#please look at them while i wither away and die of fever

[nicosraf]

Samyaza and Azazel from A&M by my beloved @creamboyo <3 :)

[komoreangel]

𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐡𝐜𝐬

pairings: childe, diluc, kaeya, albedo x f!reader (separate)

scenario: it’s reallyyyyy cold outside and you want your boyfriend to warm you up :) and maybe cuddle :) i mean what no its just soooo cold

genre: fluff so much fluff

wordcount: 1.6k (mostly albedo’s djkfsdjfnkd) 

childe

ok so this guy

he’s from snezhnaya which is like russia

its always cold there so he’s used to the below 30 temperatures

you however

ARE NOT

like at all i mean you’re from mondstatd whens the last time it snowed here

so at first he might not notice that you are extremely cold

you two are walking around, being cute yk couple stuff

that is until you start shivering

“why are you shaking? are you scared of something???”

he’s not the brightest but we love him

“childe, im cold.” you bury your face in his chest to hide from the wind

“it’s not that cold out here, i don’t see why you’re being so dramatic.”

“it’s below 30 degrees! i’m going to get frostbite and die!”

ok so maybe you are a bit dramatic but YOU’RE FREEZING OKAY?

“hey ojou-chan, why are you so clingy all of a sudden-” you reached your hand inside his pocket to grab his hand.

holy crap your hands are cold

“hey wait don’t grab my- THAT’S MY SCARF!”

suddenly you were running away from him at top speed, his scarf in your hands

“come back here! what are you - oof-!” he had grabbed onto the edge of the scarf and pulled it back, you along with it.

you fell on top of him and you’re both wrapped in the scarf like every single christmas romance movie

“well now my hair is all full of snow.”

“you deserve it.” “HEY!” 

you get up and walk off to the side, taking his scarf with you

he follows after you, and catches up quite fast considering he’s got them long legs 

oh to be tall

he wraps his arms around you in a hug 

“still feeling cold?” 

“yES!” 

so you two head for home and he promises that he’ll cuddle you all day to keep you warm

which is what you wanted in the first place ;) 

diluc

diluc doesn’t get cold

not because of where he’s from or anything

but because pyro vision 

~natural body heat~ 

and unlike childe he would actually notice you withering away in the snow 

“y/n, are you alright?” 

“huh? yeah yeah im fine just a bit cold” 

suddenly you are being cuddled 

“diluc??” 

“yes?” 

“you’re hugging me?” 

he doesn’t usually initiate pda often so it was a surprise

“you said you were cold. i’m simply warming you up.” 

you lean into his hug and notice that he’s actually really warm

like so warm you get sleepy

you’re so sleepy now that you think about it

and bonk

congrats dear reader

you have fallen asleep in diluc’s arms

he continues to talk on about venti’s drinking problem and how annoying kaeya is

he looks down and notices you sweetly dozing off in his embrace

and he’s so lucky to have you isn’t he

he smiles softly and sweeps you into his arms

carries you bridal style upstairs 

he’s about to tuck you into your bed when your arms begin to tightly wrap around his shoulders

almost like you dont want to let go 

“darling, it’s more comfortable in the bed,” he says quietly

“noo...” your voice is muffled by his chest and you sound tired 

he chuckles lightly 

“just lay down for a bit i’ll be right with you in a minute” 

you’re quiet, like you’re stopping to think

“if i lay down, will you cuddle with me?” 

diluc sighs

“yes i’ll cuddle with you, just please lay down? for me?” 

and who are you to resist that 

so you lay down and while it’s not as warm as him

its still really soft and you fall asleep in no time

he comes back to you sleeping, and not one to break his promises, he cuddles with you anyway 

at least you’re warm now 

kaeya 

believe it or not, kaeya actually does get cold

i mean yeah he has a cryo vision, but that just means he isn’t affected by his own abilities 

or at least thats my headcanon 

anyways

if you’re shivering...he will not help you at first

no, first he’ll tease you about it

like imagine you guys have a mission in dragonspine

“oh y/n~ did you fall for me so hard you got frostbite?”

“you’re looking mighty chilled over there, need a hand?” 

you are this close to punching his arm

however because you want him to hug you and warm you up, you are going to stay on his good side 

he might prolong the teasing for a while

and after that while, he may or may not let you hug him

if he goes on for a bit too long however, he’d feel bad 

you aren’t laughing at his jokes anymore because you’re so cold

you just want to stop and sleep 

your steps become slower and slower

your vision is getting blurrier by the second

and after a while you just stop moving

kaeya turns to look back at you bc he notices

“y/n?” 

and then in a total cliche moment you collapse out of pure exhaustion

like the gentleman he is, he catches you before you land face-first in the snow

and in his mind hes like shit i let this go on too long

so he carries you around, looking for a cave you can rest in until you’re feeling better 

after maybe five minutes of searching he finds one

and he knows albedo is up here somewhere but he doesn’t want to risk you being in the snow for too long

he starts a fire and tries to lay you down near it, but you aren’t getting any warmer

so he puts you in his arms and just cuddles you 

the combination of body heat + fire is slowly warming you up 

and in about an hour you’re awake again

but you can’t move, because his grip on you is very tight

“kaeya? where are we?” 

he slowly opens his eyes 

“oh, just a random cave in dragonspine” he laughs a bit as he says it

then ofc he remembers you’ve just woken up from collapsing and is like oh right serious time ok

“are you okay?” he asks and this time he has a hint of concern in his voice

“yeah, i’m fine. i’m warm now too” you say as the fire starts to die down a bit

kaeya moves his arm in front of you to shift the firewood a bit 

“i’m sorry for letting you get that cold” he murmurs 

you adjust your position so you’re facing his chest 

“it’s alright, at least i can finally get some cuddles this way” 

you both continue to rest by the fire and decide you’ll head back to mondstatd in the morning

albedo

because albedo is rather observant of most things

he notices your state right away

he immediately stops whatever he is doing and tends to you

“you’re cold, aren’t you?” he sits you on the table and feels your forehead

“albedo, its not a fever” you laugh. 

“no, if it was a fever you’d be burning up” he says matter-of-factly 

he walks to the other side of the lab and grabs his coat

“here, put this on.” 

you wrap the coat around yourself and start to get off the table

he rushes back and grabs your hands

they’re cold (duh) 

so then he thinks what can he do to make your hands warm

usually some mittens would do the trick

but he doesnt have any except for his own

well 

he’ll do what he has to

anything for you 

so he slides his gloves off and offers them to you

“put these on, your hands are probably freezing” 

when you hesitate (because arent his hands cold now? you dont want him to be cold) he takes the initative and takes your hands to put the gloves on

he stands back and says “there. tell me if you get colder, okay?”

and tries to hide his flustered face because

you look so cute in his gloves!!! 

they’re his gloves and you’re wearing them ! 

he turns back to his work for a bit 

after maybe half an hour he looks back 

and you aren’t sitting on the table anymore?? 

he looks around

you aren’t anywhere?? 

thats not good

not good at all

he makes his way outside and doesn’t see you there either 

“y/n?” he calls out into the snow 

unknowingly to him, you had headed out about ten minutes after he turned around 

you went to go search for some starsilver, as you heard him muttering about it under his breath 

you were happily heading back to the lab, arms full of the stuff, when you heard someone shout in surprise

it sounded like albedo 

something must have happened to one of his experiments

you quickly hurried towards the lab only to find

nothing?? not even the man himself

there were footsteps in the snow leading away from the room, but you couldn’t be sure if it was yours or his

you decide to wait for him to come back, and set the starsilver near his workspace

after a while, he comes back in, looking stressed and worried

“albedo?” he looks up and breathes in relief 

“where were you, i came back and- mMf!” he rushes towards you and wraps you in a tight hug

“please don’t do that again” he says

“i got you some starsilver..”

he breaks the hug and looks back at his desk

“you went to get starsilver...for me?” 

you bury your face in his neck 

“yeah..i heard you muttering about it so i thought you needed some. it was colder out there than i thought, though” 

he pats your back soothingly, rubbing his hand in circles around your shoulder 

“let’s start a fire, that’ll warm us both up” 

a/n: hi! wooh my first headcanon :) sorry if it was a little long, and i know some were a bit angsty and im honestly sorry about that! albedo’s got away from me sdkhjf but i hope you enjoy! and feel free to request a fic if you’d like :)

[slightlycrunchy]

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.

[fruitcoops]

Hello! I truly love your writing! Would you consider a continuation of that piece where Jules stays with coops for a week? Or just some snippets of what they get up to?

Here’s part 1, folks! It’s about 3k words and I’m thinking there will be three or four parts total, released over the next couple days. I hope you enjoy it!

Sweater Weather and Jules credit belongs to @lumosinlove!

“Jules.” A series of gentle knocks echoed down the stairs and Sirius smiled into his coffee cup. “Jules, it’s time to wake up.”

Regulus snorted. “Bet you five bucks he has to drag the kid down.”

“Deal.”

“Jules.” Remus knocked again, sounding more exasperated. There was a heavy sigh and the door clicked open; after a moment of quiet, someone yelped. “Good morning, sunshine.”

“Go away!” Jules groaned. “An’ give it back!”

“It’s time for breakfast, get a wiggle on. I’ll carry you if I have to.”

“I’m cold.” More rustling noises followed before Jules appeared at the top of the staircase, bundled in Remus’ sweatshirt—which was really Sirius’, but it didn’t matter—and scowling. His bedhead was outstanding.

“Bon matin,” Sirius said with a smile when Jules sat heavily in the chair next to him and put his forehead on his arms. “How’d you sleep?”

“I don’t like your fiancé.”

“Oh?”

“He’s mean.”

Sirius winked at Remus as he rolled his eyes and pulled a cereal box out of the pantry. “What did he do?”

“He stole my blankets with no warning.”

“That is such a lie,” Remus scoffed. “I knocked on your door for five whole minutes before I came in!”

“Thank you for that, by the way,” Sirius said, walking over to give him a kiss on the cheek. “Reg owes me five bucks now.”

“Sweet, we can get more Oreos.”

“Oreos aren’t on your diet plan,” Jules sulked as Remus passed him a bowl of cereal and milk.

“How do you know?”

Jules mumbled something and shoved his spoon into his mouth. The night before had been hectic, with Sirius driving the Hope and Lyall to the airport while Remus helped set Jules up for the night. Regulus came back from hanging out with Leo around ten pm; by that time, Jules was still wired for sound at the idea of a week-long sleepover. He finally went to sleep around eleven thirty and Sirius and Remus crash-landed into bed, exhausted.

Practice was going to be hell.

“Why do we have to wake up early, again?” Jules asked around a yawn.

Sirius ruffled his hair as he sat down again. “Practice starts at ten. Eight o’clock is not early at all.”

He squinted at him, confused. “How early do you usually wake up?”

“Seven, seven-thirty.”

Jules shuddered and turned back to his cereal while Remus plonked himself down in Sirius’ lap with a coffee cup, looking moments away from falling asleep again. “Children are exhausting. Why did we get two of them?”

“Hey!” Jules and Regulus said in unison, clearly offended.

“We’ve got terrible judgement,” Sirius laughed.

“Older brothers are the worst, right Jules?”

“Totally. Are you coming to the rink with us?”

Regulus shook his head. “Sorry, buddy, I’ve got college stuff to work on. Want to help me with paperwork?”

Jules made a face. “I’ll pass.”

“We’re leaving in forty minutes, okay?” Remus said, stretching his back as he stood up and left Sirius’ lap cold and empty. “Jules, please take a shower.”

“I smell fine!”

“You didn’t take one yesterday or the day before. Scoot.” Jules rolled his eyes and got up. “Don’t give me that look! And put your bowl in the sink.”

Sirius and Regulus shared a glance as Jules put his stuff away and trooped up the stairs. “Hi, Hope,” Regulus snickered.

Resignation overtook Remus’ face and he sighed. “Fuck. I’m turning into my mother already. Reg, you should take a shower, too.”

“I smell fine!” The withering look from both Sirius and Remus made him raise his hands in surrender and wander off to his bedroom. “I’m nineteen, not nine!”

”And yet we still need to babysit you,” Sirius called back. Finally, they were alone. He hopped up to sit on the counter and grabbed Remus around the waist as he passed by, pulling him back for a hug. “Good morning, sweetheart.”

“Good morning.” Remus kissed him gently, bracketing his hips with his hands. He looked tired, but happy. “I’m actually pretty excited to have Jules stay with us. Thank you for that, by the way.”

“Ne rien. It’s good to have people here.” They kissed for a moment longer, listening to the shower running upstairs and Regulus’ rummaging noises down the hall. “I swear to God, he’s like a raccoon.”

Remus laughed and leaned his forehead on Sirius’ shoulder. “He definitely sounds like one.”

“At least his room’s clean.”

“Cheers to that. He’s heading back tomorrow, right?”

“Mhmm. Dumo’s been bugging me for, like, three days.”

Remus hummed, wrapping his arms around Sirius and snuggling into him. “I love you.”

“I love you, too. We’ve only got a little bit of time before Jules is out, so we should get dressed.”

Remus groaned, but released his limpet hold. “That was so close to a perfect sentence.”

Sirius paused just before hopping off the counter and raised his eyebrows. “If we have extra time…”

“Come on, you,” Remus laughed, tugging him off the counter by the hand and hurrying toward the stairs.

---------------------

They arrived at the rink at 10:05, and Sirius began bracing himself for the inevitable chirping as soon as he stepped out of the car. Jules bounced on his toes in excitement as they walked toward the building, laden with their hockey gear and still a bit frazzled from the mad dash out of the house.

“Is this the munchkin?” Moody asked when Remus knocked on the door to the PT office.

“Yep.” Remus looked down at Jules, whose eyes were wide and more than a little nervous as his grip tightened on Remus’ jacket hem.

“Alastor Moody,” he grunted, holding a hand out that Jules tentatively shook.

“Jules.”

“Wanna see how bones work, kid?”

Instantly, his nerves disappeared. “Yeah!”

Moody winked at them as he led Jules toward the joint models on the far wall and Sirius let out a slow breath. “He’ll be fine.”

“God, I hope so. If anyone can drive Moody off the wall, it’ll be my little brother,” Remus murmured as they headed off down the hall.

The yelling started the second Sirius opened the locker room door. “You’re LATE!” James shouted, grinning from ear to ear. “Hand over the badge, Captain.”

“We still have fifty minutes until practice starts, shut your face.” Sirius socked him on the shoulder and set his bag in the stall.

“What, pray tell, was the reason for this tardiness?” James leaned over and batted his eyelashes.

Remus rolled up a towel and smacked him on the ass with it. “My little brother.”

“Jules is here?” Leo perked up on the other side of the room, and Sirius saw several of the guys look over in excitement, as if they were hiding him in one of their bags.

“He’s staying with us for the week since my great-aunt passed away.”

“Shit, Loops, I’m sorry.”

Remus shrugged. “I never met her, but my folks went back for the funeral. Moody said he’d keep an eye on Jules during practice.”

“Lupin, Black, you’re late,” Coach Weasley said from the doorway, giving them a look over his glasses. “Do we need to have a conversation?”

“No, Coach,” Sirius said as he pulled his pads over his chest.

“I hear you’ve commandeered my head PT for the day.”

Remus shook his head. “If Jules starts bugging him—”

“I’m kidding, Loops.” Arthur’s mouth twitched into a smile. “Moody loves kids. This’ll be good for his disposition.”

Finn snorted. “Can’t get any worse.”

“I expect all of you on the ice in twenty. Any stragglers are doing laps outside!” Arthur slapped the edge of the doorway before ducking out into the hall again; his sneakers squeaked on the freshly-washed floor and Sirius stifled a laugh as he finished buckling up.

The five minute delay did not have a terrible impact on his pre-practice rituals, which he took a  moment to be grateful for—they had a scrimmage planned, and he didn’t intend to lose. Once warmups were over, they moved into running plays, until finally the whistle blew and Coach called out the teams. Remus ended up on the other side and he slapped Sirius’ ass with his stick as he passed him, grinning over his shoulder before stopping next to Dumo.

Jules and Moody came out to watch a few minutes in; Sirius caught a glimpse of his wide eyes when he saw the speed of the game and smiled to himself. Everyone else seemed to notice the new arrivals as well, because their effort doubled and suddenly the plays were running smoother than ever.

Showing off for a ten-year-old, he thought with a shake of his head. Talk about baby fever.

Remus sped through the defense, weaving back and forth until he was nearly face-to-face with Sirius. His whole face lit up and he braced; when Sirius went to check him, he dipped sideways at the last second and slipped the puck right through his skates, catching it on the other side and zipping toward the goal at top speed. The goal light went off and Talker whooped, checking him in celebration.

“Lupin! Where’s that been all season?” Arthur demanded, though he was laughing. “Christ, guys, thanks for finally waking up!”

“Where the fuck did you learn that?” Sirius asked as they headed back for the face-off.

“You think you’re the only one who skates in the basement?” Remus said with a cheeky grin.

The whole rink buzzed with energy throughout the rest of the scrimmage—once or twice, Sirius realized even he was showing off a little for Jules, who cheered louder than fifteen thousand fans whenever someone scored.

Arthur shook his head when the final whistle went off. “Everyone say ‘thank you’ to Julian.”

“Thank you, Jules,” they chorused. Jules looked like he was about to die of happiness.

“I need to get him in here more often,” Arthur muttered as they headed to the locker room to change into their gym gear. “Let’s get that energy for every practice, okay? Not just the ones with Little Loops.”

“What are you talking about?” Kasey laughed.

Arthur fixed him with a look. “Don’t bullshit me, Winter, all of you were showing off for the kid.”

Remus blushed all the way to his ears, and the rest of them mumbled some half-assed excuses until they were shooed away. “I put the new schedule on the mirror,” Sirius called over the noise. “Try to pay attention to it for once.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Logan reached up and patted him on the shoulder as he passed; Sirius dragged him back into a headlock to ruffle his hair. “Ow, fuck, okay!”

Logan did not, in fact, stick to the schedule. He was far too busy tossing the lightest medicine ball they had with Jules, who staggered slightly whenever he caught it. Both looked absolutely thrilled.

Sirius, on the other hand, was glad for the opportunity to do a fair bit of ogling while he spotted Remus—who stuck to the schedule, Sirius had never loved him more—until he finished his bench-pressing rotation. He was strong before being a player, but now…well, it was safe to say he could sweep Sirius off his feet literally and figuratively.

“Re, Re!” Jules ran over when Remus finally sat up, then paused and made a face. “You’re sweaty.”

Remus pulled him in for a hug, making him shriek and wiggle to get out. “I am, yeah! Isn’t it great? Here, lemme just—”

Jules flailed, but he couldn’t get out of Remus’ hold in time to avoid the head nuzzle that plastered his hair up on one side with sweat as the guys laughed. “Ewww!”

“Did you need something, buddy?” Remus asked at last.

“Well, now I need a shower.” Jules grimaced. “I was going to ask if you guys actually do ice baths.”

“Of course we do!” Kasey cut in before Remus could quickly divert the topic. “And your brother loves them.”

Sirius had to turn around to muffle his laughter as interest lit on Jules’ face. “Really? Can I see?”

Kasey opened the door dramatically. “Right this way, Little Loops.”

Two of the ice baths were full when they arrived and Sirius did not miss the pained look on Remus’ face at the sight, nor did he miss the devious smile on Kasey’s. Jules hurried over to one and looked over the end, practically sticking his whole face in. “Woah.”

“Pretty cool, huh? You want to know what the best part is?”

“What?”

“Oh, Christ,” Remus muttered.

“Loops, will you do the honors and make sure your darling little brother has a good time?” Kasey asked, the picture of innocence. Remus sighed and stood next to the ice bath, silently begging Sirius for help with his eyes as Kasey motioned Jules over. “Alright, so you take one of these, and then you have to be super careful as you aim. Lucky for you, you’re learning from the best.”

Remus winced as the first ice cube smacked him in the side of the head and gritted his teeth as the second went down the neck of his t-shirt. Sirius schooled his expression into the mildest, sweetest smile he could muster. “He’s not doing anything,” Jules whispered. Remus began taking deep breaths.

“He will.”

“Try me, Wint—oh, sh—” Remus muffled a squeak as ice went directly down his spine. “Hoo, boy, that’s cold.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you censor yourself,” Kasey said, amazed. “It’s uncanny.”

“Are you done?”

“I could do this all day, but it’s my turn to make dinner tonight and Nat gets hangry if I’m late. Good game, Little Loops.” Kasey and Jules high-fived and Remus shook his shirt out; no less than four ice cubes clattered to the ground.

“Young man, you are in such big trouble,” Remus growled playfully as he swept Jules over his shoulder and began tickling his knees. Sirius dodged the squirming legs and held the door open for them as they walked back into the hallway. “You’re okay hanging out with Moody while we get our stuff together, right?”

“Yeah! He’s got the coolest knee statues.”

----------------------------------

Dinner was anything but a quiet affair; all three of them had taken a nap when they got home, then had a dance party in the kitchen while Remus taught Jules how to actually cook chicken so nobody got food poisoning. Sirius was torn between begging them for the details of that particular story and wanting to stay as far away from it as possible.

Regulus and Jules got into a fierce game of footsie under the table that only ended when a small foot—he still didn’t know which one it was—slammed into the base of Sirius’ knee, hard enough that it would certainly leave a bruise. “Ow.”

They both froze, shared a look, then silently went back to eating. “Practice starts at nine tomorrow,” Remus said around a bite of broccoli. “That means wake up time is six thirty, okay? We’ve got a game on Thursday and it’s super important that we’re not late again. Reg, what time are you heading out?”

“I was thinking noon-ish? That way I can get my stuff set up while Dumo’s still at practice. Don’t want to bother him.”

Jules turned to him with the biggest, saddest eyes Sirius had ever seen. “You’re leaving?”

“I live with Dumo, remember?” Regulus hesitated. “I’ll be at the game, though.”

“Can I sit with you?”

“Absolutely.”

That seemed to placate him, and he turned back to his chicken happily. Sirius nudged his brother, giving him a significant look, which was met with an eye roll that couldn’t quite cover the fond flush on his face.

Jules and Regulus took care of the dishes after dinner and Sirius stretched out on the couch to the sounds of the kid’s excited chatter as he recounted the day’s events. Remus flopped down on top of him, settling between his thighs with a contented smile. “Today went well.”

“Yeah, it did.” Sirius began running his fingers through Remus’ soft hair. “I think Moody is about thirty seconds away from adopting him.”

Remus laughed against his chest. “I think so. It’s pretty cool seeing him so excited about PT stuff.”

“It is.” There was a slow sigh and Sirius raised his eyebrows. “What was that about?”

“I just realized that even though Reg is leaving tomorrow, we won’t have the house to ourselves for six more days. It’s been two weeks.”

Sirius closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the armrest. “Fuck. I didn’t even think about that. Think we can dump him on Dumo for a night?”

“We can handle six days, right?”

“Yeah, totally.”

There was a beat of silence. “This is going to be difficult.”

“If we make it to the three-day mark, I say we break open the Oreos as a reward.”

“Sounds good to me—oof.”

They both groaned as an extra hundred pounds of person squished on top of them. “Dishes are done!” Jules chirped.

“Did you wash your hands?” Sirius wheezed, blinking the dark spots out of his vision. Remus’ chin was digging into his upper ribs.

“Yep! Regulus wants to watch a movie. I think we should watch Jurassic Park, but he says it’s terrible—”

“He what?” Remus raised his head slightly and craned his neck to look back at the kitchen. “Regulus!”

“What?”

“You don’t like Jurassic Park? I thought you had taste!” Remus pushed off the couch and Jules wrapped all his limbs around him like an oversized koala. “We’re watching it tonight and you’re going to like it. Come on, baby, we need to make sure your brother has culture.”

Two hours later, as the credits rolled and three people snored gently, Sirius smiled to himself. He could handle a week of this.

[sweetygirl90]

If you don’t like chasriel then DON’T READ THIS. Okay? Okay.

I apologize in advance if there are any grammatical errors or typing errors that make the text poorly understood. English is not my first language and although I am learning it I still have a long way to go. I would appreciate if anyone would notify me of any errors that you find.

So... Chara here are a female-born non-binary gender (They/Them pronouns)

____________________________________________________________

Ever since he was conscious of life, Asriel could tell how much his father loved his garden.

Asriel watched him work on it all day when he wasn’t busy with his family or attending to royal duties, always smiling peacefully as he did his work watering flowers or cutting brush. It was something simple, but the adult took the time in the world to do it with impeccable care and neatness. Asriel could even tell that Asgore was more into it than his paperwork.

Rarely could he observe the affliction in his father eyes when he occasionally discovered some plague damaging his precious flowers, or how some of them turned out to be withered.

Fresh in his memory was the scene of the king sighing heavily when it was time to cut the blackened flowers before they ended up affecting the rest. According to him, although it was for the good of the rest of the garden, he didn’t like to get rid of them. It must have been a disappointment to see those flowers that he worked so hard on diying.

Asriel thought that if the garden were a person, perhaps it would be one of the most loved by the monarch of the underground, perhaps becoming just as loved as he and his mother.

It was a bit difficult for him to understand it at first, perhaps because he hadn’t found something similar to consider his garden, but he assumed by common sense that when you spend so much time on something you end up loving even a little, or not? For a long time he wondered what it would be like to come to love something or someone so much.

Was the answer worth knowing after all?

Asriel lifted his gaze from the sheets to return to the human who lay on the bed, sick and tired as usual. Or at least that's how it was a few days ago.

Their breath slowly raised their chest, their pale face that was barely rosy on their cheeks reflected full calm as if they were in a long, peaceful sleep that wanted to engulf them in the dark forever. A damp towel rested on their forehead to reduce the fever, and some brown hair clung to it while others lay on their shoulders and the pillow.

Even bedridden by illness it was amazing how they could look so pretty, and they wasn't even trying.

“Chara…”

Asriel called their name in a broken whisper. They moved their hand close to his, to show him that they was awake and that they could hear him perfectly.

"I don't like this plan anymore, Chara." He said, and he leaned over the bed, resting his face close to his friend's arm.

Warm tears began to emerge from the young prince's eyes, releasing that overwhelming feeling that consumed him from within and that he hadn't had a chance to release until now. Doing so didn't feel better if they asked, because that didn't solve anything that was happening.

Chara was dying, he knew it.

No matter how much the adults wanted to convince him otherwise or how much they insisted that his best friend would recover, he knew with certainty what the end was that awaited the human in how much their body could not tolerate it anymore. He was aware of how Chara was withering day after day, and how medicines and care were not able to save them.

He could feel it. He felt their life slip through his fingers like sand.

Worst of all is that in the midst of his naivety he was responsible for this. How could he be so stupid to allow it? How come he didn't stop them? He thought that refusing to find out what it implied would be enough, but he was wrong to underestimate Chara and he knew it as soon as he saw them lying on the ground with the rest of the golden flowers that they could not swallow surrounding them.

This he no longer liked. This is not how things should be. Chara was not born to be bedridden in pain and slowly deteriorate. No! Chara had must to re-bloom like they did every day.

His friend was not this frail sick child. They was a mischievous laugh that echoed through the castle when they both committed a mischief, they was the energy that lifted him from his bed every morning to start the day, they was that genuine smile that amazed him, they was those hands that could be gentle to pet him or be aggressive for when they both played pillow wars. Chara was that lively, ruby-crimson gaze that glowed, the one he longed for with all his soul, the one they had lost and turned opaque.

Chara was everything and more, and Asriel wasn't ready to give it all up.

“Azzy.”

Their raspy, weak voice lifted him with the same gentleness with which they began to pet his head. Asriel opened his eyes to find Chara smiling at him, they had a look of indulgence devoid of pity.

“Don’t go.” He implored. His friend's hand felt warm cradling his cheek and he couldn't help but want to hold it right there using his. He needed to feel that the warmth that overflowed from Chara's soul had not yet left them, that they had not yet left.

Chara allowed him to do so and kept petting him with their thumb on that trail of tears, thinking that Asriel looked like a helpless puppy taking shelter from the rain and cold. In a way they made sense of it when they looked at his fluffy ears and couldn't help but imagine a dog saddened by its owner's usual departure to work.

Chara wanted to try to see him the same way to deny the truth.

"I'm not going anywhere. Everything will be fine.”  They promised, but the monster could see clearly that it was more to convince themself than him. "Everything will go as we planned."

"Chara, please." He begged them again, holding his face closer as soon as he stopped feeling their caresses and was aware of the typical tremor that he noticed in them when they began to feel weak. “I don't care going to the surface anymore, I don't care breaking the barrier. I'm already happy here with you, I don't need more than that.”

He didn't want to let his garden die, didn't want to see his flower wither.

Chara still spoke as if they were unchanging, but long ago their smile and their gaze became unstable. Asriel didn't need to see them to know it, he just felt their pulse. "Seven…  Just seven human souls and you will free everyone, Asriel."

They repeated the plan that they both already knew, and with it they hoped to scare away that fear that still overwhelmed them with death on the horizon. They hoped it would comfort their poor friend, but instead they only made his suffering worse.

“We will free them all from this prison to which the selfish humans unjustly condemned you all. I want you to be free, I want you to see the sun as I promised you.”

