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unbridgeabledistances · 4 years ago

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hi 💜💜 i got a prompt about ian x body image a while ago (my inbox is a hot mess and i may have deleted the prompt lol, but i did paste it into my phone notes)- and i was feeling some feelings today & had some spare time amidst my travels & ended up writing this!!

prompt: can you write about ian and his relationship with his body image, esp post-canon when they move to the westside

(tw for body image/eating disorder/food mentions)

He didn’t really even think about it the first times that he did it— skipping a few meals that went unnoticed in the morning clamor of the Gallagher kitchen. He noticed his skin growing tauter and tighter around his abdomen with every passing day, a hollow absence sitting like a rock in the pit of his stomach.

He did it for a reason—he’d been getting more lingering looks under the flashing lights at the club, more unwelcome fingers pressed against the now-present ridges on his stomach, tracing his toned upper arms. The less there was of him, the more they wanted him.

The thing about Ian is that he was always disciplined; the middle child, the one who was overlooked and ignored and blended in until he decided that he had to make a name for himself. He and Lip and gotten into hair-tugging, jaw-smashing fights about this very reality; Ian was completely, totally, absolutely ordinary. Until he made himself extraordinary—until he burst through the storefront labeled “ARMY” at a strip mall with smudged windows and said with a tall chest: I want to enlist.

Everything had led up to this— every push-up on the creaking slanted floor of their childhood bedroom, every jog at the crack of dawn. He was going to make something of himself, he was going to be a hero.

He was going to get the fuck away from Mickey, and his wife, and whatever else kept pushing him down and holding him back.

When Ian came back from the army, when he was sleeping on exposed floorboards and working at the club all night—that was when it all actually started. When he decided that less of him meant more—when he decided that he should give people the best show he could, because everything else was fucked up anyways. This was all he was good for.

But then Mickey came through the door, pale skin flashing in the strobe lights, wearing that fucking dark button-up with sleeves folded to his forearms and smelling like nice cologne that he’d almost definitely stolen from one of his brothers’ bathroom shelves; and for a brief moment after the initial shock set in, Ian was proud— proud of how much negative space surrounded him, proud of how he could press his thighs into stretched golden spandex better than any of the other men thrumming to the beat beside him on the podium. Proud of how much other people wanted him, when Mickey didn't.

It was only later, after Mickey carried him home (easily, too easily) after he’d passed out in a snowbank, and Ian had woken and waited for Mickey to burst into his bedroom door at the Gallagher house while he leaned against the wall and scribbled on a notepad— later, when Mickey was about to curl on the floor and sleep using one of Liam’s balled-up t-shirts as a pillow— that Ian noticed Mickey’s eyes lingering on his uncovered torso, a second longer than the quick glances of admiration from the well-dressed men with greased-back hair and grubby fingers at the club. It hit Ian, then, when he saw Mickey’s gaze that was soft around the edges, the same fuzziness and confusion of Fiona’s stares when he would chatter on for too long in the mornings:

He’s worried about me.

But Mickey played along— Ian was back, and Mickey stayed beside him this time, and chuckled when he walked down the stairs to the sight of Ian cutting off the bottom half of his old ROTC pants, now multiple sizes too big and hanging baggy even at the hips. Mickey curled beside him on the twin bed, silently stroking hair back from his forehead and cradling his cheeks with a feather-light touch as Lip and Liam’s even, sleeping breaths swirled around them. And Ian kept doing pull-ups, and told Carl that he liked the way that Mickey smelled. Mickey came out for him. And for a while things were really, really fucking good, and Ian didn’t even think about the gnawing hollow feeling in his stomach at all any more.

Until a grey morning came, quick and silent, and kept him frozen under the sheets for days.

In the months afterwards, Ian trained harder, faster—he met up with Fiona as she pushed Liam in the stroller and jogged beside them, ran before and after shifts at the club, did push-ups on Mickey’s grimy floor while he was out handling Rub N’ Tug shit.

I’m not Monica. This wasn’t going to happen again. His body could do this. His body could fix his brain.

It couldn’t.

Most of what happened on the “road trip” with Yevgeny (that was the only phrasing that Ian could really mentally use to name the incident, the only semiotic filler for “kidnapping” that didn’t want to make him burrow even deeper under his tattered blankets) was a blur—Mickey feeding him fistfuls of pills and room-temperature Gatorade, luring Mickey to the dugouts where he tried to do a pull-up and felt a quivering in his limbs, a weakness rather than a familiar and fulfilling burn. Slamming Mickey in the face with a fist that was too flimsy, too weak—a fist that still left the blooming of a bruise on Mickey’s jawline, a splatter of blood caking into his eyebrow. But still weak, still not enough. Definitely not strong enough to fight off two MPs with loaded guns, tangling his hands behind his back and forcing him into the backseat of a car.

More blurry days— on the road with Monica. Breaking up with Mickey. Getting a job at Patsy’s. Withering away, purple bags sagging under his eyes. Becoming less, always less.

Then, a glimmer of light— he met Caleb. He studied to be an EMT. He got a call from Mandy, got to wrap her in his arms in less-than-ideal circumstances.

“I got tired of starving myself to fit in that golden thong.”

It was the first time he’d said it out loud.

He started to run again—and he started to not miss it, the hollow feeling gnawing at his insides, the twisting lack. He met Trevor, he went to brunches, he ordered mimosas and muffins and kept himself in shape, but didn’t push himself too far.

So it surprised him, really, when once again his body and mind weren’t in sync.

That was the biggest thing he’d think about, in the idle hours of he and Mickey’s prison cell, months later—that for once in his life, years after the nights at the club or the hazy early mornings at Patsy’s or in a baggy janitor uniform, he was actually doing really, really fucking good. He had a following. He was strong. Or at least he thought he was.

But something about being near Mickey pulled him out of his head and into his body, centered him— it always did. Mickey had always liked his body; Ian remembered how Mickey’s eyed at lingered that night at the dugouts, when they were two kids doing pull-ups and Mickey watched his muscles clench in the moonlight, two sets of shining eyes and bodies warm with beer leaning closer to each other in the muggy air. But Ian never felt a need to flaunt his body, or change his body, for Mickey— and in so many ways, those first days in prison were like his body was coming home. Sometimes it was hard, and fast, and filthy words whispered into each other’s skin—and sometimes it left them grasping for breath in an entirely different way, in fingertips lazily skimming over collarbones and fisted into roots of hair, of breathed “Fuck, you’re so fucking beautiful”s escaping Mickey’s parted mouth that Ian mentally stored but never brought up again, because he knew in the best case scenario Mickey would just roll his eyes and call him a “soft bitch,” and in the worst he would just flat-out deny it. But Ian felt balanced in a way he hadn't in months, with all the "Gay Jesus" bullshit pressing in. He took his meds, he did his nightly sit-ups, he counted down the days—until the hourglass was slipped out from under his fingertips and he was teleported back to the Gallagher house, back to the place where so much of this began and so much was about to end.

The hollowness, the hunger, didn’t really need to be there anymore once he was out— it was only a dull murmur. A ghost, a memory trapped in dreams of strobe lights and prying hands.

Mickey got out, and they got married—and in the moments before Ian called Mickey an “ugly motherfucker” as he let a smile crack onto his face—and he knew Mickey felt it, knew Mickey heard: I have never known anyone as beautiful as you.

And Ian’s fullness just kept blooming and compounding and radiating after the wedding; they fought, and then they didn’t, and it didn’t matter anyways because they were fucking married. Ian kept doing sit-ups before they went to bed, even though he felt like he didn’t really have to anymore. Something big had shifted; something had settled and given way, had filled in all the cracks.

So he’s surprised, when they move to the West Side, and that feeling starts to stir again; faint, fuzzy, like some sort of invasive and shapeless amoeba in the dark corners of his brain, whispering and hissing that there should be less of him. On their first morning in the new place he heads to the gym, wearing a camo t-shit that covered his torso and shoulders—and of course he ends up making a fool of himself next to some guy, some guy that he could have been, with sweaty toned abs and bronzed skin and rippling muscles. He doesn’t know why it gets to him, that small interaction—he’s so much happier now, so fucking happy he’s buzzing with it, but there’s also something churning in the faultlines of transition; that aching for hollow absence and stretched skin and interested eyes, that feeling that made him woozy and lightheaded as a kid but also sickeningly proud, like every moment of standing tall, of dancing, of staying alive was a statement, a challenge, a test of how much he could push his ability to be desired.

He immediately pushes the thought down. He doesn’t fucking need that anymore to keep his head above water; he’s stable, he’s loved, he’s fed. He’s growing organic tomatoes, and definitely developing a farmer’s tan from his days hunched over their way-too-tiny community garden plot tenderly watering and pruning the vines and brambles. He is desired. So it doesn’t make fucking sense that the hunger, the clawing in his stomach for the absence, doesn’t really stop.

“Okay Gallagher, spill.”

Ian felt his eyebrow raise instinctively at Mickey’s tone. “Huh?”

“You’ve been staring at this fancy fucking chicken thing you made for, like, twenty minutes. Stop staring at it and eat your goddamn dinner.”

He felt a twist in his gut. I don’t want to.

“M’actually not really that hungry.”

Mickey’s eyes narrowed. “The fuck’s up? You stressed about work shit?”

Ian huffed out a breath of relief. “Nah. It’s not that.” He fiddled with his fork on the plate, drawing lines into the sauce pooled under the tomato-basil chicken he’d made. It was healthy, it was good, he’d worked out today; he could stomach a couple bites of dinner if he fucking had to. He just had to work up to it. Even the smell was making his stomach twist— it had smelled good while he was cooking it, placing fresh-scented basil leaves into the simmering sauce, but now it just was too much.

Mickey’s boot nudged against his calf from under the kitchen island. “Ey. Is it a tired thing? Or a… sick thing?” His eyes darted to their kitchen cupboard, where Ian kept his meds on the bottom shelf by the water glasses. “Or, like, a food thing?”

Ian felt his fingers go slack around his fork. “A food thing?”

“Yeah, man, y’know. When you get all weird about food.”

A tightness in his chest. “What the fuck? I don’t get weird about food.”

Mickey’s eyes flickered to meet his—and Ian would have gotten more pissed off if he didn’t see the soft concern bleeding into Mickey’s gaze, how cautiously Mickey was trying to broach the topic. Ian blew out a breath. Of fucking course Mickey noticed this shit— he always did.

“Weird how?”

“I don’t know, man. You’re usually good, especially compared to when you were fucking starving yourself when we were kids. But, uh… I don’t know.” Now it was Mickey’s turn to play with his food, scraping his fork along the remnants of sauce on his plate that was nearly clean. “You got kind of weird about working out and shit in prison. And then at the house, with all the quarantine bullshit the first few weeks. Eating fuckin’ cereal all the time, then not eating at all. You’ve been normal since then, or whatever. Lookin’ healthy.” Ian felt Mickey’s gaze drag over him. “Just don’t want you getting stressed out and not eating again or whatever.”

Ian felt a muted warmth blooming in the hollow of his stomach, filling in the cracks of where the jagged feeling continued to claw. If it was anyone else laying out this fucking analysis of his habits Ian would’ve gotten defensive—or at the very least annoyed, that someone was pinning down yet another one of his behaviors, putting them under a fucking clinical microscope.

But of course, this was Mickey— and the difference with Mickey was that he cared, he cared so much that it made Ian’s body ache every time he realized it. Those words wouldn’t have come tumbling out of Mickey’s mouth if they hadn’t been building for a while, hadn’t been gnawing away at some corner of his mind over time.

Ian raised a hand over the table to clasp into Mickey’s warm palm—reaching over the empty plate, the plate of uneaten food.

“It’s, uh. A food thing.”

Mickey’s eyes met his—open, listening.

“You’re right about all the starving myself shit from forever ago. And the not eating. And the… quarantine stuff. I guess I just thought that now that things were good, it’d go away? And I feel so fucking good right now. But sometimes I just have weird days.”

Mickey huffed out a breath. “I fucking know you do, dumbass. M’just saying that I notice that shit. And we can figure it out.”

Ian felt the corner of his mouth tick upwards. “I really thought it was gonna go away. I’m a fucking adult.”

Mickey shrugged. “Sometimes shit doesn’t work like that, Gallagher.” He chugged a sip of water from his glass, apparently glad that this heavier part of the conversation was over now that he knew what was up. “It’s like what you tell me about my shit with Terry. Trauma doesn’t just magically fucking disappear.”

Trauma. He’d never really thought about it like that before—he had plenty of childhood shit to work through, between abandonment and raging mental illness; and he’d never really thought that his body image issues made the list.

But maybe they did— maybe this was another wound, one that he could learn to heal.

Mickey kicked his shin under the table. “There’s cereal and stuff in the cabinet, I got the Fruit Loops shit you like. Want me to wrap up the chicken and shove it in the fridge?”

All he could do was nod— and once again feel that warmth on his insides that Mickey was this good, that he knew how to make shit like this easier.

And he snuggled into the couch beside his husband, a bowl of soggy cereal in his hands.

#idrk what this is but i wrote it at LIGHTNING speed #can u tell that i reached the destination of my childhood home & am having lots of thoughts and feelings about body image LOL #i was like !!! i have a prompt about this #love u all xoxo #gallavich #shameless #shameless fic #gallavich fic #gallavich fanfiction #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #ian x mickey #ixm #tw eating disorder #tw food mention #tw ed #tw body image

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slightlycrunchy · 4 years ago

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pre-slash geraskier, angst with happy ending, whump, bodyswap, hc

1800 words

Enjoy!

🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼

“Dammit Jaskier, did you really have to call her that—“

Geralt stops mid-sentence, hand flying up to his own throat to stop the sound that has come from his mouth. He’s panting slightly, the witch having thrown them through a shoddy excuse for a portal into some endless partition of wilderness.

It looks like Velen. He’s sure it’s Velen.

His fingers crawl up his throat to his face, feeling slight stubble instead of the beard Geralt has grown over their weeks on the Path, which blankets a thinner face than Geralt is accustomed to. He looks down, expecting to see leather armor covering black cloth, the straps that cross his chest to hold his swords at his back, only to see silk; red, and gleaming with gold stitching across his torso.

Jaskier’s favorite.

He curses inwardly, kicks himself mentally for bringing the damn bard along. Of course he couldn’t keep his mouth shut, of course just as Geralt had finished his business with her and was accepting payment the foppish dandy had to go run his mouth.

“My dear, I thought witches could keep themselves young forever, and well, I think we can all see that maybe you aren’t as powerful as you try to appear—“

The bard had got no further than that. Witches and mages have notoriously short tempers and Jaskier knows this—and yet, here they are.

Thrown away like refuse and trapped in each others’ bodies.

Geralt can feel the snarl on his lips and it feels entirely wrong, the shape of his mouth pulling where usually it would not. He feels small and light, where usually the bulk of his own muscle would weigh him down at every turn, and as he lifts his hand to marvel at the foreign sensations, he gapes at his long and slender fingers.

Geralt has always felt…something about Jaskier’s hands, something he struggles to name. Sometimes he thinks it admiration—for their ability and their elegance. Where Geralt’s are toughened by hard labor and age, Jaskier’s have always been the complete opposite.

Geralt has held them, a time or two, and the almost feminine quality to them is a novelty. He looks at them now, controlling them as he clenches and spreads them, flipping them over to see unblemished skin and pale knuckles. He’s so engrossed for a moment that the rest isn’t noticed immediately.

Silence.

Pure, blessed silence.

It surrounds him, like a cocoon, like thick wool wrapped up to his ears in softness and calm. Geralt has lost his age—he stopped caring decades ago, after all, the information does him no good—but he knows he’s over a century by now, and yet he can’t remember the last time he felt like this. A time when every snap of a twig or breath of the people around him could be heard and analyzed for danger. Hypervigilance. Always, always Geralt is ready. For his next fight, his next job, the next time he must defend himself from the world that dislikes him for no good reason. His time before the trials is blurry at best, forgotten at worst, and he decides right now that this is the most peace he’s ever felt.

He should have known it wouldn’t last.

“Ger-Geralt,” Jaskier gasps as he falls to his knees inside a witcher’s body.

It’s strange hearing his own voice sound so vulnerable, broken, breathy and quiet as he rushes to Jaskier’s side while the bard’s chest—his own chest—rises and falls rapidly. The comfortable silence inside his mind is restless now; Jaskier’s suffering is loud and insistent in an intangible way. It always has been.

“It burns Geralt—“ Jaskier bites out between clenched teeth, canines long and conspicuous. It’s strange seeing his own body like this, housing Jaskier’s soul, his very being. It clenches something in Geralt’s chest that he has not time to name.

“Jaskier, what is it? Tell me what’s wrong.”

Had the witch done something else to him? In her anger had she cursed the bard, hurt him in some other way? He can’t smell blood—but then again he wouldn’t be able to now, would he?

Jaskier’s body is heaving, on his knees and doubled over like some wounded thing. Geralt can see tears fall and hit the dirt, nails scrabbling for purchase at Geralt’s borrowed forearm, nearly tearing at the thick fabric of Jaskier’s frivolous doublet.

“My head, it’s exploding— It’s too much— How do you…” Jaskier starts and stops and slowly, in horror, the reality washes over Geralt.

While Geralt enjoys his first peace in an era, Jaskier has been dropped into a pit of torture.

Immediately Geralt places slender hands over Jaskier’s ears, attempting to muffle the onslaught of sensation that he must feel. Every sound, every vibration must be pounding at Jaskier’s head, wave after wave of movement, life, the earth shoving its way into Jaskier’s consciousness.

Jaskier’s golden eyes connect with Geralt’s borrowed blue, wide and wet, before he promptly turns and vomits onto the ground.

“Jaskier, I’m sorry, I’m sorry just—hold on.”

He doesn’t know what to do. They’re an unknown distance from the one who caused this—from relief—and yet Jaskier can hardly handle minutes of this. Jaskier chokes and spits, his entire body trembling under Geralt’s palms and the witcher can do nothing but stroke gentle thumbs over wet cheeks. It hurts him when Jaskier rises again, looking with pained eyes at Geralt. He doesn’t speak, Geralt isn’t sure if he really can, yet his eyes plead with Geralt to end it, please I can’t take it.

Geralt doesn’t know how he understands these words without hearing them, but they only drive the stake further into his heart.

Jaskier is suffering, and it’s Geralt’s fault.

He can remember, now especially, how those first weeks had been at Kaer Morhen after the trials were complete. Utter agony and sleepless nights as he withered away with the inability to keep anything down. Sound, feeling, pain overwhelming him constantly until his body could adjust. He remembers the fevers, Vesemir by his bedside with cool cloths and the kindest words he could remember hearing in recent memory.

He thought he would die.

“End it, please I don’t want to do this anymore—“

But he had survived…and somewhere along the way he had forgotten the beginning, the mutagens running through his veins like fire and adding to the never ending harshness of his new life. Now, however, he remembers in startling clarity.

Jaskier won’t survive this.

Geralt brings Jaskier to his smaller chest, forcing one ear against his rabbiting, human heart all while holding his hand closed over the other—acting as a beacon, a point of focus for Jaskier’s hearing that takes in everything around them. It won’t fix anything, but Geralt hopes it will help. Jaskier shivers, his breaths stuttered and sick, gasps taken between chattering teeth. Geralt knows his real body will be fine, it hasn’t stopped being a witcher’s after all, no matter who holds the reins, but Jaskier’s mind…humans were not built for this. They are fragile, temporary things.

Geralt feels panic bubble up within him and it is a sensation he hasn’t felt in a long time.

Geralt feels fear, contrary to popular belief, though not for himself. He has felt fear on behalf of others many times, but it is dull, manageable. He can easily breathe through it and tackle the situation at hand, the slow beat of his heart keeping the adrenaline from flooding his veins. But Jaskier’s body is mortal and weak in this regard, and he feels it slam into him, sharp and all encompassing as his stomach lurches when the bard falters beneath his palm, sagging with exhaustion so quickly that Geralt struggles to hold him up. Geralt’s borrowed muscles strain, but they hold; to be honest, Jaskier’s body is stronger than Geralt would have given him credit for.

He tightens his hold on the bard, and a thought suddenly occurs to him.

“Jaskier, you’re going to be alright, I want you to listen to my voice.”

Jaskier’s voice has always been calming to Geralt, and so he does the only thing he can think of: he talks.

About what, he doesn’t know; he certainly doesn’t have the wherewithal to make a coherent storyline, but he babbles all the same. He speaks of Roach and his contracts, his brothers and his childhood—the good parts that he remembers and his early days on the Path.

All the while he runs hands through white strands, putting a pleasant (he hopes) pressure against Jaskier’s scalp. He remembers Eskel doing this for him in those early days; it helped. He hopes it helps now.

He doesn’t know how long they sit there awkwardly upon the ground, Geralt’s untrained legs falling numb as his knees begin to ache. The time doesn’t matter, only keeping the pain at bay, the war against Jaskier’s fragile mind as it rages and slashes at the door.

Eventually Jaskier’s stamina gives out, and he falls, but only so far. Geralt catches him, and after folding his legs out from beneath him with a grimace, lays his actual body against his borrowed one, Jaskier’s head falling to the side in his unconsciousness. All the while long, slender fingers never stop carding through white strands.

Geralt lets the panic ebb away, having come up with a plan some time ago while holding Jaskier so close they practically felt like one. Jaskier’s bag lays to Geralt’s right, just at arms length and inside he knows the xenovox is cradled between extra pairs of garish clothing. When Geralt had remembered, he had never been so happy that Jaskier tended to keep his things on him rather than tied up with Roach.

Roach. With a sigh Geralt realizes he needs to find her too. Another thing to take care of after the witch.

He won’t forgive her for what she’s done.

With ginger movements so as to not wake the sleeping bard on his lap, he grabs the bag and soon finds what he is looking for. He savors the moment of quiet that has descended in Jaskier’s sleep, letting the panic and fear that tastes bitter on his tongue disappear into a practiced ease.

Yennefer will be annoyed with him, and once Geralt has gotten over what has just happened, he in turn will be annoyed with Jaskier. The bard got them into this mess after all. But as he looks down on Jaskier, his own sleeping form—a shudder going through him at the wrongness of it all—he decides perhaps not.

The bard has gone through enough, after all.

A voice comes over the device, slightly muffled and crackling, “Geralt?”

“Yen.”

“The bard? What are you doing with this, this wasn’t for your use.”

“Yen, it’s Geralt.”

Silence rests between them for a moment, the only sound Geralt hears with his human ears being the rustling of wind through the trees around him. He tries to savor it.

She sighs. “Oh, for fucks sake.”

He smiles.

#the witcher #geraskier #angst #hurt/comfort #my writing #fic

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caranfindel · 4 years ago

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Take these broken wings and learn to fly (15.20 coda)

het, but Wincest-compatible | about 2300 words | PG-13 for language | characters: sam winchester, sam’s blurry wife |

Julia has been widowed (God, what an awful word, widowed) for three years when she meets Sam. It’s a work-based friendship at first. She’s kind of lonely and sad, he’s kind of lonely and sad, and they gravitate toward each other. And then one evening they’re at a bar, the last ones left from an after-work happy hour, both of them drinking more than they should, and she thinks he’s kind and thoughtful and smart and he may be 10 years older than me but he’s still hot as hell and I enjoy being with him and I look forward to seeing him and maybe I should just… and she kisses him. He’s shocked; shocked enough to confirm that he wasn’t just hanging around hoping to make it out of the friendzone. And then he’s holding her face in his hands and he’s kissing her too.

It’s good. They’re good together. It’s not the earth-shattering, all-encompassing romance she had with Shaun. Julia knows she’ll never have anything like that again. Most people don’t even get one soulmate in their lives; no one gets two. And she knows Sam doesn’t have that same desperate love that Shaun had for her; she knows she’ll never have his whole heart. (She knows the woman he intended to marry was killed in a fire, she knows another woman he loved went back to her ex. She doesn’t know which of these women still owns that last piece of Sam’s heart.) But she loves Sam, and he loves her, and they get married.

(The sex is amazing. Sometimes he’s gentle, almost reverent, as if he’s afraid he’ll break her, and other times he’s fierce and passionate and almost tries to break her, and she loves both ends of the spectrum.)

She suggests they melt down her old wedding band to make a new one. It was an heirloom from her grandmother, a plain wide band of yellow gold that she loves, that she thought she’d wear for the rest of her life. But Shaun is the one who put it on her finger the first time. It doesn’t seem right to ask Sam to accept it now. A new band from the old gold seems like a good compromise. No, Sam says, I couldn’t ask you to do that. I know a way we can make it ours. He has the inside of the band engraved with the same symbol he wears tattooed over his heart, and makes her promise to never take it off. Bad luck, he says.

He’s such a contradiction. Scary smart, but as superstitious as an Appalachian grandmother. Calm and unflappable, but with a weirdly hyperactive startle reflex. Kind and empathetic, but capable of extreme violence when pushed to his limits (seriously, don’t walk your drunk ass up to Sam Winchester’s wife and lay hands on her, and don’t get mouthy when she tells you to back off) and just really, frighteningly skilled at that violence.

(A little frightening and also very sexy. Julia’s always had a thing for the hero type.)

They both have nightmares. One night Julia watches Shaun’s face melting under his gear and wakes with a cry of horror. Sam holds her as she tearfully describes living on the knife edge of constant fear that comes with loving someone whose job is literally running into burning buildings. I know, he says, over and over, even though he can’t possibly know. The irony of their first loves both dying in flames is not lost on her, but it’s not like his college girlfriend was a firefighter. It’s not like he watched her go to work every day and prayed she’d make it home alive.

Julia’s pregnancy is a wonderful surprise. She and Shaun had tried for over a year before she was widowed, and she just didn’t count on it happening with Sam. They agree not to name the baby after anyone they’ve lost. Let’s not name him after our pain, she says, and Sam is okay with that. (Or he isn’t. But ever since she showed him the positive pregnancy test, she’s known she could ask him for anything. She’s known he would rip out his heart and serve it on a platter if she asked for it.)

