#like dead on my feet so tired i slept plenty last night and i ate a good breakfast. LEAVE ME ALONE

[charmcoin]

holy fuck i've only been here for an hour and i feel like a corpse. What is happening

[elisaphoenix13]

(AT) To Bring Them Home

A more in depth version of Remembering The Departed (but with Harley and Cassie added so other fics fit).

"Hey Mama Bear. If you find this recording, don't post it on social media. It's gonna be a real tear jerker." Tony sighs heavily and leans back against the wall of the ship. " It's not like you're ever going to see these anyway. I watched you fade to nothing in front of me after all. You and Peter. I guess I'm recording these for my own sanity. It helps to pretend you're getting these messages. Totally lame right?"

The engineer clears his parched throat. He was desperate for anything to moisten his mouth at this point.

"Today's day twenty-one? No. Twenty-two. You know if it wasn't for the existential terror of staring into the literal void of space, I'd say I'm feeling a little better today. The infection has run its course thanks to the blue meanie back there." He weakly motions to Nebula somewhere in the vicinity behind him. "Oh you'd love her. Very practical. Only a tiny bit sadistic."

Stephen probably would like the cyborg. He may have been cautious of her at first, but if she treated the kids well, the sorcerer would have immediately warmed up  to Nebula. The poor woman just needed a friend.

"So the fuel cells were cracked during battle and we figured out a way to reverse the ion charge by ourselves and bought 48 hours of flight time. But it's now dead in the water a thousand light years from the nearest 7-11. Oxygen will run out tomorrow morning, and that'll be it." Tony rubs his eyes. "It looks like...well you know what it looks like. Don't feel bad about this. I mean actually if you grovel for a couple weeks and then move on with enormous guilt..." He trails off as he fights off the impending lure of sleep.

"I should probably lie down for a minute. Rest my eyes. If by some miracle I make it back home, the first thing I'm going to do is look for Harley and Diana. God I hope they're still at home. If I go home and they're gone too...I don't know what I'm going to do." He would very likely off himself but he didn't need to say that. Tony was sure that if somehow, Stephen was able to see these messages, he would know. "Please know, when I drift off, it'll be like every night lately. I'm fine...totally fine. I dream about you. God it's always you." Tony says with a broken whisper.

He was hungry, dehydrated, and lost in space with a robotic woman and for once he looked forward to sleep. Dreams of Stephen and their family was his only salvation in this terrible situation he found himself in. He was already hallucinating blue butterflies, and he tried to touch one the first time he saw it, but it had disappeared as soon as his fingers went through the illusion. Tony just ignored them after that. He never asked Nebula if she saw them, because he knew the answer would be a 'no', and she would watch him like a hawk.

With a sigh, he shuts off the recording mechanism in his helmet and pulls on a jacket before laying down. This would quite possibly be the last time his eyes would be open, but at least when he went, it would be to pleasant dreams. Dreams, and the part of him that believed that the blue butterfly settling on the arm he was laying on, was Stephen watching over him.

________________________

Carol had miraculously come across them and took them back to Earth, and once an IV was shoved into him, the remaining Avengers held a meeting. Tony really just wanted to keep to his promise and looks for his other two kids, but he also needed to know who else they had lost. Picture after picture popped up on the multiple screens in the meeting room at the compound, and Tony had to hold himself together when Stephen and Peter's picture came up. He almost lost it when Harley's appeared as well, but then the pictures stopped and the screens vanished.

He never saw Diana and that made him jump to his feet and almost fall over from how weak he was. Pepper had to step forward and steady him as he points a shaky finger as the previous location of the screens.

"D-Diana?" He mentally curses when he stumbles over the single word. "Where...is she...is she alive?"

Steve steps over to his other side to help keep him steady, and offers him a small smile. "She's alive. Out of all of the kids, she and Cassie are still here."

Tony nearly sobs with relief. "Clint and Scott?"

Natasha frowns. "Neither of them are responding to any of our calls. We have to assume they were victims too."

"I want to see my daughter." The engineer whispers, and Pepper gently rubs his back.

"You will, but you need rest."

"I'll rest when I..." Tony blinks away the black spots forming in his vision and the room begins to spin. "When I--"

Then he collapsed. The little bit of effort he had put into talking and standing was too much for his body, and it forced him to rest. He slept for two days without waking, but he woke up on third day and Rhodey all but forced him to eat. In any or he scenario he would have fought, but Diana was alive and all he cared about was seeing her. Tony caved when his best friend promised he could see her as soon as he ate, and he did. He ate as much as he could stomach and Rhodey kept to his promise by having Natasha bring Diana to him. Big blue eyes brightened when his six-month-old daughter saw him and she squealed happily as she reached out for him.

"Dada!"

That one simple word was what broke Tony when he finally got to hold his baby girl. She was all he had left if his family. His husband was gone, his two sons were gone, and half of his friends were gone too. He was broken and tired and wanted to get away from it all. All of the memories.

So as soon as he was able again, Tony took Diana and Cassie with him to a lake house he bought. Cassie's mother and stepfather were out of reach since they had been traveling over seas when the snap happened, so they didn't know if they were even alive. Scott was MIA as well, but Tony promised to take care of her. She was surprisingly happy that the engineer told her to get her things and she did without a fuss.

Tony watched Diana and Cassie grow up over the next five years. As Cassie got older, she helped with Diana and eventually took a liking to cooking and baking that she was starting to throw Tony out of his own kitchen. Like now.

"You're kicking me out of my own kitchen?! You have a lot of nerve Miss Sass." Tony moves away from the island counter and accidently knocks a glass cup off of it and watches it fall and shatter on the ground. "Shit."

Cassie giggles. "That is exactly why. How did you manage to feed us before I took over?"

Tony picks up the broken glass with a towel and dumps it all in the trash bin. "I'll have you know I made dinner plenty of times. I make a mean sauce. Even Peter drank--"

He immediately clams up at the mention of his youngest son. Tony locked those memories away tears ago, but every once in a while, one would slip through. What were once pleasant dreams when he was dying in space, now haunted him in the safety of his home. In his dreams and just looking at Diana. She reminded him of Stephen every day and it was hard to ignore. She even inherited the man's cheeky mouth.

Cassie learned how to read him over the five years they lived at the lake house, and she could tell that talk to him about his family wasn't a good idea right now. "Can you see if there are any raspberries left? They would be good in the salad."

