#she said its probably just a floating rib but i wanted the peace of mind

[beansnpeets]

Aw shit I forgot to ask them to xray his weird rib while he was knocked out.

[fandom--desires]

Over the City

Fandom: Destiny

Rating: K+ Character(s): Commander Zavala Word Count: 1,349

You needed space to breathe. To think.

The last few weeks have been an endless onslaught of Vex, Hive, Cabal and Taken. You have lost count of how many times your Ghost has had to heal broken bones and gaping wounds, bring you back from the brink of death and revive you. Your body aches from the pain and abuse of it all. The last encounter with Cabal that morning had broken seven ribs, punctured a lung and almost eviscerated you.

Now, as it nears midnight, you find solace in peace. There’s a small nook in one of the western stairwells that opens to a maintenance hatch on the side of the wall. The ledge is sheltered and provides a beautiful view of the Last City that you fight each day to defend. It was worth it, but the constant kill or be killed took its toll mentally. Many guardians that you knew had taken themselves off on solo trips to every corner of the solar system to try and recuperate. Some were gone a few weeks, others took years to find their peace of mind again.

You could probably do with a similar bought of soul searching, but you remained purely for selfish reasons: you couldn’t leave him. Zavala. Titan Vanguard and Commander.

Since the first day you had stepped into the Tower you had admired him. His voice could put you to sleep, his honour and kindness melted your heart, and his determination to always do the right thing inspired you. At some point during this long, second life, you had fallen head over heels in love with him.

You completed each strike, mission and bounty he sent you on, but the time away from him made your heart ache. You hardly saw him at the tower either, only to collect and turn in your tasks, public announcements and when he would occasionally wander the Tower. It was a foolish love, but love nonetheless, so you had committed to working through the internal blackness of the fight at the tower, so you could still hear his voice, see his face and willingly complete the tasks he asked of you.

“You know, at some point he’s either going to figure it out, or you’re going to snap.” Your Ghost mentioned, idly floating by your shoulder and as though guessing your train of thought.

“It’s been this long and he hasn’t.” A small smile plays at the corner of your mouth. Was that a good thing? Hard to know anymore. Maybe confessing your undying love to him and getting shut down would be better for everyone. You were sure some of the other guardians were starting to piece it together, and Ikora had been giving you a look recently. If Cayde found out it would be public knowledge in a week.

“We could disappear to Nessus for a few weeks.” Ghost insisted. “There’s still a large Vex population. Just a few weeks away, see if that clears your head.”

You hummed in partial agreement, swinging your legs over the concrete ledge of your perch. Maybe it was time for a break. You weren’t a teenager, you had a job to do. “You’re right. Nessus could be good.” You agreed eventually. “I can speak to Ikora in the morning. See if she can put the request forwards to Zavala. Can’t focus on this forever.”

“Can’t focus on what?”

The deep rumble of the Commander’s voice made you jump and you damn near slipped from your ledge. “Nothing!” you answer far too hastily, your head snapping to the left to see your unwelcome intruder. How did he get here? When did he get here? “Stuff. Evening.” You really hoped the Commander couldn’t see the blush racing across your face, burning your cheeks. He probably could. You could see every inch of his solid build, from shining boots to raised eyebrow.

“Good evening.” Zavala cocked a smile. “You probably shouldn’t dangle off the edge.” He nodded towards you and, almost instinctively, you shuffled back against the wall and drew your feet up to rest on the concrete. Zavala chuckled and manoeuvred down to sit next you, tucking one leg under the other and dangling one foot over the edge. “It’s a nice evening.”

“It is.” you agreed. Look away. You urged yourself, your eyes transfixed on the side of his face. Your heart was beating a thousand beats a minute. Why was he here? You had never been alone with him like this before.

“Now, what seems to be the problem?”

You stared at him, blinking and forgetting your voice. “Nothing.” You manage to choke out eventually, pulling your eyes off his profile and out over the city. “Nothing important.”

Out of the corner of your eye you see Zavala shift and turn to face you. The blush comes rushing back to your cheeks. “If it is worrying one of my most hardworking guardians, then it must be important.” He urged, almost gently.

“It’s nothing, really, just… thinking. Maybe I need a break? I don’t know. Ghost suggested maybe taking an extended order on Nessus. A few weeks. Nothing more. Maybe. I’m not sure. I like being here. In the Tower with everyone. With you.” Shit. “All! With everyone.” Double shit.

If Zavala picked up on your rambling mistake (he almost certainly couldn’t have missed it) he didn’t say anything. If you had been able to pluck up the courage to look at him, you would have seen a gentle smile playing out across his features.

“Sorry.” You shake your head. “I can’t imagine you’re here to listen to my problems. Are you here to give me an earful about being out here?”

“Not at all.” Zavala chuckled. “I’ve known about your secret for months.”

Secret? What secret? Did he mean the wall or-

“I just thought you might like some company. I can go?” the Commander offered, making to stand.

“No!” Too hasty. “Ah, it is nice to have the company. I thought I was slightly more discreet about my hide out, that’s all.”

“I can see it from my office.” Zavala smiled, turning his attention back towards the city. “I thought best to leave you be for now, but you seemed different after your strike today. I was concerned.”

“Thank you.” You said gently, letting your legs drop back down over the side. “I appreciate the company. Today was hard, but we do it for a reason. Being out here helps me remember why we fight.”

The two of you fell into gentle silence, watching the lights of the sprawling city far below. It was nice. Calming. The stress of the day was already falling away and the pain in your ribs hurt just a little less than before. Eventually, Zavala broke the silence.

“If you want to take an extended order, I will not deny your request.” He said gently, turning once more to look at you. “I shall miss you, but I will authorise it.”

“Miss me?” you couldn’t help but look at him. You mean to argue that there were other guardians just as dedicated, just as skilled, if not more so, but those bright blue eyes caught yours and you felt yourself getting lost in the way he looked at you. Really looked at you.

“Yes. I will miss you.” Zavala said, reaching out and taking your hand. His hand was warm against yours as he placed a gentle kiss on your knuckles. “But I can let you go if you need to. Just as long as you promise to come back.”

You nodded mutely, your hand still clasped in his. “Always.”

Zavala smiled and placed another kiss on your knuckles before dropping your hand into your lap. “I don’t know about you, but I need dinner. I think the noodle hut is still open. Dinner?”

A smile pulled at the corners of your mouth and you ducked your head to try and hide it. “Dinner.” You agreed, and allowed him to pull you to your feet.

Maybe just a quick strike on Nessus would suffice.

[passable-talent]

hi roe, i’d like to request something !! can i request a zuko x reader with a hanahaki AU? the hanahaki can be either reader or zuko, doesn’t matter. if u don’t want to do the hanahaki part that’s fine🥺 thank you ♡

ya boi is back and he brings angst and mild body horror

tw: lots of talk abt veins n blood n arteries and lots of stuff inside the body. 

It took root in winter. 

Prince Zuko had been a focused man for a long time. His goal in life was singular- he intended not to do a single thing other than capture the avatar. That would let him go home, and that was all he was worried about. 

But then he saw you, in the northern water tribe. The second eldest child of the chief, younger sibling to Princess Yue. You didn’t have her striking white hair, but your looks were astounding all the same- and unlike your sister, you were a waterbender. 

It was in his duel with Katara in the spiritual oasis that Zuko came across you, protecting the avatar and your sister. Your father, so protective of his children, kept you hidden from many things, including traditional bending training. It didn’t stop you from mastering your craft, though, as you would escape to the cliffs surrounding the city whenever you could, and create your own techniques. 

As a result, your waterbending was unlike anything Zuko had ever seen. It wasn’t like water- it didn’t take the shape of waves or streams like that he had seen from Katara. Instead, your bending took the shape of something much more primal, sinister. Like floodwaters, dangerous and sharp and capable of just as much destruction as fire, maybe more. It was with the ferocity with which you protected the avatar that he first witnessed your unique waterbending, which terrified him and stuck in his mind. 

In the brief time he saw you, before the siege of the north was over, and as he travelled into the earth kingdom with his uncle, he was fascinated with you. He wished he could know more about you, and understand your bending, your movements so unlike others of your tribe. He wished he could see the way you learned, or practice alongside you, and some part of him that wanted peace in the world could imagine someday you being an ambassador to the Fire Nation on behalf of your sister, the chieftess. 

And so wallflower took root in his heart. 

He didn’t notice it for months, as it got worse, and worse, as its roots spread throughout his arteries. He didn’t know, couldn’t possibly guess at the reasoning for his phantom pinches in his muscles. 

He didn’t see an issue in thinking further of you, and falling deeper in love with the future he had planned for the both of you in his head. He was going to return, someday, and take his father’s throne. He would open up peaceful communications with all of the nations of the world. He would send aid to help in the rebuilding of the Southern Water Tribe to gain the favor of its sister tribe, and you would become a friend. He understood that now, you were in direct line to the title of chief, and so you wouldn’t be an ambassador. But maybe, you could lead your tribe, and he his nation, and the two of you could be together, fostering peace for the world. 

He didn’t think much of it when his chest felt tighter, as he assumed that it was just his exercise exhausting him. He couldn’t see the wallflower, its roots spreading down through the bronchus of his lungs, squeezing its way through them. How could he? It was deep beneath his chestplate that the roots spread to his ribs, until its hold was tight, and his every breath came with just a little sting. 

Even though he’d heard of the disease, back at his time at the academy, he still didn’t make the connection, and still allowed his love to grow deeper, his wallflower growing larger. 

He could imagine a world in which the two of you would come and meet in Ba Sing Se. You’d dine with the Earth King, and the Avatar, and the four of you would set about changing the world together. He could imagine standing from the table and taking your hand, leading you into a separate, private room. 

He could picture the way the two of you would clash, water and fire, the passion and intelligence and drive that you would share, but manifest in opposite elements. He dreamt of visiting the North Pole, and wearing traditional chieftan clothing as he stood behind you, and you visiting him in the Fire Nation with traditional fire nation royal robes behind him. 

It was spring when he coughed up the first petal. 

It didn’t look like a petal, just a slimy lump of something vaguely orange, and so Iroh assumed that he was coming down with a cold. He was on bedrest, just for a few days, which only worsened the issue, as now all he could do was spend his time thinking about you. 

He knew it was silly, to be so in love with someone who was on the opposite side of a war, who he’d met only once, but he couldn’t help it. Even as he pulled slimy lumps of orange from the back of his lungs, as every breath stung as though he’d been running for hours, he recalled your sparkling blue eyes, fierce and determined in the moonlight. He remembered how you interacted with the avatar and Katara while he was stuck up in a collumn of ice. He couldn’t help but be in love with you, even after all this time. 

He couldn’t help but want to be a part of a future in which he could be with you. It radicalized him, made him want to do one of two things- either regain his throne through pleasing his father, or regain it through overthrowing his father. 

He wasn’t sure which, but he thought that circumstances would make one easier than the other, and his sister became that circumstance in Ba Sing Se. She killed the avatar, and Zuko returned home a triumphant prince, heir to the throne, son of Agni. He, in private, voiced his plans to his sister of winning over the rest of the world when the war was over by launching humanitarian campaigns and proving that the Fire Nation was caring, benevolent. She may have laughed, but she saw her own genius in his plans- it would smooth over war-torn scars. 

He just wanted to engineer a life with you. Humanitarian ideas made that easier. 

On one particular visit to his uncle, he let out a lick of dragon’s breath, and within the plume of flame was a singular floating ember, fluttering and glowing orange until it burned up midair. The sight piqued Iroh’s curiosity, and he asked Zuko to turn around and lower his head. 

With the black lines through Zuko’s veins, Iroh finally realized what was happening. 

“Hanahaki,” he told Zuko, reaching between the bars to press down on a black line, feeling the hard, thin root of a plant inside of it. The pressure made Zuko flinch. “It’s probably all through your bloodstream. That’s what’s been hurting your chest. It’s what you’ve been coughing up.” As though on que, Zuko broke out in coughs, two slimy orange petals landing on the floor in front of him. He’d long learned not to cough into his hand, lest he had to deal with the slime on his skin. 

“Zuko, doesn’t Mai love you?” Iroh asked, withdrawn from his nephew but still concerned for his safety. If the roots had reached the back of his neck, it would likely reach his head soon, and that was when the disease began to threaten life. 

“I’m not in love with Mai,” Zuko answered, eyes drawn to the floor. 

And he realized that he needed to join the avatar. 

When Katara cast him out of the western air temple, it was only the second most painful wound of the day. The first was that you weren’t there- you hadn’t followed the avatar, he didn’t get to see you. And so still he suffered, coughing up more and more petals each day. 

He prompted his own coughing fits, hoping that he could get more petals out, and he would still be able to breathe. 

His firebending kept it from growing up his throat, but it didn’t stop the spread through his veins. It wasn’t choking the blood from his brain, but it did give him headaches, and sometimes he wondered if it would kill him before the end of the war, let alone when he would meet you again. 

He tried to hide it, one afternoon, when from a scrape on his shoulder erupted a flower. It hurt like nothing else he’d ever experienced, but he managed to slice it off with his swords, hoping that his skin would close over it. 

Toph sees all, didn’t he know that? 

She could see the unusual blotches in his lungs, and she knew what it meant. It clouded her ability to read his heartbeat, but that didn’t matter, because she knew the answer when she asked the question. 

“You have Hanahaki?” she said, her greyed eyes wide, looking almost innocent. “Who is it?” 

“The next leader of the Northern Water Tribe,” he answered, the slightest of bittersweet smiles on his face, his days of yearning long gone. Now he merely hoped to see your face one more time, because he didn’t believe he had enough time to earn genuine love from you before the roots of his wallflower stopped his heart. 

He had enough time, though, to dispose of his sister with the calmness of a dying man. He faced his victory, and his crown as Fire Lord, with a splitting headache, blackness invading the edge of his vision. He knew his heart wasn’t pushing hard enough to move his blood past the roots of his wallflower, his permanently cold fingers were his proof. But the avatar was his friend, now, and brought with him a little bit of pull. 

So you, the young future chief of the Northern Water Tribe, attended the coronation of the Fire Lord. 

You were dressed in thin but formal water tribe clothing, a deep blue offsetting the tan of your skin, your sleeves long and flowy, hiding in your palm a small tissue. 

In the celebration afterward, you approached the new Fire Lord. You excused yourself from your conversations with the other warriors to visit him, in his chambers. He was withdrawn from the festivities, the effort of speaking before the nation too much for his state of health. 

Just outside his door, you coughed into your tissue, straightening your back before striding in. 

“Coriander,” you said, your first word one that caught him off guard. He didn’t know what you meant.

Sensing his confusion, you sat down beside him on his bed. 

“It’s a flower with little white petals. Smaller than your pinky finger. Hence why it took me so long to figure out.” Zuko gazed sideways at you, narrowing his eyes as he puzzled over your meaning. As a royal, he was no stranger to the language of flowers- but why would you be referencing ‘hidden worth’ to him?

“What was yours?” you asked, your expression soft. 

“My what?” 

“Your flower. Aang said you had come down with Hanahaki, like me.” Zuko’s eyes widened, and he raised his chin. 

“You- you had- too?” Your expression got softer, and you tilted your head with even more kindness in your eyes. 

“Imagine how angry I was at myself, considering the circumstances we met in.” A smile broke out across Zuko’s face, but his sharp intake of breath caused him to fall into a fit of hacking. Gently you rubbed his back. 

“It gets better in a few weeks,” you promised him, speaking from your own experience, as the voyage to the Fire Nation capital had been your detox. The letter from the avatar had explained everything, and let you heal before you even saw the Fire Lord. 