But they haven’t decided on a name yet when her water breaks four weeks early. When their perfect baby boy is born at 12:10 a.m., the nurse announces the date and time and Sam looks up at her in shock and blinks away happy tears and says it’s the 24th. It’s my brother’s birthday. Julia is flying high on endorphins; she loves this baby and she loves this man and she even loves his dead brother she never got to meet, and she says it’s got to be a sign; let’s name him Dean.

She takes off her wedding ring, just this once, to have Dean’s birthdate engraved on the inside. Sam does the same with his own ring. He insists they go to a jeweler who will engrave while they wait, rather than leaving the rings there. She waves a hand at her lumpy postpartum body. You afraid someone’s gonna make a move on all this if you don’t keep a ring on it?

He laughs at her and says you’re onto me, even though he’s the one who needs to be locked away, still with that long lean runner’s body and the amazing shoulders and the goddamn dimples. I just don’t like us being without them, he says. He is a sweet, sentimental fool and she adores him. He bends down to kiss her, carefully maneuvering the baby he’s wearing in a sling, and Julia looks at this man and this baby and this life she didn’t think she was get to have and knows she’s happier than she has any right to be. And she’s relieved when Sam slips the ring back onto her finger, this ring imbued with the men she loves, so maybe he’s not the only sentimental fool.

(One thing she loves about Sam is that he understands why she feels guilty that Shaun didn’t get to share this life with her.)

In July they light a little candle for Dean’s six-month birthday. When Julia wakes the next morning, Sam’s side of the bed is empty and cold. She finds him cuddling their sleeping baby in the living room. I got up to give him a bottle, Sam says. I guess I just fell asleep out here. His red-rimmed eyes and empty coffee mug suggest he didn’t actually sleep at all, but, well. They’re both battling their own private demons. If a night cradling the baby gives Sam some peace for whatever reason, she’s glad of it.

Sam’s fierce love for their child takes her by surprise. If Julia has 90% of his heart, his son has 110%. He parents with a vengeance, is the only way she can think of to describe it. Like he’s making up for something. She doesn’t feel slighted, but it’s impossible to ignore that ever since Dean was born, Sam’s prime objective has been to make sure the boy is happy and safe. Everything else comes second.

(When she notices Sam has been carefully marking his tattoo symbol onto Dean’s clothing, hidden near seams and always in a color that almost matches the fabric, she decides not to say anything. He gets a little funny about his superstitions sometimes.)

Sam desperately wants Dean to have a sibling, and they try for another one, but it doesn’t happen. Julia reminds him that they’re lucky to have even one child. That having a sibling is not a lifetime guarantee of companionship and love. She should know, after all, since Stephanie cut her off after she married that asshole Scientologist and decided she couldn’t have a relationship with anyone who wasn’t also in their stupid cult.

Dean has plenty of friends and tons of activities, which Sam encourages with an almost religious fervor, but he never pulls away from his parents. They have so much in common, Sam and his son. Instead of rebelling as a teenager, Dean seems to grow even closer to his father. They spend hours together, paging through the ancient books in Sam’s study (she hates them, they smell musty and make her sneeze) or driving in the old Chevrolet. They even travel together sometimes, visiting those friends of Sam’s that live up north somewhere. Julia met them at the wedding and they were perfectly nice, thrilled to death that she and Sam had found each other. But she always feels like an outsider when they’re around, like they’re part of something she’ll never understand. So much history, with Sam and the brother she never got to meet. They absolutely dote on Dean though, and he seems to love them too, so the boys’ trip to Sioux Falls becomes an annual event.

(Dean is 14 years old when he comes home from one of these trips with his own version of the tattoo.)

When Julia is diagnosed with cancer, Dean is 16 years old. Sam does his best to ensure life goes on as normal for their son but somehow never neglects Julia’s needs. He throws himself into research and is always on top of the latest treatment, always at her elbow with the top internet-recommended remedy for her side effects, making sure both she and Dean have everything they want and need, all the attention and support they can tolerate. She doesn’t know when, or if, Sam actually sleeps. When she feels up for it, he arranges experiences for the three of them. A week lying on the beach, a weekend in New York City, a night in the mountains looking at the stars. When we look back on this time, he says, I don’t want us to only remember how much it sucked. I want us all to have good memories too.

(She doesn’t know why he’s concerned about her memories. There’s a good chance she won’t have much time to enjoy them. But it’s good for Dean. She doesn’t want this to ruin Dean’s childhood.)

Sam insists Dean go away to college as planned. Julia agrees, although she’s kind of surprised he’s willing to let the boy out of his sight. Aren’t you going to miss him? she asks.

So much, he answers. But this isn’t about me, and what I need. It’s about him. They drive Dean to school in the ancient Chevrolet. Supposedly because the trunk has room for all of his stuff, but Julia is pretty sure it’s just one last sentimental road trip in the old thing before Sam retires it. When they pick Dean up at the end of the school year, it’s in her SUV. Dean promises his father, more than once, that he’ll restore the Chevy someday.

Five years after Julia’s diagnosis, she’s sitting in the doctor’s office learning that her last remission was her last remission. There are no more options. She has months, not years. Sam clutches her hand and nods, once, as if to say I should have known this would happen; I should have expected something like this. Then he takes her home.

It’s a blessing in a way, he says late that night, after a little too much to drink. Knowing what’s coming. Having time to say goodbye. You don’t always get that. And yes, she knows this as well as anybody does.

Sam has always been supportive of her choice not to contact Stephanie, but one day he says Jules, I promise I’ll never bring it up again. It’s just that I don’t want you to have any regrets. I don’t want you miss the opportunity to say things that you’ll wish you’d said. Julia isn’t sure Steph will speak to her. She’s not even sure she’ll have the same phone number — they haven’t spoken since Dad’s funeral, a year after she was widowed — but she makes the call. And Steph answers. And cries. And comes to visit, where she hugs and cries some more. Sam watches it all with a sad smile for a while, then disappears into the garage to sit in the old Chevy.

When Julia takes her last conscious breaths, Dean is holding one hand and Sam is holding the other. She squeezes her son’s hand and thinks I love you, dear boy, and I’m sorry I have to leave you. She squeezes her husband’s hand and thinks thank you for giving me this, thank you for taking care of me, thank you for loving me and letting me love you. Then she closes her eyes and lets the soft, warm darkness take over.

And then. Then she wakes to a cool breeze and the sound of chirping birds. She’s standing at a lake she recognizes. It’s Shaun’s favorite fishing spot. And Shaun is there, waiting for her. And everything is okay.

Sam does show up eventually. Julia’s sitting on the porch of the cabin with Shaun, enjoying the perpetual nice day (sometimes a spring morning, sometimes a fall afternoon, but always nice) when she hears the familiar rumble. It cant be, she thinks. It can’t be that old car. But it is.

I’m glad you found someone with good taste in cars, Shaun says, as Sam unfolds himself from the driver’s seat. He looks exactly as he did the day she met him; no glasses, only a little grey at his temples. Still tall and strong and beautiful. She runs to meet him and embraces him as Shaun watches from the porch.

You found Shaun, Sam says. I’m so happy for you, Jules. I really am. He doesn’t seem to have any intention of joining her (their) Heaven permanently, but he doesn’t seem to have anyone else with him either. Where is the dead girlfriend? How is this fair?

They talk about Dean, and Julia’s heart swells with pride over her strong, smart, kind, brave son. He’s like you, she says. He’s just like you.

Sam shrugs. He’s a Winchester.

But what about you? she says. You’re not — you’re not alone here, are you?

Nah, he says. I’m good. I promise.

(Eventually Julia meets the first Dean, and she understands.)

===

I know a lot of people have mocked Sam's blurry wife, but I actually have grown to love the concept. Because it means she can be anything we want her to be. And yeah, initially I liked the idea of her being Dr. Cara, or Eileen. But now I don't think that would happen. I think Sam would have to start fresh to have that kind of relationship. And I also like the idea of Sam's wife having her own soulmate somewhere, waiting for her, so she's not a huge part of Sam and Dean's shared Heaven. I mean, they're gonna visit, obviously. And then they'll go home to their soulmates.

The title is from "Blackbird" by the Beatles.

#spn #15.20 #my fic #episode coda #sam winchester

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xxdragonwriterxx · 4 years ago

Text

🔥The Angelus Mortis (2/2)🔥

A/N: Here is part 2 of “The Angelus Mortis”! Part 1 is linked below if you haven’t read that part yet. Thank you for reading!

Part 1

~~~

The next day, Erwin woke up early to visit (Y/N) one last time before he had to hand her over to the MP’s. He sighed in disappointment. He thought he had been getting through to her, especially after she had given him her name, but he was left with nothing but false hope when she remained adamant about not answering any of his questions. He ran one of his large hands through his blonde locks in frustration as he made his way down the stone steps into the gloomy dungeon below.

He had no idea why he felt so conflicted when it came to this woman, why he had a feeling she was a better person than she was letting on. His heart battled with his brain as he walked, causing him to groan when he felt a headache begin to form. Why did he feel like he was missing something? Something important? He knew she would be a valuable asset to the Survey Corps if she cooperated, her strength rivaling that of Levi’s which would give them two vital weapons on the field. And he was sure that under Levi’s supervision she would flourish, maybe even develop a friendship with the sullen man. Maybe that’s why he felt so strange, because it was a missed opportunity?

Erwin shook his head as he finally rounded the corner, pushing away his inner turmoil to mull over on a later date. Immediately upon his arrival, (Y/N) rolled over on the small, filthy cot she had been provided, and met his gaze.

“Here to collect me, already?” (Y/N) asked, her disdain barely veiled by her attempt at a quip.

“No, not yet,” Erwin said as he sat down in the lone metal chair he had used the day before.

(Y/N) sat up slowly and crossed her legs, resting her hands in her lap as she turned to face him completely.

“Then what are you doing here?”

“Well, you have spent one whole day here and you’ve been alone for most of that time. I came down here to see if you’re ready to answer my questions now.”

(Y/N) grit her teeth. “I told you, I don’t want to answer any of your shitty questions.”

“What’s the point? You’re going to be heading right for your very painful death in just a few hours, what is keeping you from parting with some information that will likely be unimportant soon anyway?”

“Just because I’m dying doesn’t mean I have to justify my life, to you of all people.”

“I only want to help you, this could save your life.”

“Why the hell do you care so much about me anyway? What am I to you? Do you want me for something? Maybe for your own personal desires?” (Y/N) suddenly bristled. “I didn’t take you as someone who would stoop so low, Commander, but what did I expect? I guess that’s what I get for thinking a murderer could show empathy. And to think, I almost learned to trust you a little.”

Erwin blanched, his face paling and his eyes widening.

“What?” He asked in utter shock. A murderer? What the hell was she going on about?

(Y/N) seethed at him and turned away, her entire body tensed and angry.

“Do whatever the hell you want with me,” (Y/N) said in a low voice. “Beat me, kill me, fuck me, do whatever you want, but I’ll never tell you anything.”

Erwin was quiet for a minute as he fought to process what he had just heard. A killer? Him? He only killed when he really needed to, aside from when he was fighting titans, of course, but he rarely used his weapons on a person, and never with malicious intent.

“What makes you think I’m a murderer?” Erwin asked.

(Y/N) suddenly whirled on him, her teeth bared, showing more of the wolf inside her that she had developed in the Underground. Her eyes flashed with fury and her fists clenched at her sides as she lost control.

“How dare you ask me that question,” (Y/N) snarled. “How dare you after what you took from me? Do you not even remember? Were they really that meaningless to you? You took away my family, the only positive thing I had in this world. You ripped them from me and now you dare ask how you have wronged?”

Erwin was bewildered now but he tried not to let it show on his face. He had to tread carefully. If he didn’t say the right thing, she might end up shutting down completely, and then he would lose any chance of keeping her from getting killed. He also wanted to keep her from hating him. If she was going to join the Corps, he would have to be able to lead his men without fearing for his life every time she was around.

“Did… did they live in the Underground with you?” Erwin asked carefully.

(Y/N) plopped down on her bed, rage still coursing through her veins as she looked at the man she had loathed ever since the fateful day her family had disappeared from her life, but she felt too tired to argue with him. He had won anyway, she was going to be tortured, maybe violated, killed, and then dumped in a trash can somewhere, left to die alone and forgotten. There was no point in trying to fight him anymore, not when he held the strings attached to her back, commanding the show and forcing her to dance. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing her break, but she knew her fate was sealed the moment she was brought up from the Underground. “Yes,” she said in a small voice, her head hanging low so that her hair covered her eyes.

“Are they the reason why you asked for my name in the Underground? Why you hesitated when you saw my face?”

(Y/N) only nodded.

“Are they why you targeted soldiers? To make us feel the pain you did when you found out they were gone?”

(Y/N) nodded again, more slowly this time and with a single glimmering tear that slid down her cheek and hit the stone floor with a barely audible tap.

Erwin hesitated again and swallowed hard.

“I’m sorry… for your loss.”

(Y/N) scoffed at him, her eyes filled with a smouldering hatred as she met his gaze.

Erwin cringed a little. He knew how apathetic that apology must have sounded, but he was at a loss for words. He just had to keep trying.

“I mean it. If I am responsible for their deaths then it must mean they died in combat, under my command. So, I am sorry for not being able to lead them properly. For not being able to protect them and bring them back home to you. I am so sorry…”

(Y/N) didn’t respond but he did notice that her gaze softened just slightly at his apology. He was starting to get through to her again. He knew that her acceptance of his apology was just a chink in the protective walls surrounding her broken heart, but he would take whatever he could get.

That was when Erwin suddenly realized something, the image of two faces flashing in his mind as he thought about what she had said. There had only been three people he had ever brought up from the Underground to be in the Survey Corps, and only two of them were dead. Farlan and Isabel.

Thinking back on it, Levi had never mentioned anyone other than Isabel and Farlan, and when he had been busted and brought to the surface he had only come with his two friends. Maybe they had never met. Maybe (Y/N) only knew Farlan and Isabel from her childhood and early adulthood while Levi was a mere business partner. Or maybe they did know each other but only through brief business interactions.

His heart jumped a little in his chest when he realized he was on to something. Maybe he could show her to Levi and see what his reaction would be? See if he would be the key to having her cooperate? Besides, it might be good for them, the both of them having lost their two best friends in a horrific manner, giving them the chance to form a bond or close friendship. It might even give Levi some closure. Erwin would be a bad friend if he hadn’t noticed how the loss of Levi’s past friends were still affecting him.

“How… how did they die?”

(Y/N)’s sudden question surprised him but he quickly brought himself back to the moment, not wanting to scare her away from talking to him again. He honestly couldn’t believe this was the same woman who had been bantering back and forth with him the day before, but he now realized she had been using it as a means of protecting herself. To make herself seem more confident in the face of the one person she supposedly hated the most. She had entertained him so he would stop digging, stop trying to dredge up old, painful memories.

“We were on an expedition outside of the walls and it started to storm. We tried to retreat but the rain and open meadows made it difficult to find our way back. Everything looked the same, blurry and gray or green. In the confusion, an abnormal titan snuck up on us and killed the majority of our troops, your family among them.”

(Y/N) was quiet but met his gaze again, her eyes shining with unshed tears. She looked so vulnerable at that moment. He could tell she still had that fighting spirit, that unwavering strength; the vulnerability did not make her look weak or pitiable in the slightest. It just made her look more… human.

“What happened to the titan?” She asked.

“One of my Captains, Levi, took care of it.”

(Y/N)’s head suddenly jolted up, her entire body going rigid. “Wha-”

“Erwin!” The Commander turned around to see Hanji standing on the stone steps leading down to the dungeon, clutching a lantern in one hand and a pair of handcuffs in the other.

Erwin stood and met his girlfriend on the steps, taking the manacles from her. Hanji gazed at him for a minute before her gaze shifted to the woman in the cell. Erwin could tell right away that Hanji felt something similar about the mysterious assassin, that she had the strange feeling that there was something more to her like he did. He could see it in her eyes, in the way they shone even in the darkness of the dungeon.

“Time to go,” Hanji said softly.

Erwin nodded and made his way to the cell, Hanji following close behind with a sword in her grasp, ready to cut the woman down should she try anything.

When Erwin moved to stand behind her, leaning down to lock her wrists into the handcuffs, (Y/N) hung her head again, her mind still spinning with the name that had fallen from the Commander’s lips.

It was a name she hadn’t heard in years, a name that still haunted her dreams and left her feeling cold and alone. There was no way it was really him. Levi was a common enough name that the Captain could be anyone. Despite this, the fact that there was a chance he was really out there, gave (Y/N) peace of mind.

If he was dead, then she guessed she was going to see him soon, maybe finally live the life they wanted to, if that was even possible after death. If he was alive, then that would still be satisfactory enough for her. Either way, she hoped she’d get to see him again soon. Maybe death wouldn’t be so bad.

“Commander Erwin,” (Y/N) said.

“Yes?” Erwin said, trying to hide the surprise in his voice when she said his real name rather than mocking his title of Commander or calling him an idiot.

“How is your shoulder?”

Erwin was baffled but answered her honestly.

“Sore but healing well.”

“Good. I’m sorry I stabbed you.”

Erwin swallowed and shook his head to tell her it was alright, his throat refusing to let him speak. Hanji was watching the Angelus Mortis carefully, her eyes filled with confused sorrow. (Y/N) glanced at the bespeckled Squad Leader and nodded once, a tiny smile curving at the corners of her lips.

(Y/N) could do nothing but sit still as they finished clamping her hands behind her back and stood her up, leading her out of the cell and up the stairs to her inevitable death.

_____________________________

Levi strode through the halls, looking for Erwin. He had been told immediately upon his arrival that the Commander had managed to capture a dangerous assassin from the Underground and needed his assistance in transporting them to the Military Police base to be detained and sentenced to death. He had been a bit surprised with the news, he hadn’t known that Erwin was hunting for a killer from the slums, but he had been out for an entire week on that solo mission, so things were bound to happen without his knowledge while he was gone.

Levi only paused by his office to switch out the sword he had for a cleaner, sharper one. The blade he had carried previously was covered in filth and worn from the constant fights he had been forced to break up on his mission.

As soon as he had a better weapon, he set off for the dungeons where Erwin and Hanji were supposedly already bringing the criminal up the stairs. He hadn’t heard much about this assassin, all he knew was that they were exceedingly dangerous, known as the Angelus Mortis, and they were headed for death row. He gripped his sword a bit tighter as he walked, readying his mind to prepare for anything. A criminal this dangerous would be incredibly strong and while he had no doubt in his mind that he could defeat the bastard, he would rather get out of the fight with all of his limbs attached.

“Levi! Over here!”

Levi looked up as he approached the dungeon steps, his silver eyes flickering over to the prisoner in Hanji’s and Erwin’s grasp. His eyes widened a little when he realized the assassin was a woman, her filthy (h/c) hair covering her face as she hung her head.

“Oi, who are you? What’s your name?” Levi asked coldly, his eyes narrowing on her thin form.

He expected her to keep her head down despite his commanding tone. He knew criminals like this, you could yell at them all you wanted, demand things from them, even beat them and they would usually remain stubbornly silent.

What he did not expect was for her to lift her head sharply, the sound of his voice triggering something in her.

Levi gasped audibly when her (e/c) eyes met his silver ones, his entire world shifting beneath his feet. Her whole body froze when she saw him. For a moment, nobody breathed, Levi’s eyes roving over her constantly as he tried to wrap his mind around what he was seeing.

(Y/N). That was (Y/N). His (Y/N).

The one who had given him so much love and appreciation every day despite their shitty lives in the slums. The one who had comforted him when the world felt too dark; the one who loved him when he couldn’t love himself; the one who patched him up after a fight and fought by his side when she could. It was (Y/N). Undoubtedly (Y/N).

“Levi? What’s the matter?” Hanji asked.

Levi suddenly remembered the reality of their situation. (Y/N) was the goddamn Angelus Mortis. The most dangerous assassin in the world was the love of his life, and she was being sentenced to death.

“Let her go,” Levi said, his voice low.

“What? But Levi-”

“I said let her go!” Levi barked.

Hanji and Erwin exchanged concerned glances but slowly moved to unlock the handcuffs holding her to them.

As soon as she was free, (Y/N) sprinted forward and crashed into Levi, her small frame hitting him like a bullet.

“LEVI!!!” (Y/N) cried in a strangled voice.

Levi grunted a little at the impact but wasted no time in wrapping his arms around her waist, completely forgetting about the audience that watched them, their mouths dropped open in shock. Hanji and Erwin were no better, their eyes wide.

“Oh my fucking gods, it’s you, it’s really you,” (Y/N) whispered in awe, her arms tightening around him, holding each other in the middle of the hallway.

Levi was about to speak when he looked up and noticed that everyone was staring. Sending a glare in the direction of their audience that promised a painful death to anyone who spoke, Levi reluctantly pulled away from (Y/N) and grabbed her wrist, tugging her along behind him as he made for his office.

“Wait, Levi!”

“Levi! What the hell!?”

Levi heard Erwin and Hanji call out to him but he ignored them, making a beeline for the familiar wooden door to his quarters. He could hear the pounding footsteps of the Commander and the crazy scientist coming up behind him, but he did not stop or slow down, his eyes trained on his destination.

When they had finally reached his office, Levi pulled (Y/N) inside and begrudgingly let Erwin and Hanji join them before slamming the door shut and locking it. (Y/N) barely had enough time to glance around the space before he was on her again, this time sealing their lips in a searing kiss that stole the air from her lungs.

Erwin’s and Hanji’s jaws dropped at the sight of Humanity’s Strongest Soldier kissing the Angelus Mortis without a care in the world. Neither one of them had ever known Levi to be interested in love, the sullen man even going so far as to get angry at the mention of it, rolling his eyes when couples kissed in the hallways and gagging when Hanji tried to set him up with someone.

Levi pulled away from the kiss, panting, before he moved his lips to place desperate butterfly kisses all over her face and neck, his body humming at the feeling of her against him for the first time in years.

When they finally broke apart again, both of them ignoring the company they had in the office with them, they stared at each other, their eyes shining as they took the sight of their lost lover. (Y/N) reached up and gently cupped his cheek with her palm, her heart nearly exploding when he nuzzled into her touch, his eyes closing and his own hand coming up to cover her own.

“Gods, I missed you so fucking much,” Levi murmured.

“Me too Levi, I missed you so much, I don’t even have the words to express it.”

“I thought I lost you…,” Levi choked out, a single tear sliding down his cheek to hit her thumb where her hand was still holding his face.

“I thought I lost you,” (Y/N) whispered, her thumb moving to swipe the tear off of his skin. “I was told when I asked around that you were killed in combat with Farlan and Isabel, after being forced to join the military.”

Levi’s eyes opened, his silver hues glassy with unshed tears.

“I tried to get you. Tried to come back for you. But when I got to the Underground, everyone near our old place told me you had been brutally murdered. I even found the inside of our house to be destroyed with blood splattered on the floor.”

Levi’s body began to tremble as he relived the horrendous memory. The time when he thought all hope was lost, all life was meaningless, and that he was destined to be alone. When he had collapsed upon the filthy floor of their old ramshackle home, the blood soaking into his pants and sliding over his palms, he had wanted nothing more than to die. Almost did, until he managed to remind himself that she would’ve never wanted that for him. That she would’ve killed him if he decided to end his life. And so he had hardened his heart and left the scene, making that promise to himself right then and there that he would never love another woman ever again. He would live, for her sake, but he would never love, for his sake.

(Y/N) glanced away from him then, her hand dropping from his face to twist nervously in front of her, her knuckles turning white from the pressure.

“Yeah, well, when I thought you were dead, I knew there was no hope for me left. I was in agony, but I was also furious. Beyond furious at both the Military Police and the Survey Corps for taking you and Isabel and Farlan away from me. Aside from that though, I was also scared. Scared they would find out about our relationship and come looking for me. I knew I had to get out of there, I refused to work for the murderers who had taken away my one happiness in this life. So I trained myself, starting by faking my own death to become untraceable. Then I became stronger, faster. I killed both to remain free and to make them feel the pain I felt when you were ripped away from me.”

Levi’s eyes softened and he reached for her, bringing her into his chest and holding her tightly, his fingers tangling in her hair. Oh gods she was skin and bones, he could feel how malnourished she was through his shirt, her ribs poking him in the chest as he held her.

Suddenly, the Commander’s sharp voice broke the spell in the room, making both Levi and (Y/N) jump a little when he spoke.

“Sorry to interrupt, but what the fuck is going on here?” Erwin asked.

Levi and (Y/N) pulled out of their embrace but Levi kept an arm around (Y/N)’s shoulders, holding her close to him as if she’d disappear if he let go.

“Sorry, Erwin, Hanji,” Levi said, looking at each of his friends in turn. “I’d like for you to properly meet (Y/N) Ackerman, my wife.”

If Erwin and Hanji thought they were shocked before, nothing could have prepared them for the bombshell that just landed on them. Both of their mouths fell open so they were gaping like fish, their words caught in their throats.

“YOUR WIFE!?” Hanji suddenly screeched, her eyes sparkling with shock and wonder.

(Y/N) couldn’t help but smile and nod, her expression making the room feel several degrees warmer.

“But, Levi, you’ve never worn a ring!” Erwin pointed out, his mind scrambling for any kind of clues that he had missed that would’ve told him sooner that Levi was married. He came up empty. He knew for a fact that Levi never wore a ring on his hand, knew that if he had, Hanji would’ve never stopped asking him about it.

Levi then flashed a small smile of his own, and reached up to remove the cravat from around his neck. As soon as the pristine white fabric had fallen away, Erwin and Hanji were both able to see the silver chain that was clasped around his neck, a simple gold band hanging from the center.

(Y/N) reached up with her own hands to move the flaps of the old jacket she was wearing, the same silver chain with a gold ring on the end of it sitting against her sternum.

Erwin and Hanji just stood and stared in complete and utter shock for a moment, before Hanji suddenly let out a loud squeal, her eyes shining behind her glasses as she ran right up to (Y/N). Levi stuck an arm out as the energetic woman came running up to them.

“Oi, Four-Eyes, don’t go harassing her.”

“Levi, this is your wife! I can’t not come and say hello!” Hanji said incredulously, pushing his arm away and ignoring his scowl as she bounded around (Y/N) excitedly. “Oh my gods you are so pretty! No wonder Shorty likes you!”

(Y/N) blushed at the comment and sheepishly ducked her head down a little but she was smiling brightly, her fingers moving to gently run down Levi’s arm, telling him she was alright even with this wildly energetic woman in her face.

“T-Thank you,” (Y/N) said. “Are you a friend of Levi’s?”

The scientist nodded excitedly and stuck out her hand for (Y/N) to shake. “The name’s Hanji.”

(Y/N) shook her hand and tried to force the blush from her cheeks as Hanji continued to fawn over her.

“Levi, how come you never told us you were married?” Erwin asked while his girlfriend continued to blubber away, cooing over (Y/N)’s features and already beginning to set up a meal plan to help her get strong again.

Levi leveled a gaze at his Commander and one of the few people he called his friend. It was hard to tell what the giant blonde was thinking. He obviously knew Hanji’s opinion on everything, but Erwin’s sharp blue eyes remained unreadable but no less intense as they settled on the shorter man, waiting for a response. Levi naturally drifted almost imperceptibly closer to (Y/N) before speaking.

“I thought she was dead, Erwin. I’ve thought that ever since I went back to try to bring her up with me and found that scene at the house. Not only would telling you have been pointless, but also, it hurt too much to talk about her. I never took off my ring, I always wear it under my cravat, but I could never bring her up in conversation, not without feeling like my heart was being ripped out,” Levi said quietly, his voice a low rumble and his cheeks tinted with the palest pink as he admitted his feelings aloud.

Erwin contemplated his Captain’s words, his eyes narrowed on the sharp grey ones that stared right back. After a moment, Erwin could tell there was no deception in his friend’s gaze, nothing to suggest he hadn’t told them about (Y/N) for some unorthodox reason. The Commander nodded once, and he could’ve sworn Levi let out the softest sigh of relief. Hanji’s head suddenly shot up from where she had been examining (Y/N) for injuries.

“So that’s why you never accepted any of the women I tried to set you up with!” She said. “You were always so bothered by it, always so angry, now I know why!”

“Yeah,” Levi grumbled as he glared at the scientist. “Even when I thought she was dead, I just couldn’t love another…”

Hanji stared at him for a moment before her eyes softened. She knew how hard it was for him to admit all of this, how awkward he must feel right now trying to explain everything. She wasn’t used to seeing her normally blunt, stoic, collected friend so nervous.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know. I just didn’t want you to be so sad and lonely anymore.”

Levi threw her another glare but it was less harsh this time, and having been friends with the grumpy man for so long, Hanji could read the hidden gratitude in his eyes. She nodded once in response and went back to checking (Y/N) over.

“(Y/N),” Erwin called, suddenly turning to face her after watching Hanji examine her.

“Yes?”

“Now that we’ve found out about your connection to my Captain here, I want to remind you that I am technically still obligated to take you to the Military Police for your crimes.”

Levi let loose an almost animalistic snarl and wrapped his arms around (Y/N), his eyes flashing and his teeth bared as he dared his friend to even try to take her from him. Erwin didn’t even bat an eye, a small smile curving at the corners of his lips.

“Since it is obvious that is not really an option for either of you, I would like to formally ask you to join the Survey Corps. That way, I can discount any charges against you and protect you from being forcibly taken from our custody once the Military Police realize we are not going to arrive.”

(Y/N) looked up at her husband, meeting his gaze and squeezing his hand comfortingly. Gods she had missed him so much, her heart ached with how much she loved this man, how much she never wanted to let him out of her sight ever again. Even though she had hated the military for most of her life, basing her entire career around it in her search for vengeance, there was no debate in her mind. Even if joining the Survey Corps wouldn’t have guaranteed her life, she knew she would’ve always agreed.

“Yes, I will join the Survey Corps, pledge my life to you, and fight for humanity,” (Y/N) said clearly and without hesitation, returning the smile the Commander threw her. Turning to Levi, (Y/N) looked deeply into his gunmetal eyes, marveling at the emotion swirling within them. “I will follow you, wherever you go, no matter what happens, I am never letting you out of my sight ever again.”

Levi let a genuine smile ride across his face as Erwin and Hanji left to go submit the proper paperwork, giving the reunited couple some privacy. Leaning down, Levi pressed his lips to hers in a blazing kiss, gentle and sweet but no less passionate, letting his kisses tell her exactly how he was feeling in that moment.

“I’m so glad you’re alive, (Y/N),” Levi whispered breathlessly when they pulled apart, resting his forehead against hers.

“I will always come back to you, Levi,” (Y/N) said, her own eyes glazed with unshed tears. “I only ever feel truly alive when I am with you.”

