#restless restless restless. raw raw raw. lost lost lost. and unsure where to turn.

[ofyorkshire]

i have no idea how to get there organically, and i've started and deleted various open starters trying to get to that point bc it just felt incorrect having it happen out of the blue, but. i really think it would be nice to one day have bj be told, or realize, that he isn't broken or made wrong.

even post-canon when he's free and living happier and healthier, finding his footing, he lives thinking he's a broken thing. because he has a complicated sense of gender identity and sexuality, and complicated emotions and responses to intimacy, and, oh, the almost brainwashed into him idea that his hurt is punishment, it's penance, it's "deserved". that some people, anyone, "deserves" this or "deserves" that, good and bad.

idk. it would hurt and i don't think he would believe them after 1 example, i think he'd actually be kind of resistant to it in the flighty way he can be, but it would be nice for someone to tell him he's not broken or unlovable. lost? yeah. more than i think he wants to see, even after he's free, but not broken as in wrong.

[aceghosts]

Uquiz Roundup

Alright, I've been tagged in several Uquizzes lately, and I'm just going to do them in one post. Here are the links to said Uquizzes:

What kind of suffering are you?

Tell me of your heart and I'll give you a (tragic) love archetype and some advice

what are you doing here?

I've been tagged by @inafieldofdaisies, @voidika, @carlosoliveiraa, @nightbloodbix, @marivenah, @theelderhazelnut, and possibly others.

Since most people have done these, I'll send out a few tags to @bbrocklesnar, @alexxmason, @amalkavian, @captmactavish, @captastra, @clicheantagonist, @fourlittleseedlings, @socially-awkward-skeleton, and @mishwanders. (In the future, if you want to be tagged, feel free to like this post.)

Rooney Shepard

Lonliness

Your heart feels full of the connection you feel you lack. No matter how many people are around you, strangers or not….someone is missing. You don't know who, what, or if you'll ever find them. You're unsure if there's a person out there who'll really satisfy your life, so really what's the point of continuing to look?

(They definitely feel lonely at times, due to expectations placed upon them by themself and others. But I do think Rooney wishes occasionally there was someone who could understand what they're going through.)

04. SUB ROSA

Love is a game of here and there to you. Whether catching glimpse of another's neckline or grazing a knuckle between knocking shoulders of passing by. You have learned to adore in secrecy, the rawness of an outright confession to be spoken a foreign terror. There is ease in pursuing the unavailable, to remain within the space of possibility and nestle the fuzzy words another could say to make or break your day. Instability spun itself into mysterium and while the certainty of love in aging isn't to be forced upon anyone, there is a miniscule part of you testing the limits of ambiguity. Hold down the feeling and settle in the leather seat of a car, kiss the corner of a mouth and say how you feel. Your affection in its vulnerability is to be seen, lift the veil and do not fret when an honest word turns into all you have secretly yearned for. You are meant to be noticed and openly loved.

(So true! It's hard for Rooney to be honest about their romantic feelings.)

drowning (for the sake of it)

You are restless ambition and caffeinated nights. You are dancing-in-the-rain and record-player-breaking-down and god-I-knew-this-would-happen. The world made you the cynic and you cursed the world. You stomped in the mud and now you shout at the sky, but fear it not because you are so much stronger. You must persevere, and survive this night. The next and the next. By and by. You are so much stronger than you think you are. You have a purpose to find within yourself, and it doesn't come from the work you're doing now.

(This feels particularly true for their Cyberpunk universe, especially at the beginning of CP2077 where they feel very jaded.)

Hunter Delaney

Yearning

The pain in your chest bubbles knowing that what you want may never be yours. You're lost in a fantasy world, or consumed by what you wish you were or had as opposed to what you do. It's hard to appreciate what's around you when you're appreciating the hope of what could be instead.

(Spot on. After dying, Hunter yearns for their old life. Eventually, they learn to appreciate the new one.)

07. FATHER'S SON

Breathe down your own neck, it's the sound of smashing fist against furniture in another room again. The wringing hem of cloth and pattern of an escalating heart. Love is tumultous to you. There is grief and disguised forgiveness to damp down the yearning. A permanent fear of tender flesh spilling out, still- you must refrain of growing attached to the fear you had installed into you. Let go of the notion that love is still to be cherished with a hole in the head. Scrub crimson ancestry off wooden floors and try again tomorrow when your hands don't shake cold from the blood loss. Love isn't a fist to escape. Fill the hole in your head with cotton and know you are to be adored. You are deserving of an embrace without flinching.

(Eh, not so sold on this one for Hunter.)

atoning (for someone else)

You are sweet, sweet sorrow. Parting ways at an intersection, an angel's footsteps walking side by side with your own, the shadows of the past looming, looming. You are apologetic-moon-light and loiter-at-the-back-of-the-classroom and stilted-silence and rich-with-life. You are stepping-on-eggshells your way through life, be less careful. Be less careful. You make mistakes, you made mistakes, and you will make mistakes, but imagine growing from them without the wish to go back. Stop restricting yourself. Take a breath of the clean air. Stop breathing in your own secondhand smoke.

(I think this is kind of true. Before dying, Hunter was holding back a lot of themself. Although, now they're more murder-y. So, uh, Good for Them?)

Riley Callahan

The Giver

Your energy depletes as you hand it out to anyone passing by your basket. People walk by and take, but no one ever leaves. You're constantly running on low when people keep asking you to give. You'd give your soul away for free, and then what left do you have of yourself if you can't say no?

(This tracks.)

03. CUPID'S BROTHER

You have been love adjacent all your life. The faint spill of another story that softly grazed your shoulders when stood too close. Whether by design or not, you have yet to build a clear image of what love means to you. The interlocked weaving of a picture locket bound to strand of hair when hugged to tight, the sunpatch that meets your soles in glaring sun dried fields when running with a friend. You are not far from love, but moving between line of collision and avoidance at all times. A faint glimmer on sea lake surface of what could be. There is time to find what you want, find whether it's enough as is. Love is in you, breathing in another day. Continue as you are, realizing the love that is slowly blossoming in your life as it sharpens and clears in brushstrokes.

(It takes Riley a while to realize they are in love. So yeah, this feels pretty on brand.)

shining (for the world)

You are sunshine. You are too bright for this world and you know too much for your experiences. You are not naive, but you are not a cynic. You are not an optimist, but you don't see the point in pessimism. You are bright bells of energy and great pealing laughter and coffee-shop-dates and meet-in-person-lunches and you draw people to you like a magnet with the way you shine. You are bright and drained, drained, drained. You are restless nights, heavy days, broken moons. You deserve a rest. You deserve to release. You cannot carry the weight of the world alone. Share the tasks, be the light, and create the connections.

(Yeah, this absolutely nails Riley.)

Emerson Wright

Despair

The tunnel never had a light. You wish for nothing because you know you'll receive nothing, and your hopes died out long ago. The only thing that keeps you going is the thrill of emptiness you feel when things don't turn out your way. It's bitter. It's proof. Proof that you don't feel this way for nothing.

(Ouch, but yeah, this tracks for Emerson.)

06. CANíBALES; DEVOURER

Love's a knife to skin to you, a vein to woven muscle, blood puddle before you. You listened to all the promises of a stranger's relief and feel the drain of a shower head running it all down again. You committed another murder; kissed and bruised skin with a clench to a quivering wrist and went home in the defeaning quiet of a taxi. There's mold covered rage within you. If to take a heart home with you, you'd bite your way through muscle and ribcage first. Pleasure comes, but there will be no devouring past it. There is fear in settling down and being seen. There is a glass screen between these bodies and you. Relax your tight jaw and feel the real canine fear beneath that scabbed up cavity. The sacrifice of opening up is needed if to be loved as you deeply wish inside. Desire doesn't discriminate between hands or spoken word. Why should you?

(Again, on brand for Emerson. They would rather eat glass than open up.)

drowning (for the sake of it)

You are restless ambition and caffeinated nights. You are dancing-in-the-rain and record-player-breaking-down and god-I-knew-this-would-happen. The world made you the cynic and you cursed the world. You stomped in the mud and now you shout at the sky, but fear it not because you are so much stronger. You must persevere, and survive this night. The next and the next. By and by. You are so much stronger than you think you are. You have a purpose to find within yourself, and it doesn't come from the work you're doing now.

(Interesting that they got the same result as Rooney for this quiz. Emerson is pretty cynical, and I feel like this fits them pretty well.

[oh-for-fic-sake]

The Detectives Den

Masterlist

Summary: walter take you to a cabin for what you thought was a romantic weekend, but he has an ulterior motive afterall mateing season is just arou d the corner~

Warnings: Adult Situations +18, Smut, rough sex, primal sex, male dom, werebear Walter, Mating, Breeding, Turning, Noncon Bite?, claiming bites, soulmates, au shifter

A/n: so here it is! The were bear i started months ago and abandoned but picked up again today because of this post. Typos ahoy!

Taglist: in reblogs

You cried into the matress clawing desperately unsure if it was an attemt to help the huge male above you, or tryingmto escape him. For some reason since being here at the cabin he seemed different? Instead of being your huge soft teddy bwar he was wild, dark and growly both at peace and on edge. It was like he was now this big bad bear of a man, growling and strong all macho 'chop wood and start fire'

You grunted as he rutted harder almost fucking your hips pff the bed sending your feet scrabbling on the wooden floor, your socks sliding on the smooth wood.

"oh god~ sl-slow down! WalteAGH~" you cried out pressing up onto your elbows and stamping a foot on the floor grunting. Walter snarled into your back almost viciously before pressing an open mouthed kiss to your back lappjng the salty skin. He growled feeling his inner beast beat on his own restraint. The beed to uck and bit was almost overpowering. He wanted you dripping, ozzing his cum as he stained your perfect frailty with his venomous bite and change you for the better. He needed it like he'd never needed anything in his life. It was his own fault he was so needy and eager... restless. Hed had you at his side for six months far to lost in his bliss of having his mate he'd all but forgot about the mating season untill he was weeks away.

He snarled grolwing deeper and deeper his inner bears bellows trying to break through damanding you put your head down and take your mating properly. Face down ass up and minimal complaints! The deep sounds echoed through as the harsh breaths and grunts fanned over the sensitive skin of your shoulder blades.

"W-walt! Fuck please- hurry!" You whimpered over your shoulder as the large hands of your lover held you still bent over the bed pinning your hips into the matress and he thundered away, burrying himself to the hilt again and again still trying to feed you every thing he had and more. You cried out as he arched, tipping his hips striking your clit with his heavy sack moaning out his pleasure, the small pats making his cock twitch flexing agaisnt your tight channel as he speared you pryingnyou opene like never before.

These were no calculated strokes, he was fucking you with little care to how you withered and cried at his onslaught. Maybe thats why he brought you out here? You were deep in the woods and no one could hear you scream out your pleasure.

He growled low in his throat again biting back at his beast who was watching as you keened and scrabbled bent over on the bed your bare back glistening, tiny beads of sweat rolling down your sides. The scent of your arousal was enough to make him rabid, he needed this! Needed the release. His instincts were screaming savagely just below His mate! His female! His entierly!

And you were. He'd known the second he'd seen you in the cells. He thougt you were coming to bail out your foster dad who'd been caught at the center of a party filming a snuff film. A dark bdsm practice where the sub was unknowinly 'snuffed out' usually sufficated or break their neck from trying to escape. Either way it was a disgusting practice that was hard to pin blame, who was the one to arrest? The person tying the bonds? The dom? The spectators?

As it turned out you were there to cuss him out and hand in evidence phone records, emails, previous incidences. It turned out your father had been arranging these snuff films as a quiet hitman business silently offing people for a price.

Walter had gone out of his way to protect you, luring you to him with sweet dates and raw sex appeal. It had taken just over two months but he managed to secure a relationship with you. Youd been a couple for six months now, and finally it was time!

Finally he could claim you as his own kind did. Allbeit a tad late with only weeks to get you used to your rightfull place. Beside him. Below him!

He'd managed to et you out here to his den, secluded in the forest for a month long stay, mot that you knew it'd be a month. He'd said it'd be a long week end, you wasnt the outdoorsy type... well not yet.

"Shh, shh mate~ calm down you'll get there, just not yet... don't come yet we need- I need you to hold on for me" walter growled lowly into you making you sob and slump on the bed moaning into the covers. He moved slower trying to remember you were human, no matter how close the season was he couldnt mate you just yet. He had to give you the bite, then claim and help you come around to your new form and mate you... all in three weeks. If he tried to mate you properly now youd never survive him.

"Bu-but Bear!? Please i cant!" You wailed grunting and pressed back on him urgently unaware of just what was about to happen. He almost felt guilty, but it was better this way. Bite and help them transition then breed and continue the line. Or risk looseing you? His one mate! Once you were turned you'd feel the bond and wouldnt leave. It was how things were done, tradition!

Walter shook his head ridding the doubts that collected in his mind before chuckling... if only you knew how right you were~. Because be was a bear, a grizzly to be exact. It always brough a smirk to his face when you called him that, it'd soon be an inside joke between you. For every shifter there was a soul mate. The wolves had it easy,being pack animals their mates were mostly wolves themselves. But bears? No. Bears were solitary and their mates tended to be human.

For everything that happened in his life, he never imagined getting such a sweet gentle mate! You were a prize, his prize. Gifted to him by the old gods. You'd love and raise his cubs to be strong, fierce boy's and dainty smart females. His mind drifted, he couldnt wait to fill you, to plant his seed inside your womb and watch you create his cubs. But first he had claim you.

His eyes glazed as you beat at the bed arching your back to him trying desperately to pull him deeper clenching your pussy tight trying to force him to his own end where you could join him. You walls trembled as the suckled on him desperate to have walter quake at the knees and rut you into a tantelizing climax.

Walter snarled eyes now flickering with the burnt red brown that his beast held, the copper tinge glowing with a primal rage and need to latch onto his female and hold her still, repriand his sow for trying to take control and steal his seed before he was read to gift it to her!. Thoughts of tearing the skin and biting you twisted around his mind like a raging storm, his fangs ached. The venomous gift that would seal your fate to his forever thrumming in his jaws eagerly waiting. He was ready. He.was .ready! Years of woundering, then months of play the human game had made him impatient. He needed it, needed to feel the bond tie you together!

"Fine! You asked for it!" He snarled, an inhuman tremorto his voice made you pause, just as you tried to turn and question him you screamed out in panic. Walter bit you. Hard!

You thrashed squealing and panicking, kicking your splayed legs as your neck siezed, cramping. You muscle constricting around what felt like two deep thorns searing into you. Then a deep burn built. You cried in panic, fat tears rolling down your face mind bearly grasping what was going on around you. The shunts of your lovers hips became heavier and more pronounced, every breathnow a severe growl ratteling your bones. His cocks invasion slicing through the pain and terror as he moved faster and harder into you hitting your clit.

You wept tears streaming down your face as he fucked you rougher growling into your neck. Then despite the pain and fear the knot in your tummy snapped and you came around him. The trembling and mind numbing orgasm tore through you making you massage his still thrusting cock. You sobbed collapsing, giving up the fight as your sensitive body ached.

As if rewarding you for finally giving in Walter released your neck leaving it wet. You shuddered knowing that there would be blood but there wasnt much you could do about it. You keenesoftly as he roared over you victoriously painting your insides with his essence, lightly fucking into you. Instinct driving him to scent your cunt as deep as he could for your change, so youd smell of him warding off all other males in the area. This female was taken.

"Fuck. Fuck that was- better then the stories" he hummed over you smileing to himself head hanging down feeling at peace now his mate was claimed and would change. You'd be like him, strong fierce and safe. Able to take care of yourself and protect yourself and his young... fend off any vile human, fend off anyone but him~ your bear, your male, your mate!

"W-walter? My neck? What did you do?! Whh did you!- it feels funny it tingling" you panicked as walter pulled away from you befor slowly crawling onto the bed pullingnyou gently onto the soft bedding tugging you up to rest on your back.

"Its fine, perfect even- its the venom getting to work love" he explained cooing at you wiping you down patting the wohndmon your neck. In his spare of the moment bite he'd been rougher then he could have been, and that was part of the reason his venom was making you go limp already.

"V-VENOM! WHAT VENOM?" You bellowed now bawling panting, hyperventilating eyes wide and tears rolling down your face. His heart clenched as your hand waved in the air trying to hold him but you couldnt feel it, only a heavy numb limb that was useless.

"No, no its not bad- not bad my we t little mate... your turning, you'll turn and be like me" walter said hushingnou craning over you taking your waving hand an pressing kisses to the palm.

"Turn?! What are you- you bite me! We need help! Im gojng numb! Cold walter im bleeding out! Am i bleeding!?" Yu yipped still not understanding what was goingnon? He bit you... HE BIT YOU!? you tried pryingnyour hand free wanting to feel the damage on your neck. The room was spinning, you were growing cold you felt li,e you were dying!

"No shh your not bleeding, your turning... youve taken the bite soo well, so well love... you'll be fine... you'll sleep and then wake up stronger then ever" walter hummed fawning over you, giving you small gentle stroke's he knew he couldnt sit you down and explain, you were falling fast. He just had to reassure you untill you drifted off into the change.

"Wha?"

"Shh im here im here mate... your gonig to be a bear just like me" he whispered softly grinning down at you unable to stop. He was too damn proud, he found you and bit you! Youd be with him always!

"Bear?" You muttere trying to hold him closer as the room began shimmering, lights and blaack dots laceingnyour vision as the heated chill rushed through you drowning your body in a strange soothing yet frightening feeling.

"Yes... I'm a shifter, I brought you here to- to my den, the den of my forefathers, ive given you the bite just as my father did to our mother inthis very cabin!" He rushed trying to explain best as he could not liking the scent of terror on you. He never wanted to scare you, but fear was inevitable. Still if he could ease your worries before you succumbed he would.

"What- walter im- its fuzzy!" You cried desperately tryingnto cling to the little consciousness you had. But it was getting harder as the seconds ticked by.

"Hush im here, it's the change my love... youll be like me... a bear shifter- and just before mating season too...You'll change and then we will mate over and over untill your carrying my cubs~" walter said as a lump swelled in his throat. His father had said this was the worst bit. The fear and panic as your new found mate fell to the transformation. But as the guilt and anxiety sent in so did the excitement of your furture. Your mateing, your family-cubs and a den of your own! It was enougn to make the grown boar cry like a young cub!

"W-walt your scaring me~" you slurred as the room began spinning, a hot sensation coursing through your veins but your skin was cool and prickling.

"Shh its okay love, you need to sleep, just rest when you wake things will be... they will be perfect, sleep, give in don't fight, you dont want to be awake for this part" he said movi g to lay your hand back down at your side. Then sat up besode you looking around for another pillow tomprop under your head.

"W-walter! No, dont leave-" you cried bawling frightened as your eyelids got heavy, he sounded as if he was drifting further from you. Bringing another wave of panic, especiallywhen he placed your hand down.

"I'm not, i wont leave you, not for a second my beautiful female" he said leaning over you holding your chin peppering kisses over your face. Making sure you felt he was still there even as you drifted into the comatose state that would protect you from the pain of your initial transformation. You cries slowly doed off as you closed your eyes unable to fight anymore and let the black take you.

Walter stayed put watching you with baited breath. Now it was his job to gaurd you. Protect and care for you as the grueling first shift took holdand he spied what bear you'd be. The venom in all shifters was the same, each becmea different animal in accordance to their individual traits. He was a grizzly one of the largest bear, his cousin geralt was a polar bear and sy a kodiak. He knew youd be a bear because you were mates, and thats just how it worked.

He sat back cringing as you grunted moaning as things began to shift, your body would rid itself of toxins and ailments first. Flush your system before the real process began. He stood from the bed making his way to the bathroom to fetch the many damp towels he'd need to clean you up. It had been him to insight the change and now it was his duty to care for you through this difficult transition. And it would be is absolute pleasure, because this was the all important duty for him as a male his kind, this would tighten his bond with your beast. He would oversee everything and help you, even help break bones to help you shift faster. Anything to get you through a full shift cycle, to beast and back so you could awaken that little bit faster and begin your life as a true pairing. Despite th grusome nature of the event, walter couldnt be more pleased because thos was the true beginning of his life with you, and he wouldnt change a damn thing.

[onceupona-chaos]

The Moon Goddess

Azriel helps Elain to find her place in the Night Court. One-shot.

NOTE: I suck at doing summaries, but I have fun writing this one-shot here. I used a beautiful legend from my country to write this and I hope you enjoy!!! And as usual, forgive me for any mistakes, English is not my first language. Be kind! 💙

"How far is this place?"

They have been walking for what felt like hours now, the only light illuminating the tricky path that snaked between huge trees came from the full moon above them.

Even with her Fae vision, Elain couldn't see five feet ahead and there was absolutely no indication of where they were going. Azriel didn't offer details either.

Elain had tried her best that night to appear her usual self in the family monthly dinner at the lake house.

She'd tried to push those words aside, tried to forget them. That was all she could do: try, try, try.

But they kept coming back as if someone out there were whispering them in her ear, branding them into her brain.

She'd been working on Arya's garden, when the elderly fairy came to talk. Elain didn't mind the company at all, but she couldn't help the blow when Arya had said as a matter of fact that Elain wasn't the type who usually fitted in the Night Court.

Elain didn't know what exactly those words were supposed to mean or why she kept thinking about them, but it wasn't the first time someone told her that. Yes, she had family, friends and yet… would that be the reason she felt so empty sometimes? So lost in her own head?

She had been able to act normal at dinner despite those miserable thoughts swirling in her head as if they were mist. Or so she thought.

A glance at the other side of the table had revealed worried hazel eyes filled with sorrow glued on her. Elain had looked away quickly, feeling her cheeks heat.

After dinner, Elain was checking on dessert, when Azriel had entered the kitchen. It didn't take long for her to confess what was in her heart.

Things were still unsure and volatile between them, as if they were flame a second away to turn into a fire. Elain tried not to think about what would take to set them alight.

She knew why he kept his distance, why he was staying up at the House of Wind with Nesta and Cassian.

But she missed him. Their conversations until the latest hours in front of the fireplace, the sunny afternoons in comfortable silence, when she'd work on the garden whilst he sat close in one of the tables, going through some paperwork. Pure understanding would shone between them in those moments. Gods, she missed him. His calm, quiet presence always made her worries fade away as if they were nothing but a distant wind.

Azriel had listened to every word, his eyes opened, his expression soft. When she had finished, he merely said to meet him in the garden after the house went to sleep - and with that, he strode out back to the dinner room.

After all the lights has been out, Elain went to find him, subtle and unnoticed. Azriel was already wating for her in the garden.

He smiled at her before take her hand - and they were gone into shadow.

More than an hour after he had winnowed them in the middle of it seemed like a forest and began waking instead of flying, Elain was tempted to throw something at his head. Most likely her shoe.

It only got worse when he chuckled at her question. "Almost there."

"Where is there?"

At that, he turned to look at her, amusement sparkling in his eyes, shadows dancing over his shoulders. But he repeated, "Almost there."

Elain had a perfect plan in her head on how she would throw him in the Sidra when he stopped so abruptly that she almost bumped against his back. Azriel must have noticed if his smirk was any indication.

But he merely stepped aside, allowing her to see what she hadn't noticed before.

There, in the very heart of the forest, there was a serene lake, its water so clear and peaceful that Elain could see the bottom.

Floating on the water were hundreds of white flower buds. The full moon cascaded a silver glow, making them shine so bright as the stars.

A perfect mirror of the night sky above.

Azriel took a place by the shore and sat, his cobalt Shiphons gleaming on top of his hands.

For some reason, that place irradiated peace. Elain's heart was suddenly so light, her breathing so easy that she closed her eyes, letting that sereny in.

A moment later she sat beside him, his wings stretching behind her. He looked so… relax. Peaceful. Even his shadows were gone as if the calm magic of the lake had put them to sleep.

"Those are water flowers. There's a legend that explains their origin." It took a moment for Elain to process his words, too busy staring at him. She blushed a little, but couldn't take her eyes off of him. There, sitting at the shore of the lake by her side, with nothing but the moonlight allowing them to see each other, those hazel eyes shone, the hues of green as bright as the rarest emerald.

Elain only realized she didn't answer when he spoke again, his eyes never leaving hers. "There was this young female... Naia. She was known for her beauty and attracted the attention of males and females whatever she went, and after one look at her direction, some of them promised to make her the richest Fae alive. Others went to the deepest of Prythian to fight our most evil creatures and bring her their heads as proof of their worth.

"But she ignored them all.

"You see… Naia decided to devote all her love to the Moon. Back then, there were these legends - stories - where the Moon was the warrior-goddess Jaci, the Night Guardian."

As the words left his mouth, Elain felt a chill run down her spine as if somewhere Jaci's eyes were watching over them.

"Jaci had a… liking on young females and sometimes, when one of them captured her attention, she would turn them into a star. So they would dance for all eternity with the goddess in the skies.

"Naia had been in love with the Moon for all her life and dreamed of the day she would be chosen. Night after night, she waited for the Moon. When it appeared, she spent the whole night contemplating... and whispering her stories to the skies. She wanted the goddess to fall in love with who she was, and not for her beauty alone."

The way Azriel looked at her now, eyes soft… as if he could see her soul… Elain had to remind herself how to breathe.

He took a deep breath before went on, "But Naia was getting weaker. You see, she didn't want to eat or drink or sleep. All she wanted was to wait for Jaci's call.

"One night she was waiting for the Moon to emerge, sitting by a lake, when she noticed it appeared much closer. She thought it was finally her call, so Naia didn't think twice before throwing herself into Jaci's arms.

"But it wasn't Jaci. It was only the reflection of the Moon in the water. So Naia who was already weak due to her restless wait ended up drowning in the river."

He ran a hand through his hair. "It wasn't the goddess call... but Jaci had noticed the female. Naia didn't know, but Jaci could only turn a female into a star once every thirty-three years."

Elain didn't know why, but her eyes burned. Azriel only reached to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Jaci had heard every whisper, every word from Naia. She had fallen in love with her, but the goddess' hands were tied. And since Jaci hadn't called for Naia, she couldn't turn her into a star in the skies.

"Unable to let Naia die in vain, to never have a dance with the female she loved… Jaci turned Naia into the most beautiful flower and shaped it as a star - a water flower. That way during the night, Naia could finally dance with the Moon in the waters when it was reflected - even if it was only once a month."

He smiled faintly. "That's how the legends say the goddess of the Moon created the Water Stars, whose full splendor can only be seen… " He trailed off as his hand cupped Elain's face, a scarred thumb brushing away her tears. Then, his hand dropped to her chin and he gently turned her head to the lake.

"... at night."

Elain sucked in a breath in pure awe. It was like watching time pass in full speed, as if spring had come in a blink of an eye. When the reflection of the Moon was perfectly upon the lake's center, Time itself couldn't reach them anymore: the delicate white flower buds floating on the water were still at first. Suddenly they all began to tremble as if they had been awoken. And then, they bursted open, revealing glowing petals that seemed to be made of the purest diamond under the moonlight, hundreds of star-shaped flowers covering the lake as they bloomed.

And one by one, they bloomed. One by one, they glowed.

Azriel kept silent as Elain admire the scene before her eyes. She had never seen anything more beautiful, had never felt her heart so full of wonder.

Tears began to roll down her cheeks once again, each one of them a drop of pure extasy and peace. She didn't know for how long they watched the flowers, breathing their sweet scent, but Azriel spoke first, "I'm not familiar with the different types of flowers, but... these are the most beautiful in Prythian." Azriel's voice was a whisper in the night. "And yet, their lovely, true beauty is in the inside. And you can only see it at night. Here."

Elain looked away from the flowers - to find Azriel's eyes already on her, shining brighter than the moon above them now. Her heart jumped in her chest at the raw intensity there.

"Only you can choose where you belong, Elain. Only you."

Right there, she knew. It wasn't just a legend or a story. It was a gift - for her and only her. She blinked away the tears and whispered, "Thank you, Azriel".

The smile that bloomed on his face was even lovelier than the flowers' spectacle she'd just seen.

They sit there for a while, watching each other, with only a calm understanding between them. It was always like that with him.

After seconds or minutes or hours, Elain reached to untied the laces on her shoes.

"What -" Azriel cleared his throat, his brows furrowing. "What are you doing?"

Elain stood barefoot, the cold grass tickled against her skin. She smiled down at him, "Dancing with a goddess." She extended a hand. "Come with me?"

Azriel studied her for a heartbeat, gaping a little at her as if he didn't quite believe what she was asking. Then, he threw back his head and laughed. Not in a sarcastic, mocking way. But out of pure joy like a child seeing the first snowflakes falling from the sky.

Azriel stood, took off his boots and, a second later, his shirt, his tattooed golden-brown skin entirely visible under the moonlight. Elain's heart raced and her cheeks and chest burned a bit.

But even with the hard, sculpted muscles, the powerful wings peeking over his shoulders… It was because of his eyes Elain could hardly breathe. They blazed like stars, fiercely and lovely, as he took her still extending hand.

Azriel remained close to her, so close Elain didn't even acknowledge the cold water soaking her dress, making the fabric hanging tight to her body. Not with the heat of his body next to hers.

They swimmed and swimmed, Elain observing the the water flowers. And Azriel watching her. She could have swear his eyes were darker than before.

Until she couldn't take it anymore. His eyes on her, her skin cold from the water, but on fire from his gaze. She looked at him. "Come closer." Her voice was sure, steady.

Azriel went still, but a heartbeat later he was facing her, close enough to share breath, his skin gleaming with drops of water running down his broad chest.

Without knowing what to do, Elain began tracing his tattoos, feeling him shiver under her fingerprints.

One of his hands found her arm, the other went to stroke her neck, sending a lightning of heat through her body.

She didn't say a word. Neither did he. They were beyond any words of any language.

So they just touched each other, his hands on her, her hands on him, until their mouths collided and light exploded behind her eyelids.

That night, they danced between and under the stars, with only their moans and whispers as music.

[belladxne]

i will see you where the shadow ends | chapter 8

[see notes for ao3 and ff links]

part of the put your faith in the light that you cannot see series AU: Breath of the Wild pairing: KiriBaku word count: 6,638

chapter 8: i think you should know this uncertainty has got me restless

Eijiro’s not really sure what he was expecting when he finally saw Aizawa. Inko had called him a young man—probably because, by comparison to her, he was—but she had also said he’d been one of Katsuki’s advisors one hundred years before. The end result was that Eijiro had had a completely incongruent mental image of him, something somewhere between, like, some mysterious Sheikah warrior in his late twenties, and a wizened, decrepit old sage with endless patience and kind eyes.

The Aizawa he gets is… not either of those things. Like, not even close.

Even in age, he’s neither young like Inko had said, nor as old as he logically should be if he was around a century before. If Eijiro had to guess, he’d put Aizawa somewhere in his sixties; the man seems old but not tremendously so, with a few spare wrinkles pressed into the lines of his face here and there, and hair gone white with age—only the leftover strands of black littered throughout indicating that his hair wasn’t always traditional Sheikah white.

But it comes down to a lot more than just his age. Eijiro’s kind of surprised that the esteemed leader of the Sheikah has such bloodshot eyes and disheveled… uh, well, everything. The faint, soft smile just barely tugging at the corner of the man’s lips is the only clue at all that the man’s expression is ever anything but unimpressed exhaustion, which just—isn’t what Eijiro would expect.

As his feet carry him further into the room, the man’s eyes drowsily close again and he shifts to scratch the area just below his left eye with his pinky, letting out a slow exhale.

“Judging from your silence, I’m going to assume you don’t remember me,” he says before his eyes sleepily blink back open—seriously, Eijiro has to wonder if this man has slept a day in his life—and Eijiro falters in his tracks.

“Um… no, sorry,” he shakes his head, biting at his lower lip in something like guilt. He—he hadn’t really thought before this about the fact that he probably should know Aizawa, if they’d both been around Katsuki one hundred years before. He hadn’t really sat still long enough to think about it, and now, as he studies the man’s face, for the first time thinking to look for anything familiar… he tries, but he finds nothing to recognize at all. “You’re—you are Aizawa, right? You—uh, Midoriya Inko? Said I should speak with you?”

Eijiro almost winces at how jumbled and awkwardly unsure it all comes out—but he hadn’t really sat still long enough to think about what to say, either. Aizawa’s eyebrows raise, eyes widening just slightly in surprise. Eijiro supposes that’s fair, considering— ...well. Considering.

“Well,” he says, his voice somewhat quiet. There’s something heavy masked in his tone, and he nods slowly. “I suppose that explains how you’re here. When we discovered the entrance to the Great Plateau caved in and blocked, we weren’t sure what could be done. It was too near Hyrule Field to justify an effort to clear the boulders—too exposed—and no one could put forward a more rational plan to get up to the plateau to leave you a message.”

Aizawa sighs, deep and honest, admiration and something a little more raw, more world-weary and mournful clear in his voice, “Midoriya Inko was a remarkably compassionate woman. I suppose it doesn’t surprise me that if anyone were to make a way to help you, it would be her.”