“Wallflower,” answered Zuko, pulling himself from his coughs, “an orange flower.” Only now did he consider the meaning of such a flower- faithfulness in adversity. Did the flowers truly have some sort of meaning in their relationship, to the nations, to the world?

It didn’t matter, really. Zuko was happy to watch the roots recede from his veins, and cough out the last of the petals. He was happy to have you by his side, through it all, turning over a new chapter of the world’s history. 

Orange and white- a combination the world hadn’t seen much of, before the story of the chief and fire lord spread. But wallflower and coriander, soon, became the symbol for love in all of the nations.

-🦌 Roe

[yandere-wishes]

La Belle Au Bois Dormant // Yandere! Malleus Draconia X Reader//

A continuation form A Rose By Any Other Name Would Still Be As Sweet

===========================================================

From this slumber, you shall wake, when true love's kiss, the spell shall break.

"I don't want to go" Malleus mumbled as he reached his pale hand to gently caress your smooth face. His intoxicating green eyes held a form of hesitance as they bore into your (e/c) ones. Your fingers gently entwined in his raven locks, pulling them back to see just how long they were. Occasionally your long nails would brush against the base of his horns, earning you a delightful little chirp from the dark fae. 

You tried to push your lips into a heartfelt smile in hopes that it would grant him some peace of mind. "I'll be alright my love, go about your day you have classes to attend." Jealousy pumped through your veins as the final phrase left your mouth. Classes, they seemed like such a distant thing. You could barely remember the wooden desks in which you sat at or the thin pencils that you once held in your grasp. Everything was so blurry, so far away, your life before you met with the Malleus always seemed so distant, so abstract. Now your life was planned out in such a way that there was nothing to remember but your raven-haired lover. Every moment you were awake was spent by his side, in his embrace. It was always him, him, him...

Malleus groaned as he pushed himself up, the early morning sunlight reflected off his face causing him to resemble a mystical porcelain doll. He leaned over pressing his lips to your forehead in a lengthy kiss. "I love you" he muttered. "Love you too" you replied almost too automatically. That just how thing where you said what he wanted to hear, did want he wanted you to do. The concept of "free will" was something you had lost over the last few months. 

"It's time" Malleus stood in front of you black wand in hand. It was time to sleep, it was time to fall into a listless slumber for god knows how many endless hours until he got back. Slumber had become the prison Malleus bound you in. He needed no chains or shackles, no fancy locks to bar the doors. No all he had to do was wave that a cursed wand...

The emerald jewel embedded in the hilt began to glow, a green mist began to ooze out from the gemstone, gradually floating over to you. This had -like may other things- become a sort of day to day routine. You would sit as still as can be as the green mist infiltrated your senses. The second you smelt its lavender like aroma, your eye lips began to get heavy, your limbs started feeling numb resting. Your body would slowly recline into the soft mattress...and that was it, time would fly by as remained trapped in a dreamless sleep. That's how things had been for so long and that's how you feared things would remain forever. 

But unlike the lovable fairy tales we are told as children, real life has a way to demolish the notion of "forever".

It had been a total of four months since (y/n) had gone missing. 120 days since his closest friend had vanished without a trace. The headmaster and professors had stopped looking for her on the four days of her disappearance By the second week the student body as a whole had forgotten her. By the first month, all traces of her had been wiped clean. And four long months later Phil Auroria still hadn't stopped searching for his best friend. 

 The week leading up to (y/n)'s disappearance would forever be burnt into his mind. She'd walked into class every day that week looking dazed and confused, she constantly got lost in the stone hall, fall asleep during lessons. At some point, she'd stopped eating and started to spontaneously burst into laughter. Phil had tried to talk to her, reason with her even. But she'd always brush him off, that was until she stopped talking to him in general. It had been by Wednesday or maybe Thursdays that the young girl had lost her tongue. Every word that Phil had spoken to her had been meeting with an icy cold glare from eyes that where that had lost the ability to focus on one thing for too long. By the time Saturday had rolled around Phil had decided enough was enough. He'd marched over to the Ramshackle dorm barged in ready to drag her to the nurse's office, practically demanding she gets treatment for her peculiar behavior...when he found her room abandoned, vases knocked over, postures ripped from the walls and the window wide open.

Kidnapped! The word rang in Phil's head as he's rushed around campus trying to convince any teacher he found that his best friend had been Kidnapped! But no teacher paid him any mind they all brushed it off as if he was going crazy. Until finally the headmaster had agreed to do a "thorough investigation". Said investigation had lasted hardly a day. Crowley had to look around her room, allegedly "talked" some of her other friends and done, that had been that. Never again did the mask-wearing director talk about the lost girl again, never did the teachers call her name during the morning attendance, never was her name heard on campus again.

Phil too had begun to lose all hope. His mind had written her off as dead, corpses probably buried on some hill my a serial murderer. (Y/n) was gone, never to be heard of again...

that was until just the other day. One miserable day before the anniversary of (y/n)'s four-month disappearance. Walking down the grim, eerie halls one his way to alchemy class, Phil had heard the misremembered, lonesome name being whispered. At, first he thought it was his grieving mind play tricks on him, telling him he had heard her name, telling him she would be right around the corner awaiting him...she hadn't been both to Phil's dismay and expectation. Instead, he'd seen his deputy dorm director Lilia Vanrough talking to Diasminia's royal guard Silver. They had been whispering about something, their voices so low that Phil had only made out the occasional word...but that had been more than enough. From their vague hushed conversation, Phil had learned all he needed to learn. (Y/n) was very much alive and well, she was being held against her will in the dorm leader of Diasminia's room. The poor girl, who knew what horrible deeds that monster had done to her! He just had to save her! There wasn't a moment to spare!

And that was how Phil found himself staring at the hulking noir door. Adrenaline pumping through his veins as his fingers nimbly tried picking the lock. She had to be there! She just had to! He'd searched every other nook and cranny of the school, he'd searched from the hot sands of  Scarabia down to the depths of Octavinelle. There was nowhere else you could possibly be! The lock gave way with a loud "click". Phil held his breath as he pressed on the wooden door. For a second he stopped, heart, pounding violently against his rib cage. He closed his eyes, easing his mind into a state of comfort before fully opening the door and stepping through the thresh hold. 

....

....

....

....

A warm feeling flooded his body, blood ran up to his face, his heart sped up. His eyes had grown to the size of the gem pinned to his coat. They say if you dream a more then once it's sure to come true...

There she was in all the glory, arms crossed over her rising and falling stomach. She looked so peaceful, so tranquil

A true sleeping beauty. 

Phil walked closer to his slumbering friend, eyes never leaving her serene face. When he reached the side of the bed he kneeled down, his fingers swept a few stray locks of hair behind your ear. "(y/n)" he whispered. "(y/n) it's me" when she didn't reply, Phil, wrapped his fingers around one of her hands, giving it a gentle squeeze, still nothing. That when he saw it. The faint green glow that circulated your body. A sleeping curse Phil realized. The dark Fae had you trapped in a sleeping curse how....oddly typical of him. Still despite how common they were one of the strongest spells known to man, Fae and all other creatures that roamed the earth. There were only two known ways to break a sleeping curse and those methods varied from curse to curse. 

The quickest method was for the caster to break it or in a sense "take back". The second method was the ever-popular "True love's kiss" but well...those weren't the most reliable sources. Yet at that moment Phil couldn't stop looking at her lips. There was something about them, something about that just made him want to kiss her...

Before his brain could fully process what was happening, he was pushing his lips onto hers. His head felt dizzy, cold sweat broke over his body. When he pulled away his lungs heaved for air, an emptiness loomed over him as he waited for any remote reaction from the dormant girl. 

...

...

...

...

"Five more minutes Malleus" the voice was laced in sleep and sloth, the young girl's eyes cracked open glaring at whoever had just awoken her...No this wasn't Malleus, this was someone else, someone she knew! Someone she thought she would never see again! "Phil!" (y/n) instantly pushed her self into a sitting position, swinging her legs off the edge of the bed and pushing herself into her longtime friend's arms. Tears of happiness flew out of her eyes staining her cheeks as well as his uniform.  "(y/n)?" oh, his voice, his gorgeous stunning not monotone or seemingly dead inside voice! It was blissful music to her ears! The sound of something that wasn't Malleus' formal tone! Phil shifted holding on to one of her hands in his larger one. "H-How! H-how are you awake, I-I just kissed you and..and suddenly you..." Realization shown face, his eyes flashed with a vivid outwardly happiness. "I..I love you" the both of them spoke wt the same time large smiles plastered on both their faces. This was the perfect fairy tale moment, the moment the prince saves the princess and falls in love! This  was that one true formidable moment!"

....Except such moments can never exist in Night Raven College...

"Oh, you poor simple fools" an anonymous voice chided. the "heroes" looked around frantically trying to locate the imposture. Deep down they knew who it was, they knew that their moment was gone, lost never to be found again. The room filled with a thick emerald fog, shocking the air out of both Phil and (y/n)'s lungs. In the haze, a tall black figure appeared, stomping angrily towards the pair. Gloved hands grasped (y/n)'s shoulder pushing her harshly against Malleus' chest. The dark fae was inraged. Betrayal dancing in his sad, heartbroken eyes. "I trusted you" he mouthed before turning his rage towards Phil, Malleus' chest heaved, his hands balled into fists. 

"Silver!" His voice echoed off the walls, reverberating inside the skulls of the two humans in the room. In mere moments, there was the noise of shuffling boots, followed by the creaking of the old door. "Yes, Malleus-sama!" Silver marched inside, lavender eyes fixed on Phil from the moment he entered the room. 

"Dispose of this wretched human at once! Throw him in occidendum domum I'm pretty sure It's savanclaw's day...so they'll enjoy the little treat." 

What scared (y/n) the most about that phrase was just how cold and uncaring Malleus' voice was. He didn't care about the life of another living creatuer...no he never cared about anything other than himself and his obsession. In the endless span of time, you had spent with him you had forgotten just how insensitive the dark fae was. He'd tricked you into giving up your name, he'd stole you away from the life you had loved and now he was going to kill the man that was meant to be your one true love... Yet still, a part of you wanted to snuggle closer in his embrace, to have him hug you tightly and whisper that everything will be okay. You really were going insane.

You trashed around in Malleus' grip, trying to reach out for Phil's hand. Hoping that by some miracle you could prevent a determined Silver from taking away Phil. As the two men departed the room you turned your attention to Malleus with tear-filled eyes. "Malleus please" you begged, voice cracking as you sobbed uncontrollably "He was able to wake me from your sleeping curse! He's supposed to be my one true love!" 

Malleus' poison lives eyes darkened. Forcefully he pushed your face closer to his chest. His thin fingers twisted around your hair. Casually he placed a kiss on top your forehead as he finally spoke directly to you. 

"Darling I am your one true love as you are mine! It matters not what foolish mortal awakes you from your slumber, it only matters that I am the one who cast the curse over you! That makes you mine! That makes you my sleeping beauty!"

[captain-emmajones]

Love, Emma (4/7)

(Art by the wonderful @carpedzem​ <33)

Loosely based on Love, Rosie (2014). Killian and Emma are best friends and neighbors. They’ve always been – until he leaves for the Navy when his brother dies. When he comes back, nine months later, summer has begun and childhood is ending. Emma can tell something is changed in him, but she doesn’t know what. Until she does. He’s fallen in love with someone else.

And then, suddenly, they’re kissing on her nineteenth birthday. When she asks him to forget their night out, and never talk about it again, Killian thinks she means to tell him she regrets the kiss they exchanged. Except she has no memory of it.

Killian and Emma will dance around each other, until their heads spin and their legs hurt, and everything becomes blurry and it has to stop – for both of their sake.

Title is from Taylor Swift’s Peace – which clearly inspired the mood of this chapter. 

A huge thank you to @profdanglaisstuff who beta’d this and gave me her usual precious advice, and also big thanks to @carpedzem who screamed at me in the best way possible <3 

Friends to Lovers - Mutual Pining - Angst - Fluff - 6000 words - ao3

Last scene of the last chapter was Killian arriving in NYC after the whole Neal stole watches and Emma impulsively runs away thing. This chapter opens on Killian, Emma, MM and David in MM’s kitchen -- right after Emma and Killian’s hug.

Part 1 - Mirrorball , Part 2 - AUGUST, Part 3 - HOAX, Part 5 - This is me trying, Part 6 - Cardigan,  Part 7 - INVISIBLE STRING

PART 4 - PEACE 

Would it be enough

If I could never give you peace?

.

Four years before Emma’s wedding – New York.

As Killian makes small talk with David and Mary Margaret in the kitchenette, Emma is quite thankful she cried this hard. While she really went all in, wept with both her eyes and her nose for a good ten minutes and clearly smeared Killian’s sweater for life in the process, Emma must confess that she does feel better.

Scientists didn’t lie about dopamine. The grey feeling in her chest is twirling in a salt puddle, but Emma knows it won’t be drowned forever. (Not when hazel lingers behind her eyelids, anyway.)

As she sits next to Killian, in front of a plate of scrambled eggs, Emma feels like she might be floating on a cloud. She’s almost tempted to close her eyes, and get some well-deserved rest, but Killian might leave again and her eyes shoot open at the thought.

She did not forget his text. He said he would be busy. Why isn’t he, suddenly?

Her fork slides to the right, and nearly stabs her cheek. Emma sighs, embarrassed, but they don’t notice her, engulfed in their conversation. That’s for the best.  

A nasty hope raises her heart. Maybe, just maybe …

But then, no. No. She deserves better than this, better than being left hanging for him to look back at her. Knowing he never does.

“Well, I’m glad to see you two are still the most infuriating couple in town.”

Emma looks up to see a smile on Killian’s face. He is peeling an orange, and its smell fills Emma’s lungs with Christmas memories and Ingrid’s tender smile. She must be worried sick.

Guilt circles Emma’s throat, until she gets distracted by the orange peels dropped next to her. They look like petals.

Emma thinks, as Killian sits next to her, all upright and proper and Navy, that she sees him for the first time in ages. That the strawberry cloud surrounding him has blotted – somewhere between their last goodbye and the moment she realized she was blaming him for her grey, fuzzy feeling. She doesn’t know if she is allowed to blame him. Probably not. But it still itches.

David and Mary Margaret obviously like Killian. She sees it in the way David presses his shoulder when he reaches for butter, and Mary Margaret makes sure his cup of coffee is never empty. She thinks they always did like him more than they liked her. But that’s fair. She also liked Killian better.

“Aha, thank you, mate ,” replies David, and he has a green apron on his right shoulder and he looks very much so adult and Emma frowns, feeling like she missed an important step from teenagerhood to adulthood. “What about you, any lovebird?”

Well, now that was quick.

Mary Margaret’s swiftly elbows David in the ribs, but it’s too late. The eggs are already stuck down Emma’s throat, and it feels like a strong hand is strangling her. She coughs loudly, and a glass of water is pushed in front of her. Killian.

He won’t let her be mad, will he?

“Careful, Swan.” He even dares to smile. She wants to yell at him but Mary Margaret and David would stare, and she would have to explain why she’s yelling, and then she would have to talk about this funny, funny feeling in her belly when she thinks about M, and… She drinks up.

Killian gives a small chuckle then, but Emma barely hears it. She only hears the fickle buzzing of her heart.

“Sorry mate, I’m not the type to kiss and tell.” Killian’s words are sure and calm.

Without a glance, Killian hands Emma an orange slice, as if it were the most natural thing in the world – and sure, for a while it was –  and she shoots him a death glare but she takes it all the same.

What does he think he’s doing? Does he think she’s just his to pick whenever he feels like it?

The small slice is very delicate and it leaves tangy, sugary drops on her fingers, but she does not think too much about it and shoves it in her mouth. It explodes in orangey sweetness.