~~~

A/N: I know the ending dialogue is a little cheesy but I had fun writing this anyway. Thank you again for reading and I hope you enjoy! More Levi content coming soon!

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pokemon-ninjago-world · 4 years ago

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Headcanon/Pokéninjago version of Lloyd’s identity crisis during season 5 of Ninjago

Got ab 12 likes on the announcement post so here we are: This is an essay-sorta-thing about something I thought and wrote some six years ago. It’s been so long since I wrote this I feel cringy reading it, but it’s tenable in Pokéninjago lore. It’s kind of a mix between my headcanon for the show, and canon of my AU, which is why there is mentions of “evolving” and Pokémon types.

Things to take into account:

Idk if there should be content warnings, but depression mention at least. Otherwise, this is pretty much as intense as season 5 went, just a little more angsty I suppose.

I must say that my version of Lloyd and his identity crisis were inspired by a certain artist’s version of him and by a comic they made about the Child’s Play episode’s aftermath. I don’t dare name the artist, since they don’t wish to be linked with the Ninjago fandom anymore, but some of you might know who I’m referring to.

I do not know how psychology stuff actually works, all of this was made on grounds of a couple of high school psychology courses and a lot of imagination `:D

I wrote this originally in Finnish and let Word translate it, so this might be v clumsy at points.

Most of the text is under the cut!

~***~

When Lloyd was just a small cub, closer to three years, his mother had left him in his father's care. Misako knew the boy would become the Green Ninja and Garmadon would become the Dark Lord. That is why she went looking for any ancient knowledge to avoid the final confrontation. Although her heart was torn since she had to leave her loved ones, she knew that she couldn’t just sit on her hands, and that perhaps she was the only one that could prevent the decisive battle between good and evil. It was also her wish that the father and the son could spend as much time together as possible. Thus, Lloyd's earliest childhood memories are about his father, and his recollections of his mother are blurry, obscure, and fading away as he grows up, or mixing with other memories.

Dad meant everything to little Lloyd. Although they lived in the same monastery with Lloyd’s uncle as well, whom he also liked, his own father was still the greatest. Garmadon also loved his child deeply and wanted him to have a happy life. Although the poison in his veins was starting to get a hold of him and he was increasingly drawn to the Golden Weapons, his love for Lloyd and the desire to be with him in anticipation of Misako's return kept him away from them for much longer than if the boy had never existed.

When Lloyd "evolved," he lost some important years of his life, during which a youngster usually developes a picture of himself and his changing body. Lloyd's body changed in a single moment and even though his mind also changed to some degree, it was still mostly on the same level as before, since artificial aging did not bring him the years of experience that growing up normally would. From that moment on, he had to form himself a new image of himself. Frankly, he was facing a fierce identity crisis.

After the episode Child's Play, Lloyd adopted an identity whose foundation was flimsy and unstable. It consisted of a few simple pillars that supported his image of himself. Some emotions, thoughts, and memories that he could not, wasn’t able to or didn’t dare to deal with, secretly and slowly gnawed at those pillars like erosion. They grew into doubt that settled into the cracks like rockfoil.

That flimsy foundation for his self-image, consisted of these elements: I am the Green Ninja. I'm the strongest ninja of all. I’m the son of sensei Garmadon. I’m the grandson of The First Spinjitzu Master. I'm one of the Elemental Masters. I'm a student of Sensei Wu. I'm one of the five elemental ninjas. It's my destiny to protect the world from evil.

This made it easy for Morro to destabilize and crush Lloyd’s self-esteem. Morro proved himself to be stronger and more independent than Lloyd, and that he could win him over and over again, no matter how hard Lloyd tried to fight back. Lloyd felt weak and desperate. Two pillars of his self-image collapsed to the ground and the masked emotions and doubts that chipped away at the other columns began to grow and intensify: He was not the strongest ninja and was therefore unable to protect the world from this evil.

This also affected his view of him as the Green Ninja. Although logically he still was just that – the Golden Weapons and his powers had proven it – he could not help but think that maybe Morro really was supposed to be the Chosen One. His identity was cracking, which ate away at his strength and self-esteem. Being a Psychic Type, his greatest strength resided in his psyche, and whenever his mind was in an unstable and vulnerable state, he couldn’t do his best, even if he had used everything he had learned. Losing his father fairly recently had already struck a dangerous notch in his mental stability.

Even though Lloyd was still his father's son, it didn't feel the same when he was no longer with him. Finally, he was only driven forward by his relationship with his other loved ones. He had to do everything he could to stop Morro from harming his friends. By protecting them he was also protecting the last intact remnants of his Self.

Lloyd did everything he could to resist Morro's possession. From time to time a memory of his friends and the will to keep them safe increased his "self-control," weakening the ghost's hold on him. However, a long, grueling time in constant motion, without water and nourishment, poisoned by a cold, vindictive spirit, steadily filled his mind with anguish and despair. Doubts penetrated deep into the tears of his self-image, breaking everything old until he no longer knew who he was. Only with the last bits of his mental strength could he interfere with Morro's possession so that he failed to clear the other ninjas out of his way.

Then, when Morro broke away from Lloyd's body, the Espeon felt like nothing more than an empty, broken shell floating aimlessly in the dark, beachless sea. He was unable to live up to any of the expectations and goals that had been set for him. Now, he was used as a trade-in item in the market of the world’s destiny. He longer had the strength or power to save even his best friends. He was as helpless as a newborn pup and all he could do was to stand by and apologize when he was traded for Realm Crystal.

Somewhere from his past, he dug up one last spark of strength. Already as a child, he had been left alone with unfriendly people, who then had ignited that stubborn flame in him: the desire to fight the cruel, unjust and repressive world. His body still had more strength than his mind, and this momentary burst of grit made him kick the Crystal out of Morro's hand. This, however, caused him to end up in the freezing stream, all his energy used up. There was not much left but a primitive desire to survive and a little strength to keep his head afloat before the cold numbed his muscles.

Lloyd's mind was in shambles. Images, memories, shattered fragments of his adopted identity… they all churned in his tired, blurred consciousness. Unintentionally, he began to go through the feelings of uncertainty, fear and inadequacy that he had denied from himself for years. The present seemed more surreal than the memories. He relived moments that had had a revolutionary impact on his life: When the golden weapons pointed him out as a Green Ninja; when he grew up under the influence of Tomorrow's Tea; when he met his mother and became to know her; when he unleashed the Golden Dragon in the Temple of Light; how he fought the Overlord who was possessing his father; how he harnessed his True Potential; got his father back; lost Zane; reunited his friends again and felt great togetherness with the other Elemental Masters. When he lost his father again. And when Morro possessed him.

Lloyd was lost. If it wasn’t for his friends and their care, he would have sunk deep into depression (and, on the other hand, drowned or, at the very least, died of hypothermia). When Kai carried him out of the FSM’s tomb, it triggered a very clear memory of the day when the Master of Fire had fulfilled his potential and Lloyd had been identified as the Chosen One. That day, Kai had come to save him from an erupting volcano and carried him to safety. Now, Lloyd felt like he was that little scared cub again, who had for a moment thought he was going to burn to the ground in the boiling lava of the volcano. He remembered how Kai's closeness had brought a feeling of immediate security around him. Even though the mountain had raged and wanted to kill them both, Lloyd had known he didn’t have to be afraid. Kai was there. He'd protect Lloyd. There was no reason to fight the fear anymore, he didn't have to pretend like he was tough. He was carried by someone older and stronger, whom to rely on.

The feeling was so intense, the memory so vivid that Lloyd was overwhelmed by an inexplicable, immense grief. The sadness of being forced to give up a carefree childhood so early on, to take on an enormous responsibility and assume a role that seemed too demanding for such a small boy to perform. He had had to grow up way too soon. He started shaking from holding back the tears. He didn’t mind since he thought Kai was probably assuming that he was shivering from the cold. But when Kai said quietly and understandingly: "Shh... It's okay... Don't worry about it," the last wall of pride and fear fell, and Lloyd could no longer repress his weeping.

At this point, he slowly began to build a new identity on the ruins of the wrecked one. He understood that even though he was the Green Ninja, it didn’t make him greater or more important than the others. He had more magical power than anyone else, but he was still only a person just like them. He could hesitate, too, and fail. There was no way for him to do anything more than what he was capable of, mentally, physically, and skill-wise. That’s all there was to offer, and if it wasn't enough, there were others whom he could rely on. Others, who would catch him when he ran out of strength. He wasn't the last link to hold the whole structure together.

These ideas developed slowly in Lloyd's exhausted mind. Slowly, he got stitched back up from the fragments of his previous self-image. This time, however, his new identity was not something that was given to him from the outside, in which he would have had to fit himself, but it was a solid, authentic self-image created as a result of self-reflection. It was still obscure, uncertain and seeking its form, and its growth was overshadowed by fear. But the conversation with his father drove away that last fear. The fear that Morro was supposed to be the Green Ninja instead of Lloyd. His father assured that Lloyd’s qi had no influence on how he should live and act. He should live the way his heart told him to.

In the end, although Morro managed to beat Lloyd one last time, this time he did not break down. He was more intact now, he had more inner strength, and he knew for sure he wouldn't be abandoned. That the fate of the world wasn't really up to him. He may have been part of the story, but after all, he wasn't the protagonist, at least not the only one of them.

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bruhimaunicorn · 5 years ago

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Stitches, Bolts, and a little baby named Rose.

Paring: DarylxReader

Summary : The one where you’re pregnant, the prison falls, and you run into a familiar face...

Warnings : Angst. Zombies. Cursing. All the good walking dead stuff. Fluff. Birth.

A/N : This is placed during season four after the prison falls! I’m currently accepting requests so if you have something you want to see let me know! Also, who else misses Hershel ?

PAST

“ You’re sick, Y/N. You need to get to — “ Hershel warns you as your doubled over, tossing every content of your stomach up. He’s rubbing your back comfortingly, but you couldn’t feel more alone. “ — I’m not sick like that “ You barely whisper, hoping you can get the message across. Your eyeing the ground as you heave to get your breath back, but you can picture the look on his face. You hadn’t told anyone yet , not even Daryl, but you had to tell Hershel to prevent getting put in the same cell block as those that are sick . Who knows what that would mean for your baby?

He’s a loss for words you believe, but you dare to look up at the man. And for some reason, the crazy man was smiling. Like this was good news at a time like this. “ Why are you -“ you stop to hold your breath as a second wave of nausea hits you, “ S-smiling?”. The back of your hand is attempting to block any smells from entering your nose and it occurs to the older man that he’s never seen you so vulnerable, but he doesn’t drop his smile “ It’s a blessing, Y/N. You smile when they happen “. If you had the energy, you’d roll your eyes at him, but all you can give him is a grunt “ Was it such a blessing for, Lori? “. You expect for his smile to drop at the mention of her name, but it doesn’t. He just shakes his head. He can see right through you. You’re just scared. But he’s seen you with, Judith. You and Daryl were the first to truly take care of the girl when , Rick lost his mind.

He's seen the light in your eyes as you held the baby close to you and how it grew bigger when, Daryl would take her from you. And he knows you didn't come from a great childhood and nether did Daryl, but you'd be great parents. " Have you told him? " Hershel ignores your attitude. This earns a scoff, as if it's clear you hadn't. Daryl would be on you like a hawk if you had told him. There'd be know way he'd go on the run knowing you're pregnant. And you're people need the medicine. More than you needed to tell the father . " And why not? " Hershel crouches down, face to face with you now. He glances at the scar on your cheek , remembering the night you returned after you had been taken by some creeps that got the better of you when you were out on a run by yourself.

You killed them all by the time the sun set, but no one knew you’d been taken. And it really killed, Daryl. Which could easily answer Hershel’s question. Daryl didn't leave you alone for a month after that. He could only imagine if you would've told him now. " It can wait till’ tomorrow ". Hershel nods and rubs a kind hand over your back. There’s bigger issues to handle right now. " Let's get you inside, huh? " He offers after you seem to get yourself together. You nod and he helps you back to your cell, only leaving when you're comfortable in bed, and he smiles to himself as the thought of a little Y/N running around the prison.

If he only knew what the future held for you instead...

PRESENT DAY

" C-Can you hear me?! " The person infront of you yells, but your vision is blurry and you can't form the words to acknowledge him. You fell running from the dead, that are currently trying to surround you and you know you should run, but you can't. You need to get up. You need to save your baby. " Y/N ! " The man yells again, and you wonder how the blurry stranger knows your name, but it's the lease of your worries as he begins to pick you up and all you can do is think back to the prison—and how you were taken all that time ago. But you can't muster up the energy to fight him as he trudges around the walkers to hopefully get you to safety. God knows you can't at the moment.

Your eyes try to adjust as you can hear bullets hit their targets and you briefly notice the brown staff hanging from the stranger’s person as your head hangs over his arm. Your brain tries to concentrate for just a moment, trying to remember who that person you knew that used one, but it fails you as your eyes roll back into your head.

" Hey " You mumble, barely awake when Daryl gets back from the run. Daryl narrows his eyes at you, setting his crossbow to the floor " What are you doin' in bed ? ". It's not like you to be in bed this early in the day. " Wasn't feeling well is all. Feeling better now. How was the run? " You explain, sitting up slightly hoping the world doesn't start spinning on you. He looks you up and down as if he believes other wise, but trusts your word. " Got the meds. Still in one piece " He sits next to you, taking a closer look at your pale skin.

" Good " You smile. He then puts his hand to your forehead as if you wouldn't tell him if you got the illness going around and you swat his hand away " I told you I'm fine". " Don't look fine " He points, eyes grazing your own. He knows something's wrong. Even if you might be fine now. Something was wrong. You couldn’t hide anything from him. Sighing at the very fact, you swing your legs out from under the blankets and you grab your knees " I threw up earlier ". He's quiet as he takes the information in. You don't have the illness. You'd be burning up by now. You sense his confusion and put it to rest " I'm pregnant, Daryl".

And you expect him to freak out. To be afraid. But he just sits there and lets a pregnant pause fill the air. Eventually, he brings his nail to his lip and lets out a deep breath, but no words are shared. It makes you wonder what's going through his head. If he wants this. If he wants this with you. Yes, you have been together for a long time, but this was never discussed. Never on the table. And with the childhood you both had, you never planned on having kids. " Are you sure? " He asks, breaking the silence. He knows you wouldn't tell him if you weren't, but he had to hear you say it. " Yes". He lets out a deep breath and places a hand on yours, squeezing it as he does " We'll make it work. It'll be ok. I won't let anythin' happen to you ".

He seems so sure in his words. It comforts you slightly. " Do you want this? " You then question. His eyes narrow at you again " T'hell does that mean? ". " Do you want this with me? " You clarify. Scoffing, he resists the urge to roll his eyes at you " What kind of stupid question is tha' ? ". You bite your lip as he stares you down. You've never had something so certain in your before. If you did, it would always leave. So you were giving him the option now, instead of waiting for the other shoe to fall. His eyes soften as it crosses his mind. " You're mine. This baby? Is mine. Got it? ". You nod, your heart warming, and he leans in to push your hair away from your face " M'not going anywhere ". You grab his hand and place a small kiss to it " Me either ".

You're ripped from your memories as something is tugging at the side of your head, causing your eyes to flutter open. There's a bright light over your head as the tugging continues, but your vision still isn't strong enough to make out your surroundings. You must've really hit your head. " You awake? " A deep voice asks you and you wonder if it's best to pretend other wise. Suddenly, the figure leans over you as to remind you his power over you at the moment " You with me?". Slowly, you nod. He sits back down and continues cleaning the wound on the side of your head " Cut it pretty good, but it will only need a few stitches ".

Only a few.

" You're going to want some of this " He offers a strange bottle to your lips. It smells of whiskey and you push it away with no explanation. " Suit yourself " It sounds as if he takes his own sip, but you're not sure. He proceeds to thread a needle before letting it pierce your skin. At first, you groan at the pain, but hold it in as you don't want whoever this is to see your weakness. That could get you killed. He loops the thread through your skin four times before ending your pain and cutting the thread from the needle. " It's not my best work, probably have a scar, but it'll keep you from dying " He acknowledges.

You watch his blurred figure put his surgical supplies away and when he returns, he sits infront of you " How's the vision? ". He proceeds to wave a finger infront of you, but stops as you don't attempt to follow it. " Should return to you in a couple of days ". He then helps you sit up, noticing how reluctant you are to accept his help " When I saw you, I thought about leaving you there to die, but then I remembered the last time we met. Do you remember it? ". You don't give a response. " You cared for me. Even when I swung a knife at you, you cared for me and told me there was a place for me... Even though I wasn't in my right mind. I'm still not " He reminisced. And then it hit you.

" Morgan? " You question, thinking about the time you found him in that town with Rick. " Surprised? ". You don't have a long history with the man, but at least you know you're safe-ish. " It's been awhile " You tell the man, reaching to touch your stitches. He cut the hair there to do so and you flinch when you come in contact with it. " You'll be fine. Couple days tops. Then you'll be on your way ". It's clear he wants you gone after that. " Fair enough".

After he's made himself clear, he leaves you alone in the blurry room.

Days pass slowly now. You believe it's been five, but you aren't too sure since Morgan keeps you locked in the room. He only comes in to give you food and to let you use the restroom. Today is no different. He comes in on schedule with a plate of food and orange juice, but he doesn't expect the smell to make you sick. " Mor- " He begins to greet you, but stops as he watches you grab at your stomach at the smell of bacon. " Oh god - " You hold your hand over your mouth before pushing past him and rushing outside. Immediately, you empty your stomach and grasp the grass beneath you. Morgan runs out after you, expecting this to be some form of betrayal, but stops at the door as he finds you sick.

It's all too clear to him why you're throwing up in his yard and he doesn't know how to respond to it. It reminds him of his wife— how she use to get so sick at the smell of meat too when she was pregnant. His stomach twists uncomfortably as you go through this alone. Where’s the father? Why did he find you alone and at deaths door? You wipe at your mouth as you try to recover and as you feel Morgan eyes on you , you sigh " I'll be on my way ". You push off of the ground, the cold air chilling your bones, and head to collect your things from him, but he stops you from entering his home. Your eyesight still isn't the best, but you can see the look on his face.

" How far along are you? ". You instinctively cradle your stomach as if you could protect your baby this way " Six weeks ". He drops his eyes to your stomach where you clutch at your shirt. You aren't showing yet. No it's too soon,but you would after another six. He couldn't send you out there by yourself. He has more than enough to keep you and your baby alive and healthy. And even though he's still not all together mentally, he knows this is what's right. " You're not going anywhere. You can stay here". Your eyebrows knit in confusion at his offer. Just a couple of days ago he wanted you gone. And you still have to find Daryl. There's no way you are staying here. Morgan senses your reluctance " How long do you think you're going to make it out there? By yourself? Not even one good eye to see those things before they see you ".

" I'll be fine, Morgan. I have to find them " You admit your mission. He mentally sighs at you, but doesn't stand down" That baby won't survive it. You might, but it won't ". His determination makes you question his motives. You know he's right, but why does he care about your baby? " Why do you care? You wanted me gone as soon as I was better ".

He doesn't answer your question, only extends his offer in desperation " I'll help you find your friends if you stay".

3 MONTHS LATER

You're currently digging in Morgan's garden, preparing it for the spring as the weather recently started to warm. It's not anywhere close to staying that way, but you want to get it ready. Morgan is out checking the fences to check for any breaches before the two of you continue your search for your family. And while there haven’t been a lot of leads on to where they could've gone, you won't stop looking. Even when you're nine months pregnant. You sigh at the thought and look down at your stomach. It's slightly round, but if you untuck your shirt no one could tell. And when you noticed the fact, your first urge was to tell Daryl. Like he was right there. And it killed you to remember he's not.

" The baby will like to play here " Morgan smiles, approaching the garden now. You know he's just trying to make you smile, but you don't want to be here that long. You thought Morgan would be distant with all things considered, but after he warmed up to you it seemed like you were the reason he got out of bed every day. You and the baby that is. He notices your frowning at the thought and he remembers the fact that you should be sharing this time with the baby's father. You get off of your knees and remove your gloves " Let's get going ".

You both head for his car and ride out to where you last left off, a map in your hands showing all of the areas searched " I was thinking we should hit this place next. Seems like a good place to hold up for a few months ". Morgan looks to where your pointing on the map with your red marker and nods in agreement. It takes about thirty minutes to get to said place, but once there you're ready to jump out and search the neighborhood infront of you. But of course, Morgan stops you and reminds you to let him search first. And he does before deeming it clear to let you out of the car. The pair of you then creep into the quiet neighborhood in hopes you find some sign of your loved ones.

The first couple of houses are a bust, but as you and Morgan clear the fifth he notices you drifting up stairs. " Y/N ! " He grunts, following you up them to find you inspecting dry blood on the floor. Morgan follows your eyes before a walker reveals himself at the end of the hallway. " I'll handle it " Morgan decides, as you don't have the chance to even get a good look at it. You watch him prepare his attack before your eyes land on something sticking out of it. Realizing what it is, you scramble over to the now dead walker and yank the item out of it. " What is it? " Morgan asks you. " I-it's a bolt for a crossbow " You explain, looking at the blood covered bolt like it's your whole world right now. Morgan tries to read between the lines, but fails. Why is a bolt important?

You examine it further , knowing fully well that you carved initials into Daryl’s bolts for this very reason, and after wiping some of the blood off of it you find your carvings.

D.D.