Tony scoffs. "If there are any left."

"With the way your alpaca eats them I wouldn't be surprised if they were gone!"

"My alpaca? You and Dia were the ones that wanted a pet!"

"Yeah! Like a cat! But you had to be extra and come home with a freaking alpaca!" Cassie snarks as she points a knife in his direction and Tony holds his hands up.

"He has a name." The engineer says with a smirk.

"Gerald is a terrible name." Cassie throws a walnut at his head, and narrows her eyes when Tony catches it in his mouth. "Check for berries."

"I've adopted a slave-driver."

Cassie sniggers as he walks out the back door and he pats Gerald's head as he passes by the mammal and into the garden. It was Cassie's idea and he had to admit it was nice having fresh vegetables and berries a few feet away, even if he had to beat their pet alpaca to them. The girls wanted a cat, but it only would have reminded him of Tibbs, and even the poor cat had been a victim of the snap. He just wasn't ready for another one. Tibbs was a pretty awesome cat and Tony kind of missed him sometimes.

"Alright Gerald, I hope you left us some raspberries or we'll both be in the dog house." Two more steps and he found a plant full of the berries. "Small miracles." He glances over at the blanket fort a few feet away and smiles. "Princess Diana! Come help me pick berries!"

"I'm coloring Daddy!" Diana shouts from inside her fort and Tony chuckles quietly. She definitely had Stephen's snark, and she even said it in an exasperated tone.

"I guess you don't get Cassie's chocolate chip cookies for dessert!"

A loud groan follows and Tony grins as Diana comes out of her fort and joins her father. "It was important."

"Oh yeah? Well you'll have to finish after dinner."

Diana doesn't argue any further and the two of them pick enough berries to fill a small container that Tony gives the responsibility of holding to his daughter. A couple of raspberries disappear into her mouth and Tony gives her a fond look as he wipes away some of the juice at the corner of her mouth before it stains. Sass aside, he was lucky that Diana was so well behaved. She even stopped asking about her mother and brothers because she didn't like the forlorn look Tony always wore when they were brought up, but he was also pretty sure that Cassie was telling her instead. Tony always kicked himself over that. Diana should be able to ask him without worrying about him getting upset over it, but instead her pseudo-sister was telling her the stories. Sometimes Pepper, Happy, and the other Avengers whenever they had time to stop by.

"Don't fill up Little Miss. You think we have enough?"

Diana nods. "Uh-huh."

"Alright. Let's get these back in to the Alpha Female if we want to have dinner. I can smell it from here." He kisses her on the cheek before standing back up and lifting Diana into his arms, and he stops next to Gerald when the exit the garden. "Give one to our loyal guard alpaca."

The five year old grabs a raspberry from the container in her hands and gives it to Gerald who eats it out of her hand happily and thanks her with a nuzzle. With that done, Tony walks back toward the house until he hears the unmistakable sound of tires crunching over gravel. He and Diana look at each other before Tony makes his way around the house to the driveway, and his eyes widen when Scott all but falls out of the car in his haste to get out. Steve and Natasha followed after him as the ex-criminal approaches the billionaire and Diana pushes Tony's mouth closed.

"Scott?" Tony wonders with surprise.

"Cassie? Is she here? They said she was here." The man rambles, but before Tony could even reply, the front door opened and Cassie stepped out.

"Daddy?"

Scott's head whips around and the fifteen year old girl immediately runs over to him and hugs him tightly. Everyone else watches the small reunion as Scott hold his daughter close, and he eventually moves away to study his grown daughter.

"You're so big!" Scott looks Cassie over for a few more seconds and then sniffs the air. "Is that food? Oh my god, I'm starving."

Both Cassie and Tony laugh. "You have good timing Thumbelina. You guys can stay for dinner and tell us where the hell you've been."

"Good, because according to Nat and the Cap, I literally haven't eaten for five years."

Tony looks over at the other two adults. "Dinner?"

Natasha smiles. "Only if I get the baby."

"You heard her Little Miss. Go to Auntie Nat." The engineer says as he takes the container of berries and Diana happily goes to Natasha before they head inside.

Scott was quiet for the majority of dinner because he was too busy eating, but when he eventually slowed down so he could at least breath and taste his food, he told them where he had been. The Quantum Realm. What felt like an hour to him had been five years, so when he finally escaped, he was confused when he saw all the missing posters and the monuments with the names of the Snap victims. He explained that he went straight to the tower but when he found he empty, he went to the compound where he found Steve and Natasha. He told them the same thing he was telling Tony and they jumped right back into the car and came straight to the lake house when he asked about Cassie.

Steve clears his throat and Tony watches Natasha suspiciously when she mumbles in Russian and herds Diana away from the table after dinner. An adult conversation was coming up and he wasn't sure whether or not he was glad that the assassin took the initiative to distract his daughter. As soon as the two were out of ear shot, Scott opened his mouth again.

"Tony...we think we can reverse what happened. Bring everyone back."

His breath catches in his throat. "What?"

"Like I told you, it only felt like an hour in the Quantum Realm for me when realistically it's been five years. Time works differently there. Maybe if we can manipulate it--"

"You're talking about a time machine." Tony interrupts.

Steve grimaces. "For lack of a better word, yes."

"I can't take that chance." Scott opens his mouth again but Tony cuts him off and points toward the direction Natasha and Diana disappeared to. "She is all I have left. I can't risk that for a chance. Diana is the only reason I'm even still here!" He admits and the other two men wince and Cassie frowns. "I lost my wife, and my two sons. I can't lose her too."

The three stare at each other in silence until Diana and Natasha return, and Tony's heart clenches when he finds a familiar leather book in his daughter's hands.

Peter's photo album.

"Where..." The mechanic starts and Scott sighs.

"I told you I went to the tower. I grabbed that just in case." He says quietly as Diana sets the album on the table in front of Tony.

"Tony...at least look through it." Steve says quietly. "Even if you still don't want to help, you and Diana both deserve those memories."

Cassie places her hand on the album and pushes it closer to Tony. "I think it's a good idea."

Tony sighs. "Even Miss Sass is ganging up on me."