“Can we change the subject?” asks Mary Margaret, and Emma isn’t looking up but she knows she’s staring at her with all of the compassion and the pity in the world and it makes Emma even madder.

Everything is so bitter. She doesn’t know where to look, where to be, for the pain to flatter.

“I need to get out,” Emma exhales suddenly. She doesn’t mean to say it like that, but those are the only words her brain comes up with.

“Oh. Alright. Well, David and I were thinking about going to the Christmas market but—”

“— It’s fine. You guys can go to the Christmas market, I’ll stay with Emma.”

Emma doesn’t offer Killian a glance, instead buries her nails into her palm. How dare he.

“Are you sure, Emma?” asks Mary Margaret, and Emma wants to snap back that she should have thought about it before inviting Killian over, but then she sees the gentle glint in Mary Margaret’s eyes and she can only sigh.

“Yeah, don’t worry. Killian and I need to talk, anyway.”

She hopes Killian’s heart makes a loop in his chest and the tip of his ears turn scarlet, as they always do when he is embarrassed. It’s all he deserves.

“Well, then it’s settled.”

And Emma wishes it didn’t smell like oranges and Christmas in the room, because then it would be easier to hate Killian Jones, for sure.

.

Bare are the trees of Central Park as Killian and Emma walk in, their boots crushing the fresh snow. Crunch, crunch, it sings. Emma loves that sound.

She is wearing her biggest red coat and a huge beanie but she is still shaking. She buries her hands in her pockets, walking ahead of Killian, and when she looks back he isn’t by her side. Panic rises in her mind, until she gets a glimpse of him a little down the street, queuing next to a coffee shop.

As she walks to meet him, her stomach twists. He’s getting her a hot cocoa. A green and viscous fury creeps from Emma’s toes to her heart. When he hands her the steaming cup, his fingers brush against hers and she blames the cold for the shiver that tingles her skin.

“Thanks,” she hisses, but still will not look at him. Twirls of chocolate steam escape the cup, it smells like heaven.

But Emma is very determined to hate Killian, from now on, and she hides her grin behind her cup.

“Should we sit on the bench?” offers Killian, and she loathes the gentle tone of his voice.

“Yup.”

Down the park, families are strolling and Emma’s heart sighs loudly. Oh, this is very much so unfair. What’s even more unfair, though, is the fact that when Killian presses one hand down her back, she doesn’t want him to stop.

She wants him to linger there. And when his hand quits her back as he sits down on the bench, it leaves frostbite.

She licks her lips, squeezing her thighs together. “Are you alright, Swan?”

She nods and sips the hot chocolate. Clouds of cinnamon tickle her nose. It makes her smile against her will, and then it makes her sad. He knows her by heart. Can you really leave someone you know by heart behind?

“I’m fine. So, we said we would talk,” she quickly mutters, and takes another sip of her warm drink.

Ah, this hot cocoa is definitely soothing her soul.

Killian crosses his legs, and she knows he only does so when he is uncomfortable and she is glad. He better be.

“What do you want to talk about?” Christmas lights twinkle in the trees behind him. They form the shape of a snowflake.

“First, who called you?”

They are green, red and yellow, the lights. Their sight should not tighten her throat like this.

“Ingrid. She was worried about you. She wants you to come back, Emma.”

She nods, a small, quiet cloud of white smoke escaping her lips.

“I thought she’d hate me. I thought she wanted to get rid of me.”

Killian’s furious stare burns the side of her cheek, and Emma blushes but she won’t look back at him.

“Why would she hate you, Emma? Ingrid’s always cared for you.”

She wants to tell him that he cared and he still left, but then she would start to cry, and she does not want that.

“Yeah, right. Well. I’m not used to someone putting me first.”

It’s hard to shake Neal’s smile from the cobweb of her thoughts. She thought he liked her. Hell, she thought he was in love with her and she was the one incapable of moving on from her teenage crush. She thought she was the one throwing away their chance at happiness. She was wrong.

And Killian reaches for her then, breaks their secret and unspoken oath of distance and loneliness and grabs the hand she let linger on the cold, wooden bench, and Emma can’t control the great dive of her eyes into his.

And blue are his eyes, icy blue, and so full of warmth, and she wants to drown in them. She clenches her jaw.

“I’m sorry for what happened, Emma. You deserve so much better than that scumbag.”

Well, does she? Anger burns deep within her. It’s a wicked flame.

She snatches her hand away from him and in that gesture she catches a smell of peeled oranges and everything sucks again.

“You were with her, right?” she attacks then, pushed by this bold fury in her heart, and they have to talk about it or it will kill her.

He opens his mouth then, but no sound comes out, and Emma swallows frozen stones.

“I…I was.” A pause. “How long have you known?”

She shakes her head then, blonde hair dancing over her eyelids. “Since this summer.”

But also, far before that. She thinks she knew the moment he stopped answering her calls at midnight and their texts got more scattered. That was probably the moment she knew.

She buries her hand in her pocket, so that he will not grab it again, and she drinks long mouthfuls of her hot cocoa. She swallows too fast and the vindictive liquid burns her throat. She winces.  

“I see. And since we’re talking great revelations, how long has this thing been going on with Neal?”

So much for friendship, she thinks. So much for loyalty and comfort and trust. It nearly hurts as much as the savage burn left by the hot cocoa down her throat. Liar.

“This summer,” she lies.

She wants him to think she never cared, even if she most clearly does, or she wouldn’t be clinging to her hot cocoa this way.  

There’s a scoff next to her. “I see.”

And then silence falls, and Emma doesn’t want this battle to end. But when she glances at him, his hands are calmly spread out on his lap, his cup of cocoa long forgotten, and she wants to shake him, to tell him to fight for her, for them, but he is already defeated and he doesn’t care.

“That’s it?” she asks, and her voice is hoarse with tears.

He looks at her then, shrugs. “What do you want me to say, Swan?”

Anything. Anything but his silence and his mature smile and his soft eyes that don’t see her.

“We’ve made mistakes, both of us, in keeping secrets from each other.” A pause. “I made a mistake. I should have talked to you. You’re my best friend, after all.”

“But we didn’t, Killian.” And this is very dangerous, because there is a sob curled up in her throat that is very eager to come out, and she cannot, she cannot let it out.

She needs him to understand.

“Why didn’t we talk about it, Killian? Why didn’t you say anything? Why?”

And he’s staring at her with his big blue eyes, and she feels miles away from him.

He must feel it, he must know how wrong this whole situation is, for them to be with anyone else, he must feel it or she’s been wrong all along.

“Because –” he starts and she’s glad to hear his voice is quivering, too. “— because I care too much about you. I didn’t want it to change anything between us.”

The Christmas lights are so very sad suddenly. “But it has changed everything, Killian.” A snowflake lands on his black, tousled hair. It’s snowing.

“Are you mad at me for leaving?” he asks then, and it’s such a quiet whisper in the snow, she barely hears it.

Anger turns to sadness. It always does.

She peers at him through her eyelashes. “No. Yes. ” A pause, the cold is biting her lips. “I tried to hate you for leaving.” And then he looks sad, and she remembers his own sorrow, and guilt circles her throat. “But I couldn’t.”

Her tiny cold hand leaves the safety of her velvet pocket to grab his palm, and she hopes he hears it. I’ll love you until the end of time.

And in a heartbeat, she presses her lips against his scruffy cheek, discovers his skin cold and damp, and there is a stubborn, stubborn hope in her chest – the hope that he might turn his face at the last moment and drink her breath.

He doesn’t.

When she backs away, her hand lingers on his face as she gazes at him intensely – to remember the gentle shadow dropped by his thick eyelashes on his cheekbones, his cheeks that have turned crimson, and his lips, vibrantly red and tasting of chocolate, his entire face as she allows herself to run after him, one last time.

Her hand leaves his face for the cold wetness of his coat, the bracelet at her wrist ringing, ringing, but she cannot let go, not quite now.

“I’m sorry, Emma.” He whispers, and finally turns his face towards her. It’s unfair. He is twenty seconds too late.

Her heart skips a beat. She thinks it echoes all through the park.

“I never meant to hurt you.”

She nods, and she should find peace in that, but she doesn’t. And it’s fine. She doesn’t need peace, not when this soft flame burns within her. Not while it keeps her alive.

“I know that, Killian.” And she glances down at his lips, stares intensely at them, and she is this close from kissing him, this close, but he backs away, and she smiles – defeated. “Thank you for coming, even though you were busy.”

And she watches him lick his lips, frown. “I’d drop everything for you, Emma. I will always have your back.”

She nods, her heart bursting. Her hand falls down his arm, a pink petal dropped in the snow, and reluctantly settles for holding her cup of hot cocoa. It feels like something is being ripped from her flesh. But that is also fine.

She stares straight ahead, at the Christmas trees and the families, and she exhales: “Let’s go see that Christmas market, huh?”

“Aye.” And he stretches his hand for her to hold, and the tip of his fingers is red and frozen and, before she knows it, his lips are pressed against her cheek, and a flower blooms in Emma’s chest.  

And when she looks up, she swears she sees him bend towards her, a liquid flame burning in his gaze, and her breath gets caught in her throat. But then he stops, and snow melts on her lips.

The distance between their bodies, the unfinished course of his lips towards hers, the heartbeat she misses, all of this is fine.

She links their arms as they walk, muffling the voices in her head. They tell her she shouldn’t play with fire, but she has nothing to lose anymore.

.

Killian throws their now empty cups of hot cocoa in a nearby bin while Emma calls Ingrid. A weird pang lingers in his chest. This crisp winter day carries Christmas smells with it that fill Killian’s lungs with nostalgia and a strange kind of hope.

As he watches Emma pace restlessly in front of him, unaware of her surroundings, he feels proud of her for reaching out to Ingrid first.

Killian watches as Emma clenches onto the phone, throws a strand of hair behind her back and frowns, heels clacking on the pavement, and he notices just how different she looks. Her hair has grown, and she styled it to form golden curls over the red of her coat. She’s wearing lipstick as well, a bright red shade, and he doesn’t think he’s ever seen her with it.

She’s changing. Evolving without him. It shouldn’t feel like this, in his throat, but it does, and in a blink he looks down at his feet to conceal his feelings.  

His thoughts go back to Neal then, Neal who’s hiding somewhere and he desperately wants to find him and smash his pretty, pretty face.

But then he hears the click of Emma’s black boots on the snow coated pavement, and he looks up, forcing a smile on his face. There’s not much else to do but smile.

“Come,” she smiles and grabs his arm, “Everything we need is right in front of us.”

Oddly enough, they spend a good day together, one that brings Killian back to summer nights and long walks along the beach, and her hand in his, and the feeling, the conviction that this would last forever.

As they eat crepes and toasted marshmallows and somehow their laughter echoes between New York’s brick buildings, forever is merely a word and they are fighting against the passing of time.  

All of this is ephemeral. But then again, everything is. Perhaps it is the reason why he wraps his arms quite as hard around her when she whines “I’m so cold, so cold” by a street corner, and she is so small in the crook of his neck, and his lips linger on her forehead as a chuckle shakes both of their shoulders.

(They never join Mary Margaret and David.)

And when nighttime falls, and they’ve finally reached Mary Margaret’s building, and it is time to say goodnight and goodbye, always goodbye, he makes a conscious effort in memorizing the features of her face. The pavement shines, glints, glistens under New York’s street lights, wears its prettiest fluorescent feathers.

And Emma’s face is inhabited by that same green, wet light. Her curls have loosened throughout the day and a crown of baby hairs is escaping from her beanie. She only looks more beautiful and touching. Her cheeks and nose are red from the cold and her eyes are two green lakes shining with gentle sparkles and her mouth is wet and he desperately wants to kiss her.

It would be easy to cave in, lean forward and drink her breath. Easy to take advantage of her broken heart and mold it with his hands.

And then what? Emma does not like him like he does, Emma is in love with Neal, she always has been it seems, and kissing her wouldn’t lead anywhere but to more heartache.

And he thinks of Milah then, Milah who’s betrayed him but whom he deeply cares for and who is willing to be with him. Milah who loves him, and whom he might love, if only he allowed himself to.

He wants to tell Emma then, join me in my hotel room, I did not come all the way here just to spend a few hours with you, come lie next to me and we’ll – Sweet, sweet fantasy.

Where would that bloody lead them?

“So, this is it. I’m expecting you to call me once you’re safe and home at Ingrid’s,” he finally whispers, and he sees it, this strange glimmer in her eyes.

She’s smiling, nods, seems at peace.

“You never told me her name. What is it?” she suddenly asks.

Frozen, frozen snowflakes fall all around them. The fire burning between their two bodies is still excruciating.

“Milah.”

She nods again. Breathes in and, he’s starting to understand as well, lets go. Very resolute, very brave when she kisses his cheek – for just one instant. And then her lips vanish.  

And she smiles again, and Killian finally understands he is losing her forever.

He watches as she carefully cuts the golden string tying her to him, and his hand has a small jolt but he is not quick enough to stop her.

“I’ll see you around, next summer, I guess,” she simply mutters and does not wait for his reply to turn around.

The din of her boots echo on the pavement, until it does not.

And just like that, he’s lost her.

.

Watching Ingrid’s yellow bug park in front of Mary Margaret’s building, this Sunday morning, really stirs something strange and unfamiliar in Emma’s chest. She doesn’t know quite why but suddenly there is this heavy, heavy weight on her chest and it is hard to breath.

“It was nice to have you here, Emma. Do come back, when you are not in trouble, some day,” smiles Mary Margaret, and then she’s wrapping her arms around Emma’s body.

And Emma breathes into her, and she thinks everything is terribly overwhelming, but maybe it is a good kind of overwhelming for once. She clutches onto her friend.

“Thanks, Mary Margaret. I’ll be more than happy to come back.”

And then David’s pulling her into another hug, and Emma starts to think life doesn’t suck as much as she wants to believe it.

Ingrid gets out of the car, rubbing her hands together. “Well well, they don’t lie about New York weather.”

And Emma cannot tell but her face is definitely splitting into a ridiculous, ugly smile, and her chin starts quivering. An ocean of unfamiliar emotions is swallowing her. But maybe, just maybe, as Ingrid’s green eyes find hers and shine so very softly, maybe she is allowed to feel them.

“Emma.”

“Ingrid.”

And then Emma doesn’t know who reaches first, it’s her, it’s her stretching her hand and grabbing Ingrid’s shoulder and pulling her against her, until the weight on her chest explodes into thousands of strawberry bubbles of happiness.

And it’s really hard to swallow the tears that threaten to come out of her eyes when Ingrid’s hand finds her scalp and gently massages it, and her smell fills her lungs, and she never realized Ingrid had a smell and that it smelled like home.

And then Ingrid’s lips are on her temples and Emma is nowhere to be found, melting into a puddle of glittering happiness.  

And when she looks behind her back, Mary Margaret and David have disappeared.

“I’m sorry I ever made you feel like you couldn’t trust me, Emma.”

And then Emma shakes her head, nods, laughs a little. “It’s fine, Ingrid. It’s fine. It was equally my fault.”

Ingrid grins, her hands cupping Emma’s face, and Emma feels safe and loved, and she forgives both of them.

Emma learns during their car trip back to Storybrooke that Ingrid found the jewelry store where the watches were stolen, and she gave them back, and the shopkeeper was so happy he withdrew his complaint.

Neal is nowhere to be found. But Emma thinks that’s quite alright, because this pain will fade away with time as well.

And when Killian sends her a text “Safely landed. Already missing you”, Emma ignores it and shoves her phone down her bag.

This pain will fade away with time as well.

.

Six months before Emma’s wedding.