And maybe it's the hormones, or maybe it's the fact that this is your first sign of him since loosing him, but you begin to cry. " Y/N? " Morgan questions, crouching down to your level to try and comfort you. He lays a hand on your shoulder as you let the tears fall, but it's short lived as you both hear groans from outside. You wipe at your face , stuffing the bolt in your bag, and join Morgan who is now at a window looking down.

And what you find isn't comforting one bit, it's a whole group of walkers.

It was hard to get out of that, but somehow you both did without a scratch on either of you. And once you both got back to his house, you begin planning how soon you'd be going back. " I'm thinking we give it a day or two to clear- " You're thinking aloud, your map out again, but Morgan interrupts you " A day or two? Y/N we barely got out of there ". You don't pay him any mind " - should be enough time for a group that size. Need to get back to that house too ". Morgan groans aloud and yanks the map from your grip " We’re not going back! ". And like the bear he just poked, you jump to your feet and dare him to stop you " Yes we are! I found his bolt , Morgan! This is the closest we've been in months! ".

He tosses the map to the side " Yes, you found a bolt! Who knows how long it's been there?! We could've died for a bolt! Is that what you want ! ". Your cheeks are red as he says the obvious, but you can't accept it. He's out there. All of them are. He can see your want to continue to argue, but he needs you to see reason. If not for yourself, for the baby. One of these days you wouldn't be fast enough. Or strong enough. And you'd die. " They're gone! Long gone , Y/N ! Stop risking your life for ghosts! " he yells, and he watches the hurt spread across your face. Your eyes water and for a moment he wishes he hadn't said it, but it needed to be said.

" D-don't you think I think of that every day?! How they might be dead?! How h- " You let the tears poor as you clutch your stomach ," Every day I wake up and face the facts that I might have this baby alone! That they'll never know their dad or what it's like to have a family! And I sit in that bed and cry. Every morning! And then we find this bolt and you want to take that away from me! From my baby! ". You’re sobbing by the time you finish and , Morgan watches as you fall back into your chair " What would you give to have your wife back, Morgan?! WHAT?! ". Your free hand comes to cover your face and he could see how hard you’re trying to keep it all together. He approaches you slowly and kneels infront of you, offering a comforting hand, but you smack it away " Don't touch m-me ".

He ignores you and rubs your knee " I'd give anything to be with her again. I know that pain. But it got, Dwayne killed. My blindness killed my son. Do you want the same for your child? ".

You don't answer him, but it's clear that you'd have to put your wants and needs behind you. This baby needs to come first.

5 MONTHS LATER

" It's really coming together now " Morgan grins at his hard work. You roll your eyes with a smirk at the man and place a teddy bear into the crib he built " I'm not going to compliment you , Morgan. Forget it ". He lets out a genuine laugh at you, pointing to your baby bump " The little one will agree with me. Just wait ‘till it's born. You'll see ". Your hand drops to the large bump, glad that Morgan is excited for the baby to come. It's truly better than doing this alone. And this baby was doing something good in, Morgan. He was happier than when you met him. He would sing in the mornings, force you to dance with him when you got to thinking about the past, always bring back something for the baby when he went out, and you never miss the way he looks at the baby's room.

This baby wasn't just your blessing, but it was his. This was his redemption. " I think it'll like it here. This is a home now " Morgan grins, proving your point. " Alright , grandpa. I think what this baby will like is a apple " You joke, making your way to the kitchen. He follows behind you and leans against the counter as you cut one, waiting to help you sit down. This last month of pregnancy is really kicking your butt. You need help getting in and out of bed, up and down from a chair, and basically everything in between. But you try to help him in return by cooking , tending to the garden, and cleaning. You don't want him to think you aren't pulling your own weight.

You turn to look for the secret ingredient to add to the apple, only to find Morgan holding it. His smile is wide still " Did you think I'd forget ? ". You snatch the salt from his hand and tap some onto your apple , mocking him " Did you think I'd forget? ". He laughs at you and your hormones before helping you sit down to have your snack. " Why salt ? " He questions as you seem to be in love with the food in your mouth. You shrug, not bothering to reply as you devour the apple. " The baby likes it " You explain, rubbing your stomach once again. Sure, the baby gives you the weirdest cravings, sits on your bladder at all odd hours of the night, and keeps you up with all of its kicking, but you'd do anything for it.

As if it agrees, you get a sharp pain in your stomach. You grab at the spot and hiss slightly , the kicks have never been this hard. " You ok? " Morgan asks, but you don't have a chance to respond as you get another one right after. You grab the table tightly causing Morgan to come to your aid. " What is it? Is it the baby ? " He worries. And if you weren't in so much pain, you'd appreciate the true concern. " I- AH " You groan again, biting your lip now. Morgan notices the signs and attempts to get you out of the chair " Y/N — I think you're having contractions. We need to get you to the bed ". You shake your head at him, suddenly terrified at the thought. " Y/N - " . " - No! Not without, Daryl " You almost whine and tears begin brimming your eyes. This wasn't supposed to happen without him. He's supposed to be here with you. " Y/N this baby isn't going to wait on anyone! It's either the bed or this floor! ".

You groan at him, flashing him the angriest eyes he could ever imagine, but let him guide you to your room.

—

8 HOURS LATER

" They’re getting closer together now. You're going to need to start pushing soon " Morgan instructs from his place at your feet. You're sweating at this point and you can't help, but feel sad right now. Daryl’s supposed to be here pushing the hair out of your face and telling you to suck it up. That this was going to be worth it. " Morgan " You whimper, eyes locked on the bolt laying with some other belongings. Morgan rubs your ankles " I know, Y/N, but it's time ". It's the first time he's really acknowledged how painful this is for you and you appreciate how hard he's tried to keep your mind off of all of this pain.

You let out a deep breath and give him a nod, this baby isn't going to wait on anyone. " Now give me ten seconds of pushing and then you get a long break, you hear me? " Morgan asks, but it's not like you have any other choice but to accept. Nodding, you begin to push as he holds up his end of the bargain. And God, did it hurt. You've been beaten, shot, stabbed, and even fell off a two story house once, but did this take the cake. Those ten seconds feel like hours.

And the long break? It's a lie.

Every time you think you catch your breath, you're right back at it. " Oh—Fuck me! " You scream, causing Morgan to continue to encourage you. He's constantly telling you ' you're doing great! ' or ' keep going , almost there! ' and you're ready to kill him. How would he know if you're doing great? Does he have a baby coming out of him?!" I see the head! " Morgan announces, giving you some relief. This is almost over. " Give me one more big push! " He demands. You grind your teeth and push with all your might, somewhere in the back of your mind reminding you that after this is over you'll have your baby.

And it takes a huge push to bring her into this world. What else could you expect? It's Daryl’s kid. " Oh my- Hello! " Morgan laughs, revealing your baby from under the sheet that was your one line of privacy. Her cry fills the room and all you can do is stare at her. " It's a girl! " Morgan declares and clips the cord so you can hold her. " A girl " You whisper to her, as if she's the only one in the room now. She's crying as you let her lay on your chest and suddenly you don't feel alone anymore. A few tears slip down your face and she looks up at you, big blue eyes taking their first look around.

And it takes your breath away.

1 MONTH LATER

" Hey now, that's not how you treat Grandpa! " Morgan teases the little one in his arms as she spits up on his shirt. She doesn't seem to care as , Morgan wipes her mouth with the burp cloth " Yeah, I know. You're just like your mom. You don't care ". This earns a smirk from you as you watch from the sink, washing out her baby bottles " That's a compliment. Ain't that right, Rose ? ". She coos , almost like she's trying to agree, and Morgan gasps at her " After all I do for you! I thought we were best friends! ". You contently continue washing dishes as you listen to their banter. It's been a month since you had little, Rose and this is what every day usually consists of.

And Morgan couldn't be more in love. The little girl is his best friend truly. So, you didn't mind giving him the title Grandpa. You don’t have parents and neither did , Daryl so why not? Finishing your task, you leave them to dry and sit back down on the couch to be near her. " It's almost nap time, isn't it ? " He coos down at her and you agree. " I guess I'll be handing you back to, mommy then " He smiles down at the baby, but you wave your hand " Go ahead. I know you want to ". He jumps at the opportunity, rocking her all the way to her crib, and you sigh happily. No, this isn't how you pictured the first month with your daughter would be, but in its own way it was perfect. Rose just has a way of putting people back together again.

You take the opportunity to close your eyes, learning it's best you try and get your sleep on her time and not your own, but as you do something catches your eye. You narrow them at the window across from you and try to make out what exactly caught your eye, and it turns out to be a walker. " How did you get past the fence? " You whisper, reaching to your side for your knife. Since it's only one, you let Morgan stay with Rose , and exit the home to take care of it. It only takes a minute to kill it seeing as it's a old one, but when it drops to the ground you don't find any barb wire marks. Which means it didn't have to fight to get through ...

You look around as if you expect the worse, but you only hear it. The groans, the dragging of feet, and the chilling reminder of fear runs down your spine. Instinctively, you run back into the house " Morgan! ". He jumps out of his chair to see exactly what was so important that you'd risk waking, Rose from her nap and as soon as he opens the door, you’re there ready to retrieve her bags " We need to go! ". Morgan doesn't question you and runs for his own belongings, leaving you to grab her ' Escape bags '. This had been a plan made long ago. Bags should be packed in case of an emergency, and this was a big one. If walkers got through without any harm... Someone had cut your fence. Someone was watching you.

Scooping Rose from her bed, you carefully place her in her carrier as Morgan bursts back in with your bag as well. " What happened? " He questions, taking lead as you have the baby. You follow him down to the cellar, closing the door behind you, and begin the dark walk to the exit. " Someone's cut our fence. They let walkers through " You give the short explanation, hoping Rose doesn't begin to cry. If someone is after you and not just the house, she'd be a dinner bell. " We know the plan " , Morgan assures, " We follow it and we'll all be fine ". Reaching the exit, he barely peaks through the cellar door. He doesn't find any danger, so he guides you to follow him. You climb up the stairs and as soon as your back outside, you both book it for the car.

It was too quiet. Someone was definitely watching you all. Morgan feels the same way, but forces you both in the back seat before he throws himself in the drivers seat. If they wanted this house so bad, they could have it. You adjust Rose's carrier to click into the car seat as , Morgan speeds through the clearing in the woods. He's rapidly looking in the rearview mirror, hoping to catch a glimpse of whoever threatened his family like this, as you just focus on your daughter. " She ok? " Morgan asks, the thickness back in his voice that you remember from so long ago. He's in protection mood. " She's fine " You assure, your own thickness coming out as you watch your daughter flicker her eyes around. This is what you had to focus on. Not the plan, or Morgan, but her.

But there's one thing the plan didn't cover... Where do you go after?

1 ONE WEEK LATER

The week after you lost your home wasn't the easiest. You couldn't stop anywhere longer then a night before the walkers swarmed, Georgia itself had no where to turn for two people and a baby to survive as the raiders seemed to claim every place possible, and if you dared to even roll the window down it's like a swarm of walkers would be upon you. You didn't have any idea where to go, but you couldn't keep sleeping in a car with a one month old who cries every time the wind blows. Morgan has to be thinking the same as he searches the map for any idea of somewhere to hold up in. Somewhere that he could make last.

He glances over at you , you're fighting your sleep as Rose happily gets hers and he frowns at the sight. This wasn't a life for you. Georgia just isn't safe anymore. His eyes glance around the map as if a state would scream safety, but they don't. Yet, he picks Washington. He just feels strongly about it. So he starts the car again and heads towards the state. He just needs to make a place safe again for the two of you. " Just seven hundred miles to go ... " He whispers to himself. He doesn't know what waits for him or for you, but he'd make it ok. He had to.

Thankfully, the nine hour drive is spent during the night. You wouldn't wake up and question him until Rose got hungry, instead of every minute the sun peaked through the windows, and even then you just quietly fed and burped the baby, before she eventually fell back asleep. The beauty of new borns. And eventually, he got you both to Washington. The sun wasn't even high in the sky when he passed the bloody greeting sign as he entered the state. He doesn't take that as a red flag, instead gives it a wave like any new grandfather would do. He looks back in the mirror to find, Rose staring back at him and it's as if this confirms his choice.

Little does he know , Alexandria is only an hour away. And conveniently near the exact spot, Rose would decide she couldn't spend another minute in the car.

" Rose— sweetie I know " You try to soothe your baby, but she just isn't having it. You've changed her, fed her, and sang every nursery rhyme in the book. " Maybe we should pull over and stretch our legs " Morgan suggests, finding this stretch of road hasn't held one walker for ten minutes. You look for yourself and give into your daughter’s wishes " Ok, ok. We'll get some fresh air ". Morgan slows down and pulls to the side of the road, clearing the area around you before you step out with, Rose. She's still fussy at first, but slowly calms at the sight of a butterfly. " Thank, God " You let out a deep breath. Morgan reaches out for her so you can stretch and you hand her over, stuffing your gun in your waist band.

Morgan sways with the baby and points at the butterfly as you take a look around. It's going to be a sunny day by the looks of it, you'd have to make it a point to stop again and let Rose get some vitamin D . You let yourself lean against the car, taking a moment to catch your breath, but you jerk slightly at the sound of a twig snapping. Instantly, you pull your pistol and search for whatever is the source whilst Morgan comes to your side. He's not aware of the situation as he bounces , Rose slightly. " Get in the car. Now! " You whisper/yell at him. He looks around quickly, revealing his strained eyes , and does as you command.

You're searching every tree, every bush with your eyes as you wait for another noise. No way would you get caught off guard again. And then the strangest of things happens. A man, a little shorter than Morgan, walks into the middle of the road with his hands up. He's got a friendly smile like he just moved into the neighborhood or something, causing you to search the trees again. Is this a trap? We're they waiting for you to let your guard down? You decide to cut his walk short and meet him half way, but still keeping a safe distance. He stretches that friendly smile once in talking distance. You don't return it.

" I'm Aaron, don't worry I'm not here to hurt you. We just saw a car - " He begins, but you're already ready to shoot him " - We? Who's we? Do you really think I won't kill you and your friends ? Huh?! ". His eyes widen at your threat, but he attempts to calm you down " No- no ! I have a community! We have watch posts and one of the women saw a car coming our way! ". Your eyes narrow as you look for any sign of a watch post, praying he is just looking out for his community and that you don't have to waste ammo on killing him , but you can't see any. Tilting your head to the side, you glare at the man " Is this some fuckin' game to you? Who are you really?! ". His eyes are filled with fear , but he extends out his hand as a white flag " I've- I've got pictures. Just let me show you them ". You click the hammer back on your pistol, but motion for him to reach into his bag " Slowly ".

He keeps eye contact with you as he does, before tossing four of them your way. You carefully reach for them, pistol aimed at his heart the whole time, and examine them. The first one you see is of walls, the second a group of people who actually seem to be happy, and the rest seem to paint a picture of a sanctuary. " Why are you out here, Aaron ? Alone? " You question, eyes glancing back and forth. He seems to be relieved as you aren't yelling at him anymore " I'm always looking for people who need a place to go. And when we saw you, and then the baby.. We couldn't let you go without offering ". Instinctively, you look back to the car to see the outline of your child. " We have a baby back at Alexandria as well" He assures, but how could you trust him?

He's a stranger. " Sounds too good to be true " You retort, looking back to the man again. He lets out a small smile as if he thought the same " Yeah—it does. But it's real. Come see for yourself. You don't like it? You can leave. No harm done ". You stare him down for a long moment. Why is he being so nice? Turning on your heels, you walk back to the car and Morgan rolls down the window. " He says he has a community down the road —that we're welcome to join. He showed me pictures. Should we check it out? ". Morgan's face twists in thought, Rose drooling on his shoulder. You move to wipe her mouth with her cloth as Morgan sighs out loud. " I'll check it out. You stay here with, Rose. If it's good, I'll come back for you. If not, be ready to go ". Nodding, you switch places with the man and adjust to the seat.

You watch , Morgan follow the man down the road and pray that this would all be ok.

Morgan looks around at the gates that shield this place from the rest of the world. " It's pretty great, isn't it ? " Aaron grins in appreciation, but Morgan doesn't return it. This could all turn bad in two seconds and he's ready to wipe that grin off of his face if need be. " Open the gate! " Aaron calls to two women up on watch, Morgan counting exactly who he needs to take out first. The gates open on command infront of the unlikely pair, before he's greeted with so many friendly faces. People are walking around without a care like—like it's another Sunday in the neighborhood, but he doesn't miss that some of them are armed. He's then greeted by a Korean man who by the looks of it is signing off on some board. " New guy? " He asks Aaron after he's finished with his task, a small smile on his face.

" This is Morgan, Morgan meet Glenn " Aaron introduces. Glenn offers out his hand and , Morgan hesitantly shakes it. Glenn notices it and offers his opinion " Look, I was the same way when we got here, but this place? It's good. We've made it good". Morgan takes it into consideration, but doesn't comment on it. " He's with a woman and a baby. Wants to make sure this place is up to par before they come as well " Aaron offers, scratching his head as he realizes he never got your name " What was her name ? ". Morgan looks to Aaron again, debating on rather telling him or not, but decides it's fine since he already knows his" Y/N ". Aaron takes it into account, but all of the sudden , Glenn grabs Morgan's shoulder " Y/N? You said Y/N ? And a baby right ?!".

Morgan shoves the hand off of him, his hand reaching for his staff. How does he seem to know you? " Oh—oh my god! Wait here! ". Morgan watches him run off to god knows where and waits for the shoe to drop. " Where's he off to? " Maggie calls down to, Aaron from watch causing Morgan to look up at the woman. Aaron shrugs " I think he knows our guests ". Maggie narrows her eyes at , Morgan and climbs down the ladder to examine the situation " What's your name?". Maggie holds her hand over her eyes to block out the sun and Morgan's happy that finally someone here isn't as welcoming. That someone has sense. " Morgan ". Maggie looks to Aaron as the name isn't familiar to her, but Aaron explains " He's with a woman. Names Y/N, she has a baby ".

He watches her hold her stomach, like you use to, as tears brim her eyes " Oh my god ". Morgan begins to question what exactly is going on, but is interrupted as Glenn is running back now. And he's not alone. Two men accompany him now, all of them running for the entrance. But he recognizes one of them, it was Rick. And suddenly it all makes since. This was your people. And they were alive. " Morgan?! " Rick questions, the other unfamiliar man not bothering to ask questions and just readies a vehicle. " What's he doing, Rick " Morgan ignores ricks astonishment, pointing to who he'd find is Daryl. Rick looks to Daryl and then back to Morgan " That's Y/N's husband, Daryl". Morgan can feel the relief wash over him. He's alive. He's going to meet his baby for the first time. Rose would have her father.

" Let's go! " Daryl yells at them all, climbing inside of the car. " Mind showing us where she is? " Rick smiles, Glenn and Maggie already climbing into the car to greet you.

Morgan finally smiles at his old friend and nods " I'd be happy too ".

Swaying Rose outside of the car, you bite your lip in anticipation. Where's Morgan? Why is it taking so long for him to get back to you? Your heart pounds for your friend and Rose whimpers at you as if she can feel your anxiety. " It's ok, Rose. Mama’s fine and so is grandpa " You promise, placing a kiss to her head. You continue to sway her in pace before you hear the sound of two cars coming your way and you panic at the noise, but stall in place as Morgan leans out the window of one of them. You narrow your eyes at the man, wondering why he has such a big smile on his face, and shield Rose from their sight.

You trust Morgan, but these people are strangers. You let the cars pull to a stop, Morgan the first to step out, and he nods at you to let the people exit the vehicles. You nod back and Morgan motions them to come out. The first person you see is, Rick causing your eyes to double. Is this real? Was he really walking towards you? " Rick?! " You call, feet already moving towards him. He laughs happily at your sight, but it's when Daryl steps out that you stop in your tracks. He'd been watching you, making sure this wasn't some sick joke, but when he saw you rush to Rick, he knew. " Y-you're not here " You mumble in disbelief. This had to be a dream. Rose squirms in your arms as she lets out a soft cry and you look down at your child. Her wet tears prove that you aren't dreaming and it only takes that amount of time for, Daryl to reach the both of you.

His hands come to your face, examining you for hisself, and you smile at him with tears filling your eyes " It's you ". He nods, wanting to grab you into his arms and never let you go again, but there's a little baby that's stopping him. His eyes drop to the little girl, finding his features in hers, and he looks back up as if he's asking for permission. You nod and gently hand him the baby, only for her to slow her cries at the sight of him. It was like she knew. She sniffles at him and you take the opportunity to introduce the two " This is , Rose ". He looks to you out of the corner of your eye before back down at her " Rose huh? ". Smiling, you nod and he brings the baby to his chest. She adjusts to it, cooing at the affection, and you know that it just makes his day. " I thought you were gone. Both of you " He takes a shaky breath, tears brimming his own eyes.

You nod in return and he wraps his free arm around you, your face finding his chest as well. And this felt like home. Rose likes having you so close , sending out another coo, and Daryl laughs happily down at her " Ya' like that huh? ". He's already in love with the little girl, but Maggie inches her way into your little reunion. She gives Daryl a questioning look, but he nods and lets her come to hug you. You accept her into your arms and she hugs you tightly to her " I've missed you ". You smile at the all to familiar scent of your best friend and let her let out her tears. " I've missed you too" you admit. You two were like sisters. She pulls back, wiping the tears off of her face, before you notice Glenn waiting for his turn.

" Hey, bumble bee " You grin, referring to the sports car he stole at the beginning of all of this. He rolls his eyes at you and hugs you to him " I told you a million times that it was not yellow and black ". Smiling, you look over his shoulder at Rick. And yes you loved everyone here, but Rick and you have the longest history out of anyone. You were the one to get him out of that hospital. The one that helped him get back to his family. Once you’re out of the hug, you let the man pull you into a crushing hug. The feeling is mutual as you grab a fist full of his shirt. This was your family. Your brother. You only separate at the sound of Maggie playing with, Roses foot and smirk as Daryl doesn't let the woman hold her.

" Think he's going to let any of us hold her ? " Rick whispers to you as you both watch the scene in front of you.

" Give it about a year ".

That night, Maggie decides to throw a big dinner in your honor. Everyone is settled around the table as you're currently giving , Rose her dinner and you can feel all of the eyes on you. You don't mind though, even when some of those eyes are the new people you learned helped your family get to this point. You're grateful. Maggie and Glenn present their hard work as , Daryl rubs your knee from beneath the table. You smile at his touch, but keep your eyes on Rose. She's almost finished with her bottle, but her eyes are fighting to stay open. This was a big day for her.

As soon as everyone welcomed you back, she was passed through everyone's arms. Daryl didn't care for it, but you let everyone get their chance to hold her. Even Judith took a interest in her. And god, was Judith so much bigger. She took a minute to warm up to you again, but once you picked her up- she knew. She played with the ends of your hair as you talked amongst your friends, but eventually she found more interest in Rose. " She's really fighting it " Morgan comments, smoothing the few strands of hair she has from your side. Finally, she closes her eyes and you take the bottle away carefully. " We've got an old crib that we use to use for, Judith. You're welcome to it " Rick offers and Daryl accepts for the both of you. " I'll go get it " Daryl tells you, squeezing your knee tightly before going to retrieve the item.

You watch him leave and allow Morgan to hold the baby, as he hasn't gotten to all day. Everyone begins to pass around plates and fill them up with food, but you wait for Daryl to get back before you eat. You do, however, accept a glass of wine. " Two peas in a pod, you are " Abraham comments, pointing at your empty plate. You raise an eyebrow at him " Excuse me? ". Abraham sits down his fork and holds his hands up in surrender " Not an insult little lady, just an observation. I didn't think there was two of him is all ". You smirk at him and take another sip of your wine, but don't bother to reply. Maggie grins at his statement, as does anyone who knew you before, but it's carol who actually brings up the burning question in the room " How'd you make it out of there, Y/N ? ".

You look to , Morgan with a grateful smile " Morgan here found me. After the prison, I was running from a group of those things and hit my head pretty badly in the midst of all of it. I was going to die, but Morgan grabbed me and took me to his home ". You move your hair to show the scar to prove your point " He's not the best at stitches, but he makes up for it by being the best grandpa to Rose ". Laughter rumbles from his chest at the thought and it causes everyone to share happy glances. " I tried to find you all, but I was getting too pregnant to keep going out there. Eventually, I had to give it up and just wait for Rose to come ". Glenn takes a sip of his own wine and you briefly think back to the CDC, before he adds on " We looked for you too,you know ? ". His eyes seem to be full of remorse, but Maggie grabs his shoulder as if to remind him that this is not his fault.

Michonne finally appears, rushing into the room like a mad woman. She was on a run when you were found, so you grin as she lays eyes on you. You stand from your seat to greet her and when you say she soaked your shirt with tears, it's an understatement. Like everyone here, you had a special relationship with her as well. You two have an understanding that only two could have when you essentially are the same person " W- we looked for you.. Where were you?! ". Her hands are gripping your back like you're going to fade away. " Morgan found me. Remember him? " You answer. She nods at the man and you pull back to show her , Rose. You hold a finger to your lips and she excitedly nods. She leans over Morgan's shoulder to get a closer look whilst you climb back into your seat.

" She looks just like you " She awes, taking her own seat. You shake your head " No. that girl is all her daddy. Got his eyes and everything ". Dinner continues as usual after that comment and you're grateful when, Daryl returns because you're starving. He wipes his hands from the dirt that had to be cleaned from the crib, but gladly takes your hand as you make him a plate. You then make your own and happily chew the sweet carrots. Daryl glances over at you as you do, wanting more than anything to be alone with you right now, but let's you enjoy the food. Morgan then offers to put, Rose down and even though Daryl wants to object, you nod at him. You give rose a kiss on the head before the man leaves. You squeeze Daryls hand to reassure him of , Morgan's intentions and continue your meal until everyone begins to help, Maggie clean up.