He reluctantly agrees though and they all eat their dessert of cookies before everyone sans Tony retires to bed. He offered for them to stay since it was a long drive back, and they accepted gratefully. Cassie was nice enough to take Diana to bed since she knew the little girl's schedule and Tony had gone into the makeshift lab to look through the photo album. Not until he had FRIDAY working on potential ways to be able to use the Quantum Realm as a time machine though. He highly doubted they would find anything, but he could at least say he tried. Looking through the album was hard but it was necessary if he was going to have to tell Diana the stories behind each picture. His daughter deserved that much if FRIDAY couldn't--

"Test run successful Boss."

Tony's head snaps up to the hologram and he drops the album so he can cover his mouth in disbelief. He did it. He found a way to time travel. Something he never thought possible if he were honest. A Time Stone was one thing, but a machine? Even he had been skeptical.

"Shit."

That one single word about summed everything up.

He could bring his family back.

[hoodoo12]

And So It Begins (5/?)

SFW. Orc/Human. Domesticity and a new way of life in the middle of winter. 

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 6

The trek up to Grar’s cabin was difficult. Not only was the weather harsh with the biting cold and a wind that cut through you, the snow was deep as well. Grar followed his own tracks back, which broke and widened the drifts more, but you still struggled slowly after him. But even bundled against the elements, your feet were frozen and each breath was ice in your lungs.

In the summer it had taken half a day to walk to the Orc’s cabin. In the dead of winter, it took at least twice as long, leaving the two of you walking in the dark. You weren’t sure how many hours had passed because once the sun set, clouds covered the moon. Although you wanted to rest, you knew it was better to keep moving. You simply trudged along the trail made for you, putting one foot after another mechanically. Your mind felt dull.

Grar noticed your lagging. He saved his breath but not saying anything, but slowed his pace for you. Once you’d managed to catch up to him, he shouldered the pack you’d been carrying without a word.

You’d have protested if you weren’t so tired.

Finally, finally, the two of you made it to his home in the clearing. It was still and quiet, and in a low voice Grar told you he would hurry ahead to stoke the fire he’d dampened before he had made his trip to see you. While you slowly followed him, it began to snow.

It was a roaring blaze by the time you managed to make it through the door.

With nimble fingers, Grar helped you out of your heavy furs. You could barely help him; your own hands were stiff from the cold. You couldn’t understand how he, just as cold as you were, could have such dexterity so quickly. You wanted to ask, but your tongue felt thick and it was difficult for you to put thoughts into words.

Leaving the furs piled just inside the door for a moment, Grar led you to the fire. The warmth made your skin feel prickly and you shivered as you sat in the chair he offered.

“Rub your arms,” he instructed. “Take off your boots too. Although your feet feel warm now, the sweat won’t help your body temperature. In a bit I’ll give you something warm to drink.”

He didn’t say what it was, but swung the pot on the wrought iron cooking arm over the fire. Then he left you to shake out and hang up the outerwear so it would dry.

You knew to do everything he had said, but it was nice to have the reminder, since you felt slow. Holding your hands out to the fire, they quickly became warm enough that you could bend your fingers more easily. Then you worked your boots off. A cry of surprise and delight slipped out of your mouth as the soles of your feet hit the slate hearth; the stones had retained some warmth from an earlier fire. It seemed like the best idea in the world to get out of the chair and curl up on the stones to soak up as much heat as possible, so you did.

You heard Grar shuffle back over to you, and his dry chuckle came from high above.

“Did I invite a woman or a cat to my home?” he asked.

It was on the tip of your tongue to make an off color comment containing the word pussy, but you’d come to your sense enough not to. Even if he meant to be your future husband, you hadn’t been intimate with him like that. Instead, you sat up and smiled sleepily at him.

He draped the unfinished woolen blanket you’d brought from your hut around you. It had been folded and kept dry, so in very little time you were even warmer than just sitting by the fire. Side-stepping you, Grar stirred whatever was in the pot. Steam rose from it, but he didn’t seem to think it was ready, so he sat in the vacated chair.

The trek here wore you out and the warmth only exacerbated it, and sleep crept up on you so subtly that it wasn’t until some time after sunrise that you opened your eyes again.

At first you didn’t know where you were. The timber roof you saw above you was unfamiliar, the bedding rustled underneath you and the piles of furs atop you were heavy. This wasn’t home--

Turning over in a near panic, you caught sight of Grar standing nearby and it all came back to you.

“You’re awake,” the Orc said with a faint rumble in his voice.

Clutching the furs, you realized that you were in his bed and that the woolen blanket was between you and the hides. Keeping hold of it, you sat up.

“You’ve slept half the day,” Grar told you.

You couldn’t fathom the time. Typically you were up with the dawn, but everything that had transpired recently threw you off. Groggily you apologized, to which he shook his head.

“The hike in the middle of winter exhausted you. I didn’t realize how hard I pushed you until you fell asleep sitting up, leaning against my leg. Do you want something to eat?”

Despite not remembering much after sitting on the floor in front of the fire, despite not recalling  how you ended up in his bed, despite not knowing if anything physically had happened between the two of you, despite the flash of embarrassment that you fell asleep against his leg, you were suddenly ravenous.

“Yes please!” you agreed. A stomach growl punctuated it.

Grar grunted a chuckle and went to the cooking pot. He ladled a cupful of dark liquid into a wooden bowl for you. You took it carefully; it was piping hot even though the pot hadn’t been hanging directly over the fire. Thick and rich, it was a simple stew that filled you up once it was cool enough to eat.

For a bit, while you ate, it was awkward making conversation. Grar told you that the snow hadn’t stopped falling and that it was lucky the two of you had made it here before the blizzard actually hit. If it had caught you, you’d have had to stay in temporary shelter until it was safe to travel again. He’d have done his best to keep you warm and safe, but it was better that you’d both made it to his cabin.

You heard some things he left unsaid, namely, that keeping warm and safe meant huddling together during the storm.

“It’s plenty warm, and I feel safe here,” you told him.

It wasn’t a lie, but the Orc seemed to think you needed reassurance. He held your eyes and said, “I didn’t share the bed with you. Nothing untoward happened between us last night.”

“Oh, I--”

“I am not sure the customs of human men, but within the Clans, a woman initiates and allows a man to share a common bed. Any Orc who attempts to force an unwilling woman is honorless filth. Castration by way of the woman’s teeth is not unheard of. You have nothing to fear from me.”

You hadn’t expected a sudden lecture on Orcish ways, but it did give you some piece of mind.  