Emma’s running. She’s running like she’s never run before. Mind you, as deputy Sheriff of Storybrooke, for two years now since David left for New York, running is part of her job description. But she’s never run with this kind of fervor before.

She’s running as if Killian Jones might close his eyes and never wake up.

“Family?” asks the hospital nurse without a look at her.

Big, big pearls of sweat roll down Emma’s temples as she stares at the nurse with eyes wide open, trying to catch her breath. “Y-yes,” she lies, in the blink of an eye.

And then the nurse glances down at her left hand and Emma knows she sees the ring on her finger and thinks –  but she is mistaken and it is fine.

“Alright. His room number is 815.”

And Emma turns around like a devil, like she’s possessed really, and she thinks she is, she is possessed by a fear that’s tearing her heart down and setting it on fire.

“Miss?”

“Mmm?” What again?

“You might want to prepare yourself. He was given a huge amount of morphine, to lessen his pain. He probably won’t be awake when you come in. ”

Emma nods, swallows downs a disinfectant smell that burns her tired lungs. If she could prepare herself she would. But there’s no preparing for that.

.

As she steps into Killian Jones’s hospital room, Emma feels like her heart is thrown at her feet and the whole world is joyfully trampling on it.

Her entire universe stopped spinning when she received the call. (She’s still his next of kin. That thought alone infuriates her.)

But as she faces him, lying still on this small bed, his skin, so pale, so pale he nearly seems dead, with his eyes resolutely closed and this enormous, horrendous bandage around his wrist, she wonders by which miracle her legs manage to hold her.

“Killian…”

She tries to convince herself she won’t cry then, but her eyes do not care for her pride and are soon filled to the brim with tears as a smile crinkles her face, but it’s not a smile, it’s a terrible, terrible sob that won’t come out.

She drags her boneless legs towards the bed, and then she’s faced with an awful dilemma: where to touch him, where to tether herself, and not to hurt him in the process?

Her eyes twitch, she blinks, and settles for brushing slightly his cheek.

“Hello there,” she whispers then, “Heard you had a very bad fall. I came as soon as I could.”

Flashes of Neal’s anger and disappointment and anger and more disappointment linger behind her eyelids. He was furious.

He couldn’t understand why she would drop everything, why she would drop him on the spot, just to save this childhood friend she hasn’t seen in a year.

“When, Emma, when are you going to choose me over him?”

And he tried to take her engagement ring away, the one she is turning around her finger, swirl, swirl, the golden ring, the golden cage.

A very viscous bile climbs back up her throat.

“I missed you,” she exhales, and clenches onto his bruised knuckles.

She gathers all of her willpower not to stare at the void, the void where his hand is supposed to be, and she licks her lips because she is scared this is one blow will simply be too much to withstand.  

Life has a peculiar fondness for punching Killian Jones straight in the face, it seems.

.

Opening one’s eyes is really the most natural thing to do. Until one’s eyelids seem as heavy as lead, and there isn’t much for one to wake up to.

His life really fell apart, in those last months, huh. Which is why, as this bloody machine closed on his wrist during the ship’s inspection, Killian Jones really wasn’t that surprised. He would have chuckled if not for the pain, taunting Fate with a very sharp “Oh, is that what we’re going for now?”

That’s what he got for being promoted to Lieutenant. Any good Lieutenant made sure the ship’s mechanics were properly checked before sailing away. And he did, bloody hell.

It was the worst ship launching the Navy had seen in years. Killian would be proud if not for the pain, again.

And then he hears her voice. “Hello there,” and for a minute he fears he is dead.

But then her hand is on his face and the sun couldn’t possibly shine in hell, could it?

He wants to reach for her, but the only hand he has left refuses to move, and it is driving him mad. Her smell fills his lungs, fills it with ginger and herself and meaning.

And then she leaves the room and it is darkness and void and silence. And he wants to scream.

.

David and Mary Margaret stand up as one in the waiting room, as Emma shuts Killian’s door behind her.

Seeing them is such a relief, it makes her forget the pebbles in her belly for one instant.

“Emma, honey,” and Mary Margaret’s arms are around her, and it’s a wave of comfort. “We came as soon as we could.”

Emma drove all night from Storybrooke to Portsmouth and coffee is starting not to be enough to keep her eyes open.

“He still hasn’t woken up?” asks David as he presses his hand on Emma’s shoulder.

She shakes her head. “Nope. He went through surgery last night. He should wake up any time now.” This bitter taste in the back of her throat will not fade and the thousands of coffees she’s had only worsen it.

“How…How did Neal take it? Considering he was opening his pawnbroker’s shop this weekend?” risks Mary Margaret, in a very small voice.

Right. Neal.  

Mary Margaret doesn’t mean to hurt Emma any further, but there it is, the weight on her finger, swirl, swirl, swirl.

“Bad. Very bad. But he’ll manage.”

Emma tries to ignore their concerned eyes then, because they know too much and she doesn’t want to prove them right. Although every inch of her being is probably giving her away anyway.

Swirl, swirl, swirl.

But she wants to belong to someone, and Neal knows her, in spite of everything, he knows her and he chose her, and it is enough. Hell, he fought for her, for two years, showing up every day at the sheriff station once he learnt Graham had taken Emma under his wing, he showed up and he showed her he cared.

And she quite literally put him through hell before giving him a second chance after his first betrayal.

“I never meant to let you go, Emma. I swear it to you, but the police were at my back and I couldn’t bring you into all of this. But I never stopped loving you, I never did, and I’ll love you until the end of time – only if you’ll let me.”

And sometimes, all one really wants is to be wanted, after all.

“Do we… Do we know if she’s coming?” asks Mary Margaret in a very quiet tone, as if she doesn’t want to utter the words.

Emma has a big sigh then. “No, she’s not. Killian definitively broke up with her three months ago.”

David and Mary Margaret both stare at her with something terrible in their eyes. Emma pretends she does not see it.

“He found out she’d been cheating. Again,” she lies. It’s easier this way.

Emma doesn’t tell them that Killian didn’t tell her about the breakup, and she just learnt about it from the mouth of Killian’s superior, doesn’t tell them they have hardly spoken since she started dating Neal again, and especially doesn’t tell them that Neal proposed three months ago and she sent Killian a text to which he never replied.

Nope. That’s a cross for her to bear.

.

He moves. Emma’s eyes shoot open. He moved . It wasn’t really perceptible, but she felt it, the small clench of his fingers around hers.

Emma sits up straight. She thinks he is frowning. This is good. This is good. He is waking up.

“Come on, Killian. You can do this. Push through this.”

And finally, finally , his eyelids flutter, flutter, until blue emerges and his eyes go wide. She smiles, and it’s the most genuine smile she’s had in months.

“Ems’,” he begins, a hoarse whisper. His throat must be dry.

She presses her fingers softly, swiftly, against his dry lips. “Shush, Killian, it’s going to be okay.”

She rushes to the small sink in his bedroom. A plastic cup was left there, and she fills it with water, before tenderly pushing it against Killian’s lips.

He closes his eyes, drinks slowly as her other hand cups the back of his head.

And then the cup is put down with her bravery, and she grabs his fingers. She sees the waves of terror in his eyes, the waves exhaustion cannot quite hide, and it reminds her of their childhood and she desperately wants to mend him, to soothe his soul, but there is so much to heal and he won’t let her.

She presses a very trembling kiss onto his forehead. She sees him close his eyes into her touch, and her entire being is screaming.

“Feared you wouldn’t come,” he manages to whisper. She watches as he swallows down.

She shakes her head. “Of course I’d come.” A pause. “You absolutely do not have permission to ever scare me like this again.”

He manages to smile, somehow. “You don’t have to worry about me, Swan. I’m a survivor.”

Her chin quivers then, and she hates herself because she should be the strong one. But it is exhausting to remain brave when he seems completely, utterly defeated.

“Fancy that red-leather jacket of yours.”

And he makes her chuckle, the bastard, he is the one lying on a hospital bed and he makes her chuckle.

“Thanks, Killian.” And she brushes a strand of hair behind her ear, and she sees it. The glint of her ring under the yellow ceiling light. And he sees it too.

And he stares at her ring then, that glints, glints, and a lightning bolt shatters the blue of his gaze and she wants to throw it away so that she will never have to stare at this deep, dark blue sea of sadness.

Instead, she smiles. There is not much else to do but smile.

.

“Neal?”

“Emma, I’m so glad you called. I wanted you to know that I’m sorry, and I understand, I really do…”

“Don’t bother apologizing. I just wanted to warn you that I’m going to stay a while with Killian. He needs me.”

“…He needs you? He needs you? What about your job? What about me, Emma?!”

“Graham agreed to this. He owes me so many days off. And I will ask you this once, Neal: quit talking about Killian as if he doesn’t matter, or I swear to god, I will give you back your ring. And there will be no third chance.”

“See? See how you react, Emma? As if I’m the villain in this stupid little story of yours and I am tired of th—”

She hangs up.

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

@winterbaby89@ohmightydevviepuu @yasbio2015 @bubblegum1425 @daenerysmyhsa @dancingnancyy @elizabeethan @farewell-courgette  @beca0912 @stina-g @tenaciouskittynightmare @noensnaringnet @klynn-stormz @sekretny13 @tiganasummertree @vvbooklady1256 @brustudyblog @peggyyswan @thisonesatellite @courtorderedcake @snowbellewells @kingofmyheart14 @teamhook @mariakov81

As usual, if you wish to be added/deleted from the list, please let me know <3

[rightnowyoucanttell]

Malibu, Next To You

Title: Malibu, Next To You 

Summary: Is it supposed to this hot all summer long? Or is it just him? A very fluffy date with some minor molehills between Veronica and Grayson on a Malibu beach. Just because the sun is down, the night is still young, and so are they. But which way does it go...

Warnings: Fluff, implied smut (I don’t write smut, sorry guys), talks of anxiety 

A/N: When this idea came to mind, i say that because i have a roughly planned full series timeline in my head it started with just the first part as a blurb but then I was like hey let's make a series, it was originally to be a reader insert (Y/N, Y/L/N, ect.) but i always have problems doing that as they feel too weird to write so I came up with Veronica and added it to the plot/timeline whatever you'd call it. so you can do that or appreciate it for the beauty it is with Veronica and Grayson. 

Tags: @dzoint ​ @graysavant @blindedbythelightt ​ @tadadolan @heartofalionxo ​ @beatement-l ​  @grayswhore ​@saggitariusagirl @tattoogray @onlyangels-world @dxlxnbby

Part one 

Series Masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You know..” Ronnie drifted as she walked kicking the sand beneath her feet forward in a rhythmic pattern,” I’ve never enjoyed going to the beach..” Veronica glanced up from the sand and over to Grayson who gazed down to the ground before making eye contact.

The smell of saltwater brushed their noses, seagulls cawed in the distance as the water crashed closer and closer and then pulled itself back out. The pair, Ronnie and Gray watched the sunset as they walked barefoot as the tide came in and set back out, like both of their hearts, coming to a calm stop and then flooding back in a rampage of fluttering butterflies, beating in there chest.

He explained the currents and she just gawked in a secretive manner, so he didn’t notice, the dumbfounded look his body gave her. 

    “Really? You don’t say, I mean I figured that much, for someone who has a fear of seagulls and drowning…” he pondered the thought as his feet stopped the wallow in the incoming tide that was just far enough from Ronnie who was in the dry portion of sand.

She giggled shaking her head continuing down the shore all while facing Grayson,”..are you saying you’re not enjoying yourself?” he shouted over the crashing waves that he ran from to catch up to her. 

“You remembered…,” Ronnie’s heart fluttered. Grayson knew about her anxiety.  Ronnie explained to Grayson that night in Starbucks, her fears, in return for him doing the same.  There was a semi prolix list. Seagulls, birds, circus clowns, large crowds, heights, and significantly Drowning.

She shook herself from the bliss and continued, “but, no. No no, no.. of course not. You brought me here!” she exclaimed twirling with open arms, the wind catching her grey wool shawl that covered her white strapless sundress with bright red roses.

Her damp dark brown hair caught in the breeze flew gently, her eyelids covered her vibrant green eyes. Grayson’s eyes followed Veronica in awe as she twirled in the sand and breeze all the way as she ran back to him and nearly ran into him. 

   The two laughed and turned around to walk back to the there picnic blanket, both inaudible deciding it was time to eat,” Your something else, you know that?” he offered up to the conversation. His hand brushed against gently against Ronnie’s. 

   Ronnie just smiled letting silence sit between then,”..Something good I hope…” the entirety of the walk back to the picnic blanket and the food was silence, blissful and incentive for Grayson, but nervous and nerve wracking for Veronica. She hastily wondered if she had said the wrong thing, or turned him off or away and that’s why he hadn’t said anything, but she tried telling herself it was just the anxiety and the nerves this Italian boy from New Jersey stirred up. 

  Veronica Chandler likely always would be anxiety-ridden. After all, Fears my life, Ronnie had the words tattooed on and wrapping around her wrist. The black ink still had water droplets from when she had been swimming and wading in the water with Grayson. Veronica left the fishing on her stepfather’s, Darren,  boat to him and her older brother Noah, even all the while, an excelling science student, she never got how they were floating.  

    However, if tonight, if Grayson asked her, Ronnie probably would step foot on a boat.  She never willing went to the beach, even though living in Miami with private beach access growing up at her home, and certainly did not stand by the ocean. But on this evening, Grayson brought her there, and she was happy that he did.

So here they were. 

  The sunset warmed Veronica the pinks and blues entangling themselves, like the hopes of how Veronica undeniably wanted to be entangled with Grayson later that night. Something in Grayson hoped it too.

On a picnic blankets, following a stroll along with the tide on the now rather deserted from the public eye, on a beach in Malibu. Munching on what Ronnie’s mom would call “Rabbit Food”. 

  “This is one of the best wraps I’ve ever tasted,” Ronnie added as she quietly finished chewing her toes in the sand below and surrounding the blanket. 

"Its from.." Grayson paused to chew," this stand in downtown LA, Marty's I think, they're delicious." They made eye contact, Ronnie smiled with her eyes, covering her mouth as she was chewing.

"We should go together sometime,"Ronnie offered nervously.

 "Defiently...,"Grayson brushed his hands above the wrap on a clear piece of plastic wrap beefy ass salad chickpea wrap sat on, in between final swallows of his bites of food he started, "so... care to explain why you ignored me for a week, 'ronica?"

   That's when the evening went south.

What Grayson didn't know, that the week Veronica avoided him..one week desperate Gray was left with no sign she was alive, no text, calls, and no DM’S except the confirmation seen from the first night. 

 That week the week she ignored him, the week he was referring too, Veronica,  was in Miami visiting her mother. Veronica had deep-rooted feelings for Grayson.. but, again, like a record used, the last had left a few scratches, and overtime... they scarred.

But it was nothing, Gianna, Mama Chandler couldn't fix...

   Ronnie sighed heavily,"Why does everyone I love settle for someone so low of them?" She pondered the thought in silence as she finished her rant of the night she met Grayson.

 “..well, he sounds like a keeper..and handsome....,” her mother drifted. Ronnie wasn’t paying attention fondling with the small strands that belonged to the blue and white polka-dotted beach towel her mother and herself were tanning on. Within seconds her attention was grabbed by an incoming frisbee, that landed...perfectly in one of the white polka dots. Ronnies eyes widened when she caught its sight, she gazed curiously and then picked it up examine it, before tossing it to the wind aimlessly,”-Veronica! You could have hit someone!” Gianna gently smacked the four-arm of her daughter’s right hand with the back of her hand. 