Chara never had an attachment to their own kind and Asriel knew it from the start, for they didn't bother to hide it. Asriel many times came to wonder if the love that Chara claimed to profess to him, their friends and family was as big as they swore it to be. He was distressed that they was lying when they said that the love they  was given in one day was a thousand times greater than that given to them by humans on the surface. Right now he regretted having doubted, that the human strictly demonstrated how much they loved them by giving their own life in exchange for the freedom of the monsters.

It was a pure and real love, one that no one underground would want to lose. Asriel more than anyone.

"I can't... I-I can't, I can't. No like this. We will find another way, but not this one.”

“I will not leave. Once I die you will have my soul forever. I will continue to be with you but… Differently.”

“I don't want it to be different, I want everything to continue as it is. Please.”

“Azzy… I won't let you stay here forever.”

Chara cradled the face of their sobbing friend, who, drowning in his own tears, threw himself into hugging them as if clinging to a wooden plank in the middle of the ocean. He hugged them gently for fear of hurting them, but with the strength necessary for them to feel his despair and the tears wetting their shoulder.

"And I won't let you die. I don't want to. I can't imagine a world without you. I don’t want let you go!”

He heard Charas laugh softly before hugging him back. At first they had surprised him how calm they was, until he too felt his shoulder getting wet with tears.

They both knew that this was a destiny from which they could not escape. No matter how much this hurt them, no matter what happened next, no matter how many times Asriel implored… Chara was already determined to sacrifice themself for monsters.

The most beautiful flower in the garden gave their vitality to the others. The flower that he loved the most died and he could do nothing to prevent it.

His flower...

Chara...

They was already withered.

[trashmenofmarvel]

Branded - Chapter 24

Pairing: Demon!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Bucky receives your Christmas present.

(This is a fan AU of Falling’s Just Another Way to Fly by araniaart​. Please check out this incredible series for all of your demon Bucky needs.)

Chapter Warnings: So much fluff

AO3

You took your mission to get a present for Bucky just as seriously as your mission to seduce him. No alcohol was involved this time, just a little elbow grease and fighting through the cobwebs of the attic.

With your sister distracting Bucky downstairs after dinner (“Ohh, does this mean I can give him the shovel talk?!”), you had the time needed to find what you were looking for. A pile of cardboard boxes with your name written on them, along with the year you’d moved away from home.

You sat on the old wooden floor, opened a box, and began to rummage. Plushies and toys you hadn’t wanted to part with were in the first box. The next, various knickknacks you’d collected over the years. A crystal vial filled with water and gold flakes. A keychain full of dead Tamagotchis. A collection of bookmarks made out of wood and hand-painted with magical creatures.

Each new treasure brought a wave of nostalgia, bittersweet for a time when things had seemed simpler. No soul-sucking job. No demons stalking you, waiting for you to be alone and vulnerable to strike.

But there had been no Bucky, either. So while the memories held an alluring shine to it, you didn’t have a problem leaving the past where it was.

You came upon the object you’d been seeking tucked away in the third box. You opened it carefully, the weight surprisingly heavy in your hands. It was a picture frame, segmented into three parts that could close inward, almost like a book. An heirloom your grandmother had found at a flea market when her family had lived in New York.

It was clearly old, heavy with the weight of history, but the metalwork was delicate and beautiful. The last remains of a bygone era, a little bit tarnished and dusty but no less beautiful for it.

It reminded you of a certain other person from a bygone era.

Carefully putting away your childhood things and replacing the boxes, you went back downstairs and entered your mother’s study. The laptop on her desk was open to a webpage of a historical site regaling the Second World War. The glossy pictures you printed were still sitting in the printer’s output tray.

Taking the photos, you carefully cut them to fit the three windows of the picture frame. The pictures in them now were artistic drawings of anthropomorphic rabbits wearing whimsical, old-fashioned clothing. You carefully set them aside, planning to find new frames for your grandmother’s drawings; somewhere they could be displayed and not hidden away in the attic.

Technically, the frame was a family heirloom and probably valuable, but giving it to Bucky felt… right. He’d been a part of your life for much longer than two months, even if you hadn’t known it. The bond between you was strange, indescribable, and ran too deep to break. If that wasn’t family, you didn’t know what was.

Your mother would understand and forgive you, whenever you told her the truth. And you would tell her, someday. It was kind of unavoidable when you were dating an immortal being. You would go grey, and Bucky would always look the same…

The scissors froze halfway through a cut. What were you going to do when you grew old and withered? What happened to Bucky when you died? You’d thought about your own mortality plenty of times, but you hadn’t thought about the implications after meeting Bucky.

Would the bond break and Bucky would go on without you? Or would it hurt him. Kill him. Had the book said anything about the human slaves aging? All it had said in regards to death was they could die to protect the demon, giving the demon an extra life.

What if you couldn’t provide the energy he needed because you were too frail and gnarled with age?

What if Bucky didn’t want you when you got old?

What if—

Your jaw clenched and the scissors glided through the paper like a blade. Startled, you looked down at the photo, but thankfully you’d more or less cut straight. You stared at the photo, the last you’d chosen of the three.

A sepia photo of a handsome young man in a suit, the white dress shirt unbuttoned and showing the undershirt beneath, a familiar and easy grin on his face. Next to him, a scrawny blond boy who was much shorter, smiling reluctantly with encouragement from the brunet next to him. It was hard to believe the serious-looking boy would one day be Captain America and the young man next to him would become HYDRA’s most powerful soldier.

You carefully put the photo in one of the side frames. In the frame opposite, you placed a black and white family photo, one of Bucky, his sister, and both their parents. They were wearing their best clothes, the children on their best behavior, except the boy had an elbow pressed against his sister’s side as they both suppressed giggles.

The third photo, the one you placed in the center piece, was a simple one. A photo of Bucky in another suit, this one more formal, and his sister at his side wearing a pair of women’s trousers and a frilly blouse. They were both older than in the first photo, and according to the date, it was the summer before Bucky had been shipped out to Europe.

Bucky looked… happy. Genuinely, truly happy. You hadn’t included any photos from the war or him in uniform, though there were plenty to find. You didn’t think he’d want to be reminded of that time, and in all those pictures he’d seemed subdued, serious. It wasn’t an expression you were fond of, and the happiness he showed around his family and Steve Rogers was absent in them.

After all the pictures were secured, you leaned back and stared at them. You frowned and shifted restlessly.

What if he didn’t like it? What if it brought back painful memories he’d rather forget? You were confident that wouldn’t be the case, not after the fond way he’d talked about his family, but… reminiscing was one thing. Seeing the past staring up at you was another.

Sighing heavily, you stood and picked up the frame, closing it so only the polished metalwork was on display. It was better to get it over with, rather than stand here, frozen with the weight of doubt.

After wrapping the frame in pretty blue foil paper, you went into your old room and placed it on the bed. You took a deep breath—why were you so nervous?—and went downstairs to free Bucky from your sister’s clutches.

To your eternal shock, he didn’t look like a hostage when you found them in the kitchen. If anything, they seemed thick as thieves. Your eyes narrowed, suspicious of what tales your sister has clearly been telling.

And that’s when you froze.

Bucky was holding your infant nephew in his arms, looking for all the world like he’d done it a million times before. He didn’t look up at your arrival, his gaze entirely focused on the baby he was slowly rocking back and forth. Your nephew stared up at him with wide eyes, little chubby arms reaching up to try and grab a stray lock of hair.

You’d never experienced the phenomenon of “baby fever” before. You maybe wanted to adopt kids, sure, but have them yourself? It’d never been a priority or a desire… until that moment. The air had gone out of you like a sucker punch to the gut, replaced by yearning so strong it was a struggle to remain silent and not break the moment.

Somebody noticed your presence, though. Your sister was grinning at you like a shark from where she was leaning against the kitchen counter.

“There you are,” she practically cooed. “I was just telling Jacob about the time we snuck out of the house as kids and went to go perform ‘witchcraft’ in the middle of the woods at night.”

You made some kind of noncommittal noise, you were sure, because Bucky lifted his head and looked directly at you. Your nephew had managed to grab a lock of hair and was currently sticking it into his mouth.

Bucky didn’t notice, his entire focus on your face, a light frown forming. You still hadn’t moved or spoken.

“Did you find what you needed?” your sister asked, leaning forward to save Bucky’s hair from being eaten, lifting her son back into her arms.

“Uh. Yeah. I did.” You swallowed thickly, too much saliva in your mouth.

“Oh? What were you looking for?” Bucky approached, and when he was close enough placed a hand on your back and rubbed. The simple touch sent a white-hot flash through your system and you nearly choked.

“Nothing. I mean, something. Uh, you’ll see.”

Your sister gave you a pitying look over Bucky’s shoulder, and you communicated a silent what the fuck was that, you asshole, you know exactly what you did.

She returned the silent communique with a smug smirk, and then she drew you into a one-armed hug.

“I’m heading out, sis. Got an early drive back home in the morning. I’m gonna miss you.”

Your frustration evaporated in an instant and you returned the hug tightly.

“Drive safe,” you told her.

“You too. And call me more, or at least text!”

“I will, I promise.”

And you meant it too. You’d fallen out of touch with your family, and after appreciating everything Bucky had lost, you were going to make an effort to include him as well.

After you separated, your sister hugged Bucky with just as much enthusiasm.

“Take care of her, Jacob Miller.”

“I will.” Bucky tucked you against his side after your sister released him. Your face was on fire.

“I know you will,” she said with a conspiratorial smirk. “Because I watch a lot of crime dramas, and I know how to hide a body.”

“Oh, my God,” you groaned into a hand.

After your sister and brother-in-law said their last goodbyes and your familial humiliation was concluded, you couldn’t rush up the stairs fast enough, practically dragging Bucky behind you.

You shut the bedroom door and leaned back against it, releasing a sigh of relief, and then immediately sucked another lungful of air when Bucky crowded you against the door. His smile was amused but carried a hint of concern.

“Everything all right?”

“Yeah.” You nodded, smiling shakily as your stomach did flip-flops. It was hard to focus with Bucky so close, peering at you intently with those bright blue eyes.

“You sure?” He cupped the side of your face with a gloved hand, and you leaned into it immediately. “Because you got this weird look on your face. I didn’t go too far, did I? Your sister asked if I wanted to hold her son, and I didn’t think—“

“No, no.” You shook your head fervently, placing your hand over Bucky’s so you could squeeze it. “I’m happy you’re getting along so well with my family. Really. It’s… more than I could have asked for.”

His expression softened, the tension lines of his face smoothed out, and he leaned down and gently pressed his lips to yours. The kiss deepened when you tangled your fingers in his long hair, pulling him closer, and your knees would have buckled right then if he hadn’t been pressing you against the door.

What had started out as a chaste kiss was quickly going to end in somebody naked, so you pulled back and grinned at his noise of frustration.

“Just—hold on a sec,” you said. “I have something for you first.”

You ducked around him and approached the bed to where his gift laid waiting. Bucky was right behind you, not letting you go far as he wrapped his arms around your waist.

“What’s this?” he asked, propping his chin on top of your head.

“This… is your Christmas present.”

Another small noise of protest when you turned around and tapped it against his chest.

“You really didn’t have to,” he said with a hint of exasperation.

“Uh, you took me flying. A little gift is the least I could do.”

Bucky looked from your face to the present, as if he still couldn’t quite believe it. When was the last time someone had gotten the guy a gift? No, you didn’t want to think about that sad question or you might start crying.

He took the present from your hand, his expression still one of vague disbelief. You bit your lip to keep from smiling and ended up failing anyway. It wasn’t every day that Bucky looked so… cute. There was no other word for the little dip in his brows and the slight parting of his lips.

It was nothing to the expression he wore once he pulled open your less-than-perfect wrapping job, opened the frame, and saw what was inside.

As the seconds tick on and his face didn’t changed, where he didn’t seem to breathe, your excitement slowly drained away.

And then when his eyes grew glassy and red-rimmed, you started to panic.

“Is… is this too much?” you quickly asked. “Should I not have—Did I make a mistake?”

His guise dropped in an instant. It wasn’t gradual like it usually was; it was gone so fast you only had to blink.

Bucky wrapped his arms around you and pulled you against his chest, face buried in your hair as if to hide it. A fine tremor moved through his muscles. He was shaking.

“No. It’s—it’s perfect. I… Thank you.”

You raised your arms slowly and wrapped them around him just as carefully, holding him as close as you could. Being held in Bucky’s embrace never got old, or tiring; it was a place you could remain forever. By the desperate way he held you tight, you hoped he felt the same.

“Where… where did you even find them?” He pulled back and stared down at the picture frame, wonder on his face. No tears had fallen, but he still looked painfully fragile.

“Online.” You rested your head against his shoulder as your eyes fell to the pictures. “Museum websites. Lots of information on Captain America, of course, but quite a few on his childhood best friend.”

“Huh.”

“You’ve never googled yourself?”

“Once. Didn’t care to do it again.”

You winced. Of course, you had to go and bring up the fact most of the information on Bucky wasn’t about him, but about the Winter Soldier.

“Right. Sorry. Stupid question.”

Bucky sighed and carefully set the frame down on the nearby dresser. Without warning, he grabbed you by the back of your thighs and lifted, picking you up before setting you on the bed, swallowing down your squeal as he kissed you, open-mouthed.

You immediately went pliant, wrapping your arms and legs around him to try and get closer.

“That’s better,” he said, voice a raspy growl when he broke the kiss. His eyes were dark, pupils blown as he eyed you like a tasty meal. “Can’t beat yourself up if your mouth is too busy doing other things.”

“I can multitask,” you breathed out. Bucky grinned, a hint of sharp teeth.

“We’ll see.”

Next Chapter

[random-imagines-blog]

The Way Back {Faramir x Reader Oneshot}

Requested by: Anonymous Wordcount: 3057 Summary: Love can be found in the unlikeliest of places, such as in a war-torn city after a win.

You took a deep breath in, and then a deep breath out. It felt like you hadn’t had the time to breathe in days. It had been battle, after battle, after battle against Sauron and his forces, ending up in this, the grand battle outside of Gondor. But the enemy had finally been defeated, the last of the orcs crying back to Mordor. You removed your helmet and let your hair fly free in the breeze as the world seemed to catch it’s own breath back. There was still plenty to do, such as tend to the wounded, burn the bodies of the deceased, and begin plans to rebuild the city. There were many fallen on both sides, even though the battle had been won by yourself, and by Gondor. By Minas Tirith. You looked about you, savoring the moment of peace, before plunging yourself into even more work.

You regretted that you did not attend the last battle at Mordor, but you had a much more pressing issue of helping with Gondor. There was so much here that had to be done, and you put your faith in your three companions. Legolas, your younger brother, who looked so much like you with delicate elfin features, but was a killer with a bow. Gimli, the dwarf that you came to see as a friend and an annoyance in your life, almost like a grumpy old pet, but one who could swing an axe like it was no ones business. And Aragorn, your best friend, a fellow Ranger, who had returned from Mordor and would soon be crowned King. But for now, he left you to care for Eowyn, a woman that he had introduced you to, who had been hurt in the battle. As two female warriors, the two of you struck up a quick kinship. It had been you who had given her a horse to ride among the riders, before you went with your fellowship to hold the dead to their oaths. Your horse, one of the fastest in the world, and the envy of many of the riders, including her brother.

You sat with her in the healing wing, dabbing her forehead gently with a damp cloth.

“I’m barely moving enough to sweat, y/n, there’s no need for this,” She said, trying to wave you away with her injured hand. You shushed her, and put it back down to her side. She looked more fragile than you were used to seeing her. Before, you had seen it in her eyes that she was always ready for a fight, the inner beast in her wanting to come out and growl at the world. A true dragon in pretty colors.

“Would you rather me go and get one of the healers to do it for you? I feel they would not be as good company as I though...” You threatened, and she sighed and allowed you to go on with your blotting. You were not a healer, though you knew a couple of things. Like to constantly check your friend for fever, for the wounds that she had sustained were nasty. She may have stabbed the witch King in the face, but she paid the price for that.

“I don’t like feeling helpless like this. I want to help the healers - it is only a couple of wounds. But no, all they let me do is go for one walk a day among the garden, like I’m some sort of...”

“Woman?” You asked, raising an eyebrow. “Let us go on our walk then. Let them dare to stop us while we are together. They can try to bully one warrior, but two? I do not think them so foolish.” You took hold of Eowyn’s better hand, and helped her onto her feet. She was eager to be up, and there was a flounce to her step, almost girlish. Sometimes she lamented being a woman, but there was still some femininity to her.

Together you walked out of the healing wing, and out into the open air of Gondor. A lot had been ruined during the war, and was being rebuilt. There were footsoldiers still around, and were helping to guide the reconstruction process. Everyone was helping out - even children, who were spreading the mortar over the walls with their little hands. “Are you going to return to Rohan as soon as you are healed?” You asked Eowyn as you strolled arm in arm, avoiding the places where the most damage had been done.

“After Aragorn’s coronation,” She answered. “I see no sense in returning, just to turn around and come back in a couple of weeks. And with my brother constantly off with the Riders of Rohan, they are going to need a new leader.”

“I see,” You said, nodding. “I’m so sorry to hear about your Uncle, Eowyn. He was a great man, as as I’m sure you knew. And he taught you well, you’ll take his place fantastically.”

“What about you? I remember your father wanted you to return to Mirkwood-”

You shook your head vehemently. “I too will be staying until the coronation. Legolas may be returning but I’m not so quick to leave the scene of one of the greatest battles that Middle Earth has ever known. I’m reluctant to go back...”

“Why?”

“I’m his heir, and he is getting older. I know that he wants me to take up the throne, but I am not Queen material, Eowyn. I belong on the battlefield. That’s where I feel the most comfortable! Not among the rich dresses and the gossip of elfen society,” You opened up to Eowyn, knowing that her, above anyone else, would understand how you feel. “Legolas is better suited as King than I ever would be as Queen. Were it I were born second rather than first...”

“Either way, it would be nice to have someone who is more sympathetic to humans on the throne,” Eowyn said, coming to a halt. You looked at her confused. “There he is - that is Faramir, the new Steward of Gondor.”

You followed her eyeline to see a man, leaning over one of the walls, looking out at the wreckage of the grounds that had been the battlefield. His hair was to his shoulders, a messy light brown - it was a look that many of the human men wore. Aragorn. Boromir -

Of course! This had been the brother that Boromir had mentioned to you during the nights when you two had watch together. But with some more burns upon him than Boromir had ever seen. You had heard of what had happened to him. His own father had tried to kill him.

“Shall we introduce ourselves?” You asked. Eowyn, who was far from timid even while she was wearing a gown rather than armor, nodded her approval.

You approached him together, which did not seem to intimidate him, for he gave you a surprising smile when you reached him. “I hope we aren’t interrupting your thoughts,” You said, pleasantly.

“Not at all,” He inisisted. “I always have time for two of our heroes.”

You beamed down at Eowyn, seeing the little flush on her cheeks. It was amazing seeing her talent be recognized. You were about to praise her even more, just to see if she could go as red as a rose, when one of the healers came running up, interrupting the mood. “You should be resting Lady Eowyn!” She chided.

“But...” Eowyn started, but then gave in rather easily. “Excuse me. I hurt my hand while killing the Witch King. I hope you understand my quick departure.”

You couldn’t stop grinning at her little amount of bragging. She deserved that much. Faramir bowed his head respectfully as the healer took Eowyn away, who was still complaining that she was fine. “Did you receive an injury while doing something important like killing a Witch King?” He asked.

“I stubbed my toe while taking down an Oliphaunt,” You shrugged, making him grin. You realized while he was doing so that he was actually pretty handsome .. for a human. He had a softer face than both Aragorn and Boromir, the only two humans that you could claim had been your friends. Or still were, in Aragorn’s case. He wasn’t as bristly. And he had very kind eyes. The race of men really was starting to grown on you.

-

Your father had come to Aragorn’s coronation. You had not expected him to. He very rarely left Mirkwood. Not since the Battle of the Five Armies had he ventured anywhere near this far. But the King returning to his throne was a grand deal, so you supposed it wasn’t that out of the ordinary. You stood beside your brother in welcoming your dear friend to the throne, and had managed to position yourself in a way that let you look at the Steward. He stood with Eowyn, who had become as wonderful a friend to him as she had to you. A sister to the both of you, though she needed no more siblings - not with a gruff one like Eomer about.

“When are you going to tell father?” Legolas whispered after Aragorn had passed.

“Tell him what?” You hissed.

“About how you are in love with a human,” He said, smiling widely. You nudged him and he nearly fell into Gimli, but his elf-like reflexes stopped him from doing so. “He can’t take his eyes off of you. Is that why you dressed up today? It is so weird to see you in a gown.”

“Can you please be quiet and enjoy our friend’s special day?” You asked in Elvish. Legolas did quiet down but you kept sneaking peeks over at Faramir. The two of you had gotten rather close in the last couple of months. And you might even think that you had given your heart over to the man, though it was very painful to think about. You would continue to remain youthful for many, many years, barely gaining a wrinkle while this man would grow old, wither, die. Life was cruel that way. Unbelievably cruel.

You saw eyes looking at you behind Faramir, and caught your father’s stern gaze. Your eyes widened, and like a child caught doing something bad, you immediately looked anywhere but your father, pretending to be distracted by the leaves, or the sweet little hobbits.

After the ceremony was a lovely party, which Aragorn did not attend because he went straight into his duties. You could say a lot of things about Aragorn, but not that he wasn’t dedicated to his work. You walked through the party, surprising a great number of people by wearing an intricate Elven gown for the occasion. Most of these people had only seen you in your fighting garb, which looked a great deal like Legolas’s. In fact, on more than one occasion, you had been mistaken for one another. Definitely not on this day, though.

You wandered, before Faramir’s hand lightly brushed against your arm, pulling you into conversation. “You look...” He said, gazing at you up and down, trying to find the words. You decided rather than waste time, you would finish his sentence for him.

“-like a beautiful Elven lady?”

“You took the words right out of my mouth,” Faramir said with a grin. He looked bashful, an expression that became him. He could be the most cold, hardened warrior, but around you, he seemed to be a bit more of a bashful mess. It was a very endearing trait. And it was something that brought the warmth right out of you.

“Yes, my daughter is a very beautiful Elven lady,” Your father’s familiar voice said from you behind you. Your eyes said ‘Uh-oh’ faster than your mouth could, and you turned to see him standing there. The blonde hair that the whole family had was gleaming brightly in the sun light. “I’m stealing her for a moment from you, Steward.”

“Of course,” Faramir said with a nod. He walked away with his hands behind his back, having recovered very well from his injuries. You watched as he walked towards Eowyn, and they struck up a friendly conversation. Your two favorite humans - and yet it gave you a feeling in the pit of your stomach that you did not like. You were wary of them being close. You were fond of both of them and you would not be surprised if they became overly fond of one another.

“Is that him?” Your father asked, following your line of sight. You stopped staring, and turned back towards him to give him the respect that he both deserved and demanded.

“Is that whom?” You questioned, your eyebrow arching upwards.

“The human that has stolen your heart?” Your father’s steely gaze cut through you like a knife. So he knew. You looked behind him for Legolas, and once you had caught his eye, you gave him a glare. “Do not blame your brother like you are some sort of child. He didn’t tell me a thing. It is entirely obvious.”

“Do you think that he knows?” You asked, swallowing any denial that you might have had bubbling.

“Since he is an inferior human, I would suppose not.” Your father said, chin held high. “I was going to ask you to come back with me. Take your place as the ruler of Mirkwood. There is a lot of work to be done.”

The happiness that you had felt for Aragorn, and then the slight giddiness that you had around Faramir had dissipated entirely. You were back to the way that the elves usually were. Hard-browed. No emotion showing.

“I’m sure that there is,” You said, not excited at all about the prospect of returning to your home. “And you are sure that you want me to be doing it?”

“As the oldest, it is your duty. Female or not,” Your father said. But he wasn’t catching your eye - he continued to glance over at Faramir. “You have caught his attention most ardently. He will not stop looking in your direction. It almost reminds me of your mother.”

Your heart started to beat in your chest, but your expression did not change. Still, there was a little bit of hope shining through. You tried to catch your father’s eye, but he kept looking away, which was unusual. Usually, he enjoyed looking right into the eyes of the person that he was talking to. It was a power play. And now you were the one who was trying to be the one in power.

“Is there any way that we can postpone it, father?” You asked, trying to make yourself taller so that he could not avoid looking at you. “Just for a few decades? Hardly any time at all - and all of that work will still be waiting for me.”

“A couple of decades? So you can come back after your human lover dies, and take out your grief in your work like I had?” Thranduil asked, tutting. You have never heard him tut before. But you also knew that he had a point. You remembered how he had thrown himself into his duties as King when your mother had died. He hadn’t given himself the proper time to grieve, and his leadership was lack for that. “We’d better give it a century or two. I might be able to finish my own tasks in time for that.”

“Surely - you’re joking? This is the first joke that you make and you decide for it to be this?” You questioned, unable to take your father seriously at this moment. His expression had not changed at all. In fact, now, it looked a little bit angry.

“I do not joke.” He said, glaring at you. “I am trying to give you the opportunity to love.”

You tried to search for any sign of deceit in his eyes, but could find none. He even looked a little ... flustered? Uncomfortable at the idea of talking about love with his daughter? Either way, you weren’t going to pass this opportunity up. You clasped your hands in front of yourself and gave him a bow which he then returned, before sweeping himself away to talk to Legolas, which was always much less about emotions.

You walked back over to Faramir and Eowyn, and put your hand on Faramir’s arm like he had to you just moments before. “May I speak with you for a moment?” You asked him, looking over at Eowyn. The blonde woman gave you a knowing smile, and walked off to speak with Merry, whom she had grown fond of over the war. The Steward of Gondor looked at you, still with that soft grin that you enjoyed looking at so much.

“What is it?” He asked, the grin faltering slightly. You’ve never asked him to talk privately before, and he wondered if something was wrong. But you took that away from him with your own lips, which you softly pressed against his once you were sure you had a little bit of privacy. “My lady?” He questioned, after returning it.

“It is unconventional, but it appears that I’ve fallen for you, Faramir, Steward of Gondor.”

“You have?” He asked, bewildered, but then seemed to regain his senses rather quickly. “I thought you never would. I’ve already resigned myself to growing old by myself.”

“You don’t have to,” You said, taking hold of his rough and calloused hands, giving them a squeeze. “If you will have me, I’d like to be by your side as you grow into a handsome old man.”

“While you stay the same?” He asked, his voice going softer.

“Yes,” You said with a nod. There was no point in beating around the bush - he would grow old and you would stay exactly as you were. It would be quite some time before you started to look older than you already were.

“My beautiful wife,” Faramir said, leaning in for another kiss. You granted it happily.

[conaionaru]

Honor and Blood (Ivar the Boneless)

Beginnings and endings

Synopsis: The naming ceremony and Silas’s punishment

Warnings: Murder, angst, fluff, gore

Tags:

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I don’t own the gifs. Also, thank you for your support. I really appreciate it. If you want to be tagged please write me<3

Vanya sat in the Great Hall next to Ivar in a new white dress, her hair loose around her shoulders. She observed the marks on the table, trailing her fingers over them. Everyone around her talked, too, focused on their plans of Silas's punishment to even notice her despair.

The man from her dreams, Hoenir, sat on her right, while Ivar sat on her left. Brynja and Margrethe run around their table, serving their meal. It has been two days since Vanya returned home. She got some deserved rest, but her mind was plagued with her worries.

They wouldn't let her see her son; sometimes, when everything grew quiet, she could hear him cry. It tore at her heart, but according to the healers, she was in no state to be near a newborn. During her time on the run, she caught a cold, her fever was high, and she felt like throwing up after every meal.

Listening to the Ragnarsson, Aslaug, Floki, and Helga argue about what to do with Silas wasn't what she yearned to do. "Are you alright, Vanya?" Brynja questioned her a soft hand on her shoulder, steadying the swaying princess. Vanya nodded tiredly and leaned against Ivar's shoulder.

The Viking entwined their hands together and kissed her damp temple.

He asked her to stay in bed, but Vanya knew she had to be there, no matter how much she hated it. She sentenced Silas to death; it's her duty to help choose the way he will die. "Let's burn him alive," Hvitserk suggested once again, causing his brothers to roll their eyes.

"Slit his throat, that's what he wanted to happen to Vanya." Sigurd countered, but the others disagreed again.

"Too kind, it must be more painful and drawn out." Ivar reminded them, his left hand in a tight fist while his right one squeezed Vanya's hand tighter, to remember that she is here.

Floki raised his cup and giggled in the mad way he always does. "Skin him alive." He offered but was shot down as well. Everyone kept suggesting different methods of execution, all rejected one by one. It was getting tiring for Vanya, draining her of the last bits of strength she regained.

"Maybe you should lay down, Vanya. You don't look so good." Ubbe softly told her, looking at her with tender eyes. She looked broken, her left hand wrapped in bandages to cover her cut. There was also a bandage on the cauterized wound on her shoulder. It would scar, which she didn't care about. Ivar was right; it was a sign of survival, a proof of her strength.

She shook her head and straightened in her seat to look healthier than she felt. "I can't sleep or rest anymore. I need to be here so Silas can be dealt with. He needs to die a painful death, I promised him that, and that's what will happen. No arrows or drowning or hanging. My brother needs to suffer as I suffered; at least I am sparing him the pain of not knowing if you will survive." She spat angrily, slumping back in her chair, exhausted. How pathetic was she? She couldn't even talk without getting tired.