It didn’t take long to settle into his cabin, because you hadn’t brought everything from your mother’s hut with you. Maybe, after the snows had melted a little, you could trek back down for more, but you weren’t positive anything would remain after the people in the village realized you were gone, or if bandits wandered by and found it uninhabited.

Still, it was odd at first, living in Grar’s cabin. He wasn’t used to company and you weren’t used to living with anyone but your mother. You cleaned and took over the cooking to be useful, and got creative with the limited supply of ingredients at hand. You vowed silently to have that garden next year even if you had to break the ground for it yourself.  Because there wasn’t much variety, you foraged through the snows for anything to give a different flavor to the meat and to stretch the food you did have.

Grar still left to check his trap lines and hunt. That meant empty hours, some times days, alone. You did what you could to keep busy, but there was only so much to do in the small cabin without the things you were used to having--an adequate supply of wool, for example--so eventually you ended up in one of the small huts that he’d built.

One was storage for furs, the other a smokehouse. Grar had explained that he only smoked meat when the winds blew away from the other structure; he wanted to keep the furs as clean and scent-free as possible until they could be sold. While he was gone, you tended the slow burning fires just as he had.

He returned one afternoon and was surprised to find you stoking the fire in the smokehouse. You hurried to explain that you did as he directed, and had made sure that the wind was blowing the the right direction before starting the fire. The Orc humphed his approval and made his way to the other building to hang the animals he’d taken.

Jumping from one of his footprints in the snow to another, you followed him. He was in the process of skinning a fox when you made it.

“It’s cold. You should go inside,” he told you.

“I’ve been by the fire. You’ve been tromping around all day. I think you should go in and warm up. I can skin these for you.”

Grar paused. He half turned to appraise you; you worked hard not to shiver. You expected him to tell you no, he wasn’t going to allow you to help with the hides, but he gave the same snort. His breath was white smoke around his face.

Practically squealing with glee that he didn’t decline the help, you went to work on the few rabbits he’d brought home. Skinning them was easy, and it would be nice to have fresh meat instead of preserved for dinner.

The two of you worked in silence as dusk came and the temperature dropped. Eventually it was cold enough that Grar did send you away while he finished. You took two rabbits and trudged back inside. You made sure there was enough wood  indoors to last through the night so he wouldn’t have to bring it in, and you set a pot filled with snow near the fire to melt and warm up to wash with later. Cooking the meat didn’t take long, and you’d made a small loaf of unleavened bread earlier in the day.

By the time Grar finally made it in, it was full dark. You helped him out of his heavy outerwear and pressed a warm bowl of food into his hands as he sat down.

It became customary, especially if he had been gone for more than a day, that during evening meals he told you about what he’d seen walking through the winter landscape. You asked about Orcish traditions, just to learn more, and discussed the differences between them and what you had been taught. You also were able to surprise him occasionally with something new that you’d foraged--you’d found a crabapple tree that still had fruit hanging, and by watching the squirrels you were able to find handfuls of beechnuts that they had cached away. There had even been some juniper berries that you paired with some of the stronger meat, and black walnuts that stained your hands for weeks. You didn’t care, however; they were good to eat and you stored the husks to use as an antiseptic later.

Sometimes he loosened his hair, and with his instruction you learned how to plait it in the traditional Orcish pattern. Occasionally you did the same with your hair, although the texture of yours wasn’t the same and it always ended up looking less tidy than his.

You also always made sure to have a pot of warmed water available. With no tallow, you couldn’t make soap, but you were able to find soapwart to use as a passable cleaning agent. Grar took the time to clean himself while you tidied up from dinner, and eventually, hesitantly, he asked you to wash his back.

Despite having been slightly physically intimate before, there hadn’t been much bodily contact between the two of you since you moved to his cabin. Your hands trembled the first time you agreed. Grar didn’t strip naked, which you were grateful for and surprisingly disappointed by. Using the washrag, you bathed the broad expanse of his shoulders and back. His skin was warm and he felt solid under your hands. Each time, your fingers followed the paths of his scars. Of course you knew about the puckered arrow wound, but there were others to wonder about. Along his side was a wide patch of remodeled tissue, like a burn, and there were several that were thin and pale. They must have been deep wounds.

None of them pained him, and eventually they were as familiar to you as the faded scars on your own arms. You became less timid to touch him, and he became less tentative asking for your assistance. Once, cheekily, you’d asked him to return the favor, and his hands shook so much, splashing so much water, that you pulled your shirt back on despite being soaked and swung around to grab his wrists. You apologized that you made him so nervous, and at his stuttered, abashed attempt at a reply, you kissed his palm, then stretched upward to kiss his face.

Your boldness surprised him--and you too, frankly--but a grin broke around his tusks and he dropped his forehead to yours. Wrapping your arm around his neck, he shifted so his tusks were against your neck. You kept him close and pressed another kiss to the side of his head, above his ear. He hadn’t shaved recently and the hair that was growing back was soft, and you laughed because it tickled your lips.

The Orc pulled away and looked puzzled. You had to explain that your laughter was a good thing: you liked feeling his hair and skin, you liked kissing him. Shyly, you admitted you liked his mouth and tusks on you. Once he understood, he nuzzled back against you, earning more laughter. He even chuckled too, a deep, rich rumble that made you feel ridiculously warm.

Those caresses seemed to break a barrier between the two of you. You realized he had been serious about not making any unwanted intimate contact without your permission, so you took it upon yourself to lay a hand on his shoulder or arm randomly, or to initiate a kiss.

It grew comfortable to live with him. It dawned on you one morning, as you woke up in the bed, that you were happy, even if it was hard work living so far away from other people.

Eventually, though, you hated that you slept in his bed, and he slept on the floor. Grar never complained. He opened his bedroll every night in front of the fire, and every morning you helped him tie it back into a neat bundle. One evening, just as he was retrieving it from its storage place in the rafters, you blurted,

“What if you just slept with me? In the bed?”

Grar froze with his arms above his head. After a moment, he carefully slid the bedroll back into position and turned to face you, but didn’t move closer. The silence grew awkward for you, and you felt like you had to continue.

“You’ve been sleeping on the floor for a while now--”

His voice was low as he answered. “I am fine with that arrangement.”

You shook your head and finished your thought. “--and when you’re gone for days you sleep on the ground. It’s not fair that you shouldn’t have any comfortable place to sleep.”