    “Mom!? What the fuck? Did you not see that it landed in the circle, that’s not a coincidence...that’s a fucking conspiracy. Like how a cartoon predicted 9/11 and then moon landing was faked...," Ronnie slumped back so her back rested against the beach chair set up behind her. 

"It was an accidental coincidence..dear," her mother licked the tip of her finger pulling the pages apart. Her sun hat covers her sunglasses covered eyes, and held her brown hair in place around her shoulders, she was paler than Ronnie, she and noah got there skin from her absentee father, he was the Brazilian in her jeans.

"Yeah well, accidents don't just happen, accidentally, mother," Veronica huffed and crossed her arms leaning back farther and closing her eyes, enjoying momental peace before the woman started up again.

"When you head back to Los Angeles, you better text that boy, I'll be damned if you pass up a chance with someone like that. He's a good one that Grayson, I can tell. You cant let your life wither away to nothing and give up on love because of one bad drinker and a beater bad apple.. theres good people out there.. you just gotta look in front of you."

The memory on the beach faded, she hadn't realized she had been gazing into Grayson's hazel eyes the entire time the flashback played out in her head like a scene from a movie,"do you, uh. Really want to know? Is it fundamentally necessary.." she drifted off leaving a tenacious gap of silence. Just the wind and the waves to be heard.

Grayson scoffed a chuckle,"..well, no, but, I'd like to know."

Ronnie thought for a few moments, if she didnt tell him, he'd be suspicious, if she told him he might doubt the feelings she had if they were legitament,"I was in Miami. With my mom, i needed advice. A break. I was worried you were..a player. And now I know, I know that your not. Your kind, cute, hot, sexyyy, and-"Veronica's ramble was cut off by Graysons hands wrapping and cupping her head into his hands and pressing his lips to hers.

Internal fire works went off, if it were a movie they would be exploding over the water between there heads just visable to camera shot. Both hearts beat against there respective rib cages, not knowingly they both had been wating for this moment the entirety of the night.

Ronnie's hand came to touch Grays chest shortly before she came up to breath in the salty air,"that.." she panted,"was hot. But, I dont know.. if this'll work. I'm lonely and broken.. and can barely take care of myself, just, Grayson-"

"I like that your broken, and lonely" he grasped her face one hand still behind her head his thumb caressing her cheek,"not like in a kinky sort of way," they both laughed for a few seconds, Ronnie looked down. He placed his pointer fingern underneath her chin, tilting it up,"I could be lonely with you.."

"My place or yours?" She smirked. Hoping that night of entanglement would happen after all.

"Mine, definetly mine." He breathed there chins pressed together.

Ronnie had never run faster than she didn that night, all the way back to the porsche.

[fleckcmscott]

“Strogonof”

Summary: Arthur reminisces about his and Y/N’s first dinner together. Y/N’s happy to relive it with him.

Warnings: None

Words: 2,433

A/N: This request comes from the amazing @sweet-nothings04​. Thanks to @ithinkimawriter​ for beta-reading!

If you have any thoughts or questions, please comment, feel free to message me, or send me an ask. Requests for Arthur and WWH are open!

Arthur thought it was a great idea, albeit a last minute one. Not having known it was a thing when Y/N had given him his desk, he'd done nothing for their six month anniversary. He wanted to make damn sure to note one month of marriage. The dish she'd cooked the night he'd first come over had been delicious. And he would always associate it with falling in love with her. He found the name of it in his old journal, in the entry he'd written after their date, when he'd been high on the ease of their conversation, their too-short dance, and the kiss they'd shared: "strogonof."

Celebrating by having it again would be lovely. "I liked it a lot," he said when he called her office, notebook in hand. "Maybe we could make it for dinner?"

Her voice had a smile in it, though she turned him down. "Arthur, it takes nine hours to cook."

Nine hours? Unable to hide his consternation, he frowned. "Oh." Tension entered his shoulders, and he rubbed the back of his neck to quiet it. He'd have to come up with something else. Going to Kao-Wah's would work, though it wouldn't be as intimate. He could try to get the same booth as before. He started to flip through his notes, seeking to find the names of what they'd eaten between his earliest stand-up performance and the cementing of their relationship.

"Tell you what," she said, unknowingly interrupting his planning. The tap of her pencil on her desk was crystal clear through the phone. "We can get the ingredients tonight and make it tomorrow morning. How does that sound?"

The suggestion warmed him, though it would be a day late. "That sounds great." 

During their walk to the nearby grocer's, he explained why he wanted that specific dish. And he told her he'd finished paying for the ring he'd picked out for himself (which he wouldn't let her help with, though they had combined their bank accounts): a gold band to match hers. Then he showed it to her. She snagged it, held his left hand steady as she slipped it on his finger, then kissed him firmly. Right there on the sidewalk in front of everyone. Y/N laying claim to him so enthusiastically, in public, made him feel like he was floating. Lips cracking a toothy smile, he led her through the store's entrance.

Arthur carried the shopping basket as they strolled each aisle. She was swiftly going to and fro, grabbing groceries as they went. And she made sure to pick the same wine as they'd had that night. It was cute, really. That wasn't a word he often used to describe her. But her grin was growing with every item she picked out. She was almost girlish. But he knew if he said that, she'd remind him she was the older one, and he wouldn't hear the end of it. Smirking at her was the best option.

As he picked up sour cream, she told him their supply of TV dinners was almost out. They weren't eaten often, but Y/N brought them to work once in awhile. Though their roles were reversed, a feeling of deja vu swept over him as she walked down the frozen food section. He watched as she stood in front of the freezer, apparently trying to decide which one she wanted. He tried to recall what she'd said to him when they'd first met. After approaching quietly, he stood behind her. "There are too many to pick from."

When she looked over her shoulder, he knew she'd understood. He continued. "Want me to get one for you?"

Beaming, she opened the door for him and leaned back against it. "Yes, actually. The Polynesian Style Dinner. With the orange tea cake." He reached in and got it for her, then presented it with a small bow. She took it, giggled, and whacked him lightly on the bicep with it. Then she caught him off guard by grasping his collar and pulling him to her. "You know, mister," she purred, "you're very handsome. Want to sneak in the back? I'm sure we can hide behind some boxes."

Out of the corner of his eye, Arthur saw a nearby man look at them with disapproval. Arthur snorted, blushing. "I'll just take your number. You might be a nut." She gasped, putting the back of her fingers to her mouth, then ducked away from him in mock outrage and hurried towards the cash register, glancing back as she went. God, he loved it when she was playful - generally she was just sarcastic. He grabbed the same dinner for himself and took off after her.

~~~~~

Y/N went over the recipe, guiding him through each step. It was easy enough. He cut the beef into bite-sized pieces while she drained the mushrooms. The condensed soups were thrown in, along with a chopped onion. As they worked in tandem, she told him the cream cheese needed to be taken out later to soften. He had a therapy appointment that morning and a gig, a kid's party, in the afternoon, but he'd be home in between. He wrote a note and left it on the counter so he'd remember. Then she handed him a spoon. "So," she started. "We've been Mr. & Mrs. Fleck for a month. How does it feel?"

He released a soft "hm" as he stirred all the ingredients together. Their engagement had been about a half hour - he hadn't gotten used to being a fiance before becoming a husband. Marriage elicited numerous reactions at once. He'd hoped for it one day. He'd thought it would be gratifying to have a partner, a person who loved him enough to take his last name, along with his issues. Someone who wanted to fold her life into his. With every seldom, missed chance, though, whether due to his apprehension or lack of women to interact with, he'd grown to assume that type of union was out of reach for him.

When they'd initially gotten together, he'd thought of Y/N in the context of what she could do for him. How her presence would improve his existence. That she validated him. His musings still often skewed that way. But he'd found he didn't only enjoy his wife being there whenever he needed or wanted her. It fulfilled him to support her. He supposed he shouldn't have been surprised by that. He'd spent most of his years looking after Penny. It made sense he'd want to care for Y/N, too. Especially since marrying her was a choice he'd made, not a circumstance he'd wound up in as a kid.

During the prior months, mornings had become one of Arthur’s favorite parts of the day. Normally, he'd wake up an hour before her. He’d kiss her forehead, put on coffee, and go on the fire escape to smoke. It was a peaceful routine. But over the past four weeks, there had been a slight change. There were days like this one, when awe would overcome him as he stirred and looked her way, like it had when he'd first moved in. Awe at having her instead of permanent solitude. He would press into her sleeping form, simply to hold her, to feel her solid weight and heat against him. To remind himself he'd never go unseen again.

And he found a modicum of happiness in the small, domestic niceties he hadn't considered in his fantasies. Like when they would plop on the couch after a long day, and she would read a newspaper while he watched a variety show, keeping each other company even as their interests diverged. Or if she would forget to grab the bar of soap before hopping in the shower, and call for him to retrieve it for her. And there was the time he'd tried to impress her by fixing a leak under the kitchen sink himself. It had worked, temporarily. She'd lauded him, anyway, not caring the repair had only lasted a couple days and the-

Y/N poked his ribs. "I hope the silence doesn't mean you hate it," she teased.

He had a tendency to grow quiet and think too long when she asked him questions. But she didn't seem to mind - she'd said it was sweet. His lips turned up as he gave her a sidelong glance. "No." The spoon went in the sink after he rinsed it off. "It's nice. Especially with you."

She was setting the timer on the slow cooker. "Good." Her smile was wide as she stepped to him, her arms encircling his skinny waist. "I wish I could stay all day, but I've got to get to work. Call me if you need anything."

She always told him that before she left. And the fact that she meant it made him feel whole, at least for a few seconds. He said he would, kissed her, and helped her with her coat and bags as she headed out the door.

~~~~~

The meal was as appetizing as he'd remember. And because he wasn't nervous this time, he was able to fully enjoy the richness of it. He'd gotten used to drinking wine with Y/N occasionally, too, and poured the correct amount for both of them. But he often felt its heady effect after one serving. It was probably what emboldened him tonight, along with the Nat King Cole record in the background, and Y/N's attempt at dimming the pendant light over the table by tying a kerchief under it. “Can I tell you a secret?” Arthur asked, wiping his mouth with the cloth napkins Y/N insisted they use.

As she took another bite of her egg noodles, she grinned and tapped his calf with her toe. “We still have secrets?”

He pressed his lips together. He’d truly opened up to her some time ago, when she’d come back after Murray. But there would always be things he would never tell her. How he’d gotten fired for bringing a gun to the children’s hospital. That he’d quit school at fifteen. Or that he’d had the urge to follow her when they first met.

But this he wanted to share. “I…” He could feel his cheeks turn pink as he chuckled softly. He rested his face on his hand. “I thought about marrying you after we slept together the first time.” Trying to hide his bashfulness, he jabbed at a mushroom, blinking down at his plate.

The response was a full-throated laugh. She put down her fork and picked up her glass. “I’m glad you didn’t say that to me then.” The sip she took was longer than usual. It made him wonder if he’d screwed up, admitting that to her. Then she said, “I knew you were a romantic at heart, but I didn’t realize you were quite so old-fashioned.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well,” she started, concentrating on her wine as she swirled it gently. “I hadn't realized sex was one of your big considerations for getting married. Given how often we had it beforehand.”

He scrunched up his face. “That’s not it.” Sighing, he started eating again. “I didn’t want someone to take you away from me. I was afraid you’d realize I’m a mess and not want me anymore.” Those notions felt ridiculous now and he shrugged at himself. “I just- I wanted you to know how quickly I loved you,” he said quietly.

He could feel the heat of her gaze on him. It didn’t make him uncomfortable - they were beyond that. But he felt his blush deepen. (That reaction was so ingrained in him. Vaguely, he wondered if he’d ever stop doing it around her.)

She cupped his chin and turned him to her, their eyes meeting. His eyebrows lifted and he held his breath, stomach doing a little flip. The adoration he felt for her was reflected back at him. Leaning forward, she kissed him. Though the movements of her lips were soft, the passion behind the gesture was clear. “I apparently like messes. And dimples," she said, squeezing his cheek. "I hadn't been aware they could be so cute." The glare he gave her made her giggle. Then she continued to eat. "I didn't plan on getting married again."

"Why not? You're good at it."

A pleased expression crossed her face. "Thank you." But then she bit her lip. "I've told you how unhappy I was with my ex. And then I had to jump into being miserable with my father. When I was free of all that, I wanted to live for myself." She took her plate to the sink and started rinsing it. "I still do. But it's not the same. You being a part of my life has made it better." Scoffing, she shook her head. "I never expected that from anyone." Her voice was getting rough, which he knew she'd blame on the wine. "I'm thankful for you everyday, Arthur."

He closed his eyes as he took in what she said. The romantic dinner, the LP playing, her precious words (which he planned to jot in his journal later)... The tightness in his breast was acute, and he thought he might burst if he simply continued sitting. Articulating his feelings was difficult when he was overcome. But touching her had become easy. Rising from his seat, he took a step towards her and laid a hand between her shoulder blades, massaging tenderly.

Chuckling, she leaned back against him. "Listen to me prattling on like an idiot. You'd never guess I started dating you for your looks."

He kissed the side of her head. No matter how often she told him how good-looking he was, he'd have his doubts. But he believed she found him attractive. Maybe his ego would someday let that be enough. "Why do you think I started seeing you?" he murmured.

She turned around in his arms and put her hands on his chest. "All right. The clumsy grace hiding under all that reservation probably had something to do with it, too."

The food and wine forgotten, he hugged her, hard, and nuzzled the side of her face. Y/N had told him before not to worry about saying the wrong thing. That when he managed to trust himself, which had gradually become easier, she thought he spoke beautifully. And sometimes the simplest phrases were the best. "I'm glad you married me."