She sighed and moved to stand up, Hoenir rising as well. The silent stranger followed her around like a shadow. He sat in front of her hut with his sword drawn, only letting family and Brynja in. The servant found his mysteriousness and silence charming, Vanya found it eerie. She yearned for human contact, not a silent wall lurking around. Ivar spent every waking moment by her side as well, always checking on her and touching her in some way. More for his sanity than her's.

He didn't check on their son either, too afraid to leave her alone. Vanya was thankful for his protectiveness; she missed it. But she yearned for her son as well, what if he was sick as well?

Vanya made her way towards their chambers and laid down to sleep with Ivar by her side, wrapped around her like a vice, but still somehow comforting. She could feel his chest fall and rise against her back, but sleep wouldn't take her. Her eyes were wide open, and her heartbeat frantically, on guard despite being safe. Nightmares plagued her rest nearly every night, dreams of drowning, freezing, or waking up to her son's corpse in her arms.

Everyone treated her like a broken toy, too scarred by what happened to her to be whole again. In the end, Silas had won. Nine months ago, he sent her here to wither and die. And now she looks half dead and feels hollow. With a shuttering breath, Vanya slowly crawled out of Ivar's arms and into the street, walking past Hoenir, who slept by the door. She shook him awake and made him follow her to the hut where Silas is held.

"Are you sure you want to see him?" The Silent wandered questioned her, but the ginger only nodded and ordered the guards to let her in.

The hut was lit with candles and smelled of wine and piss. Two aromas that Silas always despised, how fitting that it would be the last things he would know. "She lives." A voice rasped from a corner startling her.

With some difficulty and grunts, Silas rose from his hiding place behind the bed. He looked just as bad as her. Two days in a cell, and he was filthy, drunk, and pathetic. It suited him, pain, and despair. "You look terrible."

He chuckled and collapsed back into a chair, the furniture nearly topping over from the force. "I always imagined myself immortal. Forever alive and in people's minds. And here I am. Covered in piss, looking like some kitchen rat." He spat on the ground glaring at everything around him.

Vanya took his sorry state in, tucking it into the back of her mind to remember him by. Not the cruel King with a crown on his head, but as nothing better than a beggar with one foot in the grave. "You are human, just like everyone else. Everyone dies, Silas. Even Kings."

Silas scoffs and hurls his cup towards her, the guards and Hoenir barge in but stand back when Vanya raises a hand, palm facing Silas. "It's alright. Please leave." The three men leave brother and sister alone to talk. One last conversation before Silas pays for his crimes.

Her brother watches the display of power that Vanya possesses and reached towards the last piece of bread he had left. He tore at it like a savage, disgusting even himself. All his grace and power stripped away by his sister, how the tables have turned. "You mean Father, don't you?"

Vanya looked at him, puzzled, unaware of what he meant by the comment. But Silas didn't wait for her to question him, he pointed the finger at her and chuckled. "You always talked of that bastard. Alive or dead, you worshipped him, even though there was nothing special about him. You have no idea what kind of inconsiderate prick he was."

"Father was a good person, far better than you or me." Vanya insisted, not letting him insult their late father.

Silas sneered and threw a piece of bread at her, that she batted away before it hit her face. She frowned at his ridiculous behavior, fed up with his dramatics. "Of course, you would think that you were his favorite. You were the obedient child with big sad doe eyes. Do you know what I was? I was the embarrassment, the reject. I was three, and he called me a monster. All because I didn't follow his rules."

The ginger shook her head and walked closer to Silas. "Father loved you, but you were always so quick to start a fight. He tried to make you a good king, but you rejected him, and now here we are."

"Ah, yes, here we are. The Monster and the Gifted one." Silas swallowed the last piece of bread and spread his arms wide in a mocking gesture. He didn't love me, or you or anyone else. Osmond used people, you stupid wench! He married a girl half his age, filled her with seed, and when the child didn't meet his expectations, he threw them both away and fucked everything pretty. And then you were born, perfect little Vanya - the Gracious gift of God. You nodded along to everything and did as he said. Other than me, who had his own opinions."

Vanya scoffed and licked her dry lips to hold back the foul words on the tip of her tongue. "Father was a good King and a better parent than Mother. You spat, beat, and laughed at other children. You were always rotten, Silas. And Father knew it, so did Mother."

"I did it to get attention; no one would pay attention to the reject! Before you were born, I was the perfect firstborn. But not to him! To Father, I was the little monstrosity that refused to keep quiet about his affair. I was three and saw him fucking another woman. I told Mother, and he grew angry with me, by the time you were born, I was a bastard in their eyes. The one that destroyed their marriage, as if I was the one getting his dick wet behind my wife's back."

The princess stared at Silas in shock, Osmond always said that his son was born cruel. To think all of the cruelty, hate, and violence came from their parent's treatment. Siflaed was a neglectful mother, and it turns out Osmond was no better. Vanya always saw him as a smart man with good intentions, when in truth, he was nothing like that.

"He was a good King, true. But a terrible Father, husband, and person. Just like me." Silas smirked at his small victory, while Vanya frowned at him. "He treated you better because you were naive and gullible. All the talk of duty, putting the kingdom first and God. You were born to be a bargaining chip, just like Mother, married off to the highest bidder. Face it; there is no kindness in our blood."

"I am not you or them!" Vanya insisted, causing Silas to laugh.

"If that's what you like to believe."

Vanya slammed her hands against the table, startling Silas. She huffed and got in his face, her eyes as cold as ice. "You did horrible things to me and everyone around you. I am nothing like you."

"If you want to blame anyone, then blame Stithulf."

"Stithulf didn't order men to murder three people!" Vanya spat at him, remembering the blonde man who talked to her about Silas as a King. How charming he seemed, the two-faced bastard.

"He reminded me what a threat you and your child pose to my reign. He told me the only way to ensure my glory and throne was to kill anyone who wants to take it away. First you and your child, then Mother's brother Æthelric. He said I was meant to rule, that the world would remember me. And they will. These heathens of yours will kill me, probably torture as well. And the church will name me a martyr for my faith, and history will remember me as Silas the Great." Silas boasted, throwing his arms around and nearly falling out of his chair in the process.

Vanya shook her head and looked at the cross on his desk, the one he gifted her, their father's cross. "Only those who lived a righteous life can be names martyrs. You executed, hurt, and humiliated people. You are no saint, Silas, and the church won't care for your death. Terrible people don't go to heaven."

The older Saxon rose from the chair and leaned against the table, looking into his wine cup. "Then, I shall see you in Hell. That's where you heathen scum will all go. And we can burn side by side as we did in our cribs." He raised his cup and downed it in one go before letting it slip through his fingers and hit the ground. "Farewell, Sister."

He stumbled towards his bed and collapsed on it face first, his white shirt falling lower, exposing his shoulder blades. Vanya watched his naked back, she then turned on her heel and left the hut to return to her own. She made a decision. Yesterday Ivar explained to her all the ways Vikings executed people, and one seemed perfect to Vanya now.

Her husband sat up in their bed, looking at Vanya with tired eyes. "Where did you go? Are you hurt?"

"Blood eagle," Vanya answered, confusing Ivar further.

"What?"

She sighed and sat down next to him, looking into his eyes. "The way we should kill Silas. You should Blood Eagle him after the naming ceremony." She explained as Ivar nodded, still confused about the sudden decision.

Vanya closed her eyes and took a deep breath, feeling her shoulders get lighter. As if the weight on them dropped, making breathing easier than before. She opened her icy eyes again and stared into her husband's stormy hues. "What is it, Min elskede (My beloved)?"

She chuckled at the tender tone, having missed the endearment more than she thought was possible. "I was terrified out there, Ivar. I thought I would never see you or Kattegat ever again." Tears gathered in her eyes, her lips shaking from the oncoming sobs.

Ivar cupped her cheek and wiped her tear away with his thumb. "You are here now. And nobody will ever take you away from me. I will never let anyone harm you or our son again."

Vanya sobbed and flung herself into his arms, breathing in his scent and hugging him tightly, as if it was all a dream that would disappear if she let go. "From now on, you never have to be afraid, Vanya. I will protect you both. No one, not even death, will ever lay a hand on you again!"

Ivar kissed her temple before she pulled back and stared into his eyes, looking for any sign of lies or uncertainty. But she found none, all she saw was honesty and rage. Anger that he let anyone harm them. "You have to swear it, Ivar! Promise me." She begged desperately, afraid to ever have to fight for her life again.

"I promise and swear on my life and the Gods. I will never, ever let anyone harm you or our son. No matter what it might take to keep you both safe, I will do everything and more to protect you. From now on, you'll both be safe and sound. I oath not to enter Vallhalla if I brake this promise. I swear on my arm ring."

Vanya leaned against his chest and sighed in satisfaction, with one less problem on her mind, she slept easier. Her son's absence still plagued her mind, but the sooner everything was done, the sooner she could have him in her arms again. 

The next morning, five days since their son's birth, they all stood gathered in the Great Hall once again, revealing the plan to Blood Eagle Silas. "And who will do it? Ivar can't stand." Sigurd pointed out, making his brother snarl at him.

"It doesn't matter. We can give him a chair, or let someone else do it." Vanya jumped in before a fight broke out. She was in no mood to watch them argue; the most important thing right now is that Silas dies; it doesn't matter by whose hand. 

Everyone nodded, looking at the wedded couple glued to each other's hip. Vanya still looked sick and weak, but the more she clung to Ivar, the straighter her back got, and the higher she held her head. She was gaining back the confidence she gathered during her nine months of marriage to their brother. There were still bits of fear and edginess visible, but with Ivar and Hoenir shadowing her, she breathed easier. 

"You are on edge." Sigurd pointed out, voicing what everyone was thinking. Vanya locked gaze with him and smiled to reassure them.

"I..." A cry interrupted her sentence; a child was crying somewhere. "I miss my son, that's all. They still won't let me see him." 

Aslaug frowned at the information and looked at her youngest son for confirmation. Ivar nodded and took Vanya's hand in his, trying to comfort his sad wife. The Queen rose from her seat and left the Ragnarssons, Vanya, Torvi, and Hoenir. 

When she returned, it was with the sound of a crying infant. She opened the door with a babe in her arms, cradling it softly, trying to calm it down. "Mother?" Questioned Ubbe, confused, carrying his nephew towards Vanya.

The ginger looked at Aslaug bewildered, as the older woman laid the child into her arms. "You went through hours of horrendous labor and near death for this child. If anyone deserves to hold him, it is you." Aslaug smiled at Vanya, who hugged her son closer to her, the boy calming down the moment he smelled her scent. 

The child reached out with his little hand and grasped a fiery lock, playing with it while staring up at her, sniffling slightly. Vanya smiled at his teary gaze and wiped his tears, stroking his smooth chubby cheek. "Looks like he just missed his mother. What a surprise from Ivar's child." 

Aslaug and Vanya frowned at Sigurd's comment but ignored it as Ivar was too engrossed at looking at the little version of himself in his wife's arms. "That is the safest child in Kattegat." Hvitserk pointed out, looking at the calm baby slobbering over Vanya's hair.

Bjorn snorted and patted Vanya and Ivar on the shoulder. "With a mother ready to burn kingdoms down and a father into ritual sacrifice? It only fits with a grandson of Ragnar Lothbrok." 

The others nodded along while Vanya looked at Ivar with a raised eyebrow. At Ivar's confused stare, she smiled down at the babe. "Hold your hands out, Ivar. You should hold him too." 

Ivar looked at the frail newborn and shook his head. "I will drop him, Vanya." 

The redhead rolled her eyes and passed the child towards him despite his protests. "You are holding him with your arms, not your legs. Bond with him, he didn't see that much of you." She spoke softly, not meaning it in a mean way. 

With tender eyes, Ivar looked at his son, noting the wiggling legs under the fur. He would walk one day, run around just like Ivar's brothers could. At least in something, the gods were merciful; they listened to his prayers and made his son strong and healthy. Just like his mother prophesied, and his son would be like his grandmother. He would have visions, Hoenir, and Aslaug were sure of it. 

"Did you think of a name?" Ubbe asked, watching his serene nephew. 

"Yes. But it's a surprise." Vanya revealed giggling at Torvi and Hvitserk, cooing at the babe who frowned at them in return. 

In the heathen culture, nine days after a babe is born, the naming ceremony is held. Vatni ausinn is a ritual where the father acknowledges the child and names it. Ivar sat in a chair with their son on his knee, sprinkling the babe with water. 

"My son, Aros!" He announced to the room while his babe everyone cheered in delight. Ubbe nudged Vanya, who stood next to him, clapping. The redhead looked up at him with a questioning look at the older males smug look.

"From the river's mouth? Really?" He asked about the name meaning while Vanya shrugged.

"It fits, does it not?"

"I guess it does." He looked back towards his little brother, cradling his firstborn lovingly. "Aros Ivarsson."

After the ceremony, Ivar and Vanya returned to their hut, with Hoenir following behind them. Her husband was about to order some thralls to fill their tub with water when Brynja ran towards them. "Wait, My Prince. Let me do it. I would like to spend some time with Vanya anyway. If you were to permit it."

Ivar looked at Vanya in question, but the ginger smiled at him reassuringly. "Go. I could use a distraction before tomorrow. And Hoenir will be outside; we will be fine. Have fun with your brothers." She reassured him, kissing his forehead and sending him off.

The Prince and wanderer left the hut, the girls cold Hoenir sitting outside on the bench, but ignored his presence. Vanya turned on her heel to look at Brynja, who smiled at her softly, her eyes glassy. 

"What's wrong? Are you unwell?" Vanya frantically ran to the other redhead's side, pulling her towards the bed to sit down. Brynja laughed at the worried mother and shook her head, her curls bouncing around her.

"I am just happy to see you again. My life would be very boring without you, My Princess." She confessed, hugging Vanya, careful of the sleepy babe in her arms. Vanya embraced the older ginger with her left arm, enjoying the affection Brynja gave her.

Truth is Brynja is her only true friend here, that she befriended outside of marriage. Of course, Ubbe, Torvi, Hvitserk, and Bjorn are her friends as well. But if it weren't for her marriage to Ivar, she would have never talked to them. Vanya liked to believe her, and Brynja would be friends even if it weren't for Ivar. If she ever were to get divorced, Brynja would still be her friend. 

The curly-haired ginger had a pure heart, contagious smile, and shared Vanya's love for children. She gave the best advice and listened to her complaining without any remarks. For every complaint Vanya told her, Brynja gave two. Servant or not, she was a good girl and an even better friend.

"I bought you a gift!" Brynja cheered, letting Vanya put Aros into his crib. Floki made it for the babe from the boat meant to serve as their coffin if they were found dead. It was quite morbid, but Vanya didn't mind it that much, and Aros seemed comfortable. 

The Viking girl showed her a present wrapped in a cloth. She laid it on Vanya's lap and mentioned for her to open it. Brynja was giddy, and in turn, Vanya became giddy as well, she unwrapped the gift and looked inside to see the neckline of a dress. The fabric was blue with white lacings. 

"You bought me a dress?" Vanya asked, confused, looking up at the sheepish ginger.

"Made actually. It's not as pretty as the ones you make or the ones you buy. I don't know how to make dresses like that, so it's plainer." Brynja apologized, frowning down at the dress, no longer as excited as before.

Vanya shook her head and walked towards the mirror with the gift in hand. Watching herself in the mirror, Vanya marveled at the simple dress. It wasn't as lavish as the dresses Vanya was used to having, but she liked its look. "It's beautiful. I bet it's comfortable as well." She reassured the other female twirling around with the dress to see it flow in the air.

"I made it for your name day, but I didn't get to give it to you." With a  bashful smile, Brynja watched the Princess gush over the dress. It took her a long time to make the dress, but the smile was worth all her frustration with the fabric. And all the times her father laughed at her pricking her finger. 

Vanya turned on her heel and looked at Brynja, shocked. "You wasted money on me!" She cried out mortified, the fact that the poor girl bought fabric to create the dress. But Brynja shook her head and shrugged the issue off. 

The young mother carefully set the dress down on the bed and skipped to her wardrobe to look inside. "You must choose one of mine, even if you sell it. I can't just accept a gift like that and give you nothing in return!"

Brynja shook her head at the frantic Princess and observed her rummaging through all the dresses she owned. "That's what gifts are for, Vanya. You give them out of love, not expecting anything back."

"Nonsense!" Vanya fussed and turned towards the other ginger. Brynja's smile was tired, and her eyes pleading. She didn't want anything in return, but that didn't sit with Vanya. "Choose whatever dress you want. If not for yourself, then for me. You gave me a gift out of love. So chose yours."

Brynja smiled at that and walked to the closet to find a dress for herself. In the end, she chose a purple one with long dark sleeves. "Purple. Like your favorite flowers."

"You remember?" Brynja blinked at Vanya in astonishment while Vanya mockingly rolled her eyes, smirking.

She circled the older female in front of the mirror and stopped behind her, propping her chin on her shoulder. "Of course, I remember. I always remember small things like that. But don't ask me anything important. I do forget these things very easily." Brynja chuckled and felt the soft fabric with her fingers, liking the feel of it. It was obviously expensive, but the servant wouldn't complain to Vanya. "How is your father, anyway? Is he better?"

Brynja hummed and laid the dress on the bed, neatly folding it and wrapping it in the cloth from Vanya's gift. "Stronger every day, which he keeps showing off. I think he fell in love with the neighbor's widow. He keeps running around shirtless and lifting heavy things."

Vanya laughed at the image of Brynja's father only in his breeches, smiling every time he sees the widow. "Maybe he is taking the lack of children in his own hands. Trying to create some little ones on his own."

"Oh, gods! I hope not; he is too old." Brynja gagged and smirked at Vanya, crowding closer and whispering into her ear. "I would rather make some of my own. But there are no men good enough."

The Princess sighed and sat down on her bed, looking up at the cheeky ginger. "And why are you whispering? Are you afraid that the man outside might hear?"

"I saw his face once, quite handsome. A bath would do him wonders. And new clothes." Brynja confessed, gushing over Hoenir. The seventeen-year-old mother shook her head, and teasingly smiled at Brynja.

"My, my, is someone in love?"

"Hush, Vanya! Or I will regret missing you at all!" Brynja joked back, fake glaring at the taller girl, while she laughed it off. It was good to be back and joke around, forgetting what is going to happen tomorrow.

The two girls walked to the door after the bath was prepared, saying goodbye for the night. Vanya watched her go with a small smile, thankful for her visit. She then turned on her heel and sat down next to Hoenir, who looked at her in confusion. 

At least she suspected it to be confusion; it's hard to tell in the dark when he has his hood on. "I wanted to thank you for the advice you gave me in my dreams."

"No need to do that. You would have survived anyway; I had a vision of our meeting. It couldn't happen if you died before we met. My job now is to make certain you don't die from here on." His voice was smooth, yet a little bit rusty and monotone like always. She wondered if he felt any emotions or just his them pretty well.

"Then I thank you for that instead. But I wish for you to find a hut, not just a bench or a piece of fur outside of ours."

Hoenir shook his head and looked down at her cold frame. "I need to be near if somebody were to attack you."

"Ivar will be with me."

"Doesn't mean you will be safe."

Vanya sighed and looked out towards the sleepy streets of Kattegat, smiling softly. "I am safe. I am home, surrounded by friends and family. I have nothing to fear."

Hoenir scoffed and leaned back, ignoring the persistent ginger by his side. Vanya looked at him, expecting an explanation of his behavior, but he gave her none. "Say what you want to, Hoenir. If we are to spend a lot of time together, you should be able to say what you want to."

"You are very annoying."

"I know. Get used to it." She smiled at him cheekily, causing him to shake his head and stand up. Vanya looked at him in confusion, till he pointed at a crawling shape in the dark. 

"Your husband's coming. And I have a hut to find. I don't want to hear anything I shouldn't." Vanya nodded, satisfied until the meaning behind the words hit her.

"We wouldn't if you were outside! That's so improper!" She scolded him, blushing madly. Did Hoenir really think that she and Ivar would sleep together if he were right outside their door? 

He shrugged his broad shoulders and pulled his cloak tighter around his body. "You never know. I believe I have to take a bath, as well."

Vanya looked at him, shocked, and blushed even harder. "You heard?"

"Some of it. I am a better listener than a talker. So get used to it as well, Princess."

"Call me, Vanya. Please."

"As you wish, Vanya. Goodnight, Sleep well. Both of you." With that, Hoenir sidestepped Ivar on the porch and stalked off towards a random hut, entering it and closing the door behind him.

"Whose hut it that?" She questioned her husband, who watched the wanderer walk off as well. 

"His. Mother gave it to him." He shrugged, crawling inside with Vanya behind him bewildered. The wretched man had a home all along and stayed in front of their hut instead. She didn't know if to be moved by his dedication or annoyed by his stubbornness. "Did you take your bath yet?"

"Not yet." She had her back turned to him while he sat by the tub. She put the dress away and slowly unbraided her hair. "Did you make a decision on who will kill Silas?"

"I will do it. Torvi went into labor. He will be with her, and I will Blood Eagle the little Monster." Ivar boasted pridefully, making her sigh. 

She brushed through her hair and put the tie that kept it together safely away to find it in the morning. "Let's hope the Gods are with Torvi, and the child will be born soon."

"If it's born sooner, Bjorn can kill your brother in my steed. It should be me killing him! I thought I lost two of the most important people in my life. He didn't worry about you two as I did!" Ivar complained as he dragged himself towards the fire chairs by the fire and poured himself a cup of ale.

"Ivar." Vanya scolded, untying the laces of her dress. "Torvi shouldn't suffer so that Silas can die by your hand. She deserves better."

"I think so too, but she is the one who married Bjorn." 

Vanya spun on her heel, annoyed by his words. She froze with her mouth open, looking at him sitting there sipping on his cup. He raised his eyebrow at her sudden silence and waited for her mind to start working again.

"Put a shirt on, Ivar! I am trying to scold you!" Ivar smirked at her flustered state and leaned back in the chair, showing off his naked chest.

"Why? Do you not like the view." He asked cheekily, making her pout and skip over to him. Kissing his lips, to wipe the smug look off his face, Vanya pulled back, raising an eyebrow at his satisfied face.

"You are a pain, husband. You are lucky I love you."

Ivar grinned at her teasing words and kissed her knuckles, gazing into her steel-blue eyes. "Good. I would be hurt if you didn't." Vanya chuckled softly and connected their lips again, enjoying being in Ivar's arms once again. "What would I be without my Freyja."

Vanya groaned at his question and slapped his shoulder pouting. The Ragnarsson frowned at her reaction, hurt by her dismissal. "I used to think you were the cleverest man alive. And here you are calling me a goddess like the rest of them. I am not Freyja or Frigg!"

Vanya stood up from his lap, dropped her dress, and stepped into the wooden bathtub. Ivar shook his head and put his cup down, looking at her seriously. "You are perfect, full of light and love. You love me despite everything I am and didn't blame me once for your suffering. Vanya, you are my wife, a survivor, and the mother of my child, far more powerful than you believe yourself to be. Min elskede (My beloved), you are either a gift from the Gods or a Goddess yourself, I have no doubts about that."

Vanya smiled at his loving words, tears gathering at the corners of her eyes. "Do you really think I'm powerful?"

He chuckled at her question and pointed at himself. "I, for one, find you terrifying." She grinned at the answer and bashfully looked down into the water, trying to hide her blush behind a curtain of red locks. "Who else sees you as a goddess anyway?"

"The people do. And Sigurd as well."

Ivar frowned at the last part and sourly drank the rest of his ale, while Vanya silently laughed at his jealousy. "He believes me to be a goddess because I endure you. But it's not such a hard task as everyone makes it out to be. I enjoy your presence quite a bit." She smirked secretly; her head turned to pick up a cloth to clean herself with. When she turned around, Ivar's face was close to hers, startling her.

The rag would have hit the floor if it wasn't for him catching it. The corner of his perfect lips lifted at Vanya's wide-eyed stare. He seemed like a predator, watching his prey, enjoying every second of the hunt.  "I enjoy your presence, as well, obviously."

"Obviously." Vanya echoed, hypnotized by his hungry stare, his eyes like a raging storm, pulling her in deeper. She leaned in to connect their lips, but Ivar pulled away and crawled towards the beds to look at their child instead. She scoffed at his teasing and cleaned herself, pouting the whole time.

She expected Ivar to leave her alone after his stunt, but luckily for her, he had other plans. The moment she sat down on their bed, he kissed her and laid her down on the furs, making love to her carefully, in case she was still in pain after giving birth not that long ago.

The next morning, they were woken up by their son, whining in his bed, hungry and rested. They both groaned, exhausted from last night's lovemaking. Ivar sat up in bed, lifted Aros, and handed him to Vanya so she could nurse their little treasure.

"Silas will be bought to the Hall after our meal," Ivar informed her, watching her for any sign of hesitancy. But there was none. She decided he deserved to die even before Aros was born, and the fact that he threatened her son's life was the last nail in his coffin. Silas would die a painful death and burn in Hell for all eternity.

"Then let's go. The sooner we eat, the sooner this will all be over. And I can gust over Bjorn's and Torvi's baby." Vanya spoke, burping Aros while Ivar got dressed. After he was done, he took the babe from her and allowed her to clothe herself as well.

When she laced up her white dress and braided her hair, she walked towards Ivar and took the babe from his embrace, smoothing down the little hairs on Aros's head. Ivar picked up his axe and put it on his belt, so he wouldn't have to return for it later. When Vanya saw this, she frowned. "Wait."

Ivar looked at her, confused, waiting for her to continue. She laid Aros down on their bed, ensuring he was secure and walked over to her husband again. She took his axe and trailed her finger the edge, testing the sharpness. The sharp bite of the blade and the bead of blood that flowed down her finger reassured her that it was indeed ready to be used.

The execution would be smoother this way, which meant the whole ordeal wouldn't take too long. No matter her hate for Silas, she would hate for him to suffer under a dull blade. He always said he deserved the best, Vanya thought that should include the weapon that would kill him too.

Ivar gazed up at her, not sure to question her behavior or not. She seemed like she was in a trance, too deep in her mind to remember that she wasn't alone. He softly pried the weapon from her soft fingers and laid it on his lap, taking her hand into his and sucking on the fingertip to stop the bleeding.

Vanya kneeled in front of him and kissed the steel of his weapon, looking up at him pleadingly. "Make him pay. For everything."

"I will."

After breakfast, everyone gathered as Floki set up the posts where Silas would kneel. Ubbe walked to her side and tried to pull her back, but she wrenched her arm free and glared up at him.

"You don't have to be here, Vanya." Sigurd reminded her from her left, also looking at her with soft eyes like she would brake. As if she was weak, but he was wrong. They were all wrong. Vanya was a survivor like Ivar said.

The ginger shook her head and mentioned for Brynja to join her. She handed the babe to her and ordered Hoenir to take them to Ivar's and her hut. "I must be here. I have to see him die. If I don't, I will never be sure if it's over or not."

Ubbe watched her determined face and nodded, Sigurd on the other hand, scoffed and walked off, obviously displeased. "What is his problem?" Vanya asked, seeing the Ragnarsson stalk off, muttering under his breath.

Ubbe gave her a wry smile and shook his head. "He believes you to be tainted by Ivar. Sigurd thinks that he is forcing you into this. That he was the one who chose to Blood eagle Silas and not you."

Vanya scoffed at the explanation and glared at the retreating figure of the snake-eyed Viking. "If anybody deserves to see Silas die, then it's me. I was the one who spent three days in the middle of nowhere, freezing, bleeding, and starving. Silas made my life a living hell from the moment I can remember. I want him to suffer."

"I understand that. But Sigurd still sees you as that timid Princess who was forced to marry Ivar. Many of us do, but you have changed. You are stronger than before, more confident as well. But you don't have to force yourself. You did nearly faint at the mention of blood only nine months ago. No one would blame you if you needed to get some air."

Vanya smiled up at the worried Ragnarsson and linked her arms with his. "Then would you be so kind as to stand with me and catch me if I do faint? After all, you are my only friend left in the room."

Ubbe chuckled at that and led her towards a place near the door to have a good view and an escape route. Silas was dragged in by his arms, spitting insults at the men in English, not caring if they understood him or not. He was pulled on top of the podium and chained to the wooden posts, while a chair was positioned behind for Ivar to sit on. The Ragnarsson dragged himself up and sat down, looking for his wife, relieved to see her with Ubbe.

After a nod from her, he raised the axe and cut into Silas's flesh, a scream echoing around the hall. Vanya watched the display emotionlessly, taking in Silas's screams. They disgusted her; she wanted to cry but had no tears to shed. It was as if her heart and mind were two different entities, disagreeing with each other about what reaction to give. She hated the sight of blood, hated his screams and pain. But found relief in it.

He was dying in front of her eyes, and she was horrified by the display. But not enough to look away. Ubbe squeezed her hand in a silent question if she was ok. She shrank back but kept looking, cringing from time to time at the violence. This is the last time she would see death; she couldn't handle so much gore ever again.

"Vanya!" Silas screamed out between his cries for mercy, catching her eye in the crowd. Vanya locked gazes with his pleading one, her eyes cold and empty, a coverup of the turmoil in her core. "Please!"

She shook her head, keeping her head held high, not showing any sign of hesitance or weakness. She wanted Silas to see what he caused in her eyes before he died.