It’s… hard for Eijiro to think of her as dead—weird, even with the fact that she’d revealed it herself before he left the plateau. It just doesn’t click in his mind, on so many levels. Maybe it’s that most of the time they spent together was under the pretense she was alive, or maybe it’s that it’s such a surreal notion to think that the one person he’s spent the most time around since awakening wasn’t even living, or maybe it’s something else entirely.

Whatever it is, hearing her spoken of in the past tense is unsettling and—just—feels wrong. Sharp teeth poking at his bottom lip, he nods slightly, unsure how to respond. How to even begin to express just how much help she’d been, just how kind she was. Aizawa, for his part, doesn’t seem particularly interested in waiting for an answer, though, already pulling himself back to the topic at hand.

“While your memory loss is likely going to prove problematic at some point, for now I think we should consider it a blessing in disguise.”

Eijiro’s jaw drops, incredulous. “Wha—how?” His lack of memory grates at him, constantly—an always-present weight on his mind whenever he does or doesn’t recognize anything. It makes him feel so—so—frustrated and lost; the only connection he even has to who he is is Katsuki’s voice calling to him from the castle, and he still doesn’t even remember what the prince looks like.

He’s adrift and clueless, and it’s supposed to be a ‘blessing’?

A weary huff escapes Aizawa, who levels him with his surprisingly intimidating stare. “As our crown prince was particularly fond of telling you: you, Kirishima Eijiro, have always been exceedingly reckless. I have little doubt that if you remembered everything, you would already have made an ill-advised attempt to raid the castle, without stopping long enough to listen to reason.”

Eijiro doesn’t particularly want to tell him that he already can hardly restrain himself from doing exactly that. Pouting slightly, his gaze drops a little as he mutters, “Inko told me I shouldn’t.”

“And she was able to get the advice out before you’d already charged off, a fact we can all be grateful for,” Aizawa responds. Resting both his hands on his knees in front of him, the man releases a sigh. “But more so than that, there’s the nature of your memories to consider. The Calamity one hundred years ago… the events that passed were catastrophic, and for those left who lived it, to even bear the memories of what we’d seen is an unimaginable weight. To bear what you endured, Kirishima… I wouldn’t wish it on you, or anyone.”

Inko had said something to the same effect when she’d finally begun to explain things to him—he’d been unable to hold it against her at the time, but hearing the same sentiment echoed now, he grits his teeth.

He wants to—to yell, kick things, throw a tantrum if there was half a chance it might make a difference. He has to have that right, doesn’t he? To demand why everyone thinks they can decide for him what he can and can’t handle—especially when it comes to knowledge about his own self.

It’s just—it’s not fair. None of this has been fair and he’s starting to get sick of it.

As though the man can sense his line of thoughts, Aizawa leans forward, giving him a pointed look.

“Our first priority will be helping you recover your memories, Kirishima, and I am already dedicated to helping you do so to the full extent that I am able, but for now, I think we should be grateful that any time it takes you to remember will be time you can spend bracing and preparing yourself. The horrors you experienced are not to be taken lightly.”

Lips pressing together, Eijiro’s brow furrows. His hands fidget with the hem of his tunic in irritation, but... the assurance that Aizawa will help placates him some. The frustrating truth of the matter is, he trusts Inko completely and totally, and she had thought the same of how potentially overwhelming the news of what had happened to him could be—and if she trusts Aizawa to help him, he has little choice but to accept the man’s judgment. However begrudging and incomplete that acceptance may be.

“If—then—” Not for the first time—far from the first time—Eijiro has so many questions he can’t sort through that he doesn’t even know where to start, his words halting and stumbling over each other in his attempt.

They’re distracted before Eijiro can decide where to begin, however, by a faint creaking behind them. Eijiro turns, and he and Aizawa both direct their gaze to the entryway, where the little girl stands, fingers curled around the doorway as she peeks in with wide eyes. Eijiro feels the brunt of his stressed dissatisfaction drain, slightly, now that the tension has been broken by the interruption.

“It’s all right, Eri,” Aizawa calls to her gently, inclining his head. “You can come in and listen.”

She hesitates a moment or two, still seeming somewhat skittish, before she slips past the door, moving closer to Eijiro.

“Eri, this is Kirishima Eijiro. You remember the stories I’ve told you about him?”

The little girl—Eri—nods, gaze flicking to Eijiro once more as she edges closer to him. Again, he tries to give her his friendliest and most encouraging smile despite his lingering frustration. He thinks, maybe, she seems at least a little emboldened as she continues to approach him. Little victories.

“Kirishima, this is Eri. We rescued her from the Yiga Clan not long ago, and I’ve been taking care of her since. I trust I don’t have to tell you to be patient with her during your time in Kakariko Village.”

“Of course,” Eijiro responds with a firm nod, before turning again to the little girl, beaming. “It’s nice to meet you, Eri.”

She flushes, nodding quickly and looking down at the floor as she grabs again at the hem of her tunic. The Yiga Clan… it’s another piece of knowledge that does come back to him when he thinks. They were—are—a group that splintered off from the Sheikah. His memory of history more or less seems to be intact, because he can remember, somehow, that the Sheikah clan had been scorned and shunned by a Hyrulean king thousands of years ago. Out of... fear of the advanced Sheikah technology that had since been buried, he thinks?

Most of the Sheikah had decided to give up their technological advancements and hide them under the ground, but some of them had resented the king turning on them. Those were the ones who had formed the Yiga Clan, a merciless group dedicated to bringing back All for One and bringing about the deaths of its enemies.

Which meant Katsuki, and him. He manages to avoid his expression twisting in distaste, unable to picture a clan like that as being the most nurturing of places. From what he can imagine, and what he can gather from Eri’s easily frightened nature, it’s a very good thing they’d gotten her out.

“Returning to the matter at hand,” Aizawa says, directing Eijiro’s attention back to him. “You’ll know by now that one hundred years ago, the kingdom of Hyrule was destroyed. Prince Katsuki’s last action before returning to the castle was to demand you be placed in a sacred slumber in the Shrine of Resurrection, to save you. His intention was to go alone to face All for One, and hold him off until you were healed, but Midoriya Izuku was here when he arrived.”

Eijiro nods, brows tugging together guiltily as his gaze fell to the floorboards. “Inko told me—told me he went in my place, because he was also a chosen of Farore.”

“Eijiro, look at me.” Aizawa’s voice is firm, and Eijiro has a hard time finding reason to refuse such a stern demand. Reluctantly, he presses his lips together and lifts his head, to meet Aizawa’s gaze. Some of the exhaustion there has ebbed, replaced with something a little more fierce.

“Neither of them were under the impression that Midoriya Izuku could take your place, nor did Midoriya believe he was obligated to undertake this burden due to some nonexistent failing on your part. Do you understand?” His tone leaves no room for argument, expression steely and unyielding. “They were under no illusions that even the two of them together could do more than buy time for your return, but that is a choice they both made, on their own—and it is neither your fault, nor something they bear any resentment towards you for. Those are the facts of the matter. Do not allow yourself to think any differently. It’s hardly rational to martyr yourself over this. You’ve already done more than most others could ever have accomplished.”

Gritting his teeth once more, Eijiro’s fists clench at his sides as he tries to bring himself to agree. Inko and Aizawa are both so insistent that he’d gone above and beyond, but he can’t remember that, can’t see any proof of it in the devastation of a kingdom he can’t even recall the heyday of. The only thing he has evidence of is that he’d fallen.

Before he can argue or force himself to accept Inko and Aizawa’s words, there’s a tugging at his waist, surprising him out of his thoughts. He blinks, looking down to see Eri’s hands wrapped tentatively around the Sheikah Slate, eyes wide and a little pleading.

“Oh, uh—” He lifts his head to look to Aizawa, unsure, but the man inclines his head in assent, so Eijiro shrugs and manages a smile directed down Eri’s way, helping her unclip it from his belt. “Just... be careful with it, okay?”

She nods adorably seriously, clearly taking his words as a matter of grave importance, before beginning to poke around the Sheikah Slate with so much confidence it’s like she’s an old pro. Eijiro watches, impressed, and it dawns on him in the moment that he might need to rethink his prior judgments on babies using Sheikah Slates, before the matter at hand tugs at his attention once more.

He doesn’t know if he can bring himself to really believe Aizawa, but it’s all beside the point.

“But...” There’s a furrow in his brow and an uncertain flex to his hands, no longer fisted tightly at his waist, as he tries to get his bearings. “Either way I have to help them. I’m—they’re running out of time, and I’m the only one who can do this, right? So how… if I can’t go to the castle, how am I supposed to help them? Inko said—said you’d know what steps to take?”

Aizawa nods, and Eijiro will concede that even if this haggard, overworked-seeming man is far from what he’d expect from a confidence-inspiring leader, or a trustworthy advisor, there’s something to the man’s demeanor.

He speaks as though his words are indisputable, tone almost bored in the thorough assurance that he’s voicing the only logical conclusion to be drawn from all the facts at hand. It makes it hard to question or deny what he says, and the calm, methodical way he carries himself makes it hard to panic. Eijiro can see why the Sheikah would trust him to lead them, why a royal family would trust him to advise.

“The only reason Prince Katsuki risked his life returning to Kakariko at all was to entrust me with a message for you. I’ve been holding onto the words he intended for you for one hundred years.”

Eijiro finds himself holding his breath as he waits for whatever could be such a grave message, wondering what could possibly be the kind of thing he couldn’t tell Eijiro himself. This—it has to be what Eijiro’s looking for, the thing that’s going to give him some—direction, finally.

He’s had no idea what he’s doing, what he should be doing, since he woke up. It feels like he’s had nothing to cling to but confusion and a sense of hurry up and wait—the urgency of being told that Hyrule needs him and that Katsuki and Izuku have been fighting his battle for a hundred years, and the maddening hindrance of being told he couldn’t even go do anything about it yet. If Katsuki left such an important message, he has to know what Eijiro can do now. He has to.

Aizawa seems to be examining Eijiro as he weighs his next words, but before he can finally give Eijiro the answer he’s been looking for—a small, confused sound interrupts them.

“It’s broken,” chimes a tiny, unfamiliar voice at his side, and Eijiro blinks as he looks down at Eri, realizing this is the first time he's heard her speak. It doesn’t register for another couple seconds that she must be talking about the slate still resting in her hands, as she frowns down at it.

Alarm fills him—how can it be broken? It’s practically the only way he got this far, and it’s Katsuki’s—Katsuki had said he’d need it to get around, he can’t have gotten it broken already.

Resisting the urge to snatch the device out of a literal six-year-old’s hands to confirm, Eijiro looks back to Aizawa for—for—well, he doesn’t know, but maybe some reassurance, or indication that the man just assumes Eri doesn’t know what she’s talking about, or anything. Aizawa isn’t looking at him anymore, though, and his expression is anything but reassuring. Eyes slightly wider and posture suddenly straight, in a manner that would have looked like alarm on any marginally more emotive man, Aizawa’s gaze is fixed on Eri.

“What do you mean, Eri?” he asks, managing the urgency Eijiro can just barely hear in his tone admirably—for Eri’s sake, presumably.

The girl frowns at the slate in her hands, looking first to Eijiro, and then to Aizawa with the most minute furrow between her brows. She has the runes screen open—all of a sudden Eijiro’s doubting the wisdom of letting a little kid handle a device that can make bombs—but before he can process the concern, she answers.

“Aunt Emi’s takes pictures.” She taps what looks like an empty rune slot on the screen, to the right of the cryonis symbol. There’s a spark of confusion in Eijiro’s mind, but then he almost lets out a sigh, because if that’s the only thing wrong with the slate then he still has all the things he needs—but Aizawa leans forward with a grim intensity that makes him rethink that.

“Is the album still intact?”

Eri shakes her little head, but begins operating the slate with effortless familiarity once more, switching to the map screen before confirming, “It’s not there.”

Aizawa hisses something under his breath that Eijiro has the distinct impression is a curse, and Eijiro’s eyebrows lift slightly. Aizawa runs a hand through his hair, expression drawn together in serious thought.

“Is...” Eijiro hazards, voice tentative as he glances between Eri and Aizawa again, “is that something I’ll need?”

It’s another moment before Aizawa returns his gaze to Eijiro, racing thoughts having apparently run their course. “For most parts of your mission, the album will be a frivolity that has no impact.” He pauses, and his tone leads Eijiro to expect the but. “But it serves a far more important purpose in the grand scheme of things.” Swearing under his breath once more, Aizawa leans back wearily.

“I can’t in good faith expect you to undertake any of the grave challenges laid before you if you can’t even remember for yourself the importance of what’s expected of you. If you have any desire to recover your memories, that album was meant to be your greatest asset.”

Eijiro’s eyes widen, a flash of distress sweeping through him. “Wh—but I can get my memories back without it, right?”

Aizawa’s lips press together in a tight line, and again there’s an uncomfortable pause before he sighs. Posture drooping, he drapes his forearms across his lap and all at once Eijiro gets the impression of the past century weighing physically on the Sheikah. “If we’re being rational, we have no guarantee that you can recover your memories at all. The intended purpose of the album was to aid in that process, but there are very real possibilities that you could get your memories back without it, or that even with it you may never remember at all. What’s important is not to panic.”

And it’s rich—it’s so rich of him to say that, as if that is not one of the most panic-worthy things Eijiro has heard since waking up.

“But I—I—” His words fail him, and how could they not? How could he possibly be expected to put into words how badly he wants to remember everything about a voice that isn’t even familiar to him? Maybe it’s just because Katsuki was the first contact he had after waking up, but Eijiro hasn’t been able to stop thinking about it—about Katsuki, more than any of the other blanks in his memory that plague him every second of the day.

It’s unbalanced—he’s important to Katsuki, he knows he is; he can tell just from the way Katsuki talks to him. How can he be content to know there’s immeasurable history behind every brief conversation they manage to have, when he can’t even put a face to Katsuki’s name? How can he be content doing that to Katsuki?

“Kirishima—” There’s the faintest note of impatience in Aizawa’s voice, but then he stops, seemingly catching himself, and when he continues, it’s with a tone minutely more gentle. “Eijiro. It’s pointless to work yourself up over a scenario that may not even come to pass. You won’t do yourself any favors by giving up hope just because there’s a chance you won’t remember. And as for the album, there’s still a chance it can be restored.”

Eijiro lets out a shaky breath, still trying to calm himself. It’s not that Aizawa’s not helping, not that his words don’t have any effect, but he can’t just turn it off.

“Okay,” he manages—though his voice isn’t as firm or as certain as he’d like. “Then, what would I need to do?” His gut still roils with unease, faintly, despite his efforts to let Aizawa’s words comfort him, but he doesn’t know how he’s going to deal with—with any of this if he can’t cling to his own next steps, to what he can do about it.

Aizawa nods, either acknowledging or approving of his attempt to focus his efforts, and the man swiftly seems to gather his thoughts. “You’ll need to take that slate to my colleague, Fukukado Emi, in Hateno Village. She’s been studying this technology since before the Calamity, and she knows more than anyone else in the kingdom about the slates specifically. If there’s a way to restore the album, she’ll either know it or she’ll find it.”

Okay… Okay. This is doable, if what Aizawa’s saying is true. Eri still holds the slate in her hands, so he can’t look at the map, but he tries to do the math from memory—not counting for the distractions and rest in the middle, it had only taken him about four hours on horseback to reach Kakariko from the horse stable, and Hateno had been about… maybe twice as far from the fork in the road?

If he leaves now—doesn’t let himself get distracted along the way—he can be in Hateno maybe a couple hours after sunset, give or take, he could—he could maybe even have the slate fixed by—

“You’re already getting ahead of yourself.” Aizawa’s sigh cuts through his thoughts. “While your eagerness is written all over your face, so is your exhaustion. And don’t think I’ve missed that glaring bruise on your head or the way you’ve been favoring your left leg.”

Eijiro flushes, something between embarrassment and shame, and he opens his mouth to protest—Aizawa’s already shaking his head wearily.

“I understand that the position you’re in is frustrating, but it’s better you understand now—there is no way to save Prince Katsuki in a matter of days. There is no way to save him in a matter of weeks. The task laid in front of you is too monumental for that, and to approach it sensibly will take time. With how long this will take, you will have to learn patience eventually, and it will be better for you to do it now, when your recovering body will need it most. Have I made myself clear?”

Eijiro feels his face twisting in aggravation, eyebrows drawing together and a pout tugging at his lips. There’s a few moments of silence in which he meets Aizawa’s flat, unimpressed stare, and then a huff escapes him. “So… what, then? I’m supposed to just—sit on my hands, or something? Do nothing despite what’s going on in the world?”

“You’re supposed to take the time you need,” he responds, eyes closing as he blatantly attempts to maintain his own patience. “You will have to get stronger to conquer any of the challenges put before you, and continuously throwing yourself from task to task without allowing yourself even a moment to heal from your injuries will only weaken you. Take the day to rest, get a long night’s sleep in a real bed, set out after you’ve recuperated and not before.”

Eijiro’s hands flex and clench at his sides, and try as he might he can’t make the tension drain despite his sigh. “Sir, I don’t think I can just—sit around that long.”

“Nor do I expect you to. There’s hardly a shortage of things to do in the village in the meantime. If you’re really at such a loss what to do, you can start with sitting down. No doubt you have countless questions about yourself, and the world. I’ll try to answer them for as long as I’m able.”

That—Eijiro had been so frantic to figure out what he needed to do, he hadn’t even thought of all the questions that have been threatening to burst forward like a flood since—since Katsuki had first spoken to him, really. So many that he’s never been able to figure out which to ask first, and, to be fair, he doesn’t think he’s been able to just… sit and ask them all, yet. No one’s been capable of answering them, and there’s always something else to do.

Scratching idly at the skin beneath his eye, Aizawa pushes on, offering more options to fill his day.

“I’d recommend acquainting yourself with the people in the village, it will be good practice; with limited travel and communication, there’s no one person alive who can tell you all of the evils All for One has unleashed in this kingdom. Speaking to those who will have had to coexist with those evils will reveal far more to you than I can, and it’s important to remember that there are problems on a lower scale than All for One itself. There is a fairy fountain on a hill that overlooks this village—it would be wise to touch base with her, in the event she can aid your travels. And if you’re truly incapable of taking it easy for an entire day, the village has an ancient shrine that you may be able to access.”

Done with his list, Aizawa blinks tiredly at Eijiro, gaze flat. “There should be more than enough to amuse you in the village for one day, but I will remind you again not to strain yourself, so I don’t have to confine you to the village for another day.”

Eijiro takes issue with that—it’s not like Aizawa can really stop him from leaving, but… “I… fine. You… you’ll really answer all of my questions?”

The Sheikah nods. “As many as I’m able, for as long as I can keep awake. The pains I took to ensure I would be alive for this day were effective, but they are, unfortunately, exhausting.”

Eijiro hesitates, curious and concerned. How much of a strain did he have to undertake on Eijiro’s behalf? “What… what did you have to do?”

“It’s hardly anything to write home about, to be frank. I thought I told you to sit down.” The last part is delivered in a slightly more stern tone, and Eijiro blinks, flushing just slightly as he hurries to do so. Seemingly satisfied, Aizawa deigns to answer in more detail. “The Sheikah have been pledged to Bakusatsuo for longer than we have been pledged to his descendants, the royal family. The result is that we’ve always had a special relationship with his first domain—time.”

With a heavy breath and the faintest hint of a shrug, the older man continues, “It’s likely I would have been alive to see this day even had I not taken special precautions; time has always been kind to the Sheikah, and not in a metaphorical sense. Oftentimes our people are blessed with exceptionally long lifespans. But there is also a sacred practice, cultivated and passed down since the first of our kind used it to aid Bakusatsuo in his first human incarnation: a meditative trance that slows our aging even further.”

Aizawa grimaces just slightly. “As I said, it’s nothing exciting, nor is it any sort of taxing process. But the meditation cuts into many of the hours that should typically be spent sleeping. I catch sleep when I can get it, so it will be best not to waste much more of my few waking hours if you’d like most of your questions answered.”

Nodding slowly, Eijiro finds himself fidgeting slightly, gnawing on his lip with pointed teeth. “I… Man, I honestly don’t even know where to start.”

Aizawa tips his head in acknowledgement, seemingly unsurprised. “That’s fine. Fortunately, we have time.”

“Oh, man!”

Eijiro jumps, slightly, at the sudden exclamation from beside him, jerking his head around to stare at its source—he hadn’t even heard anybody enter; it’s like the guy had melted right through the floor or something. It’s a little jarring, since everything about the man’s appearance is, well, loud, from his distinct posture and animated expression, to the bright blond hair he sports in an ostentatious gelled up style, to how boisterous his voice had been.

And yet Eijiro hadn’t so much as heard a door hinge or floorboard creak.

“I guess I shouldn’t bring your lunch for you, huh, sir?” he asks, cartoonishly blue eyes twinkling like he’s sharing a joke. “I don’t want to be responsible for you falling asleep with your face in your rice again!”

Aizawa’s apparently too tired to dignify that with a response.

The guy has a point, though; for the last half hour that they’d spoken, Aizawa’s eyes had drooped closed more often than not, and several times Eijiro would almost have genuinely believed he’d finally fallen asleep for real were it not for the Sheikah gesturing lazily for Eijiro to continue with whatever he was saying.

“Togata,” he acknowledges, sounding barely half awake. “I’ll eat later. This is Kirishima Eijiro.”

“Yep!” Togata responds, not skipping a beat. “Eri told me all about it.” He turns to Eijiro, then, as Eijiro rises quickly to his feet, and Togata smiles wide and offers an enthusiastic bow. “Togata Mirio! Honored to meet you.”

Eijiro’s mid-bow when the words register, catching him off guard. His cheeks heat up and he rubs awkwardly at the back of his neck as he flounders for an appropriate response. “Oh, I—I mean… I’m just a guy, man.”

“Sure,” he agrees easily. “But that just makes you even cooler, though, you know?”

Aizawa takes this moment to slump down in the haphazard pile of cushions and blankets that reside on his place of honor—not very traditional, but then, he doesn’t seem like a traditional guy—and the rustling pulls their attention, saving Eijiro from having to figure out how to respond to that.

“Togata, show Kirishima around the village. It would probably do him well to see what help the Great Fairy can offer him, as well. Just make sure he takes it easy, and if he tries to leave the village before a full night’s rest, I give you full authorization to stop him.”

“Sounds threatening!” Togata chirps, distinctly lacking any sort of hesitation as he stands up straighter and salutes. “You got it, sir.”

Eijiro takes offense to that order, glancing back and forth between the two, but Aizawa seems to have passed out the moment he finished speaking so he can’t even protest the lack of faith. Or the attempt to decide for him what he should do. He huffs, and Togata claps him on the shoulder, steering him towards the door.

“Come on, hero! Let’s see the sights.”

The sights turn out to be, well, not really much, but Eijiro wasn’t actually expecting much, to be fair. Togata walks him through the village, chattering the whole way about this and that. He’s kind of an odd duck, going on the strangest of tangents and making some of the most out there remarks, and he talks not just with his hands, but with his whole body. He seems to like to emphasize his words with an entire rework of his posture here, a full gesture with both arms there, a bizarre stance thrown in from time to time.

In short, he’s great. Weird on the disarming side instead of the offputting side, and his quirks just make Kirishima all the more comfortable chatting back, and getting fired up himself.

The first set of important landmarks, if you can really call them that, mostly gain their notability from gossip surrounding them. Togata introduces him to a Haya Yuyu standing outside an archery supplies shop, explaining cheerfully that she’d gotten the part-time job there because she’s the best archer in the tribe these days, but she can’t stand to actually work inside the shop because the owner spends all her time loudly and openly lamenting her failing marriage and the fact that her husband has abandoned his own archery.

Miserably, Haya shushes them, her voice low in pitch and volume as she laments, “It’s all day. ‘Show me your form, Haya. My husband’s form used to be like that.’, ‘Do you think you could hit that shot, Haya? My husband used to make shots like that without breaking a sweat.’.”

She sighs, heavily, then looks to Eijiro. “Look—pretend you didn’t hear this. Buy some arrows. I get paid for convincing people to shop in there, and I’m saving up to buy something cute for Nejire.”

“Ooh!” Togata chips in, “She’ll love that.”

“Oh, um.” Eijiro has no idea who Nejire is, nor has he taken a moment to count how many rupees he’d stumbled on in monster camps or hidden around the countryside. He does distinctly remember finding some hefty sums hidden in long-abandoned chests along the way. “Yeah, I’ll see! Once I check how many rupees I’ve got, I’ll make sure to stop by.”

“Thank you,” she replies, emphatically, before slumping down on the veranda that wraps around the shop. Togata gives a chipper wave, before once again steering EIjiro away with a hand on his shoulder.

The next place he shows Eijiro is the general store, where apparently you can find most goods from the town except for their famous fortified pumpkins—the owner’s husband, fond of growing swift carrots, is in an ongoing feud with the man who grows the pumpkins, and won’t let his wife sell them out of pride. It’s all very amusing, Togata assures him.

After that, he shows him the inn where he’ll be staying, points out a plum orchard apparently fiercely guarded by a sweet old lady, and then guides him to a dining area beside the general store. A girl maybe around nine is manning the cooking pot there, as Eri and another Sheikah girl who looks a little younger sit nearby. Togata introduces the two as Koko and Cottla, and merrily asks what’s cooking as he sits Eijiro down with the younger girls and helps Koko finish preparing lunch. Togata seems to be a natural at entertaining kids, wide gestures and silly expressions drawing delighted reactions from all the girls. Even Eri, who still seems reserved in company, watches him with starry eyes.

Koko and Cottla, who seem much more bold than Eri, are very curious about Eijiro and pelt him with questions he does his best to answer through mouthfuls of food, but Togata does a good job of keeping the conversation focused on all of them. He treats all of the events and concerns in the girls’ lives as just as grave and pressing as the topics he and Eijiro have to contribute, and Eijiro has to admit, it’s delightful to watch.

Once lunch is finished and Eijiro and Togata have helped the girls clean up, Togata makes sure Eijiro is aware of the small shrine to Bakusatsuo across from Aizawa’s home, the location of the armor shop, and the cucco coop now looked after by the infamous husband of the archery shop owner, before pulling them to a stop at the foot of a hill just up the road.

“Just up there’s the shrine, and past that is the fairy fountain. Y’can’t miss it!” He claps Eijiro on the back and gives him an enthusiastic shake for good measure, grinning. “I’ve got a shift patrolling for monsters and Yiga, but I’ll see you at dinnertime. Don’t leave the village or else, right?”

Eijiro shoots a glance at Aizawa’s home, muted irritation trickling back in at the reminder, but when he turns back to respond to Togata’s ribbing, he’s just gone. Eijiro whips his head around, trying to figure out where he went, but there’s no sign of him. Maybe the guy does just melt through the ground.

Regardless of how he does it, that’s how Eijiro finds himself making the trek up the hill overlooking the northern edge of the village alone. The path then winds into the hills a little further, steep inclines starting to cut off the view of the village as he passes the shrine and climbs further into a wooded area. What would a Great Fairy fountain look like? He just has to hope it will stand out as much as Togata assumed.

Eijiro yelps as suddenly two—creatures? Small, and bunnylike, and glowing blue with… antlers?—startle at his presence and bolt through the underbrush, and he thinks, You know what, yeah, okay, that kind of weird shit is probably a sign of a Great Fairy. Eyes now peeled for the strange or unusual, he picks his way through the woods and—there, a flash of pink.

He makes for that, woods parting to reveal the glimpse of pink as one of a few small, glowing fairies that scatter when they notice his presence, and—

—And what the hell is that?

There’s—it’s—he’s face to face with what looks to be the biggest flower bud he’s ever seen, twice as tall as he is, closed up tight with massive thorns dotting its outside. It’s, uh, definitely a sight he can’t miss, and though he can’t really say it looks like a fountain, he gets the feeling from the fairies that had swarmed around it and the unmistakable ramp made up of vividly orange fungus leading right up to its base that, well, he’s probably in the right place.

Hesitantly, Eijiro sloshes through the clear, pristine water that pools shallowly around the bud, testing his weight on the odd platform. It holds beneath his weight, so he takes the couple of steps to stand before the plant—fountain?—and… realizes he has no idea what to do here.

He lifts a hand uncertainly, but before he can do anything he’s startled by the sound of splashing and shifting, muffled from… within the plant? Then suddenly the seam between two of the leaves making up the tight bud before him push apart just slightly, and—holy shit, that’s an eye the size of his whole face peeking out at him inquisitively from the gap.

“You’re not Yuyu! Or Mirio. Or Eri. Well, now I’m curious!” chirps a bright, resounding voice, and Eijiro thinks, Oh, boy.

[ethereousdelirious]

I’m baaack from my writing hiatus :P I come bearing gifts:

Fandom: The M.agnus A.rchives

Characters: M.artin, J.on (+S1 crew)

Pairings: Jo.nMar.tin

Tropes: standard “stubborn sick character, persistent caretaker”

Summary: standard “J.on gets sick at work and is stubborn about it; Martin is equally as stubborn about taking care of him”

Warnings/Notes: JM isn’t exactly my (wait for it) cup of tea (ba dum tsh) and I kinda lost the thread of where the story was going, so it’s a bit slice-of-lifey and kinda ends in a weird spot? It’s not Hurt No Comfort, though, I didn’t leave it hanging that much ;) I honestly wasn’t gonna post this but then I remembered the whole cake thing and thought you Jon Enjoyers might like it :)

In a half-daze, Martin watched the water in the electric kettle dance as it started to boil. He had bent at the waist so he could rest his chin on the counter, and it was starting to hurt a bit, but he made no effort to stand. He liked working in the Archives but sometimes the peace and quiet made him sleepy. 

"What are you doing?" Jonathan's voice came flat and annoyed from the doorway to the breakroom.

Martin straightened up, unable to stifle an exclamation of surprise. "Oh! Hi, Jon."

Jonathan only raised an eyebrow. He had been grumpier than usual today. Tim and Sasha had been grumbling about it all morning.

Remembering the question, Martin gestured to the kettle. "I was just gonna make some tea. I'm on my break, so. Thought I might make some for everyone." He gestured at the mismatched line of cups and mugs on the countertop, teabags already in place.

Jonathan's expression seemed to soften at the edges, though he didn't smile. "That's why I came in here, actually. My throat's a little…" He sighed. "It doesn't matter."

"Maybe you ought to take a break from reading statements?" Martin suggested as gently as he could. He knew how Jon got about his statements, snappish and possessive like a stray dog with a bone.

Sure enough, Jon scowled. He looked like he was going to say something, probably a pointed remark about Martin's work ethic, but instead he only swallowed thickly and placed two fingers to the base of his throat, like he could soothe the pain from the outside. He coughed experimentally.

Martin reached for one of the cupboards and started moving things aside. "I'll put some honey in yours. Did you know that honey actually has mild antibacterial properties?"

"Er, no," Jonathan said, but he didn't appear to be listening all that closely. He had moved out of the doorway and was poking through drawers and cabinets, their contents clattering as he examined them.

"What are you looking for?" Martin asked.

Jonathan sighed, like Martin's continued presence was such a cause for annoyance that he couldn't not express his irritation. "Painkillers. I've got a bit of a headache."

"Same drawer as the first aid kit." Martin went back to looking for the honey.

"That makes sense, I suppose."

They were silent for a moment, as Martin poured the water and carefully stirred honey into the mug he had chosen for Jonathan, while Jonathan took more than the recommended dose of painkillers and washed out his water glass in the sink.

"Hope you're not coming down with something," Martin said offhandedly, passing Jon his tea.

"Thank you," Jonathan said with barely-concealed venom. "I'm going back to work now. I suggest you do the same."

Martin tried to ignore the sting of Jon's words.

When he was feeling bored and restless yet again, Martin got up to collect everyone's empty mugs. Tim and Sasha were nearby, but Jon… He was sequestered away in his new office. Martin left the empty mugs on his desk and marched right up to the door. No time for anxiety, no time to brace for whatever barb Jonathan was going to hurl at him this time.

Upon getting close enough to look in the tiny window on the door, Martin stopped dead. Through the glass, he could see Jonathan, slumped over at his desk with his head resting in his hand. His eyes were just barely open, and even from that distance Martin could see Jon's irises moving, tracking his place on the statement he was reading.

Jonathan had never had the greatest posture to begin with, but this was abnormal, even for him. He looked like he was having trouble keeping himself upright and, Martin noticed with a pang of worry, the hand not supporting his head was clenched in the fabric of his shirt over his stomach.

For a moment, Martin was frozen, utterly unsure of what to do. He didn't want to just barge in while Jon was in the middle of a statement. He waited a moment longer. Luckily, Jonathan seemed to be finishing up. He sat up a little straighter and set the statement aside, speaking a few more words before finally turning off the tape recorder.

Martin didn't waste any time, practically throwing himself through the door before Jon could even think about picking up another statement from the impressive stack on his desk.

"What is it?" Jonathan snapped, not even bothering to try to hide the naked animosity on his face, the raw irritation at having his work interrupted. He didn't lift his head from where it was cradled his right hand, his thumb pressed firmly to his temple.

"I, um--" Martin faltered. "Well, I, I was just walking by your office and I happened to glance in and see you and I just thought--" Pause. Breathe. "You look really ill, Jon. Are you feeling okay?"