Grar gave the slightest return shake of his head. “It is not bothersome to me.”

“It’s bothering me,” you countered.

The Orc stood completely still. Although you’d gotten better at reading the subtle expressions on his face, this time you couldn’t tell at all what he may have been thinking. You chewed on your lower lip, wondering if there was some way to make him understand what you were trying to say--

Then it dawned on you.

You drew yourself up, took a deep breath, and looked him in the eyes.

“Grar,” you said, “I want you to sleep in the bed with me.”

He continued to stand very still for a moment, but his dark eyes darted around your face. Then in one big step he was in front of you. Automatically you opened your arms to him, and he moved into your embrace. With his hands on your waist he picked you up to be level with his face. You gasped, then laughed at the unexpected movement, and wrapped your arms around his neck.

In an imitation of the forehead press that seemed natural to him, you planted a kiss there. That seemed to surprise, then delight him. You felt the tips of his tusks drag along the tender skin of your neck and then one dig slightly into the front of your shoulder. Grar’s breath was hot and moist on your skin, and you shuddered. You kissed him again, and after a second of holding you, Grar gently set you down.

It only seemed natural at that point to keep hold of his hand and take him to bed. There was some jostling and minor discussion as to who should sleep where--mainly should you be closer to the wall so you could have more security between it and him? Or should you be closer to the fire for warmth?--but eventually you both settled in, giddy and on edge in a good way.

Having never been in a bed pressed against someone else, sleep took a long time coming.

tbc . . . (rating increases next chapter)

[ohmytheon]

I really enjoy your little "mom life" tidbits and how the baby wrap has become your saving grace. your last fic was brilliant and I can't help but think that Gendry would proudly wear the baby wrap as he goes about his day and now I want a fic about Gendry shopping or at his job while having his baby strapped to his front lol. sorry I keep requesting baby related fics and I hope your little one is well and letting you sleep :D

Thank you! I’m having a lot of fun writing this, so it’s no problem. I am literally wearing my baby right now. lmao Plus, writing Gendry as a dad is both sweet and sad and I love writing him anyways.

It was his one day off, which usually meant lounging around the house with Ryder, but there was too much to be done. Arya had been stuck with mid-terms all week, which wouldn’t have been bad if she wasn’t also knee-deep in her senior thesis research project. In between late night feedings and pulling near all-nighters alongside of it to finish her homework, she wasn’t getting any sleep. She wasn’t going to admit to being exhausted, but the dark bags under her eyes and her sluggish movements around the house told another story.

Being a mom was tiring enough, but combine that with the last semester of college, along with helping her sister plan her wedding, and it was a nightmare. Arya was tired and too stubborn to admit it.

Luckily, Gendry had learned how to be sneaky about helping her back when they were still just friends. After she’d come home from class, they ate dinner, although hers had been interrupted by Ryder wanting to eat. Gendry cleaned up and patiently waited while she feed Ryder until he heard what he’d been waiting for. Arya would also never admit to snoring, but she did so when she was dead tired. When he peered into the living room, there was Arya passed out on the couch, her head tipped back, her arms protectively around their son, while he slept nestled against her on the boppy pillow.

Knowing he only had a few minutes to get everything done, Gendry went into rush mode. First, he put on the baby wrap, which he’d gotten a lot more familiar with since his first attempt. It wasn’t nearly as terrifying now, but the trick was getting him in it at the right time. After carefully picking up Ryder and placing him in his swing, Gendry scooped Arya up from the couch. She mumbled in her sleep against his chest, but when he laid her in bed, she curled up, grasped hold of a pillow, and snuggled under the blanket he laid over her. He shut the bedroom door and returned to pick up Ryder, who was starting to squirm in his swing upon realizing he wasn’t being held. Hastily Gendry slipped his son inside and then walked around the apartment, bouncing up and down on his heels, until Ryder was asleep again.

Gendry breathed a sigh in relief. The ticking time bomb had been defused.

He wrote a quick note to Arya telling them what was going on, grabbed the few things he needed, and slipped out the door quietly. He’d learned after years of being around Arya how to be quiet. Once outside, he went to her car (it was bigger and much better than his) and pulled the stroller out. With Ryder tucked against his chest, he wouldn’t use the stroller, but Gendry needed it for other things. Luckily, everything he needed to do was only a short walk. Some fresh air would do him good since he was either cooped up in a smelly mechanic shop or the apartment.

First he went his work. He knew damn well that he was going to get teased, but it didn’t matter to him. Letting Arya get some well-deserved sleep mattered more than his pride. And besides, it didn’t do much to embarrass him anyways.

“Oh, look guys, it’s dream daddy Gendry!” Tom called from inside.

Gendry rolled his eyes as he parked the stroller outside and waved a dismissive hand at his coworker. “This right here,” he said, pointing to his son, “is proof that I can get laid while you’re still trying to woo girls at karaoke bars.”

Tom scoffed and folded his arms across his chest. “I get plenty of women, thank you.” Despite teasing Gendry, he put on some hand sanitizer and strode over towards them so that he could fondly rub Ryder’s head. Arya had trained all of the men to clean up before touching their son. Even without her here, the threat loomed heavily over all of them. “How’s the pup today?”

“Passed out for now,” Gendry sighed in relief as they walked to the office.

“And the mama she-wolf?”

Gendry smiled at the nickname. “Also passed out.”

“Good,” Tom said decisively. “She deserves it.” Then, he punched Gendry in the arm. “When are you two going to come out? It’s been a while! I know, I know – you’re parents now, but you’re not antisocial or dead. You both need some time to yourselves, not just separately.”

All Gendry could do was shrug his shoulders. “I think she’s scared of leaving him for anything but school, like it’ll make her look like a bad mom or something. Getting her to sleep or eat is a struggle sometimes.”

Tom tsked. “Arya sure is a funny girl.” Then he grinned and slapped Gendry on the back. “Still strange as hell seeing how bloody domestic you two are. It’s positively adorable, isn’t it, Lem?”

“Doesn’t seem too far off,” Lem replied as he stepped out of the office. “Our boy here has always had a soft spot for kids. Remember how he used to give his lunch away to the mom and her little girl at the park?”

“Oh, you were a dad in the making!” Tom teased.