You follow , Sasha into the kitchen with various plates and she offers you a kind smile as you help her wash them. " You're like a legend around here you know? " She asks, handing you another dish to dry. Your eyebrows come together " Why's that ? ". She gives you a look as if you should know by now. " After the prison fell, and everyone eventually found each other you were the goal. We didn't know where we were going, but god was everyone dead set on finding you. And when we couldn't.. everyone just began sharing their favorite stories of you. Times got hard, but it helped ". You wouldn't ever consider yourself a legend, but understand why they used you as a coping mechanism. You did the same.

Not sharing another word, you continue this pattern until everything is clean. " I'm going to head to bed. It's good to have you back, Y/N " Sasha smiles, offering you another hug. You return it and watch her leave the kitchen, Daryl coming in to take her place. " Ready to go? " He bites his thumb. You nod and toss the towel you used to the side " Yeah ". He wraps his arm around your waist as you walk through the house, mumbling your good nights, and he leads you to his home. Which you guess is now yours as well. " This place is nice " You comment, interrupting the peaceful silence. Daryl nods in agreement, but doesn't comment. You narrow your eyes at him, he's obviously upset about something. " What's wrong? " You question. " Nun' " He doesn't make eye contact, but you just get infront of him and put your hand on his chest. " I've known you for a long time, Daryl. What's wrong?".

He looks to his feet uncomfortably, but you push him to look at you. " I couldn't find Ya' " He admits. Rolling your eyes, you place your hands on his cheeks " I couldn't find you either. But we're here now. And that's what matters ". He doesn't seem to believe that so you shove your lips on his and instinctively, his hands find your waist. " Forget about all that, ok? ". His forehead leans on yours and you feel him nod. " Now come show me this house of yours " You offer, grabbing his hand and heading towards it. " That one " he points so you know where you're going. " Fancy " You joke and pull him up the stairs. And it's almost like old times. It reminds him of the times you'd both sneak out of the prison and go to this cabin he found. You let him open the door for you and you step in to take a look around.

Morgan is already here some where with, Rose, but you want to take a minute to see where Daryl’s been staying. " It ain't much " He shrugs his shoulders, but you disagree. " I spent so much time wondering where you were. I tried to picture it... This is everything " You awe at the large house. He'd done the same. He counted the days and you had almost been separated a year. He tried to picture where you were and if the baby was born yet. He lets it go though as you’re finally here. He guides you up the stairs where you can hear , Morgan rocking in a near by room, but Daryl guides you to his room instead" Oh my god " You smile ear to ear. He had a huge bed. He watches as you jump on it and you motion for him to join you.

He does as asked and you take the opportunity to kiss him. Really kiss him. You missed him so badly and everything was just .. right again, but you need to feel close to him again. And he doesn't stop as you climb on top of him, digging your hands into his hair as his hands grab the bottom of your thighs. " I missed you, Daryl " You admit, leaning back slightly. " M'sorry you had to do all of that by yourself " He refers to , Rose. You purse your lips " Once she was born.. none of it mattered. She was worth it ". You can tell he enjoyed hearing you talk about her like that. " I wanted to be there for it " He admits, playing with the ends of your hair. " Stop it " You frown, you never liked when he beat himself up.

" How old is she? " He asks, his eyes looking towards the door. " Only a month ". He nods and you let him sit up, it's obvious he wants to be with her. " You go ahead, Maggie mentioned you guys have hot water " You smile at the idea. It's actually to give him alone time with, Rose. He nods and lets you do as you please before going down the hall. Morgan's there, halfway asleep in his chair, but Daryls presence wakes him up. He rubs at his tired eyes as Daryl walks over to the crib where Rose sleeps. She looks so tiny all swaddled up in her blanket. " I didn't hear you get in " Morgan explains, but Daryl thinks nothing of it. Morgan kept you safe . In Daryl’s book he could stay as long as he wants.

He watches, Daryl watch over Rose, but he feels like he has to let him know " She wanted to search longer—Y/N. I made her stop ". Daryl turns to the man in confusion " Why? ". Morgan glances towards the crib and back to him " She wasn't showing yet, but she would soon. We ran into a group of walkers and barely made it out. What would happen the next time? When she was too pregnant to fight? ". Morgan wanted to get this off of his chest the moment he realized who Daryl was. " Hard to believe she listened to you " Daryl turns back to his child. " Had to make her realize you might be dead ". Daryl’s lips form a fine line. On one hand, Morgan did what was right, but on the other he shouldn't have pushed you like that.

He could only imagine what he'd do if someone tried to tell him that. " She's strong. She moved past it, but she asked for you when she was having Rose " Morgan admits the sensitive information. He'd want someone to let him know if he was in the same shoes. Daryl lets out a sigh, of course you did. He was supposed to be there. " I don't say this to hurt you, but to let you know that I was the one that held her back. Not the other way around ". Daryl doesn't face the man, but acknowledges it " Thank you, for keepin' 'em safe ". Morgan attempts to leave, only stopping to pat him on the back, and leaves the house to give him a night alone with his family.

Rose makes a face at the noise this creates, but stays asleep. Deciding it's best, he leaves the room to let her sleep. He finds you back in his bedroom with your hair wet and and in a towel. You're staring at a picture on his night stand , smiling to yourself as you seem to like that he left it there. It was a picture taken of the two of you back at the prison. Glenn had taken it off guard, the only true way to get a picture of Daryl, but you were grateful for it. He comes behind you to see what picture you're looking at , but you set it down before he can. " I have something for you " You turn to him, thinking of one picture you have. He furrows his eye brows at you as you head for your bag. You reach in the front pocket and retrieve it, handing it over to him in hopes this will make him feel better.

After Rose was born, Morgan took the picture of you two. You look so tired, but so blissfully happy as rose slept on your chest. You watch Daryl trace his finger over the picture before he suddenly brings you into a tight hug. This had to be the best gift he's ever gotten. You can feel him shake slightly, but don't let go of him. You had time to go through the emotions of being without him, but it seemed he didn't. Or he wouldn't let himself more likely. " It's ok " You whisper, his head coming to your shoulder. You can feel that spot of skin dampen and you let him let it out.

He eventually pulls back from you, but kisses you instead of releasing you completely. " M'never leavin' you two again . I promise ". You agree , his lips finding yours again.

" Shh- yer' goin' to wake 'er up " Daryl whispers to Rose, before placing the bottle in her mouth to end her cries. Her tears slowly subside and she greedily sucks on the bottle causing Daryl to smile slightly. It had to be around three am, but to finally be able to be a dad he'd wake up at anytime for her. He takes in Rose's features and awes at the fact he can see a lot of you in her little face, but part of him is there too. She's got the same beauty mark on her cheek that he has. His finger grazes her cheek as she continues to slurp down the bottle, but peeks a eye at him as if to say ' I'm watching you '. This reminds him of the first time he met you- the same look on your face. You were a force not to be messed with back then.

Not that you aren't now, but at least now you weren't trying to stab him. The memory of you defending Rick all that time ago at the quarry causes that smile to spread across his lips. He thinks he'll keep that first interaction from Roses knowledge. Little did he know, Dear uncle Rick would tell Rose anyways when she got older. Which would result in Rose excitedly telling everyone she knows that her mom is basically a bad ass. As if you knew he was thinking about you, your frame appears in the door way. You're in one of his shirts and he can feel the way his heart speeds in his chest, just like always. " Must be three am " You offer him a tired smile. He nods in response and adjusts the baby in his arms causing you to bite your lip. Watching Daryl care for Rose was such a sight, to say the least. He then moves to burp the small baby and it reminds you of when Judith was born.

You remember thinking ' He was meant to be a dad '. And sure enough, here he was. His large hand pats her back and you take the opportunity to grab her blanket from the crib " How about you bring her to bed and she can sleep with us ". He grins at the idea and wipes her small mouth before following you back to bed. " She usually sleeps on my chest, but I think she might like yours better " You suggest, knowing it was time she got the skin on skin time that she's been denied. Plus, you kind of liked the idea of getting some sleep for once so it’s a win win. Daryl doesn't argue with you and climbs into bed with you, slowly due to the baby, and you help him adjust Rose to a safe position on his chest. " There you go " You whisper to your daughter and give her a gentle kiss to her nose before occupying the empty side of his chest.

You smile contently as Rose's hand lands on your cheek, completely by accident, but you'd take it. Daryl watches the small interaction and it's like the past year didn't matter, that this moment right here made it all disappear.

And when your eyes finally close, but your hand still finds a way to hold him close he decides to forget all of the time apart. He'd let go of all of the guilt, anger, and the fear that plagued him for so long. Instead, he would focus on his little family and raising Rose. He'd make up for lost time by picking you flowers like he did when you first got together and holding you tight at night, but still keeping that watchful eye on you. The one that caused many arguments. Because well- you could take care of yourself, but he'd never let what happened happen again. You could scream at him all you want, but he'd still do what he needs to do.

And he'd be a dad to Rose. He'd hold her hand and play any game she wanted, even if that meant wearing some stupid crown. He'd teach her how to hunt and how to throw a punch because if she looked anything like you she'd need to throw a punch or two. And when she got older, he'd listen to the conversations she would have with you. He'd hear how you would soothe her worries and braid her hair, but never forgetting to kiss her on the cheek. And he'd then realize he wants another kid to hold his hand and take up space in your bed. Because the best thing he's ever done was make you a mom. So, one night as Rose slept over with Judith, he'd kiss your neck and suggest the very idea.

Which is how you ended up getting pregnant with twins and two little girls lying on your chest for Morgan to take a picture of, but this time Daryl would have his place in them whilst he proudly placed a kiss to your head.

#daryl dixon imagine #Daryldixonfanfiction #daryl dixon #daryl x oc #daryl x reader #The Walking Dead #y/n #fanfic #fan fiction #love #pregnant!reader #angst #angst with a happy ending #DarylDixon #requests open #send requests

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scripttorture · 4 years ago

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I have a few questions. First, What longterm effects would having ones shoulders dislocated for an extended time (hours, days, etc) have? Second, my MC has really vague, choppy memory of their time in captivity. Blurry, foggy images with little context flash in their mind, usually in dreams or when exposed to certain stimuli, ie, they get vague recollections of metal bars when it's too hot or feel claustrophobic if water is in their face. Is this type of sporadic memory realistic?

I’m not 100% sure what you mean, so I’m going to start by describing how I’m interpreting the memory problems you’re describing.

What I’m getting is an idea that this character doesn’t actually have any real, conscious memories of captivity. Instead they have little fever-dream type snatches of images, feelings or possible sensations that might be related to their captivity but they can’t even be sure of that.

It’s a pattern that I’ve seen a few times in fiction and generally it doesn’t line up with how memory problems in survivors work. Typical memory problems are less obvious and more insidious. They also tend to have greater lasting effects on the survivor’s life.

That said, I think it might be possible in very particular circumstances. Something else would need to be going on that effected the survivor’s mental state at the time.

Sleep deprivation can result in a lot of memory problems. But it’s more common for survivors to have gaps in their memories or small inaccuracies unless they’re sleep deprived to the point where they’re basically psychotic.

I mean that in the sense of hallucinating, paranoid and disconnected from reality, not the colloquial sense.

Even then sleep deprivation doesn’t usually mean no memory without stimulation. It means things like… ‘Oh yeah I remember I was held in this cell with metal bars and then the bars started bending and bugs stepped out of the shadows.’ Memories that are wrapped up in paranoid hallucinations that the survivor knows aren’t real.

Fever can result in the sort of choppy memories I think you’re describing.

Some drugs can also produce this sort of effect. I can’t really tell you much about that though because in the industry we see it as an unwanted side effect to eliminate rather then something to wilfully induce. Which means that if someone starts getting those side effects they get put on a different drug quick.

Some of the so-called ‘truth drugs’ do have something close to this effect on memory, though they don’t make it more likely that people will tell the truth.

And more often what survivors (or patients) who’ve been given these drugs describe is straight up gaps in their memory for the period they were under the influence of the drug.

I won’t say that you ‘can’t’ or ‘shouldn’t’ use this sort of memory problem in your story. But if you’re dead set on it I’d strongly encourage you to come up with a reason why.

Stress, captivity and torture would not produce this sort of effect unless there’s something else going on. But if your character was drugged throughout, or unlucky enough to be kidnapped while coming down with a nasty fever, then it might be possible.

An unmedicated mental health problem could also produce this (ie character has a pre-existing disorder, is kidnapped and has no access to medication), but I’d suggest looking that up elsewhere because I’m not an expert on psychotic disorders. And as I understand it psychosis doesn’t produce memory problems; it distorts someone’s view of reality not their ability to remember those distortions.

I will say that I think it’s usually better to stick with more typical memory problems. It’s more representative of the typical survivor experience and frankly there are a lot of poorly done amnesia/memory loss stories in the world already.

You can read more about what the typical memory problems look like over here.

Unless there’s something else going on survivors don’t commonly forget that they were abused or the broad strokes of what happened. It’s much more common for survivors to experience intense intrusive memories of a traumatic event then it is for them to forget a traumatic event*.

Traumatic memories can be inaccurate but these inaccuracies don’t tend to be things like whether the abuse happened or not and survivors do tend to get broad details correct. It can interfere with a survivor’s ability to identify an attacker they didn’t know previously. It can also effect things like their perception of timing, details of where the attack took place and the events leading up to and after the attack.

Survivors can also forget a lot of things that happened shortly before and shortly after an attack. They might lose memories of what they did the day before instance, or only have a blurry recollection of the week after.

They can also have general problems forming new memories that persist at a constant level for life. This can make it difficult to keep appointments, study for an exam and continue with household chores.

If you want to switch to more… Usually I say ‘realistic’ but in this case I think it’s ‘more common’, memory problems then here’s what I’d suggest to get something close to the disorientation you’ve got in the original idea.

I’d use memory loss to an extent where the character has only very vague recollections of what happened the week before and after they were snatched. I’d then combine that with intrusive memories and inaccurate memories.

I would set up the scenario in such a way that the character is aware some of their memories are inaccurate. For instance I might have them write down some thoughts and memories soon after they were rescued/escaped. Then go back to that in two weeks and find that it is really different to what they now remember.

I’ve also established inaccurate memories by using multiple points of view or having multiple character present at particular points. Having contrasting points of view can show that the memories are inaccurate.

You can also straight up describe what happens in the story, from the point of view of the character it happens to. Then later have them think or talk about it and show something different. Hell you can show the memory changing every time they think about it, without the character necessarily being aware it’s changing. That does happen.

Intrusive memories are not necessarily accurate either. And they can be triggered in ways that are hard to interpret or understand.

That mix of memory problems; loss of memories, inaccurate memories (both that the character is aware of and ones they’re not) with intrusive memories that seem to be set off by disconnected things- it can really make someone doubt themselves and doubt what’s real.

Which isn’t quite the same as giving them these blurry, fever-dream memories but it can have the same narrative effect. They’re not sure what really happened. They doubt themselves.

And there can be real fear and anger bound up in those things. Fear because not knowing and sitting with those doubts is scary. Anger because knowing you’re an unreliable witness makes any kind of justice or change next to impossible is… a lot to deal with.

Those are the best things I can think of to get close to what you want from the story.

I’d also encourage you to think about what this kind of ‘sporadic’ memory is adding to the story. I’ve written enough that I have no doubts it’s adding a lot, it’s an interesting idea to be working with. But it might help you to break it down and define exactly what it’s bringing to the plot and characters before you decide what to do. Having that list in front of you can make it easier to see other options and ways to include all the elements you want.

As for dislocated shoulders- I’m no medic.

Scriptmedic, the original Script blog, has a post on dislocations here. There’s also a handy NHS guide to dislocated shoulders over here.

Most modern torture doesn’t involve deliberately dislocating the shoulders. Because that’s an obvious injury and obvious injuries are evidence of a crime.

A lot of historical torture did involve deliberately dislocating the shoulders. But historical medical practice was not… shall we say ‘good’. The record keeping historically was also less then stellar and the result is that I don’t necessarily have access to the best sources here.

My instinct is the effects would be pain and increased damage to the soft tissue around the shoulder joint. This can cause long term mobility issues, though generally not to an extent where people can’t get through their day to day life (they might adjust to do things differently putting less stress on the shoulders).

I am pretty sure there’d be a higher chance of chronic pain afterwards.

And that’s really the extent of my medical knowledge there but I hope you can find useful info on the NHS website and Aunty Scripty’s archives.

I hope that helps. :)

Available on Wordpress.

Disclaimer

*Once again I don’t know much about childhood development and I don’t read much about child abuse. Anecdotally I have noticed a pattern where more survivors of abuse in early childhood report that they forgot about it. This may be because there’s extensive restructuring of the brain and neural ‘pruning’ that happens naturally as children grow. They still experienced lasting trauma symptoms.

#writing advice #tw torture #tw child abuse #memory problems #memory loss and torture #memory problems related to torture #mental health #sleep deprivation #psychosis #truth serums #inaccurate memories #intrusive memories #writing survivors #writing symptoms #dislocated joints

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kristoffsloveisntfragile · 4 years ago

Text

The Christmas Spirit (Deleted Scene)

Rating: T

Word Count: 1,253

Pairing: Kristoff/Anna

Notes: This is a little part that I was thinking about putting into the previous fanfic, but it just seemed like it would take away from the story, so here it is as a little ‘deleted scene’ (as I like to call it). Hope you enjoy!

Anna was nursing another glass of champagne and talking to some of Kristoff’s relatives when Kristoff came over and, again, instinctively wrapped his arm around her.

“Hey!” Anna said through a giggle, as the bubbly-ness of the champagne had definitely been hitting her a little bit.

“Hello,” Kristoff laughed at Anna’s giddiness. The relatives that Anna was talking to wandered off somewhere, but they didn’t care.

“Hey, you know what I was wondering? After all the times that I have been here for dinner and stuff, I’ve never seen your room.” Kristoff gave out a huff, “Is it like in those shows where the room is exactly how you left it when you went to college or what?” Anna laughed.

“Well, it is a little..” Kristoff thought about it, but to be honest he hasn’t really seen it in a while either, so the image of his room is blurry to him. “You know what? Let’s go see it before we go.” Kristoff took Anna’s free hand, but Anna put her glass down on a table before quickly following Kristoff upstairs.

They made it upstairs and went into the door on the left end of the hallway. Kristoff flipped the switch to turn on the light. There they saw a bed that looked professionally made, neutral color sheets and blankets of navy blue and gray. A simple nightstand holding one lamp and an alarm clock. Anna thought of the mornings that thing got slammed due to the fact Kristoff didn’t want to get up for school. She smiled at herself. She looked around more. Not many posters, for some reason she thought he would have more, maybe he took them down before going off to college so he could hang them in his dorm. She doesn’t know the answer, but she saw on the far right of the room a bunch of pictures and some medals and stuff. She wandered over to them to read and see what they were all about.

‘National Honors Society- 2006’

‘National Honors Society- 2007’ , and two more after that.

“You were in the National Honors Society in high school?” Anna asked.

“Yeah, for my school though it was nothing more than another way to do volunteer work to make it look good on a resume for college. And get the scholarships.” Anna could feel that he was behind her, looking at all the same pictures and awards as she was.

“Is that you at Niagara Falls?” Anna asked, pointing to one picture.

“Yeah, my family went one year, I believe that was in...2006, the summer before freshman year we went up there to celebrate..me getting into high school? I don’t know.” Kristoff laughed.

Anna turned to look at him, “Wait you went to Niagara Falls the summer before freshman year of high school?” Kristoff nodded. “...So did I.” Anna smiled.

“No way..” Kristoff smiled, “Imagine we went on the same day.”

“....I think we did. Look, in yours I see that some birds are just, perfectly lined up on the ground right there. I remember specifically that my family pointed this out because there were like 10 or so birds, and they were just in a perfect line for like 5 minutes, not doing anything. And they suddenly flew away.”

“I think I remember seeing a bunch of birds fly away at once. Maybe it was them.” Kristoff thought aloud. Anna was already on her phone, going to her facebook page and seeing the photos that her mom had tagged her in, going to the way bottom, she found the pictures from Niagara Falls, and sure enough she found one that had some birds on the side in a line. She showed Kristoff and then lined it up to the picture that Kristoff had. You know, like those moments in the movies, like the Parent Trap.

“Of course it’s not perfect, there's a little bit of space in between that’s missing.” Anna said.

“Now we just need to find that third person who was standing in the middle to make it an almost panoramic photo.” Kristoff joked and Anna laughed.

“But isn’t that so weird, how we were both there? It’s like the universe wanted us to be together, we just didn’t know it.”

“Okay Ted from How I Met Your Mother, we were both what, like 14, isn’t it a little early for the universe to send a sign like that to us?” Kristoff asked.

“Okay maybe not a sign like ‘You two standing 10 feet away, look at each other and talk and fall in love’, more like, it set us up like that so we would eventually find out we were both there, like we’re finding out about it right now.” Anna laughed.

Kristoff smiled and looked at the photo that was still on Anna’s phone, “Although I wouldn’t have minded talking to you here you actually look pretty cute.” Kristoff angled the phone to get a better look.

“What? I do not.” Anna cringed.

“Nah, no the braids, the ‘ta da’ gesture you’re doing, the braces. 14 year old Kristoff would’ve found that adorable. And well now 24 year old Kristoff thinks both the 14 and 23 year old Anna are very cute.”

Anna smiled, but couldn’t help but saying “I was actually 13, but still.”

“Whoever said math was my strongest and quickest suit?” Kristoff questioned.

Anna gave out a quick laugh and turned around to keep looking at all the things Kristoff has done. Some years of soccer accomplished, some help in the theater tech department, straight A student. Anna was impressed.

“I know you told me some things about you in elementary through high school, but there’s just so much. I’m very impressed to be honest.” Anna turned back around.

“Ah, it’s all just memories now.”

“Yeah, but, they shaped who you are, and I like who you’ve become.” Anna leaned up to give Kristoff a kiss, but he raised up his hands to cradle her head, to make the kiss last longer, he wanted to remember this.

When they parted, she hummed. “What was that for?”

“Just a thanks, for accepting all parts of me. My flaws, my family, even my past.”

“What do you mean? It seems like you had a pretty good life by the looks of it.” Anna was curious

“Yeah, but there’s a lot that went on behind these pictures, or even some of these medals.” Kristoff looked behind Anna, and Anna realized that what he said she could relate to. She has a lot to show for her school life but there isn’t much to show for all the struggles that she went through emotionally and mentally.

“I get it. I feel like we’ve all been there. But still. I’m proud of you.” Anna looked up at Kristoff with admiration filling her eyes.

Anna then wrapped her arms around him and laid her face against his chest. Kristoff did practically the same. So happy to have a person like Anna in his life. They just held each other for a little bit. Forgetting that there were still a bunch of people a floor below them, forgetting that they were even in Kristoff's childhood room.

“We should go back down, we don’t want anyone thinking we’re doing...something else” Kristoff slowly released Anna and she was rolling her eyes from his comment. “I’m just saying some people may think that.” Anna laughed away as they went back down to where the action was.

#frozen #frozen 2 #anna #kristoff #kristanna #kristanna fanfiction #kristanna fanfic #christmas

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echo-bleu · 5 years ago

Text

Brothers

A little Manes brothers canon divergence for @eveningspirit ‘s birthday! I hope you like it :) It also happens to fit with today’s @alexmanesappreciation theme: legacy.

[concussions, mentions of vomiting, mentions of abuse, mentions of the shed scene]

The exact sequence of events that leads to him, Flint and Gregory sitting together on a mattress in the bared living room of a house he doesn't know will remain blurry in Alex's memory. He puts it on the massive concussion he sustained at the hands of his own father, because he was careless enough to let his guard drop for ten seconds and the bastard managed to sneak up on him.

He remembers waking up in his childhood home and almost throwing up on the floor of the basement at the goddamn awful feeling of being back there−or maybe that was just the concussion. Probably the concussion.

He'd suspected that his father was faking most of the consequences of his stroke for a while, and he'd known about the bug on his phone for days. He just didn't expect his father to act so fast, in the middle of the junkyard, when Alex was supposed to report back in the morning.

Maybe Jesse heard something in his voice down in the bunker. Alex let his emotions carry him away and said more than he meant to, so maybe his father figured out that he was made somehow. Either way, he got the drop on him, and Alex woke up with a killer headache, pissed off, confused, and, yes, scared. Even after all these years, after three tours overseas, his father still scares the shit out of him.

The one who greeted him upon waking up, however, was not his father. It was Flint, a gun in his hand and a hard look on his face. Alex's sudden hope that Flint was here to free him was squashed quickly at his sneer. He listened to Flint and their father argue up in the living room about where to keep him for hours−something about Jesse grabbing him too early, before things were ready−before Flint came to get him. He'd learned his lesson from last time, because he stayed out of range of Alex's zip-tied hands the whole way out of the house. Alex nearly fell down the stairs at least three times because of the dizziness, and threw up, with some satisfaction, on his father's shoes.

It's been days, but he's still dizzy and nauseous all the time, and the killer headache is a constant companion.

Greg's hands are on him, checking him over. He finds one of the bumps on his head and Alex flinches away, almost overbalancing off the mattress when the cuff on his wrist pulls him back. “Are you alright?” Greg murmurs. Alex nods, and immediately regrets it as it sends a spike of pain down his spine.

“What the fuck are you doing here, Greg?” Flint growls. For once, he doesn't have his gun in his hand. Alex realizes that it's because the gun is tucked in Greg's waistband and he frowns, trying to keep it in his line of sight just in case. He thinks Greg actually cares, that he's not in on this with Flint and their Dad, but if he's not, why is he here?

“Now that's a real funny story,” Greg smirks mirthlessly. “Why don't you sit down, Flint?” He formulates it as a question, but it's obviously an order. And in a situation where there's only one gun, ranks don't matter much. Greg is out of the Navy and Alex outranks both of them anyway. Flint slowly drops to the floor, just outside the mattress, and crosses both his legs and his arms petulantly.

“See, yesterday morning, I got a call,” Greg stars. “It's the funny thing about being the only one in our family Alex trusts enough to list as next of kin. You get these calls. I got one before,” he nods to Alex's leg. “No, two, actually. There was that one time−” Alex glares at him and he rolls his eyes. “Okay, okay, back to the point. I was told that Alex had been AWOL for 72 hours, and they were looking for him.”