"Not really," Jonathan said, softening up a little. "But I have work to do, so." He looked pointedly at the door.

"You can take a day off, you know," Martin said back. He checked his watch. "More like a half day, now."

"I don't need to take a day off," Jon said, his voice flat and annoyed.

"A break, then," Martin insisted.

"I just had a break. So did you." As much as he was arguing, Jon was making no effort to hide the wince that distorted his features every time he swallowed or the way his ragged nails dug into the skin of his forehead. He shifted slightly when he saw Martin looking him over, uncomfortable under the analytic gaze."I'm fine," he said, a touch petulantly, and that was when Martin knew he had won the argument.

"You can barely even sit up. Come on." Martin offered Jon his hand, and Jon looked at it with ill-disguised contempt before standing up on his own. He was pale under the fluorescent lights except for the unmistakable flush of a fever on his cheeks. That was something. Though it wouldn't win him any points with Jon, Martin could always threaten to tell on him to Elias. If Jon was going to despise him no matter what, the least Martin could do was keep him safe.

But that was for later. For now, Martin would walk Jon to the break room and look after him.

Tim and Sasha were both standing, Tim standing with his lower back pressed against the counter and Sasha with her hand against the table. They were talking animatedly about something, but both jumped guiltily and went silent when they saw Jon.

The impression of guilt melted away when Jon barely even looked at them and collapsed heavily onto the small sofa, pale and sweating.

"You okay, boss?" Tim asked.

Martin refilled the kettle and turned it on. "He's a little sick."

"Looks a lot sick to me," Tim remarked with a quick glance at Jon. He had tilted forward so he could rest his elbows on his knees and was breathing heavily.

"Really," Sasha added. Jon obviously wasn't in any shape to be answering questions, so she looked to Martin. "Is he okay?"

Martin shrugged, trying to hide his worry for the sake of not embarrassing Jon. "I'm sure it's nothing a little rest can't fix."

"And tea," Tim said with a good-natured roll of his eyes.

"Obviously," Martin and Sasha said at the same time, and then they laughed.

This ended abruptly when Jon made a muffled noise and shot out of the room, nearly knocking into Sasha on his way out.

"Shit." Martin said.

For a split second, they stood in silence.

"Are you going to go get him?" Tim asked.

"I…" Martin blinked. "I'm not like his keeper or anything, I just work here!"

"Someone should make Elias send him home," Sasha said.

"You're Jon's favorite," Martin said with just a trace of bitterness. "Why don't you go check on him?"

"Because he's probably passed out in the men's room," Sasha said back. "You go get him. I'll tell Elias he needs to go home."

"I'll disinfect the couch," Tim said, fighting a smile.

Martin sighed. "I'll go get him. And talk to Elias if I have to. You guys… Enjoy your long break, I guess."

Tim patted him on the back as he left. "Good luck."

"You'll need it!" Sasha said cheerfully.

By the time Martin made it to the bathroom, Jon had made some effort to clean himself up and then collapsed by the sinks. At least he was sitting up and appeared to be conscious. His face was wet, dripping water. Martin wasn't sure if he had been sick or just been overtaken by the need for quiet, and he was equally unsure that Jon would tell him if he asked.

"Jon!" Martin rushed to his side and pressed a hand to his forehead without even thinking about it. "You're--"

"Burning," Jon said hoarsely.

Martin's hand travelled lower, to Jon's neck, and he pressed two fingers to the carotid artery. Jon's pulse was rapid and fluttery and he pulled away from the touch.

"Did that hurt?" Martin moved his fingers higher, to the lymph node.

"You're not a doctor," Jon said, pulling further back, seeming to shrink into himself.

"Sorry." Martin dropped his hand. "I really think you need to go home."

"It's fine," Jon said. "I have more statements to read."

There was an odd kind of desperation in his voice that Martin couldn't begin to understand. "Jon. I can tell you're in pain. If it hurts to talk, you shouldn't be reading statements. It's getting worse, isn't it?"

Jonathan said nothing, which was answer enough.

Martin stood. "Come on, I'll call you a taxi."

"Elias--" Jon started to protest, but cut himself off, one hand flying to the base of his neck.

"I'll tell him."

Unable or unwilling to talk, Jon nodded begrudgingly and forced himself to his feet.

The resentment in his eyes sent an ache through Martin's chest, but he only stood and held the door open for Jon.

"You're welcome," he said softly, watching Jon stalk down the hall without waiting for him. He sighed, and the door slammed shut behind him.

Martin wasted a moment staring at his shoes. He tried so hard and all he ever got back was vitriol from Jon and teasing from the others. After that brief wave of self-pity came the guilt for daring to feel so sorry for himself when Jon was seriously ill and seriously ill-inclined to take care of himself.

Martin sighed and shook his head. The sooner he found Elias, the sooner he could work on getting Jon to go to A&E instead of holing up in his flat or, god forbid, his office.

And then, as though Martin's thoughts had summoned him, Elias rounded the corner. He nodded in greeting and then paused, face darkening. "Everything alright, Martin? You look upset."

"Oh, uh." Even though Elias was always popping up like this, it was hard not to be startled. "Elias. I was just about to come find you, actually. It's Jon."

"Oh?"

"He's ill-- really ill; he needs to go home but I don't-- I'm going to call him a cab. Just wanted to let you know."

Elias nodded. "I appreciate you letting me know. And wish Jon well for me, would you? See to it that he gets well soon."

"Um, yeah." That certainly hadn't been what Martin was expecting. "O-of course. I'll just-- I'm gonna go." He turned away and attempted the impossible feat of rushing for Jon's office without seeming like he was trying to get away from Elias, which he very much was. He could swear he felt Elias' gaze on him even after he'd reached Jon's office and shut the door behind him. It was eerie.

"Martin." Jonathan looked like he regretted speaking even that one word. He made an abortive motion, reaching for his throat and then letting his hand drop. He had abandoned dignity alarmingly quickly and slumped over with his face on his desk. He had even undone the top few buttons of his shirt.

"Oh, Jon," was all Martin could say. "I can't let you go home like this."

Jon glowed at him but had evidently learned his lesson about trying to speak. He was breathing too fast, his shoulders rising and falling in unsteady cadence. Martin reached out to feel his forehead again and Jonathan jerked back so violently he nearly knocked his chair over.

"Sorry," Martin said. He really couldn't do anything right, could he? "I'm not gonna-- hurt you." Had someone hurt Jon before? Why was he so jumpy? He reached out again and Jon actually smacked his hand away. "Okay, sorry. No touching."

Jonathan nodded.

Martin sighed, unsure of quite what to say. He could waffle all he wanted about tenacity or dedication, but in the moment, there was no denying to himself that Jon was stubborn. He was stubborn to the point of being self-destructive and Martin would have to be careful.

"You really should go to A&E."

Jon shook his head no, then squeezed his eyes shut for a moment.

"Well, I can't just dump you in a taxi."

Jonathan nodded.

"No, Jon, I can't. Can you even stand up on your own? Don't--! There's no need to demonstrate. I get it."

Jonathan sat down and exhaled shakily through his mouth. It wasn't just his breathing, he was shaking all over and wincing every time he swallowed.

"Let me take you home."

Pause. Jon eyed him with suspicion and Martin felt compelled to elaborate, "Just to make sure you don't, you know, collapse on the pavement and end up in hospital anyway."

Jonathan, evidently having no other way to communicate his displeasure, stuck out his tongue. Martin couldn't help but laugh.

"Is that a yes?"

Jonathan nodded.

[ohnojustimagine]

Into This Night

Damian Priest/Reader; smut, 1995 words

Anon with all the good ideas suggested this, set around that angry promo Damian did after he lost the match against Dijakovic for the title opportunity, where he had all his women waiting for him.

Note for unprotected sex and a bit of choking.

-

It's your friend Sofia who convinces you to come along.

"Wrestling?" you say, scrunching up your nose in distaste, because that doesn't sound like something you'd be into.

"Not wrestling," she says. "Wrestlers." She smiles at you. "Big difference."

But you're still not so sure. "Come on," she tells you, "Why do you think I keep going back every week? Those guys are..." She exhales, shaking her head, slightly wide-eyed, and okay, that gets you interested, because right now you really could use something low-commitment with someone hot.

"Maybe," you say, fully aware you're going to let yourself be talked into it.

And, of course, you are, and now you're in some room backstage at Full Sail with Sofia and a bunch of other girls, and so far you don't know what to think because there's something weirdly competitive about the atmosphere in here.

"When do the guys show up?" you ask, starting to feel restless.

"Patience," Sofia tells you, and all at once a hushed silence falls over the whole group.

You turn, curious to see what or who has them so enthralled, and jesus, you think, having to consciously stifle a gasp at the sight of the man standing in the doorway. Startlingly tall, with dark, dampened hair and even darker eyes, all tattoos and muscles that are barely covered by the sleeveless t-shirt he's wearing, a deep v cut in the front to expose his chest.

"That's Damian," Sofia murmurs in your ear.

Damian, your mind echoes, as he scans the room with a practised gaze, looking over every girl, coolly assessing, and, to your shock, it's you his eyes alight on.

"You're new," he says, his voice deep and smooth. He smiles at you, so voracious it makes you shiver. "I like new."

"Hi," you say, unsure if this is what you're supposed to do, taking a step towards him anyway. "I'm..."

"Yeah, I don't care," he interrupts, cutting you off abruptly. "You." He points at you, and then three other girls. "And you, you... and you."

They each quickly separate themselves from the rest of the group, walking after him as he turns and leaves, but you hesitate.

"Go on," Sofia whispers, nudging you forward, and so you follow along, a sinking, twisting feeling in the pit of your stomach, because you have no idea what you're letting yourself in for, but somehow you're already certain that you won't be able to resist.

He leads the four of you to what seems to be some kind of outdoor seating area, saying, carelessly, "Stay here," and then he's gone.

You sit down with the other girls, and they don't speak to you, all taking out their phones, as if this is just how things go, like they're accustomed to waiting around for him.

Time passes, and you start to second-guess yourself, wondering if maybe you're making a huge mistake, but Sofia drove you here and you don't have enough money to get yourself home.

"How long will he be?" you ask the others. None of them answer, but one glances up from her phone for just long enough to give you a sneering, withering look and you shrink back down in your seat, ashamed.

And you hear him before you see him, shirtless and practically growling in anger, a camera crew trailing in his wake. You can only assume whatever he's been doing didn't go as planned, watching in alarm as he rants at the camera, words spitting like fire from his lips, talking of how he's going to live forever. He slams his fists against the nearest wall, and you startle, fear running through you, but there's an edge to it, something electrifying in seeing a display of such raw, uncontrolled rage.

"Let's go," he orders impatiently as the camera backs off, and the four of you jump to your feet.

You end up in some kind of backstage dressing room, and it's not big, but what space there is is dominated by a huge, wide couch.

Damian's still muttering to himself, shaking his head, and you're not sure what to do. "Are... are you okay?" you ask, timidly, immediately regretting even speaking because he's straight up in your face, looming over you, eyes almost glowing, as if incandescent with rage.

"Do I look okay, new girl?" he snaps and you shake your head mutely, lowering your eyes. "Because I'm not," he grits out, "and what makes me even less okay is when stupid little girls ask me stupid questions."

"Sorry," you mutter, and you hear him let out an impatient sigh.

"Why are you even here?" he asks, voice calmer now but no less deadly, and he's stalking around you, circling you like he's a wolf on the hunt, looking you up and down. He stands behind you, and you can feel heat emanating off him; lust and power and desire and suddenly you're afraid of what you might do.

"I..." You stop, because you don't know what to say.

"You think you can handle this?" he says.

"Yes," you lie, because you don’t even know what this is, and he laughs.

"No, you can't." He's pressed up against your back now, arms around you, pinning your own arms to your sides. His body is hot, still damp with sweat, and you can feel how strong he is, how easy it is for him to restrain you. "But I can teach you." He licks your ear, nips at it. "I can break you, make you learn for me."

You're trembling now, his hands sliding up your body, over your breasts in a firm caress that makes you moan quietly. "Yeah," he murmurs, the word practically rumbling in his throat, but then he raises his head. "Get out," he says to the other girls, and you see them hesitate. "Now," he orders, in a tone that allows no room for disobedience and they hurry to leave, closing the door behind them.

"Just you and me, sweet thing," he says, one hand on your throat now, and you swallow, feeling the hint of pressure in his touch. "You like that?" he asks, his fingers and thumb slowly tightening either side of your throat, merely limiting your air at first, but he doesn't stop, not until you really, truly can't breathe. Panic rises inside you, and your first instinct is to want to struggle against it, but there's something inside you that won't let you, something powerful enough to override your natural reaction. Because you need this, you suddenly understand; to give in, to surrender yourself to this man, body and soul, and so you allow yourself to weaken into his arms.

He makes a satisfied noise, as if you've pleased him, and then releases his hold on you, breath flooding back into your body like euphoria, sweet as a high. The feeling rushes through you, seeming to pool between your legs and you're so turned on by it you can't even think.

He throws you face first down on the couch, kneeling over you, roughly pulling off your clothes, manhandling you in every sense of the word. You hear fabric tearing as he rips away your panties, and when you're naked, he drags your hips up, nudging the backs of your thighs until you get your knees under you, head still down so your ass is raised high.

You hear the soft clink of him unbuckling his belt, the slide of it being pulled out of the loops of his pants, and you let out a whine, assuming he's going to hit you with it, but instead he trails the dangling edge of it across your ass, the leather smooth on your skin  You flinch at the touch of it, gentle when you were bracing yourself for harsh, and he laughs, yanking your arms up behind your back.

Your face is pushed into the couch, forcing you to turn your head to the side to be able to breathe, and he grips your wrists, holding them with ease in just one hand, using the other to wind the belt around, binding you, fastening the buckle tight.

"Don't you look pretty like this, angel," he croons, and there's the sound of him unzipping, the feel of his cock as he teases the tip of it through your wet folds. 

"And just so you know," he says, casually, like it's nothing, "I'm going to come in you."

You feel like you might cry, and not because you want him to stop, but because you're going to let him do this to you, and you want it. So bad, so so bad, and you can't help the choked-up little sob that escapes past your lips.

"I told you," he says. "You need to learn. Like it or not, you're going to learn and the first lesson is that you trust me."

You feel him lining himself up against you, his cock sliding into you, and he's big, but your body opens up to take him in in a way you didn't know you were capable of, thick and full inside you, and you can hear him breathing. "So good," he murmurs. "So tight for me."

He starts to fuck you, holding on to your hips, pulling you back into him with every thrust, and it shouldn't be different, but it is, knowing there's nothing between you, that you're giving yourself to him in every way.

You feel him shifting behind you, moving you enough that he can get one foot on the floor, extra leverage so he can go even harder, deeper, holding on to the belt tied around your wrists, wrenching your shoulders back, and you don't know how long it goes on but you don't want it to ever stop.

He grunts when he comes, exhaling as he releases himself inside you, and maybe you're just too far gone but you swear you can feel it, as if you've been marked by him, claimed somehow.

He pulls out, dragging you upright into a sitting position, your ass right on the edge of the couch as you sprawl backwards, helpless, and he kneels between your legs, spreading them so wide you feel the burn in your inner thighs.

"You didn't come, did you?"

You shake your head slightly, not wanting to look at him.

"You need to come," he tells you, shoving his fingers inside you so hard that you gasp; two, then three, fucking in and out. He pulls you forward, one arm around your lower back, supporting you, and kisses you, tongue licking into your mouth, hot and forceful.

Your body spasms, right on the edge of it as he presses the knuckle of his thumb into your clit. "Come for me, angel," he whispers, then, louder, "Now." And you don't need anything more than his permission, your orgasm his, shuddering through you as he holds you tight, fingers working you all the way through it.

You can barely catch your breath, aftershocks pulsing over you like sparks dancing on your skin, and he doesn't let you go. "You're mine, now," he says. "All mine, to do whatever I want with." He kisses your forehead, softly, the tenderness of it almost startling. "Do you understand that?"

"Yes," you say, hearing your own voice as if from far away, but knowing that it's true.

He unbuckles the belt, releasing your hands, and you fall into him, letting him lift you into his lap as he moves up to sit on the couch.

You rest your head on his chest, feeling as if the rest of the world no longer exists, that there's nothing but him, and this.

"Can you come again?" he asks, after a minute.

And your heart is instantly racing. "No," you say. "I don't know, I..."

"It's okay," he tells you, but there's nothing reassuring in his tone. "I'm going to make you."

And you whimper as he touches you, but he doesn't stop.

[thatordinaryoddity]

NEW CHAPTER: Once In A Blue Goddamn Moon

a 💗 Jamie & Dani Fanfiction 💗 [The Haunting Of Bly Manor, Netflix 2020]

written by thatordinaryoddity

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27475423/chapters/67177879

Rating: K+

Words: ~9,5k

Genre: Angst/Hurt/Comfort

Status: Complete (will be uploaded in three chapters + Prologue)

Summary: Jamie leaves Flora’s weeding more wrapped up in her thoughts than usual. In all those years, there hadn’t been a day without thinking of her deceased lover Dani. But sometimes, once in a blue goddamn moon, events coincide in an exceptional, odd way.

A/N: Without further ado here’s the new - the most important (for me) - chapter so I’m pretty nervous about it! I hope you guys like it and as always have fun and CU tomorrow for the final! XOXO

The Gravity Of Love

____________________

 “..Jamie…”

In slow motion, the grey-haired woman tilted her head, then turned around completely, her jaw dropped in disbelief, tears suddenly blurring her vision. Her knees started to tremble like aspen leaves and she felt like she needed something to hold on to before they would give out. Her whole body began shaking tremendously and the blonde, ghostly figure opposite her provoked goose bumps all over her body. Jamie’s eyes wandered to the hand on her shoulder, fixing on the golden ring in shock.  That’s not real. It’s another dream. Wake up. Goddamn, Wake up!!! Desperately, Jamie hoped to escape from this situation. When the dreams had started out decades ago, she thought she could enjoy these few moments of bliss with her lover while they lasted, but instead she had discovered that the longer she indulged in the illusions, the more dreadful the following solitude would be. Since then, she couldn’t stand these kinds of dreams because afterwards, they always left her feeling so unbearably empty. Therefore, she always tried to force herself to wake up, as she knew they were nothing but hollow, hopeless illusions that only made her waking hours more lonesome and painful. This time, however, was different - this time she couldn’t make herself wake up because this time, it wasn’t a dream.

“Jamie, stop fighting it, I’m here! Do you hear me, I’m here,” the blonde person in front of her took one step closer, placing her hands on Jamie’s cheeks. And with the touch, all the doubt in Jamie’s mind was shattered like a pane of glass, broken into a million pieces. There was no mistaking those clearest of blue eyes. “It’s her, it’s really her… Danielle Clayton.” Tears flooded down Jamie’s cheeks, wetting the delicate hands touching her. She searched for words, she wanted to say something, but she wasn’t able to move her lips. All she could do was stand there, look into that beautiful face and stare into those flashing blue eyes, all the while gasping for air in hope to find words.

“H-... How...?” Her voice sounded so broken, like she had been mute for years and only now began to rediscover her ability to speak. Her green eyes wandered up and down the beautiful blonde woman’s body, trying to find a hint that might explain how all this was possible. “After all these years…,” sobbing, she struggled for air.

Dani, too, couldn’t hold back her tears any longer. That very moment was filled with so many raw and honest emotions, with decades full of hope and yearning, doomed to be nothing more than disappointing, impossible wishes that could never come true.

“I have always been there, Jamie. I’ve always been with you, all these years!” Dani said with softness and care in her voice, caressing Jamie’s cheeks with her thumbs. “I was right there all this time, but you couldn’t see me! I tried to make you notice me, but I couldn’t… I tried so hard to get through to you, but it was hopeless…” The blonde woman’s voice had become shaky, and she was visibly agitated. The thought that Dani had been trying to communicate with her lost love for all these years, that she had always been so close to her yet unable to reach her, seemed unbearable to Jamie.

“I... I... don’t understand,” with a barely noticeable shake of her head, Jamie placed one of her hands over Dani’s, still resting on her cheeks, feeling the warmth of their bodies connect after decades. It felt so warm, so familiar and yet so unreal. The green-eyed woman was still unsure if this pretty bubble would burst, leaving nothing but another sad, beautiful scar on her soul. She was still anxious that she might suddenly be ripped from her slumber or this vision would abruptly turn into a nightmare through some sick twist.

Dani looked into her lover’s green eyes, which shone like emeralds in the silvery moonlight, and she knew how many thoughts were rushing behind them. She understood that the grey-haired woman had to be bursting with questions.

Dani let go of Jamie’s cheeks and took her hand instead, the one with the Claddagh ring: “You know, when I left you, I had to go to keep you safe. I could never have stayed with you if there was chance that I might hurt you. I could have never forgiven myself, if I let any harm come to you. And I knew that you wouldn’t have let me go, that you would have tried to talk me out of it, or worse, wanted me to take you with us into the lake. But I could never bring myself to that. That’s why I left… secretly. All I wanted was to protect you, to keep you safe, Jamie!” Dani’s face was covered in tears, she was trembling now as well. The only thing soothing her was her lover’s soft hand that she could finally hold again after such an endless time of longing for it.

She inhaled sharply and one could see she was struggling to continue: “You know, Viola’s rage inside me started to grow from day to day. It grew tremendously and it turned me into something I never wanted to become. I wasn’t able to stand up to her and her blind hate. I... I... really had no chance at all.” Dani was so angry about this abuse of her body and mind, that she had a hard time talking about the evil spirit inside her, who had taken away her life with Jamie. The blue-eyed woman clenched her teeth and stared right through Jamie, wound up in her thoughts, as if she was focussing on something behind her.

“The first time I returned to the mortal plane just felt like a dream – like a strange, fitful slumber. It just felt like a long, weird, restless night. Neither was I aware that I was dead, nor did I know I had the ability to roam the world of the living.” Jamie listened carefully, trying to absorb and comprehend everything her lover was telling her.

“After the first few months, I would eventually manage to wake up and after some more time, I learned what I was… that I was dead, that she had finally dragged me with her.” One could feel the pain in Dani’s voice, her inner conflict. It hurt her as well that she was doomed to live through this fate.

“Then I began searching for you... Jamie. It took me so long to figure out how to get to you. And once I found you, I wanted to run to you, to touch you, to hold you! But I couldn’t reach you!” Her piercing blue eyes got even clearer from the watery sheen the tears left on them. “You were there, right in front of me… but…,” now Dani was the one, searching for words, gasping for air, as the tears were falling and her voice was shaking. “You couldn’t see me, not even sense me! I couldn’t get to you! It was like you were looking through a window – right through me – but not recognising my screams or my presence. I was trapped. But I was there! Every full moon... I was there!” She squeezed Jamie’s hand with one of hers, while the other wandered up to her face to wipe away her tears.

Jamie stood there, her expression hardened and her lips were firmly pressed together to make her mouth appear like a thin line. Seeing the love of her life in this gruelling pain was unbearable to her as well. She squeezed Dani’s hand back even tighter. How hard it must have been... realising you’re dead... realising you’ve lost everything. Jamie had never really appreciated all the agony her lover had lived through. Frankly, she had always assumed that Dani would have forgotten everything about their beautiful life together and that Viola’s anger would have gnawed off every emotion and every memory left in the blonde woman, just the way it did to Viola herself centuries ago. But Dani’s love must have somehow overpowered the evil spirit’s rage and thus, the young woman had managed to create her own gravity – the gravity of love.

Viola’s rage against humanity was extinguished by Dani’s true love for Jamie and her desire to be with her again. Therefore, it had been possible for the blue-eyed woman to find a way to visit Jamie, even if only on full moon nights, where the border between this world and the afterlife narrowed. Unfortunately, the band was never thin enough to make Jamie become aware of her presence at all. No matter how hard the blonde woman tried, there was no incident where Jamie was able to sense her. She cried, she screamed, she shrieked Jamie’s name, but there had never been the slightest reaction at all. At some point, Dani had just given up, decided to face her fate of being doomed to live in this misery, until finally it would be time for Jamie as well to leave this world behind. Even then, she would just have to stand there, watching Jamie die, unable to hold and comfort her. All she could hope for was to finally meet her lover again after she had passed on.

Then, not too long ago, an idea was born while she suddenly remembered something she had been told as a kid: the Celts believed that, at a certain time of the year, on a festival they called Samhain – Halloween in modern terms – the boundary between the world of the living and the dead became blurred and that ghosts returned to earth again. When she found out that this year’s Halloween coincided with a rare blue moon - something that only happens once in a lifetime, if ever – she knew she had to use this unique chance to get through to her lover.

If there was ever a chance of her speaking to Jamie, it was this very night, so Dani had to try with all her might to make it work – and she succeeded.

Even if their time together was limited to that one night, it was more than she could ever have hoped for and more than any other person would get in their life, so Dani was thankful. She was so very thankful to be with her beautiful lover again after all those lost years of longing and suffering, even if it lasted only for this single night and she knew she had to go when the sun would wake up. Already, she knew it was going to hurt like hell, too.

Still sobbing, she raised her hand towards Jamie’s head, softly touching one of her grey strands of hair, the one which was lighter than the rest. A tender smile formed on her lips: “I love them... they’re so different now but I can’t help to admire them.” It was odd somehow, that Jamie had changed over the years – not only had she gotten visibly older but also so much wiser, calmer and more ladylike – while Dani had stayed the way she had been when she died. And even if it seemed like this might create a big gap between them, it was quite the opposite. Their two hearts were still the same they had been when they were separated by the bitter loss. All their feelings and emotions, all their memories together and the happy times – nothing had really changed, they were still connected by this band of true, unconditional love. They both had that mutual feeling inside their hearts, as if they could read each other’s thoughts.

Jamie stood there, softly crying as well, still wondering how so much luck had found her way to her after all these desperate times, until she thought she was finally able to react to Dani’s story. She took a deep breath and opened her lips, but all she could do was stutter. “Y... you..,” she shook her head as if she was trying to rearrange the thoughts inside it. “I... I...,” but Jamie wasn’t able to form a meaningful sentence. Those beautiful blue eyes in front of her were fixating her, waiting for what was coming. Then, Jamie suddenly remained silent again, took a little step forward and just flung her arms around Dani’s neck.

The young blonde woman just needed a moment to understand, that she was finally able to hug and touch and kiss her lover again. This insight made her hackles raise and her heart feel as if it was about to burst of excitement. Finally, she hugged her lover back, pulled her even tighter to her. Both of them were crying, both of them tightened their embrace as if they were afraid that the other would suddenly fade away. Both of them couldn’t be happier about being with one another again and tears kept streaming from their eyes as their hug lasted.

“I’ve missed you! Goddamn, I’ve missed you so much, Dani! Do you know how much I’ve missed you?” the elderly woman whispered through clenched teeth and with narrowed eyes. The barrage of thoughts and emotions was nearly unbearable to handle all at once. She felt happiness, she felt pain, she felt love and she felt fear. “It was so painful, I just wanted to die!”

When Jamie said these words, Dani softly loosened their hug and slowly placed both of her hands on her lover’s shoulders: “I know... Jamie. I’ve seen you… all those nights you cried… you were at the edge. But you had a life, a choice... and death would have been the wrong one! And I’m so glad you kept going.” She nodded as if she wanted to reinforce what she just said. Her expression was somehow filled with concern. She knew how much Jamie had suffered, and every time she had witnessed one of Jamie’s breakdowns, she had been worried if she was going to see her again on the next full moon. Dani squeezed her shoulders: “As I’ve said... I couldn’t let any harm come to you!” Those emerald green eyes were staring back at her, slightly filled with tears. She had noticed by holding Jamie that her whole body was trembling. “I’m here now…” those words were spoken so carefully, so softly.

Their glances wandered to one another’s lips, watching them for a few seconds, until they were finally touching again. There were no suitable words for describing how magnificent their second first kiss felt. It was filled with emotions of loss and grief, of raw love and extraordinary dedication to each other. Their bodies were electrified, every inch was thunderstruck. As the kiss intensified, they now embraced each other again. Dani’s lips slightly opened to welcome her lover’s tongue. A warm feeling spread inside her chest and her sweaty hands pulled Jamie closer to her. A soft gasp escaped from her lungs during this intimate moment only the two of them shared.

None of them wanted to end this moment of mutual affection, but sometimes the human body just needs air to breathe. Sharply inhaling, Dani ended the long kiss, followed by a satisfied smile on her lips. With an indescribable amount of love in her voice she whispered to her lover as their noses were still touching: “I’ve waited so long for this to happen... I have missed you with every fiber of my body, Jamie.”

The green-eyed woman blushed and placed her hand on Dani’s cheekbone. “I’ve waited too… for you to finally return to me! I’ve waited all these years...” she closed her eyes, enjoying their moment together, and she tried to absorb every second, every movement, every touch and every sensation of it. It felt as if all the cold in her long-frozen heart finally melted after all these depressing years of yearning. Jamie wished that this moment could last forever and that she could be with Dani for all eternity, just as they had dreamed of when both of them were younger. But she knew that wish wasn’t meant to come true – just like the full moon and this special night of the living dead couldn’t last forever, Dani too, would fade away soon. Both of them were painfully aware of that fact, but none wanted to waste even a single thought on it yet.

The night was getting darker, but the air remained extraordinarily mild for autumn. The two of them were cuddled up on the bench inside the winter garden, holding each other tight. Dani had asked Jamie to tell her what had happened in the years she was gone, and now listened attentively to all the events the older woman recounted, occasionally placing tender kisses on her lover’s hands. The moon light tinted the plants around them in a romantic, mysterious light. Both women felt as if this long separation, this violent break between them, had never existed. It felt so normal to be together again despite the long time apart.

Though one would assume the two women had so much to tell each other after all this time, the night was also partly spent in silence. After a while, none of them said anything at all anymore, instead enjoying their mutual moments of love. The bond between them was so strong, so unique, that they didn’t need to put into words how they felt at that moment. Instead, they knew how the other felt. And both of them knew as well, that they didn’t have all that much time left together, so they savoured each other’s presence even more. Being aware of their limited time was like an inner ticking that grew louder, minute by minute, and it felt threatening, uneasy.

“It will hurt, won’t it?” Jamie’s emerald green eyes slightly filled with tears again, which made them look like submerged gemstones in a shiny, crystal lake. Lost in thoughts, she started chewing on her lips. The mere thought of losing Dani again just tore her heart apart. The blonde woman took her lover’s hand, softly caressing it with her thumb, in an attempt to soothe her. She knew too that their farewell wasn’t going to be easy at all. But she also knew that they could at least gather strength from this night together – after all, Dani would always be there, even if it wasn’t physical.

“But how will I go on without you?” The tears began to stream down her face. “How am I supposed to just live on?” With a worried expression, Dani squeezed her lover’s hand even tighter. “I know, Jamie… but… remember… every full moon I’ll be with you! Even if you can’t see or touch me… I’ll never leave you! I’ll be there and I will listen!” Although Jamie could see that Dani truly meant everything she had said, her heart filled with pain again, her silent tears turning into a desperate sob.

“Dani... I can’t lose you again! I... I... just can’t”

“You WON’T lose me, Jamie… do you hear me! I’m here! And I always will be…” Dani pulled Jamie even closer to her, wiped her tears away and leaned in for a deep kiss. She couldn’t stand leaving the love of her life a sobbing mess. She understood the frustration of her lover, felt the same way, and yet appreciated that they were able to spend at least that one night together and get a chance to properly say goodbye. Please remember me this way. Please remember the good times, not the bad ones, Jamie.

Even though Jamie calmed down a bit, it was obvious from the expression on her face that she was devastated. They both knew that the time had come. The moon was standing low by now, the dark of the night slowly made room for the new day. Dani stood up, taking the older woman’s hand again, inviting her to join her walking out of the winter garden. The two women were standing in front of each other, holding their soft hands and feeling the other’s racing heartbeat.

“I love you, Jamie! You were the one… the only one… always!” With a soft, but broken smile, Dani forced herself not to start crying as well. She had to be strong, she had to focus on the good, not the bad. “And I’ll be there… one month from now, there’ll be another full moon.”

“I love you too… I can’t express how much!” Jamie flung her arms around Dani’s neck again, holding her as if she wanted to prevent her from leaving: “I’ll wait! I’ll look out for every single sign and every oddity… knowing it’s you!” As she embraced Dani’s warm body, she felt her warmth slowly decreasing. Abruptly, she took a step back, looking in shock at the fading shades of her lover. She had started to become translucent already, and all the colours had left her form. Jamie could see the remaining moon light shining right through her, leaving a silvery gleam on her whole body.

“It’s time now.” A sad smile formed on the blonde woman’s lips. “Please, don’t be sad my love, be thankful for this night… just as I am…” and with those words Dani was gone completely.

Jamie’s eyes were wide open in disbelief and agony, and after a moment, she collapsed on the hard ground. She remained there, on her knees, covering her face with her hands as she started to weep bitterly. She knelt there for what felt like minutes to her, but had actually been hours, all the while crying her eyes out and praying for Dani to come back. Even if it had been the most luminous, astonishing night in decades, she couldn’t deal with the fact that it was over.