Gendry shoved Tom away before the man could give him a mocking hug and walked into the office, cutting off the other two men’s laughter. Once there, he got his check for the past two weeks and then looked at the schedule. The upper management training marked on his line still made him feel uncomfortable, but it was a good thing. Better pay and hours. He’d worked his ass off for this. Didn’t make it feel any less odd. He was so used to being out on the floor and in the grime all the time. He liked it out there. But they needed this. Ryder needed this. Sacrifices had to be made on all fronts.

Once his business at work was taken care of and he showed Ryder off to everyone, Gendry deposited his check in the bank across the street and walked to the grocery store a little further away. It was nice being so close to everything. They had lucked out when the apartment they lived in now became available, but even more so that her parents had helped them get them on their feet. To be honest, it still humiliated Gendry to think about, but Arya had been so grouchy with him for his apologies.

“We’re here to help, Gendry,” her father had said, “and we know you’ll take good care of our Arya. Accepting help is nothing to be ashamed about. Besides, let us spoil our first grandchild.”

The concept of having a father that wanted to help – that wanted to just be around – was completely lost on Gendry. His mother might’ve died when he was young, but at least she’d stuck around for as long as her body allowed her. His dad was… Well, his dad was dead too, but he’d never bothered to show his face after Gendry was born. Too important and wealthy to admit to getting a cocktail waitress pregnant, he’d paid his mom off to keep silent and waived away all paternity rights. He’d done the same with his half-sister Mya.

Still, sometimes Gendry wondered, if his dad might’ve come around later on. He had been best friends with Arya’s father. Meeting him would’ve happened eventually. Gendry had seen him once, shortly before the man had a heart attack, at some function at Arya’s parents’ house that she’d dragged him to, but the moment Gendry had realized who the man was, he had spent the rest of the party acting like some sort of ninja to evade him. Then he was gone.

But what would have happened had they met? Would his father have pretended not to know him? Would he act apologetic in public and then avoid him? Would he have been curious once Gendry and Arya started dating? Would he have wanted to be involved once he had found out that he was technically going to be a grandfather?

Gendry would never know how either his mom or dad would’ve reacted to becoming grandparents. Being an orphan hadn’t bothered him for a very long time. Only until Arya became pregnant and her family stepped further into their lives did he realize that he was missing something that many people took for granted. It had been…difficult. Harder than he liked to admit. Like there was something else he couldn’t give his son, even though it wasn’t his fault.

Once they were at the store, Gendry used the stroller as a shopping cart. He didn’t care how ridiculous and cheap it looked. A few people gave him strange looks, even judgmental ones, but it didn’t phase him in the slightest. How was he supposed to carry his son and groceries home without anything to carry them in? He was being practical.

Of course, a few women stopped to look at Ryder and coo over him, all with varying reactions concerning Gendry’s role. There was the, “I would never trust my husband alone with my baby, but your wife must be brave!” woman, who laughed like it was so funny. Gendry did not point out that Ryder’s mom was not his wife (…not yet at least – school first – though it weighed heavily on his mind and made him anxious). Then there was the, “They just don’t make men like you these days!” woman, who had three kids of her own and looked frazzled. It made him feel sad. Another woman actually started trying to flirt with him in the cereal aisle, so he grabbed a box at random, awkwardly said goodbye, and hurried away.

People were so weird when it came to talking to parents with kids. Like they had a right to lay their opinion. It mind-boggled Gendry. No one had paid him any attention during this little errands before, but now they flocked to him, like they’d never seen a dad with their kid in public before. Was it that unusual?

By the time they made it back home, Ryder was starting to get fussy, probably hot in the baby wrap and also hungry. The boy could eat. It was also beginning to rain, so it was perfect timing. When they got back into the apartment, it was quiet. He laid Ryder down in the swing, willing him to be quiet for just a little while longer, and slipped out of the baby wrap. Upon walking into the bedroom, he found Arya still asleep, but her body was moving too, as if it could tell that Ryder would be awake soon.

Still, Gendry slipped into the bed behind her and wrapped his arms around her, pressing his nose into her hair and taking a deep breath. He allowed all his muscles to relax as he held her. Slowly, he felt her move underneath him until she’d wiggled in his arms to turn around and face him. “Have a nice nap?”

Arya rubbed her eyes. “How long was I out?”

“A good two hours.”

“Ryder–”

She’d started to sit up, but he held her down and simply said, “Asleep – for now,” and she eased back down in the bed.

Instead of closing her eyes to drift off again, even though he knew that she was still tired, she leaned closer to him and kissed him. He kissed her back, lazily, taking his sweet time, but then she pressed her body up against his. Her kisses became more insistent and she gripped him tightly, pulling him closer to her and rocking her body into his.

Now this was something that they hadn’t been able to do in a while. Half for recovery reasons and the other half because they had no time to themselves. His body reacted immediately, a groan building up in his chest. He rolled over so that he was on top of her and pressed his hips down against her, causing her to let out a gasp. A grin appeared on his face as he kissed down her neck and she hastily moved to undo his pants–

And then a piercing wail from the other room startled them both so badly that they jumped and Gendry nearly fell off the bed.

“Well, that was fun,” he said with a laugh.

Arya sighed and dropped her head back against the pillow. “I’ll–”

“Don’t worry about it,” Gendry told her as he rolled off of her and got up from the bed. “There’s a bottle in the fridge. You rest. I’ve got it.”

“Are you sure?” Arya asked, peering at him warily.

“Let me spoil the mother of my child and spend some time with him,” Gendry told her, leaning over to kiss her on the forehead. “Besides, you’re moody when you’re tired, just like him.”

He just barely dodged the pillow that she threw at him as he hastily made his retreat into the living room to scoop up their son and soothe him. Yeah, domestic life was weird and he hadn’t really given much thought to being a father, but this was exactly where he wanted to be.

[dunmerofskyrim]

5

Searing closed. A chafe at the wrist. Grip round, flesh against flesh. Fingernails half-moon his skin. Struggle? Blight it all and void take all you are, at least try, the least you can do is try. He tries but he’s already broken. Heels scuff the dirt, fighting through and past the fight’s true end. All over.

Plead and beg? A hand in his hair and head pulled back. Throat exposed then throat closed. Plead. Beg. Here’s where it got you.