Alex winces. Of course he already knows that crawling this way out of this one, even if everything ends well and no one dies, is going to be impossible. Being AWOL will earn him jail time, which is already bad, but if they start looking into his recent activities out of suspicion...well, he hopes to God that Liz has really emptied the lab, or things will get a hell of a lot more complicated.

Speaking of Liz...

Helena Ortecho was a surprise. There's a kind of irony in there, that Alex would be more surprised at being held captive by a woman he hasn't seen in over a decade than by his own family. He wonders what Liz would think of Helena being a kidnapper−or of her being more motherly to him that he's ever seen her be to Liz and Rosa. She watched Flint tie him up to a radiator without a word and then brought him food and clothes that weren't covered in vomit and dust, even getting Flint to briefly untie him at gunpoint to get his arm through the sleeve. Alex might have tried to seize the opportunity to fight back if he'd been able to see straight.

“Now I'm a good brother, and I know there's no way Alex would go AWOL without a good reason,” Greg continues. “Especially the day after he drove to the rez with a bunch of suspicious people who are supposedly his friends, and tells me he thinks that Dad has changed.”

Flint huffs.

“Yes,” Greg nods. “Either our baby brother really is more naive than we thought, or something fishy is going on.” Alex rolls his eyes, and Greg just glares at him.

The last few days, after getting to the house, are even more fuzzy. Alex remembers trying to push the mattress against the wall to get a better range of movement, and Flint coldly making him pull it back. He remembers pulling off his prosthetic, his stump swollen and sore from too much time with it on, and then trying to hit Flint with it the next time he came by, which earned him what is probably a second concussion from the butt of his brother's gun. He doesn't really remember anything since then. From the stubble on his face, it's been at least three days, but time is wonky and his mind unreliable.

Which brings him to now, and now has Greg sitting beside him on the mattress. Alex tries to blink away the confusion and sit up properly, wincing when his stump moves on the mattress. Days without a shrinker will make it a bitch to get back into the prosthetic.

Greg shifts. “I took a family emergency day, since that seemed to be the case, and I drove to Roswell. I had to look up my own brother's address in the phone book,” he glares again.

Alex throws his free hand up. “Hey, you're the one who didn't want to come.” His voice is weak and hoarse from disuse, and Greg looks more concerned than chastened.

“Right. I broke in−sorry, Alex, I'll replace the lock if you want me to. Alex's house was empty but his suitcase was still waiting on his bed. So I looked up Isobel Evans.”

“Really? Isobel?”

Greg shrugs. “I don't know what's going on between you, Guerin and Maria, but I'm not getting in the middle of it. Besides, Isobel seemed the most sensible of all of you.”

“You're just attracted to her,” Alex mutters.

“Alex, the choice I had was her or her brother. I know you're gay, but would you really go to Max Evans first?”

“I see your point,” Alex concedes, though he's still really not sure “sensible” is the adjective he'd use to describe Isobel. His muddled brain can't seem to come up with a better one, though, so he lets it go.

“All Isobel could tell me was that no one had seen you since you came back from the rez, but she got everyone moving to find you. Guerin went at it with Dad, got him to admit that he got to you first and Flint took you from him. Don't ask me how, I don't know.”

Isobel, Alex thinks after he's parsed all this−with at least a thirty-second delay. Isobel must have gone into their Dad's head, he would never have told them that willingly. But Greg doesn't know about aliens and there's no way he'll risk telling Flint something he could use against them, so he keeps quiet.

“After that, it wasn't hard to follow Flint here from his place,” Greg finishes. “I disarmed him once I confirmed you were here.”

Flint grunts. Alex looks over at him, amused. He's never been the best at self-defense, even when they were kids, too easily overtaken by his temper.

“Now will someone explain to me what's going on here?” Greg straightens up more, in a stance that looks relaxed but Alex can feel is fully vigilant. He may be missing part of the story, but he's a force to be reckoned with.

Alex and Flint exchange a glance. Somehow even as they stand on opposite sides of this fight, this decision−tell Greg about the aliens or try to lie their way through some kind of resolution−comes down to them. “Where's Helena?” Alex asks.

“In town,” Flint answers, some of the confrontation gone from his tone. “She won't be back for a few hours.”

“Who's Helena?” Greg asks.

“Flint's accomplice,” Alex answers. “Ironically also my friends' mom.”

“Which friends?” Greg frowns.

“Liz and Rosa. You remember them?”

Greg nods. “Rosa was the girl in Flint's year who died, right? Her mom is helping you?” he asks Flint.

Flint shrugs and looks at Alex again, trying to communicate something silently. Alex doesn't bother figuring out what it is. His head isn't quite clear enough to see all of the implications, but he already knows that there's no way Greg will settle for anything short of the truth. And Greg has always been very good at reading his brothers.

Plus, Greg is in control here, and he's been more than sympathetic to Alex since his injury. This could come out well for Alex, so he won't let Flint turn this to his advantage.

“Dad tried to take me down because I've become an inconvenience to his little genocide plan,” he says before Flint can stop him. “Flint thinks he can use me to get Michael to build him a bomb.”

That's the little he's gathered from Flint's talk with Dad the other day, and from Flint and Helena's interaction. He has no idea where Helena comes into it or how she learned about aliens, but he knows Flint's motivations well enough. They've been clear since Caulfield.

“Wait, genocide? Bomb?” Greg spits out in shock. Then he shakes his head, as if realizing that he shouldn't be surprised. “What the fuck are you doing, Flint?”

“They're invaders,” Flint says. “They're dangerous.” He's looking at Alex rather than Greg, as if he's trying to convince him. Alex wonders if he's not still trying to convince himself. Dad's twisted ideas coming from Flint's mouth sound so perverted and out of place.

“They're people,” Alex shoots back.

“They're aliens!”

“They're refugees!”

“Whoa,” Greg throws up his arms. “Am I missing something obvious or did you suddenly become a racist asshole? Are you even hearing yourself?” he asks Flint. Flint has the good grace to look a little abashed.

“Literal aliens,” Alex mutters. “We're talking about actual aliens.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Not even a little,” Alex sighs.

Greg closes his eyes. “Okay. Aliens. And Dad−”

“Wants to kill them all. Kept some of them prisoners for decades and experimented on them.”

Alex watches both Greg and Flint's face closely as he says that. Greg's is suitably horrified, but he doesn't know how to interpret Flint's expression. It's not disgust. It's not glee, either. He may be parroting Dad's rhetoric, but he's not lost to it.

“Dad was just trying to protect us,” he says. Not perfectly assured. The facade is cracking.

“Was?” Greg notices.

“He's been weaker, since the stroke.”

“You know he's faking the limp, right?” Alex asks.

A shadow goes through Flint's gaze. “Of course,” he says, but it's obviously a lie.

“Another lovely moment, finding out my father has been faking a disability for months when he hit me over the head with his cane,” Alex casually turns to Greg. Flint winces, glancing down at Alex's empty pant leg. “I love how well we communicate in this family.”

“Alex−” Flint starts.

“You don't get to say anything. You've been holding me chained up for days against my will. You've lost the right to tell me how great a family we are.”

“I'm still hung up over the alien thing, but I have to agree with Alex here,” Greg says. “What the fuck were you thinking, Flint?”

“He wants Michael to do something for him,” Alex says when Flint doesn't answer. “I don't even know why you'd think Michael will do anything. We're not together. And you're asking him to build a bomb designed to wipe out his entire species, Flint.”

“Wait, wait, Guerin's an alien?” Greg interrupts him.

“Yep,” Alex pops out the 'p'. “That's Dad's great threat to earth. Three orphan refugees who just want to live their life.”

“They're not alone,” Flint mutters, at the same time as Greg asks, “Three? Who else?”

“Max and Isobel Evans,” Alex smirks. The cat is out of the bag anyway, since Flint knows, and this little revenge feels good. Having one of his brothers on his side will feel good.

Greg blinks. “Okay,” he drawls out. “Let me get this straight. Guerin and the Evanses are aliens, even though they look just like us. And Dad knows about this, and wants to...wipe them out? And you're helping him?” he points to Flint.

“It's not just them,” Flint says. “We had specimens in Caulfield who could cause cancer with a simple touch, blow up whole buildings. They have dangerous powers.”

“And you have a gun,” Alex says. “How is it less dangerous than any of those powers? Powers, I should add, that Dad had no trouble using for his own agenda when it came to eliminating Jim Valenti.”

“Jim Valenti was killed by Subject N-38,” Flint frowns.

“And what, you think he went into his cell for fun? I have all the video surveillance, Flint. All the records. Decades of Dad and our grandfather randomly torturing people before going home for Sunday dinner.” From those surveillance tapes, he knows that Flint never had real contact with any of the prisoners. He never even went beyond the upper level, where he did the designs for his bomb. Alex spent hours and hours watching those tapes. “They're the same as us. Just people.”

“They want to wipe us out,” Flint says.

“They're my family,” Alex counters softly.

The shock on Flint's face would be comical, if it wasn't so painful. Greg's gaze on Alex is lost and sad. “They're more my family than you've ever been,” Alex adds for Flint.

He tries to mitigate that blow by putting a hand on Greg's arm, to show him that he doesn't mean him, but Greg shakes his head and gently moves away, guilt obvious on his face. Alex pushes through and leans his shoulder on Greg's, welcoming the support. His head is clearer now, but he's aching all over.

“Did you ever stop to think, when you were overseas?” he starts, his voice barely more than a whisper as he's trying to conserve some energy. “When you pointed your gun at insurgents or civilians or whoever it was that day you were ordered to contain or kill, did you stop and wonder who they were? If they had a life, too, a family? A brother?”

Flint looks away.

“Michael was the first person who really understood,” Alex continues. “He grew up in the system and he got the worse luck. He made me feel safe, for the first time since Mom left. He made me feel like I could get out of Roswell, escape Dad.”

“What happened?” Greg asks in a murmur.

“Dad found us,” Alex answers. “He didn't know what Michael was, but it didn't matter. He knew what I am. He started to choke me, and Michael tried to step in, so Dad took a hammer to Michael's hand.”

Neither of his brothers look shocked. Greg is clearly pained, and he drapes his arm around Alex's back in comfort, and Flint won't look at him, but they're not shocked. That's probably the saddest thing, that they all know exactly what Jesse Manes is capable of.

He waits until he's caught Flint's eyes again. “Michael's mother was in Caulfield,” he says. “He got to see her blow up with the building. He wanted to stay with her. He dreamed of going to college, but he stayed in Roswell because his sister needed him. He used to play the guitar while I sang, before Dad ruined his hand. That's the threat you're trying to eliminate, Flint.”

Flint swallows. “Did Dad really kill Jim?”

“I have the video on a secure network,” Alex nods. “We'd have to go to my place to show you, but yes. He did. I'm sorry,” he adds after a moment.

“Why are you sorry?”

“I'm sorry that Dad isn't the man you wish he was. I wished for something else for a long time, too.”

Flint stands up suddenly, and starts pacing. “I've read the reports,” he says. “The aliens attacked people when they arrived. And there's been thirteen murders in the last ten years done by aliens.”

Greg looks at Alex. “Is that true?”

“Yes,” Alex sighs. “They're people. No worse than us, but also no better. We found the murderer. He's dead now.”

“We're talking about a serial killer, Alex!” Flint loses his cool. “What if they're all like that?”

“What if they aren't?” Alex yells back. He regrets it as the sound rings painfully inside his head. “Tell me how many times you've heard that same question asked about Native men, Flint.”

Flint opens his mouth, and closes it again. He paces the length of the room faster, giving the edge of the mattress a kick when he passes by.

Greg clears his throat. “Can we go back to the bomb? What the fuck is it?”

“It's not really a bomb,” Flint says. “It's a chemical agent, designed to eliminate people who have specific DNA strands.”

Alex can almost see the cogs turn in Greg's head. “How do you plan on dispersing it?”

“My team designed an atomizer,” Flint explains. He looks hesitant, like he knows he shouldn't be talking about that but he can't quite remember why. They've got through to him at least a little, Alex realizes. “I just need someone to build it.”

“Michael,” Alex explains for Greg's benefit. “He's a mechanic. And a genius.”

“So it's not a sanctioned mission,” Greg raises his eyebrows. “You and Dad have been working on this for...how long? Years? A Manes family mission to commit genocide?”

“We're doing what needs to be done,” Flint stops pacing and stands at attention.

“By fucking kidnapping Alex? Flint, did you stop even once to think about what you're doing?”

“They got into Alex's head. I'm doing this for his own good.”

Alex lets himself fall back until he's lying down on the mattress, prompting his brothers to look at him. His headache is getting worse, not better. “His words, in your mouth,” he tells Flint. “I expected that from Clay. Not from you. Have you forgotten everything, Flint? All of Granddad and Granny's history lessons?”

Flint looks away. Greg seems to seize the opportunity, and he stands up and grabs Flint's arm. “Let Alex go, Flint.”

“I can't.”

“Do you remember the last time we were all at the house together?” Greg lowers his voice, almost as if he doesn't want Alex to hear, but the room is small. “We promised we'd look out for him,” he nods toward Alex. “That we wouldn't let Dad get to him again.”

“He shouldn't have come back to Roswell,” Flint sets his chin stubbornly.

“Maybe not. But he's still our brother. We need to stop failing him.”

For the first time, Flint truly looks torn. “I'm trying to protect him from the aliens,” he says slowly.

“I think you and I both knows that's not who we need to protect him from,” Greg says.

Alex resists the urge to retort that he can protect himself−his current situation would tend to disagree, although he swears he'll free himself the minute his head stops swimming−and finds himself feeling oddly touched.

Flint looks down at his shoes.

“Let him go, Flint.”

“Fine,” Flint finally relents. He grabs a key from his pocket and tosses it to Alex, who scrambles to open the cuff around his wrist.

He eyes the gun in Greg waistband again, trying to figure out if it's worth making a go at it, but he decides to trust Greg. It's not like he can stand up, anyway.

“What now?” he asks.

“We should really get you to a hospital,” Greg says.

“No. I need to see that Michael's okay. And I need to stop their plan,” he waves at Flint, including Helena and his father as well. He gives Flint a defiant look. “I can't let you harm them.”

“I know,” Flint sighs. “Helena's gone to bring Guerin here.”

“Will you stand down?” Alex asks him. “Let me do what I have to do?”

“I won't try to harm you,” Flint holds his empty hands up in a surrendering gesture. “Or your family,” he adds reluctantly.

“Good.” Alex turns to Greg and holds a hand up to be helped into a standing position. “You have a phone? I'm going to need it.”

“Who put you in charge?” Greg asks, amused. “You have a concussion, Alex, you need medical care.”

“I know. I'm doing to call my doctor,” Alex answers. “After I call Michael, anyway. Anyone know where my leg is? We have a lot of work to do.”

#roswell new mexico #alex manes #alexweek2020 #gregory manes #flint manes #roswell nm #mine #echo's fanfiction #manes brothers #eveningspirit

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stellar-alley · 5 years ago

Text

•If The World Was Ending•

This one shot is based off of the song If The World Was Ending by JP Saxe and Julia Michales. Sorry about no italics, when i copied it over they didn’t change and I can’t go and change all of them.

I was distracted

And in traffic

I didn't feel it

When the earthquake happened

Edward Kaspbrak, risk analyst, fellow New Yorker, was stuck in the one thing he hated most, traffic. The air conditioner in his car was on high, the mid-June air was hot and humid. As much as he craved to open the windows and get some fresh air, he knew how prone he was to road rage, especially during traffic, and wasn’t in the mood to hear his victim’s response. He just wanted to curse them out in peace.

“What the fuck is going on? MOVE ASSHAT!” He shouted at the car in front of him that just randomly halted. He watched in confusion as the driver, a teenage girl, stepped out of her car and looked around. Then he noticed a couple other drivers doing the same. Traffic had completely stopped around him, it created a weird vibe, New York became quieter for a moment and it was very unnerving.

Eddie considered it for a moment, everyone’s stopped so you’re not gonna get hit by a car, he thought before he followed suit and got out of his car.

“What the hell is going on?” He asked the closest person to him, which was the teenage girl. She had short wavy brown hair and wore a jean vest and matching shorts.

“You didn’t feel it?” Her voice is filled with concern as she raises an eyebrow.

“Feel what?”.

“The earthquake,” She says.

But it really got me thinkin'

Were you out drinkin'?

Were you in the living room

Chillin' watchin' television?

The news sent a wave of worries through Eddie’s body, he raked his hand through his hair. His gaze went slightly blurry as he tried to examine his surroundings, seeing if anything had collapsed or if people were screaming.

The teen must’ve noticed his change in emotion as she continued with, “It wasn’t major or anything. The news guy said everything is fine. But you know New Yorkers, they overreact and all” She smiled nervously at him, worried that she’d used the wrong words.

There’d been a policeman a couple of cars down and she advised everyone to get back into their cars and wait for the traffic to pick up again. So Eddie got back into his car. It took awhile for the traffic to pick up again but it did.

His knuckles turned white, gripping the steering wheel as his mind began to race with the thought of what his wife, Myra, must be thinking right now.“She’s probably throwing a fit right now cause I’m not home” he sighed as he glanced at his phone on its stand. He noticed that it wasn’t able to connect to wifi or data. The lines must be down or something…. Shit. Eddie realized, knowing that would only make things worse.

“Ah fuck me”, he sighed in frustriation. Only then did Eddie reluctantly release one of his hands from the steering wheel to pinch the bridge or his nose.

Eds, at least buy me dinner first, a voice popped into Eddie’s head, but it wasn’t his. Oh no, he’d never refer to himself as that terrible nickname. Only one person ever called him that nowadays... Richie.

I wonder what the ‘famous comedian’ Richie Trashmouth Tozier is doing. Eddie smirked at the idea. He wondered if Richie was blackout drunk, high as a bird, or jerking it in his room. That’s something Eddie had been doing a lot of lately, especially when times were tough back at his apartment with Myra. (not jerking off, thinking or Richie)

His mind would wonder about his childhood best friend, how he was doing, what his latest comedy sketch was about (since he started writing his own stuff after the IT incident), he also worried about Richie’s bad habits. Ever since he was a teen he had a bit of a smoking problem, cigarettes and weed, and some drinking. But Eddie knew it only grew worse with time. Richie explained how he had actually been pretty clean until Mike called him, then he relapsed. Eddie knew that after the fight, after Richie got stuck in the fucking deadlights, he had been suffering from night terrors, which prompted his insomnia, which made more time for him to drink and smoke.

It's been a year now

Think I've figured out how

How to let you go and let communication die out

Sadly he hasn’t talked to Richie in a year, since the incident, since he left the hospital. He lived without Richie for so long, it should’ve been easy to forget about him again. But now he had old memories that weren’t there before, ones of a childhood he forgot he lived through. It’s been a year now, and Eddie has finally pushed down all of the feelings for his childhood crush. He was letting Richie go, finally able to let the communication die out.

Eddie had been in the hospital for over a month and Richie was the only one who stayed, Bev had to go file a divorce, Ben had architect stuff to architect, Bill had a movie to finish and a wife to apologize to, Mike had a world to see, and Stan had a vacation to take with his wife. As much as they all wanted to stay, the only reason they didn’t was that they knew Eddie was safe in Richie’s care.

The day before Eddie officially woke up, he had been in and out of consciousness and he could hear bits and pieces of conversations, hell, sometimes he even saw flashes of the room around him. But there was one conversation that stuck out to him, the one he remembered the most.

Richie was by his side, the only one in the room, voice low. Although he couldn’t see Richie, he could tell that he’d been crying. Richie started out by talking about some of his favourite memories with him from their childhood, from before they left Derry. The hot days at the quarry, their cuddles in the hammock, the nights Richie had nightmares (yes he had them even as a kid so that makes these current nightmares so much worse, cause he had to handle them alone) and would sneak into Eddie’s room during the late hours of the night. Those were the nights that they’d talk until Richie’s mind was at ease, about nothing yet everything all at the same time. If Richie felt better he’d head home, but most nights they’d fall asleep in each other’s arms. Richie’s mind filled with worries about falling into the same nightmare again so Eddie would hold him close to make sure Richie felt safe as sleep took him away.

Then Richie continued to talk about how close he and Eddie had been, and how even when he moved away, and forgot, he always knew he’d been missing something. He explained how that night at the Jade of the Orient, he finally felt whole again. Eddie blacked out for a little bit afterwards, he still kicks himself for that, even though he had no control over it. But he came back just in time to hear the end of Richie’s speech.

“Eds… I know we argue, I call you out and annoy the ever-living shit out of you, but those are the conversations I live for. You know every joke I make is just me trying to get you to laugh, right? I knew how hard it was at home for you, so I always wanted to give you the chuckles that you never got at home” Richie stopped for a moment. He let out a little chuckle himself, “That last year we had together was the best year of my fucking life. Because it was you and me against the world. A-And the day you left… Eddie I kick myself every day for not saying it back. Because I love you, so fucking much” he took a moment to collect himself. “It’s funny to think that I never realized it sooner, all of the early mornings and late nights, scalding summer days and afternoons in the freezing winter. I loved you since the day you squished your small, cute, ass in that hammock with me. I’ve loved you since the day you skipped school to take care of me when I threw up. Fuck…. Eddie I’ve loved you since fifth grade when you gave me that stupid valentine card with the cat cause you knew I never got any. I never stopped loving you-” Eddie drifted off, unable to hear the rest of the confession. Though he couldn’t hear him, he did feel a hand lay over his, and his fingers laced together with another’s. Then he felt Richie plant an ever so soft kiss on his forehead.

I never told Richie that I’d overheard him, how could I? How could I just randomly admit to him that when we were cuddled up in that hammock, I felt more at home than I have in my entire life? How I suddenly felt safe when his arms wrapped around me. How my heart skipped a beat every time our skin accidentally touched. And how I secretly adored every damn stupid nickname you called me because they were something that only you and I shared. They were mine, and I was yours. How can I admit that that year, was a year I cherished until the day I forgot it, because of that fucking clown.

After all of his memories returned to him after the incident, Eddie recalled a day he swore he could never forget, the day before he left for college. He was going to some out of state college to escape his mother, who’s grip had only gotten worse over the years.

Richie and Eddie had started dating about a year prior. After years of silent pinning and pent up emotions, Richie finally burst and admitted his feelings for him. That year, their final year of highschool, was one for the history books. The two were inseparable, determined to spend every living second together before Eddie had to leave for college. And they did, for the most part.

Almost every night Richie would sneak into Eddie’s room and the two would kiss and make out, then snuggle the rest of the night away. At school they always found time for each other, in between classes, secretly meeting in the bathroom, even discreetly holding hands under their desks.

The one thing they never did was say ‘I Love you’. Both of them were subconsciously waiting until the time was right. Eddie thought the right time was the day he left for college.

“What am I going to do without my Chee? Who’s gonna give me stupid nicknames and crawl through my window now?” Eddie hugged Richie tightly.

“You’ll find someone, I know you will” Richie brushed the comment aside. It’s something he’d been doing for the past week or so. Whenever Eddie mentioned the future, him coming back for Christmas or Richie coming up to visit him, Richie always brushed it under the rug, never in the mood to talk about it. Eddie always assumed it was because he wanted to live in the moment and not worry about the future, but even then, he seemed distant.

A voice rang overhead, announcing that Eddie’s flight was now boarding.

Here goes nothing

He looked up at Richie, who’s eyes seemed sad and dark. “Richie, I want you to know that I will always love you” Eddie’s voice was quiet, almost vulnerable.

Richie pulled away and hesitated before saying “E-Eddie, I-I don’t know if I can do this whole long distance thing. You’re so, so good, and you deserve someone who can be there for you-”.

Eddie was taken aback, suddenly disgusted by how he thought Richie would ever love him back, “Rich, what are you talking about? Just last week you said you were okay with his”.

“Yeah? Well that was last week, and this is now. I just don’t wanna hold you back from meeting new- and better people when you’re away” Richie quickly hugged Eddie, not wanting to continue the conversation as he knew the tears it’d bring. “I’m sorry” He whispered as he gave Eddie one finally look, then left.

It was the day that changed everything for Eddie. The day he wished he could forget since it clouded his vision, kept him up at night, and distracted him from almost everything. One day he did forget it, but it all came back the day he saw Richie Tozier at the Jade of the Orient.

Neither of them had brought up the breakup, neither did any of the other Losers. They were all aware that it was a sensitive topic and opted to keep the mood light while reliving their childhood memories. The mood wasn't worried between Richie and Eddie, but it wasn't the same either. It was as if things had gone back to when they were just friends, the constant banter and bickering.

I know, you know, we know

You weren't down for forever and it's fine

I know, you know, we know

We weren't meant for each other and it's fine

After Eddie was released from the hospital, he had gotten on his first flight to New York and returned to Myra. He’d convinced himself that everything he heard during his coma was a dream. After so many years of internalized homophobia, it was hard to stop now.

He’d thanked Richie for everything and insisted he was okay. He made sure Richie would head back to LA and continue his job, but he also made him promise to start writing his own material. He told Richie it’d finally convince him to go to one of his shows. Sadly he still had yet to purchase a ticket or even watch his shows on Netflix. Now, every time he saw famous comedian Richie Tozier, he could only remember the boy he’d once give the world for, the boy who didn’t love him back.

But if the world was ending

You'd come over, right?

You'd come over and you'd stay the night

Would you love me for the hell of it?

The sky'd be falling and I'd hold you tight

And there wouldn't be a reason why

We would even have to say goodbye

If the world was ending

You'd come over, right?

Right?

Even though he forgot, Eddie always knew something was off. No matter who he was with, it never felt right. That’s because Richie Tozier had taken a piece of his heart the day he never said it back. Then the day Eddie left the hospital, he’d left an even bigger piece with the boy he still loved.

If the world was ending

You'd come over, right?

Right?

His phone beeped, indicating that he'd received a text.

Ben: Hey Eddie, just wanted to check in and make sure you're safe, heard about the earthquake. Bev says hi!

It was from Ben. Eddie noticed his phone was back on data, so that text was followed by a million texts and calls from Myra. He clicked on the contact and clicked the call button.