[writemoment]

A Pick Me Up

Writer: Ellie-Mae (Pen Name)

Parts: 1/3

Summary: {Request @incorrect-artist} “I was wondering if you could do (maybe a series) about the reader moving to a new town and almost getting mugged but newt saves her and becomes her bodyguard but falls for her or something like that.”

Pairing: TMR Newt x Reader

Warnings/Rated: Brief violence (mentioned during a mugging scene), lightly feeling insecure and minor fluff.

Word Count: 2,726

( Reader ) P.O.V.

This was finally my chance to take control of my life.

I had lived in the same house, the same place with the same people, for all of my life. There was never a great unknown that I hadn’t already known. Now that I’ve managed to take charge and decided to move to Glade, I’m so stoked to embrace this change.

My flat was already filled with my boxed up belongings, waiting to be unleashed. The apartment walls were blank and white, a perfect canvas to color with my own individuality. It felt like a metaphor for this new chapter of my life; blank and awaiting new memories.

Everything around me was filled with new and drenched with the unknown. It was both exhilarating and terrifying. Before this change, I fell into a cycle of doing the familiar and tempting the edge of getting too close to something different.  However, it was always just testing the limits before shying away.

Now I’m diving headfirst into something I am not completely comfortable with. Because there’s something out there in the world that’s calling me to explore further past that line. Something that I feel in my core-being that’s telling me to push forward and make my own way. 

The only familiar sight in this area was my friend, Brenda. We had met each other in middle school and had become quite close before her family moved away. Despite this, we kept in touch through all these years. I hadn’t seen her in person for some time but when she told me that she, too, lived in Glade, it made me take that final leap into this brand new world. 

Now she’s working beside me, helping me to bring in what’s left of my stuff from my car. She looks exactly how I remembered her. Though it’s been many years, she didn’t grow much taller and continues to have a kind smile on her face. Even with her small stature, she tosses boxes onto her hip with surprising strength.

Once everything is brought in, I begin unloading my things; pulling, pushing and tugging boxes to their designated areas. Opening each flap of cardboard at a time, the flat begins to look more like a home. That very thought tugs wildly at my lips and I give into a broad smile. This is my home.

Brenda and I catch up as we file through the cardboard cubes. Laughter and miscellaneous chatter fills the air. I believe that having a friend here makes the unfamiliar appear less bizarre. It takes away some of the anxiety that comes with the irrational fear of new.

Hours go by and we’re finally dwindling down on what’s left to do. Brenda’s phone buzz’s and she snickers at her illuminated screen. I question her with a raised brow, curiosity peaked. “It’s just Thomas and Newt. They’re friends that I want you to meet sometime.”

My mind swirls around the idea of settling into this town and getting to know new and interesting people. I nod at Brenda with a smile playing at my mouth. My hands resume whatever I had previously been doing but my thoughts get lost with prospects of learning what Glade has to offer. 

Truth be told, I was very inexperienced when it came to being a quote-on-quote “adult”. Though I tried very hard to exude a confident persona, I often felt small, unskilled and clumsy on the inside. It’s something I have become accustomed to hiding, covering it up with sarcasm and jokes mixed with laughter. I never wanted to feel like a failure at what I was doing but, at times, it seemed as if those feelings were inevitable.

As evening set into night, I thanked Brenda profusely and bid her a goodnight as she left my place. Being alone brought a wave of nerves as I wondered what my next step was to be. The apartment was still scarce of furniture and lacked a lived-in comfort. I made a mental note to go into the city to shop for items to reverse this feeling.

My hands fumble over light switches, switching them off as I slug my way up the stairs to my room.  Once inside with the door closed behind me, I sag into the naked mattress and drag a comforter over my exhausted body. Sighing deeply, I let the night pull me from my restless thoughts.

****

By the third day of living in Glade, I’m so beyond thankful to have Brenda living in the same complex. Brenda has always had a sure kind of personality that I’ve envied since we were younger. She was a leader, she was supportive. When I’m unsure of what I am doing with myself, she’s there with just the right words and suggestions. It’s never in a derogatory way.

That’s why I deflate a little when she says she can’t join me in the city to shop. I quickly brush it off with a smile but going into an unknown city by myself has my nerves jumping. Still, I mentally encourage myself, hyping myself up before I make the thirty minute drive in. I chuckle lightly at my behavior.

Look at me, being all adult-like and stuff.

The ride felt longer than thirty minutes and I felt silly at the pounding of my heart. “Get a grip on yourself...” I scold underneath my breath. There was a few things I wanted to do in the city and I wasn’t going to let my anxiety ruin those plans.

I take a deep breath and try to calm down as I pull into the parking lot of my first destination. I am in control of my own life now. This is what I want and no one but myself can stop me now. 

****

My laughter fills the vehicle and I smile excitedly. Brenda called me just as I was pulling into the lot of the home store, the last stop I had planned before calling it a successful day. She had a way of instantly bringing joy bubbling inside of me. I told her about my day, mentioning all the things I had done and found.

“Well, I just wanted to check up on you! Hopefully I’ll be able to join you on your adventure next time.” We exchange our final words before I close my phone, slipping it into my back pocket before clambering out of the car.

This home store was sure to have the type of furniture I was seeking. It was getting dark and I had already spent many of my hours exploring the city. There was so much to look at inside since it catered to my exact needs but I knew I needed to focus.

When I had entered, I asked the worker at the front how late they stayed open. He told me that I had an hour before closing, which gave me enough time to browse the aisles.

Making haste, I cart around and pick out what I want. By the time I’m checking out, I have fifteen minutes to spare. This gives me enough time to wheel my purchases out to my trunk and jog the cart back inside the building. They lock the doors behind me and I internally fist-bump myself for managing my time well.

Now the night has set and the adrenaline of the day starts to wear off. I’m so looking forward to going home. Just as I plop into the seat and go to turn the key, my car refuses to start. Try and try again, it wheezes angrily at me.

Trying to not let panic set in, I whip my phone out and dial Brenda for help. Only- she doesn’t answer. By the third time I dial her and after the dozen of texts I spam, it’s become nearly impossible to not freak out.

I’m sitting in an almost empty parking lot, in the dark of a unfamiliar city with no contact to help me out. My mind races as I attempt to think rationally of how to go about this situation. I try to search for someone to come tow me but none of them are loading. Groaning, I lay my head against the steering wheel.

That’s when I recall a deli around the corner, just a few minutes walk from here. It’s not the ideal solution but my phone is already running low on life and I decide to risk it. Still, I linger a few more moment in the comfort of my car, hoping and praying that Brenda will call me back.

She doesn’t. So, I walk.

Focus. Just focus and you’ll make it there in no time. Stick to yourself and everything will be fine. That’s what I keep telling myself. And it works, mostly. My feet step steadily, one foot following the other in a rhythmic pattern. I focus on the thumping of my soles contrasting between the beats of my erratic heart.

The bouts of darkness pockets in the corner of my vision and down ominous alley’s. Still, I am determined to prevail. Well, until I hear footsteps slapping the pavement behind me. It’s quiet but prominent in my ears. 

Clutching the strap of my bag closer against me, I try to increase my pace subtly. My mind is heeding me: don’t run, don’t run, don’t run. I try to remain confident and unperturbed. The neon lights of the deli are within my sights and I can feel the tension in me unwind a bit only to build back up.

There’s a pinch twisting around my shoulder as something yanks on my bag. This can’t seriously be happening to me right now. A part of me is in denial that this is reality. It seems like something straight out of a nightmarish movie. I fight back against the rough tugging, crying out to alert anyone nearby of my struggle. The figure is hooded and hidden in the shadows of the night.

I kick my legs out and punch wildly, not giving in without a fight. I would honestly just let them have my bag if it weren’t hooked across my body. Pain radiates up my arm, spreading from where my knuckles had connected to flesh. I feel my skin tear as it swipes harshly against my target. There’s another set of running footsteps approaching.  A scream rips through my throat and my attacker lets go.

So much happens at once and adrenaline still courses through my veins. The next hand that lands on me, I wind my arm back and punch blindly in that direction. I can feel it sting, the raw of my skin exposed from the impact. There’s a muffled grunt before I hear a voice.

“Hey, hey, hey- I’m not going to hurt you!”

My eyes frantically search the darkness for the face I hit. It lands on a guy, lit up by the glow of the neon; a tall, lanky man with a cut on his cheek. A welt decorated his face from me punching the wrong guy.... His eyes leave me to search the shadows for my attacker. He must not see anyone because he ushers me forward and into the deli. He calls loudly for someone to get a hold of the police, his voice leaving no room for questions.

“Are you okay?” His voice is soft, though thick with an accent. Finally seeing him properly in the light, I spot where I had hit him. He doesn’t seem overly concerned but I feel a pang of guilt as I stare at the drying blood.

“I’m alright, I think. Are you? I didn’t mean to hit you- I’m really sorry. I was just so caught up in what was happening...” My explanation is awkward as I stumble over it with a lousy apology.

The corner of his mouth tilts up in a ghost of a smile, though he flinches a bit at how it pulls at his injury. “No worries. I was quite impressed with how much power was behind your punch. I’m sure you left the other guy with a good shiner. Well deserved.”

His words are light-hearted but I’m still shaken from the encounter. There’s a tremor in my hands and a dull throb spreading through my bloodied fist. A worker from behind the counter says the police are on their way and I feel myself ease a bit.

He thanks them before turning his attention back to me. “My name’s Newt, by the way. Is there anyone I can call for you?”

The name is unique and it rings a familiar bell in my head. Surely my phone is dead by this point, so I’m quite grateful for his offer. “I’m Y/n. I’d like to get a hold of a friend, if I can.”

****

Brenda didn’t call back until after the police left. She spoke to Newt in hurried, frantic words through the phone. Turns out my suspicion was right; this is the Newt she wanted me to meet sometime. Knowing that Brenda trusted him automatically calmed me down. I wasn’t with a complete stranger. 

Newt offered to drive me home since it’d be more convenient than making Brenda come get me. “What about my car?” If I were being honest, the thought of sticking around any longer made me sick to my stomach but I still didn’t want to leave my things in the lot.

“We can come get it tomorrow. If you’re not comfortable with me driving you, we can make other arrangements. You’ve been through a lot tonight.” The thoughtfulness strikes me with shock. I mean, I did punch him in the face... He has every right to be irritated at this whole scenario. Yet, he’s showing me nothing but kindness.

“Thank you, Newt. Can we grab my stuff from my car before heading to my place?” He nods in agreement, his eyes softening.

So after getting my purchases from my trunk and loading them into Newt’s vehicle, we start the thirty minute drive back to the apartment. If I thought the drive in to the city felt long, it was nothing compared to how it feels on the way back.

Thankfully, Newt helped pass the time with small talk. He asked about my feelings on Glade and my decision to move there. We conversed about Brenda and how we’ve both come to know her. It was light and felt comfortable. The complete opposite of how I felt previously.

There’s an unfamiliar scratch in the back of my throat aching to ask him questions, to learn more about him. Yet, I don’t voice any of them due to an overwhelming shyness.

When we arrive back in Glade, he parks in front of my flat. Brenda is awaiting us and comes bustling over to make sure we are alright. I try to reassure her but she’s apologizing profusely at not being available when I needed her.

Newt helps load my things into the threshold of my apartment. Brenda disappears inside while I linger at the front door with Newt. “Thank you for tonight. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate you running over to help. Or how sorry I am about that.” My digit points at his swollen, bruising skin. 

 He waves me off and looks into my eyes. “I’m just glad you’re alright. Though, from the looks of it, you put up a decent fight.” His lips spread into a playful grin and it warms my cheeks. “Here, let me give you my number- in case you need someone in the area to call again.”

We exchange information and he tells me he’ll swing by tomorrow so we can retrieve my car. Once we’re in agreement, I bid him a goodnight with another ‘thank you’ tacked onto the end. 

Newt doesn’t start up his car until he’s seen that I’m inside my place with the door closed. Brenda is in the kitchen fixing a warm drink, “I’m so glad Newt could help you. It’s actually pretty lucky that he was there. Amazing, really.”

I watch his vehicle disappear around the corner. There was still particles of fear lingering inside me but something else floated in the pit of my stomach as I watched the night stand still. “Yes. Amazing.”

****

Part Two Here

Masterlist Here

A/N: I’m so sorry this has taken so long! I’m still working on the rest of the story but wanted to post this anyway. Hope you enjoyed it! Stay safe out there, everyone. - Ellie-Mae xx

[letsbenditlikebennett]

Lost in the Woods || Ariana & Carrington

TIMING: Shortly after this (x) and (x)  PARTIES: @carringtonblackwood & @letsbenditlikebennett SUMMARY: After Ariana flees the scene of Celeste’s death as a wolf, she finds herself now nude and crying in the woods. Carrington happens upon her.  CONTENT WARNINGS: Family death mentions, medical blood. 

There was no distance she could run that would have been far enough from the scene she left behind. Not even the wolf could shake off the raw emotion surging through Ariana and eventually, she found herself in the middle of the wood, shifting back into her human form. Her lungs were screaming for air and she could still feel the mixture of her’s and Adrian’s blood drying on her face. As she tried to take in a breath, it felt like it caught in her throat and she slid down to the ground leaning against a tree. The wound on her side was still bleeding and she knew she needed to find her way back home, but she found herself glued to the ground. She hugged her knees to her chest and let the tears fall.

She was alone now. Truly alone. What was she supposed to do now? It had always been her and Celeste. No matter where they went, it was always together. That’s how it was supposed to be. There were supposed to be years more of Saturday morning waffles and arguing over inconsequential things like folding over the corners of pages in books. They were still supposed to use that gift card to the axe throwing lodge in town and check out the moose tours. Her breaths were haggard as she hugged herself tighter. She tried to steady herself, knowing she couldn’t stay here, and she needed to clean up the cut on her side, but she couldn’t find the strength to move. She’d heard footsteps approaching. “Who’s there,” she called with a strained voice, trying to sound tougher than she felt.

When he couldn’t find distraction in other ways, and his mind remained too restless to stay still for too long, Carrington often went into the forest. It was quiet enough - lacking the sounds of civilization at least - that he could focus on what he wished. The smell of the trees or the earth beneath his feet. The sound of something with wings taking flight. The moonlight and the way it filtered through the canopy of branches. All these things Carrington took in, one after another, each in slow sequence as he catalogued the details in his mind. A process that slowed his thoughts and focused them on something besides the things he didn’t wish to think on.

It was during this process that he noticed a familiar, but at the same time unfamiliar, scent. He stopped, growing eerily still and closing his eyes in order to find the source of the smell. It drifted from the trees nearby - a heady animal scent mixed with the thick, copper tang of blood - and as he turned his head in that direction the sounds of a racing heart and near-panicked breaths reached his ears.  

Carrington knew injured and afraid when he came upon it. The question was, did he leave whoever it was to their own devices, or did he intervene? In the end, the sounds were too pitiful to ignore. So Carrington cautiously made his way into the trees. When someone called out, Carrington paused. The voice was unfamiliar, but young. Quite possibly female. That didn’t make the person any less of a potential danger, however.  “I won’t hurt you. My name’s Carrington. I was walking… just now on the path. Are you alright?” He knew the answer was most likely no, but he still had to ask.

As she saw the man emerge from the path before her, Ariana subconsciously shifted to cover more of herself. Usually she tried to be closer to home when she transitioned back into her human form for this very reason, but she hadn’t been ready to face home yet. Not without--. No. She needed to gain some sort of composure. This Carrington seemed nice enough and she couldn’t sit here crying over things she couldn’t change forever. Her arms stayed firmly around her knees as she slowly said, “Carrington. Good to--.” She held back a hiccup of a sob that threatened to spill over, “Meet you. I’m Ariana.”

Her first instinct was to snarl at his question which had a seemingly obvious, but she chose to stay quiet for a moment. She wasn’t alright and right now it didn’t feel like anything could ever be alright again. That wasn’t Carrington’s fault though. She wasn’t mad at him. She was mad at Celeste’s parents. She was mad at the whole concept of hunters. She was mad at herself. Not Carrington who was just trying to enjoy a nice stroll through the woods before he stumbled upon her. “Uh, not really,” she started, unsure of what to say that would make him more inclined to believe she could eventually will herself to make her way home, “I’m not dying or anything. I didn’t mean to interrupt your walk.” Her voice was weak as she spoke and she found herself looking back down on her knees. She could hear Celeste’s voice reminding her to take breaths and it made her want to do the opposite, but she had to focus on this moment. Not the ones that followed. One deep breath at a time. “You don’t have to,” she trailed off, she really had no idea what Carrington was going to do, but she didn’t want him to feel obligated to help her.

Carrington could smell the girl better now that he was closer. He figured she was almost certainly a wolf, recently shifted back to her human form it seemed. But injured. Though the injury was less of a worry to him than the rest of her state. An injury would heal, unless caused by silver. He gave the young girl a nod as she told him her name, and averted his eyes out of respect. He peered out into the surrounding woods, searching for any threat that might explain the young wolf’s state as he moved a bit closer. “You as well, Ariana.”

He wore a light jacket even though the nights weren’t especially cool this time of year, and he slipped it off slowly once he got close enough. Squatting down, Carrington held it out to her if she wished to take it to cover herself with. “I know,” he nodded when she said she wasn’t dying. “But you are hurt. And you’re not interrupting me at all.” He took a moment to inspect her a bit closer now that he was within arm’s reach. She looked like someone who’d been through the ringer. Or worse. And quite recently too. This very night perhaps.

Carrington gave her a small but genuine smile as she gave him an out from any sort of assistance. “And what sort of person would I be if I left a young girl all alone out here?” He indicated the jacket in his hand again if she wanted it. “Even if that young girl just happens to be a wolf.” A branch snapped from somewhere deep in the trees, and Carrington eyes instantly turned in that direction. “Did something out here hurt you?” he asked quietly, his entire frame still as stone.

The jacket being handed to Ariana was a nice gesture, but it took her a moment to process what he was offering while her mind was still trying to focus on his words. Her brain was still foggy from the alcohol and whatever the hell was in that dart they shot her with earlier. Transforming had done a fair amount for sobriety even if it wasn’t enough to leave her with a fully clear mind. She nodded slowly, she was hurt. The physical wound had been easy enough for her to forget about in the midst of everything else. “Yes, I am. My sis,” she cut herself almost immediately, the sharp pang hitting her chest again. Nope. Celeste couldn’t patch her up. Not anymore. She swallowed back another sob that tried to escape. “It’s not too bad,” she finished, looking down at her side realizing it looked worse than it felt, “I guess I need to get that taken care of.”

She finally took the jacket from Carrington and draped it over herself. As comfortable as she was with nudity, she wouldn’t get too far out of the woods this way. His next statement caught her off guard. He knew what she was even though she guessed it was obvious enough. Carrington didn’t smell like a wolf though when she concentrated, she could pick up on the distinct lack of heartbeat. “Oh,” she said carefully, “That… makes sense. Still, thanks and all. You’re right though, I’m a wolf. Hence, well…” She lightly motioned at herself now covered by his jacket, “Guessing you’re not human either since I can’t pick up a heartbeat. Which is cool. Just glad you’re not another hunter.”

Talking to him was helping her calm down a little. It shifted her focus from the weight of Celeste’s absence to something else though the ache was still there. “Not out here, no. Well, not anywhere anymore really. I was at-- They’ve been trying to find me for a while. I was at prom afterparty when they grabbed me. I ran out here after they,” she explained shakily. She couldn’t say it though. Not out loud. Not yet. If she said it, it would feel too real. Part of her still wanted to cling on to some small shred of hope that this had all been just a bad dream. That she’d go home and Celeste would be there, arms crossed, chiding her for running off the way she did.

No other sounds came from the forest, so Carrington turned most of his attention back to Ariana. She admitted she was hurt, which was a good sign. Though she looked to be quite close to tears. Understandable, given whatever she’d been through. He had just caught the faint scent of alcohol when she mentioned a sister. “Is she hurt as well?” Carrington asked. If that was the case, then where was she? If not… then perhaps it would be prudent to take Ariana to her.

But first he needed to find out what had happened. He waited patiently while she covered herself, and gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile when she picked up that he wasn’t human either. “You’re right. I’m not. Not for the last 400 years, give or take. But I won’t hurt you, as I said.” The mention of hunters turned Carrington’s expression into a concerned frown. “Is that who did this?”

He listened attentively as she tried to explain. An after-prom party. Which meant she could only be… what? Seventeen? Eighteen years old? Just a child. And yet she had had to run for her life on a night that should’ve held nothing but good memories. That also meant there might be others who were hurt. Either purposefully or because they got in the way of whoever had been after Ariana.

Christ above, but Carrington hated hunters. For this very reason. Along with a thousand others. They were children, for God’s sake. And wolf or not, Ariana was scared. Perhaps far more than she was letting on. Though never let it be said that wolves lacked bravery. Or stoicism. Ariana had no reason to trust him, no reason to tell him anything at all. He was a stranger. A threat. Or he very well could’ve been. But Carrington didn’t harm children. Or anyone that didn’t directly threaten - or could potentially threaten - him or those he cared about. But it was irrelevant at the present time. Ariana needed someone she knew.

“It’s alright…” Carrington told her gently as she seemed to trail off. “You don’t have to tell me anything else. Except perhaps who I can take you to. Unless you’d rather the hospital?”

The forest around them seemed peaceful which only served to directly contradict how she was feeling. Especially when Carrington asked if her sister was hurt. Ariana froze, the jacket wrapped securely around her, and looked to him with wide eyes for a moment. Deer in the headlights had never really been her thing, but she had no idea how to answer that question. It was something she’d have to explain more time than she’d like in the coming days and she swallowed back the lump in her throat. “She’s,” she paused, trying to keep her tone steady, “She’s dead.” The words tasted sour on her tongue. Even as she said it, she still didn’t want to believe even though she’d seen it with her own eyes.

She took a deep breath. Eventually, she’d have to face reality and she was sure Ulfric was worried about her. She listened as Carrington confirmed he wasn’t human either and appreciated the nod to the fact he wouldn’t hurt. “I didn’t think you were going too, but thank you for telling me.” Maybe mentioning hunters hadn’t been the smartest idea, but Carrington was being kind and deserved the truth. “Yes,” she started and let out another deep breath. It was all she could do to keep pushing herself forward. “They won’t be a problem anymore though.”

It came as a relief that Carrington wasn’t pressing any further. Everything that happened still felt surreal. Celeste coming in guns blazing hadn’t been a shock to her and she felt little remorse seeing Diana’s body fall to the floor, but something had come over her when Adrian plunged the knife into Celeste. It still felt like a blur-- the change, her own teeth sinking into Adrian’s neck, the whole run here. She’d never killed another person before and she wasn’t even sure how she could begin to tell someone else what she’d done. Maybe Adrian didn’t deserve to live, but part of her knew that maybe that wasn’t her call to make. There was little that could be done about it now, so she slowly steadied herself, and stood up.

The weight of everything still threatened to pull her right back down, but she couldn’t stay here forever. There were people who needed her to be okay like she had needed Celeste to be okay. Another deep breath, easy in and out, and she made a conscious effort to keep her chin up. “Ulfric,” she answered, “He’s a friend that I’ve been staying with. It’s not too far out from here.”

Carrington waited patiently to see if Ariana would - or even could - answer any of his questions. The first answer struck him quite sharply. So her sister was dead. That could explain part of Ariana’s state. Shock was different in everyone. And if this had just recently happened, which by all estimations it had, then not only had Ariana had to flee for her life, but she’d lost someone she loved in the process. Christ, this couldn’t get much worse. “I’m so sorry.” And he was. His expression and his tone said as much. Part of him wanted to ask if whoever had hurt her had killed her sister, but he couldn’t bring himself to put her through answering such a thing. Not when she was likely to have to repeat it later.

“You’re welcome.” He gave her a small nod, and let out a small sigh as Ariana went on to answer the rest of his inquiries. She’d known the people that did this, but it was handled. Knowing nothing other than what Ariana was telling him, Carrington had to trust her, just as she was trusting him. So when she seemed to pull her reserves of strength around herself, Carrington stood as she did, offering a hand out to steady her if she needed it.

“Ulfric. Alright.” Carrington looked around once more to make sure the woods were still clear. But it was still only him and Ariana, the eerie stillness of the evening, and the lingering smell of blood and earth. “Which way?” He would get her safely to her friend and hope she would find some small bit of solace in being with those that cared for her. Carrington knew it would hardly erase what had happened to her tonight, or the loss of someone as dearly beloved as a sister. Though life rarely gave consolation prizes for its worst moments. Carrington knew that as well as anyone.

Ariana was grateful for the hand that was there to steady her as she adjusted to being upright again. Her head was still woozy and it took a moment for her to feel completely steady on her feet. The space between this moment and when she’d finally get to pass out in her bed seemed entirely too long. As the physical exhaustion hit her, she was eager to get back home. She pointed east and directed, “It’s this way.”

For a while, they walked silently and Ariana tried to get a solid grasp on her thoughts. If she started to think too far ahead, outside of just arriving home, a sense of dread would wash over her. She’d left Ulf, Luke, and Winston back at that warehouse. That hadn’t been fair, leaving them to clean up that mess. Somehow she’d only just realized that Winston saw her actually turn into a wolf and maul a hunter which filled her with an added sense of dread. Great, her closest friend was now probably totally freaked out by her on top of everything else. She wrapped herself even tighter in the jacket as if she could cocoon herself away from all of this.

As they made some headway toward Ulfric’s property, she finally said, “We’re almost there. I’ll uh… wash this before I return it to you.” One day, when she felt better, she was sure she’d have a million questions for Carrington. She’d never met a vampire before and would normally be excited by the prospect, but circumstances didn’t leave her feeling her normal chatty self. Everything, including her own body, just felt unbearably heavy. She’d be sure to properly thank him later.

Carrington stayed close as they headed east, not touching her anymore than necessary, but always with a hand ghosting along her arm or shoulder when it seemed as if she might falter. He didn’t say much more than Ariana did, lost in his own thoughts. She had people at least, even if those of her blood were lost. It never got easier, losing those you loved. It was one of the reasons Carrington avoided getting too close to people. In the end, they would leave - either through death or circumstance - and he would be alone. Again.

But it wouldn’t do to get bogged down in his own thoughts at the moment. Ariana needed to get to her friend. Ulfric. It didn’t escape Carrington’s notice how the longer they walked, the more the girl seemed to draw into herself. But she was upright and moving, that’s what mattered at the moment. When she did speak, Carrington glanced at her, giving her a soft smile. “Don’t worry about the jacket. I’ve got another. Just take care of yourself, hm?”

Once she was feeling better, if she wanted to talk, then Carrington would be more than happy to do so. It wasn’t often he found someone interested in learning more about what he was. Though he had come across a few exceptions over the last few months. “Here.” He pulled a business card out of his wallet and tucked it in the pocket of the jacket. “Feel free to call me - or have your friend call if you like - if there’s ever anything I can help you with.” She didn’t have to, of course, but the offer was there regardless.

There was something comforting about Carrington’s presence as they walked. Whenever Ariana felt herself getting a little weak, there was a hand for her to fall back on if she needed it. Even as they neared the property line, he wasn’t even concerned about his jacket. A total stranger showing her kindness on what was definitely the worst night of her life brought some sliver of light to the whole thing. The darkness and emptiness she felt was still overwhelming, but it reminded her she could push forward. She nodded slowly at his request to take care of herself. “I will,” she replied quietly.

The card he’d given her was unexpected. He’d already done so much and he was offering to be there further. It meant she’d be able to thank him properly one of these days, when she had the energy and words to truly express her gratitude. “Thank you,” she said as she looked over the business card, before tucking it away into a jacket pocket so she wouldn’t lose it. “I’ll be in touch,” she assured, before noting, “We’re here.” They were at the edge of the property line. She knew Ulfric had to be on high alert, so she didn’t want to bring someone else. “You get home safely too, please.” She gave a small wave and took a deep breath. It was time to face all of this and hope that Ulfric forgave her for running off the way she did.

[until-we-fall-in-love]

Into the Hush: Chapter Two

-Chapter One-

-Into the Hush Masterlist-

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Reader, a little Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Summary: It’s only ever been you and the rugged wilderness; both unkempt and undomesticated. Until it isn’t anymore.

(1870s Cowboy AU. A/B/O AU. Gothic/horror.)

Warnings: Violence, gore, dark themes, A/B/O dynamics, smut in later chapters, a touch of it in this one.

If you are under 18, you should not be reading this!

A/N: hey guys!! sorry for the wait on this, i’m just finishing up finals so i should have more time to write!! it got a little long, so i would love any feedback or comments you might have!! enjoy!!

***

Spring grows thick and unruly in the coming weeks, crops burst through the ground and unfurl their leaves to the sun. The days grow longer once more, the sun lingering on the horizon. It’s become warmer, too, slowly creeping into the beginning of summer. You start wearing lighter dresses, less layers, try to keep your hair off the back of your neck when you work. 

Steve and Bucky have been helping you on the farm for the past few weeks. Despite your initial reluctance, they’ve done good work, helped you out a great deal. They listen to you respectfully, work hard, and treat you like an adult. Not a girl, not an Omega. It’s refreshing for once, it’s made you a little more friendly to them, in the least. They’re careful of your boundaries, they don’t near spaces that seem to be yours; your bedroom, the corner of the settee in the living room that’s got a cozy, knitted blanket curled around it and a pillow that smells of you, the loft in the barn that you like to read in, the spot by the creek where the grass is worn from you setting out a blanket to lounge there. They’re careful not to get too close to you unless you step near them first.

For awhile, they work in the new summer heat with their shirts on. But eventually, Steve sheds his when you’re off doing another chore, only for you to come back and see him and the broad, strong muscles of his chest and torso. Though you’d flushed and averted your eyes, you hadn’t said much, so he grew comfortable working that way.

Bucky was more reluctant, though, and he still kept a single glove on his left hand. He remained in long sleeves, even as the sun burned brighter. You never dared ask about it, but the curiosity did nibble at the back of your mind. You walked along the prairie grass with it, wondering what he was hiding, if anything at all. You meandered back to the farm after your lunch break by the creek and as if your mind was read—

You catch sight of Bucky shirtless. 

He’s chopping wood beneath the sun, sweat on his brow, dampening his neck. Your eyes trace over his broad, bare shoulders, one of which is--

One is made of metal. It cuts silver, gleaming under the sun. It’s made of moving gears, which churn and rotate at the joints. Metal plating surrounds pipes inside of it but it moves like a normal arm. Like a small engine, a small machine attached to him, one with him. 

It reminds you of all the new trains and factories in big cities; raw, open creations of machinery. 

He picks his head up, notices you, and immediately goes still. You near him as if nothing is different, however you can smell the change in his scent-- the worrisome burst of pine that sharpens into the smell of winter, of metal. Is he nervous? 

You are careful to keep your face neutral, your eyes away from his metal arm. You try to keep your features the same aloofness that you always hold with him and Steve, however you do glance into his eyes, dark and midnight blue. 

And your voice is softer than you’d like it to be when you ask, “Do you want water? I’m going to get some.” 

He blinks, as if he’s surprised by this, his face searching yours. You think maybe he inhales slow to grab your scent, to give him any clues as to what you’re feeling. You bristle a little, become suddenly self-conscious.  

But he inclines his head, dips it a little lower, purposefully submissive or thankful, and his voice is rough and quiet when he responds, “Yes, please.” 

You nod and quickly turn away from him to find Steve to ask the same question. Steve is in the stables usually by this time, taking care of Clover, and he’s been working on repairing the door, which nearly falls off its hinges. You step into the cool shade of it, Clover huffing as she sees you enter. You find Steve around the corner, fiddling with the hinges of the door once more.

He picks his head up when he sees you, straightening to his full height. There’s a flicker of surprise in his features, “You’re back from lunch early,” he says, a little too casually.

You only respond, “I’m going to the well to get water. Would you like some?” 

Steve nods slowly, “Yes, ma’am. If it’s no trouble.” And then he fidgets, shifts from foot to foot, “I’ll ask Buck if he wants any, too—“

Steve moves to leave, but you speak up, “I already did.” 

Steve pauses, “You saw him already?” And there’s a note of worry in his tone. His scent becomes thick with protectiveness suddenly, and he turns back to face you, his blue eyes shadowed slightly in the low light of the barn. Sunlight breaks in through the cracks of the wood, cuts across his face in a thin line, like a lightning strike.

You’re certain this protectiveness comes from Bucky’s arm, you’re sure others have been far less kind about it. And Steve, so loyal, is already ready to do anything for him.

“Yes,” You say calmly, look into his eyes and don’t back down from the squaring of his shoulders, “I’ve already seen him.” 

With that, you turn on your heels, about to rush out, but Steve snags your wrist. You stop with a jolt, his grip tightening. He keeps you rooted in place and you round on him quickly, eyes blazing as you snap;

“Let me go.” 

“Are you gonna rush in and tell your father?” Steve asks, and there’s a sternness to him, a hardness in his eyes that you know is unshakable. It’s all Alpha, the hard cut of his jaw as his teeth grind together, the pheromones that sharpen the air. 

You blink, surprised. “About Bucky?” 

He nods, slow, tight.