Please don’t, please don’t. A creak and grind where his ribs are broken as he raises his voice. Money? My weapons, my clothes, my word? Serve you, kiss your boots, whatever you want. No. No no no! Or just one. Have pity. Two? Or the other one! Anything — just don’t — just don’t —

There comes a point with pain where it comes round so far as to choke itself. A closed circle and a suffering body trapped inside. And after that flash of agony – a first world-blinding taste – all that’s left is shock. No pain at all, but no mercy in its absence.

Simra woke in its grips again. A blazing white blanket, shrouded round him, tight as tight and no give to worm free — like the Riftfolk wrap their dead when they give them to the sky. The white turned blue. Locked inside himself, he had no breath to scream. And then again it passed. Like it always passed. Like it never seemed it would.

Sweat stung his skin. Hard to tell now what he was blinking back — if the salt-soreness at the corners of his eyes was cold sweat or hot tears. It didn’t matter, he told himself. He was in a darkness, he told himself, while the deed and the dream had been in daylight. He was tangled in his bedroll, the fur and fabric muddled in knots from the kick and thrash of his feet. It didn’t matter. And the pain was only ghost-pain, left from things gone by. That he’d fixed – or tried to fix – and survived.

Still here. Still here. His heartbeat slowed. Still here, for whatever small and snide consolation that was.

The pain let go, leaving Simra in his body. Factual, actual — the only hurt left was real. Minor. Small and bitter tattoos, invisible all on the length of his body. Like every sleeping scar of a sudden had come awake again.

Dividing past from present, and scars from new soreness, Simra counted them. Sometimes counting helped.

Four dull and piercing things, pricked on his palm’s rough belly. His fingernails did that, hand against hand with the seizing ache in his knuckles. A jarring stiffness in all the workings of his right hand, line by line and tight in his tendons. Last of all was the crick in his neck and shoulders, knotted wooden from sleeping on too hard a floor.

No, not a floor, came a smug reminder from somewhere inside him. A deck.

Simra fought free of his bedroll and into the darkened cabin. The ceiling was cramped down low and the walls were slanting, narrow. The trap he’d dreamt himself into had been worse, but this only echoed it. Get out. He had to get out. Like waves the last had receded, but its waning strength only shared into the next one. A new wave of panic.

“No no no no no…”

He rested on his knees a moment, breathing, eyes shut tight. Hung his head and knuckled his eyes til purple-blue lights blossomed into the blackness. A thing to focus on. He felt the pose open him up — the knotted muscles in his neck and upper back. And that was good. But sweat had turned his hair to yarn – disgusting – and it stuck to his cheeks and eyelids, his jaw and throat. He brushed it back, gasping in a thin breath. His hands were still shaking, unsteady, and he cursed them in a snarling whimpering whisper:

“Grow some fucking bones.” Words in the Grey Quarter patois he still thought in, dreamt in, and spoke in when he spoke to himself. “Pitiful. You’re mended. You lived. So I fucking swear by bones and blood, if you keep acting like you’re still fucking broken…”

He took a long breath. Steady on the inhale, but the outhale shuddered. It was enough. It was good enough. It was a start. Rolling his neck on his shoulders, twisting the column of his neck til it clicked, and clicked, uncricking, Simra remembered he wasn’t alone. Almost started talking to himself again – idiot, in here when anyone could hear; Noor; the fucking boatmer – but turned the words to a short and pitying laugh.

Out, he told himself. He had to get out. The thought this time was a calmer one. He felt his way to the cabin’s low kennel of a doorway and crawled through.

By night the boat’s fan-sail was furled and the mast taken down. The long shallow hull drifted slow. The boatmer’s black-haired daughter sat asleep at the stern with the one great oar cradled in her arms. Though asleep perhaps wasn’t the word for it. Magic maybe, or some strange training of the mind, but she and her father had some way of keeping the boat on-course, even while they slept — or else slipped into this trance of theirs that let them rest and work, both at once. She steered while the riverflow carried them.

Here the dark was softer, its hold more fragile beneath a sky shared full of stars. Red shouts of colour and blue antumbra strayed through the night overhead, aglow with starlight. Constellations and scattered strays of light, named and nameless mingled in the bright-filled black.

But close to the ground the world narrowed down. A dim ring of muddy grey light from the bug-lamps hung at prow and stern. Jars where living things flitted and fought, dashing dumb their hopes over and over against the crude glass that kept them. Shimmering half-reflections on the water round the boat, but after that, nothing. No banks to be seen. Just the black and blocked off sections of sky where Simra reckoned there ought still to be mountains.

The boat itself stank ripe with the things that lived in water. Simra’s face crumpled coming out into the reek. Something fishy and lingering from the basket where the boatmer kept bait. Another covered basket Simra knew was full of shells, cracked open and wrenched from the hand-long waterlice they caught and ate as they went. Grey-white flesh; blue-black shells. They tasted good enough when fresh and simmered for soup, but the shells smelt awful only hours later. Kept for profit somewhere down the line, Simra supposed. Sold to be made into chitin or resin. That must be it, or else where was the blighted point?

“Already paying seven fucking yera for sixty-some fucking leagues,” Simra muttered, voice thick. “Think they wouldn’t need to…”

Smell aside, the sky might have been soothing. The sky, the river’s slow amble, the open air and Sun’s Dusk chill. The chance to feel alone, and remember where he was. When he was. And that all the rest was in the past, or else was kept for dreaming. It ought to have been easy.

Making himself shrug, Simra pulled his sister’s jacket around himself against the stubborn cold. Coming on year’s end, and again he wasn’t dressed for it. Of layers he had plenty – could wear them all at once as he’d done through five Winters already – but by now he ought to have bought or taken a coat.

“Son of skyrim…” he muttered in monotone. “Tscht! Y’oughtta know better. But when’ve you ever?”

He kissed his teeth. Sometimes the talking helped too. Words were good for that. Taking up most of his mind so nothing else could find room to echo. Not that they’d help him back to sleep, but he doubted now anything would. With or without, he was tired these days. Knew the rhythm of this by now. Besieged by the grey, and with nothing to do but wait. No strength to be found save in stubbornness.

He stayed up. Waited and longed for the dawn. And in time he watched it break, red heart and hems of gold, before the boat’s blunt prow as the river Balda washed them East. There was a metaphor in that. A poem maybe. A bad one.

The others came out in time, much as he dreaded them.

Tammunei first. Like a burrowing things feels the moonrise even from underground, they came out from the cabin and onto the deck in time with the dawning sun.