Blessed are the poor in spirit,

for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

Blessed are they who mourn,

for they shall be comforted.

Blessed are the meek,

for they shall inherit the earth.

Blessed are they who hunger and thirst for righteousness,

for they shall be satisfied.

Blessed are the merciful,

for they shall obtain mercy.

Blessed are the pure of heart,

for they shall see God.

Blessed are the peacemakers,

for they shall be called children of God.

Blessed are they who are persecuted for the sake of righteousness,

for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

Vanya repeated in her mind, remembering how their mother drilled the words into their minds as children. If Silas is truly a martyr, then he will be reunited with God, which she doubts, but maybe it will give comfort to Silas. The blond King kept screaming as Ivar drew the lungs from his body, putting it on his shoulders, his time on earth coming short. "Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth." She whispered underneath her breath, seeing the life fade from Silas's eyes and his head fall.

He was dead.

[well-shit-im-a-morosexual-now]

“Shag or Die” or “Amnesia”

Amnesia

- I don't read it often... It's too much angst for me usually but the ones I read were good so!

- Technically I've kinda already written it? Cause at the end of Chasing Stars MC loses their memory of their week and a half with Mammon and the rest of the story would progress with the game's canon storyline (if you were focussing on romancing Mammon) but now with a bit more backstory to why Mammon is a tsundere & ends up falling for MC so fast all while MC is absolutely clueless

Shag or Die

- not really my cuppa? I've read some but when they focus on the 'Shag' part entirely, specially if the pairing isn't already established, it makes me kind of uncomfortable?

-I would write it though! But I'd probably focus more on the hurt/comfort part;

So i did an outline/summary thing for the Shag or Die one. It's not a proper fic & that's why the punctuation is wack

NSFW-ish. Nothing graphic just you know dicks are implied to be in existence

Mammon gets cursed by the witches (because of course he does) and even he knows what that sharp pain is. The one that makes his face flush and his body too hot and makes him want to rip his clothes off. He sees the satisfied glint in their eyes and it has him running, tripping over himself to get home and rid himself of the itch.

At first he locks himself in his room with no real problem. Sure his body is burning up and his breath is coming out in pants and he is aching and he's stumbling to his bed. Tearing off his clothes and whining loudly when he gets a hand around himself. It's just an itch that's all.

Except hours later he's still withering on the bed, his skin fever hot and his eyes clouded over and it hurts now. That sharp sudden pain is now a constant tight thing that's knotted at the centre of his chest and that makes each breath an effort and a part of him is panicking, cursing his pride for not letting him go to Lucifer in the beginning and ask if he could lift it. He hadn't wanted this to be seen as another disappointment, hadn't wanted to give his brothers another reason to make fun of him, hadn't wanted them to feel disgusted. But now. Now he slides under his damp covers and reaches for his D.D.D. dialing Lucifer's number. He hears the familiar snap of Lucifer's voice asking him what he did this time. "Please," he whispers, voice rough. And then he hears the dial tone.

Lucifer's storming into his room in seconds, demon form out and teeth bared, eyes scanning the room before they land on Mammon. His nose immediately scrunches up at the smell but that doesn't stop him from marching up to Mammon's bed and asking him "What exactly did you do this time." His tone is harsh but his hand is gentle and pleasantly cool when he places it on Mammon's burning forehead.

"Witches. Hurts," Mammon mumbles and Lucifer is swearing under his breath and then muttering rapid fire words for a counter curse, the warmth of his magic pulsing through Mammon but when it finally disperses Lucifer is left frowning and Mammon feels no different. If anything the pain in his chest has coiled around his heart, squeezing tightly. He curls up into a ball, tearless sobs leaving him

"I'm getting Satan. One of his books might have something."

"D-don't tell the others... They'll-"

"I won't."

And Mammon's eyes are squeezing shut trying to fight against the urge, the itch, the pain.

Gentle fingers run through his sweat soaked hair and then the door closes.

Satan doesn't find anything and is desperately fighting against his inner urge to tag along, when Lucifer suggests hunting down the witches and making them reverse it, to instead try to be the rational one. "It'll take too long and we don't even know if it can be reversed. We should tell Asmo. He'd be able to find someone who'd be willing to - if he doesn't he'll d-"

"I know."

They knock on the door loudly before entering, Mammon's trembling, eyes out of focus and clutching at his chest with clawed hands.

Lucifer rearranges the sheets from where they have slipped down to his waist while Satan holds a bottle of water to his mouth. They tell him the plan. And then a sudden flash of clarity is snapping into his eyes and he's struggling up and absolutely refusing. When Satan asks why, stressing the importance of it he's flushing some more and averting their eyes, playing with a loose thread from his blankets.

Satan huffs, "Unbelievable."

Lucifer looks like he's about to pop out another wrath baby.

His shoulders are hunching under their combined look and he's saying to his lap, "I can't - they - I couldn't do that to them - I don't wanna - "

"Are you even together. Do they even know how you feel. Is it reciprocated." Lucifer's snapping, face drawn in anger

"Maybe we could ask them..." Satan says quietly

"NO!"

"Why not."

He looks away, he can't bring himself to look Satan in the eye

"They'll do it you know."

" 'Course they will. H-have ya met them? They'd do it coz they'd have no choice. I can't - I can't do that to them"

Then Satan's losing his cool, yelling at Mammon & trying to make him see reason. When Mammon eventually gets dragged under another wave Lucifer sends Satan away to try and find anymore information and then he leaves to meet their resident human

He knocks and the door is flung open almost immediately. The human looks like a mess. Their hair is sticking up like they've spent hours running their hands through it, their eyes are wide and their face looks ashen

"Something's wrong, I've been trying to get to Mammon but he's not replying and his pact mark has been acting up for hours," they show him the glowing mark, "it's burning and flickering,,,,he went to see the witches and I didn't want to tell you at first but I think something's wrong we need to go check maybe something h-"

He cuts them off when it looks like they're gonna work themself up again, he makes them sit down and relays the whole situation to them. Their face is blank and stony during the whole of it.

"Right. I'll do it." They nod already rising from the bed

He shakes his head and tells them the rest of it .

And they're snorting. "Idiot" they say but it sounds fond. "Of course I'd try to help no matter who it was but - that's - I don't think - I mean I wouldn't sleep with - Mammon's the only on-"

He cuts off their flustered fumbling "understood"

They are nodding again "Guess I should get some stuff" and Lucifer's practically vaulting off the bed he had been sitting on, "Very well, I'll be in my study then. Drinking. I need to forget this whole conversation ever happened"

When they do go to Mammon's room he's tangled up in the sheets, shivering and panting, cheeks tear stained. Every once in a while he'll wince and curl into a tighter ball while clutching his chest. They damm near sprint to him, collapsing on their knees by his head and cupping his face in their hands and moving his head so he'd look at them. When he does see them he's growling, cursing Lucifer, telling them they don't have to do this and apologising. And they're calling him an idiot and pressing their forehead to his and telling him how much they love him, how they'd do anything to make sure he isn't hurting, to make sure he's safe, how they'd go out immediately and find someone, anyone who he wanted to sleep with, how they'd find and drag the witches back here themself so that they can reverse this, just so that he wouldn't be hurting.

His claws are digging into the skin at their wrists, "love?" There's something desperate in his tone

"Love. I've been in love with you for so long now Mammon, I don't, I don't know when it started but in the game. In Levi's dating sim when I told you the answer to that question and when you smiled, I just - I've never wanted to suck a dick so badly before."

They feel his soft embarrassed laughter against their neck as he tucks his face into them. He feels the pact mark on their right palm brush along his bare back. The warmth of it spreads along him, pushing back some of the haze surrounding him

"I saw you smile and I wanted to spend the rest of time making you smile like that."

He presses closer to them, "At Diavolo's castle. When - ah - w-when we were runnin' from the mutt,,, Ya took my hand. Trusted m-me. I wanted to keep protecting ya. Keep ya safe."

"You do. You do keep me safe, now let me return the favour. I'll go, get someone - "

"You. 's you. Always has been."

They're pulling back from him, looking him in the eyes, that shine a bit clearer since they got here. "Can I kiss y-"

His hand is curling around a fistful of their hoodie and dragging them towards him. Their mouths smash together and their teeth click painfully but they're shifting adjusting their angle and kissing him back just as urgently. He throws a leg over them and grinds up into them, a low whine building up in his throat. They nip and lick down his body while their hand reaches between his legs. They'll be gentle and fast, they'll work him through this and whisper words of love and praise while they do. They'll take away the pain and when they're done, when there's nothing eating away at him anymore they'll hold him and run their fingers through his hair the way he likes. They'll give him his favourite snacks and the chilled water they brought with them, they'll use the oil they brought to diligently massage the aches out of his muscles, they'll tell him they love him and kiss him sweetly, they'll bundle him up and sleep curled up with him, they'll rinse and repeat all those steps until he no longer feels like his body is tearing itself apart. And when he's better, when he's back to being the loud, energetic asshole they are in love with. Then. Then they'll make him scream.

[dr-skellington]

And The Winner Is...

So I was hella bummed to miss HIV/AIDS Awareness Day... So I wrote this for National HIV/AIDS Testing Day but I feel like it can emcompass both

anyways happy National HIV/AIDS Testing Day! If you’re sexually active y’all better go get tested! 😜

This is being posted to both my main and nsfs blogs because all of us nsfs content creators are guilty of (more often than not) creating content that doesn’t portray safe sex, which is the only way to prevent STDs and AIDS. For all my followers out there, please use condoms when engaging in sexual activity and if you don’t want to get pregnant, use some form of contraceptive as well. Stay safe. Love you guys <3

Please reblog the version with links

Fandom: Sanders’ Sides

Pairing: Loceit

Words: 2,899

Summary: Janus has been in the epicenter of the AIDS pandemic since it began. He’s seen more death, felt more loss, and heard more pain than any human should just within the last seven years. He’d all but given up on family, friends, forming bonds of any kind, because he knew they would just be taken away from him.

Until he met Logan Abbott.

Tags/Warnings: death, character death, HIV/AIDS, takes place in the 80s, specifically ‘87-’89, mentions of ballroom culture, descriptions of illness, descriptions of delirium/fever, descriptions of unintentional minor starvation, this is not a cheery fic guys just keep that in mind and be careful

December, 1987

“Number 37?”

Silence.

“Number 37.”

People glancing around. Logan nudges Janus. “Janus, that’s you.”

Janus startles slightly when Logan nudges him, blinking. He’d been completely zoned out, staring at the white wall opposite their chairs. “Ah, yes. Right. Thank you, I’ll be back in a moment.” He stands up, meeting the nurse’s kind smile with a blank look and following her back to the doctor’s office.

Janus shuts the door behind him, the click of the deadlatch nearly deafening in the silence. He takes a seat across from the doctor in a stiff polyester chair, shifting his weight nervously and crossing one leg over the other. Janus folds his hands in front of him and gives a slight nod.

The doctor smiles at him, opening up his file and looking over a page as she speaks. “So, are you ready to hear the results of your test?” She looks up, one of her eyebrows slightly raised.

All he can manage is a nod, his heart hammering in his chest. Please let it be negative, please let it be negative, it has to be negative.

“You tested positive, Janus. I’m sorry.”

Janus sits in numb silence for a moment, his mind screeching to a halt, the sound of his racing heart unheard past the ringing in his ears. Positive. He had HIV.

“Run the test again.”

He doesn’t even realize he spoke until the doctor is replying, a sympathetic frown pulling at her lips. “We’ve run the test twice. I’m sorry, but that’s the result.” He shakes his head, looking at her with wide, frantic eyes.

“I can’t have HIV, I can’t die! Not yet!”

The doctor raises her hands in an effort to placate him. “Janus, you aren’t going to die. This doesn’t have to be a death sentence. There are options; treatments, support groups. There’s AZT. You don’t need to fight this forever, you just need to fight until a cure is found-”

Janus jumps to his feet, pushing the chair back. “What cure?! No one is looking! The world wants us dead!” He’s bordering on hysterical; shouting, trembling with his racing heartbeat, tears streaming down his face. He wasn’t an idiot. Doctors may promise help and support and solutions but the facts were that no one cared enough to even look for a cure and the only worthwhile treatment killed as many people as it helped. He’d seen the effects of AZT, seen how it can make your body shut down. He was just as well off not doing anything, in his mind.

His doctor sighs, lowering her hands. “I understand that this is hard to accept. I’ll give you a moment to yourself, I’ll be right outside if you need me.” She walks past Janus and shuts the door quietly behind her, leaving him in silence.

It lasts for all of ten seconds before he’s falling back into his chair and hiding his face in his hands as sobs wracked his body. In the span of thirty seconds his entire life had been thrown up in the air, all plans for the future shrouded in a veil of futile hope that he’d even live long enough to see them happen.

The virus had swept through the gay community like the final plague of Egypt, claiming countless lives in the last seven years and looming over thousands more. It had become apparent very quickly that there would be no help. Not from the president, or any governors; no one. Hospital staff would do their best, but even they could only do so much and due to lack of knowledge many of them were afraid to get too close to those on the downslide, afraid of catching the virus themselves. It was the kind of plague that left even the most healthy man riddled with anxiety. It was the kind of plague that didn’t care about sex, race, gender, religion; it only cared about spreading death.

It was the one thing in this world Janus was afraid of.

Janus had been only nineteen when the pandemic began. He remembered hearing of it through rumor, how so-and-so’s brother/cousin/son had become mysteriously ill, only to die months later. He remembered when it was no longer a rumor and people in his own backyard began to drop like flies. He remembered friends locking themselves away, ending relationships, never leaving the house in fear of catching it. He remembered moments of silence in ballroom and the absence of it on the television. He remembered the first house he had joined and the exact number of days it took for him to be the only one left standing. He remembered burying friends, brothers, sisters, mothers.

And now Logan would have to bury him.

Oh god, Logan. How could he tell him? He knew the pain of watching the man you love withering to nothing before your eyes while no one offered help. Now that he was on the other side, though, nothing terrified him more than Logan not being there, being left alone to rot in a hospital bed while this virus stole his life from him. But Janus was not a cruel man.

He had to tell him. He had to give him a choice.

Janus took another moment to collect himself, wipe the tears from his face, and stood. He left the doctor’s office without a word and made his way back to the hall Logan was waiting in like countless others from their community. The way Logan straightened up and looked up at him with hopeful eyes when Janus finally turned the corner crushed his heart in his chest. This may be the last time that he gets to see that face, hold those hands, kiss those lips.

He walks up to Logan, who’s stood up to meet him with an expectant look. “Well? What’d she say, Janus?”

Janus takes Logan’s hand in his, squeezing it gently. Logan’s expression morphs into one of pain and sadness.

“I’m positive.”

“Janus…”

Janus takes a breath through his nose and lets go of Logan’s hand. “I’ve been on your side of this too many times to ask that you stay in good conscience. If you… If it’s easier for you to leave, to move on now before things get bad… I understand.”

“Ten, ten, ten, ten, ten! The winner is Janus from the House of Fidelity!”

Janus Jackson was twenty-three when he met Logan Abbott. By then he had buried half of his house and five boyfriends, and had decided life would be more tolerable if he stopped forming close bonds with other people. Despite this self-declaration, anyone you asked would claim that Janus was an open, kind, charismatic young man. He could make the terminal men laugh, gossip with the most effeminate queens, and trade beauty tips with all the trans women without making anyone feel awkward, out of place, or invalidated. No one knew his whole story, but everyone loved to fill in the blanks. This was just as well, in Janus’ mind, as it made it nearly impossible to tell which parts were fictional gossip and which were the sad tale of his life.

Logan was a twenty year-old nobody from out of state. He’d moved to the city for a change of scenery, or so he claimed to anyone who would ask. Janus could tell there was more to it though, and had he cared at all about making friends he might have pried. He assumed Logan came out and got shamed by his community, as was the story for many of the people in the ballroom scene. It was their home, their refuge where they could be themselves when the world told them they were a mistake, a disease, a cancer. Logan had taken quickly to the ballroom scene, finding like-minded people to watch the night’s categories with.

Logan blinks, his eyebrows furrowed and lips slightly parted. “I… Janus, I would never leave you just because you have the virus. You mean more to me than that. I love you.”

Janus sighs, relief and sadness washing over him; he was thankful he had met Logan, that he wouldn’t have to go through this alone, but the guilt of putting Logan through the same pain he’d gone through would weigh him down until his dying breath.

“I love you, too.”

At some point during the night, be it during a category Janus was participating in or just idle chit-chat, someone had pointed Logan his way. Janus swore he would find out who it was and make them suffer, but for the moment he had to uphold his reputation and make Logan feel welcome. Logan had come wandering over like a little lost lamb, taking the chair next to Janus tentatively and glancing at him.

“Are you… Janice?”

Oh, this bitch.

Janus rolls his eyes. “Janus.”

Logan blinks. “That is what I said.”

“You said Janice. My name is Janus. J-A-N-U-S. I can hear the difference.”

Logan looks at his lap. “I see. I apologize. Though admittedly I feel a little better not having had the chance to accidentally misgender you.” He casts a glance around the room; gay men, a few lesbians, trans women - some more obvious than others - and those you couldn’t label at first glance.

Janus snrks. “Oh honey. You better watch those comments before you offend the wrong people. This isn’t the suburbs, where you can gossip and slander behind closed doors.” He sighs through his nose, crossing one leg over the other as he gives Logan a once-over. “But I can’t fault you for not knowing. Yet. What is your name, pup?”

“Logan,” he says, just loud enough over the emcee to be heard. Janus leans in with a soft smirk.

“Well Logan, after the ball you’ll be coming to my house and talking to mother. We can’t have a cute thing like you living on the streets.”

Logan blushes and nods, and the two turn their attentions to the next category being walked.

(∩ ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)⊃━☆ﾟ

In the spring of ‘88, Janus got a bad flu. Janus and Logan had just buried their house mother the week before, leaving the two of them and Roman - their newest and youngest house member, a gay Latino boy who was barely older than eighteen - in their house. Roman had been debating leaving to join another house, but his loyalty to Janus as an older brother-now-house-father (oh, the irony) kept him in that dingy apartment. Roman and Logan did their best to look after Janus, checking his temperature every few hours, feeding him soup and helping him drink water, helping him bathe when he was too weak to stand on his own. The flu lasted nearly a week before his fever finally broke. Once it did, Logan was hopeful that Janus would recover quickly, but he never fully did.

As the months went by, Janus seemed to have less and less energy. By the beginning of fall his diagnosis had been moved from HIV to AIDS, and he had stopped walking the balls. If he was having a particularly good day, he would still show up and show support for friends in other houses. Roman had even walked a category on one of Janus’ good days to cheer him up, earning the House of Fidelity their first trophy in almost a year. Janus had cried when Logan wheeled him down the runway to accept the trophy at Roman’s insistence.

The days began to grow colder and Janus never left the apartment. If he even got a cold, he could die, so he and Logan decided it would be better, safer, to stay indoors with the heat on. It didn’t last too long; November rolled around and Janus was admitted to the hospital with an infection. He couldn’t sleep, had trouble breathing, and would only eat if Logan was there to make him. No one thought he would live to see Christmas. Even after his infection cleared, Janus stayed in the AIDS ward with the other men who were too sick to leave. The place smelled of chemicals, with a backdrop of hacking coughs, desperate prayers, and crying. He hated it there, but Roman and Logan made sure to visit as often as they could to keep him company.

(∩ ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)⊃━☆ﾟ

On Thanksgiving, Logan walked into Janus’ room to find him gripping the pole of his IV stand, walking the length of his room like it was a runway. His eyes were unfocused, swinging his arms around in a delirious attempt at vogueing. Logan carefully approached Janus, gently guiding him back to bed, his heart beating anxiously in his chest. Janus sat on the edge of the mattress and looked up at Logan with a soft smile.

“What are my scores, baby?” He asked airily. Logan swallowed, his eyes burning with tears.

“Tens across the board, my love.”

(∩ ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)⊃━☆ﾟ

“Everyone misses you in ballroom, dad. Every night I got people comin’ up to me and telling me they hope you’re doin’ okay.”

Janus gives Roman a small smile, patting the teen’s knee as he sits before him on the bed. “And what do you tell them, Roman?”

Roman grins. “I tell them my dad’s the strongest guy there is! Just watch, spring’s gonna come and you’re gonna get better, I just know it.”

“I’d love to see the looks on their faces when I walk into the room like nothing happened.”

Logan smiles, running his fingers through Janus’ matted hair. “I’m sure you will, love. You just need to rest up.”

“Rest up later, it’s Christmas!” Roman shouts, bouncing a little. Janus chuckles.

“Yes, yes it is. Logan, did you bring the packages I told you about?” Logan nods and hands Janus two sloppily-wrapped presents. Janus hands the blue one to Logan, and the red one to Roman. “Merry Christmas, you two.”

Roman grins and snatches the present out of Janus’ hand, ripping the paper off. “Oh, bitchin’! Thanks, dad!” Roman holds up the leather jacket to inspect it, showing it off to Logan. Logan nods in amusement, watching Roman put the jacket on before he carefully unwraps his own present. He gasps as he looks down at the picture of him and Janus laughing together as they sit next to each other, Janus’ hand on Logan’s knee.

“Just in case. Don’t want you forgetting how hot I am,” Janus jokes lightly. Logan looks at him with teary eyes and takes his hand, squeezing gently.

“Never.”

(∩ ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)⊃━☆ﾟ

“I’m sorry, I’m s-sorry, Logan,” Janus sobs, his body shaking as tears make their way down bony cheeks.

Logan shakes his head, taking Janus’ hands and looking him in the eye. “You have nothing to apologize for, my love.”

“I-I didn’t want to d-die alone, I’m sorry, I’m s-so selfish.”

“You couldn’t have gotten rid of me if you’d tried.”

The pair sit in silence for a moment, Logan rubbing Janus’ knuckles as Janus cries. It was one of those days where a fever made Janus overemotional. Sometimes he thought it was still 1987, and when he realized it was almost 1989 he would lay there and cry, apologizing for trapping Logan with him. It was the same conversation every time.

“I don’t w-want to die.”

“You won’t die, my heart, not for a long time.”

“I should h-have taken the AZT, I should have tried e-everything I could.”

“You said so yourself, there is a significant chance that taking AZT would have shortened your lifespan even more. I’m thankful that we’ve had this time together, I wouldn’t want to change a thing.”

“I-I’m so sorry.”

“... I know.”

(∩ ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)⊃━☆ﾟ

Janus Jackson passed away on January 2nd, 1989, just twenty minutes after his boyfriend Logan had left the hospital. He’d passed away in his sleep, having been well looked-after and held in the arms of the one he loved until he drifted off. The funeral was a week later, and something told Logan that he would need to find a big space to hold it in. True to thought, the day of the funeral the entire church was full of people coming to say goodbye to Janus and celebrate his life, drawing a crowd so big that it spilled out the front doors. No one had known that Janus was religious. No one except Logan.

Logan tested positive for HIV just two months later. He’d sat in the doctor’s office in contemplative silence, nodded, and thanked them before leaving the room. That day, he’d walked the streets of Brooklyn and thought about his time with Janus; all the laughter, the excitement, and the tears. The one thing that kept coming back to mind was all the nights he would sit by Janus’ side in that hospital bed, listening to him cry and apologize, listening to his regrets. Logan returned to the doctor the next day and got a prescription for AZT.

Logan Abbott lived to the age of fifty-four. He had a small number of boyfriends in his life, a few after Janus’ passing, and had buried almost all of them. Shortly after testing positive he had joined ACT UP, leaving behind the balls that Janus loved so dearly to instead fight for his community’s life. When he finally passed on a cool spring day in his own home, Janus’ gift in his hands, he found he had no regrets, looking forward to seeing Janus once again.

[bucketsofgiggles]

To Be There

Steven Universe Future fanfic, a missing scene from "Growing Pains", from Greg's POV. Greg tries to be the best father he can, considering the circumstances, as he also grapples with the idea he hasn't been the best father. AO3 link in the reblog.

As Steven shrunk back down to normal size, Greg quickly reached out to pull his son into an embrace. He's relieved when Steven accepts it readily, considering what he had just recently been through. And there was clearly much more going on that Greg wasn’t aware of.

“ How am I supposed to live my life when it always feels like I’m about to die? ”

Those words kept echoing. What exactly had led Steven to feel such a way? How had he, as a father, not noticed such a drastic change in his son?

There’s a quick nock on the door, which causes Steven to tense in his arms. Rubbing his son’s back, Greg turns his head to see who walked in. Dr. Priyanka Maheswaran stands just inside the room, shutting the door behind her, a stack of papers in her arms. She meets his eyes as the door shuts and the initial look of fury the doctor gives him makes Greg jump. While her professional face slips back on quickly, Steven still notices.

“You okay, Dad?” His voice is muffled in Greg’s shoulder and he spots Dr. Maheswaran’s eyes soften at the question.

“Yeah, Schtew-ball, it’s just Dr. Maheswaran.”

“...Without Connie?”

Yeah, that’s gonna be a sore spot for a bit. “Yep, just her.”

She doesn’t move when she speaks up. “Take all the time you need, Steven.”

Steven takes a few more big, shuddering breaths, squeezes his father tightly for a second, then breaks away. He rubs his eyes slightly as he looks around Greg for Dr. Maheswaran. “I’m ready now.”

She nods in response. “I have some questionnaires I need you to fill out. Please answer them honestly,” She states, crossing the room to Steven and hands him the papers and a pen. “I’m going to speak to your father in my office for a bit, so please wait here until we return. Feel free to put your regular clothes back on.”

Steven nods and heads over to a desk in the corner of the room, gabbing his clothes along the way. He glances over the top sheet of the stack. Greg didn’t get a chance to see what kind of “questionnaires” they were exactly.

With Steven’s back turned, Dr. Maheswaran levels Greg a withering glare. Whatever she wants to speak with him about in her office, it can’t be good. Greg swallows hard as he turns to follow her out of the exam room. He turns back in the doorway.

“Steven, please text me if you need anything, okay?” He glances up from the papers, and gives his dad a ghost of a smile as he nods. Greg doesn’t miss the way his face falls as he turns back towards the papers, his narrowing eyes storming as he reads.

Following Dr. Maheswaran to her office, he is very much reminded of his school day trips to the principal. But there are two very different factors now: A. Greg hasn’t the foggiest idea why Dr. Maheswaran is so angry at him and B. His son is involved somehow. Has Steven been hurt? Was someone hurting him? Why didn’t Steven tell him? Or the Gems?

They walk in, Dr. Maheswaran shutting the door behind him, and silently indicates for him to take a seat. The office is just as meticulous as Greg expected, with not a single piece of paper or chart out of place. The filing cabinets are clearly labeled, the textbooks and journals on the selves are in alphabetical order by author last name, and her screensaver is the same family picture from the Maheswaran’s New Years card. The only personal effects are her medical degrees and licenses hanging on the wall and a few framed pictures of Connie and her husband on her desk. She quickly sits down behind the desk and tents her hands, obscuring her mouth but leaving her furious eyes well exposed.

“So, uh,” Greg desperately tries to break the tension. “How did your exam go-”

“Greg Universe, please explain to me how your teenage son has never been to a doctor before?” She doesn’t yell, but her tone is withering. Greg feels himself slide down in his seat in shame.

“Well, uh, the lack of health insurance sure didn’t help.”

“There are programs to help with that, especially for single parents.”

“Yeah, but how was I supposed to explain Steven to any doctor? You gotta realize he wasn’t born in a hospital, or even in a…” Greg fumbles on his words, cursing the way his cheeks burn with embarrassment. “You know, typical way.”

“Well that’s why he seemed confused when I asked for his social security number. Does he even have a birth certificate?”

“No…”

“Has he even been vaccinated?”

“It’s not that I don’t believe in them! But with his physiology, I had no idea how they would react-”

“ Greg Universe ”

“Look, things were chaotic! My wife was dead, I had a newborn son who isn’t even fully human, I was alternating living out of my van and crashing on a friends couch, without health insurance! And do you think if I had taken him in and said ‘Hey, here’s my newborn son with a gemstone stuck in his naval. His mother was an immortal alien being who fought a war to defend the Earth thousands of years ago, and died to give birth to him. I’m raising him alongside her fellow alien friends who also have gemstones stuck in their bodies. Oh, and I didn’t even have the type of gemstone right at the time because his mother lied about who she was to escape her horrible home planet! ’ How would you have reacted?”

“It did take me witnessing Steven in action to fully believe it," Dr. Maheswaran shrugs a bit, her face relaxing slightly.

“Look, I did strongly consider it multiple times, but I was afraid of how they’d treat him. Plus, Steven never got sick or injured. Never. Not even those non-stop sniffles little kids get. Not a cold, not a fever, not a stomach bug; he was exceptionally healthy his entire childhood. Heck, he never even scraped his knees!”

Dr. Maheswaran sighs at that. “That actually leads well into one thing I found that we need to discuss.” She turns towards her computer screen, shakes the mouse to wake it up, and starts typing and clicking rapidly, leaving Greg clueless as to what she meant. Did Steven get hurt? Was he sick? After all these years and all the various incredible things he’s done, it seemed almost comical.