“Hey, Eddie!” Ben's voice sounded relieved, “How's a going, is everything okay?”.

“Hey, yeah… I'm okay” Eddie hesitated, “Just shaken” he breathed. If he were talking to anyone else he would've just said he was okay, but Ben was a Loser, and Losers never lied.

“Good I'm glad to he-” Ben was suddenly cut off by the sound of his wife's voice from beside him.

“Ask if he's heard from Richie!” Bev's voice got louder as she spoke, most likely approaching from another room.

“R-Richie? Why would I have heard from him?” Eddie tensed up, caught off guard.

He was met with the sounds of muffled talking and someone grabbing the phone, “Hey Eddie, sorry- I was just wondering cause well, Richie was in his New York apartment for the week and we texted him to see if he was okay but he didn’t answer-” Bev explained.

“Wait- Richie’s in New York? Really?” Eddie tried to hide the excitement in his voice but failed.

“Y-Yeah, didn’t he tell you?” She sounded confused.

The truth was, as much as Eddie wanted to, he never asked Richie for his number when they reunited. Neither did Richie.

Eddie spoke before he could think through his words, “What’s his address?”, even he was shocked at the question.

“Here, I’ll text it to you. Why- Eddie what are you scheming?” He could hear the smirk in her voice, as if she knew what he was going to do before he did it.

“Nothing, nothing… I just wanna check in on our resident trashmouth and make sure he hasen’t fucking OD’d on Capri Sun or some shit” Eddie scoffed as the two on the other end laughed.

If the world was ending

You'd come over, right?

Right?

After their call ended, Eddie opened google maps and typed in Richie’s address.

I tried to imagine

Your reaction

It didn't scare me when the earthquake happened

Famous comedian Richie Tozier was indeed drinking Capri Sun, though he hadn't reached the point of overdosing, he could tell his taste buds were in the midst of destruction, as he’d just finished his fourth Capri Sun. Which is about 3 more than he should’ve had.

Richie only noticed the ground shaking after it had happened. He knew that if you were inside during an earthquake you were supposed to get outside as soon as possible, but it was so quick, should I go? He thought before sitting up from his couch and shuffled towards the door.

He glanced out into the hallway of his apartment floor and noticed some of his neighbours doing the same. He gave them a nod before one of the managers came through the door that led to the stairs. He advised everyone to stay inside as it was only a minor earthquake and there was no reason to leave.

Instead of reclaiming the spot on his couch, Richie went and took a seat on his balcony. This is something that he’s been doing more as the weather got warmer. He had put a chair out there, so when he got comfortable he propped his feet up on the railing and took in the skyline.

He couldn’t help but think what his hypochondriac, asthmatic, piece of pasta, was up to right now.

That idiot is probably losing his shit over the earthquake.

Richie chuckled to himself as he recalled how he was always prepared for something like this. Even in his younger years, his fanny pack was always equipped with the supplies to handle anything, from scraped knees, to runny noses. It was one of the many things he loved about Eddie… Yes, love.

The thought prompted Richie to run his hand over his face. He then removed his glasses and pressed the palms of his hands onto his closed eyes. His eyes started to tear up as he re-lived an old memory he once forgot.

But it really got me thinkin'

That night we went drinkin'

Stumbled in the house

And didn't make it past the kitchen

They’d been dating for just over a month now. Things were still exciting, still new. Something neither of them had experienced before. To say that they tried to spend every moment together was an understatement. Because once their feelings were out in the open, they hadn't been able to get off of eachother. They were always touching in one way or another. Whether it was holding hands, Richie having his arm draped over Eddie or Eddie having his arm around Richie’s waist.

It was one of the rare occasions where Sonia Kaspbrak had left town for the weekend, out to go visit family, and she hadn't taken Eddie with her, like usual. So Richie and Eddie had the Kaspbrak residence all to themselves. Sure they spent the first half of the night drinking cheap beer with the other Losers at the Quarry, but after they got home they had their most memorable make out sessions to date.

They’d just entered the house and Richie had already picked up Eddie. Their kisses become more intense as the space between their bodies vanished. The smaller boy wrapped his arms around the taller's neck and his legs around his waist, hugging him like a koala. The curly haired teen had his hands positioned on the other’s ass, he gave it a little squeeze before he set him down on the kitchen counter.

Once Eddie’s butt had gone numb, Richie’s legs got tired, and both their lips grew raw, Eddie hopped off the counter and grabbed Richie’s hand. He pulled his smitten boyfriend up the stairs and to his room. That’s where they continued their heated make out session, except it wasn't ass intense. Their kisses were still passionate, but almost tired, it was late after all.

Richie pulled his shirt over his head, Eddie began kissing his neck, his chest, anywhere he could reach. Richie had snaked his right hand up Eddie’s shirt, so it pressed up against Eddie’s back, the touch sent shivers down Eddie’s spine.

“May I?” Richie requested, which was something he did a lot when they were in bed together. He always asked before he did things. Sure they were both inexperienced horny teens, but Richie always wanted to make sure that Eddie was comfortable with anything they did.

“Do it- Rich I’m all yours” Eddie said in between kisses. He felt Richie grabbed a handful of his shirt, that’s when he reluctantly sat up. Which allowed Richie to gracefully pull the shirt up and over Eddie’s head. Their chests were pressed together, skin on skin. It sent fireworks exploding in both of their chests.

The kisses soon grew lazy, and they both opted to lay in eachothers arms. Cuddled as close together as humanly possible. Their pants had come off, leaving the teens in their boxers. So their bare legs were tangled together as Eddie’s head laid against Richie’s chest, he hummed happily to the sound of Richie’s speedy heartbeat. Richie’s head sat comfortably on top of Eddie’s, one of his hands laced together with his boyfriend’s while the other was carefully brushing out Eddie’s soft brown curls.

Neither of them wanted to be anywhere else. If they could’ve lived in that moment forever, they would have.

Ah, it's been a year now

Think I've figured out how

How to think about you without it rippin' my heart out

Up until the day Richie’s memories were taken without his permission, about a year after he left Derry to try the whole ‘comedian’ thing, he had regretted not saying it back to Eddie. He doesn't know what came over him on the day the love of his life left. It was just something about not being able to see him everyday, not being able to hold his hand when he got nervous or climb through his window when he had a nightmare, that scared him. He worried that without that physical touch, he wouldn’t be able to hold onto the Eddie he once was. Practically convincing himself that once Eddie found someone he could actually be with, he’d dump Richie.

So the Trashmouth decided to end things before he could get his heart broken. Little did he know that his heart would still beat for Eddie Kaspbrak up until the day that that name held no meaning to him anymore.

When he saw Eddie again, after 27 years, it was as if nothing had changed. The subtle glances, the twist of his stomach when his hand brushed against Eddie’s, the way he couldn’t think about anything else, and the way his heart ached for a love that they once shared.

Richie, worried about messing things up again, he waited for Eddie to make the first move. Unsure if they were anything more than friends, Richie kept it that way, just friends. Eddie never did bring anything up. Not at the Jade of the Orient, not when he almost died, and not when he left the hospital. Sure it felt like he ripped Richie’s heart out of his chest, tore it in half, then shoved it back in, but he knew it was for the best. Afterall, Eddie had moved on, married a woman, and started a life without him. It killed him to see, but it wasn't his place to go and ruin what Eddie had worked so hard to build.

It’s been a year now. A year since he’s seen Eddie. A year of staring at his phone, threatening to click the call button and finally hear his voice again, a year of writing texts that’d never be sent, a year of going between LA and New York in hopes of randomly bumping into Eddie at some coffee shop. But it’s been a year, and Richie is finally able to think about Eddie without it feeling like his heart is being ripped out of his chest. It’s progress.

But if the world was ending

You'd come over, right?

A doorbell ripped Richie from the memory he was reliving. Suddenly aware of the tears on his cheeks and his shaking hands. Fuck, he mentally cursed. He checked his reflection in the camera of his phone. Who the hell is at my door at, he checked the time, 6:00 pm, what the fuck?. He gave his eyes one more wip before he reached for the doorknob, he didn’t care if the mailman saw him with red puffy eyes and wet cheeks, Bob had seen him in the worst conditions.

His heart momentarily stopped at the familiar sight of Eddie James Kaspbrak who stood in the hallway of his apartment building. Suddenly the phrase, A sight for sore eyes, became so clear to him, because his sore eyes suddenly became soft at the sight of the boy who once brought him so much joy.

“Eddie…” Richie breathed, his mind unable to properly phrase sentences.

“Richie, a-are you okay?” Eddie’s voice was laced with concern, worried that he’d just walked in on something.

Richie had done something he grew too comfortable with, “Me? Yeah, yeah, I’m fine, never not fine, am I right?” He joked.

Eddie’s brow scrunched ever so slightly, unaware of what to do. “Right… Sorry to show up out of the blue. Just wanted to check in and make sure you were okay, you know with the whole earthquake and all” He changed his tone, to sound more comforting.

“Oh…” Something broke inside of Richie. Of course he was only here because of the fucking earthquake. It’s not like he has any other reason to come see the boy who fucking left him at the airport- “I’m A okay, thanks for checking in Eds” Richie assured with a wink. He made sure his voice sounded extra chipper, afraid that he’d somehow allow Eddie to see how close he was to breaking.

Eddie huffed, almost as if he was amused, “Don’t call me that” he shook his head jokingly. Of course there was more he wanted to say, 27 years of thoughts and emotions that’d went unsaid, but he kept it that way. “Well you seem to be doing fine, so I guess I’ll leave you be- see you around Trashmouth”.

The nickname sent memories flashing through both of their minds, the arguments they had at school when they threw that nickname at him, Beeping Richie whenever his motormouth wouldn’t slow down. Maybe under different circumstances, they would’ve shared a laugh. Talked about the good old days over a coffee on Richie’s balcony and maybe even open up the Pandora's box that was their relationship. Instead, Eddie gave Richie a small wave, and turned to make his way towards the elevator.

Eddie let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding it, suddenly tense with regret. There was so much more he wanted to say, but it was too late.

Richie closed the door and leaned his forehead against the cool wood. I can’t believe I fucked this up again. Just like always. Leave it up to good ol’ trashmouth to ruin the best fucking thing that’s ever happened to him.... Suddenly Eddie’s words rang out through his head, so loud and earth shattering it almost caused his eyes to tear up again. I Love You.

“I Love you too Eddie…” Richie said to himself. Then it dawned on him. “I love you” he repeated.

His hand reached out the door handle and he hastily opened the door to his apartment. He took a step out of his apartment and saw Eddie waiting for the elevator. Richie wasted no time, he was 27 years late after all.

“I love you” He shouted to the man down the hall from him.

Eddie’s eyes looked up to meet Richie’s, big and tear filled, with a sliver of hope inside of his iriss.

Richie talked as he ran to him. “I love you. Edward fucking Kaspbrak. And I’ve kicked myself every goodman day of my life for not saying it back to you because I, love you”. Now he was in front of Eddie, spilling his heart out, “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. And I always knew I loved you, since the day you kissed my scraped knee in fourth grade. It just took me 27 fucking years to relaize I can’t live without you… My little piece of spaghetti'' The last line got a huff from Eddie.

“Really know how to ruin a moment, don’t you Rich?” He asked, but his voice held no anger, only pure and utter joy.

Richie disregarded the comment and continued, “I know you’re married and I am 27 years late, but fuck, I had to tell you before I fucking imploded. Because I love you.”

Eddie stood there for a moment, as if he was soon going to be woken up from this dream. Then he finally mustered the power to speak, “I love you too Richie”. Eddie couldn’t help himself, he’d been waiting 27 years. He took a couple steps, closing the distance between the two, he placed his hand on the back of Richie’s neck, pulled him down and kissed him.

Richie hesitated for a split second before returning the kiss. Then it was just like they were kids again, fireworks exploded through their bodies as their hearts began to beat together.

You'd come over and you'd stay the night

Would you love me for the hell of it?

All our fears would be irrelevant

“I love you” Richie couldn’t stop saying it, as if he was trying to make up for all the time he hadn't been saying it. He said it when they pulled away from their kiss, when he led Eddie back into his apartment, and plenty of times while they made out on Richie’s bed.

If the world was ending

You'd come over, right?

The sky'd be falling while I'd hold you tight

No, there wouldn't be a reason why

We would even have to say goodbye

It was midnight, only then did they begin to calm down off of the high they’d been riding. As if the years of crushing and pinning had built up, and finally they’d been able to get what they craved.

Richie laid on his back, with Eddie’s head resting on his chest, with one hand over Richie’s heart while the other was laced together with the other’s.

“I love you” he repeated again, meaning every word he said.

“I love you too” Eddie said. His heart beat in his chest, his entire heart. No missing or lost pieces, because he’d found Richie again, and all of the pieces were finally put back into place.

If the world was ending

You'd come over, right?

“I don’t care what happens now” Eddie said, he looked up to meet Richie’s gaze. “The marriage can be dealt with. Hell, I don’t even care where we end up, here, LA, anywhere, as long as I’m with you” For the first time in a long time, Eddie felt hope. He was excited for what the future held, because he wasn't alone anymore.

You'd come over, right?

You'd come over, you'd come over, you'd come over, right?

“We’ll make it work” Richie kissed Eddie’s forehead, “We always do”.

If the world was ending

You'd come over, right?

Word Count: 5350

I hope you guys enjoyed the one shot! I had a lot of fun writing it.

If you've got any songs you want me to turn into a one shot then comment down below!

Until next time

So Long and Goodnight

[Taglist]

@richietoaster @s-onora @that-weird-girl-blog @beproudtozier

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sunflowers-heart · 5 years ago

Text

May 9th – Change

Lyn’s Writing Event

Pairing: Thorin Oakenshield x Reader

Word count: 1,691

Warnings: Heavy angst

Author’s note: And for my next trick I’ll step on your feelings :)

Thorin Oakenshield considered changes as an inevitable part of life.

Unlike humans, he was allowed to live through the centuries and watch the world change in front of his bare eyes—the cities to be build, the lands to be conquered, the friends to be made and the foes to be defeated. Although the longevity of Elves was still out of his reach and the cold breath of death always one step behind him, he considered himself somehow lucky. Not everyone could live long enough to obtain a knowledge and skill as great as him, just like not everyone could make a good use of the life given to them.

And he was, indeed, rather proud of his achievements. His family and friends were, too.

Standing next to the majestic oak tree with branches so wide they could reach from one side of the main gate to the Erebor to the other, Thorin thought that he has seen the sun setting behind it thousands of times. It truly was a good idea, to plant a tree when it was barely a seedling on the meadow behind the Lonely Mountain and watch it grow.

He smiled at the memory.

It seemed as if that day happened no longer than few months ago. The grass was as yellowish as today, still not woken up from the winter slumber, the sky crystal clear and the smell of the sun in the air. The first day of spring and yet, the birds were understanding that it was their time coming, chirping sweetly in the distance and flying cheerfully around. It suited your excitement perfectly, the seedling in your hands soon to be placed in the ground.

“I just cannot wait to see it grow big and strong,” you admitted, not vary to get your hands dirty in the ground, while Thorin held the tree to make sure it was positioned straight. “We can get a wonderful place to rest during sunny days. And the birds will surely enjoy it, too, a new place to build nests.”

“Weren’t you saying that their morning serenades are disturbing your sleep during the journey here?” he reminded.

“It was something completely different! Now, look, it is almost done.”

Indeed, it was, the smile on your face so wide, Thorin could barely remember when was the last time you were so eager to do something. He found himself observing you instead of the plant, your features and the sparks in your eyes much more interesting than even the most special tree.

“I love you,” he confessed all of a sudden, causing you to blink and look at him puzzled.

“I love you, too, Thorin,” you answered and moved near him, to give him a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “More than you do love me.”

“No way,” he groaned. “I am the King and therefore I love you more.”

“And I am soon-to-be Queen and therefore I cannot love my future husband less than he does.”

“Nonsense, I see no correlation.”

And so, you teased him from time to time, just to see the King under the Mountain fall for you all over again. It always ended with a kiss, hands held together and the promises of even better times to come.

You looked stunning in your wedding dress, the jewelry given to you by him only making your beauty more visible and radiant, and for the first moment, Thorin was completely speechless. He stood there like a fool, unable to move or say a single word, simply eyeing you and not believing that you were really going to be his wife—that the love of his life, his One was truly there, within reach. After all he has been through, there was finally a time when all the troubles left him, the bold line being drawn at the end of this chapter with an intention of starting a new one.

The better, brighter one because you were there.

The way your laugh echoed in the halls was a music to his ears, no matter that sometimes, when you got particularly amused, it was nowhere near ladylike. On the contrary, that was when he loved it the most, the genuine expression of utter happiness floating from your heart. You taught him how to smile more often and to find the reason to do so every single day.

Countless stuff were filling Thorin’s once neat and minimalistic bedroom, since you moved in. Naturally, you wanted to make this place look as comfortable as possible, considering the fact that you were surrounded by the cold, dark stone, and he never argued with that. Whatever meaning were your things hiding, he realized that their presence was quite nice, always reminding him of you and your interests.

He did not even say a word when he found out that there was only one shelf destined for him left, all the rest occupied by your belongings. It was precious, to watch you place them and for your bedroom to seem more and more like a journal—every page filled with various memories you wished to cherish.

Thorin was the one to notice the first gray strand in your hair. You were resting your head upon his chest and slowly falling asleep, listening to him telling you an old story from his childhood, when his gaze landed upon something different. Not stopping the lazy strokes over your head, he took a closer look to make sure that he was not mistaken but no matter how much he wanted it to be some kind of hallucination, the single gray hair was stubbornly there.

Soon enough, he did not see it anymore, for the image in front of him got blurry, but the tone of his voice remained the same.

“I love you,” he told you the next day in the morning, right after you woke up in his arms. “Nothing will ever change that.”

“Well,” you started, still not completely awake and surprised by his sudden confession. “I hope so. I would hate to participate in a duel to win your heart again, but if I had to…”

He chuckled.

“I would never doubt that and I can assure you that there is nobody else to duel with.”

“Good,” you yawned. “I would like to have a breakfast with my lovely husband first.”

Thorin kissed the top of your head, in the same place where he found the damned hair previous night.

“You will, my dearest.”

The music was rapid and chaotic in the background and yet, you paid no attention to it, as you swayed with Thorin to the rhythm of a completely different melody. Slow and steady steps taken back and forth and to the sides were creating such a contrast to the joyful jumps and swirls of the other members of the great feast organized to celebrate Fíli’s hundred birthday. In the arms of the King under the Mountain, however, you were safe from the whole world, keeping him close to you with eyes closed and simply feeling his presence with your body and soul.

It was warm and peaceful, just like his love for you.

Wandering through the lands you almost forgot about, you realized how much they changed during all those years spent in the Erebor. The forests seemed to grow taller, the roads longer and the hills higher, as if the world was spreading to every side. It was hard to imagine that you were travelling there with The Company once, on a quest to kill the dragon and reclaim the place you knew now as your home. Thorin, walking by your side insisted that he remembered the way perfectly and encouraged you to visit Shire as a small substitute of the adventure you once had and a present for your anniversary.

Also, to visit an old friend of yours.

Not Bilbo, nor his habits differed from what you remembered and after you crossed the threshold (naturally, without knocking first), you were both welcomed like a guests of honour, with tea and snacks.

“I have to admit,” you stated after walking over the small hill and leaving Bag End behind. “It was a good idea. Thank you for suggesting that.”

“I am glad you consider it as such,” Thorin smiled. “It would be a terrible waste of time and energy if you did not.”

“Time spent with you is never a waste, Thorin. No matter what we do or where we are, it is always good when you are with me. I love you and it is honestly all that matters.”

He truly hoped that the words you spoke that day were genuine, because the thought of wasting your life was haunting him for many weeks after you were gone. If he only did not meet you during the quest, you would have a completely different life, perhaps better than the one he could offer you—living and dying in the kingdom of stone and steel.

Standing alone under the tree you planted together and observing the setting sun for the countless time, Thorin realized that although he seemed to come back to the very same place he started from—to the crushing loneliness and lack of purpose—everything was different. You were the most beautiful and significant change that has ever happened to him and there was no way he would ever be the same as he was before seeing you for the first time.

Thorin was back in his home, the place he knew from an early childhood and nothing was the same.

You gave his life the meaning he was desperately looking for, you showered him with love he believed he did not deserve, you willingly devoted your whole life to him and spent your last hours in his arms. It was much more than he could ever ask you for, the greatest and most precious gift handed to him long before he realized what it was.

The privilege of growing old together, where the only permanent and constant thing remaining was his endless love for you.

And maybe it was meant to be this way.

#lyn's writing event #thorin oakenshield #thorin #thorin oakenshield x reader #thorin x reader #the hobbit

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nicolewrites · 5 years ago

Text

We Stand, Fate-Tested - VII

Mystery. Intrigue. Plot Parallels. Enjoy.

My last final is tomorrow and I should have studied instead of writing this, but oh well.

Rating: T+ Genre: Mystery, Friendship, Romance Characters: [Byleth/My Unit, Dimitri B.], [Byleth/My Unit, Claude R.] Words: 6,488

A trip to Fhirdiad meets an unexpected end. / Where there are friends, there are enemies hiding beneath.

AO3 | FFN

VII - What’s A Little Fear

Fhirdiad National Museum of Unification, Fhirdiad - 22 Pegasus Moon, 733 AU

“It’s a beautiful sword, isn’t it?”

Byleth tore her eyes from the relic of the old ages to glance at Claude who had just joined her. He was studying the artifact in front of them with a now-familiar analytical gaze. Byleth nodded and turned back to it. She had been to the museum in the capital once before, but the Guardian’s Sword was such an iconic relic that the room it was kept in was always completely packed solid, so she hadn’t gotten a chance to get a close up look at it.

“It is,” she agreed with Claude.

He glanced around the room, noting its emptiness, and then looked back at the sword. “This isn’t exactly how I thought I would be seeing it for the first time. I had imagined more people and much more noise.”

Byleth smiled faintly at that. “What? You don’t enjoy the quiet of this place before it’s open to the public?” Claude shrugged. “It’s almost disconcerting.”

Byleth nodded. “Last time I was here I didn’t get to see many of the things that I wanted to see because there were too many people. I didn’t think we’d get to be in here before opening today while they prepared the supplies for us.”

Claude hummed his agreement. “It’s strange, for sure. I spent a fair amount of my childhood in the capital, but there was a part of me that never wanted to come here.” Byleth was surprised at that. “Considering how much time you told me you spent in the galleries, that’s surprising to me.”

Claude shrugged again. “I don’t know, maybe I just preferred Almyra’s description of them, not this blurry, half-assed monument to their accomplishments.”

Byleth considered his words. There was certainly a stark difference between the Almyran and Fódlani representations of the Unification Era. Almyra seemed set on preserving and respecting the ages while Fódlan was always more interested in analyzing it and interpreting things. It made for interesting contrasts in records of historical events, especially since so much of Fódlan’s precious written history had been destroyed in two disasters: the Scorch and the Riots.

“Where are Edelgard and Dimitri?” Byleth asked Claude after another moment.

Claude turned and pointed at the doorway to the room. This room wasn’t a particularly large exhibit as it held the Guardian’s Sword and a few things that were supposed to be personal relics that had belonged to the Guardian of Order including an old, rust-speckled silver shield and a very old, very worn leather diary in a glass case. The words on its pages were far too worn to read and Byleth was still shocked that the pages hadn’t turned to dust a hundred years ago.

Byleth walked in the direction Claude was pointing, heading back into the main room of this particular exhibit. True to his word, Edelgard and Dimitri were standing on the far side of the room studying a few of the artifacts in particular. Claude kept pace with her as she walked towards them, glancing at the room’s artifacts as she went.

This was the Relic Room. Not counting the Guardian’s Sword, every single Relic that had been created was supposed to be stored here. There were 12 of them in total and each had a name and a history. They were almost frightening to look at with their bone-like design and Byleth knew they had likely been incredibly powerful in their time.

Dimitri and Edelgard both appeared to be studying the three Relics that were the centrepieces of the exhibit: a bow, a lance, and an axe. Neither of them noticed Byleth coming so she cleared her throat, catching their attention.

“The Lords’ Relics,” she explained. “Failnaught, Areadbhar, and Aymr.”

Edelgard nodded and Dimitri turned his gaze to Byleth as if he was waiting for her to explain more. “Supposedly wielded by the King of Dawn, the Saviour King, and the last Emperor of the Adrestian Empire.”

“This one looks slightly different,” Edelgard mused, assessing Aymr with a careful glance.

“It is,” Claude agreed. “Records show that Aymr was supposedly the only one of these 12, including the Guardian’s Sword, that was not wielded by one of Fódlan’s Ten Elite,” he explained.

“I wonder who created it,” Dimitri pondered thoughtfully.

Edelgard frowned. “And why.”

Byleth nodded. “Both good questions. Unfortunately, those answers likely burned with Garreg Mach in the Scorch.” She glanced at the Relics, noting the brutally sharp edges that remained even after more than 700 years of not being used. “They would have been something else in their time.”

Dimitri looked hard at Areadbhar. “I’ve been to this museum half a dozen times in my life and yet this is the first time I can truly say that this feels familiar,” he said quietly.

“Familiar?” Edelgard pressed, her lips pursing.

“It’s like you’ve seen it before but you can’t place when or where,” Claude supplied for Dimitri. “Like you have some memory of holding it, but you don’t know why.”

Byleth glanced at Claude who seemed fixated on Failnaught, the bow. His gaze was analytical and almost the tiniest bit wistful. She looked back at the weapons and considered the strange dreams of the throne and the vivid vision she’d had during the dig.

“I feel the same,” Edelgard admitted after a moment.

Byleth looked between the three students and the weapons of the Lords from the Unification Era. “The Guardian of Order was the one who called for their collection together,” she explained. Dimitri looked at her, but Edelgard and Claude remained fixated on the Relics. “What is it about them that caused her to call for their collection after her husband died?”

Claude hummed. “You’re saying you think the Relics played directly into how the Saviour King died?”