“No.” You say, “Why would I?”

You pull at your wrist again, irritated by his hold on you still, and this time he drops your wrist like it’s burned him. 

“Not many have taken kindly to him because of his arm.” Steve says carefully, still eyeing you, the eyes of someone trying to discern if you’ll be a threat or not. “Most people think it’s an abomination.” 

“The contraption is curious,” You admit, “It’s—“ You search for the right word, “It seems so modern, especially in this small town.”

“It is advanced, even for big city standards in America. A friend of mine had it made for him. He’s from a far more advanced country than ours.” Steve explains and he’s still eyeing your face, trying to discern your reaction, so you fight to keep it as neutral as possible. 

“Does it move with him?” You ask tentatively.

“More or less. It struggles sometimes, slow, and the metal is heavy. The gears can overheat; sometimes it’s easier to go without it.” 

You nod, eyes flickering away from Steve once more. You don’t dare ask it, but your mind wanders to how he might’ve lost his arm in the first place. There’s a pang from within your chest, a bruise that blossoms at the idea of Bucky in such pain. Perhaps you look upset, perhaps your scent has changed because when you glance back up, Steve’s imploring eyes on your face have softened. 

“Confederates took him, while we were fighting in the Civil War. He was gone for weeks.” Steve says slowly, quietly, “Most thought he was dead but--” Steve shakes his head, tilts it a little, begs you to understand, “I couldn’t give up on him.” 

You realize, faintly, that your heart has stopped ticking, your breath caught somewhere in your throat. You’re looking at Steve with wide eyes, unsure if you want to hear this story. Maybe not from Steve. 

“Sam and I,” Steve continues and you know Sam, you’ve met him in town, too. Sam, who travels with Steve and Bucky, and the red-headed Alpha, Natasha. He’s friendly and warm and funny, smelling of amber and the warmth of a bonfire. “We went after him. We got him back. But he’d lost his arm and he was different after that.” Steve explains gently, as if this still twists at him, too. “He was changed.” 

You don’t ask what they might’ve done to him. You don’t want to know, can feel the sinking, sick feeling slither low inside of you. Perhaps you don’t want to hear it from Steve, at least. And he doesn’t go on, he settles into a restless silence, fiddling with tools around him. You think he’s trying to keep his hands busy suddenly, trying to push the thoughts of his friend being captured away. But the shadows and darkness seem to grow larger for a moment, around him, around you. 

You gnaw at your bottom lip until it’s raw, until you can focus on the cracks of light spilling through the barn rather than the reaching, tall shadows.

Before you leave to fetch water, your fingers twisting in your skirts, you pick your head up to find Steve’s eyes finally. And without quite knowing what you mean, but like your heart wants to spill over, you tell him;

 “I’m glad you got him back.” 

***

You drag tired and heavy feet up the stairs of your porch as the evening settles into the darkness of night. You’re exhausted, but warm with the flush of laughter from Wanda. You’d been racing in the forests, where the trees grow massive and towering, reaching up to the sky as if they might grasp the sun. You’d climbed the trees with her, too, scraped your palms and knees and laughed until your sides hurt when branches broke and you had to hold onto each other. 

You’re tired, but you’re happy and sated. You’re about to hollar for your father, let him know you’re home and you’re gonna prepare warm water for a bath to sink into before tumbling into your bed for the night.

But something gives you pause. 

The front door is slightly ajar, hanging there, creaking in the suddenly unsettling wind that whispers through the old wood of the house.  

Your father would never leave the door open like that. 

Your breath comes in quick and before you can rationally think, you rush forward and inside, shove the door nearly off its hinges as you half-expect to find Steve and Bucky in the entrance with your father once more. 

You almost enter excited, excited to see them, to see him--

But when you burst through, you’re met with Rumlow’s scarred face, shrouded in writhing shadows. Your father sits at the dinner table, the candles at the table flickering and trying to fight off the darkness. 

The fireplace is losing, the flames withering and dying into ash.

“Ah,” Rumlow says, turning to you, “There she is.” And the way he says it,  makes ice slip down your spine and drop into you. You shiver, despite the warmth of the early summer night. 

You look to your father, who looks pale and angry. He looks shaken. 

You grow agitated, bristling, bunching up your shoulders as if you might make yourself somehow bigger. As if you could arch your back like a vicious cat, unsheathe claws and bare teeth.

“Mr. Rumlow.” You say coldly. 

“We were just talking about you.” He muses in that raspy, hissing voice, like the sliding of a snake’s scales against stone. The rustling of brush before something lurches out to strike. 

“Were you?” You ask flatly, lingering in the doorway. Your shadow spills out across the floor and towers over them. 

He hums in affirmation, leisurely, as if he has all the time in the world. As if this house belongs to him. You want to force him out, snarl something nasty and make him leave. You feel invaded, seeing him stand in your home. With your vulnerable father. His rotting scent permeates the air, makes your nose wrinkle. 

“Talking about how you’d make a fine wife.” He continues, eyeing you in a way that makes your heart suddenly drop like a stone in the deep pits of you. “A fine Omega for an Alpha.” 

Your cheeks prickle with heat and for some foolish reason, embarrassment. Or perhaps it’s because you’re suddenly deeply uncomfortable. You stare with wide eyes shining in the last blaze of evening light. 

Your father stands suddenly, even on his bad knee, leaning heavily onto the table but squaring his broad shoulders. “Rumlow, I told you she’s not much interested in marrying anytime soon.” He says, voice gravelly, like there’s a warning in it. A flash of his eyes that indicate another word from the other Alpha and there will be trouble. It’s too bold of your father, with his injured knee and age. 

You brace yourself to fight Rumlow, to protect your father as his scent becomes almost choking with irritation. 

“How forward of you, lettin’ her pick when that is.” Rumlow says slow and this time you feel the anger prick inside of you like a thorn, striking you so suddenly that you almost lurch forward to--

To do what, you don’t know. 

But you grind through your teeth, “I think it’s time for you to leave.” And you aren’t being polite, you’re giving an order. 

His eyes flash to you, bright in the darkness, a flame that’s suddenly sparked. Alphas like him aren’t used to taking orders, especially not from Omegas. He bares his teeth at you, steps forward and into your space. He tries to make you cower, growls like it might make you back down or bare your neck or lower your eyes submissively. 

You know it’s what he wants. 

But you bare your teeth back, tip your chin up. 

“Get out.” You say lowly, feel the trace of your own growl around the edges. It’s rooted this time deep inside of you, not the light sounds you made with Wanda, but something guttural and raw. Like maybe you could roar if you tried. 

“You’ve been given a little too much freedom, Omega.” He says into your face, glowering down at you with such horrible eyes. “And that won’t last forever.” 

With that, he moves past you, and out the door. He slams it, let’s the sound rattle throughout the old house until you can feel it in your bones.

Your father falls back into the chair wearily. 

You go to him, “Are you okay, Pa?” 

He nods, a slow, drooping of his head. And then he picks his eyes up to look at you, to assess you. A rasping laugh falls from his lips as he then shakes his head slightly. His laughs turn into coughs. 

“Christ, I thought you were gonna kill him where he stood.” He gets out.

A surprised laugh bubbles up and out of you, too, a bark of it, “I would’ve,” You joke, but a part of you thinks you would. For you, Pa, I would’ve, a quiet, overprotective part of you whispers. 

“Be careful,” He says after a moment, as if he can see your bravery laid bare before his very eyes. As if he can see that fierceness in you. “Please,” He then says, “For your old man.” 

You offer a wavering smile, feel another chill descend upon you, but nod your head and promise anyways, “Of course, Pa.” 

***

That night, you dream of a meadow with a blank, grey sky. You can hear the summer cicadas, the high humming of them that sings in your bones. The air feels thick with tension, like there might be a storm approaching. Maybe there’s thunder in the distance, rumbling and soft. 

But when you turn, it is your mother you see, sitting on the heather hills as if she was alive and well and as bright as ever. 

“Ma,” You breathe and you walk towards her, pick up your skirts to walk faster. She smiles at you, her form shimmering in pearl and gold light. She looks healthy again. She looks remarkable. 

“There’s my hellcat,” She smiles and opens her arms the way mother’s do, the way you have missed with every part of you. You rush forward and embrace her tightly. Hold her there even though it feels like trying to hold the wind. 

She pushes the hair from your face and strokes your cheeks. Tears glimmer in your eyes. 

“Ma, I miss you.” You whisper and she smiles sadly, as if she knows. 

“I miss you, too.” She says, touching her forehead to yours, “But I have little time to speak with you, so let me speak.” 

“You have to be careful.” She says before you can even respond and she squeezes her eyes shut, “Danger is coming.” She warns and her voice grows strange and faint and withering. Her form flickers.

You try to hold tighter to her, try to grasp at her so she doesn’t slide away from you again. 

In the distance, someone moves. You look over her shoulder, at the horizon, where Bucky walks along a sloping hill. He’s framed against the sky, a peak of gold trying to burst free from the dense grayness. It falls over him in luminous rays. He’s shirtless, his metal arm cast in gold. 

You flush darkly at his lack of clothes. Your mother turns to see him, which only furthers your blush.

“You need to trust him.” Your mother says as if it is gravely important to do so. 

“I-I do.” You stammer. 

She takes your face between her cold, dead hands again, “No, when the time comes, you need to trust him.” She repeats, holding you tight. “Don’t be stubborn. Don’t turn from him.” 

You blink, mouth open, unsure of what to say but her form flickers again. And this time it begins to turn grey and mottled, too. 

“Ma!” Your hands fly over her, too, now, desperate to try and keep her and--

And maggots begin to skitter from her mouth, suffocating any last words that she tries to give you. She begins choking, her skin now sagging and sloughing off, and you scream. You scream all hoarse and raw and untethered as you scramble away when maggots begin to rush after you, following as you shove yourself backwards.

You wake with tears in your eyes and your heart hammering, thinking the darkness only seems to get more and more lonely with each cursed dream. 

The morning brings the light, but it seems faint and waning. 

***

Your father catches Steve and Bucky in that red dawn, the sun hanging like a warning sign. You’ve already begun your chores, off in the fields.

Bucky looks at you all alone against the open sky, your silhouette against the darkened, vermilion hills that frame you. He thinks something inside of him is unthawing, awakening from that place in his chest that seemed so dormant and dulled for so many years. He feels newer, softer than he ever has before. 

“I have a favor to ask you fellas.” Your father says slowly, drawing Bucky’s eyes away from you reluctantly, and to the man that rocks in his chair on the porch. It creaks softly, old and worn. 

“Yessir?” Steve asks, respectful and expectant. 

“Watch out for my daughter for me, will ya?” He says and there’s something in his voice that is thick and choked. It makes Bucky wary. He glances back out to you, so alone against that blazing sky, then to your father. 

“With all due respect, sir,” Bucky starts, “I don’t think she needs us much.” 

Your father shakes his head and when he meets Bucky’s eyes again, his eyes are glistening. There is real fear there, the hopeless kind, the horrible, overpowering kind that Bucky knows in the very basest part of him. The kind that is a hungry dog, howling and crying and begging.

It frightens him, too, Bucky thinks. Because it’s about you. Why is he scared for you? 

“Rumlow stopped by last night.” He admits, his voice raspy and quiet. Bucky feels his shoulders raise instinctively, he can feel the surge of aggression at the simple mention of the other Alpha’s name. “Asked for my daughter’s hand.” 

Bucky’s heart stops altogether now.

“I denied him.” And now he looks back up at Bucky again with those eyes, “But I don’t think he’s going to give up, you understand?” 

His eyes are pleading, cloudy with age. 

“I’m scared for her.” He tells them and his strong voice wavers. 

Bucky feels his breath waver, too, feels the same fear creep through him like a serpent. It coils around his chest, right along his heart, and threatens to squeeze until he can’t breathe any longer. The idea of anything happening to you—

His teeth grind together. He blinks hard. 

Steve speak for him, “We’ll watch out for her.” He says, earnest and like he means it. Bucky knows he does but it’s not the way Bucky feels. Steve cares for you, deep and sure and strong but Bucky, he— he feels half wild at the thought. 

He thinks, for whatever reason, he’d do anything for you. 

And your father nods, so Steve steps down from the porch to begin his own morning of work. Bucky lingers, wood creaking beneath his feet as he shifts. He doesn’t know why he stays, but he feels he has to. He releases a shuddering breath.

Your father seems to know why Bucky stands before him more than even he does. The elder man regards him evenly, swallowing around the lump in his throat.

Like your father knows something the rest of the universe doesn’t, he says, “Take care of her.” 

And Bucky nods, slow, certain. 

“With my whole life, sir.” Bucky promises, feels it down to his marrow, his very being. 

Your father releases a breath now, as if he can finally rest easy. 

***

Summer takes hold quickly and the days grow longer, warmer. The sun is high and burning in the sky, white-gold and shimmering down in wavering heat. You finished your share of work this morning, which was significantly less with Bucky and Steve helping out. You’d slipped off to meet Wanda at the creek near your farm, wandered down the well-worn path you’d created over the years until the tall grass became sandy and speckled with smooth pebbles that catch in the high sun. 

Wanda is already there, sitting beside the bubbling creek, the water shimmering under the light. It’s the clearest water you know of, crystalline, like beautiful glass. You’d built a small dam with some of the rocks some summers ago, captured a small, perfect pool of it. 

Mountains surround the place, hide you away, shelter you against the rest of  the world. The breeze is rich and sweet as peaches, honeyed and warm.  Wanda lifts her fingers from the water, which drip and sparkle, cause little pools to ripple out from the surface. 

“Took you long enough.” She teases with her lifted, lovely smirk. She begins undressing then, stripping her layers down and some days, she’ll leave her knickers and camisole on, but today she sheds those, too. Until she is bare beneath the sunlight, her auburn hair shimmering like a flame. There is, you think, something about Omegas in the spring and midsommar, brighter and opening like the petals of flowers. Her scent is thick, seductive and sweet and mysterious. 

And then she wades into the creek, hissing at the coldness of the water, which come straight from the broad, high mountains that protect you. 

You follow after her, quickly unlacing your dress, squirming out of it and dropping it in the sand. You strip until you are naked, too, until the heat is on your skin and you feel as if you can finally breathe without all of your clothes. Your feet on the bare earth, digging into the sand, the wind on your flushed skin. It’s freeing, makes you roll your shoulders back and smile. 

You rush into the water, inhaling quickly with the sudden shock of the cold. You dive beneath the surface, though, dunk your head and hair and feel clarity, feel as bright and cool as this bubbling creek. 

Wanda still stands in water up to her calves, her arms now wrapped around her midsection, shivering slightly. 

“Chicken,” You call her, dipping low in the water so that it covers up to your shoulders. You swim to her, until you can stand and walk and you grab her wrist, haul her in as she squeals with laughter and fear.

“Don’t!” She laughs brightly, “I’ll come in on my own!” 

You dig your heels into the pebbles and sand, pull harder and send you both backwards with a splash. 

Wanda gasps when she resurfaces, startled by the cold, but she turns mischievous, auburn eyes on you. Then she splashes a large wave at your face, which splatters with another cold burst. But you laugh, too, and splash back.

You begin wrestling and climbing over each other then, throwing each other down into the water until your hearts are pounding and your eyes are shining and lively. Until, eventually, you crawl back onto the bank, lay out on the sand and in the sun to dry. Your toes are still in the water, brushing your feet through the pools, the sand soft beneath you. You’re both still bare, leisurely and comfortable in your privacy. Your chest is warmed by the sun, your stomach and ribs expanding wide and free with every breath. You think no one knows about your little oasis, you feel safe in your little area of comfort, in your corner of the world.

But then you hear voices on the sloping hills, heading towards the creek. 

And you know those voices. You and Wanda both sit up so fast that your head spins and you see sunspots dance in your vision. You lock eyes, just as you hear Steve and Bucky’s voices carrying towards you, nearing you. Both your eyes go wide, before Wanda starts laughing, and you’re both up faster than you blink, running around in search of all of your missing garments.

Wanda won’t stop laughing at your predicament, and you’re hissing at her, telling her it isn’t funny, as you scramble to put on your bloomers, on your camisole at the least. Wanda can barely get her clothes rightened before they round down the last slope and find the pair of you, only in your underwear. 

You try to hold up your dress to cover more of you.

Steve makes a startled noise and quickly looks upwards. You and Bucky lock eyes for a heart beat, a flash of heat suddenly striking you. A wildfire that sparks, catches, and jumps into a sudden flame inside the pits of you. The sun feels too warm on all your exposed skin.

A breeze rustles past him, sweeps his scent around you, which has grown muskier and darker. Your lips, shining and wet, part slightly. 

He blinks and his eyes quickly drop to the ground.

“Sorry,” Steve says and you can tell his cheeks are pinkened, “We didn’t know anyone was down here.” 

Wanda stifles her giggles behind her hand.

You clear your throat, feel heat at your neck and your cheeks. “Well, we didn’t know anyone knew about this place.” You get out as you scramble to get the rest of your clothes back on. Mortification overcomes you, bears down on you. You barely get your dress laced up. 

“We can leave.” Steve suggests, but you roll your eyes.

“We’re fine, now.” You say, but your hair is damp and free from any braids or updos. You both still look improper, bare feet still in the sand and clothes disheveled. 

Both men peak at you tentatively, as if you might be lying, before discovering you’re both fully dressed. 

“We’ll be quick, then.” Steve suggests, moving to the clear, sparkling water. But they aren’t quick and the sun begins droop beneath the mountains. The sky is brilliant orange and spiced pink berry, lavender and creme clouds that linger in the high sky. It’s a dream, you think, as the evening begins to cool and Wanda’s bright laughter is in your ears and Steve is smiling and--

Bucky looks relaxed, for once. 

He sits beside you on the bank, while Wanda wades in the water, hitching up her skirts to her knees. Steve leans against a nearby tree, watching, happy-eyed and gentle. There is contentment in this little oasis, guarded by the peaks and valleys of the land, contentment in your beings.

You can tell Bucky wants to speak, can feel his eyes on you. Silently, you dare him to, your eyes glittering in those final rays of sun.  

So he says, gently, with the barest hint of a smile upon his lips, “You belong here, in this wilderness.” 

You blink; at the fondness of his voice, at the observation or compliment or-- you don’t know what it is. But it warms you, settles inside of you. And you smile, too, wider than him, fiery little slip of a smile that seems to set his whole world aglow. 

You smile unabashedly, and he smiles wider, too, like you’re teaching him how. 

And you tip your face up to those jagged peaks of mountains and the bursting, colorful sky, at the running water, and trees that hang overhead. The wind brushes past your collarbones and you agree, “I do, I think.” 

You turn to face him then, so suddenly that he almost pulls away. You’re closer than you thought, your noses nearly touching and his shoulder brushes against yours. The hard, metal one. It doesn’t scare you, even if he holds incredibly still. 

You lean more into it, just to watch the breath tumble from him. Relieved. 

“And where do you belong?” You ask him, tipping your chin up a little, a slight challenge, a glint in your clever eyes. 

Bucky laughs, quick and short, just a burst. It’s rasping, small, like he needs to relearn the sound. It makes Steve’s head turn because he doesn’t know the last time he’s heard it.

“I don’t know.” He tells you but his eyes are sparkling, sapphire and heaven blue, as if he might find where he belongs in your eyes. “I don’t know anymore.” 

“The wilderness welcomes all untempered and lost things.” You say with a smile, just before Wanda splashes over to you, grabs you by the hands and pulls you back up into the bubbling, joyful creek. 

You kick around in it, the bottom of your skirts soaking through, even as you lift them to reveal ankles, the curve of your calves. And you keep looking back at him, smiling and tossing your head back to laugh. 

Like you’re trying to show him what happiness looks like, what mischief and play looks like with your fox-quick and cunning remarks. Like you’re trying to show him how to shed the heavy weight off his shoulders. 

But all he’s thinking about is how if he could, he’d keep you here, where you’re happiest, where you’re safest and warmest and most free. Where you can scream and shout and kick and the whole world doesn’t have to know, just you and him, the ones who love you, and that ferocious wilderness. 

***

He dreams of you that night, in peach light, sugar sweet and soft. You lay him down in the lush grass, the birds sing overhead, flying in circles. Your head is crowned in a wreath of flowers, strung together and tangled into your very being. Your eyes are fever bright when you crawl atop him.

You’re bare and rose-damp, petals sticking to your skin. Your lips are bee-stung and pouting, your nails digging into his shoulders, “Bucky, it hurts.” You whimper, your hips sliding over his. And he can feel you, slick and wanting and aching--

He coos to you, touches your inflamed cheek, brushes a petal from your skin. He thinks you look like one of the old goddesses, when the land was free, his feral spring angel. Burning too bright, too hot. He knows what you need, what he can give you. 

You shudder and your petals wilt and fall and flutter down around him. They rot, and fall apart. You grow pale in color to his eyes, waning before him. 

You lean over him and you’re cold now, shaking, “Are you going to lead me into the cold?” You ask him, soft and shivering. You’re trying to warm yourself but he’s all ice and metal and winter. 

No good for a summer child, for your wild-spring heart. 

“Into death?” You ask, your lips turning blue. He tries to grasp at you, to keep you together. Begs you not to cry, even as your tears freeze to your cheek. But every touch that he gives worsens you, makes you sick and frigid and rotting. 

“You told me to follow you!” You cry, “You took me away and I trusted you!” 

“I-I’m sorry--”

Blooming, brilliant red suddenly slices across your neck. A cut, quick and small, but you--

You start dripping sizzling hot blood onto his bare chest, gagging, choking on your final words, “You were supposed to take care of me!” 

He wakes with a start, a gasp. Nightmares are not new to him. But still, this one shudders through him, makes him curl tight to his pillow, bury his face there and wish he could find peace in the darkness once more.    

***

The bonfire roars, dancing high into the plum evening. You sit between Wanda’s legs, leaning back against her chest, with her arms tight around you. You’re warmed by the flames, content on the quilt you’d brought. Natasha and Sam pass around moonshine in a jar, share it between Bucky and Steve and each other. 

It’s not lost on you that you and Wanda are near the center, surrounded, guarded by the group of Alphas. But they’re in good spirits, and you are, too. An evening of leisure and talking and laughing. You like their kind eyes, you like their attention. You like the way the evening sky begins to bloom into darkened blue, peppering the sky with wonderful stars. 

Which makes you jolt upright, right out of Wanda’s arms, stops her from combing through your hair. “It’s getting late.” You say suddenly, “I need to get home for my father.” 

“I’ll take you back,” Bucky offers, offers his hands to help you stand. His metal one is ungloved, gleaming gold from the flames of the fire. 

You take it easily, slide your hands into his and realize you don’t want to let go. “What about Wanda?” You ask, your fingers brushing his palms. 

“I’ll take her home.” Natasha offers and you look to Wanda, who nods her acceptance as well. Wanda stands then, too. Brushes her cheek and lips to yours in a parting kiss before you are guided by Bucky to his own horse.

He hoists you up easily, even though you don’t need his help. His fingers digging into your waist, palms rough and soft on the curves of you. It makes you flush darkly, just as you tell him, “I don’t need your help.” 

He hoists himself up now, too, settling behind you. He’s a strong presence, warm and sturdy. If you wanted, you could lean back into him, into his muscled chest and arms. You think about what he’d do-- if he’d fit you closer, let you rest while he carried you home. You feel tired, sated and exhausted in a good way. It’d be easy, so easy, to lean back into him. 

Maybe if you were a different girl. 

Regardless, his scent is strong and surrounding you now, pine and evergreen. The hint of metal and lower notes of musk and cotton. It’s a comfort, lulling and soft, whether you want to admit or not.

“I know,” He says, huffs a little, “Just trying to be a gentleman.” 

He kicks his horse into a trot, easy and simple and in the direction of your farm. You’re careful to keep any distance that you can between you two, which is difficult, with his arms around you, holding the reigns. But you lean forward slightly, keep your hands in front of you. 

“I’m not some damsel.” You counter, “I’m not some proper lady you need to be polite with.” You say as you glance back at him, over your shoulder and he’s right there. His nose could brush your cheek, you can see each of his lashes. 

And the moment you’ve said those words, you realize how they might be taken. Heat overcomes you, burns through you. 

“No?” He asks and his eyes have gotten darker, hypnotizing. You should turn back, face forward and try to get your heart to stop beating so hard and quick. 

But you don’t and your eyes glance to his lips, the briefest flash, before you blink, and realize the way he’s looking down at you. Like he’s hungry and waiting, wolf’s eyes, raw and dangerous and ready to sink teeth into the vulnerable place of your neck that would forever then mark you as his. 

Panic seizes through you and you quickly face forward, become hyper aware of the bareness of your throat to him. “No, and I’m not some Omega that’s gonna go all soft for you, either.” You snap, even as embarrassment floods through you, your cheeks and neck growing warm.  Your shoulders raise defensively, as if you could keep him from all those bare, vulnerable parts of you.

Bucky cocks his head slightly, studies the back of your head, your defensive posture. He sighs and shakes his head slightly, the breath fanning onto your nape. He thinks of his dream, of you soft and crawling atop him. And to temper it, he quickly thinks of the rest, of the blood and rot of it all. 

“Never said you were.” He gets out and it’s tight, unsure. He doesn’t know how to talk to you.

“Then don’t--” You start, slam your mouth shut, take in a sharp breath. “Don’t look at me like that.” You hush back and you look over your shoulder at him once more. 

“Like what?” Bucky asks, but he knows and he can smell the pungent flowery scent of you now. He ticks an eyebrow, suddenly curious, suddenly wishing he could just bury his nose in your hair. At your neck. 

“You know what,” You hiss back, but for some reason your scent only gets more honeyed. It emboldens him, then, knowing that you’re not scared of him. Not at all. And it’s just you two and the soft trot of hooves upon the earth. All the world seems to be slipping into sleep, the night creatures stretching, shaking off their sleep to wake. 

“No, I don’t.” Bucky says then, slow, measured, “Why don’t you tell me, honey?” 

You bristle now, though, and even if there’s not a change in your scent, he knows he’s pushing it. 

“I’m not your honey.” You tell him and there’s this little growl in your words, this little temper that really makes his blood pump hot and wild. Some part of him croons, some part of you does, too. 

And he shouldn’t, he absolutely shouldn’t, but he murmurs all low, “But you smell just like it. Like flowers and honey and sticky citrus.” 

Your stomach swoops low, dangerous and tantalizing. Your pupils have gone all wide, like little dark moons that he gets lost in for a moment before he looks back up at the horizon. You don’t know what to say, and he then asks, soft, unsure, “You want me to stop?” His hands tighten slightly on the reigns, the metal one moving slow, one finger at a time. “Say the word and I’ll shut it.” He tells you earnestly. 

You blink again, unsure, dizzy. You know you shouldn’t continue, you know you should snap at him and you want to, but in some new and foreign way. You want to bare your teeth and growl, just not in anger anymore. 

You want him to give chase, to work harder. He’s gotta earn this. 

“No,” You say quietly, and the stars are twinkling down upon you now with all their inferno. And then you say with a little bit of bite, a challenge, “But it’s gonna take more than some pretty words, Barnes.” 

A slight smile curls at the corner of his lips. 

“I don’t know,” He muses now, feeling lighter than he has in ages, feeling like himself finally, “You seemed to like it plenty just now.” 

Your elbow sharply jabs backwards, into his abdomen. He yelps slightly, which turns into this choked little laugh that sets your heart fluttering. That makes you laugh, too.

“Hellcat,” He laughs, hunching close to you, “Wild thing,” He calls you and you finally lean back into it, into that warmth of him,“Sly girl.” He murmurs and his arms settle around your hips more. 

Your farm settles into sight, becoming larger with each moment until Bucky is helping you off his horse, setting you back onto your feet. He walks you to your door, hands respectfully behind his back, ducking his head to show you he’s done playing. And you’re about to turn around, maybe give him another feisty remark, when you notice the front door open once more. 

You stop and Bucky nearly runs into you before he pauses and notices, too. He grows wary, his scent sharpening into metal and winter. Cold. Distant.

Something is wrong. You can feel it down into the horrible depths of you.

And you rush forward before you can think, rush right into the darkness. You shove open the door, let it fly so it slams against the door and the sight before you doesn’t quite register for a moment.

There’s blood; on the floor, on the walls, it’s everywhere, dripping like red oil on the old wood. It’s shining in that hollow moonlight, in the cold, empty starlight. Your eyes trace the trail of it, your heart dropping, stomach rolling painfully until they follow it to the source.

Your father sits in his chair in the kitchen, bent at an odd and horrible angle. His throat is slit, the cut opening up all the innards of his throat. He’s limp and pale and staring endlessly at you with wide eyes, with a wide, crooked mouth that gapes open. Slack and empty and lifeless. 

You stutter, a scream bubbling, clawing its way from deep within your gut and into your throat. It starts as you stumble forward, into the blood, towards him like you might put him back together again. 

But before a sound can even come out, a hand is wrapped tight around your mouth. Bucky’s body is shoved against yours, his other arm coming down hard and quick to band him to you, to drag you backwards. 

“Don’t look,” He’s hissing into your ear, his fingers digging into your cheek, “Don’t look, don’t look, just shut your eyes!” But you’re sobbing behind his hand already and he knows you saw, he knows he didn’t spare you from that trauma. He hushes you quickly, sharply, dragging you backwards because he knows--

He knows who's here. He can feel it the same way he can feel a storm brewing. 

He hauls you, kicking and fighting and sobbing and screaming in his arms back outside. “We need to go,” Bucky says to you, low and repeatedly, trying to get you to hear him through it all. 

“C’mon, c’mon, I’m gonna get you out of here.” He says and he can feel the bone deep sobs of you, feel them splitting his heart, tearing it seamlessly. He can feel his voice getting choked, grinding his teeth together as he says, “I promise I’m gonna get you out of here.” 

And the moment he does, a shadow slithers from somewhere in the house and into the doorway. 

Rumlow’s face is illuminated with a cold cut of moonlight. 

Your sobs turn into howling, into screeches of anger and violence and pain. 

“Barnes,” Rumlow says, “I believe you’re taking what’s mine.” And he leisurely steps onto the porch. He’s covered in blood, your father’s blood, glinting crimson and black in the night. 

Bucky’s eyes go cold and hard, his muscles tighten around you instinctively. But he says in your ear, hard and stern. A command, “Go to the horse. Get out of here. Get to Steve or Sam or Natasha.” 

And then he shoves you in that direction, behind him. He stands between you and Rumlow and you can barely think, can barely get passed the way your body shudders and wracks with more sobs. You breathe hard, ragged, stumble slightly. 

“Go!” Bucky shouts, jarring you, just as Rumlow pulls out a gun. 

You scream again, hands flying to your mouth, just as Bucky rushes forward and collides with Rumlow’s stomach. A shot is fired into the air, loud and cracking and horrible. It misses, somewhere behind you, and then goes clattering onto the ground, skittering through the dirt.

Bucky and Rumlow start grappling, the violence of bare, raw fighting. Of bone to bone, until there’s the sickening crunch of metal on bone. 

You hear it break something in Rumlow, hear him howl before getting a burst of anger, of strength, and shoving Bucky off of him, sending him tumbling hard into the earth. 

You and Rumlow look at the gun at the same time. Then at each other. 

You race for it, fast, nimble, desperate. 

You slide in the dirt, grip it firm in your hand and take aim, fire quick just as Rumlow nears. 

It clips his shoulder. The bang making your teeth sing. Your ears ring. Bucky hauls you up once more, drags you fast to the horse as Rumlow stumbles up, too. But he gets you on the horse, swings himself over, too and doesn’t wait to be situated when he kicks his horse into a gallop. 

He presses on hard and fast, one arm banding tight around you, as if you might fall right off if he doesn’t hold you. 

And he takes you from your farm, from the place you’ve grown up your whole life and leads you into the darkness.

Into the black of night, the shadows you’ve dreamed of, with your stomach sick and your throat shredded raw.

[dira333]

A Cold And Empty Bed

A Sam Wilson Fanfic (already posted on ao3)

Unexpected Things Can Change A Life Or Two And That is Okay

Coming Home

It’s dark already, outside and inside too, when you use your key to open the front door. You’re too tired for a very late dinner or a very early breakfast, too tired to decide what it should be called, too tired to even turn on the lights. Not that you have too.

You have stumbled through his door before, lightheaded too, for different reasons. Long shifts, a few drinks too many or losing yourself in the embrace of the very man you live with.

You know your way around, can hang your jacket and put your shoes away in complete darkness.

Three steps to the left, avoid hitting your shin on the furniture, slip off your dress in the hallway and discard it in the hamper you can easily reach through the open bathroom door on your way to the bedroom.

You open the door slowly, careful to be quiet. Your fingertips find the soft fabric of a shirt thrown over a chair and you take it and slip into it, welcoming the familiar scent to calm you down even further.

Two steps forward and you sink to your knees, reaching out your hands and smiling softly to yourself when there’s warm skin under your fingers.

“Sam,” you caress his face, searching for his shoulders to shake him softly awake, “Sam, wake up.”

He grumbles. “What?”

“Come back to bed. I’m here now.”

“The mattress is too soft.”

You don’t argue with him. There are things you can only try to understand, as confusing as they sometimes are.