Then Dr. Maheswaran turned her screen around, and any thought of this situation being a comedy died. It's an x-ray of an upper body labeled “Universe, Steven ''. He didn’t need a doctor’s trained eye to see the various cracks and fracture lines running throughout Steven’s skeletal system, spiderwebbing through his ribs, spiraling down his upper arms, and some truly large and painful-looking breaks to his face.

“H- how?” Greg sputters, though he knows the reason - Steven’s healing powers.

“It seems that Steven’s Gem half is able to instantaneously heal any physical injury, major or minor, he experiences. The bones set and re-heal from the moment they break.” She hits the arrow keys and a few more images scroll past: His arms, legs, back, close-ups of his face, hands, and feet. All of them have some healed fracture lines on them, evidence that despite him never saying a word, Steven had been getting severely hurt for years. His son was getting this badly injured and Greg never noticed. Despite the horror gnawing at his gut, he couldn’t look away.

“Now, this is unprecedented in the medical field. Miraculous, even. And every test I ran on your son came back negative. Steven is physically a perfectly healthy teenage boy, even with his injury history.”

“Well then, that’s good, right?”

Dr. Maheswaran sighed. “These kinds of injuries...some of them only occur in cases of severe physical trauma. And Steven listed for me a number of incredibly severe, repeated instances of traumatic experiences he went through as a child. And then he indicated to me that that wasn’t all of them. I know his upbringing and heritage is...unusual, but he still has human anatomy and a human mind. And any human, especially a child or teenager, who went through that number and level of traumatic experiences for as long as he did is going to experience some mental effects.

“The questionnaires I gave Steven before we left the room were diagnostic screeners for Adverse Childhood Experiences, Major Depressive Disorder in teens, and Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder in teens. And I might not be a psychiatrist, but I can say, based on my exam and conversation with Steven, that I am 98% certain of the PTSD diagnosis and 95% on the depression diagnosis. Those screeners are just a last bit of confirmation, as well as further evidence for his chart. Mr. Universe, your son is experiencing major mental health challenges.”

Greg stares at the doctor, slack jawed. He doesn’t even realize he’s crying until he feels a tear trace down his cheek. He goes to brush it away, and finds his hands are shaking. “I-I don’t...how did I not see?”

Dr. Maheswaran gives Greg a look of sympathy for the first time. “Honestly, I don’t think Steven even realizes just how much an effect all his traumatic experiences have had on him. That’s not at all uncommon, especially in cases like his where multiple traumatic events were experienced.” Greg groans, and Dr. Maheswaran pulls a box of tissues out from behind her desk and hands them to him. “Steven has experienced so many traumatic events that his body and mind have almost gotten used to being in mortal peril. But now that he no longer isn’t experiencing that, his body isn’t used to dealing with much more minor forms of stress, so it does what it’s used to; preparing for a potentially deadly scenario.”

And Steven’s words finally make sense. Steven has spent years realistically believing he might die, and now it’s all he’s ever known. All those Gem missions, over all the years… Greg had let him go. Greg had allowed Garnet, Amethyst, and Pearl to take his son out on various dangerous, potentially deadly missions multiple times. And he stayed back, not wanting to get involved in a world he didn’t belong to. And even when he began to express concerns about it, Steven and the Gems all reassured him that things were fine. Steven had seemed fine . And Greg knew in his heart that if he pulled Steven away from Crystal Gem business, if he forbade him from going on missions, Steven might not have forgiven him.

Greg wonders now if he should’ve risked that anyway.

“So, what do I do now?”

“We can help your son. Rest assured, you are not alone in helping Steven deal with this. I will take on the role of Steven’s general practitioner. There is an excellent child psychologist in this hospital, Dr. Jeanne Greenlow, who I will refer Steven too, and I will make sure she fully understands his...unusual background. Unless something is indicated on the screeners I gave him, I expect that Steven will go home with you today.”

Dr. Maheswaran stands up, walks over to Greg, kneels down so they are at eye level, and places a hand on his shoulder. Her eyes have softened considerably, and the touch on his shoulder is fully comforting. “What you can do for Steven, right now, is take him home and be there for him. That, as his father, is the best thing you can do for him at this moment.”

Greg can tell that in every aspect of Dr. Maheswaran’s behavior, from her posture to her expression to her vocal tone, she was not speaking as a doctor, but as a fellow parent. Some of the panic that’s in him dies down as he meets her eyes. “I will, I promise.”

She nods, then stands up. “Let’s go see if he’s done.” Greg agrees, getting up and following her out of the door and back down the hospital hallways. His mind still swarms, but he pushes it all aside for now. He needs to focus on Steven, on what he needs, on being the best father he can be. Which is apparently going to have to be far better than what Greg has done so far.

As they approach the exam room, Dr. Maheswaran stops, spins around, and gives Greg another hard look. It’s not nearly as severe as some of her earlier ones, but it still makes him shudder a bit. “You need to discuss this with the Gems. Promise me you’ll do that.”

He blinks, slightly shocked. “Of course, I promise.”

She spins back around, takes a deep breath, puts on a much more soothing face, and opens the exam room door. Greg follows quickly enough behind to see Steven, now dressed in his regular clothes, sitting on the exam table, phone in hand. When his eyes meet Greg’s face, his pupils shrink and Greg realizes it’s obvious he’s been crying. Another pang of guilt hits him for making Steven worry again, so he puts on a smile as he walks over to the table and sits next to Steven. Almost instinctively, Steven scooches close and Greg puts his arm around his son. Knowing the news Dr. Maheswaran is about to break to him, Greg figures more hugs are better.

“Did you finish the questionnaires?” She asks, her tone far more gentle than anything she used with Greg, which does not at all make him angry. If anything, he’s grateful to Dr. Maheswaran for how well she’s handled this situation. Steven nods, handing her the stack of papers. “Great, give me a few minutes to put your answers into the computer.”

As she heads over to the desktop sitting on the corner desk and begins typing, Steven lays his head on Greg’s shoulder. “I’m sorry for worrying you.” His voice is whispered, creaking slightly.

“Don’t apologize for anything, Steven. Absolutely none of this is your fault.”

“It’s not good news, is it?”

Greg sighs. “No, but it’s not the end of the world either, kiddo. We’ll get through it. I’ll help you get through it.”

They sit, silent only for the sound of typing. After a few more minutes, Dr. Maheswaran gives a little hum at whatever pops up on her monitor, then turns towards the two of them. Her eyes are soft and full of sympathy. Greg pulls Steven closer as she approaches, sits down close to Steven, and begins to explain the diagnoses. She tells him everything she already told Greg in her office, and that she’s already sent his chart with a referral note to Dr. Greenlow’s office.

“Once the referral is processed, your father will get a call from her office to schedule an appointment.” At this, Dr. Maheswaran gives a pointed look at Greg, with the unspoken and he will pick up that phone call and make the appointment clearly in her gaze.

“Wait, why does Dad need to make the appointment? I could do it.” Steven asks.

“It’s protocol, as you’re still a minor in the eyes of the law.”

Greg can see the refutes brewing in Steven’s brain, up to and including his dismantling of a millennium-long, multi-galaxy, tyrannical rule, but he’s clearly too physically and mentally tired to make the argument.

At the end, Dr. Maheswaran gives Greg a polite handshake, and then, after a moment's hesitation, pulls Steven into a hug. Though she whispers, he can still make out the words she says to Steven. “I know things between you and Connie are...difficult right now, but she wanted me to tell you that she’s ready to talk whenever you are. She’s okay with waiting because she wants you to be comfortable first. So, don't push yourself, okay?"

Steven pulls away, wiping a tear from his eye. “Thanks, Dr. Maheswaran.”

“Of course, Steven. Feel better, and please, reach out if you need to see me again.”

Greg and Steven agree and they leave the room, Greg grabbing the duffle he had dropped outside the exam room when he spotted Steven through the window. It had just a few days worth of clothes and essentials, but he had more of his stuff still at the car wash, and he could use Steven’s washer and dryer for laundry. He had to leave the van with Sadie and Shep; they had dropped him off in front of the hospital and went on, the tour still tentatively on unless they heard otherwise from him. He would have to call them, but decided it could wait until tomorrow.

Steven pulling the Dondai keys from his jacket pocket answered the question of how to get home before Greg could ask it. But as they got to the parking lot and approached the car, Steven stopped short.

“Do you want me to drive?” Greg asked.

“...Yeah, I’m a bit tired.” Steven said, handing the keys over.

Greg got the car unlocked so Steven could sit down, threw his duffle in the trunk, then got in and began driving back towards Beach City. The ride starts silent, Steven staring out the window blankly. Greg has never been the one to ride in silence; it makes him uneasy to not have some music in the background. After checking the tape deck and finding it empty, he fiddles with the radio until he finds the radio station Shep had stumbled upon, which plays a lot of soft, acoustic music. It had been good post-show calm-down tracks, and Greg feels that it would be best after everything that had happened. He knows he’s right when he glances at Steven and sees him smiling softly, fingers tapping along on the window.

They approach the house, and the pair get out of the car, Steven grabbing Greg’s duffle for him. The two enter, Greg calling out a “Hey, we’re home. And by we, I mean I’m here with Steven.”

“The Gems aren’t here,” Steven says behind him. “Little Homeschool field trips, they’ll be back tomorrow."

“Well, then it’s just you and me, lil man. Like the old days.”

“Yeah, like the old days…” Steven replies, a little wistful. “You sure you’ll be okay on the couch?”

“Yeah, my back ain’t that old yet,” Greg states, but the little pang that he feels when he says that argues otherwise. But Steven doesn’t need to know that; the last thing he needs to feel is guilty.

“Okay. I’m gonna uh…” Steven starts as he climbs up the stairs, but his voice trailing off soon turns into a groan.

“What’s going on?”

“I forgot I left my room a mess.”

Greg climbs up the stairs, and manages to push down the sound of shock he feels climbing up his throat. While not meticulous, Steven did like to keep his space orderly and clean (although Greg figures Pearl had no small part in that). So the complete mess - cartons of melted ice cream, dirty bowls stacked on top of each other, clothes strewn about, bed unmade - of his son’s room was quite shocking. Greg only feels more guilty at not noticing something sooner; the seriousness of this was made all the more clear.

He spots Steven’s shoulders sag as they take in the state of his room, and Greg knows he needs to make things as easy on him as possible. “Hey, don’t worry about it, Schtew-ball. I’ll clean this up. You go grab your pajamas and go downstairs to get changed.”

“But, Dad, it’s my room and my mess. I should handle it.”

“Steven, it’s okay, you’ve had a long day. I don’t mind helping you out a bit.”

There’s a few seconds before Steven sighs, telling Greg he’s won. “Okay, but let me take the bowls downstairs and wash them, if I’m going to head down anyway.”

Greg decides not to argue, knowing Steven will feel better by helping a little bit. He was never one to let others do a job he felt responsible for. As he grabs his pajamas and the bowls and heads back downstairs, Greg wonders if that’s partly what led to all of this. The task of picking up the room allows him to not dwell on that thought.

Once he’s done, Greg heads downstairs, Steven’s bedding in his arms. As he turns the corner into the living room, he sees Steven on the couch, scrolling through his phone, the bowls and spoons lined up perfectly on the drying rack by the sink. “Hey, the laundry room’s still on the hand with the warp pad, right?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Figured it might be good to give your sheets a wash, but if you gotta warp me up there-”

“No, no, that’s okay. Honestly, they probably need it.”

They quickly head up to the laundry set-up outside and throw Steven’s bedding in the machine. When they warp back down, Steven’s stomach rumbles.

“Been a while since you ate?”

“Yeah, and it was mostly ice cream…” Steven says, making his way over to the kitchen. Greg follows as Steven looks through his cupboards and fridge, shoulders shagging as he mumbles different meal options under his breath, accounting for prep and cook time and if there’s enough for two.

“Hey, Steven,” Greg finally interrupts the third time Steven debates the box of pasta. “Let’s just call Fish Stew Pizza for dinner and have a pizza-and-a-bad-movie night, like we did when you were a kid. Sound like fun?”

Steven glances at the cupboard again, then grins at him. It’s not nearly as large as Steven’s typical smiles, but it’s the largest he’s given today and Greg’s heart is full.

Steven goes back up to his room to go through his movie collection while Greg calls Fish Stew and places their typical delivery order. As he finishes, the ordering process elongated by Kofi getting on the line and catching up, Steven returns downstairs with one of the Boomerang Blade movies. Greg would’ve gone with whatever Steven wanted, but he definitely can’t say no when he sees the smile still on his son’s face.

They move Steven’s bedding to the dryer and start the movie, curling under blankets at the foot of his bed. About 20 minute in, there’s a knock at the door.

“That must be the pizza, I’ll run down and get it,” Greg says as Steven reaches to hit the pause button. He makes his way back downstairs and opens the door for Kiki, holding the extra large box in her hands.

“Hey, Mr. Universe! Didn’t believe you were in town when my dad mentioned it. What happened to the tour?”

“Oh it’s still going on, but uh…” Greg glances up the stairs. Steven certainly wouldn’t want Greg telling Kiki, or anybody else for that matter, about his PTSD diagnosis without his permission. “Steven had something come up so I decided to pay him a visit and help.”

“Aw, that’s sweet,” She says as Greg hands her the money. “Tell him I said hello!”

“Will do, have a good night!”

Greg makes his way back up the stairs, balancing the box in one hand, and spots Steven’s eyes the moment he re-enters his room. There’s a level of fear and embarrassment in there. “Was that Kiki?” Greg nods as he sits back down on the floor, putting the box between them. Steven grabs a slice and stares at it a moment. “Did she say anything about you being here?”

“Yeah, but I just said you had something come up, so I decided to visit.”

“Nothing else?”

“Nope,” Greg pauses as he takes a slice of his own, and takes in the concern on his son’s face. “I won’t tell anyone about the PTSD or anything else that happened today without you being there or without your permission. But,” he interjects when the relief starts to flood Steven’s face. “Dr. Maheswaran wants us to tell the Gems. And honestly, I agree with her. At least Garnet, Amethyst, and Pearl. They raised you, they were around you for a lot of what you went through, you still live with them. They need to know what’s going on.”

Greg holds his breath while Steven processes what he just said. He hates pilling it all on now, but it needs to be said and discussed and the conversation led there naturally. With the Gems out until tomorrow, they need to plan out how the conversation will go.

“You’re right,” Steven finally says. “They need to, should, know what happened.”

“Right. So, how do you want to handle it? Do you want to do it on your own, do you want me to do it?”

There’s another pause as Steven thinks. Greg hates putting stress on him, especially after everything, but it’s better now than throwing him into a situation tomorrow he’s unprepared for. “Can we both do it? Together?”

“Of course, Schtew-ball. I’ll do whatever you need me to.”

There’s another small smile, and it stays as Steven turns back towards the TV and unpauses the movie.

They go through the movie and the pizza, Steven taking care of more than half the box himself. Greg lets him; that Gem-stress response looks like it took a lot of energy. Once the credits roll, they venture back up to the laundry hand to grab Steven’s bedding from the dryer, then warp back downstairs. As Greg passes the kitchen, an idea comes to him.

“Hey, do you mind making your bed? I’ve got to do something real quick.”

“Uh, okay, sure.” Steven says, then heads upstairs. Once he’s around the corner, Greg runs to the cupboard, rifling through and- Ah ha! He thought he spotted the hot cocoa packaging. He grabs a mug and some milk, warms it up, and stirs the cocoa and marshmallows in until it looks perfectly soothing. As quickly as he can without spilling, he makes his way up the stairs to see Steven smoothing the corners of his duvet.

His eyebrows raise at the mug. “I still have hot cocoa?”

“I spotted the box while you were looking through earlier. A hot drink never made anyone feel worse.” There’s a little grin as Greg approaches the bed and Steven climbs in, old routines coming back despite the years. Steven sips and they chat a bit more about the day and what has to come tomorrow. Soon, Steven starts slipping himself more under the covers, his blinks becoming longer.

“Get some sleep, Schtew-ball. You’ve had a long day.”

Steven makes a noise of agreement as he fully lays down and rolls onto his side, facing away from Greg, and it’s like they had just done this yesterday. He carefully reaches a hand out towards Steven’s curls, and rubs them as he begins to sing softly. Comforting nostalgia fills him as the time passes Steven’s breathing becomes more even, both slipping into a routine from way back when he was really little. Even if his son is older, and bigger, bringing peace to galaxies, the curly haired teen sound asleep in bed was still Greg’s little boy. He would always be there to support him, to love him.

Guilt pangs deep in Greg’s chest. He didn’t support him, not enough, not this time, not so many times before. Steven might be calm now, but there was tomorrow to face, and the days after it. There were so many unknowns and how to handle them seemed insurmountable if Greg thought about it too hard.

Who knows how challenging they must feel to Steven, who responded to stress as though he could die.

But those were all tomorrow things. So all he could do now was reflect on the awful father he had been.

Years, years, of unending trauma had been inflicted on his kid and he hadn’t noticed the effects, hadn’t even stopped to really ask if Steven was okay. He acted like he was doing fine, and Greg had believed him. And after everything he’d been through over the past six years, Greg had left his son alone so he could, what? Relive his glory days traveling the country? What kind of a father was he?

Greg groaned as he recalled his earlier phone call with Steven. He had probably called to reach out, to talk at least about his failed proposal to Connie, and what had Greg done? Ignored the strain in his voice and joyfully talked about the tour being extended. Made his son feel that pulling him away from the tour would be burdensome. Gave him another excuse to not talk about his feelings. Took away another social support, and left him to face this alone.

How was he going to make all of that up to Steven?

He couldn’t believe Steven wasn’t angry with him. He would be if the roles were reversed. But Steven had been so relieved the moment Greg walked into the hospital room. And he had given him some genuine smiles throughout the evening, and seemed to enjoy everything Greg had done. What Dr. Maheswaran had told him, speaking parent-to-parent, went through his mind again.

He looked back down at Steven, still soundly asleep. Greg knew his son well enough that he’d forgive his father’s mistakes, tell him it wasn’t a big deal, that he should forget about it.

But Greg wasn’t going to forget his failings, nor forgive them quite just yet. He hasn’t yet done enough for forgiveness. But he will. To be the father he promised Rose and himself he would be before Steven was born, he will be there for his son. He won’t let his son face this alone anymore.

“ How am I supposed to live my life when it always feels like I’m about to die? ”

Greg Universe was going to help his son live again.

[adolphuslongestaffe]

Please Don’t Stop

Please Don’t Stop (Chapter 1)

It was half a grim joke to himself when he typed in the order. Gallows humor from a man who can’t die and how’s that for irony. Only the joke was on him this time. Rejected by death herself. Spit back out and left stranded in this wasteland, a ruined mockery of what he had been. What he’d thought he had been, anyway. Turns out he was just a fool.

He had awakened blind and disoriented, with the grit of sand between his teeth and jagged rocks digging into his body, cold water lapping his feet, seeping in through his boots. He laid there in a senseless stupor for he doesn’t know how long. Days. Weeks. Time is relative. At long last, with a herculean effort of will, he heaved up his heavy, cold-numbed body and rolled over onto his back.

It was then that he saw it. The chiral rainbow, arcing across the sky above him like a mocking smile. Not death. Not the Beach. Blackness swallowed his vision again. His body racked with rage and agony. He wanted to scream, curse, cry out so loudly she’d be forced to hear him, even across the impassable divide. But all his righteous fury was utterly impotent. His parched throat couldn’t even make a sound.

As his eyes and ears grew accustomed to the material world, he became aware of his surroundings. The debris-strewn bank of an ugly, black river, with huge, glittering dragonflies, darting about overhead like they had some urgent business in hand. Stupid goddamned bugs, what could they have to do that’s so all-fired important? He watched them perforce, until the whirring and buzzing of their ceaseless industry grew to an insupportable din, and irritated him to action.

With a muttered curse on all of insect-kind, he managed to rouse his leaden limbs to the task of dragging himself to his feet. Encouraged by this success, he set about clambering up the steep embankment, almost on all fours, till he reached the crest, where he stood panting for a long moment, as if steeling his will for another effort.

Then he began to walk. He had no idea where he was going, only away from the river and the interminable dragonflies. But gradually, as the mist over his eyes continued to clear, he was able to get a general idea where he was. Some stretch of desert in the Central Region. He knew it well. Pallid sand mottled with blasted, black rocks and split by treacherous crevasses. On the ragged lip of one of these, he came upon the first signs of civilization. Rusted-out cargo containers, abandoned by some porter and left to disintegrate in the timefall. A maudlin comparison to himself arose in his mind and he moved on.

For what felt like a life-age of the earth, he stumbled doggedly along, picking his way over time-gnawed terrain, until the white peaks of the mountain loomed into view, towering on the horizon behind their heavy, grey veil. Now he had his bearings. He turned sharply northeast and pushed on, half dead and more than half out of his mind, until almost by surprise, he found himself in his own home, staring at walls plastered haphazardly with papers and maps. Spiderwebs of crimson threads and photographs of…

In his delirious madness, he had a partly formed idea of tearing them all down and burning them, but his body was strained well past its breaking point. He turned and fell like a rock onto his bare cot, prepared to abandon himself to the black depths of sleep. But the rest he needed so badly seemed determined to evade him. He woke by fits and starts, wandering in and out of consciousness, sometimes panting and drenched in a cold sweat, gripped by terror that he’d been buried alive, sometimes taunted by echoes of voices, sometimes tormented by the tomblike silence.

In one of the fits, he saw Fragile, smiling and holding out her hand to him. As soon as he reached for it, her body began to warp and shrink, crumpling up like dry paper and withering away before his eyes, till only her disembodied face remained, still smiling serenely.

In another, he felt his uncle’s hands taking hold of him and dragging him roughly up from his cot. He made a weak attempt to twist free and escape the rain of blows that was certain to follow, but he didn’t even have the strength to open his eyes, let alone fight back. No blows came. A strong hand held him fast by the back of his neck, like a scruffed dog. Calloused fingers forced his mouth open and some tepid, sickly-sweet liquid was poured down his throat, making him choke and sputter. Then the hand released him and the blackness took him again.

When he emerged to a fragmented wakefulness the next time, the memory of this last fit was still heavy on him. He blinked blearily about, but he was alone, and nothing appeared more amiss than usual. Try as he might, however, he couldn’t shake the feeling that someone had really been there. He rose on shaky legs and crossed the room to his computer, to call up the security logs. Nothing. It had been one of the fevered hallucinations. Then his strength failed and he fell shivering and chattering into his cot.

Despite its having been a fever dream, the strong impression of that sweet liquid seemed to have had some salutary effect. When he came to, he found his mind clearer and his body less numb. The practical upshot of this turn in his condition primarily being that he was now intensely alive to pain. There was no inch of his battered body that was not aching and sore. He had just begun to muse on the unpleasantness of this sensation, when it was swiftly overwhelmed by a far more immediate and pressing sort of pain.

A deep, gnawing, biting hollowness, right smack in the middle of him. Hunger. Hunger like he had never experienced in his life, not even as a child, when he had been really starving. He rolled onto the floor and crawled to an ammunition container, from which he drew a cylindrical glass canister. Reluctantly, he unscrewed the metal lid, and with a grimace and a shudder, forced himself to swallow several of the canister’s fat, pink little occupants. The hunger pangs eased immediately, and he pulled a drab-green blanket out of the same container and fell into another fevered, uneasy sleep.

He woke again some hours later, skull splitting and hunger clawing at his insides with redoubled savagery. It was all he could do to crawl over and retrieve the canister, containing his few remaining cryptobiotes. Two managed to slip out and waft away toward the ceiling as he devoured the others. He didn’t have the strength to try and get them down, so he laid on the floor glaring up at them as they floated in slow circles, writhing and waggling their idiotic leg nubs.

“Y’goddamn weevils,” he croaked, between labored breaths. “You can’t…stay up there…forever.”

They squeaked blithely and looked immensely stupid.

After a few minutes, the throbbing in his head subsided and he was able to pull himself up to sit in his chair. He was half minded to capture the little shits, but he knew even those disgusting, floating larva wouldn’t help for long. He needed something else. Something to fill the void and warm the cold that was sinking deeper and deeper into the center of his being.

His heart lurched into his throat when the proximity sensors blared a sudden alert. He shook from head to toe, fumbling in his haste to call up the visual feed on his screen. His lip curled in a sneer. Two Bridges porters in white uniforms, with yellow odradek fins spinning like pinwheels over their shoulders. They were carrying cargo, but the tags were addressed to the distro center. Then what the fuck were they doing trespassing?

“…not abandoned, it was linked to the UCA a couple months ago,” one of them was saying, as the two ducked into the shelter entrance.

“Sam Bridges must’ve linked it, then,” the other remarked, taking a swig from his canteen. “He signed all the preppers out here.”

“Looks like he did, yeah. Let’s see. Registered occupants….uh…just one. Mr. Peter Englert. Oh. Missing, presumed deceased or traveling. I guess he won’t mind us waiting out the weather for a little while, then.”

“It’s too bad about Sam. Guy was a hero.”

“Still haven’t found him, huh?”

The other responded with a doleful shake of his head. “They’ve had the whole UCA searching for him for weeks and…nothing.”

“They say he’s dead.”

“Nah, not Sam. I don’t believe it. Hey, look. Timefall let up. We better get moving if we want to make it to the distro center before it starts coming down again.”

With that, they hurried away, heralded by the proximity sensor alert, informing them that weapon restrictions had been lifted. Inside the shelter, the ostensible Mr. Peter Englert sat stunned and listless, staring through his screen into the middle distance, till a sudden wrench in his gut set him panting and shaking afresh.

Still haven’t found him.

They say he’s dead.

Shows what they know. That fucking motherfucker isn’t dead. He can’t be dead. Sam can’t die. He can’t. He wouldn’t.

But…he might decide to disable his cufflinks and fuck off to god knows where without telling anyone. Wouldn’t that be a good joke. And it’d be just like Sam. And what if those Bridges morons had been moving heaven and earth to find him and he just showed up one day and took a delivery. And wouldn’t an order from the dearly departed Mr. Englert be just the thing to smoke him out.

So he ordered a pizza and laughed to himself. A dead, dry laugh that rang hollow even in his own ears. But just the thought of facing Sam again set his teeth on edge and got a flicker of the old fire burning in his frozen veins. Sam was worth fighting. The only man worthy to exchange blows and draw blood with the herald of the apocalypse. He clung to the idea with all his will. Buoyed himself up and sustained himself with it, and began to strategize.

He knew he was in no condition for a fight, but he would be if he could get his hands on a BT. A few of ‘em, if possible. That presented the first problem. Shrieking bastards knew a predator as well as any wild animal, and he doubted he could compel them to come and be devoured in his current state. The closest BT area was the former shopping mall and current crater outside the much larger crater that had been Middle Knot.

Even the smaller crater would be an impossible trek for a man who could barely drag himself out of bed to take a piss, so he had two options. Expend his last lingering bit of energy trying to summon a BT, or wait around for some more hapless porters to wander into his web and shoot them. Couple of voidouts to recharge the ol’ battery and he’d be good as new.

He was inclined toward this second option, but it only presented more problems. All the porters wore cufflinks now, so the deaths would certainly be noticed well before the voidouts. Bridges would send someone, then, and it wouldn’t be Sam. It’d be security men, with shaky gun-hands and soft, city-raised bodies, reeking of fear so strong the stench’d made him sick.

The order, though…that might be enough on its own to bring Bridges people down on his little shelter like a swarm of out-of-shape ants. But no, it wouldn’t. They’d have been down here to toss the place long time since if they’d known who Mr. Peter Englert really was. Sam was the only one who knew and it looked like the asshole had kept his secrets. Or he hadn’t got a chance to tell anyone.

No. Not that. Sam couldn’t be dead. Everyone thought he was dead too, and here he was as alive as…well, as alive as he could be. But if Bridges did know he was alive, at least there’d be some action. Something to wake him up out of this heavy, clinging numbness. Anything. God damn it, Sam, he’d give anything just to—but he swallowed the thought and raked his hand across his face, angrily dashing away tears that weren’t black anymore.

He almost wished he’d shot those porters, come what may. Christ knew he could use the energy now. He thought vaguely about the Demens, then dismissed the idea out of hand. They thought he was dead, too, and that was fine with him. He was as good as dead anyway, as far as this world was concerned. Cut off from his source of power and from the only person he’d stopped to give two shits about in his life. Alone.

Alone.

The word rang in his ears, mocking him as he sat waiting, staring at the screen till his eyes burned and blurred. When keeping himself upright was too great a toll on his decimated strength, he laid down on his cot and shut his eyes, still expecting every moment to hear the little confirmation chirp, notifying him that the order had been accepted.

Alone.

After a few hours, he became anxious and fretful. It was a pizza order with a timed tag. Someone should have taken it by now. Maybe…maybe this was a good sign. Maybe Sam had seen the order and had to travel some distance to retrieve it. He would come. He would. He had to.

Getting up to check the screen over and over again, he expended a degree of effort he could ill afford, and it ran him utterly ragged. At last, his body refused to obey him any longer. He collapsed on the floor and lay there like a dead thing. His mind began to drift in and out of fevered dreams again. Images warped and coalesced before him. Echoes of voices. Hissing whispers that became shrieking, hideous laughter and croaked in his ears.

Alone.

Sam is gone. You are alone. Alone forever.

Alone.

