside her, his bodyradiating warmth, and when he leans down she can smell his scent. So muchMulder. He kisses her eyelids softly and then brushes her lips. She almostresponds; almost opens her mouth to him. But before she can react at all, he isleaving again, and this time it’s not enough.

“Why do you only kiss me when I’m sleeping?”

She hears his sharp intake of breath. Scully sits up and bedand watches him, frozen to the spot at the end of her bed. His shoulders slumpand he shoots her a lopsided grin that turns into a sad smile.

“You never let me take care of you when you’reawake.”

“You never asked.”

“Are you sure, Scully? All those times you threw your‘I’m fine’ line at me. I know you don’t want me to see you as weak. Scully,I’ve never considered you weak. Not once. And I never will. You’re thestrongest person I know. I just wish sometimes… that you’d let me be there foryou. I never planned to kiss you like this. Wait, you knew about this?”

“I might have been awake once or twice.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Mulder sits down onher bed carefully. She takes her hand in his, feeling confident now.

“I didn’t want you to stop.” She admits, her eyesmeeting his.

“So we could have been doing this for real?” Hisgrin is back and now she’s wearing a matching one.

“There’s still time.”

“Scully, can I kiss you?”

“You never asked before.” She tells him, leaningforward slightly and taking the decision from him. She knows the feeling of hissoft lips already; it’s nothing compared to the feel of his tongue sliding intoher mouth, meeting hers for the first time.

If this is a dream, she doesn’t want to wake up ever again.

#thank you so much for the prompt!#xf fanfic #msr #msr fanfic #xfiles fanfic #this is long and weird #i don't know what happened #my writing #my fic #txf fanfic

234 notes · View notes