“Come on,” you pull his arm again and he follows the motion, allows you to pull him up and with you.

“Tell me,” he mumbles sleepily when he has pulled the blanket over you, curled his body around you, has framed your face with his hands, holding you close, “Why do you own an apartment in the city when you’re always here?”

You’re slipping into sleep already and the question isn’t important, just an ongoing joke none of you wants to let go, but you don’t like unanswered questions and you like that he’s willing to keep talking despite the hour just so your voice can be the last thing he hears. Just so you can enjoy the rawness sleep adds to his words.

“You’re not there,” you answer, the words spoken softly, almost inaudible, “The bed is cold without you.”

“And empty.”

“And empty,” you agree, slipping away, into a dreamless sleep and the warmth of his embrace.

 Mornings

The sensation of a restless body next to yours pulls you slowly out of your slumber.

His ankle rubs against the sole of your feet, his arm brushes yours, the bedsheets whisper when he pulls back his arm and his breath ghosts over your neck, hot and cold at the same time.

“Sam,” you mumble, sleep gluing the words together and cutting out the unnecessary syllables, “Just go for a run already…”

He chuckles.

“You sure?”

Your answer is a snore, fake and exaggerated, but your point is clear.

He chuckles again, presses a kiss against your temple and slips away from you, out of bed.

It’s hard to fall asleep after that.

Your mind is drawn to him, you listen to the muffled sounds of his morning routine, a part of you longing to keep him company, while the exhaustion weighs you down, the warmth of the bed a winning argument.

He’s whistling a tune when he leaves, the front door closing behind him with a soft click and you allow yourself to fall asleep, if only during the time he’s gone running.

 Unexpected Things

“Y/N?” You can hear his voice, can hear an eagerness that can’t be caused by running alone. You spit out toothpaste and rinse your mouth before opening the bathroom door, taking in his appearance, leaning against the doorframe.

“What happened?” you ask, leaning in for a good morning kiss, “You sound so eager.”

“Guess who I met today?”

“Today? As in while running?”

“Exactly.”

“Uhh.. Bono?”

“Bono?” He laughs, catches your hands and pulls you towards him, twirling once you just for fun.

“Not Bono?” You laugh back at him, “Beyonce then? Oh, I know, it was Frank Welker!”

“Frank who?”

You laugh again. “He’s a Garfield Voice Actor. Not him then?”

“No, not a Garfield Voice Actor. Captain America.”

“Captain America? As in Steve Rogers?”

“Exactly.”

“You met Steve Rogers while running?”

He grins and nods and you laugh. “How did that go? Tell me!”

“Over breakfast? I’m cooking.”

“You know me too well.”

 Can Change

Night Shift has been a drag so far. Everything’s a balance of not enough to do to forget the late hour but still enough to keep you on your feet.

All you want is for the sun to come up again and bring you the doctor who will relief you for the day. All you want is to go home, the home that is Sam’s home and his bed and his embrace.

And the Sun goes up and your phone rings and it’s Sam, his voice soft, but urgent at the same time.

“Y/N, don’t come home today.”

“What? Why?”

“That guy, you know, who I met while running? Don’t say his name, just say yes if you remember.”

“Yes?” You look around you, at colleagues and patients, people you know and people you don’t, your heart beating faster than it should, fear creeping up your neck.

“He needs my help. And I can’t pull you into this. So, please, just stay at your own apartment until I tell you it’s safe, okay?”

“But Sam, I can help, I-”

“No, please, just… I don’t know what’s going to happen… I want you to be safe, okay? Just stay at home, read a book, sleep.”

“But the bed is cold without you,” you whisper and he answers with a “Please…” instead of “And empty…” telling you that whatever it is, that is going on, it is entirely wrong.

 A Life

Sam does not call and it’s getting harder to find sleep, even with the short text messages he sends every few hours. You know he’s trying, but “Don’t go outside, if you don’t have to.” and other texts that sound alike are not helping to soothe your nerves.

And then they call you back to work for an emergency because that building on Theodore Roosevelt Island has been hit and there are so many casualties that they need every doctor and every nurse they can get their hands on.

You want to be glad for the numbing distraction of work, but there’s the nagging thought at the back of your mind, telling you the few facts you know.

Captain America. Sam. A dangerous mission. A security building brought down.

There are so many blank spaces in between that you can’t fill out, but it’s enough to leave you worried, to let your heart pick up speed, to freeze in fear every time they bring in someone new, hoping it’s not Sam, praying that he stays alive, stays safe through it all.

 Or Two

“Dr. Y/N, a patient asked for you.”

You’re tired, running on nothing more but adrenaline and strong black coffee, but you’re still far from being through this nightmare when a nurse directs you to another room.

Blond guy, beaten up and unconscious, his features looking familiar through the bruises.

It takes you longer than you want to admit to recognizing him, but when you do you grab his hand, hoping for him to wake up and tell you where Sam is and if he’s safe.

But Captain America does not wake up, not during the whole time you need to patch him up at least.

And when you’re finished and drop down on the chair next to his bed - just for a minute, promise - the door opens.

“I’m coming,” you mumble, searching in yourself for the strength you’ll need to go on.

“Don’t,” a male voice answers and you shoot up and turn around, your eyes seeing Sam, your mind screaming his name in silence, sending your body forward and into his arms.

He smells like smoke, but you don’t care, just pressing your face into his chest, swallowing down the lump in your throat.

“I’m sorry,” he tells you, “I’m sorry I pulled you into this. I just couldn’t live with you getting in danger.”

“The next time,” you tell him, pulling away from him, your voice stronger than you could have hoped for at this time of the day - or night, you have lost track, “The next time, I’m in. Let me help you. Let us do this together or not at all. Because I’d rather be by your side than worry sick while being in the dark on everything.”

“The next time?”

“Sam… Look me in the eye and tell me that you didn’t take the chance to go back eagerly.”

He smiles, his eyes holding the mixture of sadness and eagerness that seems to come with the job.

“You know me too well.”

 And That Is Okay

Slipping into bed, into the warmth of a body waiting for him, into a sleepy embrace. Is there a better way to end a day, a mission, a week?

“You smell,” she mumbles and pulls him closer all the same.

“And you’re feet are cold,” he argues back, rubbing his own feet against hers, warming them up.

“Not my fault,” she argues, pressing a kiss against his jaw, “The Bed’s cold without you.”

“And empty,” he answers, embracing the comfort a routine as small as this can give them, especially at times when so much is unsure.

Sometimes, a little comfort is all they have or need.

“And empty,” she ends their little game, her head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat.

[frizz22]

Prompt! Zelda/Sabrina mainly. Could you do a one or two shot where Sabrina never gets her powers back and ages like a mortal? So the story is kind of the slow progression of her aging and dying while her family remains the same? Morbid, yes, but I think it could be beautiful. Thank you!

Note: Sorry this one took a while. I had trouble figuring out what snippets I wanted to include and ones that could be cut so that this wasn’t a stupid long one-shot (though is still kind of is). Hope you still enjoy! Read on ao3

~~~ indicates time jumps

Warning: very brief mentions of self-harm

Lilith took Nicholas from Ambrose’s arms and glided through the gates of Hell with ease. It was only when she didn’t turn back, didn’t offer some kind of reward for their efforts and sacrifices that Zelda called after the witch.

“Lilith!” The demoness turned gracefully, the boy’s weight nothing to her now that the full powers of Hell burned through her. Zelda came up behind Sabrina, resting her hands on her girl’s shoulders. “Can you restore Sabrina’s powers? Not the enhanced ones Lucifer bestowed on her, but the ones she was born with?”

A sad smile touched Lilith’s lips. “I can’t.” 

The words were another blow in a long line of blows the Spellman family had received recently. But Zelda refused to let this one go unparried. “Why not?” She demanded, a hard edge in her voice. “You’re the Queen of Hell, surely you can do as you please. Especially to help those who put you on the throne.”

Shaking her head, Lilith looked at them apologetically. “I cannot. Sabrina gave up her powers, and not only gave them up, but also sacrificed the vessel she’d stowed them in.” She looked between Zelda and Hilda, “it would be as if you’d destroyed the tooth containing your and Hilda’s powers during the trial. You cannot create power out of nothing.” Lilith turned her attention back to Sabrina. “You are mortal, dear child. I am so sorry.”

Stepping around Sabrina, Zelda partially entered Hell. “Then transfer my powers to her.” A volley of objections rose up behind her, all of which Zelda ignored, her eyes trained on Lilith. “You said it cannot be created, fine. Merely take mine and give them to Sabrina.”

Brow arching, Lilith assessed her. “You’d die rather rapidly without your powers. Much faster than when you lost your powers for the duration of the trial.”

Zelda shrugged. “It doesn’t matter, what matters is Sabrina would live a long, witching life. Not one of those dreadfully short mortal ones. I’ve lived over two centuries; I don’t need any more.”  

“Auntie—” Sabrina took her hand and squeezed it hard. “I can’t let you do that.”

Smiling softly at her niece, Zelda touched Sabrina’s cheek. “It’s not up to you, sweetheart.”

They both turned back to Lilith who was watching them in astonishment. “A noble suggestion, Zelda, but still an impossible one.”

Rocks and debris rose up and hovered inches off the ground, the papers Sabrina’s mortal friends used to stay the release of Hell swirling around them. “No, it’s not impossible. You merely wish to negate a potential threat.” She spat, walking closer to the demoness. “Sabrina, as much as we may hate it, has some claim to the throne you now sit upon. By denying her her powers you’re solidifying your claim and preventing her from overthrowing you in the future.”

Fire flared behind Lilith at the accusation. She put Nicholas down and strode forward, deflecting Zelda’s spells before taking her face in her hands and muttering a spell. Images flashed through Zelda’s mind at a painful speed. And when Lilith released her, the images stopped, leaving Zelda gasping.  

“I am speaking the truth, Zelda. As you’ve now seen. If I could help, I would. You are right, I should reward those who helped me ascend. And after everything I’ve done to your family, well, I do owe you. I’m sorry it cannot be in the way you want.” Lilith peered over her shoulder to where Nicholas lay, inert, on the ground. “Young Mr. Scratch is also beyond my help, for now, at least. Though I will look for another flesh prison to keep Lucifer in, I don’t foresee something sturdy enough coming along anytime soon. Now for the rest of you—"

Zelda cut her off, voice raw and ragged. “We all want our reward to be extending Sabrina’s mortal life.” She didn’t bother looking back to see the others’ responses, she knew they were nodding.

Tears streamed down Sabrina’s face. “Except mine,” she whispered, eyes locked on Zelda before she turned back to Lilith. “I want mine to be something else. Something I need to word correctly and will pass on to you later.”  

Nodding, Lilith stepped forward and kissed Sabrina’s forehead, a slight golden aura surrounding the girl before fading. “You will now have a long life, Sabrina Spellman. Short by witching standards, but one of incredible length for mortals.” Giving them a close-lipped smile, Lilith picked up Nicholas once more and was gone, the gate slamming shut and leaving them in a dark tunnel.

Numbed and their victory spoiled, the group trudged out of the mines and into the night air. Awkward goodbyes ensued as Sabrina’s mortal friends walked away, glancing over their shoulders as they went.

Prudence remained there, twisting her hands. “I understand if your family wishes to be alone. But my sisters—"

“Of course, you’re coming back with us,” Zelda interrupted her, “can’t very well send you back to the academy by yourself, not when it’s empty.” The young woman sighed in relief, nodded her thanks and teleported away, clearly sensing they needed to be alone.

It was a long walk back to the mortuary, one they made downheartedly, but it provided them time to process everything that happened. She and Hilda bracketed Sabrina as they slowly made their way home, Ambrose slipping his hand into Zelda’s free one and holding on tightly; as if he could sense her entire world was a bit off kilter and her blood pressure spiking dangerously.  

They only released one another when they reached the front porch, the width of the stairs forcing them to break apart to fit. Zelda kept a tight arm around Sabrina, though, refusing to let her girl go just yet.  

Once inside, Zelda sent Ambrose and Sabrina into the kitchen to make tea—and pour out some whiskey—while she and Hilda checked on the rest of the coven currently recuperating throughout the rest of the house.  

When they’d ensured everyone was still stable, the two of them joined Ambrose and Sabrina in the kitchen. Both were sitting silently, staring into the depths of their cups. Swallowing, Zelda took the glass of whiskey they’d set out for her and leaned against the windowsill behind the table, feeling too restless to sit. “Well,” and that was all she could manage, unsure what else to say. So, she took a drink.

Hilda seemed to be at an equal loss, slumped in her usual spot at the table, swirling the liquid in her glass around. “Well, Baxter High will have its star pupil back full-time.” She attempted to sound cheerful, but the tear that escaped down her cheek gave her away.

“For Satan’s sa—” Zelda cut herself off, the phrase leaving her lips out of habit. “Fuck Satan,” she muttered under her breath, taking another drink.

Sabrina finally raised her eyes then, tears brimming on the lids. “Was, was he telling the truth? Am I really his daughter?”

Clearing his throat, Ambrose looked at his cousin. “Lucifer is also known as the Father of Lies. He could have just been saying those things to try and get you to fulfill the prophecy…”

“But, but what if he really—" Sabrina began, chin trembling. This girl so different from the one who’d, hours earlier, confidently claimed she was a Spellman now and always.

Scowling, Zelda slammed her drink down. “You’re our girl. I don’t care what he says, or claims. You’re ours.” The words came out rougher than she’d intended, her voice raw with emotion, but it was the truth. Sabrina would never be anyone else’s.

They had raised her, loved her, protected her. Sabrina was their daughter, no one else’s; not even Edward’s.

The declaration was apparently all that was needed to send Sabrina over the edge, her niece bursting into tears as she shot out of her seat, rounded the table and hugged Zelda hard. “And you’re mine.” She mumbled, tightening her hold and pressing her face into Zelda’s shoulder.

Stumbling back a bit at the impact, Zelda quickly steadied herself and returned the embrace; clutching Sabrina tightly to her as the tears she’d ignored for the past hour dripped down her cheeks.  

After a few moments, Hilda stood and joined the hug, cocooning Sabrina between them. Ambrose gave a good-natured huff and pushed up from the bench and joined as well, his arms encircling both her and Hilda.

“You are ours.” Zelda repeated, this time in a teary whisper. Sabrina sniffled against her and burrowed deeper into Zelda.  

They only broke when Prudence came in to fetch some of the others water. She’d ducked her head apologetically and rushed out of the room. But it was enough to have Hilda and Ambrose retaking their spots at the table; Sabrina, thought, remained in Zelda’s arms, quite to her surprise.

Glancing at the clock, Zelda sighed and rested her cheek on top of Sabrina’s head; it was nearly two in the morning. “How about we all head to bed, deal with the rest of this in the morning?” And it was a testament to how exhausted they all were that no one objected. When Sabrina didn’t move, though, Zelda ran a hand over her back. “Would you like me to tuck you in, darling?” She offered hesitantly. Though Hilda indulged in some of Sabrina’s still childish inclinations, Zelda hadn’t done so in years; the last time she’d tucked Sabrina in had to be when the girl was about nine.

“Yes please, auntie.” Sabrina murmured, finally releasing her and going to clean up her tea and put it in the sink.

Zelda silently followed Hilda into their bedroom, neither of them sure what to say as they changed into their nightgowns. As Zelda moved to go to Sabrina’s room, she let her hand brush against her sister’s shoulder in comfort—knowing no words would suffice for the death sentence that had just been handed down to their niece. Hilda caught her hand and squeezed it hard, a sniffle escaping her, but she kept her eyes averted, releasing Zelda and then hurrying into the bathroom.  

It would be some time until they came to terms with everything. “She’s ours, Hildie.” Zelda called after her sister, her voice stopping Hilda in the doorway. “She is. Ours. No one else’s. No matter who claims it, or what they claim, Sabrina is ours and we will do everything in our power to keep her safe, healthy and alive.”  

Nodding jerkily, Hilda gripped the doorframe tightly. “I know, Zelds. I know.” With one final shaky glance back at her, Hilda disappeared into the bathroom and shut the door.  

Taking a moment to compose herself, Zelda exhaled then made for Sabrina’s room. Her niece was already in bed and patted the spot next to her. Smiling sadly, Zelda climbed into the empty space, Sabrina curling into her side immediately once she’d settled.  

“I feel so empty, Aunt Zelda.” She said quietly, pressing closer. “I know I gave my powers up, it was my choice. But I—" her voice cracked, “I always thought I’d somehow get them back.”

Of course, she had. Because up until now, despite everything Sabrina had gone through, she’d never paid a price for her actions. Not truly. Others around her had. Mildred at the Feast, Jesse Putnam, Tommy and Harvey Kinkle… each of them paying the highest prices possible while Sabrina experienced mere by-blows.

But now, now her girl had finally learned. And it had cost her her life as well. Not in the same sense as Mildred, Jesse and Tommy. But her life, nonetheless. Now wasn’t the time for lectures though, there was no need to rub salt in the wound they all shared. Instead, Zelda cradled Sabrina close.  

“I know how it feels,” she murmured, stroking Sabrina’s hair, “to have your powers taken from you, lost.” Her mind too easily going back to that awful week she and Hilda had their powers and youth stripped for the duration of Sabrina’s trial.  

How it felt as though her very essence had been sapped from her; leaving Zelda drained. She’d been forced to grip the back of one of the kitchen chairs to steady herself as she came to terms with how it felt having the magic that had sung through her for centuries ripped away. The vast, empty cavern stretching inside her had seemed limitless and Zelda then realized that she’d greatly underestimated how defenseless she would feel.

Yes, she knew how Sabrina felt. And, just like her niece, she’d anticipated getting them back. The difference, the difference was that her girl hadn’t and would never have her powers restored. Oh, the sheer arrogance that ran in their family… looking back it took Zelda’s breath away.

“I am so very sorry, sweet girl, that I could not get yours back for you. That I could not save you.” She managed, voice thick and tears sliding down her cheeks despite her best efforts.  

Sabrina’s arms wound around her waist, squeezing hard. “You’ve been saving me a lot these past months, Auntie Zee. I suppose the only thing you couldn’t save me from was myself. I should have listened. To Nick, to Ambrose. They both told me to wait, and I didn’t.” She sniffed and buried her face into Zelda’s neck. “It’s my fault. You can’t clean up after me on this one, auntie, I have to clean up after myself.”

Though her heart was breaking, a small part of Zelda couldn’t help but appreciate how maturely Sabrina was handling this; be impressed by it. This, added to the fact that at least now the Dark Lord had no use for Sabrina even should He escape, heartened her; just a bit. Silver linings.

She’d keep these silver linings to herself though, Sabrina likely wouldn’t appreciate them as she did. Unable to think of anything else to say, Zelda just held her girl and hummed softly, running a hand soothingly up and down Sabrina’s back.  

After some time, Zelda was debating whether to extract herself from her now sleeping niece. Her hand was itching for the whip hidden in the trunk at the foot of her bed. Though Hilda had made her promise not to practice flagellation anymore, this was a failure that could not be overlooked. She needed to be punished. Punished for everything that had happened, for not predicting it, for not protecting Sabrina once she was aware. Deciding that Sabrina wouldn’t miss her if she left for a bit, Zelda shifted to move when Sabrina’s voice stopped her.  

“Don’t go. Please.” And Sabrina’s voice sounded so small, so wounded, that there wasn’t a choice to be made.  

Zelda settled back into the bed once more, knowing she wouldn’t be able to conduct her punishment tonight. Closing her eyes, she forced her failure from her mind and focused on her niece. “I’m right here, sweetheart, always.”  

Nodding against Zelda’s shoulder, Sabrina tightened her arms around Zelda’s waist and cuddled closer before drifting off. Zelda wished sleep would find her so easily.  

~~~~~~

It was stressful. The adjustment period of Sabrina not having powers. For all of Sabrina’s maturity that first night, that thinking was difficult to maintain when there was an emptiness lurking inside her where once power resided. And though Zelda and Hilda could both relate to Sabrina; neither of them could comprehend having to deal with that feeling for the rest of their woefully short lives.  

So, they all did their best to be a bit more patient with Sabrina’s moods than they normally would be. Understanding that she was coming to terms with the loss of her magic, with a part of herself.  

There were screaming matches and sudden outbursts of tears when one of them unthinkingly flicked a wrist to accomplish something small with magic. As time passed though, things began to settle into a routine.  

Though when Sabrina finished the 10th grade and prepared for the 11th, it became apparent they could not continue this routine forever. So, over breakfast one Saturday morning, Zelda brought up the topic of when they would leave Greendale.  

“Leave?!” Sabrina sputtered, her fork slipping from her hand and onto her plate.  

Hilda reached over and gently patted her hand. “Well, yes, love. We can’t stay here forever.”  

Inclining her head, Zelda started to butter her toast. “It really would be most prudent to leave after you graduate from Baxter High. Hilda and I are already getting a few odd looks from the local mortals, we haven’t aged in almost two decades. Not a wrinkle or white hair between us.”  

Hand come up to touch her hair unconsciously, Hilda nodded. “She’s right, dear. If we’re to remain hidden we must leave. Esp—,” she faltered and pressed a finger to the corner of her eye to stem some tears, “especially since you will be aging normally and we…”  

Eyes downcast and poking at her food, Sabrina sighed. “And you won’t be aging at all.” She finished morosely.  

Smiling sympathetically, Zelda placed a hand on Sabrina’s forearm and squeezed. “Our excuse will be that once you leave for college, we see no reason to remain here. We can claim we’re moving somewhere warmer.”  

“We… I can’t just leave Nick.” Sabrina balked, eyes glazing over.  

Zelda sighed and withdrew her hand to finish buttering her toast. “Darling, Nick chose this. He sacrificed himself to save you, to save all of us. He is safe. Lilith is protecting him, and we can research how to free him and entrap Lucifer in another vessel anywhere. But we cannot stay here.”

Lips twisting Sabrina nodded at her plate and excused herself.  

Flapping her hands a bit, Hilda pressed her lips together to prevent her own tears from falling. “It’s not fair.” She murmured, standing to clear the table. “None of it. Couldn’t, couldn’t we stay just a bit longer? Didn’t Lilith ask you to be high priestess?” She asked it innocently enough, but the question set Zelda’s teeth on edge.  

It was true, Lilith had asked her to take up the position; more than once. She’d refused. Of course, she would help get the church and coven back on its feet; especially after the horrific damage Faustus wrought. But she couldn’t be in charge, didn’t want to become so engrossed in the church that she didn’t have time for Sabrina.  

Also, Zelda knew she couldn’t bear to work with the witch who helped orchestrate everything that brought Sabrina to losing her powers; her long life.

Exhaling slowly, Zelda took a deliberate bite of her toast and chewed. “She did.” She answered tersely. “You know full well why I cannot, and will not, take that position.” Zelda abandoned her breakfast and opted to light a cigarette. Eyeing her sister, Zelda rubbed the back of her neck, realizing what her sister was avoiding. “It is not the church you are concerned with. It’s the incubus.”  

The comment made Hilda blush, but she nodded. “I, Zelds, I love him. He loves me and I—” she twisted a dish towel between her hands. “I knew our time would be short, but never imagined it be this short. I don’t want to leave him. Not now, not in a year when Sabrina graduates…”  

“Sister,” Zelda murmured, standing up and rounding the table to touch Hilda’s shoulder. “Staying here is not an option for us any longer. Even,” she sighed, “even for lo—, for love.” She managed to get the word out without too much of a grimace. And though she knew she’d come to regret it; Zelda squeezed her eyes shut and took a bolstering hit of nicotine before making her offer. “You could ask the hybrid to come with us.” When Hilda’s head snapped towards her, Zelda waved a hand as though it were nothing. “Just a thought.” She muttered, briskly leaving the room before her sister could say anything.  

They needed to find happiness where they could, while they could; Sabrina’s predicament hammered that home in a way Zelda never anticipated learning as a witch. And if the incubus made her sister happy, well, Zelda wasn’t going to be the one to deny Hilda the small piece of joy she’d managed to hold onto throughout this entire ordeal.  

Rolling her neck and taking another long draw of her cigarette, Zelda headed to the library to start researching ways to prolong Sabrina’s life. Yes, Lilith had promised to extend it as long as possible as their reward for bringing down Lucifer, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t research additional ways to further extend her girl’s life.  

~~~~~~~

She blinked.  

That was all Zelda did. She could have sworn all she did was blink. How was it that Sabrina was graduating from Baxter High in a few months’ time? Though how she didn’t notice before with all the brochures and pamphlets arriving at the house Zelda wasn’t sure.  

Perhaps she was still adjusting. For so long, years bled into one another without another thought, when witches had so many to live such a short period of time felt like nothing at all. And, truthfully, that was still Zelda’s reality, it just wasn’t Sabrina’s anymore.

All of this swirled through her mind as she and Sabrina were sitting at the kitchen table one Saturday—Hilda at the bookstore and Ambrose at the academy—and Sabrina pushed aside yet more college brochures that had come in the mail.

Lowering her paper, but keeping her eyes on the text, Zelda arched a brow. “Not going to college, are we?” She drawled, trying not to sound too interested.

Sabrina picked at the muffin in front of her. “Would it be so bad if I didn’t?”

The comment surprised Zelda and had her folding her paper and setting it aside. “I understand if you don’t wish to attend any of the institutions near Greendale, I’ve had enough of this dreary place myself. You can attend anywhere you like; cost is no issue. We’re witches, we’ve built up money over the centuries.”

“No, I know.” Sabrina murmured, still not meeting Zelda’s eyes.

When her niece did not elaborate, Zelda probed further. “Your Aunt Hilda and I would move with you to wherever you wish to attend, Sabrina. Unless,” a horrendously painful idea came to mind, “unless that’s the issue.” She managed to finish with a clear voice, though her heart was contorting itself painfully. “Perhaps you wish to have a normal mortal college experience? One free of old aunts trailing after you?”  

The very thought broke her heart, the thought that Sabrina wouldn’t want to be near them. That just because their time together had been cut short didn’t mean she wanted to spend as much of it as possible with her aunts.

Hand covering hers, Sabrina interrupted her spiraling thoughts. “That’s not it at all!” She exclaimed, squeezing Zelda’s hand tightly. “I, I want to be with you guys as much as possible. And I know that even if my life is going to be shorter that I need to decide what I want to do with my future… and,” she chewed her lower lip. “I came up with an idea.”

Carefully keeping her face blank, Zelda lifted a brow. “Oh?” She remarked, not trusting herself to say more. Sabrina’s ideas weren’t often good ones, no matter how noble the situation that inspired them, no matter how well-intentioned her niece was… Sabrina had a track record, and not a good one.  S

abrina’s voice recaptured Zelda’s attention. “I, I was thinking that I could be a midwife. Like you.” She looked at Zelda earnestly and tears sprang to her eyes. “Could, would you mentor me, Auntie Zee?”

“Oh darling,” Zelda smiled widely and flipped her hand over to grasp Sabrina’s. “Of course! I’d love nothing more; I’ve had quite enough of this death business if you ask me. But I don’t want you limiting your options because of us. You, you can go off if you’d like.” Zelda managed, swallowing past the lump in her throat. Though it was hard to think of being separated from her girl, given how short their time together would truly be—already Sabrina was aging, maturing into a lovely young woman—she wasn’t going to let Sabrina squander what little time she had by forcing her to remain with them.

“I know. But if I do that, it’ll be like I’m cutting my ties to the witching world for good. And I don’t want that. And I want to be a midwife. It’s a very noble calling and I want to follow in your and Aunt Hilda’s footsteps.”

Pressing a finger to the corner of her eye to stem impending tears, Zelda lifted Sabrina’s hand and kissed the back of it. “Then welcome aboard to the Spellman midwifery practice. Now, we just need to decide where to move and open our new business.”

A smile the likes of which Zelda hadn’t seen in ages lit upon Sabrina’s face and she shot up from the table raced away and came back with a notebook. “I’ve been thinking about that.” She started, opening the book and scooting her chair closer so Zelda could see.  

They narrowed down their choices to three cities, figuring Hilda and Ambrose should have a say in the matter as well. Still grinning, Sabrina flipped forward in her notebook, the pages covered in handwriting evidencing to Zelda that Sabrina had been considering this for some time.  

Sabrina’s enthusiasm for the topic was reassuring, she’d been depressed for so long after the defeat of Lucifer and the loss of Nick and her powers that Zelda hadn’t been sure what to do. But this, all of this planning for the future, these smiles… it heartened Zelda more than she could express.  

“And I don’t need powers to mix most potions or balms, don’t need powers to analyze results.” Sabrina stated, emphasizing her points with hand gestures. “I’ve been doing research and most of them only involve mixing ingredients and the ones that do need a bit of magic, well, you, Aunt Hilda or Ambrose could do that part. Besides, I’ve been thinking about certain mortal techniques we could incorporate to bring in more clients.” She bit her lip and looked at Zelda; anxious for the first time since they’d started their conversation.  

Reaching over to cup Sabrina’s cheek, Zelda beamed. “That sounds marvelous.” She winked and Sabrina’s smile returned once more and Zelda wanted to keep that expression on her niece’s face; especially when it’d been missing for so long. “If that is the case, though, you’ll need to attend some kind of mortal midwife schooling. Hilda and I will be of no use to you there, you’d have to be the one to teach us.”  

Nose wrinkling a bit with joy at the thought of teaching her several centuries old aunts something, Sabrina nodded and started to flip through her notebook once more.  

They moved their conversation to the parlor, where they could lounge on the couches, Zelda’s heels forgotten on the floor, and discuss recruitment strategies for clients, how they’d advertise as a naturalistic midwifery practice so mortal patients weren’t suspicious of their methods, and courses Sabrina could take.

~~~~~~~~

Before they knew it, Sabrina was graduating. Hilda cried of course, blubbered really, and Zelda had rolled her eyes but clapped louder than anyone else as her girl crossed the stage.  

They’d decided to wait out the summer. It would make the most sense, mortal college was on the same schedule as the rest of the schooling system and wouldn’t start until Fall. This made it more believable that Sabrina was going off to college somewhere and not just packing up with her whole family and moving to another state.  

And, well, it gave Sabrina time to say goodbye. Her mortal friends knew what had happened, certainly, knew of Sabrina’s plans. No, the charade wasn’t for them. It was for the rest of Greendale. It’d already been odd enough that Mary Wardwell had disappeared without a trace, her cottage deserted and fiancé missing as well; Lilith could have done a better job with the loose ends on that, but Zelda digressed.  

So, they were waiting so Sabrina could say goodbye to the place that had been her home her entire life. As they neared their departure date, Zelda realized she was more than ready to put Greendale behind her. While it held a multitude of happy memories, it also held numerous painful ones and a couple of decades away would help rinse the place of its history—to an extent.  

The only one who seemed nervous about their move was Prudence. The young woman had become a regular fixture in the Spellman house over the past few years; constantly asking Zelda for advice in her efforts to restore the church to its previous glory.  

While Lilith had asked Zelda to be her high priest on a regular basis in the beginning, each time adding some kind of enticement to the offer. But she had turned down the Queen on enough occasions that the witch stopped asking. Instead, Zelda suggested Prudence be the one to lead the church into its new era—she had been the one to save the coven, after all.  

Despite the fact that Prudence was perfectly competent, and Zelda was unsure what else she could teach the girl after working together for a few years, Prudence was still reluctant to see Zelda go.

“Are you sure—” Prudence began, wringing her hands as she watched Ambrose load most of their belongings into the car; they’d be leaving the contents for the office and the morgue, one never knew when one might need either of those and Zelda wanted Prudence to have whatever she needed at her disposal.  

Taking the young woman by the shoulders, Zelda steered her out of earshot from the others. “You are a direct descendent of the previous high priest, this is your birth right. You, Prudence Blackwood, will redeem the Blackwood name, will lift it once more into glory all the while leading the coven and the Church of Lilith into the future. I would not have suggested Lilith ask you if I didn’t think you up to the task. And Lilith certainly wouldn’t have followed my advice had she not thought it sound.” Gently bringing her hands up to cup Prudence’s face, Zelda smiled widely at her. “You will do marvelous things. I look forward to hearing all about it. Not only from you but also the grapevine. Contact me on the witching board or via mirrors if you need anything, though I have a feeling you won’t need to.” Zelda leaned in and kissed Prudence’s her forehead.  

A trembling smile spread on Prudence’s face and she lurched forward to hug Zelda hard. “Thank you for everything, Zelda.” She breathed, tightening her hold. “You are the mother I always wanted. Please keep in touch.”  

Stunned, but deeply touched, Zelda embraced the young woman back before pulling back. “Oh, my dear girl, of course I will. Take care. Stay safe. Don’t overwork yourself. Rely on your sisters. They are everything.” Her eyes glanced over to where Hilda was casting a few more shrinking spells to fit their belongings into the car and smiled.  

Nodding, Prudence cleared her throat and broke all contact between them. “Goodbye, Zelda. I hope you return in the future.” With a small smile, Prudence winked out of sight.  

Sabrina came up then and touched her arm, “ready, Auntie Zee?” Her eyes were a little red, her mortal friends having just said their final goodbye as well—each of them going their own way for college.  