Their hair was in red disarray, long down their back and wild by nature, but pulled and tugged hopeless to heel. A jagged bun behind their head; new-made braids hanging down, but already beginning to fray.

The long angles of Tammunei’s eyes narrowed to a bleary squint. They turned their head, bird-quick, to look at Simra with their good eye til a frown formed on their face. Tammunei treated silence like a third speaker in any conversation. Handled it with hands more careful than their own clumsy fingers ever were. They waited for the silence to finish its turn, then at last, thick-voiced, they spoke:

“Did you sleep?”

Simra raised a hand, flat, to make a vague gesture. The other mer only bit their lip, not understanding. Simra couldn’t blame them…

“A little,” he said. “Not a lot.”

Words to himself came easy enough. Scathing ones easier than most. This morning, words to others were harder.

“Not well, I don’t think.” Tammunei pursed their lips, full mouth fuller for a small mulled moment. “Chewed up and spat out — that’s what you say, isn’t it? When someone looks worn?”

Not what Simra said. Someone else. It was something borrowed. Moridene. He’d seen her again any number of times since last he’d seen her, but only in dreams and reveries. Falling, or crying out, fighting the same people trying to heal her…

Simra nodded. Tammunei knew what that meant, at least. “Get some fresh air and strong tea in me, I’ll be fine enough.” His nose wrinkled, noting the smell again. “Rejuvenated…”

The banks of the river by now had risen out of the dark. The mountains of Stonefalls ridged up in the leftmost distance. Simra sniffed, seeing their tops were already frosted white. All the rest was swathes of grass and struggling patchy scrub; highlands shading down into plains.

Floodplains soon, Simra remembered. The way to Old Ebonheart was mud and bog, for leagues on leagues on leagues. Pools of brack or veins of clay. Strange spits and inlets of seawater, lost on its way back from high tide, like islands on the inverse — scraps of ocean in an ocean of land.

He’d hated it then, years ago. Ruined his boots; rusted his sword til it stuck all but solid in its sheathe. A thunderstruck taste in every thick gulp of air.  He’d hate it all the worse now, he reckoned. Small mercy that their path led a different way. There are other roads to Vvardenfell than over Scathing Bay. Even if this was not the one he’d choose…

They’d squabbled the route no end back in Bodram. Back when Simra still had some squabble-strength in him. He and Noor and Tammunei — each had tried to pull the path their own way.

Noor wanted sky and wind and breeze-licked grasslands. The mountains troubled her. The Sadras troubled her. Towns, she said, and walls, and bread, and shame boxed in by darkness — she’d had enough of those. Grown weak on them, she said. Better they travel by strength all their own than be floated overwater like cargo, spoiling with every passing day.

But of strength she still had little enough. Would need longer rest to recover it. She’d all but drowned herself in the flow of ghosts she’d joined together. Starved herself by distraction, down in the maze she made Wasted muscles and hollow cheeks.

Tammunei was easier to please. All they wanted was to stay far from Scathing Bay, where Vivec once had been. Where they must have tried to cross before, and must have been turned back. All that death, Simra supposed. If Bodram howled like it had in Tammunei’s mind, what would so large a city do? So many lives blinking out at once…

Simra would’ve sooner hired onto a boat upriver. High and Low Silgrad, buying parchment on the way – a coat maybe – then trekking the path to Veranistown and on by boat to Balmora. Expensive, yes, but it suited his purposes. Left open a scant skinny chance… And like Tammunei, he couldn’t face the land-bridge. Scathing Bay didn’t trouble him, but what came before..? He couldn’t go back. Not to Old Ebonheart.

Noor got her way. By then the grey had set in, and stolen most of Simra’s will to object. It was Tammunei convinced her that a downriver boat would see them on the plains faster. In truth, Simra reckoned it had been one of Tammunei’s rare flickers of guile — making sure their sister had longer to rest before the time came to walk.

Deshaan, then. An east-tending arc through its northern plains, once the river forked and they left the boat. A long way around and torture by foot. Simra knew that, but his tongue wouldn’t form the words.

“Fine enough for what?”

“…Mmh?”

“What will you be fine enough for? After you’ve had tea and fresh air?”

“Oh…”

Simra frowned. Tammunei had broken him out of his thoughts. Snatched a hole in his silence. Times were that would’ve brought a prickle of irritation. He might have snapped back, in the mornings most of all. Now the answer caught in his throat: nothing.

He sighed. Forced a smile onto his face. “Anything, I reckon. Within reason.”

Tammunei was easy to lie to, but not even they seemed to believe him now.

“You’ll be able to walk?” they asked.

“Fucking hope so…”

“There’ll be a lot of that, when we reach the fork.”

This time a streak of anger broke through. A brazen gleaming thing. “Never said it was a good idea, did I? Remember that when we’re halfway to nowhere and all the way from anywhere fucking else on – what? – our fifteenth con-fucking-secutive day of walking and a small voice in the back of your head pipes up and says ‘fuck this!’”

Tammunei didn’t flinch as Simra raised his voice. Still, they looked like they’d been struck — not a fresh blow, but a past raw and full of them. Already guilt ached in Simra’s gut.

“No,” Tammunei said, with painful patience, “but Noor did. And she knows the plains. She’s wise, and she’s Vereansu. So…”

“So trust in one who rode them. Half a lifetime in dreams, and half in my own skin.” Noor had crawled silent from out of the cabin too now, speaking Velothis. “The Deshaan Plains are in my blood, and my blood’s in them. My people’s bones lie at rest in their grasses.” She took a deep breath and let it go with relish before turning to Tammunei. “Zainab, is he?”

A week or more Noor had known him and still she spoke over him — about him, not to him.

“By blood,” he forced himself to cut in.

“Well…” she purred, voice gritting against itself as at last she looked at him. “Your blood ought to know that pull, then. Another plains people, the Zainab. Zainab, Vereansu — those’re names known by steppe and sky, Simra Hishkari. Perhaps Deshaan will do you good. Give you a taste of what you want. Perhaps not…”

Simra made himself smile and stay silent, deferring to the older mer. Already his anger had burnt itself out, leaving only bad blood behind. But inside his mind, cold and bitter, he cursed her. With Tammunei, the moment to say he was sorry had passed — washed away by her words. Her wisdom. And inside him the apology set unspoken, like a stone.