"I love you, too." She pressed a kiss to his jaw. "Let's finish that bottle of wine."

~~~~~

Tag list (Let me know if you want to be added!): @harmonioussolve​ @ithinkimaperson​ @sweet-nothings04​ @stephieraptorr​ @rommies​ @fallenstarsabyss​ @gruffle1​ @octopus-plasma​

[angrylizardjacket]

Run to Paradise {Nikki Sixx} Part 28

28. find what you love and let it kill you

Summary: lola gets back from boston and it gets worse.

Warnings: HEROIN

ragtag bunch of misfits: @starlalove @toofasttofallinlove @xrosegoldwolfx @obsessivesky @trpwthme @lovehelpmewrite @angelicjoonie23 @marvelismylifffe @lilytalebi @glitterdreamsz @freddiessmallnipples @crazysaladchopshop @inthebackofmycarlaytheirbodies @dramatique-moi @missqueeniewrites @calspixie @aryssav @catsoo12 @sweetshutter @silvertonguedserpent @shamelessobsessions @lavenderbones22 @keepcalm-and-beyou @scarecrowmax @nicholeh7 @unknownoblivion @sighsophiia @fruitinthebottom @misscharlottelee @local-troubled-writer

Doc has officially gotten over his guilt when Lola walks into rehearsals looking like she hadn't slept in a week, and asks her in front of the whole band, why someone matching her description, going by the name Lola Fields, was wanted in the state of Massachusetts for trespassing, and assault with a deadly weapon.

"I can't believe they pressed charges," Lola mutters under her breath, not even trying to play dumb to the situation, "and its not like I actually assaulted anyone, its just because I had a gun, I didn't even use it."

"Of course you didn't use it," Doc talks to her like she's an idiot, infuriated, "because otherwise you'd be wanted for murder, Lola!"

"No I wouldn't," Lola's hands are fidgeting, and she can't look anyone in the room in the eyes, "it would be arson, probably." She paused, shrugging, "but its not." Her gaze finally slides to meet Doc's, eyes red and hazy, "but they want Lola Fields, and that's not me, we're fine." She sniffs a little, averts her gaze, and shoulders past him.

"Lola-"

Lola and Tommy don't talk about what happened in Boston, not even to Nikki, though the worrying part is that they're barely speaking to each other.

Lola keeps the most irregular hours now; when she's with the band, she's barely cognizant of where she is, always high, and she goes out almost every night, comes back bruised and bloodied if she comes back at all. Nikki finds her asleep on a park bench on the way to the studio one morning, knuckles split and lip busted, and Nikki can't help but ask what the fuck is happening to her.

Lola shrugs.

"If none of these fucks press charges, why did my fuckin' mom?" Lola told him, not meeting his gaze.

"What the fuck are you trying to prove? That your mom's a cunt? Yeah, we know, Lo, we fucking know." Nikki wants to shake her, but he's afraid to touch her for the bruises and scrapes that litter her skin. Lola turns her deadpan expression to him.

"I'm not trying to prove anything," Lola rolls her eyes as best she could, with one almost swollen shut. She doesn't elaborate, and the car ride is quiet, terse, and it's like Nikki can feel her slipping from his grasp. Trying desperately to figure out what triggered this, he asks Tommy, for what feels like the hundredth time, what happened in Boston.

"Not my place, dude, ask Lols," Tommy tells him, avoids his gaze and idly taps his snare in an effort to look busy.

"You know she won't fuckin' tell me shit about Boston; what the fuck happened to you two?" Nikki's demanding now, and Tommy swallows hard. "I'm over this bullshit secrecy; something fucking happened and now all she does is fight. She's gonna get herself killed."

Tommy doesn't know how to answer.

Tommy's different, but not in the same was as Lola, not nearly as noticeable. Outwardly, he's the same, excitable and hard partying, but his smile doesn't quite reach his eyes now, and he gets distracted in a way that's strangely out of character. He'll grin and shrug and pretend like his whole world hadn't been turned upside down in one night.

"She's not my problem anymore, dude," Tommy says blithely, though it has Nikki seeing red, blood boiling in his veins as he shoves Tommy from his drum stool.

"Your problem? Your fucking problem? If she gets herself killed, and you fucking stood by and watched, won't even tell me why, that's her blood on your fucking hands." Nikki snarls. They don't get much work done that day, or the day following, and Lola lands herself in the ER with broken ribs and a concussion. At least she's docile on the morphine.

Suddenly Boston didn't matter, and everything was good; bandages on her ribs and healing bruises. Morphine became the only thing that would get her out of bed, to get her through the day, and for a while, the weeks she was in recovery, she and Nikki lived in a manufactured state of bliss. For those weeks, Doc didn't care that the pair were abusing themselves if they got work done, and didn't fight.

But it didn't last, her prescription ran out quickly with both herself and Nikki abusing the substance, and Lola needed something new to fill her hollow soul, to make her forget that her purpose in life, her father's approval, was ripped away from her, and there was no way to get it back.

She fights to feel something, anything, that isn't just hollow nothing.

"I know you," she's looking for a fight, like most nights, jumpy and wild-eyed and hopped up on coke. Whipping around, she sees a surprisingly well dressed man leering at her, "you're Lola Gone, right?" And even now, years after her heyday on The Strip, her reputation precedes her.

She doesn't fuck strangers anymore, but he tells her he's not looking for a fuck - maybe head, but they'll see how things are going - but he needs someone to party with, someone that won't 'pussy out' as he tells her. A music executive taking a walk on the wild side, trying to see what all the fuss was about with someone who knows how to handle their highs, who won't think he's trying to get chummy, like his bands would if he went to them. She doesn't know him, but she doesn't have to to have a good time.

Heroin feels better than morphine, and Lola knows, feels, and doesn't fucking care, from the moment she takes her first hit, she'd sell whatever's left of her soul for it. Snorting it, it's like it hits the hollow spot in her heart in only minutes. For the first time in a very long time, she thinks she feels genuinely happy.

Morphine made her feel like she was floating, but now she feels like she's flying; the pain's gone, but it's replaced with the endorphins her mind hasn't been able to produce for years.

It's like she needs it. The moment she comes down, she needs it, needs to keep feeling good, because if she doesn't feel good, she feels fucking nothing, and the nothing is fucking killing her.

Nikki's on a weird cocktail of drugs and booze when Lola finally comes home, three days later, fucked out despite her best intentions, and the name of a dealer who had set up the exec. Nikki mentions, slurs his way through mentioning that he's got someone who can get them some more morphine, and Lola's grin is all teeth when she says she's got something better.

The outside world means nothing to Nikki and Lola when they have each other, and as much smack as they can snort. Time starts to blur together; Lola's pretty sure she spoke to Vince last week, but that was a month ago, and Sharise doesn't want her around anymore. Doc's tried to fire her on three separate occasions, but it hasn't stuck, and even if it had, it wouldn't matter. Nikki takes care of her, and she takes care of him, the way it's meant to be, they tell each other.

Nikki leaves for the studio and knows when he gets back that Lola will be waiting for him, smiling, at peace, high out of her mind, happy. All he wants is to see her happy, and smack works better than anything they've ever tried. She doesn't remember her mom, or what happened in Boston, but she'll mention her dad on occasion.

"He'd love you, Nikki," she murmurs, lips by his throat, pressing gentle kisses. She's so gentle now, gorgeously dreamy in her intoxication, "he loved rock and roll." And she bites gentle, leisurely, while Nikki smokes his way through another smack-laced joint.

"Mom would hate you," Nikki snorted, running his fingers through her hair, and Lola laughs a little at that, "hated anything that made me happy." Lola goes still at that and Nikki doesn't even realise what he's said. Lola will forget about it in an hour too, but for now, all she knows is that she needs Nikki to know that she loves him. More than anything. More than anyone.

They've always been too passionate for any sort of meaningful body worship, but now, in this dreamy unreality they've cocooned themselves in, Lola knows she's going to make him feel like a king or die trying.

After a session in the studio, Tommy comes back with Nikki, wondering after Lola after almost two full months of radio silence from her, comes to see what the fuck is up with them now.

Lola smiles like she's never known pain in her life.

It's all gentle touches, and encouraging words after he's throwing up in their bathroom after they drag him down to their level.

"The first time's hard for everyone," Nikki tells him with an almost alien sincerity, and Lola's rubbing his back, agreeing with Nikki quietly.

"What the fuck?" Tommy snarls, mouth tasting like bile, feeling woozy and high and terrible and great all at once. Stumbling from the bathroom, he all but flees from the house, angry, feeling betrayed.

But he's weak, so fucking weak, and all he tells Nikki, before the pair of them get high in the bathroom of the recording studio, is that he can't be around Lola anymore.

"What happened in Boston?" Nikki asks again, and only now does Tommy relent.

"Her mom has a new family." Tommy said, holding out the back of his hand for Nikki to tip some of the powder onto.

"Shit, really?" Nikki asks, eyes wide as he focuses on the drugs.

"White picket fence, dude, husband and kid, perfect little life," he paused, "did you know why she was really going?"

"Of course."

Tommy isn't quite sure why it stings, but then he's got smack up his nose, and all he can say is;

"She really fucking loves you, doesn't she?"

"She loves all of us," Nikki says easily, a truth he's become accustomed to, a truth he's accepted. Tommy's quiet about Lola after that, and Nikki doesn't think about it too hard.

Life becomes flashes of moments between highs; of dancing and drinking and partying; Lola's pretty sure she'd made up with Mick at some point, because she'll remember seeing him laying down at a party, and deciding to join him, to use his stomach as a pillow. He doesn't protest, he just pets her hair fondly.

"Do you feel left out that I never tried to fuck you?" She asked him once, in this hazy period of her life, and she thinks he laughs, low and gruff. They're both trying to nap in one of the various mansions the band has procured between the four of them, a party raging outside.

"That you remember," he corrects, and Lola flushes, "but no."

"I always just thought you had more self respect than that," Lola admits, and it's too honest for Mick who's definitely not drunk enough for Lola's heroin and coke induced honesty.

"Would you be offended if I said I did?" Mick tries to joke, but Lola, in complete seriousness, shakes her head. At this, Mick sighs, "girlie, you're like, like my..." and he can't bring himself to say the words, but Lola seems to get it.

"You're not my dad," she tells him flatly in response, and Mick laughs.

"I know, but if you got yourself hurt, I'd probably be sad about it," he tells her with a sweet sincerity, and Lola cracks a smile, "probably even sadder than I'd be about the rest of those chucklefucks."

Lola lays her head on his chest and he gives her a quiet hug.

"I'm sorry you're in pain." She says, so quiet he almost misses it.

"I'm always in pain, girlie," he tries to play it off, but Lola tucks herself closer to him.

"You don't deserve it." She'll tell him, and he'll never mention the exchange again, but he'll think about it often.

A month later, he watches her watch Tommy and Heather meet, and he'll see her heart quietly break. She's tucked up against Nikki, mostly out of it, and he's licking coke residue from a baggy, but all Lola can see how Tommy's smiling at that gorgeous blonde woman in a way she knew all too well.

"Girlie," Mick calls her, just as Vince announces he's off to get more drinks, and Razzle goes to accompany him. Lola looks to Mick, tears in her eyes. She doesn't even realise she's crying, "are you -?" Lola's gaze is already drifting back when he tries to ask her a question, and Nikki doesn't seem to notice her state.

"I'm fine," Lola says quietly, eyes wide, pupils dark and shiny, sniffling a little before she tears herself away, tapping Nikki's arm, "babe, where's the- the-" she won't say it out loud, but Nikki knows what she's after, and hands over a different baggy easily.

Lola passes out in the bathroom, Tommy falls in love, and Razzle doesn't come home.

[theatrelove3000]

Ask Me Again

Alright. This one takes a bit of explaining. I have this headcannon that in Asgard, if you are engaged and don’t get married in under a year or so, you have to propose again. I know that’s not a thing but roll with it, okay?

This was originally 2 parts when I wrote it but its faster to read all at once. It is a lot though; this one kind of got away from me... 7,151 words. Oops.

Background: Noelle and Loki were “Bound” by a witch in Alfheim after a battle they fought in. This means that the witch split each of their souls in half and one half switched places. Noelle has half of Loki’s soul and vise versa. They can feel each others emotions and hear each others thoughts.

Summary: Loki returns from a mission with serious injuries, which prompts him to ask Noelle a question and surprise her with a fairytale dream.

Warnings: Implied smut, slight issues with a father (I don’t like the term “daddy issues”), fighting kind of, more fluff than should be possible but I accomplished somehow, swearing I think? I did base a part of this on scenes from Criminal Minds and How I Met Your Mother. There is also a crossover in characters from Scrubs because I love Dr. Cox.

Ask Me Again

Noelle PoV: 

"Are you ever going to take that off?"

"Fuck off, Stark. Let me wear my cape in peace!" I say as I walk into the kitchen, said cape flowing around me. 

Loki is laughing at the exchange. Of course he is.

He is the one that bought the cape.

It is black with a velvet collar and intricate beading accents in the lapels and down the middle of the back. The inside is lined with silver satin. The Phantom of the Opera's cape. 

Each Avenger has a floor that could easily be called a penthouse. Loki and I each had our own since we tried to keep our relationship a secret when we first joined the Avengers, but the second that Bucky started flirting with me, that plan ended. We have lived together ever since and Tony turned Loki's floor into a movie theater.

"Why are you even here Tony? Don't you have somewhere else to be? Something to blow up?" I ask him through the pass through in the kitchen.

"It already blew up. I was kicked out of the lab by Bruce. I got bored in the lounge so I figured I'd hang here." 

"Why did you believe yourself welcome?" Loki asks him, sounding annoyed, from his corner.

"I could think of many reasons but I'm going to just ignore that question because it will be answered in about..." he looks at his watch, "16 seconds. Got any food in there, Lady Darkness?"

"Not any that I'm willing to share, Iron Man."

The elevator dings and out steps the reason Tony Stark made himself welcome in my house.

"Hi, Auntie Elle! Mr. Loki, I came to see if you had the ice cream Mr. Stark told me I couldn't have anymo-" he stops as he turns the corner, his eyes finding Tony sitting on the couch.

"Hello, Pete."

Peter squeaks.

"What did I tell you about using Reindeer Games' mischievous temperament and amusement in disobeying me?"

"That if I'm going to be sneaky, to use Mr. Bucky." 

"Hey!" Loki looks put out.

"Exactly! It's too obvious if you use Rock of Ages. He is the most likely to help you keep things from me." 

"I don't agree."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Stark. I just really like coffee ice cream floats made with red bull instead of root beer and Auntie Elle has both!" 

"I don't have redbull!"

"Bottom shelf, love."

"Holy shit, where did all this come from?"

I hear Tony stand up from the couch and walk towards Peter. Loki is suddenly behind me with a hand on my lower back. I turn around as Tony hands Peter a small paper bag. Peter opens it and peers inside with a look of shock before taking out a Starkbucks cup.

"I have changed the rule so you may have one caffeinated drink from Starkbucks a month. This is your one." Tony explains as Peter looks like he's about to cry. "You don't need to continue to sneak things behind my back. If you're gonna drink coffee, I'd rather you do it in the house than on the streets of New York." Pete wraps his arms around his mentor and thanks him excessively for a single drink.

"You would think he just gave him license to drink alcohol." I mutter to Loki, who snickers and wraps his arms around me.

I pull away from him and stand in the doorway. "As much as I love having this very interesting exchange occur in my living room, I have a headache. Get out!"

Loki chuckles and Peter walks toward the elevator while Tony mumbles about how he's being kicked off a floor of his own building.

They haven't even reached the elevator when the doors open and Cap comes running out.

"Loki and Tony. Suit up. You're with me on this one." 

"I wanna go!" Peter says loudly and all the adults say 'no' at the same time. He pouts and I wrap my arm around his shoulders, ushering him to the couch. Tony and Cap enter the elevator and Loki tells them he will meet them in the car. 

I follow him to the bedroom. He is in a rush and is teleporting around the room because it's faster. I sit on the end of our bed and watch him pull on his armour. He pulls the breastplate over his head and starts to tug the leather straps together.

I know he is worried for me, I can see it. He's always worried when one of us leaves suddenly. Sometimes we wake up to someone knocking on our bedroom door, telling us it's time to go. Just part of the job. 

I stand up and help him fasten the straps. He lets his hands run through my hair and slides to hold the back to my neck. I finish the clasps and he pulls me up to his lips, kissing me gently.

I pull away first, breathing heavily. "You have to go." I whisper, "We will be okay." 

"I know. You always are."

"Be safe. Come home to me, yeah?" 

"Always." And with that he leaves.

That's the last I hear from him or Tony or Steve in 6 days.

~~~~~~~~~~

*6:32 am*

The ringing of my phone cuts through my sleep like a knife. I groan and roll over to face Loki's side of the bed. Morgan was sleeping peacefully. I'm watching her while Tony is on the mission and Pepper had to make an emergency trip out of state.

I reach over to my bedside table and pick up my phone.

Steve.

"Hello?" I ask, voice groggy from sleep.

"Elle, you need to get to the hospital right now, please."

My heart stopped.

"Cap, what happened? Are you alright? Is Loki okay?"

"Noelle, take a breath. Everything will be fine. Just get here. We are at Lenox Hill."

The line goes dead.

I jump out of bed and rush to my dresser, pulling out a pair of jeans. I forget to be quiet and Morgan wakes up. 

"Auntie Elle?"

"Sorry, honey. We gotta go on a little drive. Do you want to change or go in your jammies?" I tell her, turning on the light beside the bed.

"Where are we going?"

I pull on Loki's sweatshirt and help her out of bed. "To see daddy. Let me get your jacket, okay? That's it. Up we come. Where are your shoes?"