Lips quirking up into a reassuring smile, Zelda wrapped an arm around Sabrina’s shoulders and led her to the car. “Absolutely, darling. I am most certainly ready to live somewhere sunny and warm.”  

~~~~~~

They moved somewhere sunny, so tired of the dreary Greendale weather. Cerberus joined them, to Zelda’s slight chagrin, but she’d offered, and he made Hilda happy… and by giving him the same potions and tinctures they made for Sabrina he would live longer as well.  

Ambrose was with them too. Though he was free to travel as he wanted, he didn’t go anywhere; claiming who else would help keep Sabrina young in spirit but him? Despite his flippant and teasing manner, they all knew he stayed because he wanted to be around Sabrina as much as possible while she was alive. There’d be time later, to travel and fun. But his cousin won’t be around for it as he’d once thought; so, he stayed.  

It didn’t take long to set up their midwifery business, Sabrina having completed the mortal schooling within a few years thanks to an accelerated program she’d found. And, to Zelda’s slight surprise, business was booming.  

Mortals and witches alike came to their practice, some came for the full services, others for their magical ‘natural remedies’ that all but cured morning sickness, reduced bloating and swollen ankles and sped up labor. Regardless of why they came, they came.  

While they were doing very well, one day Sabrina brought home a machine that would help them remain competitive.  

“An ultrasound?” Zelda repeated dubiously, eyeing the machine as she laid back on one of the exam chairs so Sabrina could show her how to use it. “We’ve made do without this contraption for ages, Sabrina, I don’t really see how it will improve our outcomes.”

Huffing in amusement, Sabrina shook her head. “It probably won’t change the birth outcomes, but,” she squeezed a copious amount of gel onto Zelda’s stomach, making her squeal uncharacteristically. “Parents will love being able to see their baby.” When Zelda shot a glare at her for the cold gel, Sabrina grinned. “I tried to warn you it’d be cold; you were too busy complaining that we didn’t need the machine.” She teased, poorly smothering a laugh at Zelda’s expense.  

Clearing her throat, Zelda composed herself. “Yes, well, it seems cold was an understatement. Was it necessary?”  

A small frown of concentration tugged at Sabrina’s mouth as she moved the device along Zelda’s abdomen. “Was what necessary?”  

“The cold? Does it make the machine work better?” She clarified, watching the screen in astonishment.  

Eyebrows raising as though she’d never considered it, Sabrina shook her head. “No, I think that’s just how the gel is stored.”  

Zelda harrumphed and twitched her fingers to warm the gel on her stomach. Her niece didn’t miss the action and smirked. “What? We can make it a little thing of our own. Warm gel. I’m sure we’ll get good reviews on the website Ambrose set up for us.” Before Sabrina could tease her further, Zelda reached for a towel and wiped her stomach off before standing to switch spots with her niece.  

She squirted the gel onto Sabrina’s stomach and the girl squealed. “Auntie Zee! I thought you warmed it up!” She exclaimed, giving Zelda and accusatory glare.  

“Just being fair.” Zelda intoned, eyes glittering mischievously even though they didn’t leave the screen as she maneuvered the device along Sabrina’s stomach. As the images rolled on the screen, Zelda cocked her head and then muttered a small spell to enhance the clarity.

Sabrina exhaled sharply in awe. “Auntie, that’s brilliant,” she grinned grabbing a fresh towel as Zelda pulled back. “That kind of clarity will definitely get us some good reviews! Women will be clamoring to come here just for clear pictures of their growing babies.”  

Inclining her head in acknowledgment, Zelda put the device away and attempted to broach the topic she’d been trying to discuss for some time now. “Not just the pregnant women, but their partners too.” She remarked, not quite managing to sound as casual as she’d have liked.  

Not missing her tone, Sabrina sighed. “Aunt Zelda, I told you—"  

Clasping Sabrina’s hands between her own, Zelda cut her niece off gently. “I know, sweetheart, it’s just, it’s been almost 7 years since Nicholas and where I normally wouldn’t badger because once you could have waited centuries to decide if you wanted marriage or children that’s no longer the case. And I don’t want you to have to spend your life alone with only your old spinster aunts. You’re allowed to have a life Sabrina, with a partner and love and children… if you want them.”  

A sad smile curled Sabrina’s lips as she stood and hugged Zelda hard. “Thank you, Auntie Zee. But my heart is still a bit broken. I don’t think it was fully healed after Harvey. Nick was helping it heal faster than I ever thought possible and then, then my heart shattered when he, he….” She sniffed and pressed her face into Zelda’s shoulder, the memory still painful. “I’m still picking up the pieces.” Sabrina finished.  

“Oh darling,” Zelda breathed, rocking her girl gently.  

“Anyway, Sabrina cleared her throat and pulled back, wiping her eyes. “I have no idea how to explain my world; for whatever partner I take would be mortal—what witch or warlock wants to strap themselves to a disgraced, now powerless witch? And how do I explain I was a witch but not anymore? Or do I lie about it all and ask you, Aunt Hilda and Ambrose to hide your true selves? Neither one seems fair or feasible right now…. I want to figure that out before I even consider dating again.”  

It wasn’t fair. That Sabrina should have to worry about this. Should have to choose once more between the sides of her duality when she didn’t even possess one of the sides anymore.  

But Zelda let the matter drop. If her heart was aching for Sabrina, for the life she would suddenly have to plan out in a few years and not a few centuries… well, she could only imagine the hurt her girl was experiencing.  

She gently kissed Sabrina’s forehead and turned back to the ultrasound machine. “This was a brilliant idea, darling, witches and mortals alike will love it. You have a shrewd eye for expanding our business.”  

Glad for the change in subject, Sabrina shook her head and smiled. “Just adding to the empire you and aunt Hilda already built.” Rolling her eyes good-naturedly, Zelda turned back to the machine and asked how to print pictures of the babes they viewed.  

~~~

They moved again when Sabrina turned thirty; once again her, Hilda and Ambrose’s decelerated aging gave them away. They could only claim good genes and secret nighttime skin routines for so long. Sabrina was noticeably older, now a lovely adult, while the rest of them had barely aged a day; she and Hilda had only gained a grey hair or two in the years since they moved and Ambrose changed not at all.  

Having grown rather accustomed to the sun, though, they didn’t move too far. It was after they’d settled into their new home, already advertising for the Spellman Midwifery Practice, that Sabrina found her playing with spells.  

Zelda had been sitting in front of her vanity, tweaking her spell a bit here and there until she was satisfied. Once done, she’d leaned back to get the full effect of her work. It was then Sabrina walked in; surprising her.  

“Auntie Zee, what—,” Zelda saw her niece freeze in the mirror in shock and then horror transformed her features. “What are you doing?! Are you okay,” Sabrina rushed forward knelt in front of Zelda, taking her hands. “Are you hurt? Who did this? Who took your powers? You didn’t figure out how to transfer them, did you? Because I’ve told you so many times—"  

A small chuckle emanated from Zelda and she brushed Sabrina’s hair back, tucking it behind her ear. “Nothing happened, darling. I’m just playing with glamor spells.”  

Brow wrinkling in confusion, Sabrina sat back on her heels. “Why?”  

Trying to give a nonchalant shrug, Zelda turned back to the mirror and inspected her handiwork, there was grey intermixed with her red locks now, a few choice wrinkles that aged her but didn’t make her a hag. “I thought since we were moving, I might try something new.”  

“Why?” Sabrina drew out the word, standing to rest her hip against the vanity, arms crossed, to look at Zelda.  

Sighing, and knowing her niece would not let it go, Zelda shifted to face her once more. “So that I may still be your aunt.”  

Taken aback, Sabrina blinked. “What are you talking about? Auntie, you’ve always been and always will—"

Shoving off her stool, Zelda shook her head. “I won’t look it soon enough. Not unless we claim Edward had you when he wasn’t much more than a boy himself. We’ll have to claim to just be bus—,” the words stuck in her throat, “business partners.” She spat out, spinning to face Sabrina once more, not caring if the girl saw the tears in her eyes. “I can’t stand that. I won’t. You’re my girl, and I won’t be claiming you as anything other than family. So this,” she gestured to the glamor she still had in place, “was my solution.”  

Chin trembling and eyes wet, Sabrina closed the distance between them and hugged Zelda hard. “Oh Auntie, and you’re mine. But I won’t have you exhausting yourself with glamours.” She pulled back and framed Zelda’s prematurely aged face in her hands. “You know better than anyone how difficult and draining it is to maintain glamours for extended periods, even one as simple as this,” she touched some of the grey in Zelda’s hair. “We’ll come up with something better than business partners. I promise.”  

Exhaling slowly, Zelda nodded and dropped the spell before hugging Sabrina again.  

“How about some hot apple cider? Aunt Hilda just finished making some.” Sabrina offered when they broke apart. “We could spike it.” She grinned wickedly, wiggling her eyebrows.  

Zelda laughed and smiled tremulously at her niece, wondering how she’d gotten so lucky. “That sounds perfect.” Zelda slipped her arm around Sabrina’s shoulders and her girl wrapped one around her waist as they made their way down the stairs and to the kitchen.  

~~~

It wasn’t just all work, though. They took turns traveling, each of them taking Sabrina to their favorite country; wanting her to see as much of the world as she could before it was too late.

They’d offered years to just run off years ago; when Sabrina first lost her powers. Why bother with work or school when life was so short? They could travel, explore, eat and drink their way across the world until Sabrina was no longer able. Money was no issue, interest a beautiful thing when you had the same accounts for centuries.  

Sabrina had declined. While she wanted to see the world, she didn’t want to give up on a normal life altogether.  

Not wanting to argue with how their niece wanted to live out the remainder of her short life, neither Zelda nor Hilda argued. So, they just traveled occasionally; Ambrose taking her to Italy, Hilda England. Zelda took Sabrina to France for two months; the two of them drinking, sightseeing and exploring all the places Zelda used to frequent when she was younger.  

They hit the main attractions, of course, Sabrina wouldn’t have let them miss the Eiffel Tower for anything. When they reached the top, Sabrina gripped Zelda’s hand and pulled her to the railing; gasping at the view.  

“Auntie,” she breathed softly, as had become her habit of late.  

They’d gotten a few odd looks recently when Sabrina called her or Hilda by their titles. The adjustment had been painful for all of them, she and Hilda both forcing back tears whenever Sabrina called them by their first names in the beginning. But, just as Sabrina had promised that day she’d caught Zelda playing with glamours, she’d come up with another solution for their relationship.  

”I could be your sister too,” she suggested tentatively one night after they experienced yet another mortal side-eyeing them at the Sabrina’s use of ‘aunt’. “Sisters, they’re, they’re closer in blood than aunt and niece.” Sabrina twisted her fingers anxiously, waiting for them to respond. When all Zelda and Hilda could do was burst into tears, Sabrina hurriedly backtracked. “I’m, I’m sorry. I, I know you lost your other siblings, I wasn’t trying to replace—, I can be a cousin, or, or—

Zelda had tugged her niece into a tight embrace, cutting her off. “We’d be honored to have you as our sister, sweetheart. Even if only in pretend.”  It hurt.  

Hurt to pretend they hadn’t raised Sabrina, hadn’t cradled her at night when she was colicky, hadn’t tended to every scrape and bruise, soothed every nightmare, hadn’t attended every school play or taught her Latin and spell work. It hurt.

Sabrina’s arm looping through hers as they leaned against the railing, her head coming to rest against Zelda’s shoulder pulled her from the painful memory. “Thank you, Auntie Zee,” she murmured, a wide smile spreading on her face. “This is incredible. I can see why France is your favorite.”  

Needing to lighten the mood further, Zelda tipped her head so it rested on Sabrina’s. “Does this mean our trip is your favorite?” She intoned, a smile playing about her lips.  

A laugh escaped Sabrina. “I’m not saying that!” She exclaimed, though she leaned more heavily against Zelda’s side. “I’d never hear the end of it from Ambrose or Aunt Hilda if I picked a favorite, especially if it wasn’t theirs.”  

Huffing in amusement, Zelda grinned fully. “That’s code for it’s your favorite trip.” She teased, and before Sabrina could argue that Zelda was putting words in her mouth, she started to point out various landmarks to Sabrina, a story going with each one.  

~~~

They were sitting in the basement mixing potions for patients when Sabrina let out a squeak.  

Looking up from the ingredients in her hands, Zelda saw her niece fixated on separating one of her hairs from the others. When she managed the feat, Sabrina huffed and plucked the hair out, examining it closely.  

“Darling?” Zelda murmured, pushing her glasses up into her hair.  

Sabrina deposited the offending strand onto the floor. “A grey hair…” she murmured, emotions flickering across her face too quickly for Zelda to identify them. Swallowing, Sabrina sniffed. “I suppose it was only a matter of time. Should have had them a while ago, I am 67, though thanks to you and Aunt Hilda I don’t look or feel it.” She attempted a smile, but it faltered, and Sabrina dropped her eyes and tried to look busy with her work.  

Easily sensing that Sabrina didn’t want to discuss the matter, and unable to compartmentalize for once, Zelda excused herself and hurried to her room. She was barely able to lock the door and cast a silencing charm on the room before the tears came in great ugly, gulping sobs.  

A grey hair? If those were appearing wrinkles wouldn’t be too far behind. And those, those meant… more sobs wracked Zelda’s body. Signs of aging were things that shouldn’t have appeared for centuries. Even now she and Hilda were only just beginning to get a few grey hairs of their own.  

Despite all their efforts, despite the potions and charms and spells and the deal with the literal Queen of Hell, Sabrina was still aging much faster than she would have with her powers.  

She was aging and that meant they would lose her in matter of decades.  

Curling into herself, Zelda allowed grief wash over her anew as fresh proof that Sabrina was mortal was hammered home.  

Hilda found her there about 15 minutes later, having ignored both the silencing spell and the lock. When she saw what state Zelda was in she tutted and hurried over to the bed. “Oh Zelds, what is it?” She asked, smoothing Zelda’s hair back and rubbing her back.  

Hiccupping, Zelda shook her head. She didn’t want to share, didn’t want to break the bad news to her sister. But Hilda was having none of her silence and manhandled Zelda into a sitting position. Conjuring some tissues, Hilda pressed them into Zelda’s hand and then crossed her arms expectantly.  

She took a moment to gather herself, hating that someone was witnessing her breakdown… at least it was only Hilda. When she was ready, she kept her eyes in her lap, shredding the tissue in her hands. “Sabrina had a grey hair.” She whispered, as if saying it louder would bring about Sabrina’s death faster.  

At the explanation, Hilda slumped onto the bed, her mouth moving but no sound coming out. Eventually she cleared her throat and managed a, “are you sure?” The words were horrendously pain laden and Zelda could sympathize with Hilda.  

Sniffing, Zelda nodded. “Sabrina found it herself.” She informed her sister, reaching over and clutching Hilda’s hand tightly.  

A soft, “oh,” was Hilda’s only response. She turned her head and pressed an extra tissue against her eye, trying to forestall the tears threatening to fall.  

Humming quietly in acknowledgment, Zelda shifted so she could wrap her arms around Hilda. Once settled, the two of them remained there for some time, once more trying to come to terms with the fact that Sabrina wouldn’t be with them much longer.  

~~~~

Zelda handed the potion over to Sabrina; it was her latest experiment. They’d noticed in past several years that their potions and charms worked less efficiently with each use.  

Panicked, Zelda had been working tirelessly to fix this problem ever since. So far, though, she’d been unsuccessful. When Sabrina didn’t complain about the taste or the thickness of the liquid like she usually did, Zelda looked up. Sabrina wasn’t taking the potion.  

Instead, her niece carefully set it aside. “Auntie Zee,” she started, shaking her head.  

Fear seized Zelda then, because from Sabrina’s tone, from her actions, it seemed as though she were giving up. And she couldn’t give up. She couldn’t. “Drink up.” Zelda instructed, picking the potion back up and setting it firmly in front of Sabrina, brow arched expectantly.  

Years ago, that look would have sent Sabrina running to complete whatever task Zelda had set for her. Now though, now Sabrina just smiled at her and shook her head again. “No, Aunt Zelda, it’s ove—“

Slamming her hands on the table so hard she almost spilled the potion, Zelda cut Sabrina off. “No.” She ground out, pain, grief and anger swirling inside her. “It’s not. Not for a few more decades. We’ve had a bit of bad luck, that’s all. Your Aunt Hilda and I are both working on new ways to further extend—"

Sabrina sighed and stood slowly, her aging body not allowing her to storm out dramatically as she once might have done in her youth when the two of them fought. “I think it’s time for a family meeting.” Was all Sabrina said before she picked up her cane and made her way out of their greenhouse and into the kitchen; calling for Hilda and Ambrose as she went.  

Breath coming in short, inefficient bursts, Zelda snatched up the potion and followed Sabrina into the kitchen where the rest of her family was already sitting at the table. She moved to join them, stubbornly placing the potion in front of Sabrina once more as she took her seat.  

Eyeing the potion, and Sabrina’s silent refusal to drink it, Hilda cocked her head. “What is it, love?” And despite her calm demeanor, Zelda noticed how Hilda tugged at the cuffs of her cardigan anxiously. Her sister clearly sensed something was wrong but held her tongue so Sabrina could get to it in her own time; she’d been the one to call the meeting, after all.  

“I want to move back to Greendale.” Sabrina informed them baldly, not hesitating to jump right in. “It’s time, I want to die where I grew up and I want to be buried next to my parents’ graves. I—"

“You are not dying!” Zelda interrupted hoarsely, her heart pounding so hard she could hear it in her head. “Now stop this nonsense and drink your potion.” She ordered, volume raising.  

Sabrina looked at her sympathetically. “Auntie—" she began, eyes locked with Zelda’s; and when had her niece’s eyes gotten that wise look in them? When had her eyes gotten so old? As though they held the weight of worlds in them.  

Jaw working side to side in an effort to hold back her tears, the attempt giving her a horrendous headache, Zelda shook her head. “No.” She repeated firmly, though her chin quivered a bit even as she tipped it up in defiance. Sabrina wasn’t anywhere close to death; she simply couldn’t be, and Zelda refused to let her niece believe she was.  

An exasperated huff escaped Sabrina, though an amused smile tugged her lips. “I’m almost 120 years old, Aunt Zelda, I think I’m old enough to be making my own decisions.”  

She wanted to push back from the table and pace the room, but the edges of her vision were darkening, forcing her to remain at the table. “Old enough?” Zelda scoffed and reached for a cigarette. “You’re still a child, 120 is—"

“Ancient, by mortal standards.” Sabrina finished before Zelda could. “And that’s what I am. Mortal.” The reminder was a knife to Zelda’s heart, while she’d been forced to get used to Sabrina’s changing appearance, she still couldn’t stomach the reminder of Sabrina’s mortality. It hurt too much. Sabrina’s voice recaptured her attention. “I may only look 80 because your and Aunt Hilda’s work, but for the past year I’ve felt every second of my stolen time. And that’s what it was Aunt Zee, stolen time. I’d steal it all again just to spend more time with you all, but it’s done now. Mortals aren’t meant to live so long and I—" Z

elda took a fortifying drag of her cigarette, but the nicotine only made her lightheaded. Blinking rapidly, Zelda stubbed the thing out with unnecessary aggression. “You are not any mere mortal, Sabrina. You are a witch and we are witches and we will do whatever’s necessary to—"

“You’d put down an old dog out of mercy! You wouldn’t keep forcing potions down its throat.” Sabrina shouted, some of the spark that Zelda hadn’t seen since Sabrina was a teenager returning. “There is nothing more you can do,” she added softly, gripping Zelda’s hands where they rested in the table as tightly as she could. “You’ve already done so much for me. So much I can never thank you enough for, can never repay you for.” She reached for Hilda’s hand as well, so she could hold them both. “All of you have.” Sabrina let her eyes sweep over the three of them lovingly. “I know this is hard, and it’s not fair. But I did it to myself all those years ago and now it’s time for me to pay my price. I’ve learned my lesson, made peace with it; I hope you can too. Because my time is coming soon, and I’d like to be home in Greendale when it happens, and I want you all with me. Please, please don’t fight me on this.” Her voice trembled a bit, but Sabrina met their gazes levelly.  

Loosing a shuddering breath, Hilda nodded. “Of course, love, we, we can do that for you.” Ambrose murmured his assent gruffly, as though he were trying to disguise the tears in his voice.  

How could they?  

How could they give up like this? They’d never given up on anything before. They’d performed an exorcism on a mortal, they’d stopped the Feast of Feasts, held back the Greendale Thirteen and the Red Angel of Death, Heaven, they’d taken on Lucifer himself. Twice. Defeated the bastard and put the current Queen on the throne.  

How could they face, and conquer, all of that and see this and believe they could not beat it as well?  

They all turned to her, waiting, but Zelda couldn’t. She couldn’t accept this, wouldn’t.  

And though the world was spinning and she couldn’t breathe, vision narrowing to pinpoints, Zelda shoved away from her family and shakily stood.  Before she could muster up another argument, before she could even take a step, her surroundings tipped, and Zelda’s vision went black.  

~~~

“Blood pressure…”  

“My fault…”

“Should have expected—“

The voices around her ebbed. She couldn’t hold onto any one before her attention slipped away. Slowly, though, Zelda managed to open her eyes and sharpen her focus. “What?” She asked roughly, her mouth dry as she forced herself up into a sitting position.  

Hilda and Ambrose fluttered around her; Ambrose pressing a potion into her hand to drink while Hilda grasped her wrist and started to check her heart rate. Sabrina, Sabrina hung back, leaning against Zelda’s vanity, clutching her cane in both hands and looking apologetic.  

It was only when the other two finished checking her that Sabrina came forward and sat on the bed by Zelda’s hip. “If I’d known you were going to pass out, I’d have made my announcement in the living room, given you a softer floor to land on.” She tried to joke, but her small smile fell away at Zelda’s expression. Sobering, Sabrina exhaled slowly. “I know it’s not what you want to hear, Aunt Zelda, but this isn’t something you can protect me from. Not anymore.”

Chest heaving with emotion, Zelda looked past her niece to where Hilda and Ambrose stood. Their solemn faces told Zelda that Sabrina was right. That it would be unfair to force her to continue to age solely for their benefit. Breath hitching, Zelda wrapped Sabrina in her arms and sobbed, Hilda and Ambrose joining the embrace moments later.  

Their little family unit rocking back and forth as they came to terms with what would be an inevitable loss.  

~~~

So, they prepared to move back to Greendale. Though all the mortals who had known them would be dead, they sat down at the kitchen table to come up with a new backstory just in case.  

While they could have tried to continue to claim Sabrina was their sister, it was becoming increasingly difficult to explain the apparent age difference between them.  

Giving them a wavering smile, Sabrina cleared her throat. “I could be your elderly mother,” she looked between them. “You know, to return the favor for all the years you mothered me. And it’d be kind of poetic, don’t you think? A full circle, you becoming my mothers so unexpectedly and now I become yours.” Tears slipped down her wrinkled cheeks and Zelda rounded the table to hug her, tears of her own forming.  

“Oh, sweetheart,” she murmured, throat tightening at how Sabrina’s hands shook slightly when they fisted Zelda’s dress. Their girl was losing strength, losing agility, health… and there was nothing they could do about it. Banishing the thought, Zelda clung to Sabrina harder. “That’s such a lovely idea, don’t you think Hildie?”  

Her sister nodded earnestly and then nudged Zelda aside so she could embrace Sabrina as well.  

~~~~

Bereft.  

That was all she felt as the coffin was lowered into the ground. Even with the absurd amount of the heart break balm she was using to numb herself, it hadn’t been enough to even diminish the pain.  

Her girl was gone. And nothing would ever fill the void Sabrina had left.  

The service had been nice. Prudence allowed Sabrina the funeral rites offered by the Church of Night even though her niece had been mortal far longer than she’d been a witch. But Zelda had been grateful to have it in the church and not the mortuary, she couldn’t bear for Sabrina’s lifeless body to be in the house any longer than it needed to be.  

As Prudence led the event, as was her place as high priestess, Zelda couldn’t help but notice that the young woman had barely aged in the past century. That should have been Sabrina, she thought; young and pursuing her dreams. The thought echoed every time in her eyes swept over an old classmate of Sabrina’s; Agatha, Dorcas, Melvin, Elspeth and a number of other students Zelda didn’t bother to put a name to.

When Lilith appeared at the end, to pay her respects she said, it’d taken half the coven to hold Zelda back. The church itself shook with her anguish and fury.  

How dare she.

How dare that woman come to Sabrina’s funeral when she was the one who’d all but put her girl into the ground. Zelda spewed hate at the witch, struggling against the hands and spells restraining her.  

To her credit, Lilith bowed her head respectfully and made to leave. She paused by the door, though, pivoting slightly to look at her. “I did love her too, you know, in my own way. Not, not in the way I should have, or that she deserved, but I did lov—"

Zelda roared and the people holding her flew back. Before she could cast another spell though, Lilith disappeared.  

The rest of the funeral had been… uneventful. After they buried Sabrina, the others had drifted away slowly, making their way inside where likely countless, tasteless casseroles awaited them. Ambrose and Hilda were the last to leave. Her nephew eventually wrapping and arm around a sobbing Hilda and supporting her back into the house. When he looked back, likely to offer to come back and usher her inside as well, Zelda shook her head. She needed more time.  

They’d buried her next to the empty plots of her parents. Another Spellman gone too soon, wrenched from Zelda before she was ready.  

Her mind flashed back to that morning, so many years ago, when Sabrina asked when the pain of losing Harvey would end. How she was supposed to cope with it and Zelda had given her the only advice she could think of:  

“And tomorrow, you’ll do the same and it’ll hurt a tiny bit less. And the next day it will hurt even less.”

She repeated this to herself now, over and over. Because this pain, this searing, blinding and incapacitating pain could not last. It could not sustain itself. Surely, it couldn’t.  

She wouldn’t survive if it did.  

Collapsing to her knees, one of Zelda’s hand gripped Sabrina’s headstone so tightly her fingernails cracked against the marble as she sobbed, her other arm curling around her middle as she trembled.  

Lilith appeared before her once more, hands held up in surrender. “I’m here on behalf of Sabrina.” She murmured, eyeing Zelda warily as she took a few steps closer. “Her reward, you remember, for helping me onto the throne was different than the extension of her life. She wanted me to give it to you once she’d passed.”  

Though Zelda wanted to rip the witch to shreds, she held back. If Lilith truly had something from Sabrina, she couldn’t risk angering the witch and her withholding whatever it was out of punishment.  

Roughly wiping her eyes, Zelda stood shakily, but tall, the mask she’d crafted centuries ago falling into place. It was difficult to maintain, but while she wouldn’t anger Lilith, she refused to grovel for this final piece of Sabrina.  

A tired sigh emanated from Lilith as she pulled a disk from thin air. “You are a proud, competent witch, Zelda Spellman, one I admire. I know you can never forgive me for what happened to Sabrina and I am not asking you to. But I do not want you as an enemy. I know what you can do when properly motivated.” She inclined her head in acknowledgment to the fact that she likely wouldn’t be Queen of Hell without the Spellman family. Lilith then held the disc out to Zelda like a peace offering.  

Lips twisting, Zelda took the disc from her, brushing her fingers over the case gently. This was from Sabrina, her girl, the last thing she’d ever get from her. The last piece of her Sabrina.  

Squeezing her eyes shut, Zelda brought her gaze back to Lilith. “Never appear before me again and we won’t have a problem.” The words came out more of a growl than Zelda intended, but thankfully Lilith didn’t take it as an insult. The witch merely inclined her head and turned to leave.  

“I truly am sorry.”  

The words were spoken so softly Zelda wasn’t sure she’d actually heard them, but before she could challenge Lilith and likely get herself killed in the process, the witch was gone.  

Summoning courage, Zelda teleported to mortuary office, knowing no one from the wake would be in the room, and hurriedly turned on the computer and slipped the disk inside.  

Sabrina’s face filled the screen.

A wounded gasp escaped Zelda, her girl, there her girl was, looking just like she had after they defeated Lucifer. Her hand reached out and touched the screen involuntarily, as if she could truly cup Sabrina’s cheek.  

Sniffing and wiping away a tear, Zelda pressed play, scooting her chair closer to the desk; to the computer.  

A montage started. Snippets from Sabrina’s entire life with Zelda appeared on the screen. Zelda would have suspected they were home videos had she not known for a fact that they rarely had the video camera out and when they did, Zelda wasn’t in the frame.

These, these were memories.  

Lilith had helped Sabrina enter her own memories, view them like a third party, compile them, and save them in a physical form. And not only did the video show their lives together, Sabrina’s voice spoke over the soft music in the background; recounting her favorite moments, laughing, telling her sorry, thank you, she loved her.  

As the video progressed, Sabrina’s voice aged along with Sabrina’s physical appearance in the video; evidencing that her girl had gone back over the years and added more memories, more love. Sabrina had been creating this for years; preparing for the day she would no longer be with them.  

The last scene froze, an image of her swinging a 4 year-old Sabrina around the back yard, bits of them blurry but the wide grins, the happiness in their expressions, were crystal clear, holding on the screen as Sabrina said her goodbye. When the image faded to black Zelda slammed the button to replay the video; desperate to see her girl, to hear her voice, again.  

Getting to watch her girl grow up all over again… Zelda stuffed a shaking fist into her mouth to try and stifle her sobs. Her smart, compassionate, beautiful, wonderful girl…. She’d known from the start that her family would outlive her, by decades at the least. And yet, she’d found a way to return to them, to be there for them always.  

Her girl was gone, but she’d never be forgotten.  

Pressing the replay button again, a watery smile spread across her face as a tiny Sabrina toddled across the screen, screeching with joy when on-screen Zelda swooped her up and rained kisses on her face.  

It’ll hurt a tiny bit less.

The words sounded in her mind again, and for the first time since remembering them, Zelda actually believed that maybe, just maybe those words could come true.

Not today. Or tomorrow. But some day.

Notes: I know there are many things I didn’t address or only referred to briefly, like Nick, Prudence, Lilith, Blackwood, the twins, Cerberus, Sabrina’s love life, whether Salem would stay with Sabrina not being a witch… but this fic would’ve been a multi-chapter stand alone had I included everything and I didn’t have the energy for that. So, I picked out snippets of their lives and went from there, I hope you still enjoyed!

I also reused the ‘entering your own memory idea’ that I had in my 'Everything Has a Price’ fic, couldn’t help myself :)

[mattzerella-sticks]

Incomplete (Dean/Cas 14x18 “Absence” coda, 1.2k)

Cas tried to comfort Dean earlier, when Mary's body burned a few feet away. Sam stopped him.

They came home. Sam wasn't there, and Cas stumbled upon Dean back in the kitchen. What can he say to the hunter he failed that will make up for what his silence caused? Can he even say anything? Duma was right about them... they're incomplete as they are now. There are words swirling around the surface he still can't see, and the longer they stay unspoken the less whole he feels.

He's been searching for so long to do right by the Winchesters - by Dean - but what if all he needed to do was much simpler?

(Link to ao3)

           Cas watches Dean drink his fourth beer from behind the kitchen doorway, hidden by the shadows. He stumbled upon his hunter ten minutes ago, his legs restless but unwilling to leave the Bunker’s walls. Seeing Dean there was not surprising, he always found his way back into this space whenever the weight was too heavy to bear. But it hadn’t even been an hour since he and Sam said they were turning in for the night. Cas figured he would have more time before crossing paths with the elder Winchester, so he could better prepare for when next they met. Now he has the chance to speak, but there’s nothing he can say. He’s rooted to the spot, held back not by Sam but by his own hesitation.

           But Cas should know by now, life never gives him enough time.

           “You just gonna stand there or what?” Dean barks out, startling Cas out of his thoughts. His grip on the frame tightens, eyes widening. Dean turns his head slightly, meeting his gaze. “You gonna try and make it better? Like before? C’mon,” he gestures him closer with the bottle, “nothing’s stopping you now. Give it your best shot.”

           His mind has nothing, but his legs move like it does. Cas floats his way over to Dean, his hand hovering over Dean’s shoulder before ultimately deciding not to take the plunge. Instead he places it on the table and drags it to where he sits. Dean’s stare haunts him the entire way over.

           “What?” Dean asks, chuckling, “Nothing to say?”

           Cas squints at him, frowning. “I… I don’t know what to.” Sighing, he shrugs his shoulders. “Maybe I should start with sorry –“

           “You don’t have to, Cas –“

           “Dean, I know this is my fault –“

           “No, Cas,” Dean speaks over him, eyes large and dewy, “It’s… it’s not on you. Blame falls on me… on all of us.” The bottle swiftly returns to his mouth, and Dean finishes it off in seconds. It joins the others with a clatter.

           He’s confused. Before, Cas thought he knew Dean’s pain but… each interaction proves any chance of understanding his hunter flies farther and farther away from his grasp. “But I…” he says, “My silence, the snake –“

           “Drop the snake talk, Cas!” Dean hisses, “Christ, why can’t you just take my apology?”

           “Because I don’t deserve it.” Cas blinks at the raw emotion coating his voice, Dean as surprised as him by the display. “I don’t… deserve it,” he repeats in a whisper, “Dean, I failed you –“

           “You didn’t fail me, Cas,” Dean says, “You never do… but all of us, we failed Jack.”