Sam. Amelie. Fragile. The dead captain with his skeleton soldiers. His uncle’s big, rough hands dragging him out of bed to beat him. But somewhere in his deeply submerged consciousness, he felt himself awaken and cry out in something that was not quite terror, but close kin to it. An icy, bracing thrill, that electrified his wandering mind and snapped it to sudden, painful awareness. He choked and sputtered, spitting out sickly-sweet liquid and pushing away the thing that dispensed it, as he tried in vain to twist away.

“Don’t be a fucking asshole,” a voice growled.

A husky voice, with an irritating, high-pitched grate in it. A voice he knew as well as his own. The canteen was forced back into his mouth, and he swallowed the drink obediently until it was taken away. He finally managed to force his heavy eyelids open, then a ghastly smile spread across his pale and wasted face.

“The fuck are you laughing at?” Sam demanded, but with no real heat.

“Sam,” he rasped, tugging petulantly at a loose cargo strap. “Sam.”

“What, Higgs, what?”

“My pizza…better not…be fuckin’ cold.”

Sam let go of Higgs abruptly and he fell back on his cot, which elicited a hoarse, drunken laugh from the god particle.

“You are such an asshole,” Sam said, taking up his icy-cold hands and beginning to chafe them vigorously in his own. “What are you trying to do, get fucking locked up?”

“I’m just tryin’ to get pizza,” Higgs slurred. “I have to eat.”

“No, you have to lay low and stay off the radar. You know you’re the most wanted man in history, right?”

“But I knew…knew you’d come.”

“Of course you fucking knew, I told you I would when I was here before.”

Higgs attempted to open his eyes and failed. “You were here before?”

“Yeah. You don’t remember?”

“Thought I dreamed it.”

“I should’ve figured. You were out of your mind. Said they were gonna bury you alive and begged me not to go. I told you I had to go but I’d come back.”

“And you came back.”

“I said I would.”

“But…why?” Higgs managed to force his eyes open this time, and blinked up at Sam in the dim glow of the safety light.

Sam turned away and moved to stand up, but Higgs arrested his large, rough hands and held them in his pathetically weak grasp.

“Please,” he said haltingly, as if the word were unfamiliar. “Please…don’t stop.”

Sam frowned, hesitating for a moment, then resumed the futile occupation of attempting to coax circulation back into his enemy’s unresponsive limbs. Exhausted as he was, Higgs kept his eerily large, blue eyes tenaciously fixed on Sam, as if he feared he’d vanish the moment he lost sight of him. When they began to droop at last, he gave a jolt and they shot back open, with feverish intensity.

“Sleep,” Sam said, still not meeting his gaze. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Why are you…why are you doin’ this, Sam?” Higgs asked, almost plaintively. “I killed so many people. Hell, I even killed you a few times. If you hadn’t stopped me, I would’ve brought about the real end of the world.”

“I know.”

“So why? I know you said you would, but why’d you come in the first place?”

Sam took a deep breath and let it out slowly. When he spoke, his voice was quiet, but even and clear. “Because one day—it doesn’t matter if it’s a thousand years from now or a hundred thousand—one day, you and I will be the only ones left. And when humanity has finally returned to the dust and the last city has crumbled into ruin, and it’s just you and me, left to wander the earth till the heat-death of the sun, this will all seem like pretty petty shit, won’t it.”

Higgs opened his mouth, but found his voice too choked with emotion to form an answer. Thus, he could do nothing but nod stupidly in response to this perfect, beautiful (as he thought it) speech.

“Good. Then we understand each other,” Sam said, glancing up at him, then away again. “Jesus, you’re so fucking cold. I’ll put up a safehouse in the morning and get you a blood transfusion and a proper hot shower.”

“There’s…materials and all that shit in the fabricator. Take anything you need,” Higgs mumbled drowsily, then his eyes snapped open with an expression of panic as Sam pulled away and stood up. “Where are you going?”

“Nowhere. I’m taking off some of this gear. I told you to sleep.”

Higgs dutifully shut his eyes, then opened them again and watched as Sam unfastened buckles and unhitched his pack, then stripped off the dark-blue jumpsuit, under which he wore a sleeveless, black compression shirt and black athletic pants. The skin that was exposed was marked all over with bruises of varying age and severity, bordering bizarre, flesh-white handprints, which his observer noted with a pang.

Sam kicked off his boots, then turned and put a knee on the cot, as if he meant to lie down in it, but Higgs gave a palpable start and shied away, wide-eyed and almost panting.

“What are—what the fuck are you doing?”

“I’m keeping you warm,” Sam said flatly, rolling him onto his side. “Don’t be a fucking baby about it.”

Higgs gasped as Sam’s astonishingly strong arms encircled his torso like constricting snakes. “But you can’t touch people, you can’t—your aphenphosmphobia!”

“Not a problem anymore,” Sam said with a yawn, holding him fast against his warm, solid body. “Now, will you please shut up? I’m trying to get some sleep.”

[idkthisisjustforfanfic]

Chapter 5 - (totally uninterested.)

There was nothing worse than being sick.

I normally didn’t mind it, really. I had a decent enough immune system that seemed to fight off most colds or bugs, but every once in a while I ended up knocked out in bed hoping that I would slip into a peaceful state of death--if only to escape the pain that coursed through my body.

What was the real kicker, however, is that this illness (whatever it was) had left me too sick to work two shifts at the information desk, and now, on top of that, I was missing a night of rock climbing that Alex had been planning for his birthday. Which actually meant I was missing quality time with Ethan and the group of weirdos I’d actually started to call (out loud) my friends.

Combine the pounding in my head with the pounding on my door and I would have thought I was in a bad dream.

Kristen was long gone--she’d set off for Harry’s apartment around 5pm when I insisted that she go and enjoy herself without me (leave me here to die alone, I’d told her). So when I moaned and reached for the remote to pause whatever was on Netflix (honestly I wasn’t even really watching), I pushed myself up and out of bed, hoping to God that it wasn’t a suitor at my door asking for my hand in marriage.

That couldn’t be worse timing.

I padded across our tiny dorm room and twisted the knob, opening the door slightly to reveal a head of long hair and dimples that seemed to be extremely cocky about the fact that I looked like shit.

“Can I help you?” I asked him, my tone flat and totally uninterested in whatever he was about to say.

At the sound of my voice, his smile faded, his eyebrows knit together, and he stepped forward, forcing me to open the door a bit more.

“I thought you were being dramatic when you said you were half dead,” he looked me up and down, taking inventory of the sweatpants and oversized t-shirt that donned the top half of my body. “But you actually look like you might be.”

I turned and headed back to my bed--unable to do much thinking if I had to focus on staying upright. Harry shut the door behind him and let out a laugh when I didn’t respond. “Alright, not responding to an insult means you’re actually incredibly ill. D’ya have a fever?”

“I don’t know,” I said slowly, laying back down on my lofted twin bed and closing my eyes to hopefully quell the throbbing. “Haven’t taken it.”

“D’ya have a thermometer?” He leaned forward and pressed his hand to my forehead, forcing me to open my eyes suddenly at the pressure. I reached my hands up and held onto his, the coolness of his skin actually seemed to help with the pounding.

“Don’t move,” I croaked out.

He let out another laugh, staring down at me--but still following orders. “I came to see if you were actually sick ‘cause tonight’s gonna be wicked.”

“Definitely sick,” I told him.

“I can see that.” He was quiet for a minute, his hand on my forehead as he stood over my bed. My arms covered my own face as I clutched onto his hand, feeling the cool metal of his rings against my fingers. “Was prepared to give you shit when I got here.”

I scoffed, immediately letting out a cough that caused him to pull his hand away from me and make a disgusted face. Fittingly, I let out a pout and stared up at him with sick eyes.

“Alright,” he rolled his eyes, moving his body to push himself up onto my bed.

I moved my legs aside, unsure of what exactly he was doing, but too tired to fight it. “Alright what?”

He shrugged his shoulders as he got situated, moving my legs to rest on top of his as he rested his back against the concrete wall of my dorm. “M’not gonna leave you here to wither away.”

I stared up at him, and the thought of our rules slid into my mind as I let out another cough. As if he knew what I was thinking, he let out a sigh as he reached for the remote to unpause the show on my TV that sat on the dresser at the end of my bed. “We were going to be hanging out tonight anyway. I’ll send Ethan a snapchat or something about me taking care of you, it’s fine.”

I didn’t reply, not only because I felt too sick to conjure up words or a dispute to his proposal, but also because I didn’t mind his company.

I didn’t care that he asked questions aloud (that went unanswered by me) as we watched a movie. I didn’t care that he seemed to talk to the characters as if they could hear him, and I certainly didn’t mind that every once in a while he looked over at me to make sure I was still breathing.

At some point, I woke up to a dark room, Kristen home and sleeping soundly across from me, the TV off, the shades drawn, and my phone plugged in beside me that read 2:43am. I did care, however, that Harry was gone.

**

“Hi babe,” Harry walked into the library with only three minutes to spare. I almost expected him to be late now, and I almost expected to get a text from him asking me to clock him in.

I hadn’t seen him for two days after he came to my dorm, and I think the space was necessary. For one reason or another, I didn’t hate Harry nearly as much as I did upon the start of the semester, so it felt like a good idea to keep a fair amount of distance.

I’d promised myself from the start that nothing would come of this. The only thing that was allowed to blossom out of this arrangement was Ethan’s love for me and his undying need to have sex with me between classes. That kind of thing I could live with.

What I couldn’t live with, though, was any sort of feeling of caring about Harry. I’d prepared today to have a chat with him about it--you know, where we were heading, how long we wanted to do it, if he had any more intel on whether or not Ethan was interested in consoling me upon our inevitable break up.

I’d started planning it out. Harry and I could have a fight right in front of him, maybe even in their apartment one night. He could say something mean to me and I could need comforting. Ethan, who’d undoubtedly be there, would be able to sweep in quite perfectly, and maybe I’d even end up spending the night at his place.

Harry would then be free to bang any air-headed bimbo he wanted (likely that Allie girl he’d seemed fond of the other week). And what did I care? He was obnoxious, self-centered, and just all around moody--so when he smiled at me with a toothy grin, I couldn’t help but wonder what on earth had him so happy.

He dropped his soccer bag on the counter and rounded it, coming to press a kiss to my forehead before freezing and pulling away with wide eyes. “Sorry--force of habit.”

I cleared my throat and turned back to the textbook that was open in front of me. “All good. By what grace of God did the stick that permanently resides up your ass get removed?”

He looked at me with a wrinkled forehead, clearly confused by my words.

“Why are you so cheery?” I asked again, keeping my eyes on the page as I tried to ignore the tight feeling in my chest as he sat down beside me.

“Eh, just having a good day. You seem to be not poorly anymore, nice weather, got a good mark on a test, and I’m sure it’ll be a fun weekend,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively at me.

Ah, the weekend that we’d all been waiting for. Well, sort of. Upon finding out that I was sick and Harry had bailed on the group rock climbing outing to hang out with me, the rest of our friends decided to scrap it altogether and rescheduled for a time when I could tag along.

Heartwarming, really, but the only problem was that there was no way I was climbing up a vertical wall while attached to wires with the possibility of plummeting to my death lingered close by.

Harry, of course, knew that I was absolutely dreading the night and would likely try to find another way to get out of it at the last minute.

“I’m still not feeling too great, honestly,” I lied, pressing a hand to my forehead as if I had the fleeting signs of a fever.

“Nora,” he narrowed his eyes at me. “You’re seriously so selfish that you would ruin Alex’s birthday because of your pointless aversion to rock climbing?”

“It’s not pointless,” I made a face at him and rolled my chair back, lifting my feet to rest them on the counter. “I could fall and chip a tooth, twist my ankle--I mean, one of us could die. I’m sure that that shit happens at these places.”

“No one’s going to die,” he said, lifting his phone to his face to swipe through a few snapchats. I could see that two were from some girl--a brunette who apparently had no worries about showing off her cleavage in a quick picture to Harry (and likely some other boys as well), while one was from Ethan.

“Snap him a picture of me,” I said, reaching to poke at Harry’s arm.

He looked at me with a decidedly unimpressed stare, but then turned his phone to point the camera at me. I tilted my head and gave him a playful smile, and then he clicked send before I could even see the photo.

“Harry, you didn’t even show me! What if I looked like shit?”

“You didn’t look like shit, Nora,” he let out a small laugh, but was mainly focused on replying to whatever text he’d pulled up on his screen.

“Sure--okay, I probably just have fourteen chins and looked like a man but it’s fine, I’m sure I looked fine,” I groaned, shaking my head as he turned to look at me.

“You about finished?”

“Well it’s already sent so now he’ll never want to date me if he thinks I’m ugly.”

I knew I was being dramatic--that was part of the fun about bothering Harry. “You didn’t look ugly. You never look ugly.”

I pulled my head back, waiting for him to unleash some sort of weak insult to piss me off. Instead, he left it at that. You never look ugly.

He could feel my eyes on his face, so eventually, he peered back at me, mimicking the words I’d uttered a few nights before when he showed up at my dorm. “Can I help you?”

“No,” I said quickly, turning back to my textbook to force myself to get some work done. “You’re distracting me. I have to study--so please, shut up.”

**

What on earth am I supposed to wear to climb rocks?

And that’s a loaded question, mind you. It will also be the outfit I die in.

You’re not going to die. Just wear like gym clothes or something.

Just shorts and a t-shirt?

You might be cold.

Leggings then. Sweatshirt? What are you wearing?

Joggers and a sweatshirt.

I don’t have a good rock climbing sweatshirt.

Can I borrow one? That gray one you have with the nike thing on the front?

I’m wearing that one!! Pick another.

Ugh.

Don’t you have a bigger AU one? Can I wear that?

Of course.

**

The rock climbing gym wasn’t a far subway ride from campus. In fact, we’d managed to make it on time despite the fact that Ryan couldn’t find his keys and Alex had been late to get out of class. But now, in the gym that seemed to smell a bit like a locker room (and look like one, too), I was stood beside all of them as we prepared for our adventure (death). 

“What are you so freaked out about, Nora?” Niall’s voice sounded like he was about to dare me to climb to the top of Mount Everest. Which, as far as I was concerned, he might as well have.

He clapped some chalk on his hands as Harry handed me a harness and held it while I stepped inside. Ethan and Kristen were beside us, Ryan and Alex were in the bathroom.

“She’s terribly freaked-out by heights,” Kristen answered for me, her long blonde hair up in a stylish pony-tail behind her head. I shot her a look, silently cursing her for outing me to a bunch of boys who’d never understand.

“You’re afraid of heights?” Harry asked with a giant smirk on his face, doing his best to keep his laughter in as Niall slapped at his knee on the other side of me.

“That’s hilarious, Hanson. Never woulda pegged you as a girl who couldn’t handle some rock climbin’,” Niall spoke.

“I can handle it,” I retorted quickly, looking over to Ethan who was clearly amused. “And I’m not super freaked-out by heights,” I corrected my roommate, giving her another death glare as she fastened her harness tighter around her waist.

Alex and Ryan reappeared from the bathroom and stepped into their gear.

“I’m afraid of small heights.”

“Small heights?” Ethan asked, his eyebrows raised tentatively as he smirked up at me and he tied his shoe.

“Small heights,” I nodded, looking around to see if anyone else understood what I meant. Harry and Niall stared on, waiting for me to enlighten them. “Like, if I’m on top of the Empire State Building and I fall, I’m going to die. Fine, no problem.”

Harry’s face twisted to let me know that he thought I was just as crazy as ever.

“But if I fall from one of these walls, I’ll break both legs and be paralyzed or something.”

They all seemed to stare at me. Kristen, Harry, Niall, Ryan, and Alex seemed to be perplexed by my fear--but Ethan shrugged and gave a slight nod as he stood from the bench. “I get that, I mean, I guess your option is either being paralyzed or dying. Being paralyzed would fucking suck.”

Harry didn’t hide the annoyed look on his face as he rolled his eyes--just bitter that I had Ethan (of all people) to back me up. “Alright, yeah, well, you’re crazy,” he gave me a pat on the back.

“You’re the one datin’ her,” Niall reminded.

I shot Harry a playful grin at this and Kristen let out a laugh.

“Alright, enough fighting like a married couple,” Alex prompted, heading over to the first wall we could climb.

The gym was set up in sections--starting with the easier walls towards the front and harder ones in the back. I watched as Niall and Ryan (in a very cocky manner) skipped right over the first two walls and made their way towards a more intermediate version.

“Start here?” Kristen offered, her eyebrows raised in an offer to stay behind with me even if the boys jumped ahead.

I nodded, looking down to make sure I was secure enough in my harness to clip onto the rope that hung from above. Harry stepped forward and pulled the rope towards me.

“What are you doing?” I asked, watching as he took it and clipped it to the front of my harness as Kristen did the same for herself.

“What do you mean?” He asked, the look on his face communicated that we weren’t on the same page. 

“You can go with the rest of them, Harry, you don’t have to stay here.”

He shrugged his shoulders and reached for his own rope. “S’fine. I’ll catch up.”

“What a nice boyfriend,” Kristen giggled, walking towards the wall to pull herself a foot off of the floor.

“She knows?!” Harry’s face was squished into an expression of anger as his lips pouted out.

Another laugh from Kristen as she climbed higher, leaving us safe on the ground. I shrugged and tried not to smile. “What was I going to do? Let her seriously think that I’m dating you?”

“Oh Nora,” he shook his head, rolling his eyes a bit as he made an attempt towards the wall. “You’d be so lucky.”

“Yeah, ditto. If this were all real you’d get more action out of me, ever think of that?”

I turned to watch as he placed his foot on the lowest rock, reaching his arm up to follow Kristen as she neared the top of the ten foot wall. How in Christ’s name had she gotten that high? Harry ignored my comment, only flashing me a smile as he ascended the wall, leaving me to question my own sanity as I contemplated joining them.

It couldn’t be too hard, right? I watched as they both did it. Hand, foot, hand, foot. I may not have been the most athletic person on the planet, but I could handle it. I could absolutely climb to the top of a ten foot wall just to make them happy.

I placed my first hand on a blue rock, watching as Kristen stayed put where she was, smiling down at me over the fact that I was facing my fear. She hated that she had to hang all of the posters in our room because I refused to climb on top of our desks.

I went slow--I didn’t need her getting any ideas that I’d now be the desk-top champion of dorm room decorating.

I made a few moves, enough that I was definitely off of the ground and closer to their feet as I willed myself to not look down.

“You’re like two feet off of the ground,” Harry spoke from above me, his words more annoying than reassuring.

“Oh shut up,” I barked back, hoping he’d let me climb in serene silence. His narration would only make me more uptight.

“You’re good, Nora, just take it slow.” Kristen was a real friend--she loved me despite my fears and was encouraging me--not belittling me.

All of a sudden, my wires shook, causing me to reach for higher rocks and cling to the wall, all while Harry laughed hysterically.

“Harry! You’re actually an asshole,” Kristen called, leaning over to try and give Harry a shove.

Harry let go of my wires when I looked up, trying to hide the fact that he’d been the one to give me a shake. I glared up at him, the color completely drained from my face.

“Oh relax, she’s secured in and clearly,” he motioned down at me, “she’s fine. She hasn’t fallen and she’s still has complete control over her lower extremities.” He let out another laugh at my fear of paraplegia. 

Kristen lowered herself down, coming to meet me at my location on the wall--which, unfortunately (as Harry had so sweetly informed), was only about two feet off of the ground. “Are you okay?”

Harry had descended now too, a smile on his face as he stopped beside me.

“I’m fine,” I told Kristen. I turned to give Harry a dirty look. “But you actually fucking suck.”

He let out another amused laugh, obviously proud of his joke as he dismounted the wall and unclipped from the ropes. I did the same, letting Kristen unhook me.

“You lived, Nora, you survived rock climbing,” he laughed, walking backwards as he headed for the boys.

I lifted my hand in the air and gave him the finger, to which he blew a kiss in response.

**

When I wandered my way over to the couch in Harry’s apartment later that night after rock climbing, I’d decided that I wasn’t mad anymore. I mean, sure, Harry was intolerable at times and he definitely knew how to irk me in just the right way, but two hard ciders and some take out pizza later and I was in a much better mood. Harry paying for my share definitely helped. 

I’d sat the rest of the night out, watching as Kristen climbed higher than both Niall and Ryan--which she was incredibly proud of, and they were incredibly offended by. I was also appreciative of the fact that Kristen seemed markedly less anxious lately, which I chalked up to a combination of less course work, a good group of friends, and fun outings that she simply couldn’t resist.

“Not so grumpy anymore, yeah?” Harry slunk an arm around my shoulder as I plopped down beside him.

Ethan was sitting on the floor only a few feet away, watching as Alex and Ryan played a game of FIFA. I saw him, however, peer over when Harry pressed a kiss to my temple.

I didn’t reply to his question--instead, I finished the last of my drink and handed him my empty can. He took it with a laugh and placed it on the end table beside him.

He leaned forward, placed a hand on my thigh, and brought his lips to my ear. “Ethan was just as shit at climbing as you were--and he understood your ass backwards fear. Maybe you are meant to be.”

I let out a laugh, pulling back to make a face. “It’s about time you got on board.”

Niall, who appeared in front of us with a piece of pizza in his mouth, handed each of us another drink. Harry--who’d likely already had three beers in the time span in which I’d had two--accepted it graciously.

“I’ve been in board this whole time. I’m doing you a favor, after all.” He opened the beer and took a sip.

“It’s mutually beneficial, asshole. No one needs to find out about your criminal history.”

He rolled his eyes and leaned forward again. This time, though, he stood up and looked over his shoulder as he walked towards his bedroom. Ethan, who’s eyes were still on me, watched as I stood and followed behind him.

I didn’t know if Harry had intended for me to follow him, but when I stood in the doorway to his room, he turned to offer me a smile as he pulled his t-shirt off from over his head. “Will I ever be getting that back?” He motioned to the sweatshirt of his that I had on.

I looked down at it, wrapping my arms around myself as I shrugged. “It’s a good one.”

He pulled on another shirt and sat on his bed, leaning back as he pulled out his phone to check a message. “Looks good on you--you can keep it.”

My heart was suddenly in my throat, and I was thankful that he wasn’t looking at me. I had no idea what had come over us--suddenly we were friends and acting like all of this was normal and like it wasn’t completely, 100% fake.

But it was--that’s what I had to remind myself. None of this would be happening if Harry and I hadn’t agreed to do this. Kristen and I wouldn’t be grabbing late night milkshakes with Alex and Ryan, and Harry and I currently wouldn’t be exchanging clothes.

There’d be no rock climbing or FIFA or pizza and beer in the living room. There’d be no texting back and forth outside of work and there’d certainly be no heart pounding in my chest as Harry stood, clicked his phone shut, and walked to meet me in the doorway.

When I didn’t move, his forehead dipped in concern. “Y’okay?”

Instead of responding, instead of telling him that maybe, no, I wasn’t, because I was officially that girl, I brought my hands to his face, leaned forward, and kissed him.

He kissed me back for a second, a hand on my waist as I felt him step forward. But then, a step back, a confused look, and my mouth immediately started yammering away.

“Sorry, jesus, I’m sorry--I shouldn’t have done that, I--”

“Nora, hold on,” he held a hand up, the look on his face told me that his thoughts were racing just as fast as mine were. “I thought we were just--”

“We are. Just friends--pretending. I just thought maybe Ethan was looking,” a lie and he knew it. He shook his head but I didn’t let him speak. “Sorry, I won’t do that again.”

“Do you still want to do this? Are we still pretending?”

I didn’t know what he meant--there were two ways he could have been saying that. Are we still pretending? Are we still pretending that there are no feelings and we’re just coworkers who are both getting something out of this? I get to hang out with Ethan, Harry gets me to clock in for him and cover with our boss, that suddenly he wasn’t the person I wanted to text at the end of the day to tell him the stupid thing Kristen and I had done or the horrific amount of homework from my marketing class?

Or are we still pretending? Are we still moving forward with this plan? Are we still fake dating and eventually we’ll fake break up and hopefully, hopefully, Ethan will be the person who I can take comfort in?

Instead of answering him, I turned and walked back towards the living room. I grabbed my coat on the sofa, grabbed my purse on the table, and headed for the front door. “I’ll see you later, Kristen,” I called over my shoulder, not pausing to turn around.

If I did, they’d see the look on my face that said I didn’t know the answer. I didn’t know if we were pretending. I didn’t know if Harry and I were pretending and I didn’t know if we were moving forward with it. I didn’t know anything--except for the fact that when I turned to shut the door to the apartment, Harry was slipping out behind me.

“Nora, will you hold on a second and talk to me?”

“I got too into it, Harry. I was selling it too hard and I thought I heard footsteps in the hallway so I just did it. It was stupid and I broke rule six. I’m sorry.”

His eyes searched my face as he processed my words. He looked from my eyes to my mouth and over my shoulder before looking back at me and shaking his head slightly. “Okay.”

“I’ll see you at work tomorrow, Harry.”

Another ‘okay,’ as I turned to walk away. My heart was still in my throat.

**

Where are you? Not coming in?

Hello?

Should I clock in for you or are you not coming at all?

I’ll tell Jessica you’re sick.

[janiedean]

Hi Lavinia! Can I ask for your opinion about Jaime and his relationship with his stump? I mean, everyone knows he hates it, but is there a possibility that Brienne can change his mind? I belive he hates it most of all because his sister hated it, but it can be changed even a little if he finds someone that does not care. Plus: do you think Brienne can "love" his stump and act tenderly towards it? Like kisses and caresses? I know it's weird but I'd love to care for it to make him feel better!

a) first: man it’s not weird I mean guys I’m gonna tag it so I’m not gonna get into the specific but let’s just say that there are reasons why frankenstein was one of my five formative books and let’s leave it there

b) second: well I put it in every damned fic I do where they have sex so the short reply is yes, but the long reply would be...

c) now, why is it yes and going into your specifics:

he hates it but more than cersei I think the issue is that to him it’s basically a perpetual reminder in his face that a) he lost his right hand (which was what made him the best swordsman around) which in turn means that b) he’s lost one of the things that (in his conception at least) defined him ie ‘if I don’t have that what am I worth’ (which he thinks more than once in that asos chapter when he wants to let himself die) and most of all:

"The lack of my hand is troubling me." The mornings were the hardest. In his dreams Jaime was a whole man, and each dawn he would lie half-awake and feel his fingers move. It was a nightmare, some part of him would whisper, refusing to believe even now, only a nightmare. But then he would open his eyes.

“The wench would have told him he had to eat before he slept, to keep his strength up, but he was more tired than hungry. He closed his eyes, and hoped to dream of Cersei. The fever dreams were all so vivid . . . Naked and alone he stood, surrounded by enemies, with stone walls all around him pressing close. The Rock, he knew. He could feel the immense weight of it above his head. He was home. He was home and whole. He held his right hand up and flexed his fingers to feel the strength in them. It felt as good as sex. As good as swordplay. Four fingers and a thumb. He had dreamed that he was maimed, but it wasn't so. Relief made him dizzy. My hand, my good hand. Nothing could hurt him so long as he was whole.”

now, counting that the whole spiel cersei (and him) have going is that they’re not whole without each other, the point is: he’s not feeling whole without the right hand because it’s what makes him good at sword fighting which in turn gives him worth. now, if you look at the whole procession of thoughts in the dream above, you have the following (which is necessary to get into your question): he feels alone and surrounded by enemies and he had dreamed he was maimed (which is what happened irl) which in turn equates his lack of a hand with inability to protect himself/the others around him/makes him feel vulnerable. BUT, he has the right hand in the dream, and right hand = swords = swordplay = sex, like the four things are all put on the same level (mind it: who is the last person he fought before losing it? right, brienne) and having it back puts him back in a supposedly favorable position because nothing can hurt him as long as he’s whole (ie: he has the hand and cersei) and he supposedly can do the job himself;

too bad that he doesn’t have it anymore;

so like to him the fact that he doesn’t have the hand is a reminder that, again, he can’t do his job, and if he can’t do his job he isn’t whole, and if he isn’t whole he can’t fight (which is basically half of what he loves, the other half being cersei + tyrion + what other relatives he has that he does but it’s not many) and he can’t have cersei either and he can be hurt;

now, I once ranted about the romantic connotations of jaime’s weirwood dream vs brienne’s dreams in affc and I’m linking to it so I don’t have to go again over that, but another thing that’s fundamental about the weirdwood dream is that after it tells us what he fears most ie a) being hurt, b) the people he loves leaving him behind, c) his guilt over his supposed responsibilities in elia’s death and her children’s (which technically is not on him but nvm, d) cersei leaving him behind and after all of that happens... ah, right, BRIENNE shows up, asks him for a sword to protect him after he frees her from her chains and she gets it and she does it until hers is the only bright light in the entire cave, and after that dream he goes back for her and saves her life in the bear pit doing one of the two 100% truly heroic deeds that have happened until now (the other being theon saving jeyne hahaha). which he does... without having the hand;

now, back to the beginning: cersei hates it because a) it’s not aesthetically pleasing, b) he sets jaime apart from her because NOT MIRRORS ANYMORE, c) it cuts down his *usefulness* by a lot since he can’t fight as well as before, d) she cares about the fact that if he’s her male counterpart then she can be with herself just male, she doesn’t care about him or his needs or anything else of the kind, which anyway ties with the fact that by losing the hand he also loses something that was intimately tied to his old life (in the bath he tells brienne he lost the hand he killed aerys with/pushed bran down the tower with/made love to cersei with), so.... by losing it he also has to narratively lose cersei and put himself on the track he wanted to be on when he was fifteen and believed in being arthur dayne if you catch my drift, and the thing is that he can do that without it as well - and we saw it when he saved brienne WITHOUT IT;

as far as brienne is concerned though, the entire thing with losing the hand is actually tied to her in a positive light. meaning: while cersei hasn’t wanted anything to do with it (the stump/his lack of hand) and has been disgusted openly/called him a useless cripple because of it when she’s supposed to love him no matter what, brienne has actually helped him live through that loss even when she was supposed to hate him. like, a lot of people brush over what brienne does for him just after he loses it (or think she could never love him because she did that, lmao as if) but guys let’s be real here, post-hand loss he was pretty much 100% helpless there and she spent the rest of the road trip a) giving him pep talks when he felt like giving up, b) materially cleaning him up, c) telling him that losing the hand didn’t mean his life was over, never mind that after that they have the harrenhaal bath where without going into the whole cleansing symbolism of having him unload why he killed aerys for the first time in his life to her while taking a bath during which they’re both naked and... when he about faints she catches him and she’s gentler than cersei (and later cersei is Really Not Gentle with him at any point ops) and again, she never gives two fucks about his lack of hand or not.

also I realized this meta is overall 3k+ and the next part is choke-full of quotes so I’m gonna cut, more under the cut. sorry I FEEL STRONGLY ABOUT THIS SPECIFIC TOPIC.

moreover, never mind that after he saves her backside and she comes to see him when he gives her oathkeeper she’s all like ‘OH THE WHITE CLOAK BECOMES YOU’ (one day I’ll break apart that scene line by line is2g), what happens in her first affc chapter?