I get her ready to go and put her one of the cars Tony allows the Avengers to use. I drive the speed limit but only because I have little Morgan in the backseat. I text Tony and Steve when we get there and pick up Morgan.

We walk through the door and a nurse came to ask what the problem was. I told her I was here to see someone. Before I could answer who, Tony moves in and takes his daughter from my shaking arms.

"She's with us. Thank you, Nurse Carla." He winks at her.

Nurse Carla smiles at him and walks away.

Tony leads me through the halls, explaining the mission.

"We were sent Upstate to find the new Hydra basecamp. Everything was going smoothly, we had almost wrapped it up when three enhanced showed up in the field. One had similar powers to Wanda and paralyzed Cap and I, but she wasn't strong enough to get her hold around Loki. He engaged on his own and was able to incapacitate them but wasn't able to come out without any injuries. His wounds were extensive but are healing rapidly, probably due to the fact that he's basically a god. He has a cracked skull, 4 broken ribs, a fractured ulna, and a massive bruise on his right leg. He will be okay but he demanded that we call you before we went home. Something about not wanting Thor to freak out. Doctor Dorian say he will be out of here by noon at the rate his wounds are healing." 

We have arrived at the room by now and stop in the doorway. There is a curtain shielding my view of Loki. I can see his boots from under it. Why the fuck is this dumbass sitting up?

He feels me. He's sitting up because he knows I'm here. He's reaching for me.

"Thanks." I mutter to Tony and walk in.

He is sitting up, waiting patiently with one hand on his thigh and the other in a sling. He has a few stitches in his forehead but the wound is healing nicely. His shirt is off and a bandage is wrapped around him over his right shoulder to under his left arm and down to the middle of his chest.

The second he sees me, he takes off the sling and throws it to the side. I don't even care right now, I know how fast he heals, but I'm more worried about getting my hands on him.

I wrap my arms around his shoulders and he buries his face in my neck, pulling me to stand between his legs.

"Hello, darling." He chuckles and I tighten my grip in a greeting.

I pull away from him to look him in the eyes, taking a small step back. I don't realize I'm crying until he brushes my tears away.

"Hey. Come now, love." His hand moves from my waist to the back of my neck and down my arm before taking my hand in his own. "No tears. It's alright, Noelle. I'm safe. It's all going to be fine." He brushes a lock of my hair behind my ear, letting his knuckles graze my cheek.

"Ask me again?" I say to him.

"What?" He mutters, looking taken aback.

"Ask me." I whisper.

His eyes light up in realization, his arm slips around my waist again. He pulls me flush against him.

"Noelle Elizabeth Tyrdottir, will you marry me?"

"Yes." I say. I hug him again and release the breath I didn't realize I was holding.

"About damn time!" He exclaims, making me laugh a little.

"There's a chapel here. Let's do it now, let's get it over with."

"Oh, gods no. I'm not dressed properly."

"I think you look damn good but alright, fine. Monday then. Put it in your calendar 'cause we have a date at the courthouse." 

He laughs, and kisses my forehead.

"Will you please lay back now? You're making me worry." 

"I'm fine, love. Really. I just ache and have a few bruises. It will be fine." 

"Yet, when I come back with a black eye and wrapped ankle, you demand that I stay in bed for 3 days. Lay down."

He grumbles under his breath about how that’s different because I am only half Asgardian. I am more mortal than he is.

"Mr. Odinson, I need you to lay back please. Does your shoulder still ache?" A doctor with crazy brown hair comes in, "Oh, hello. I'm Doctor Dorian. You must be the wife?"

"Not yet,  she's not." Loki mutters under his breath as he slides back onto the bed. I go flick his ear but he catches my hand and pulls it to his mouth, kissing my wrist.

"I see. Well as long as you are family you can stay. I assume you are an Avenger as well? I have seen you before but I'm not sure where. I have also seen what this guy can do and I hear he packs quite a swing. And also daggers. You don't have daggers on you, do you?" Loki smirks,

"I don't really want to break you two up but..." Dr. Dorian is rambling and trails off as Loki wraps his good arm around me and pulls me to sit next to him on the bed.

"You could try to take her from me. See what happens if you do." 

"You're being difficult." I tell him.

"I'm just proving a point."

"You need to relax. I'm not going anywhere."

"Damn right you aren't." He mumbles as Dr. Dorian picks up the sling that Loki flung across the room. I hold my hand out to take it since he looks nervous to come too close to Loki. He hands it to me as his pager goes off.

"I'll come back after I take care of this. Please don't strain yourself by doing something reckless." And he runs out.

I look at Loki, who is trying to hide a smile and is staring at the ceiling like there's something very interesting up there. He looks at me when I sit up and straddle him. 

I pull the sling over his head and help slip his arm into it. He holds his other hand on my hip, keeping me in my place. He lowers his head to rest on my chest. I lean my head on top of his, breathing him in. We stay like this until we hear Dr. Dorian coming back. I quickly get off Loki and settle under his arm as Dr. Dorian comes through the curtain with a pretty blonde woman following him.

"Mr. Odinson, we need one more x-ray just to see if everything is healing correctly. If so, you're free to go! Fastest broken bone patient I've ever had. Oh, this is Dr. Reed, my colleague. She didn't believe that I had a patient who healed from injuries as major as yours in a mere few hours." He turns to her as Dr. Reed reads through Loki's chart. "So, Elliot. Pay up."

"I hate you so much right now." She says as she forks over twenty bucks.

"Thaaaank you!" He waves it around for a moment before shoving it in his pocket.

"Alright, Shirley and Barbie. Out. Leave this one alone. We do not bet on patients in front of them, it's not how we do things." A tall doctor with curly, light brown hair struts in with an ear-piercing whistle. "We wait till we are in the break room."

Loki starts laughing, catching everyone's attention. "I like him!" He says to me.

I roll my eyes and lean my head back on the pillows behind me.

"Also, I can't exactly have you on the bed with him. Normally I wouldn't care but I have people from the hospital board in to watch me today. My name is Doctor Cox, I'm the head doctor and I get to be in charge of these brainiacs behind me with their mouths hanging open." Dr. Dorian and Dr. Reed both shut their mouths simultaneously. 

"I would love to get off the bed, Dr. Cox, but I'm kinda stuck. He isn't about to let me go and if I try, I'm afraid I'll make his wounds worse."

"Want me to sedate him so you can make your escape?" I laugh and Loki scowls.

"He's not of this Realm. Almost any medication you give him will burn off really quickly. I could teleport but that will just make him get up to drag me back." 

"Hmm. Well I have to take him for an x-ray and you're not allowed to go with him so I'll let you talk amongst yourselves for a minute then I am," another loud whistle and a gesture to the door with his thumbs, "takin' him." He shepherds the other two out of the room and shuts the door behind him.

I look at Loki. "You gotta let me go. The x-ray barely takes ten minutes and Dr. Dorian said you can come home after. I will wait but you have to go without me."

"This is a terrible plan. I do not have to do anything these mortals tell me to do! I am a-"

"I swear to Odin, Loki, if you say that you are a god I will jab you in the ribs."

His eyes narrow, but he complies. "I don't see why you cannot accompany me."

"Because X-rays are taken with radiation so it would potentially affect me but you need one. Just go get it taken and I'll be waiting for you."

He sighs, "Fine. If you are not here, I will come looking for you, leaving a trail of bodies behind me."

I snort. "Of course you will. Please don't get Tony sued."

He chuckles and kisses my temple. At that moment, Dr. Cox comes back and takes Loki off in a wheelchair, even though he whines and complains about being able to walk the whole time. It takes Dr. Cox and myself ten minutes to get him to shut up and sit down but once he does, it only takes fifteen minutes for them to bring him back. Dr. Cox cleared him to go but commanded that he take it easy for a few days. I help him into his shirt, and we leave.  

When we get back to the tower, Morgan attacks his legs and asks if he would watch Frozen with her again. He sighs as though it's somehow an inconvenience but agrees.

"But first, little Stark, I must go speak with your father. He has requested my presence and I'm not one to deny it to him." He smirks.

I roll my eyes and peel her off Loki's legs. "Come on, Baby Stark. We will get the movie ready and wait for Uncle Loki to get back from tormenting your daddy."

"Torment? Noelle, darling, do you think so little of me?" 

"I do when you're in this mood." 

"What mood?" He asks, eyes glinting with mischief.

"You know what I'm talking about. Go play with Tony, I will take this little monster and we will wait to watch the movie. I know how much you love it." 

He rolls his eyes and walks off towards Tony's office. When he comes back, they watch Frozen and then colour in her new colouring book while I take down Christmas decorations.

Around dinner time, Peter arrives with pizza and Loki just attacks it.

"Thank the Norns you bought more than one." I whisper to him as we watch Loki finish the first one on his own. I whack his hand as he reaches for a piece of mine and Morgan's pizza. He glares at me and takes some of Peter's.

At about 5:15, Nat comes marching in, "Okay! Odinson and Tyrdottir, get out! Go to your apartment and don't come out. I assume you have the necessities for surviving through the night?"

Loki's eyes light up and he jumps up, grabs my hand, and pretty much runs to the elevator.