           Cas draws back, ducking his head. He wrings his hands together as he processes Dean’s words. His heart hurts at what he said, but it also warms. Even after his selfish and cowardly acts, Dean still has faith in him. Momentary lapse aside, Dean never fully gives up on Cas even if all he does is give him reason to do so. His venomous barb, “you’re dead to me”, stung. But as the wound festered Cas could tell Dean didn’t mean it. His response was that of a cornered animal with no chance at escape. With time, he licked his scars and slinked over to Cas’s side once more. Like it’s where he belongs. As if they carved spaces for each other, and when they’re empty the world loses color.

           He’s reminded of Mary, a conversation they had what felt like centuries ago. Driving back from a vampire hunt, silence reigned within the cabin of his truck. Mary focused on the passing scenery, leaning against the window. Cas kept his hands on the wheel, fingers twitching every so often as if to turn on the music. He always flinched away no matter how close he came to the knob.

           Mary spoke up. “There are things that I’ve had to get used to; that I’m… coming around to.”

           Cas glanced at her. She hasn’t moved. “What do you mean?”

           “I saw a different kind of life for my sons before my death,” she said, “plans that were the product of my time and upbringing. I didn’t want them to grow up like me, to be hunters… but I came back, and I adjusted. My boys are heroes. But there was still a part of me that hoped maybe they’d find a way out. Maybe do what I did and settle down…”

           He frowns. “I’m having trouble following –“

           “I’ve been gone nearly forty years but everything I thought I knew flew out the window,” Mary continued, “About my boys… about the world. People are able to choose the lives they want for themselves; fight for their happiness with pride. Back in the past you’d never see that so widely accepted.”

           Cas turned to her again. Mary finally looked at him, expression soft and hopeful. “That’s… I still don’t get what that has to do with me.”

           “Just because I’m still learning doesn’t mean I don’t accept you, Castiel,” Mary said, “I see you. I see you with my boys, with Dean. He… they don’t need me. Haven’t for a while. But they want me, and they have me. But you… you’re who they need.”

           Cas swallowed down the bile in his throat, Mary’s kind words everything he wanted to hear but can’t agree with. “Thank you,” he said.

           He felt her stare still on him. “I mean it,” Mary told him, “you don’t have to say anything about it now. Just sit on it and keep it in mind…”

           Coming back to himself, Cas glances up. Dean keeps his gaze on Cas, on the verge of a breakdown. “What, Cas?” he whispers, “What do I need to say? We’ve lost so many I… I can’t…” His hand shakes uncontrollably.

           Cas finds himself acting without thought again. He reaches over for Dean’s hand, holding it in his own. “Dean, I… you don’t have to say anything. You don’t have to do anything but be… here.” His voice breaks, and he laughs. “You shouldn’t be trying to comfort me, Dean it should be the other way around. All I want to do is comfort you, to take on the burdens so you don’t have to. Shield you away from all the pain and solve your problems. That’s what I… what I’ve always wanted. Why I do what I do. Every mistake is just me trying to be someone who deserves to have you as my…” He trails off, unsure of how to finish.

           Dean starts to talk again. “Cas, I don’t need you to be any of that. I never did.”

           “Then what do you need of me?”

           “I just need you, man,” Dean sighs, “I need you…”

           “They need you. He needs you.”

           Cas smiles and squeezes Dean’s hand. “Then know I will be here. And nothing will tear me from your side.”

           Dean chokes on a sob, smiling. “You better not break your promise.”

           “I won’t.” Cas’s thumb strokes against his skin like a blade against flint, sparks flying in its wake. “So… what would you have me do now?”

           “Honestly?” Dean sighs, sagging onto the table, “This.” His head slumps onto the table, eyes fluttering shut. Cas watches as Dean’s breathing evens out and his hunter fades into unconsciousness.

           He stays right there, waiting where he’s meant to be – beside Dean.

[leatherlaceandblades]

First Meetings

( Taken from a transcript of an RP with @onidephor. Forgive me missing any of our writing booboos! XD )

The beginnings of the project were underway. The next round of conscripts had shuffled into their lines and eventually into their operating rooms. The Colossus project, only an infant idea, marched on. Overseen by the current Tribune, Lillium sas Sylvanius, she had separated out the children from the adults and lead them into other areas. Several had gone into the wings ahead of the current group from a previous raid. A ship from Gridania and other distant lands bore decent fruit. Beyond the Castrum‘ s operating wards rested the newest of the rebirths. These were all people who had freshly implanted augmentations red and raw, swollen in their skin where limb and flesh had been excised. They had no separation, and of the hundred or so, they crowded together in containment cells awaiting the next procedures. Along with the current crowd, a small Elezen youth no older than ten had tucked himself into a distant corner clutching the sore section of his face. Prongs and pliers had stretched and bruised the skin around his eye socket and left his eyelid swollen. When tears welled up naturally from the ache, they came free of the eye in a mix of yellow-red humours from the fresh wound within the socket. He had come here from Gridania. Born with only a single working eye, he had been selected to receive an eye augmentation. The tumor-ridden left eye no longer resided in his skull. The scientists cut it out and implanted the new device with the hope that in a few days the nerves might connect. For now, he was just as blind as he always was, and in far greater pain.

For Viina, it was like a blurring nightmare. One place to the next, not wanting to think ahead, but not wanting to dwell in the past either. Shuffling along always; do what you were told. Eat and sleep on schedule. She kept apart from the others, half by choice, half because she was the only one of her kind - so far at least. No part of her was selfless enough to be truly grateful of that fact; she was terrified and wanting a familiar face somewhere, any where, for some kind of comfort. Her body hurt beneath the thin clothing she had been given; pokes and prods and blood drawing leaving more than a few tender places that even the softest brush of the finest silk would've aggravated. A sniffle was snuffed through her nose, forcing back tears...barely twelve herself, she didn't know how to cope with it. Mutely desperate, she looked around again for something...anything...any-one-...that didn't look scary or beyond approach that would ignore her or shove her aside. That was when she saw him; apart from the others too, little hand cupped to his face and stretch of shadows obscuring most else. It was hard to tell his age, but he couldn't have been far off from her either. Hesitation wiggled in her gut like restless worms before she forced herself to turn and move that way, keeping clear to not run in to someone she aught not. Her shadow would be the first to reach him, for what that was worth. As far back in to his own darkness as he was, it probably did little to add to it. 

And what should she say? 

So she sat down next to him without invitation, bony legs that looked almost too long for her to draw up to her chest.

From the Elezen boy’s point of view, having legs coming and going, dragging by and sitting at random became quickly commonplace in the bunched up spaces they would be moved between. The static sound of constant moaning or crying among other children gave the air no silent moment. The youth had pulled into his own world, shocked, confused, wishing to just go home. Someone had promised him something better than the caves below the dirt, and before he could nod in agreement, his world was black and red. When he realized that the legs were not going to move away from him, he passed a glance, and instantly winced, because the muscles that now tied the device to his skull still had a white-hot ache to them. He tried to keep his eye forward as much as possible, which in itself, was torture.

Viina was passing quick glances at him - flitting little things that made her look incredible nervous and VERY obvious, even though her young child brain was telling her otherwise. At the tautness of his features pulling with the wince though, she felt a huge rush of guilt swell up from her middle, lodging uncomfortably in her chest. She rolled to her side, reaching out a hand with long, delicate fingers that didn’t quite reach him yet - it was just a silent plea for a chance. Her voice was hoarse...maybe from crying or making any a number of other sounds for so long. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you. Please don't go."

The young one couldn’t go and couldn’t stay. What was he going to do if he left? What was she going to do? He couldn’t even look back at her because his eye shocked him when he tried. With a cupped hand over his face he could only speak at her. “We can’t go. No one can go. I just wanted to help people. They told me that and then hurt my eye.”

The Viera girl exhaled. She had only meant she didn’t want him to move somewhere else; she hadn’t expected such a hopeless response. No...maybe part of her - a smarter part - had. But on the heels of that came the want to step up...finally speaking out loud to someone. To sound confident -for- them even if she didn’t know them. "Those people, huh." It wasn't a question; they all knew who did the hurting around there. Her hand slowly lowered to balance herself, scooting an ilm or two nearer his side. "What did they..." Trailing off, biting in to her bottom lip. Viina couldn’t be so bold as to ask him what they had done to him. Not when he was still in so much pain from it. "You wanted to help people?" Thinking it was safer. 

His face twisted for a moment when tears welled up again, and instantly burned his whole one side. He couldn't even argue that there was nothing wrong with that eye. "I do. They said I could help people if I went with them. Did they tell you the same thing?"

Brows constricted - another tug of guilt. It might have been so much a safe topic afterall if it only made him cry more. "N-no. It wasn't...like that. I sort of..." A breath in, a breath out. She was a warrior! Warriors could admit they were wrong! That was...that was the right way. So she lifted her chin held high and forced the stammer aside. "I went somewhere I wasn't supposed to. They found me there, but they didn’t ask me anything." Unpuffing herself, head tilting in and down so that she could try and peer at his. She didn't bother to hide this time - nor did she seem to hold on to that common sense that was telling her to mind her words and curiosities "Can I...May I see?"

In a show of trust in this unsure time, he lowered his hand and revealed his face, but his hands shook and he raise his gaze to meet her own. He was devoting all mental energy to not moving his eyes. An ashy complexion and the bruises made it seem like someone had blotted him with black ink here and there. Since the device that had been placed in his hollowed socked could not yet see in its fresh state, his eyelid remained open, yet swollen, around an orb of glassy black.

With her head down, there wasn’t much a need to demand that he look at her. Shock trickled down her spine like icy fingers, thinking at first ‘How cruel!’ before reminding herself of the other horrors they had done. To that, the feeling of wanting to protect surfaced a second time, letting her hold on to focusing on just this one boy rather than the masses; with that focus, she let herself study it...remember it...the dark on only slightly lighter skin tone, the way the skin rose up, angry and inflamed. She wasn't around boys much at all so far in her life. But right then, treating him any way differently than a sister of her own kind would have been wrong. A second time her hand came up setting down touched to the top of his head. "I'm sorry they lied to you." She couldn't say it didn't look bad - it did. She couldn't say it would get better - she didn't know. But she did offer him a tiny little smile. "But...maybe...", a shyness touching her face. "You can help me, if you still want to help somebody?"

When the hand set itself onto his crown, with hair grown long and haphazard, only tossed around more by recent events. Likely, in a few days, it would all be shaved off like the rest of the boys who had come in with longer styles. His hair was white, as all duskwights tended to be. It had an ivory cotton tone. “I-I want to help. What is wrong?”, he asked with a failed attempted to look at her thwarted immediately by a pinch in his skull. Peachy-hued tears welled up in that eye again.

"I'm just - " Viina realized she should have thought it out better, been ready with an answer. It had just popped in to her mind and sounded good at the time! But right then, hearing his voice sad but still willing, the knot got tighter - she couldn’t blunder here! Her smile stretched thin, until a trembling lip was bit between her teeth a second time; harder than the first, turning the skin white. No - she did have an answer afterall and the whole reason she had approached him in the first place. Eyes shut themselves as she did her best to wrestle the expression to look as happy as she could even though she was just a scared lost child too. "I don't know anyone here. Can we be friends?" It was something a naive baby would say...and she wasn’t a baby! But that's what she wanted, honestly. Just one face in the crowd.

A look of surprise wrote itself plainly on his face. He hadn’t seen that response coming - he also wasn’t going to question it. At his age, making friendships was easy and without the bias of adulthood. Without the bias that kept him underground instead of wandering the forest open of Gridania proper watching the healers perform their miraculous spells. “O-okay. Yeah. I don’t know anyone here either. So that’s okay, right?”

"R-right. Yeah, of course!" Her smile turned genuine again even as a prickling started in the corners of her eyes. Relief. That’s what it was...and everything that had before it now just made it almost exhausting. She took her hand from his head, moving it at a slant across her chest to fist at the opposite shoulder in a very sloppy soldier solute. "My name is Viina. Whats yours?"

Somehow, he found a way to make himself tuck in even more so on himself. He seemed hesitant but it would eventually come out. “C-... Clario. S-Sarmantoix. You don’t have to use the last name part. No one else in my family does.” Knobby knees came up to his chest, slender arms wrapping tight around them and hugging them firmly in to place.

"Clario Sar-man-t-..." She wasn’t sure her tongue could wrap around the surname...she had a few unusual ones, but his accent made it all the more a challenge. She wet her lips, a little flushed for the inability to get it out. "Sorry, I may have to skip it after all." In contrast to his drawing in, she opened up; physically and otherwise as words tumbled out. "You're an Elezen, aren’t you? I've seen some before at a distance...I mean, before here. There's quite a few here too. And Hyur and the Roe..Roga-people." Apparently that word was a challenge too. The next moment, she had scooted herself directly at his side, sharing that tiny tucked away place.

“Y-Yeah. We live under the ground, though. You have really long ears for a Miqo’te”, he commented having never known of a Viera in his life. He couldn’t think of any other race that could even come close to having anything similar to the long tuffed ears that poked out from her own mop of messy hair.

"Underground? Why? I bet it smells good - all earthy and fresh! - but so dark! I think the treetops are the best!" There was no missing the longing, if only fleeting as the memory. Looking back at him with twin brown eyes. "Miqo'te? The ones that look like wild cats and hunt too much food?" It came out with a snort. With a shaking of her head to deny his comment, she brushed her ears back as best she could. She’d always been a touch self-conscious about them; even amongst her own kind they were considered far larger than normal for her age, covered in thick dark fur that stuck out every which way as much as her hair did. "I'm a Viera, not a Miqo'te. We live away from your cities, but above ground, in the trees. Every thing we have is a part of them. And it’s a secret." Her eyes got bigger still, dropping her voice to an urgent whisper. "So you cant tell anybody, okay? That's a secret just for us."

Clario’s face scrunched slightly as he tried to take all of that in. “O-okay. I won’t tell anyone. I don’t want to mess anything up”, he said hurriedly not really expecting some demands of this friendship but he would accept anything at this point. He felt comfortable enough knowing he wasn’t alone in this room full of people right now. Talking was distracting him from the ache in his face. “I promise not to tell anyone.”

Her shoulders relaxed...but her ears drooped, this time of their own accord. Though he had readily given his word, he seemed a little confused by it, not to mention that they were -officially- friends now. "I'm sorry. We're not really supposed to talk about it. All the Elders say its really important, because that’s how we stay safe." Following right on that thought, her smile came back. "But I told you and you made it a promise, so I bet once we're out of here, I can take you there too."

Clario looked at her despite the pain it would cause. His young face, wide eye, only one with a gray hue and dark circle pupil stared at her. The glassy eye on the other side showed her reflection, but no life. “You... you think we are going to get out of here?”

Seeing the eye the first time was enough that, now, she didn’t feel so afraid of it. He certainly couldn’t help it, and really, it was almost just like a polished stone from the bottom of a pond. He was just Clario, and one oddity certainly wasn’t going to hurt them or her. Viina’s smile widened even as a hard glint came to her eye. "Of course. Help will come - we wont be abandoned. You can come with me, of you want to, until we can get you home too."

“I’m okay going with you”, he admitted. He curled up again and looked at the ground or any feet that happened to be passing by at the time. “Home is just dirt. And it really doesn’t smell all that great, like you think. I don’t really want to go back. That’s why I told the man that I would help him. It was better than sitting around and doing nothing.”

Ears lifted slightly - an odd half arch. "You mentioned that before...that Those People actually asked you - spoke to you. Wasn’t that scary?" Looking ahead - mostly just grown up legs in various repair of pant types milling around. "What about your dad?" Her own assumptions being that his people would be like her’s...The daughters with their mothers, sons with their fathers.

Clario’s answer came with barely any emotion at all. “I don’t have one” with a shrug of his shoulders. “A lot of us don’t. Or we don’t know who they are.”

"Oh." So very wrong. "What about your mom? Who took care of you?"

Her answer was a long stretch of silence. He only kept his gaze down and didn’t answer directly “She’s not dead”, he said instead.

That drew her attention back, eyebrows up and asking in that childlike blunt way: "What does that mean?"

The defensiveness was immediate when he shrugged again and said with a rushed tone, “I don’t know, okay?” He buried his head in his knees. “Mom said I was an accident and she didn’t want to be my mom. So, she lives near all of us but she doesn’t act like a mom.” He lifted his head up to wipe away a dribbling of tears from his good eye. “Sometimes, the matrons in the forest will give me a cookie if I find them and ask nicely. They are good moms.”

Viina opened her mouth, then closed it. She couldn't..imagine. There were children without parents...but never unwanted. Never treated like an outsider. She ilmed closer, then cautiously put her shoulder against his in a very faint bumping weight. "She missed out. It wasn’t much of an offer, but it was still there. Lots of older people made mistakes, but this one seemed to top them all.

“What do you know”, he muttered. His head dipped down into his knees again, a bony little chin wedged between the thin fabric covering them. “I can’t do anything cool or good. I can’t hunt, I can’t color, I can’t sing. I can’t do anything.”

She thought about it. "I can’t shoot a bow. I can’t run fast as my sisters cause I'm so short. I tried to weave a basket once and it was so bad that it broke as soon as they put an apple inside of it. Everybody laughed. But...I'm good at being me. And some time I'll find something else I'm good at. I bet we could find something you're good at too.", peeking at him from the corner of her eye. "You helped me, after all. I don't feel lonely any more now. That’s something.”

“At least I helped someone”, Clario said quietly. “I want to help more people. When the men said I could help, I said I wanted to help heal people. They said I could so... when I can heal lots of people, and you can shoot arrows and run fast, I can help you, too. Okay?”

Broke the grin, twisting at her middle to rest on her hip, facing torso towards him. "Deal." She held her arm up in front of her, bent at the elbow, hand opened as if waiting for him to clasp it. "We'll be the best team ever and then nobody can say we cant do anything again!"

He smiled for the first time. Small, but there. He reached out carefully to grip her hand in agreement. "D-deal”, he affirmed.

Nodded once, firmly, giving his hand a little squeeze before releasing it. "We'll just have to hang tough until they get us. Or maybe we can do one better...bust ourselves out! Maybe everyone and then we can all be free again to do what we want."

He smiled fully now. With a hardy nod, he agreed to this. “Okay, I promise I’ll help as much as I can.”

"I trust you." As much as any child could with a friend...which was pretty much immediate and heartfelt. She returned to her settled in place next to him, though he could note that her shoulder still remained touched to his. "How...how long ago did that man come see you?"

He shrugged quietly. Time became a blur in here where the sun never reached them. “I don’t know...”, he began to try to answer but an announcement rang overhead. A woman spoke, gruff and stern, “Attention. All are to report to the lower hall. You will be showered and cleaned up for mealtime. That is all.”

Looked up at the voice rang out...then promptly stuck her tongue out and blew a raspberry. "Oh boy...stinky water and bleh food. I wonder where they get the meat in there cause it tastes days spoiled." Her hand appeared next to him again - she had gotten to her feet but remained slightly hunched to offer him assistance up too.

“It is weird that they eat bad meat here. I usually just pick around it if the big men aren’t watching”, he said while getting up and staggering a bit from being weak-kneed from sitting. They would have to go to the mess hall now, as the disembodied voice had announced, but at least they did so as new friends.

For the moment, their biggest fear was the mystery of whatever the meat on their plates would be and how empty their bellies would be for skipping it.

[wroteclassicaly]

Home

Michael Langdon / Reader

Summary : A pregnant reader with a soft future Michael. 

A/N : Something I came up with that turned out longer than expected, so the grammar probably sucks and maybe it’s all jumbled. First time writing this much Michael fluff. I did some different things and made some of my own head canons about how apocalypse ends, which I’ll reference in here. I also wrote a birth scene, which.... obviously I’ve never had a baby, so I tried based on the births I’ve seen and research I’ve done, stories I’ve heard. Let me know what y’all think, and enjoy! - Kristen

Extra note : Flashbacks are in italics and are written as past tense.

Warnings : Balls of fluff, birth scene, blood, explicit language, mentions of smut. 

"May I?" A deep voice interrupts the dizziness clouding your senses, snapping you back into it.

Your vision comes into focus, your fingers reaching to shakily tuck your hair back behind your ear. You meet a pair of concerned blue eyes, his hand by his side, patient, eager to touch you with permission. You nod, needing him more than ever. Of course, you always feel like the longer you know Michael Langdon, the deeper you craving to have goes. His fingers path down your arm and to your belly, resting across the swollen bulge.

You relax instantly, a smile pressing into your lips, despite how much pain your body is in. You both knew it wouldn't be easy. It wasn't for normal couples. But for the Anti-Christ and his human companion attempting to start repopulating? The human state of your body wasn't holding up as well as you wished.

~*~

Michael laid out all the information and facts he knew about what the experience of carrying a child fathered by him - might be like. He wanted you to know, step by step. You were with him and he with you. With the world having been gone, a war fought and ended, you two were more than ready to start creating a new one, a building future. It didn't matter to him he was technically years younger than you, his own biological father an eternal seventeen year old soon to be grandfather.

Michael was at his full maturity, his accelerated age leveling off normally. The time to form your own family was as good as any. And so, you talked it through one night, casually, like it's something you've both been wanting since the world had fallen in the bombs. It was, it is. You had climbed into his lap, your lips taking his in a gentle kiss, pleading against them once you broke apart - to put his baby inside you.

He took you to bed and worshipped you, feasted on your cunt, kissed every inch of your body his mouth could map over. That night making love with Michael, it was more intense than you'd experienced thus far with him. Trying to create this special new life, a whole person, demon, angel, whatever he or she would be. You both would make sure this child had their purpose, chose their own path after you offered your unconditional love and guidance. Michael swore he'd never be like the people he knew the first few years he lived.

He vowed his baby would be an even bigger promise to this future. A light well known. He'd die protecting you and it if it came to that. You both made the outpost 3 a permanent home, able to grow and roam freely there without trouble. After the war with the coven ended, Michael resurrected as much of the land as he could for those who remained.

The witches were long gone, not bothering your family. Those that had perished from the poison apples were revived and sent on their way, Gallant the only one remaining behind. You suspected Michael was okay with this because the man had become tolerable, more himself, and treated Michael like a man. He no longer lusted, but respected. And if he did lust, Gallant kept it under wraps.

Mead was the other remaining inhabitant. Her and Gallant wearing the faces of people Michael had ties to. They helped care for you, all of you developing this unit that none of you ever really had before in your previous lives. Gallant was your bestfriend and Miriam had warmed up to you after the first few months of your pregnancy. How you found out?

You'll never forget the way Michael's eyes glazed over with tears and he just stared at you after you came from the shower, clad in only a towel, brushing through your wet hair. You turned to ask him what he was doing, overwhelmed, shy, hot under his gaze, only to have him mash his mouth to yours in a kiss that lifted you off the floor. When he finally put you down his hand had splayed out across your belly. You lifted your gaze to face him, confusion evident. He smiled ever so softly at you.

"I hear a heartbeat inside of you." Michael nearly whispered those treasured words.

"Because it's mine?" You grinned, unsure where he had been going with it.

"It's new. And it does not belong to you."

You could barely see him through the tears, you stomach dropping, room spinning, life turned upside. Everything changed in that instance. There was another life in you, a heart, a brain, a whole person. Half of you, half of Michael. Your baby.

Michael pushed your towel apart, dropping to his knees to press his cheek against the damp skin of your stomach. "It's strong, it's there, it's really fucking there, Y/N."

You held onto fistfuls of his long hair, running your fingers through it over and over to calm down. A new future beginning.

~*~

"It's stronger than it was yesterday. Is it giving you much trouble?" Michael moves his hand around your stomach in attempts to catch the kicking of your little one.

"You're a pain in my ass sometimes, so what do you think?" You tease him, moving to sit down on your unmade bed.

Michael follows, helping to ease you down, despite your protests. His hand is still purchased over your belly, clad in one of his newly purchased black t-shirts

.

"I think you secretly love it, but I don't like it that you're in pain. I'm worried about you."

"Michael," You start, grasping his wrist, voice flowing down lightly. "I'm carrying a child. It's essentially pushing on my organs, so, I'm gonna have off days, baby."

"These are more than just off days. They're getting worse. Gallant told me, Ms. Mead told me."

The frown between your brows pinches the skin, a sigh coming from your lips. Of course they had to tell him. You didn't want him feeling guilty or worrying. You agreed to the possible risks when you begged him to give you this gift. You shake your head.

"I'm fine with it, Michael. We knew things might be a little different for me once I got pregnant."

There's that guilty look on his face, his beautiful blue eyes bashful, in a way. You reach over with your free hand to bring his chin up, pressing a defined kiss to his plump lips. At that very same instance your baby kicks hard against Michael's large hand. He breaks from your kiss with an awed gasp, always mesmerized by this part of nature. "I love it so much already, I hope it loves me back."

You're aware of everything he went through and it hurts you, lashing an ache at your heart. You don't want him to feel anything but love from you. You'll give him your life if that's what it takes. Pressing your fingers to lace through his, you hold onto him, the baby moving beneath you both.

"It'll love you, it'll cherish every moment with you. You guys might not always get along, but what parent does with their kids? It won't be like with your parents, Michael. We made this baby out of love, free choice. I don't care what you think is inside you, what those pieces of shit thought about you.

I love you. I love who you are, I love what you stand for. I love how you changed the world, how you fixed things for a better future for all of us. Your child will see that. How can it not when I look at you everyday and fall in love all over again?" Though it's cheesy, spoken long, you don't care.

You're emotional enough as it is nowadays, so you give yourself another pass. You reach to brush his long hair back, reveling in its softness.

"How'd I get so lucky finding you?" He questions, air-like.

"You knew where I was all along," You answer, resting your head on his shoulder, sinking in, his arm going around you, other not leaving the baby's dance recital inside you.

~*~

You keep counting the numbers, adding, subtracting, getting lost in the pain. Your body is soaked in sweat, clothing sticking to you like an internal itch you can't rid yourself of. You're burning, restless, swaying on your unsteady feet. Mead had went to fetch you some fresh water, Gallant getting everything else ready in the main room. Michael trusts them to prepare for your child to enter the world safely, and this makes the pain more bearable.

Another wave distracts you from any good line of thought, sharp, slicing through your abdomen harsh enough to have you bending over the bed, screaming out into the sheets. That's another in sixty seconds. Talk about cutting it close. You manage to turn yourself over, falling onto your back, the ceiling floating above you. You're dizzier by the time Ms. Mead is entering the room, Gallant in tow with towels and a worried expression.

They each grab an arm, helping you up for another contraction to level you to your knees. You keep your eyes violent on that empty doorway, demanding. Michael had left your side for the first time in months to get extra supplies. No one knew this baby was coming this soon, despite having planned for it in advance. Then again, what can you know about supernatural births?

You call for him inside, hoping he heeds it. Mead and Gallant are steering you down a few doors, barely getting you inside when it hits. Your eyes go wide and your heart gallops full speed ahead. Your abdomen twists, twines, body feeling as if it's been lit on fire, housing the flames. A shrill scream pierces the air, ripping itself from you, bouncing off the walls like chatter, leaving your lungs raw, exhausted.

From between your legs a warmth spills out of you, pooling in front of your bare feet. Blood. Your panicked eyes seek out Gallant's, who is hissing a harsh string of curses. It all moves more quickly than you're prepared for. A loud door is slamming in series, footsteps trampling up the staircase, then his scent hits you hard, bulldozing you into his awaiting arms.

Michael scoops you into his arms and brings you over the threshold, beside the large tub near the firelight, instructing Gallant to hold you so he can rid himself of his coat and shoes. You moan, whimpering out Michael's name, Gallant rubbing along your sweat slick neck to help calm you. Ms. Mead makes quick work of getting things rolled out, bringing her sleeves up. The next contraction you don't fight, sinking down beside your makeshift bathtub, holding on tight. Michael's fingers come to wrap around your waist, bare of rings, easily getting you into the bath, warm water soaking into your ankles.

"Do you want your robe left on, love?" His voice is hesitant, unwilling to share your nude form with anyone else.

Through your pain you laugh, tilting your head back. "I doubt Gallant or Ms. Mead are interested in my tits, Michael."

"Yeah, uh, no thanks. No offense." Is Gallant's thickened response. This whole thing is comical in a way. Mead shakes her head, directing Michael to settle down with you before the next line heads through.

He peels the weighted silk robe from your shoulders, helping you loosen your blood soaked panties until they are floating in the water. He flings both garments near the fire, fully clothed, uncaring, moving down with his back against the tub, pulling you between his legs.

"Spread her legs over yours, Michael, I need to see if this child is ready to enter the world." Mead is short, to the point.

He does as asked, gently gripping underneath your knees and stretching your legs on either side of his own. You're spread apart and it worsens that pain, things swollen and moving, body ready to give you new life.

"Fuuuuuuuuuuuck," Gallant says, clutching his stomach as if he's gonna pass out.

Michael snarls, lowering his gaze, cheek pressed to yours. "Look between her legs again and I will carve your fucking eyeballs out of your skull and mount them, are we clear?"

Gallant waves his hand, ushering. "Don't gotta ask me twice."

An agonizing pressure pulls at you, making you arch back away from the probe, breath puffing out in pained whimpers.

"This child is ready, she," Ms. Mead motions to you. "is ready. But we have to hurry. Y/N is losing a lot of blood and I need to tend to her as soon as we get the little one out."

You aren't afraid, more light. You know Michael will protect this life. Things will be okay. He's holding your neck gently, kissing you, nosing your cheek. "If something happens, I'll bring her back."

Your Michael. It makes all this pain, all the unknowns of your life worth it. To find this. To get to this moment. You shift, planting your hands on his pant clad, wet thighs.

"I'm ready. Let's do this."

"I'm right here, I've got you. Just keep your focus." Michael encourages, kissing the back of your neck.

"Michael, I want your hand underneath the water. You will pull the child from her, then lift it from the water. Gallant will help you look it over. I will work on Y/N." Mead utters, using your name with respect.

All parties agreed, Michael's strong hand dips beneath the glimmering surface of the bath water, pressing just outside of you. He lets out a broken gasp, winded in your ear. "I feel it. Our baby."

He kisses you right into your next contraction.

~*~

It wasn't quick, not really. The clock ticked to register twenty minutes. Your body crumbling, weak, water reddened. Michael was shivering, afraid, though he tries to keep it at bay. You were giving it all you have left in you, thinking you might not see your baby after all this. But you know that you can't give up, you can't let that thought plunder your subconscious.

It's the last one that locks your muscles into a wild frenzy, bones threatening to fall to ash, that you bear down with all you have, hollering into the wide set room, that does it. Michael, Mead and Gallant are teetering closer, Michael choking on a cry, his other hand vanishing between your legs. It's calm suddenly, you slump back against him, after-storm whirling by you like the last remains of a tornado. Michael's hands return above the water, holding in them, your baby. Covered in blood, after birth, the cord still attached, it lets out a healthy set of cries.

You are brought to the light, heart busting apart, you break down into a fit of sobs, watching Mead hand Michael a pair of scissors to separate the baby from your body. You don't care about anything else, not even Mead wiping at the stray tears and going straight to work on you. Michael brings the baby to your chest, dark blond hair glowing underneath the gunk on its head. Tiny fingers rest across your breast, ones that you take, Michael's coming over your own. Gallant is sniffling in the background, trying to turn his head.

The baby's heartbeat is calming, steady, beating against your chest.

"We have a daughter." Michael answers a question you knew was coming up in your mind, yet not on the forefront.

You crane your neck a little to see him, his blue eyes filled with tears, others smeared on his cheeks. You break down, bringing your daughter to you, kissing her temple. Your daughter. You made a new generation of female. You don't let go of her, not until you have to for her to be looked over.

She's as strong as her daddy, you knew she'd be fine. Michael turns back to you, still soaked, holding the baby like he's never been higher. This was something more, his mission. Bringing light to his darkness, creating a new bloodline that wasn't pain and destruction. He made that with you.

And his daughter would only know love. No matter what or who she turns out to be, Michael will never turn his back on her.

~*~

It had been a couple of days since (whatever baby name you'd pick) 's birth, but she was more loved than ever. Gallant was convinced he'd teach her about design and pop culture, whilst Mead did in fact make gibberish sounds when she thought no one was looking. You were wiped out from the difficult birth, body recovering from the blood loss, but Michael pulled double duty so you could rest. He brought the baby to you when she needed fed, for you to hold her. He even sang to her, his voice the only one able to calm her to sleep at night.

You'd never seen a man that had so much danger, power, that brought the end of days about, born out of evil, that intimidated you when you first met, fall apart with a pair of big blue eyes looking at him. You watch from your bed, Michael in his usual all black attire, holding your daughter, enamored with her, her tiny little finger holding onto his own. He whispers secrets to her, leaning in to kiss her nose, then her cheek, finishing by laying his lips to her forehead. He catches you looking, sharing that with you. Moving to you, he settles beside you, the baby sound asleep.

"I love you." You beat him to it, leaning your head onto his shoulder.

"And I love you, my Queen, mother of my child."

He kisses your forehead as you coo at the nickname, his proximity, and both of you hold onto your baby girl, content, home.