Brienne remembered her fight with Jaime Lannister in the woods. It had been all that she could do to keep his blade at bay. He was weak from his imprisonment, and chained at the wrists. No knight in the Seven Kingdoms could have stood against him at his full strength, with no chains to hamper him. Jaime had done many wicked things, but the man could fight! His maiming had been monstrously cruel. It was one thing to slay a lion, another to hack his paw off and leave him broken and bewildered.Suddenly the common room was too loud to endure a moment longer. She muttered her good-nights and took herself up to bed.

now, compare that to these gems from cersei’s affc chapters:

Her own twin interrupted her musings. "Would Your Grace honor her white knight with a dance?"She gave him a withering look. "And have you fumbling at me with that stump? No. I will let you fill my wine cup for me, though. If you think you can manage it without spilling.""A cripple like me? Not likely." He moved away and made another circuit of the hall. She had to fill her own cup.

"And our valiant Lord Commander?""Ser Jaime is at his armorer's being fitted for a hand. I know we were all tired of that ugly stump. And I daresay he would find these proceedings as tiresome as Tommen." Aurane Waters chuckled at that. Good, Cersei thought, the more they laugh, the less he is a threat. Let them laugh. "Do we have wine?"

Jaime hugged her, his good hand pressing against the small of her back. He smelled of ash, but the morning sun was in his hair, giving it a golden glow. She wanted to draw his face to hers for a kiss. Later, she told herself, later he will come to me, for comfort. "We are his heirs, Jaime," she whispered. "It will be up to us to finish his work. You must take Father's place as Hand. You see that now, surely. Tommen will need you . . ."He pushed away from her and raised his arm, forcing his stump into her face. "A Hand without a hand? A bad jape, sister. Don't ask me to rule."

there was more tho I picked the first three, but if you compare them, cersei basically either mocks him or thinks the stump is ugly and doesn’t want it forced into her face (reminding her he’s-not-her-exact-mirror anymore), brienne’s only horrified that they did it to him in the first place and she considers it cruel, but she doesn’t give two fucks about his hand being ugly nor considers him lesser. actually:

"I will find the girl and keep her safe," Brienne had promised Ser Jaime, back at King's Landing. "For her lady mother's sake. And for yours." Noble words, but words were easy. Deeds were hard.

When she was small, her nurse had filled her ears with tales of valor, regaling her with the noble exploits of Ser Galladon of Morne, Florian the Fool, Prince Aemon the Dragonknight, and other champions. Each man bore a famous sword, and surely Oathkeeper belonged in their company, even if she herself did not. "You'll be defending Ned Stark's daughter with Ned Stark's own steel," Jaime had promised.

I know. It was on that very road that Ser Cleos Frey had died, and she and Ser Jaime had been taken by the Bloody Mummers. Jaime tried to kill me, she remembered, though he was gaunt and weak, and his wrists were chained. It had been a close thing, even so, but that was before Zollo hacked his hand off. Zollo and Rorge and Shagwell would have raped her half a hundred times if Ser Jaime had not told them she was worth her weight in sapphires.

She had learned the truth of that once she went into the world. Even Jaime Lannister had come at her that way, in the woods by Maidenpool. If the gods were good, the Mad Mouse would make the same mistake. He may be a seasoned knight, she thought, but he is no Jaime Lannister. She slid her sword out of its scabbard.

(that EVEN is already telling because it puts jaime above other men she ran into EXCEPT that even he underestimated her)

Perhaps she had made a mistake in abandoning Ser Creighton and Ser Illifer. They had seemed like honest men. Would that Jaime had come with me, she thought . . . but he was a knight of the Kingsguard, his rightful place was with his king. Besides, it was Renly that she wanted. I swore I would protect him, and I failed. Then I swore I would avenge him, and I failed at that as well. I ran off with Lady Catelyn instead, and failed her too. The wind had shifted, and the rain was running down her face.

I could slink back to King's Landing, confess my failure to Ser Jaime, give him back his sword, and find a ship to carry me home to Tarth, as the Elder Brother urged. The thought was a bitter one, yet there was part of her that yearned for Evenfall and her father, and another part that wondered if Jaime would comfort her should she weep upon his shoulder. That was what men wanted, wasn't it? Soft helpless women that they needed to protect?

now, I could rant at you for ten minutes about how in all of those quotes a) she looks up to him, b) never thinks of him as crippled or ugly or useless, c) at most has pity for him because he lost that hand, BUT a thing not many people bring up is that...

He was better than Pyg, but he had only a short throwing spear, and she had a Valyrian steel blade. Oathkeeper was alive in her hands. She had never been so quick. The blade became a grey blur. He wounded her in the shoulder as she came at him, but she slashed off his ear and half his cheek, hacked the head off his spear, and put a foot of rippled steel into his belly through the links of the chain mail byrnie he was wearing. Timeon was still trying to fight as she pulled her blade from him, its fullers running red with blood. He clawed at his belt and came up with a dagger, so Brienne cut his hand off. That one was for Jaime. "Mother have mercy," the Dornishman gasped, the blood bubbling from his mouth and spurting from his wrist. "Finish it. Send me back to Dorne, you bloody bitch."She did.

brienne literally kills one of the people in the brave companions after cutting his hand off saying *it’s for jaime* and after then she kills another (shagwell) after making him dig the graves for the others, AND:

"I have no spade.”"You have two hands." One more than you left Jaime."Why bother? Leave them for the crows."

that’s what she says before she stabs him to death and getting really worked up about it:

She knocked aside his arm and punched the steel into his bowels. "Laugh," she snarled at him. He moaned instead. "Laugh," she repeated, grabbing his throat with one hand and stabbing at his belly with the other. "Laugh!" She kept saying it, over and over, until her hand was red up to the wrist and the stink of the fool's dying was like to choke her. But Shagwell never laughed. The sobs that Brienne heard were all her own. When she realized that, she threw down her knife and shuddered.

like, tldr: we all focus (rightly) on jaime punching ronnet connington for disrespecting her (WITH THE FAKE HAND) but I don’t think as much on the fact that brienne killed two of the brave companions while thinking specifically of how they hurt him/maimed him and thinking that she’s doing it *for him*.

as in: to avenge the fact that he lost the hand because they took it from him.

now, this entire rant with probably too many quotes was to say that brienne cannot give a single fuck about whether jaime has the hand or not beyond thinking it was unfair and unjust to take it from him and leave him without rather than just kill him and she actually avenged it on what brave companions she ran into (which she couldn’t do when they were captured) and she’s into him to the point where (as stated above) she dreams about him all the time INCLUDING him putting a cloak on her and would rather die than bring stoneheart his head, and........ after all of this we really would assume that if they did the deed she wouldn’t not only not ignore that he has a maimed wrist but that she wouldn’t make sweet love to it? especially when according to her he’s omgamazinglybeautiful and she thinks she’s the ugly one that no one’s ever going to want? like, she doesn’t even think about the stump when she thinks about wanting to weep on the guy’s shoulder/when she wants him to come with her/when she thinks he looked like half a god/when she wants him to put a cloak on her or come back for her. she’ll take him exactly the way he is, stump or not, and since she’s seen worse than that - like fuck’s sake she spent time tied to him with the rotting hand in between them - I’m 100% sure that she would totally not shy away from loving all of him including the maimed wrist;

(mind that if you go back to what I was saying in the beginning ie that loss of the hand = loss of sense of security = loss of feeling safe but brienne is associated with a) keeping him safe, b) keeping him alive at both basic and not-so-basic-level, c) the rebirth imagery, d) literally caring for him regardless of her personal feelings......... if they actually become lovers the whole thing plays out because he doesn’t need the hand if he has her who is also framed as the knight to his damsel 98% of the time including in his head/when he dreams about her appearing and keeping him safe with oathkeeper just after he *frees* her ie lets her be the knight she’s meant to be, like literally the one time it doesn’t happen is the bear pit and she’s stuck with him through pretty much everything and has seen the best and worst of him and still didn’t leave [and he doesn’t know but she’s willing to get hanged for him], I mean can we get more obvious here?)

now, can she change his mind? well, if they have idk two years of uninterrupted marital bliss in which they have all the good kind of sex in the world and in which she does it first thing in the morning most likely yes, I mean, the moment he realizes he’s not his sword hand and that he has worth beyond it and that he doesn’t need it to be the person he always wanted to be (and he’s trying for that matter) then he’ll care a lot less about it/won’t hate it as much and if she shows him that she can’t care less it certainly will help, if one of them (or both) dies two months after they get together that might cause a problem X°D but in the best possible outcome (the first one ofc which is a prelude to THEY GROW OLD TOGETHER ON TARTH OR WHEREVER) sure thing he would get over it. tbh I think he should get over it within the end of the saga because that would be basically capping his arc if he lived while having become the person he always wanted to be without giving two fucks about the lack of hand or not but anyway that’s mvho;

tldr: yes he would change his mind. indeed. X°D

[vagrantblvrd]

Cat Scratch Fever (1/1)

Summary: It’s possible that Trevor’s bitten off more than he can chew.

“Here, kitty, kitty, kitty!”

Trevor rolls his eyes at the goon’s delighted little chuckle. Such a clever joke, as though Trevor hasn’t heard it before.

Notes: Prompt fill for @rhinnie who asked for Alfreyco. (And also went and reblogged this and my brain was like "Oh, hey, Catwoman!Trevor" because those damn gloves.)

This is like. An alternate version of that AU we've been tossing back and forth, so yes.

AO3

It’s possible that Trevor’s bitten off more than he can chew.

“Here, kitty, kitty, kitty!”

Trevor rolls his eyes at the goon’s delighted little chuckle. Such a clever joke, as though Trevor hasn’t heard it before.

There’s a burn in his thighs – he’s really let himself go, hasn't he? Gotten soft the last little while, and there was a reason he didn’t linger on his reflection in the mirror before setting out tonight. (The suit is skintight, after all, and offers no mercies.)

Soft or not, muscle memory is a beautiful thing and he’s not so out of practice that he doesn’t know what to do next. Flash drive of vital information tucked away safely in a compartment on his belt, sharp little claws that pop out when he flexes his hands just so, the right amount of pressure along the mechanism and he swings out of cover and starts his run.

Fast and light on his feet as he uses an overturned crate to launch him towards the goon. Big burly gentleman with questionable facial hair and atrocious fashion choices – those boots with that tactical vest? Appalling. (He knows it’s stereotyping, but he can’t imagine the brute has good dental hygiene when he looks like that.)

The goon starts to turn, and Trevor grins as he sees the flicker of surprise on his face before he strikes. Hand flashing out to the strap of the weapon, claws catching in the weave before he wrenches and they slice through.

Jerks, and the rifle goes clattering somewhere off to their left, and Trevor follows up wth a closed fist because the classics never go out of style. (That, and he doesn't want to maim the man. This isn't personal, after all.)

The goon grunts, staggering back a step and Trevor puts more of his weight behind the next blow, and the poor bastard finally drops.

Trevor pauses to check that the goon’s still breathing, not about to die on him and continues on his way out of the building quick as he can. The noise will draw other guards, and Trevor’s not stupid enough to stick around to see it.

Not when he’s gotten what he came here for.

Outside the city is loud and dirty and a jarring difference from the quiet confines of the office building. Disorienting, almost, but Trevor keeps moving. Passes by the little alcove where he left a folded up trench coat and trendy little fedora and strolls casually to a side street where the battered little car he’s...acquired waits patiently.

Beaten up thing, scratched and faded paint and a stubbornness to it he admires because it refuses to quit on him. Struggles up the slightest incline, gears grinding when he shifts gears, but by God does it keep trucking along.

========

Technically, Trevor’s retired.

Left the business a few years ago and settled down with a nice boy.

Trevor had his job working at an animal clinic (ha, ha, ha) and Alfredo worked for a security firm in the city. (Oh, the irony.)

They’d been happy, or so Trevor thought. Pair of idiots getting by best they could. Someone he played off perfectly, Fredo always willing to roll with whatever insanity Trevor got caught up and vice versa, but then -

Oh, but then.

Alfredo slowly pulling away, citing problems at work and Trevor hadn’t thought anything of it at the time. But then it got worse, to the point they rarely saw each other throughout the day. Phone calls went to voice mail, went ignored and he’d thought – thought -

Well.

He’d thought it was Alfredo losing interest, getting tired of Trevor and letting him piece it all together on his own.

This horrible feeling that that Trevor had been wrong about him all this time. His judgment flawed for not being able to see Alfredo as the kind of boy who’d just let things between them wither and die, and that had hurt far more than he expected it to.

Trevor muddling along like he wasn’t hurting, confused and stupid and naive for the first time in years.

And then he’d gotten a text from an old work buddy and an attached news article with a picture of Alfredo front and center with one of the biggest criminal names in the country.

One of many millionaires out west who lorded it over the city with his extravagant lifestyle and supposed stable of pretty, nubile things, and suddenly Alfredo in the mix.

Not exactly what he’d expected when Alfredo said he was headed to Los Santos.

And maybe there was some anger burning at the bottom of Trevor’s fragile little heart at everything that had happened.

So.

To Los Santos it was, that fire safe hidden under the floorboard in their bedroom closet cracked wide open and his old suit packed up along with a few essentials for the flight to the Golden State in search of answers he probably wouldn’t like.

========

Trevor’s not bad when it comes to computers, manages to get through the encryption on the files he’d stolen and sifts through them.

The motel room he’s staying in is small and dirty and cramped and he hates it. Hates this city full of people like him (worse than) and the fact that Alfredo is here.

He’s here and cuddled up to Ramsey of all people.

This respected figure in Los Santos with his millions sunk into a wide array of businesses and squeaky clean facade that falls apart the deeper you dig.

Goes by an old college nickname the journalists and bloggers of this city use fondly, something to do with his nautical-themed tattoos.

“’Corpirate,’” Trevor scoffs, fingers tapping out a restless rhythm on his thigh. “What a name.”

It’s the city’s worst kept secret that Ramsey is heavily involved in the criminal side of things in Los Santos. Operates out of the penthouse in one of the many buildings he owns in this city and shameless about it. All his wards in on things, helping him widen his hold on the city and so damn pleased with themselves.

Money and influence enough to keep him out of jail no matter how many times they go after him and his, and one of the reasons Trevor had made damn sure to avoid stepping foot in Los Santos before now.

But, Alfredo and Ramsey and answers Trevor needs if he wants any kind of closure at all.

He stares at the photos of Ramsey and his pretty little things.

The Brit he’d collected on his travels years and years ago, the first of many. The angry looking one from a business trip to the east coast that one time. The...well, there’s no readily available story for the one with the man bun, but rumors say he used to be a model in his youth, which could be more than enough explanation. The one with the beard is an old friend, confidant and supposed advisor and then Alfredo.

Newest addition to the fold, a quick blurb regarding his promising career in the military before a training injury landed him behind a desk counting down the days until his enlistment ended that fades into vague hand waving nonsense about his time in Liberty City.

“You always did look good in a tuxedo Fredo,” Trevor murmurs, and puts the laptop into sleep mode because he has work to do.

========

It’s a mystery as to how Trevor got the moniker he has when he’s working. There aren’t any adorable if impractical ears on his suit, no feline-themed gear he uses. (The claws are practical! They’re tiny little knives on the ends of his gloves that make climbing things a snap, and serve as useful weapons and tools in turn for his work.)

But such is man, he supposes, or something along those line because -

“Here, kitty, kitty, kitty!”

Trevor smothers a sigh in his hands, crouched low behind some hideous sculpture placed in an alcove in the hallway.

He’s rustier than he thought because so far he’s managed to trip several alarms and alert this annoying specimen of a guard.

Less brutish than the one at the office building, but only just.

To be expected, probably, because this is one of Ramsey’s little properties. Lovely little mansion up in the hills and a soiree taking place. Fundraiser for one of the charities he funds, the man himself glad-handing sponsors and critics alike and his pretty little things swanning about.

He’d meant to sneak in, get his hands on Ramsey’s personal files, but, again, rusty.

Too much time spent with his head in the clouds thinking he’d gotten his fairy-tale ending after all.

Trevor presses a button on the remote in his hand and a small explosive charge goes off down the hall. (Goodbye priceless vase, hello distraction.)

He waits a beat and creeps out, slow and careful. Quiet, quiet, quiet, and nearly has a heart attack when he hears a gun cock.

“Hands up where I can see them!”

Rusty.

Trevor complies, slipping one of his little gadgets off his belt as he raises his hands and slowly turns. Pasted a smile on his face and tries to remember that emotions get people like him killed, but it’s hard to keep in mind.

The goon with the gun blinks, genuine surprise on his face as he lowers it.

“Trevor?”

He really should think about reinvesting in a good pair of goggles, or a suit that covers his face one of these days if he’s going to come out of retirement.

“Hey, Fredo,” he says, all bright and cheery the way he used to before things turned Lifeinvader complicated.

Alfredo is staring at him in shock, and Trevor might feel a little bad about that if he wasn’t the reason Trevor’s here in the first place.

“I’d really love to stay and chat,” Trevor says, hooking the tip of a claw in the little pin and pulling just enough that the shink noise it makes when it disengages reaches Alfredo. “But I’ve got places to be.”

He sees Alfredo raise his gun and thinks, well, then, that answers that, doesn’t it? with this sharp little ache in his chest as he throws the tiny grenade as it starts hissing smoke.

========

This is a mistake.

The sort that’s guaranteed to get Trevor killed, but what’s a little risk now and then?

And besides, he doesn’t quite have his answers, does he.

Knows Alfredo is clearly working for Ramsey, running security or something else to investigate the disturbance Trevor caused at the party the other night. Seemed reluctant to pull the trigger on him, but perfectly able to aim a gun at him and -

The heat of the moment, most likely, or maybe Trevor’s just lying to himself. Making up excuses and clinging to them because he’s still in love with Alfredo even though it stands to get him killed, and yet here he is anyway.

“I’m an idiot,” Trevor mutters, flashes the poor woman sharing the elevator a reassuring smile when she inches away from the lunatic muttering to himself.

She doesn’t seem to buy it, but Trevor doesn’t push when he’s certain things are uncomfortable enough for her as it is.

Another night, another party for the filthy rich under the guise of raising money for charity. This time it’s being held at a swanky hotel and Trevor’s gotten his hands on an invitation.

Ramsey’s here with his “wards” and Trevor's an idiot.

Doesn’t know what the point of all this is, but it’s too late to back out now.

The elevator slows to a stop and Trevor lets the woman leave first, puts enough distance between them that it doesn’t feel like he’s following her and then he’s through the little security checkpoint outside the ballroom where the party's being helped.

He mingles, bright smiles and pleasant laughter at their terribly bland jokes. Delicious hors d'oeuvres and oh, dear, is that a gun in his back?

“You’re not on the list.”

Trevor turns, oh so slow and finds himself face to face with the former model. Perfectly polite smile on his face and gun digging into Trevor’s ribs, and maybe he’ll take a pass on that little bacon-wrapped bit of deliciousness on the refreshment table he’s been eyeing.

“This is true,” Trevor says, and smiles.

The guy, Haywood, raises an eyebrow and nudges Trevor away from the party and to a conference room down the hall.

Ramsey’s inside, along with his entourage, including Alfredo, who looks -

Not happy.

Ramsey’s watching him, hands in his pockets and this tired little smile on his lips.

“Never expected to see you in Los Santos,” he says, and of course he knows who Trevor is. (Was?)

Trevor shrugs.

“Times change,” he says, and looks at Alfredo in his sharp tuxedo. “People change.”

Behind him Haywood growls, and Trevor doesn’t roll his eyes at that bit of unnecessary drama, but it’s so very tempting.

“Yeah,” Ramsey says, glancing at Alfredo who’s got himself all locked down. “They do, don’t they.”

“Hmm,” Trevor agrees. “I don’t have a problem with your little operation out here,” Trevor says, because showing weakness here would be a major misstep, but he didn’t come this far to make enemies. “Just wanted to have a little chat with Alfredo.”

That sets off a ripple through Ramsey’s crew- that’s what they are, the truth the rumors don’t get close enough to. Not wards or bedmates (or at least not all of them, Trevor’s still not sure about Patillo), but his crew.

Operating in plain sight and the authorities helpless to do anything about it lest they show their own hand. All the dirty little secrets, the bribes and corruption and everything Ramsey and his have been slowly purging the city of so they can set up their own little empire.

Lets the rumor mill run wild as he goes around town with one (or more) of them on his arm and no one the wiser because they’re all old hands at this game by now. Give the public what it wants, expects to see and they don’t bother to look further.

“Oh, you didn’t know?” Trevor says, unable to stop because there’s that little ember burning away in his chest. Anger and hurt and confusion. “Fredo, honeybun, how could you?”

Alfredo’s composure cracks, has him choking on the horrendous pet name Trevor’s only used to terrorize him in the past.

“Uh,” Ramsey says, not sure what to say. “What?”

“I’ve got this, boss,” Alfredo says, and bustles over to grab Trevor by the arm and drags him out of the room.

========

“Honeybun?”

Trevor shrugs, leaning on the balcony railing that overlooks the city streets below.

He doesn’t think Alfredo took him to this quiet spot to murder him, but if he did the view is spectacular.

“Would you prefer pumpkin truffle? Honey badger?”

Trevor has a list thanks to the dark corners of the internet where the tragically romantic reside with their heart-patterned backgrounds and flowery prose.

“Oh my God,” Alfredo mutters, helpless smile and odd little laugh like he’s trying not to laugh, indulge Trevor in this terrible thing. “What?”

Trevor shrugs, heartburn or something else acting up at the way Alfredo’s looking at him and looks back at the city.

“The internet is a strange and terrifying place,” he says, and leaves it at that, because it’s the horrible truth.

Alfredo mutters something Trevor doesn’t quite catch as he moves to stand next to him.

“I thought I was doing the right thing,” he says, sheepish note to his voice given the situation at hand. “Ryan and Jeremy tracked me down, asked if I wanted a job that would make a difference.”

That.

“And,” Alfredo says, because he knows Trevor. “I didn’t want to get you caught up in all this.”

From the corner of his eye Trevor sees Alfredo’s hand as he gestures at Los Santos.

Beautiful from up here, so far from the rot and corruption it’s built on. Easy to forget what the city is like when you’re so high above it that the details fall away.

Trevor snorts because that’s a convenient lie, isn’t it? Worry about little old Trevor, helpless damsel in distress and break his heart because that’s the right thing to do.

“The ‘right thing’”, Trevor says, and hates how bitter it sounds. Not sure if it’s directed at Alfredo or himself, because he hasn’t exactly been forthcoming with his own little secrets, has he.

Figured it was for the best if Alfredo didn’t know about Trevor’s former line of work, and look where it’s gotten them.

“Ryan and Jeremy,” Trevor says, something about the names oddly familiar. Stories Alfredo used to tell him about his days in the military. “The ones - “

“The Battle Buddies,” Alfredo says, and when Trevor looks at him, he’s grinning. “Lost track of them after they, uh. You know.”

Faked their own deaths, seeing as how they’re both alive and committing crime here in Los Santos.

Trevor rubs his eyes, and wonders what kind of hole he’s fallen down looking into the mess his life turned into. Following Alfredo out there and picking up old habits he thought he’d shaken a long time ago.

“Ah,” Trevor says, and wonders where they go from here.

“I’m sorry,” Alfredo says, and he sounds it. Like the idiot he is, trying to be noble about things. Wanting to do the right thing by doing the wrong thing and Lifeinvader really does have it right, it’s a complicated thing, this. “I could have done it better.”

Trevor snorts.

“You could have not done it at all,” he points out, but there’s no heat to the words, just an observation. “And I could have told you about me.”

International thief, back in the day, and a damned good one. A little rusty nowadays, because he’d settled down, gotten soft. (That little ember in his chest fizzling out because he’s just as much to blame for this as Alfredo is, always suspected he’d muck things up like this.)

Alfredo’s acting shifty all of a sudden. Darting these little looks at Trevor, biting his lip to keep from blurting out whatever he’s thinking. This look like he has something he wants to say but might die of embarrassment if he does.

“What?”

Alfredo clears his throat, thumping his chest like that’s going to help.

“So,” he says, all casual and non-nonchalant, like he’s not a lech. “That suit.”

========

It’s not all roses and sunshine or however that particular little saying go because the ground between Trevor and Alfredo’s all broken up, footing uncertain.

Big lies that gave birth to little ones and sorting through all of it’s going to take some time, but they’re making steady progress.

No plans to settle down just yet because it takes a lot of work to build an empire and they’re busy, busy people these days.

Ramsey made the mistake of offering Trevor a job. Thought it would be a good investment on his part to have an in-house thief at hand, and Alfredo was good enough not to tell him the kind of trouble he was getting himself in for, which was a good thing, really.

Because this new life Trevor’s building for himself here?

A nice boy like Alfredo with the training he has, and a troublemaker like Trevor with all these tricks up his sleeve and this nice little crew of Ramsey’s backing them up?

Los Santos was made for people like them.

Belling the Cat

[randomly-spicy-diamond]

Dance with Devils -EverSweet- Vol. 2 Urie (English Translation)

Dance with Devils -EverSweet- Vol. 2 Urie (English Translation)

Seiyuu: Sogami Urie (CV: Takashi Kondo)

Spicy’s Notes: (1) For the token flirty character, in a drama that lends itself to syrupy sweetness, Urie is surprisingly adorkable here. (2) Damn it, Lindo. This isn’t your CD. Stop making me love you. (3) Usual disclaimers, there may be parts I misheard. I’ve tried to keep the things flowing and to minimize walls of text. I am horrible with typos, so feel free to point them out for correction. (4) SFX are subject to my own special touches.

- o - o - o - o - o -

[Track 1 – Cursed Small Package Parcel by Express Delivery]

*SFX: Flipping through papers*

Urie: *sighs* We’ve had quite a bunch of requests arrive today too… “Please increase the cafeteria menu.” Oh well, we’ll leave the decision making to Rem. But, even so, there’s still lots…

Urie: *sighs deeper* Being the Student Council Vice President is exhausting. This should be be President’s job, but he just says he’s busy or whatever and shoves it off on me. He’s such a cruel childhood friend, don’t you agree?

Urie: So-

*SFX: He pulls you close*

Urie: *chuckles* Won’t you help me recover, my dear Butterfly?

*SFX: Rustle...*

Urie: *laughs* Why not? Having you sit on my lap will make the work go faster and it looks like the rest of the guys won’t come in today. Normal students rarely come to the Third Library. Let’s spend some time together, just the two of us.

*SFX: Rustle*

Urie: *happy sigh* I feel nice and warm when I hug you.

*SFX: Rustle*

Urie: Hnn? Just a little more. I want to savor this happiness. My Butterfly, my dear girlfriend, mine alone. Being able to have you to myself and indulge ourselves like this makes me so happy I could burst. *kiss*

*SFX: Rustle*

Urie: *laughs* I have such a cute girlfriend. *closer* I love it when you get embarrassed like that. But. It’d be nice if you got used to it too.

*SFX: Rustle*

Urie: Really? In that case, why don’t we do some training to help keep you from getting embarrassed. Here. Stand up for a second.

*SFX: You do so*

Urie: Yes, just like that, look at me.

*SFX: Shift*

Urie: *closer* Don’t look away. I’m going to kiss you. *cloooser* Such pretty, needy, eyes… They’re the color of nervousness and desire all mixed together. When I think of the fact that I’m the one who made you look like that... It makes my heart dance.

Urie: *softer* You know, I’m truly happy that I can be near you like this. My dear Butterfly, you accepted me even though I’m an akuma. *moves in for the kiss* Let’s stay together forever, just like-

*SFX: Knock, knock on the library door*

Urie: Ahhhh… An interruption. That’s too bad.