Byleth considered his words. “I don’t know,” she replied. “If the Relics were truly the weapons of trusted companions and allies of hers, I don’t see why she would have had any reason to call for their collection except if they were dangerous.”

“There were always legends in my family that it was an attempt at a centralization of power,” Edelgard added. Her nose wrinkled in distaste. “But, then again, my family apparently had never been particularly fond of the Church or the former Holy Kingdom of Faerghus.”

Byleth raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

Edelgard shrugged. “Apparently I’m descended from some distant former Adrestian nobles.”

Her surprise must have shown on her face because Claude laughed. “Come on, Teach, didn’t you know? You’re standing before the next generation of the old lords,” he said teasingly.

Byleth swept her gaze to Dimitri who had taken a sudden interest in his shoes. He felt her gaze and his shoulders tensed imperceptibly. “It’s true,” he agreed. “I, myself, happen to be able to trace my own lineage back to close relatives of the Saviour King.” Dimitri looked back at Areadbhar. He shook his head. “Maybe that’s why all of this feels familiar.”

Before Byleth could comment further, someone cleared their throat nearby and the four of them turned to see one of the museum curators that had let them into the exhibit early standing a few feet away.

“Miss Eisner, we have the supplies that Dr. Cichol requested ready for you now.”

Byleth straightened. “Great, thank you.” The curator turned to leave and Byleth followed him. Something in her stomach twisted as she walked past the Guardian’s room of the exhibit. She glanced through the doorway towards the ancient sword before shaking her head and continuing after the curator.

The supplies that Seteth had requested mostly included extra tools and marking supplies since the University wasn’t well-equipped for a dig of the scale that they were proceeding with. There were five boxes of tools and Byleth immediately sent the three students to work carrying them out to Edelgard’s car while she signed off on the transfer with the curator.

As she scrawled her signature on the last line on the clipboard, the curator gave her a warm smile. “The museum is very excited by the work your mentor is doing,” he said idly as Dimitri grabbed the last box and headed out the side door again.

Edelgard didn’t reappear, apparently having stayed in the car, but Claude reappeared in the doorway and watched the interaction curiously.

Byleth smiled faintly. She had the beginning of a headache pulsing at the back of her head, but she shook it away. “It’s exciting to be a part of,” she agreed. “History deserves to be preserved.”

She was about to walk away when the curator continued: “We’re glad you’re a part of it too, getting to continue your father’s work.”

She tensed and turned back to him, biting her tongue so sharply she almost drew blood. “My father?”

Claude stepped more fully into the room, looking deeply intrigued. The curator gave a tight smile. “Your father did quite a bit of security work for our sponsored expeditions. We were sorry to hear of his passing.”

Byleth frowned and felt another pang of pain in her head, closer to her temple. “Yeah,” she murmured.

“Anyway, it was nice to meet you, Miss Eisner,” the curator said as a farewell, turning back to the microscope on the desk in front of him.

Byleth swallowed hard at the clear dismissal and turned to head out to the car. Claude gave her a concerned look that seemed to ask her how she was feeling. Byleth shook her head and brushed past him to the exterior of the museum where Edelgard was parked in the loading bay.

Since it was her car, Edelgard was driving. Dimitri had claimed shotgun, citing his long legs and the need for more space. Claude had complained during the trip to Fhirdiad, but both of his friends had ignored him, relegating him to the backseat with Byleth. Byleth slid into the backseat again, careful of the box of trammels and shovels balanced on the middle seat, and pulled out her phone.

She shot Seteth a text saying that they had the supplies and were about to head out on their return trip. Claude slid in next to her and Byleth ignored the looks exchanged between him, Dimitri, and Edelgard in regards to her sudden mood change. She worried her teeth against her bottom lip as Edelgard started the car and pointedly looked away from Claude. She didn’t particularly feel like having Claude dissect her current mental state.

The trio managed to keep an easy conversation for the first hour of the trip out of the city, chatting about the classes they were taking that semester and what their plans were for their first summer as graduates. Byleth listened, but she didn’t contribute. Apparently Edelgard and Dimitri were both planning on being in Fhirdiad and looking for work in the capital. Claude, on the other hand, seemed particularly evasive, not committing to either staying in Fódlan or returning to Almyra.

As they finally managed to maneuver out of the Sunday morning traffic in the capital and onto the main road back towards Garreg Mach, Edelgard looked at something in the rearview mirror and frowned. “What is it?” Byleth asked, noting the troubled look.

Edelgard sighed tightly. “I’m probably imagining things, but I could have sworn I saw that black SUV behind us back at the museum.”

Byleth glanced out the rear window and noted the large car that was tailing them. It wasn’t particularly close or threatening, but she did note that both the driver and the passenger were wearing dark-coloured baseball caps. She narrowed her eyes. “Weird,” she muttered.

Claude had also taken a look out the back window and he scowled. “I recognize the license plate. You’re right, Edel.”

“Maybe they’re just headed in the same direction as us,” Dimitri said, but he didn’t sound entirely convinced of his own words. “It is a Sunday,” he excused.

Nothing more was said on the black SUV as Edelgard focused back on the road, but there was an undeniable blanket of tension that had settled around them. Byleth found herself glancing back every few minutes to check on the vehicle, but it had followed them onto the southbound highway.

It kept a safe distance, so eventually, Byleth conceded that Dimitri had probably been correct in assuming that it was just more people headed back towards the University at the end of the weekend. After another hour had passed, they managed to slip back into a lighter conversation. Claude quizzed Byleth on the dig and Seteth’s developing plans for moving out of the main room.

Edelgard poked fun at Dimitri and Claude and Byleth ended up hearing her fair share of stories of the three of them from when they were younger and some of the stupid things they did as kids. Dimitri talked about his childhood friends Felix, Sylvain, and Ingrid and Claude explained the first time that he visited Fódlan and some of the shenanigans that had occurred when he had first met his friend Hilda.

The SUV behind them disappeared after about hour four, taking an exit going east instead of continuing south. They stopped for lunch at a rest stop and picked up a few snacks to eat for dinner. Dimitri had offered to drive for the remaining half of the trip, but Edelgard had waved him off, claiming she wanted control of her own car. When they had been stopped, Claude commented that since they had gotten out of the city earlier than expected they would be back before dinner.

Dimitri had brightened up and suggested that they take the lower road which would take them a bit further east before continuing south since it would allow them to skirt the edge of the mountains on a bit of a scenic route. Claude had been indifferent, but Edelgard had seemed interested in the detour, mentioning she had never spent much time in the northeast. Having done some travel with her father years ago, Byleth knew the road Dimitri was talking about and agreed it might be a nice break.

They had set out around one in the afternoon and had driven for a few hours before reaching the lowest parts of the mountains. The views were beautiful and they reminded Byleth of the times she had come camping with her father in these parts. She smiled faintly as the hills rolled by and Claude poked her in the arm.

“You look happy,” he said quietly so that Dimitri and Edelgard didn’t hear him over the radio and the hum of the engine.

Byleth shrugged. “I did this drive with my father almost ten years ago,” she confessed. “It’s pretty.”

Claude smiled. “Yeah,” he agreed. He looked out the back window to admire the view behind them and his expression slackened into surprise.

“Claude?” Byleth prompted. He didn’t reply so she turned to look out the back herself. There was a black SUV on the road around 50 metres behind them. She made eye contact with Claude and felt her mouth go dry.

“Edelgard,” Claude began calmly, “you should pull over and let this guy pass us.”

Edelgard and Dimitri both glanced back and Edelgard went tense immediately. Byleth watched her swallow tensely. “Yeah,” she muttered, flicking on her signal light and pulling into the shoulder.

A roar from the road ahead of them caused all four of them to go rigid. Byleth’s hands shot to the back of Dimitri’s seat as she watched in horror as a second black SUV raced to meet them head-on, driving on the wrong side of the road. Edelgard jerked the wheel sharply to the left, swerving into the wrong lane to avoid the car as she swore loudly. The oncoming SUV screamed past, swerving back into its lane.

Before Edelgard could right the car, Claude let out a cry of alarm as he looked out the back window. “Look out!”

It was too late to react as the SUV behind them had accelerated to smash the back half of Edelgard’s car. Byleth’s knuckles tightened violently on Dimitri’s seat in front of her as the car spun. Edelgard frantically turned the wheel, trying to control the spin of the vehicle, but the SUV rammed them again and she lost control.

The car spun back across the correct lane and into the shoulder before the front of the car on the driver’s side clipped the guardrail and the tires squealed out. The rail groaned from the impact as the rest of the car spun violently around the pivot point, colliding with the guardrail. Claude’s arm shot out and his hand landed on top of Byleth’s on the back of Dimitri’s seat as someone in the car screamed. The guardrail gave out this time, sending the car spinning dangerously into the ditch on the side of the road.

There was another heavy screech of the tires on the edge of the pavement and gravel before the box in the middle of the backseat rose from the force of the bump and slammed into Byleth. The impact slammed her head against the window hard enough that she saw stars. The car rolled with a sickening crunch and Byleth’s head cracked against the window again and her vision went completely dark.

It felt like someone was using a jackhammer on the inside of her skull when Byleth forced her eyes open again. Her whole body ached and she blinked heavily. The window next to her had shattered, but at least the vehicle was the right way up. Ignoring the sharp pain in her neck, Byleth assessed the rest of the car.

They had swerved clear off the road and past the barrier, landing in the ditch which had triggered a small rockfall that had landed mostly on the driver’s side of the car. Edelgard’s airbag had deployed and Byleth’s stomach twisted as she noted the other girl was limp against the deployed bag. She turned her gaze to Claude who appeared mostly pinned between the heavy box of excavation supplies and the mangled door of the car from the rocks. He also appeared to be out cold

With shaking hands, she removed her seatbelt and leaned forwards to try and check on Dimitri. From directly behind him, she couldn’t see his face, but she let her hands grab at his shoulders. After a brief pause, one of his hands came up to touch her hands. Byleth exhaled in relief.

“Are you alright?” she asked him.

Dimitri didn’t reply and Byleth’s gaze flickered out the broken windshield of the car. There was a faint trail of smoke emitting from the front of the car and she let out a string of curses. She immediately released Dimitri’s shoulders and tried to force her door open. She ended up having to swivel in her seat to kick at the door but eventually, she applied enough force to get the door open. It groaned on the hinges and Byleth scrambled out of the car.

She ripped the passenger side door open and her blood ran cold at the vacant look on Dimitri’s face. His head was bleeding from a nasty cut at his hairline, but his blue eyes were blankly staring straight at the smoking engine of the car. Byleth swallowed and grabbed his arm, trying to pull him out of the car and back into the moment. Dimitri was dead weight and Byleth cursed again.

She recognized the particular look of despair and dissociative emotion on his face and something in her memory clicked. She had felt the same when she had seen Monica Ochs had been found dead. He was relieving the darkest moment of his life when both of his parents and a close friend of his had died in a brutal car crash in Duscur.

“Dimitri!” she practically yelled. She grabbed his face and turned it towards her. He blinked slowly and she watched him come back to himself partially. She shook her head vigorously. “I’m not strong enough to get them out of the car alone, I need your help.”

Dimitri blinked slowly one more time before his expression steeled and he basically snapped his seatbelt in half before crawling out of the wreckage. He was littered with scrapes from the shattered glass and Byleth imagined she looked similar, but they circled the car, trying to find an opening in the fallen rocks where they could free their friends.

Dimitri managed to shove one particularly large rock away in a burst of almost inhuman strength and Byleth was able to squeeze close enough to the car to drag Edelgard’s door open. With trembling hands, she felt for a pulse on Edelgard’s slim wrist and nearly collapsed in relief when she found it. She looped her arms awkwardly around Edelgard’s and pulled her from the crushed driver’s side. Edelgard was limp against her and Byleth slowly extricated her from the crushed driver’s side.

Just as she was pulling her fully free, she heard a low groan and her gaze snapped to where Claude was coming to in the backseat.

“Teach?” he muttered weakly as he forced his eyes open.

Byleth let out a terrified and breathy laugh as Dimitri squeezed himself through the rocks enough to take Edelgard’s weight from Byleth. He carefully maneuvered himself and Edelgard back out of the rocks and Byleth set to work on trying to force Claude’s door open. She coughed against the dust and growing smoke from the front of the car. Claude rammed his shoulder against the door as best he could and glass tinkled as it broke further.

“On three,” she instructed. “One, two, three,” she jerked the door at the same time Claude slammed into it from the inside and they managed to pry it open enough that he could slip out. He buckled onto his hands and knees and gasped in pain, curling his left arm into his chest as soon as he was free.

Byleth practically grabbed him around the middle and hauled him away from the car and they collapsed together a few feet away from the wreckage as more smoke wafted up from the front of it. Strong arms lifted Byleth to her feet and she dragged Claude with her. Dimitri steadied Byleth and guided them both over to the guardrail where he had laid Edelgard’s prone form.

Byleth released Claude and started assessing Edelgard. She was alive, thankfully, but soundly knocked out as a result of the force of the impact. She turned back to the boys and saw them both sitting staring at the car in shock. Claude looked winded and in pain and the vacant look had crept back into Dimitri’s expression now that the immediate danger of the crushed and smoking vehicle had passed.

Byleth let out a strangled laugh as she watched the smoke from the car grow. It was going to catch fire and they were going to be incredibly glad they had crawled away from it. Claude’s head tipped towards her as she laughed incredulously. He gave a breathy chuckle and then winced at the pain it caused.

Byleth fumbled for her phone and dialled the emergency number as adrenaline pumped through her strong enough to ward off her pain.

- ~ - ~ -

Garreg Mach Monastery - 28 Pegasus Moon, 7 AU

Byleth was taking tea with Petra and Ashe in the courtyard when the news arrived. The couple was newly returned from Brigid and had brought a small contingent of their Blue Sun knight’s order to receive Byleth’s blessing. Byleth had been honoured that both of her former pupils still valued her opinion so greatly even after over a decade since she had been their teacher. They had spent some time in Fhirdiad first for political negotiations, but they had come by the monastery to see her after the fact.

Shamir was the one who interrupted them, tapping her knuckles against the latticework of the garden to draw their attention. Byleth stood immediately, acknowledging her friend.

“Your Grace, scouts report a party riding for Garreg Mach under the King’s banners,” Shamir reported.

Byleth was surprised. She was due to return to Fhirdiad in a week and she certainly wasn’t expecting a visitor on behalf of her husband before that point. Ashe also looked surprised, but Petra just sipped her tea once before rising to her feet.

“Dimitri is coming, then?” the Brigid Queen asked.

Ashe tilted his head towards Byleth curiously. “I didn’t know Dimitri was coming,” he murmured.

Byleth pressed her lips together. “Neither did I,” she admitted.

Shamir led the three of them towards the market at the front of the monastery to receive the party riding under the banners of the king. As soon as the party broke from the edge of the woods Byleth exhaled in surprise. She recognized the lead rider immediately as the tall frame of her husband. On his right was Felix, and Annette was riding just behind her husband. Dedue was at Dimitri’s right and Mercedes was behind them.

Byleth laughed in delight as she hurried down the monastery steps to greet them. The beat of wings above her announced the presence of Ingrid and Sylvain as well as Ashe let out a cheer as he hurried after Byleth. Dimitri barely managed to stop his mount before he was leaping off and lifting Byleth off her feet with a sweeping kiss.

She laughed into it and pulled back, framing his face in her hands as she smiled broadly. “What are you doing here?”

Dedue answered her as the rest of the party dismounted. “We heard Ashe and Petra were coming for a visit and knew that it would be nice to get everyone together while we still could.” He tipped his head to Ashe and Petra, who had joined her husband and was smiling.

“Plus, even when these two were in the capital last week, they didn’t get to see all of us,” Ingrid called out from above as she landed her pegasus beside Annette’s horse. Sylvain’s wyvern landed next to her and he grinned broadly.

Dimitri kissed Byleth’s hair. “And I think everyone needed a break from the parenting craziness as well,” he murmured lowly and she smiled.

“I suppose I better get a case of wine for the dining hall tonight, then?” Byleth asked. Though she had been enjoying Petra and Ashe’s visit as it was, there was no denying it was wonderful to reunite the original Blue Lions.

“That sounds wonderful,” Mercedes said brightly as she took Dedue’s arm. She glanced around the market entrance briefly, noting the individuals who had paused to watch the reunion. “Where are Flayn and Seteth?”

Byleth’s lips parted blankly as she realized Flayn’s departure wasn’t commonly known information. Seteth had gone on a brief trip to the Eastern Church, but had been due back that afternoon and was still nowhere to be seen. “I’m not sure,” she confessed. “They’re supposed to be back by now.”

Ashe shook his head. “Don’t worry, Your Grace, I’m sure they just got a bit held up. I heard Raphael, Leonie, and Ignatz were around those parts. Maybe they just got caught up with familiar faces.”

Byleth nodded, hiding her guilt in a plain smile. “Of course. Anyways,” she turned back to the rest of the newly arrived travellers, “I imagine you are all exhausted after that journey. I’m sure we can get some more tea set out for everyone.”

Dimitri’s hand curled around Byleth’s and he squeezed it. “That sounds wonderful, my love,” he said.

It was late in the evening by the time that Byleth finally spotted Seteth’s wyvern returning from the east. She excused herself from Annette’s vibrant story and the listening former Blue Lions to go and greet him at the stable. She didn’t see Flayn’s pegasus and a seed of worry planted in her chest.

When she reached the stables, Seteth was removing the saddle from his wyvern in stiff, choppy motions. Flayn was, as she expected, nowhere to be found.

Seteth must have heard her footsteps on the stonework because he called out to her before she even reached him. “She was there.”

Byleth’s steps faltered, but she shook it off and stepped to the other side of Seteth’s wyvern so that she could make eye contact with her friend and advisor. “She was?”

He looked tired and almost years older than he had when he had left for the Eastern Church. He reached into his bag and passed Byleth a folded piece of paper over the back of his wyvern. He turned to lead his mount into its pen, leaving Byleth to read the letter in Flayn’s curling handwriting.

“At least she met with you,” Byleth murmured as she reached the end of the letter.

Seteth sighed heavily. “I am not surprised anymore. She cares deeply and always has.”

Byleth smothered an ill-timed giggle. “I still can’t believe I never saw that during their time at the academy.” Seteth smiled faintly, but Byleth detected the sadness in his expression as well. “I have always liked Ignatz, so there could have been much, much worse choices she could have made. She tells me that she’ll find me again, and I don’t doubt it.”

Byleth glanced down at the letter in her hand. “She’ll outlive him, won’t she?”

Seteth nodded. “Yes.”

“Maybe next time she’ll be able to call you Father instead of Brother,” she offered gently.

Seteth’s eyes softened. “Perhaps,” he conceded.

“She’ll be okay,” Byleth assured.

Seteth nodded. “I know.” His lips tightened. “There’s nothing easy about losing a child, no matter if it’s temporary or not.”

Byleth’s chest tightened and she looked down, blinking fiercely against the sudden sting in her eyes. “No,” she agreed faintly. She swallowed and looked back up at her advisor. Seteth’s gaze had wandered towards the stables that were notably fuller than when he had left. “The others are here,” she said. She held out Flayn’s letter to Seteth again. “They’ll be sad to have missed her.”

Seteth took the letter and looked between the main monastery and Byleth. “Are you alright?” he asked after a moment’s pause.

Byleth forced a smile. “Yes,” she said. “I’m going to go to the cathedral. I have some prayers to make tonight.”

Ever insightful, Seteth’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t protest. Byleth turned and immediately headed for the cathedral before he could press her any further. She didn’t particularly feel like talking about children, especially since many of the stories her friends were telling back in the dining hall were about their own children.

Byleth had only been in the cathedral for maybe ten minutes before she heard heavy footsteps enter. She kept her head down as if she was praying and hoped to blend in amongst the few monks that were in the cathedral this late at night. Her attempts were in vain as a warm presence sat next to her on the bench. She tilted her head slightly and saw Dimitri watching her patiently.

Wordlessly, she slid closer to him and rested her head against his shoulder. His hands cradled hers in her lap and he kissed her temple lightly. He waited for her to speak and didn’t press her to open up. The silent communication was a wonderful reminder of the good times they had spent together in the 12 years they had known each other and the nearly 7 years they had been a pair.

“I recognized Seteth’s pain before he had to explain anything,” Dimitri said cautiously.

Byleth let her eyes close and nodded slowly. “I wish I could go with you when you leave.”

“You’ll be in the capital soon,” he assured her, but she knew he understood her sadness.

She stirred against him and shifted so that she could look at his face. One of her hands slipped free from his grip and touched his jaw gently. “What could we have been like with no responsibilities or duties to separate us?” she asked quietly.

Dimitri smiled at the thought. “A pair of inseparable fools in love,” he suggested lightly.

Byleth felt herself smile. “I would have loved that,” she admitted. “But, we wouldn’t have been us without the responsibilities, would we?”

Dimitri turned his face to kiss the palm of her hand. “The nation wouldn’t be where it is today either, without you in the church and myself on the throne.”

“I don’t think I’ll ever stop wishing that it went differently,” Byleth said quietly. She glided her hand up to brush lightly against the strap of Dimitri’s eyepatch. He once might have flinched against the touch, but he just leaned into it.

“Have you been happy?”

She stilled in her gentle exploration and levelled him with a firm look. “Of course I have. Dimitri, I love you,” she assured. “I have been so, so happy with you.”

He nodded and another smile curled up his lips. “Let’s walk,” he suggested.

They strode, hand in hand, out the west side of the cathedral into the open air. There were a few monks in dark robes speaking quietly around as they strolled, but they gave the royal pair a wide enough berth that it felt private.

“It’s hard to listen to everyone talk about their kids,” Byleth confessed.

“Mercedes tried to steer the conversation away,” Dimitri pointed out.

Byleth nodded. “She and Felix were trying, but it’s hard. They’re all parents and Ashe and Petra are newly married. Besides, Mercedes and Dedue are the only ones who know about everything,” she reminded.

“We are so lucky to have them,” Dimitri agreed.

“Mercedes has been so wonderful that I had hoped Rhea was wrong.” She laughed bitterly. “I would have given anything for Rhea to be wrong.”

“Beloved,” Dimitri said slowly, his gaze heavy as he pulled them to a stop.

Byleth’s next phrase caught in her throat as a monk in dark grey robes walked by them. A sense of wrong washed over her so quickly that she went completely tense. She didn’t recognize the robes, she realized faintly. All of the monks in the cathedral were wearing dark robes that she didn’t recognize.

She pulled out of Dimitri’s grip and summoned a burst of white magic just in time to catch an incoming dark magic attack and deflect it to the side. The magic scorched against the stone and Byleth scowled fiercely. Dimitri’s hand dropped to the sword at his waist and he drew it without further prompting.

One of the stained glass windows above them exploded in a burst of coloured glass and Byleth flinched at the rain of shards around them. Dimitri pulled her along by the arm as they jogged south along the balcony towards the main monastery. Their attackers were sticking to the shadows of the monastery and Byleth was completely tense, holding a condensed Nosferatu in an open palm as she waited for a sign of movement.

Another window shattered and Byleth didn’t see the incoming burst of flame until Dimitri practically dragged her out of its path. Her Nosferatu dissipated in her palm. The heat of the flames licked against the stone and her dress, but she hurled a bolt of lightning in the direction it had come from. Behind her, Dimitri cursed as he shook out his non-sword arm. The edge of the flames had caught him.

They fell into step easily, pressing their backs together as they circled, staring into the night’s gloom to try and find their attackers. A rolling fog had settled around them, further obscuring their opponents and Byleth knew it was a product of dark magic, just as it had been all those years ago when they had faced Lonato’s rebellion.

Dimitri cried out suddenly behind her and Byleth spun, blasting more lightning. There was a wail of pain as she hit her target, but Dimitri had buckled to a knee beside her, his arm crossed over a nasty burn from a dark magic attack. Before Byleth could send another attack out, she felt her limbs seize in incredible pain. The crawling pain seared her limbs in a manner that was horribly familiar. She had felt a weakened version of this pain when sparring with Lysithea years ago, but she had never been on the receiving end of this spell at its full strength.

Byleth stumbled away from Dimitri as she tried to shake away the crawling pain as it sapped her strength. Dimitri cried out roughly as he was blasted with another spell and Byleth screamed. She threw her arms out and the dark magic gripping her was instantly dispelled as she released a wave of pure white magic. Dimitri was crumpled against the stone limp and Byleth’s white magic instantly dispelled the fog rolling around them.

She stumbled with a sudden loss of energy and fell to her knees. Her whole body was burning and she felt so intensely nauseous that she collapsed sideways, barely managing to save her head from cracking against the stone. Paralyzed by the gripping pain, she could only watch as a figure crept from the fog towards Dimitri’s body. She tried to cry out to him, but a sharp pain erupted in her stomach and she rolled onto her back as her breath was torn from her chest.

A hooded figure stood above her, a curved sword plunged into her side. She couldn’t see any features beyond the hood, but she did recognize the Sreng lettering on the blade before it withdrew and she was left to lie limply on the stone. Her head lolled to the side as she watched the figure who had stabbed her join another person looming over Dimitri’s prone form.

The curved blade lifted in the air, but before it could come down, the figure snarled in pain, withdrawing from the king. Byleth spotted an arrow in the attacker’s arm and she recognized its fletching: it was one of Ashe’s. There were shouts nearby and a few more arrows before the two figures looked between Dimitri and Byleth on the ground before they retreated into the fog.

“Dimitri,” she whimpered. She tried to claw her way along the ground towards him, but the pain from her injury and her drained energy meant she had barely moved at all by the time Ashe emerged from the fog, his expression set into a firm line.

Ingrid was at his side, wielding Lúin as she was on the alert. Ingrid spotted Dimitri and Byleth and gasped in horror. “Mercedes! Annette!” She collapsed at Dimitri’s side to check his vital signs and Ashe ran to Byleth, kneeling over her with terror written across his face.

Byleth heard more footsteps approaching and her eyes drifted closed as the pain continued to wrack her body. Help was coming.

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