*SFX: Knocking returns, more insistent this time*

Urie: *calling* Okay, okay! I’m coming, wait a second! *to you* Sorry, I’ll be right back.

*SFX: He gets up and goes to answer the door*

Urie: A delivery? All right. Consider it recieved.

*SFX: He takes the package and shuts the door*

Urie: A package for Rem.

*SFX: He brings it over*

Urie: The fact that he went to the trouble of having it delivered here means it’s probably not your normal home delivery… *suddenly suspicious* Don’t tell me. He better not have ordered another shogi board again.

*SFX: Rustle?*

Urie: Ah… Rem likes using special edition shogi boards to play matches. That crystal set over there in particular is one of his favorites. And, the other day, he even went so far as to look into online ordering to search for shogi boards in the human world.

*SFX: Rustle*

Urie: *laughs* Funny, isn’t it? To top it off, he forgot his log in and password and called me in the middle of the night. An akuma obsessed with online shopping, how modern.

Urie: Hm. *gets an evil idea* That’s it. Let’s open it.

*SFX: Rustle*

Urie: No worries. If he says anything, I’ll just make up an excuse. Plus, he’s the one who shoved his work off on me and interrupted our time together. I’d say we have a right to know.

*SFX: There’s a crinkle of paper as he starts to unwrap it*

Urie: Hm? I wonder what this box is? There’s some markings for spells on it. I wonder what’s in it that he went to all the trouble of having it brought from the Demon World?

*SFX: He opens the box*

Urie: Huh? It’s empty?

*SFX: POOF! (of evil escapes the box)*

Urie: *surprised* What’s this- *coughing* -smoke?

*SFX: The box drops*

Urie: *coughing* Come over here. Bury your face in my chest so you don’t breath in the smoke. *cough*

*SFX: He pulls you against his chest*

Urie: Sorry. Keep yourself against my chest even if it hurts. *cough* Try not to breathe-

*SFX: Box finally fizzles out*

Urie: *panting* It finally stopped. *pulls back* Are you okay?

*SFX: Rustle?*

Urie: *reassuringly* I’m just fine, as you can see. I did breathe in a lot of the smoke, but... that aside, what- *starts to slur* was that just now-

*SFX: He falls to the ground with a thud*

Urie: *pants* What... is this? My body’s... burning up. My throat... is completely dry.

*SFX: You run over and help him up*

Urie: Ugh, my head hurts. Everything’s going hazy… it’s hard to see... *weak gasp* Butterfly? Are you there?

*SFX: You grab hold of his hand*

Urie: There you are. My... dear one… *breathing heavy*

*SFX: Holds tighter*

Urie: It hurts. It feels like my head is going to burst. Butterfly... please, don’t let me go... Wrap your arms around me.

*SFX: Hugs*

Urie: Ah... That feels a little better… *soft, wry laugh* It’s comforting... to have you hugging me. *panting* Please... let me feel you…

*SFX: Hugs tighter*

*SFX: Brief kissing session*

Urie: *sexy panting this time* You’re... here. Let me feel more so I know you’re with me…

*SFX: Rustle*

Urie: Thank you...

*SFX: More kissing*

Urie: *breathing easier now* Ah... *sigh* It’s calmed down. The heat is lessening. *longer sigh*

Urie: I think, it’s all right now.

*SFX: Pulls back*

Urie: Yeah, I’m fine now. Sorry for making you worry. I suddenly got dizzy. My whole body was so hot it felt as though I was boiling. I thought my head was going to explode. What was that?

Urie: *realizing* The markings on the box. Don’t tell me that was... The mark of a curse?

*SFX: Dun dun dun*

[Track 2 – The Greenhouse Where Roses Bloom]

*SFX: Urie drops in, literally, ala akuma warping*

Urie: I’m back! Sorry, I bet it was boring in the greenhouse all by yourself, wasn’t it?

*SFX: He walks over*

Urie: I talked to Rem about that box earlier. As I suspected - it was a cursed box. It was mailed so it could be destroyed since it’s dangerous. It’s my own fault but, I really got into something unpleasant. It seems this curse is “you die if you don’t have a certain something”. That something is whatever thing is the most difficult for the curse recipient to obtain. So, normally, they’re unable to get hold of it and die. Essentially a one hit, instant death curse.

*SFX: Rustle!?*

Urie: Ahh! Don’t worry! For some reason, as you can see, even if it was just for a little bit I was saved. *softly to himself* But... how on Earth was I saved…?

*SFX: Pause*

Urie: ...Anyway. It looks like the curse is still tied to my body. Rem went back to the Demon World to look for a way to save me. Until he finds something, we’ll just have to deal with it somehow. It is kind of nerve wracking to not know when the curse will take a hold of my body again though.

*SFX: Rustle*

Urie: Thank you. I’ll be okay. I won’t die that easy. *leans in* I can’t go dying and leaving my sweet girlfriend now, can I? It’s okay. The curse was suppressed once already. I’m sure it will work out fine.

*SFX: Spoke too soon*

Urie: *gasps*

*SFX: He stumbles*

Urie: My head is- ...Is it the curse again?

*SFX: Thump*

Urie: *panting* It’s hot. It feels like I’m going to completely wither away to dust.

*SFX: Grabs*

Urie: *panting* Thank you. *pained noise* But, my head still feels like it’s spinning. Sorry. That sofa over there… Could you...?

*SFX: You help him over*

Urie: It’s not easing up even though I’m laying down. *shaky* I can’t think…

*SFX: You touch his head*

Urie: Heh. Your hand is nice and cool. *sigh* It feels like it’s soothing me from the head down. ...Can we stay like this for a little while?

*SFX: Rustle*

Urie: Yeah. That’d make me happy. *soft laugh* ...Hey, would you mind rubbing my head?

*SFX: Will do!*

Urie: *happy sigh* The fever really is lowering... Would you mind indulging me for just a little more?

*SFX: He shifts*

Urie: Such a gentle hand... It might be the first time I had someone do something like this for me.

*SFX: Rustle?*

Urie: I told you, didn’t I? About how worthless a mother my Mother was? Akuma don’t catch colds like humans do, but, we can feel unwell to the point of needing bed rest. Well, she just left me. Alone in bed and in pain, in a room where no one would come, I’d have to deal with it without anyone to help me. No matter how I cried, no matter how lonely I was, she wouldn’t come for me. As I am now, I don’t really care, but… That’s just how my family was.

Urie: Hm? Wait... Could that be...?

*SFX: He gets up*

Urie: It’s okay. I feel better now, thanks to you. I feel completely healed.

Urie: Hey, could I ask a favor? Will you spend the night with me tonight?

[Track 3 – Help Yourself to a Becoming Dress]

*SFX: Door opens*

Urie: Here we are! Welcome to my room!

*SFX: Step*

Urie: I’m glad you got your brother to go along with it. “A sleepover at a friend’s house.” You may have been forced to lie but, there’s no doubt if he knew you were going to stay over at my house he’d come charging in with holy water... and my house would get blasted to pieces with magic.

*SFX: Rustle?*

Urie: No, no, Butterfly. You should think a little bit more seriously about just how scary your big brother is. He’s snuck into the stacks to peer at me from between the books a whole bunch of times.

*SFX: Rustle*

Urie: “That’s normal, isn’t it?”.……Uh, you know, in a normal household a big brother doesn’t keep an eye on his little sister 24/7?

Urie: Well, and aside from that, he has a grudge against me because I’m an akuma. And, in my case, I’m the one who stole you away so he hates me. Anyway, we’ll need keep the fact that you stayed over here a secret, okay?

Urie: That aside, come in! Take your shoes off. Let’s get dinner ready- Ah! Before dinner would you like a bath? If you’d like *leans in for sexy whispers* we can take a bath together.

*SFX: Rustle!?*

Urie: *laughs* That’s too bad. Then, I’ll go brew some tea. Wait a second.

*SFX: He walks off*

-Time skip-

*SFX: Door opens, walking*

Urie: Ah! Welcome back. Did you get enough time in rose-covered bath?

*SFX: Step*

Urie: If you enjoyed it, that’s all I could ask for. It seemed you found supper to your liking too…

Urie: Anyway, it’s about time we went to bed. You’re looking sleepy and, certainly, I’m tired as well. Now then... *leans in* will you sleep with me tonight?

*SFX: Rustle!?

Urie: *chuckle* Don’t worry. I won’t do anything weird, I just have something I want to test in order to learn more about my curse. Will you help me?

*SFX: Nod*

Urie: *laugh* Thank you. Now then, go on into bed.

*SFX: You both get into bed*

Urie: *happy sigh* You’re like a hugging pillow. How cute. Maybe I should rub your head like you did for me this morning.

*SFX: You get head pats*

Urie: There we go. *chuckles* There’s no need to be shy. Thank you for going along with my selfish requests. It’s nice and refreshing to have someone other than me in my room. And what’s more- *hugs* you’re here in my arms. My heart feels full. I’m so happy.

*SFX: Pause*

Urie: ...Hey, do you mind if I keep you all to myself after we fall asleep too?

*SFX: Rustle?*

Urie: Heh. If you’ll let me, I’ll show you something wonderful. Now. Close your eyes. Relax. Come with me to the world of dreams.

*SFX: Magic shimmers*

Urie: Welcome to the world of dreams!

*SFX: He walks forward*

Urie: In the first floor grand entryway, we have a jewel-encrusted chandelier.

*SFX: Rustle*

Urie: It’s a castle I made for you. I can make dreams do anything I want with my power. I think I did a pretty neat job of it but, how about it?

*SFX: Rustle*

Urie: *chuckles* I’m honored to have your approval. I made your dress to fit my tastes too, but...

*SFX: Rustle!*

Urie: Do you like it?

*SFX: Fancy dress rustle*

Urie: I’m glad. You look really cute. Like a princess in a fairy tale... For just a short while, just while we’re asleep, would you like to enjoy the world of dreams with me, Princess?

*SFX: Rustle*

Urie: Then. Your hand?

*SFX: Princess-y hand offering as he escorts you into the castle*

Urie: It’s nice to be able to be with you while we’re asleep and have you be physically next to me in bed. *happy sigh* It really does make my heart feel so full.

*SFX: Rustle*

Urie: Hm? Something wrong? Ah! More importantly, look! I want to show you the balcony just ahead.

*SFX: Dramatic door opening*

Urie: You can see the whole castle from it. Right? Take a look.

*SFX: He snaps his fingers and there’s more magic shimmering*

Urie: I turned on all the lights in the castle. It glitters like rubies, sapphires, or emeralds, a gem-like shine, doesn’t it?

*SFX: Rustle*

Urie: That’s right. I knew you’d like it. But... It’d be bad if you got cold in the night air so- *hugs* Why don’t I hug you like this?

*SFX: Rustle*

Urie: Do you not like being hugged? You’re red all the way to your ears, you know… Do you not want me to hug you?

*SFX: Rustle*

Urie: *laughs and sighs happily* Really. You’re so cute. When you react so innocently like that it makes me want to do more and more things to make you happy.

*SFX: He shifts*

Urie: That’s it! Why don’t we go somewhere that we can get an even better view?

*SFX: He hugs you tighter*

Urie: Hold on tight, we’re going to fly.

*SFX: And away you go*

Urie: *chuckle* You look completely flustered. Did I surprise you? It feels nice to fly in the sky, doesn’t it? And, it’s too early to be shocked just yet... Down there! Take a look at the ground. You can see the light even better than before.

*SFX: Rustle*

Urie: *whispers* It’s okay. There’s no need to be afraid. I absolutely won’t let us fall. *closer* I’m holding you like this. Just give yourself to me and you’ll be fine.

*SFX: Rustle*

Urie: You’re so trusting, leaving everything to me like that... So, how is it? What do you think of seeing the lights from the sky?

*SFX: Rustle*

Urie: I see. ...You’re so cute, my dearest. Here you are in a dream with an incubus, and yet, you’re able to show such innocent happiness. *leans in* Hey. What would you do if I said I wanted to lock you away in a cage?

*SFX: Rustle?*

Urie: You haven’t forgotten, have you? This is inside a dream.

*SFX: He snaps his fingers*

*SFX: There’s the whoosh of scenery change and a heavy, metal cage door swings shut*

Urie: Heh. Our feet are on the ground already so there’s no need to worry.

*SFX: He pulls back*

Urie: Look. It’s a big cage, isn’t it? With this, you won’t be able to escape. No matter how you flap your wings, you’ll be here within my grasp.

*SFX: Dramatic pause*

Urie: *leans in* You look so unconcerned. Hey, you haven’t forgotten that there’s an akuma in front of you right now, have you? Who knows what could be done to you.

*SFX: He snaps his fingers again*

*SFX: Another whoosh as vines wrap around you*

Urie: It’s okay – those rose vines don’t have thorns. They won’t hurt you no matter how much they entwine themselves around you.

*SFX: He steps forward*

Urie: You can’t move, can you? ...Can you still be calm after this?

*SFX: Rustle*

Urie: Huh, really? *kiss*

*SFX: Rustle!*

Urie: *whispers* How about it? At this rate I can do whatever I want to you, you know? Are you still okay?

*SFX: Rustle*

Urie: *surprised noise, then, laughs* You’re embarrassed rather than afraid? I think the normal reaction would be fear you know. Honestly, you’re so...

Urie: You accept me, even if I show my love for you in ways like this.

*SFX: He snaps his fingers and the vines go away*

Urie: *+5 sugary sweetness* Sorry about that! I just wanted to test you a little bit. I was curious how long you’d go along with my selfishness.

*SFX: ...Rustle*

Urie: Ah! Don’t get upset. From here on out, we’ll have the dream go along with whatever you want. Okay, Princess?

*SFX: Rustle*

Urie: *chuckles* I’m grateful to have received your forgiveness. Now then, shall we go?

*SFX: You both walk off*

Urie: *quietly to himself* She’s really such a heart-warming girl. She cares for me and believes in me. But, the more she conveys her feelings the more I-

*SFX: Rustle?*

Urie: *louder* Nothing! More importantly, let’s have fun. Let me enjoy the fact that you’re with me… *whispers close* ...whether we’re in a dream or whether we’re awake.

[Track 4 – That Which can Soothe Both Pain and Thirst]

*SFX: Morning birdsong*

*SFX: Rustle*

Urie: Good morning. It looks like you’re awake.

*SFX: Rustle!*

Urie: Don’t look so surprised. Did you have fun in the dream?

*SFX: Rustle*

Urie: I had fun too. Because you were there. And, I got the chance to confirm something, maybe.

*SFX: Rustle?*

Urie: It’s been a whole night, but I didn’t experience the pain of the curse even once. Most likely... It’s because I was able to get “the thing most difficult for the curse recipient to obtain” that I haven’t died. This is just a hypothesis, but – I think the most difficult thing for me to obtain might be love.

*SFX: Rustle?*

Urie: I have no real memories of being loved until I met you. No, if I hadn’t met you, I don’t think I would have experienced love at all. And then, yesterday when you touched me, the curse receded, didn’t it? What do you think? As a theory, I don’t think it’s wrong.

*SFX: Rustle*

Urie: Yeah. If that’s true it means until Rem returns I have to be able to receive your love at any moment. Hey... Will you lend me your strength?

*SFX: Rustle*

Urie: Heh. Thank you... Ah, seriously, you’re so cute! *hugs*

*SFX: Rustle*

Urie: It’s your fault for being too lovable, smiling like that. Here I’m still giddy from having gotten to spend the whole night with you and having your cute sleeping face right in front of me when I woke up. The least you can do is let me hug you.

Urie: *clearly making the best of his predicament* Plus... This is part of fighting the curse. You have to pour your love into me. So, don’t resist now, okay?

*SFX: Rustle*

Urie: *chuckles* Good girl. *happy sigh* Thank you, my Butterfly.

*SFX: CRASH!!*

Urie: Uwah! What was that!?

*SFX: He jumps up*

Urie: You stay there. I’m going to take a look out the window and see what’s going on.

*SFX: He walks over*

Urie: Geh.

*SFX: Derp*

Urie: Look, see? That’s what I was telling you, Butterfly. Your brother isn’t normal. It looks like he figured out you were over at my place. He’s chanting a spell with a seriously angry look. It’s dangerous to be here. (Mainly for me.) Let’s hurry up and get ready to go! We’ll escape with magic!

*SFX: Fades out*

-Time skip-

*SFX: City noises*

Urie: *relieved sigh* Your brother is surprisingly persistent. I wonder if I’ll be killed now that he’s figured out we spent the night together.

*SFX: Rustle*

Urie: Do you really think it will be okay? He’s not going to be all, “O ye who are clad in darkness begone forever more”?

*SFX: ...*

Urie: No, don’t go quiet on me there!

Urie: *deep (Lindo fearing) sigh* Well, anyway, we’ll think about that later. Since we’ve come to the shopping district, why don’t we reaffirm our love... and go on a date too?

*SFX: He looks around*

Urie: Now then, where should we go first I wonder? Ah! They’re selling cream puffs over there. Do you want to eat some?

*SFX: Yes*

Urie: *chuckles* That’s a nice smile. Let’s go then!

*SFX: Fades out to you walking off together*

-Brief time skip-

*SFX: Fades in, city noises*

Urie: That shop is really popular, is’t it? There was no end to the line. I’m glad we managed to buy some before they sold out.

*SFX: Rustle*

Urie: *chuckles* You look happy. Well then, shall we eat?

*SFX: Parchment-y rustle of the cream puff containing type*

Urie: Okay, here you are. Say “ah”.

*SFX: Rustle*

Urie: What’s wrong? Are you not hungry?

*SFX: Rustle*

Urie: Don’t tell me... you can’t possibly be embarrassed, can you? This is an act of love after all. Play along with me as part of fighting the curse.

*SFX: ...Rustle*

Urie: There. As expected of my girlfriend! Okay then, say “ah”.

*SFX: Nom*

Urie: Hm. How is it? Tasty?

*SFX: Rustle*

Urie: In that case, how about another bite? Here. Open your mouth.

*SFX: ...Rustle*

Urie: I guess I’d be pushing it to do more. Okay. It was cute to see you so embarrassed as you ate in any case.

*SFX: He passes the cream puff over*

Urie: Here. Be careful not to drop it.

*SFX: Nom*

Urie: Seeing you enjoy your food so much makes me kind of regret being an akuma. Aside from looks, we’re just inherently different...  Ah! Hey, you have cream on your face, you know? Didn’t you notice? Or did you do it on purpose?

*SFX: Wipes?*

Urie: *moves* Not there.. On this side. If you do something cute like that- *lick* *kiss*

*SFX: Rustle!?!!*

Urie: *smug noise* It’s your fault for giving me an opening like that. No matter what you think, you had “please eat me” written all over your face. *chuckle*

*SFX: Flail*

Urie: Sorry, sorry! But, it’s thanks to us being able to flirt a little that the curse has been suppressed, isn’t it? It seems my theory must be right. So long as I have your love, I’ll be able to live without withering away. In which case, we can enjoy ourselves while we wait for Rem.

Urie: *softly to himself* Well, it’s not that it was the only theory.

*SFX: Distant running footsteps*

Urie: Urk. That voice. Wah... It’s your brother. I’m impressed. I can’t believe he figured out we were here. He’s still a ways off so he hasn’t noticed that we’re over here though.

*SFX: Distant running footsteps (running in the wrong direction)*

Urie: He’s searching so desperately... He really does cherish you, doesn’t he? Your brother and mother, you’re so important to both of them. To the point where they’d risk their lives to protect you...... It’s enviable...

*SFX: Dun dun dun*

Urie: *gasp*

*SFX: He stumbles*

Urie: Again-! My head is... *pant* Hot! *panting*

*SFX: Crowd noises*

Urie: *softly* We’ll stand out here. We need to go somewhere without people... *gasp* Come over here- *pants*

*SFX: Walking off awkwardly, then, pause*

Urie: *panting* I’m okay. No one will look here in the alley behind the stores. *pants* More importantly... Please... Come closer.

*SFX: Moves*

Urie: *panting* I want to... feel more of you. I want to be healed in your embrace.

*SFX: Hugs*

Urie: *panting harder* It’s not stopping...

*SFX: Hugs tighter*

Urie: Sorry if... it gets too tight...

*SFX: Kissing*

Urie: *panting* It’s no good. Why?

*SFX: Approaching footsteps*

Urie: *wryly* I might have known... *pant* Your big brother has a good sense of smell. *pant* Come over here, okay? If we slip up... he’ll find us...

*SFX: Scoots closer*

*SFX: Footsteps stop*

Urie: *pant* We have to be careful not to draw his attention.

*SFX: Footsteps start again*

Urie: Look at me. *pant* Okay? Make sure you’re quiet. *kiss*

*SFX: Enter the classic “If we make out in the alley it will throw off our pursuer”*

Urie: Stay still... Do you really want your brother to see you like this?

*SFX: Rustle*

Urie: Then... be quiet...

*SFX: More kissing*

Urie: If you don’t like it, I’ll stop. *breath* It’s hard for you to trick your brother, isn’t it? You can shove me off if you want... I might just be ripped to shreds though.

*SFX: Shakes head*

Urie: *soft laugh* You pick me. Over your brother. Over your family. Me. I’m so happy. Truly. *breathing easier now*

*SFX: And more kissing*

Urie: *sexy gasp* The heat has finally faded.

*SFX: Footsteps moving away*

Urie: It looks like your brother has left too. It guess I managed to not be vaporized…

*SFX: Dramatic pause*

Urie: But. The way the curse was reversed just now. It might be...

[Track 5 – Just Stay Here]

*SFX: Fades in to crowd noises and the two of you walking*

Urie: I heard back from Rem but, it looks like he’s having a rough time of it. It’s not like him to take so many days like this, but, that must just be because of how difficult this curse is. Thanks to your help I’ve been able to overcome things so far. Whether or not I’ll last until Rem returns though...

*SFX: Rustle*

Urie: *chuckles* You’re right. It will be okay. So long as you’re here, nothing horrible will happen. Even now, as you can see, I’m perfectly fine. That being said, let’s try to keep up with our normal lives while we wait for Rem.

*SFX: School bell rings*

Urie: Ah, the bell. Well then, I’ll be waiting for you in the greenhouse after school. See you later!

*SFX: Fades out*

-Time skip-

*SFX: Fades in to a door swinging open as you enter the greenhouse*

Urie: *gasping painfully*

*SFX: You run over to him*

Urie: *weakly* Ah... Butterfly... You came... *pant* It looks like the curse is acting up again... Ah- *groan* It’s hot…

*SFX: Hugs*

Urie: *panting* It’s not stopping... even if I hug you... *wry chuckle* I wonder if... the curse managed... to bury itself deeper in me... *chuckles again* It feels like I’ve been tossed into a desert... *shudder* Hot... And painful... Like, even as I reach out for water, there’s no one to take my hand…

Urie: It’s just like… when I was young… alone in that room... *panting*

*SFX: Rustle*

Urie: *chuckle* The truth is I had... my s-suspicions right from the beginning... *panting* The “most difficult thing... for the curse recipient to obtain”... for me, there’s no question... it’s love... But even with you pouring your love into me… it hasn’t gone away... *sigh* Of course it wouldn’t... *shaky breath* the thing I will never obtain... is love from my family…

*SFX: Rustle*

Urie: The reason the curse seemed to recede before was... *pant* I was merely playing at being family with you... Staying over and sleeping at the same house... Going shopping together... I experienced things I never had before... *shakily* with you playing along with me…

Urie: *laughs softly* No matter how I struggle those parents and siblings of mine will never value me. *sigh* There’s no way… to escape from the curse…

Urie: ...I might be done for... I... have nothing to give me love...

*SFX: Protesting rustle*

Urie: Butterfly...

*SFX: Hugs*

Urie: *sighs... then gives a pained noise* Please don’t cry. I can feel your love so strong it hurts. *soft laugh* Here you’re trying so hard for me and… I’m sorry... I couldn’t do it... *groan* It’s like my whole body is withering away... *pant* I can tell I’m going...

*SFX: Rustle!*

Urie: You’ll... give me water? ...Me? As I’m dry as a desert? You really- *soft gasp* intend to save me?

*SFX: Nod!*

Urie: ...I’m sure no matter how much love you pour into me... I’ll dry up soon... The second you look away... I’ll shrivel away. *pant* Even knowing that... will you love me the rest of our lives?

*SFX: Nod!*

Urie: *laughs softly* You’re so... You’re too kind. *shaky breath* You make me want to depend on you... when you answer without hesitation like that…

*SFX: Hugs*

Urie: Butterfly… Will you listen to my wish? I was thinking one day I’d ask... I want your future... But I’ve never been able to say so... I felt like I didn’t have the right. But. *takes a breath* Let me say it –

Urie: I want you to be there when I wake up in the morning. I want us to have lunch, happy together. At night, I want us to have even more spectacular dreams. And, if I fall asleep, I want you to be next to me the whole time. I want... you to become my family. Will you... be my bride?

*SFX: Nod*

Urie: Ahh... Thank you... *kiss* I never felt, like I’d be able to make a warm home... I didn’t know if I’d be able to make you happy. But- *breath* I promise... I’ll make you happy.

*SFX: Rustle*

Urie: Yeah... You’re the only one... who can make me happy. Let’s be... happy together. *kiss*

*SFX: Magic shimmer*

Urie: This is?

*SFX: Shing!!*

Urie: *gasp*

*SFX: Magic fades*

Urie: *breath* ...The curse was... broken?

*SFX: Rustle*

Urie: The pain in my head is gone. The fever too. My body, that was feeling like it was withering away, is completely fine. ...Does that mean I managed to to get it? The thing most difficult for the curse recipient to obtain...?

Urie: I can’t believe how happy I feel... Love doesn’t have a form, and I was uncertain a thing that couldn’t be touched really existed, but I feel it. Your love.

*SFX: Hugs*

Urie: *chuckle* Thank you... for being the one to always cuddle with me, to hold my hand, to love me.

[Track 6 – The Days We Spend Together]

*SFX: Urie warps in*

Urie: Ah! Sorry for making you wait.

*SFX: He walks over*

Urie: I was finally released from Rem’s lecturing. “On top of opening mail without permission, and getting cursed without permission, I got cured without permission”, well, it only makes sense he’d be angry.

*SFX: Rustle*

Urie: *pouting* Don’t laugh. He’s horrible to deal with when he’s angry. Well... I will honestly admit that this time it was my fault so I listened seriously. I made you worry a bunch too, didn’t I? Are you mad?

*SFX: Rustle*

Urie: Huh? *nervous* You really are mad? ...Of course, you are. I got you involved and made you worry...

*SFX: Rustle*

Urie: Eh? Why are you laughing? Were you teasing me?

*SFX: Rustle*

Urie: Geeze... Do me a favor and do be cute like that- *hugs*

*SFX: Rustle!?!!*

Urie: *smug* Or I won’t be able to help myself and who knows what I might do.

*SFX: Rustle!?*

Urie: You can’t run away anymore. If you’re trapped in my arms, you’re stuck for whatever I might do to you. *chuckles, then whispers in your ear* What do... you want me to do?

*SFX: Rustle*

Urie: Tell me. I’ll do whatever you want as thanks for breaking the curse. I’ll let you rest your head on my lap, or I can hug you, or I can even kiss you as much as you want... I want to use all the love you gave me to do something for you. After all, you’re my sweet bride.

*SFX: Rustle*

Urie: Hm? *laughs* Now you’ve said it. Okay... I’ll hug you.

*SFX: Hugs*

Urie: And after that? What would you like?

*SFX: Rustle*

Urie: *laugh* Ah, you’re just so cute! You’re so red... I can give you a kiss, no problem. As many as you want. *kiss* Just the cheek isn’t enough, so, your nose too. *kiss* Do you have anywhere else you’d like me to kiss? Come on. Say it clearly.

*SFX: Rustle*

Urie: *laugh* That embarrassed reaction of yours hasn’t changed... Well, it’s funner for me this way anyway so it’s good. *leans in* Hey, since you’ve become my bride it’d be okay for us to live under one roof together, wouldn’t it?

*SFX: Rustle*

Urie: I said it, didn’t I? “I want to be by you from the moment I wake up in the morning until I go to sleep at night.” And, what’s more, I want to feel that that warm feeling I had before, having someone in my room with me. The contentment from having someone there when I open my eyes.

*SFX: He leans in close*

Urie: I want to try growing this happiness with you.

*SFX: Rustle*

Urie: *happy breath* Thank you.

*SFX: He straightens*

Urie: Let me ask you again. Stay by me forever. I won’t let you go for the rest of our lives. I love you. *kiss and a giggle* You’re beet red.

*SFX: He pulls back*

Urie: Now then. I’ve got your permission to marry you. We’ll need to chose the day you’ll move as soon as possibly. Ahhh... But the biggest problem will be-

*SFX: Door slams open*

Urie: Geh. ...Your brother. As I’m said before, his sense of smell is really good.

*SFX: Rustle*

Urie: Um? “What should we do?” Over course, I think we should-

*SFX: He grabs your hand*

Urie: Run for it!

*SFX: And off you go*

Urie: No question about it, the first barrier to making our happy home is that brother of yours.

*SFX: He stops running for a second*

Urie: But. I get the feeling we’ll make it through somehow. After all, now I have the confidence I can make you happier than anyone else, including your brother. *chuckle* Let’s be happy together, my sweet bride.