We stay in our room the rest of the night.

~~~~~~~~~~

I wake up to something tickling my ear. I wave at it to make it stop but it soon returns. I slowly realize as I grow more conscious that the tickling is my fiancè's lips moving down my ear, jaw, and neck. I lean back into him as he kisses my cheek.

"Good morning, love." He says, voice thick with sleep. Norns, I love that voice.

"Good morning." I whisper back and turn over to face him. I slide my arms around his neck and lean my forehead against his. He kisses my head, then my nose, then my lips. His movements are slow, probably because he just woke up and hasn't had any coffee.

"You had to think of coffee." He sighs as his right arm, which was around my waist, flops back. The right one had the fractured ulna but the X-ray said it was healed almost completely. It still aches but not much.

"You had to say it out loud? Now I need some." I counter and he smiles a little. I rest my head on my hand that's propped up by my elbow and look down at him. They took the stitches out before we left but he still has a small mark from where the cut was. I press my lips to the wound and he closes his eyes. I kiss down to his cheekbones and whisper in his ear, "You know what goes good with coffee?"

"Hmm?"

"Donuts." His eyes snap open. He stands up as fast as his injuries would allow and starts putting clothes on. I laugh and pick up his discarded shirt from the floor. Slipping it over my head, I grab a pair of leggings then tie the shirt up around my belly button.

Loki drags me out of the tower the second I finish tying my shoes. We walk to the donut shop just down the street hand in hand. He told me about the mission, I talked about what I did while he was gone. Basically we just catch up.

While we sit in the shop, eating our delectably decadent donuts, my phone buzzes. It's Tony.

"What is it?" Loki asks as he takes another bite.

"It's Tony. He wants to know if we are free later. He's having a little dinner party at the tower."

"I haven't got any plans. Do you?"

"You are supposed to be taking it easy."

"Look, I'm fine!" He raises his arms above his head to prove his point. "I beg of you, my angel, Noelle. Do not keep me cooped up all day."

He's so dramatic. "I guess if you're feeling better, we can go for a little while."

"Lovely." He smiles at me and pops a donut hole in his mouth.

I text Tony to tell him we will be there. The second I hit send, I start to think about it. "Wait a minute. Loki, you hate parties. Why the sudden urge to go?"

His face turns to stone and I can't read his emotions. Great. "Perhaps I just want to eat all of the Man of Iron's food. And to play with the little ones. I do like children, Noelle."

"You're avoiding the question." Then it hits me, "Does this have something to do with what you and Stark talked about yesterday?"

"I haven't a clue what you are talking about."

"Don't lie to me, I can always tell. You may be the God of Mischief and Lies but I know you better than the one who gave you that title."

"I gave myself part of that title."

"My point exactly." I pause, looking into his eyes. "What aren't you telling me?"

He sighs, looking at his food, then back at me. "Trust that it's a good thing and there is nothing to worry about. You will understand in time." His eyes are pleading. I believe him.

"Okay."

"Thank you."

"What time are we to be there?"

"Ask Stark, it is his party."

I laugh and text Tony as Loki stands up, holding my jacket out to me so I can slide my arms in. We walk back to the tower.

*5:45 pm*

"Alright, I'm ready. Are you good, Loki?"

"Yes." He comes around the corner and I see him in the mirror. He's in a green button up with black dress pants. No tie, jacket over his arm. "You look divine, darling." He takes three long strides and is behind me, hands on my hips.

"Thank you. It isn't too fancy is it?" I glance down at my purple dress. It is made of satin and has silver embellishments at the hem, stopping just above my knee.

"It's lovely. Let's go." He takes my hand and practically drags me out the door.

The elevator doors open as we reach Tony and Pepper's private duplex apartment. It is decorated with fairy lights across the ceiling and the balcony. There are tables decorated with white cloth and light purple flowers in pale green box vases. The white chairs have gold bows on the backs. Pep and Tony approach us as we walk in.

"Damn, Pep. You really know how to throw a party!"

"Well, when you work for this lunatic for 15 years, you tend to learn how to be a good event planner."

"I'd be offended but she would be correct." Tony drapes his arm around her shoulders and kisses her cheek. He then turns to Loki with a pointed look, "She is always right."

I laugh and Pepper smacks Tony's arm.

"Hey, gorgeous. You ready?" Nat struts over to me in her form-fitting black dress and red stilettos. She has a garment bag hanging over her shoulder. I cock an eyebrow at her and turn to Loki, who is crouching down to talk to Morgan.

"Ready for what?"

"I heard a little whisper about a courthouse wedding and I am not having that." Tony is grinning from ear to ear.

"I'm sorry, run that by me again? Are you telling me that this is my wedding?"

"And this is your wedding dress, now let's go!" Nat starts pulling my hand and Pep loops her arm through mine. I look back at Loki who is smirking at me. I suddenly get giddy and pretty much run up the stairs to Pepper and Tony's bedroom where the ladies help me get into the dress and work on my hair.

Loki clearly had a hand in the dress pick. I honestly wouldn't be surprised if he made it while in Tony's office yesterday. It's almost a Midgardian take on an Asgardian wedding dress. It has a lace bodice, v-neck with thin beaded straps on my shoulders and flowy fabric off the shoulder. The rest of the skirt is flowy and light and reminds me of my dresses on Asgard.

Pepper hands me a black box tied with green and gold ribbon. Loki's name is in gold lettering in the corner. I cock an eyebrow at them- both women having a huge grin on their faces- and open the box. Nestled into the green silk is a gold circlet tiara with Asgardian crystal encrusted leaves and emerald droplets. I start to tear up, realizing what he is giving me. He's making me his queen.

Pepper curls my hair, pinning parts of it up and settles the crown into the curls. They decide that my makeup is good enough as it was from when I did it for the party and they announce that I'm ready.

We walk down the stairs and all the Avengers are there, quite the accomplishment actually. Loki stands next to Bucky at the front of the room, Thor standing just behind him looking like he's about to burst into tears. As I reach the bottom of the stairs, I see Tony waiting for me.

He smiles at me, offering me his arm. "How you feeling, hot stuff?

"Honestly, way more than I thought I would. I'm a little bit overwhelmed." I joke and take his arm.

He laughs and walks me down to Loki, who is just grinning like an idiot. Wanda stands on the other side of him. I reach him and Tony kisses my cheek before going to sit with his wife and daughter. Loki pulls my hands into his own. Bucky starts talking.

"Thank you all for coming. For those of you that don't know me," We all look at him, Loki snickers, "I'm not the biggest believer in real happy endings. But this isn't a therapy session. And you two are so great together, ya know?" He makes a noise and I glance at him. His eyes are slightly watery. He clears his throat and continues.  "It's like you were..." he sniffs, "made for each other."

"He's gonna cry." Wanda says with a smile.

"No, I'm not!" Buck automatically answers. Then from the back of the room, Steve starts playing his guitar. "I'm not, I'm not, I'm not, I'm not, I'm not!"

I grin at Loki. This is perfect. Bucky clears his throat again, "Noelle and Loki, when everyone sees you, they see true love." He pauses, "it's the best love." He rattles out, voice cracking. "Can we just, um, the rings or something?" He's trying not to cry. I want to hug my best friend, my best man, right there, the big baby.

Thor and Nat get out the rings and we take them from them. I look at Loki's ring. It's a black band with purple patterns carved in. "I don't know what to say." I whisper to him.

"All my thoughts are all jumbled, I'm not sure what to say either." He mutters back.

"You don't need vows, brother. Just say why you love each other!" Thor suggests.

"I'll go first." He takes my left hand in his, sliding the ring on. I take a moment to admire it. It is gold but doesn't connect like a normal ring. Instead it has two green emeralds on the ends. It looks like it's a vine wrapping around my finger. I start to get a little bit teary. "Noelle, darling. There are a million reasons why I love you. You make me laugh, you take care of me when I fall ill. You're sweet and caring and you make me pastries the way my mother used to when I was upset." I breathe out a laugh, "But the main reason I love you, Noelle, is you brighten my life, which was at one time a never ending black hole. You saved me, and most of all, you love me." I'm beaming at his words. His eyes are misty from the raw emotion he feels. He never thought he would get this moment.

"My turn." I say as I slip his ring on his own hand, "Loki, I love you because you're funny and you make me feel loved. You make me feel safe. You bought me a necklace for my first ball that has protected me ever since." I raise my hand to touch the necklace; I never take it off. "But the real reason I love you, Loki Odinson, is you make me happy. You make me more happy than you could possibly imagine."

My lover grins widely, letting a tear fall from his eye. I reach up to brush it away.

"LokidoyoutakeNoelletobeyourwifetohaveandtoholdfromthisdayforward-"

"Slow down, Buck."

"I can't! Foraslongasyoubothshalllive?"

"I do." I didn't know it was possible for my love to grow with just two simple words.

"NoelledoyoutskeLokitohaveandtoholdfromthisdayforwardforaslongasyoubothshalllive?"

"I do."

"Okay then!" He clears his throat one more time, "By the power vested in me by the very bitter, old man who works at the courthouse on Schermerhorn street, I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride."

I snake my arms around his neck immediately and pull him down to me. He smirks against my lips and pulls me deeper, closer to him. There is applause around us but we don't stop for them. We stand there and kiss for a while before Tony says something that makes me laugh. I break away from him and keep one hand on his cheek as I pull Tony in to hug me. We hug everyone there (well, I do. Loki shakes hands and picks up Morgan so they can't hug him full on.)

Tony claps Loki on the back and asks Loki if he can hold onto Morgan for a bit while he goes to check on the caterers. Loki nods to him as Thor hands me a green bag with purple tissue paper. When we look inside, it's a bottle of Asgardian wine. I look at him for a moment before hugging him tightly, thanking him.

"Who wrapped this for you, Brother?" Loki asks him, patting his shoulder and pulling me away from him, an arm around my waist.

"Is it so hard to believe that I am skilled at making gifts look presentable?"

"A bit, yes."

Thor scowls and points to Morgan, who is still up in Loki's arms. She seems happy there. It's my favorite place to be so I completely understand.

"Look at you, gorgeous! You look just like your momma." I turn around to see James, my mom's boyfriend before she passed. I immediately jump into his arms and he laughs, stumbling back slightly. "You didn't think I would miss this did you? I'd never miss an event like this."

"Truth be told, James, I wasn't aware this was an event."

He laughs and lets me go to look at my face, "I was told not to say anything." He glances back at Loki.

I turn around too and glare at my husband teasingly. He smirks at me and turns his attention back to the child in his arms.

James leans down a little to whisper in my ear, "Is she yours?"

I smile, "No. She is Tony and Pepper's daughter. We are just her favorite Aunt and Uncle. Isn't that right, Morgan?" I squeeze her leg lovingly and she just nods. She's fascinated by the magic that Loki is doing for her.

"I see. Look, doll. You know I love you but I have to go. I'm really sorry, but I couldn't completely clear my schedule tonight."

"It's totally fine! The fact that you came at all means so much to me. Thank you, James." I hug him again. He holds on just as tight.

"I meant what I said, you know. You really do look just like her." And with that parting whisper, he shakes Loki's hand.

As I watch the man who loved my mother the way she deserved leave, I am struck by a brief moment of sadness. I wish she was here. Loki kisses my temple and whispers in my mind, 'She is here. They both are.' I nod and dab lightly at the tears that filled my eyes.

After around 20 more minutes of socializing with my family, Peter comes running up to me.

"Hey, Auntie Elle! There's a guy in the hallway. Mr. Bucky and Captain Rogers won't let him in but told me to come get you." I look back at Loki who looks as confused as I feel. He hands Morgan over to Pete and laces his fingers through mine.

We meet Buck and Steve in the doorway, who are standing there, shoulder to shoulder, looking menacingly at the man in the hall. I understand why the moment I see him.

"Tyr?"

"Hello, daughter."

There is a silence for a moment. Loki automatically goes into his protective defense mode and angles his body so I am slightly behind him as he moves to stand beside Bucky.

"What... why... how- how did you get here? How did you find out where I was?" I'm stumbling over my words in my shock. Why was my father here? I walk out of the door and into the hallway, Loki right behind me with Bucky and Steve flanking us. Loki tells Steve to close the doors.

"I am your father, child, you could not keep your marriage to a Prince from me."

My anger flares up. "So if I were to marry a Midgardian, you wouldn't be here? You're only here because I chose to marry the former Prince of Asgard?" Loki puts his other hand on my waist. 'We don't want to ruin that pretty dress, do we, love?' He whispers in my head.

"That is not what I meant."

"I know exactly what you meant."

"Daughter, listen to me-"

"Make me!"

"Darling-" Loki starts but I interrupt him.

"You don't give a shit about me, and you never have. Just go! I don't want you here."

"Daughter-"

"You can't even say my fucking name, Tyr. Say it! What is my name?"

"I know your name, child-"

"Then say it."

He looks at me for a moment, as though seeing if I'm being serious. "Noelle. You need to take a breath." He says.

I stare at him, the sound of my name falling from his mouth angering me. Loki immediately has me around the waist and behind Steve and Bucky.

"Look, Mister. I don't know who you are, and I don't care. You are distressing my best friend on her wedding day so I suggest you walk away before I throw you out the window." Bucky's tone is calm, conversational, but his words are aggressive.

"You stay out of this, boy. This is between my daughter and I."

"You mess with her, you face all of us." I hear from the other end of the corridor. The slightly robotic voice tells me that Tony heard my yelling and got in his suit to take care of it. "And I should warn you, hot shot. There's a lot of fire power behind that door." He raises his hand and his repulsors charge up.

My father raises his hands in defeat and disappears from where he stands. I automatically release a deep, shaky breath. Loki wraps his arms around me and rests his head on top of mine. I reach one hand out to Bucky, Steve, and Tony. "Thank you." I whisper.

Buck squeezes my hand and Steve strokes my hair once.

"Take a deep breath, Elle. Come back in so we can eat soon. It's still your party." Tony says to me and the three of them go back inside.

"Are you alright?" His voice is full of concern.

"I'm alright." I answer. I pull away to look at him and smile, raising my hand to cup his cheek. He leans into the contact and kisses my wrist, right above my tattoo of his symbol. "I love you, Loki."

"I love you, Angel." He pulls me into his chest again.

"Loki."

"Yes?"

"We are married."

I feel him grin, "Yes we are." He lifts me up and kisses me for a moment before putting me down again.

"Are you ready to go back in?" He asks. I take a deep breath and run my fingers through my hair a little before nodding.

We open the door and are met with applause. I grin and feel my cheeks heat up. Loki smiles and pulls me into a kiss, earning more cheers. He ends it first and sits me down at the table, sitting beside me. He intertwines our fingers and holds my hand under the table. After dinner, people start making speeches- Thor sobbing through his- and giving toasts.

Tony decides it's time to dance and, very graciously, plays a slow song for us first: For the Dancing and the Dreaming.

As Loki leads me to the makeshift dance floor, I ask him, "So, you're okay that I didn't change my last name?"

"Darling, believe me. I would change my name if I could."

"You can, Loki. That's a thing in Midgard. You can change your name. We should create a whole new last name!"

He smirks at me, "Loki and Noelle Allguardians."

"Loki and Noelle Skywalker."

"Loki and Noelle Fraser!"

"No, wait, I got it! Are you ready? It's pretty good, I don't know if you're prepared."

"Just tell me." He laughs.

"Loki and Noelle Friggason."

He pauses, thinking. I feel all the things he was feeling at that moment. He makes a decision.

"Loki and Noelle Friggason." He leans down to kiss me, which was met by whoops and cheers from our audience.

We pull back as the song ends and Tony, the silly man, turns on Criminal by Britney Spears. I start laughing hysterically and poor Loki just looks confused. Asgardian weddings are a calm, respectful affair the whole time. They don't have crazy receptions that play YMCA or do the stupid, creepy garter thing.

He glances at me and sees my smile, his face changing to amusement as Nat comes up behind me to dance. I turn around in Loki's arms and reach for Natasha, who gets closer to me and dances like the way we do when we go clubbing, Loki still holding my waist.

After Criminal, Tony let Peter pick a song, because he is a softy for his Spiderson, and that boy put on Baby Shark. The best part was all of us knew the dance and song because of little Morgan. We did change the words so that it's Baby Stark, but only because it made Morgan laugh and Tony flush.

After the Baby Stark song, Natasha thinks she's funny and plays Low-Key by Ally Brooke. That was an adventure in and of itself.

After that we had cupcakes because Stark pays more attention than I thought.

Loki and I sit on the couch after cupcakes, my legs in his lap, his fingers running along the soft fabric of my dress that covers my legs. Morgan sits on the other side of the couch with Peter, who watches her colour. Steve, Bucky, and Nat are sitting shoulder to shoulder opposite to us. Steve has his sketch pad in his lap and he keeps glancing at us, which tells me that he's drawing us. I don't mind, I'd love that memory. Nat and Buck, on either side of him, watch him sketch. Tony walks over to look over Steve's shoulder. He must have been done because Tony pats his shoulder and comes over to me and Loki. He has Loki and I sign the papers to make the marriage legally recognized by the state. It's official now. Afterward, he takes my hand and pulls me to the dance floor again. He plays a series of slower songs and he dances with me. I end up dancing with most of the Avengers: Tony, Steve, Bucky (twice; one slow, one fast), Thor, Peter, even Clint. It was really nice.

It isn't long before Loki claims me again. He dances with a few people (Pepper, Wanda, but mostly Morgan.) We dance to Taylor Swift's Lover, then Miss Americana and the Heartbreak Prince. By the time the party dies down again, it's nearing two am.

"Alright! I have one more thing to give the newlyweds before we prepare for hangovers and go to sleep." Tony shouts over the small group around us.

"Tony, you gave us a wedding, we don't need anything else." I tell him.

He smirks at me, "You may not but it's more your him than you, dear."

I cock an eyebrow at him as he hands Loki a little box. He opens it and takes the key out, slightly confused.

"You didn't think I would let you spend your honeymoon in the tower, did you?"

I gasp loudly, realizing what he did. "That's not... you wouldn't. Tones, are you being for real?"

"I'm confused, what is this?"

"That, Reindeer Games, is the key to the house on my private island." I shriek and throw my arms around Tony's neck. He hugs me tight. "The copter is waiting on the roof. You have clothes there (not that you will need them). You have 3 days. You are to be back by New Year's Eve."

Tony let's me go and Loki pretty much drags me to the roof. He helps me into the helicopter and buckles into the seat next to mine. He brings my knuckles to his lips as we take off, mouthing 'I love you' through the noise.

[vsuvia]

Hi, could I please request some beautiful Ophelia/Asra content? Maybe life their together before the plague then their life together once she comes back?

mar you have my entire heart do you hear me

this isn’t exactly what you asked for bUT it’s something i’ve been thinking about writing for a pretty long time~ ophelia’s first meeting with asra, ft. cameos from muriel and @sad-arcana-au‘s vee

Stretching her arm out desperately, Ophelia tried to catch the apple that had escaped from the precarious pile in her basket, but it was no use; it tumbled off the stack and into the busy street, away from her. With a roll of her eyes, she followed its path, down a side street filled with merchant’s carts, until she lost sight of it.

Sighing, she took off her hood -- something she wasn’t necessarily supposed to do, but which would surely help her more than just peering around it -- and knelt down, setting her basket next to her, to look for the fruit. No sooner had she glimpsed it lying in a pile of leaves a few feet away than a hand snatched it up, bringing it in front of her face in a flash of shining green and brown skin. “Looking for this?”

She blinked and held out her hand. “Yeah.” Her eyes traveled upwards to look at the person who’d found her fruit. A kid, her age or maybe a little older, with wild curly white hair, brightly-colored clothes covered in patches, and startlingly intense purple eyes that crinkled into a wide smile as he passed the apple back to her. He looked familiar, though she couldn’t quite place him, as if he’d been in the background of some of her memories.

“I’ve seen you around before,” he said, like an echo to her thoughts, and reached out to help her up. (His hand was warm. Ophelia didn’t know why her brain noticed that.) “You’ve always got so much food with you. Big family?” There was an edge of wanting in his voice, barely masked by playfulness; she couldn’t tell whether it was hunger or loneliness.

She shook her head, dusting off her palms on her tunic and flipping her hood back up in a fluid motion, the same way she’d done it a thousand times before. “I’m an acolyte at the Temple of Light. This season it’s my turn to do the shopping for everyone.” A vague wave of her hand indicated the golden building, standing tall across the canal, the sun streaming through the stained glass windows.

“Ah.” He nodded, then swept into a bow, half-comically, half-gallantly. “Well, if I see you around again, my name’s Asra. And I hope I do see you again.”

There was probably some way Ophelia could have responded other than blushing violently, but as the sun shifted behind a cloud, it glinted in the hair of the person standing across from her, and she suddenly remembered where she’d seen him before: in the town square, near a side street next to this one, magic (real magic!) dancing back and forth between his hands as onlookers clapped and cheered. By the time she called her voice to her again, he had half-turned, though he paused when she managed to yell, “Wait!”

“Hm?” he asked.

“You do magic,” she said, feeling rather stupid.

Thankfully, he -- Asra -- didn’t laugh at her complete lack of tact, or the fact that she was blushing even worse now. (God, she’d really gotten terrible with interacting with other people.) “I do,” he acknowledged, and he put his palm out flat in the air and made purple sparks dance above it, like it was nothing. “Me and my friends Vee and Muriel.” In a graceful movement, he tilted his head towards his usual corner; a person, tall and willowy, with hair bursting out away from their head in wild blonde waves the same way Ophelia’s used to before she had to cut it, was growing flowers from between the cracks in the paving stones, while a much taller boy whose face was obstructed by dark hair sat in their shadow, behind a small leather bag open for coin donations. “It’s nothing serious. I mean--” and she caught a note of pride in his voice -- “I could do more. But that’s not what this kind of magic is for. It’s just a way to make some money.”

Before she lost her nerve, Ophelia looked over each shoulder, then let her hand float out to rest in front of her in a mirror image of Asra’s. A deep breath, the energy flowing through her focusing into a pinpoint, and then she opened her fist to spill a tiny galaxy of stars into the air above her palm. “I can do it too,” she whispered, urgent in a way she hadn’t expected to be, like the secret had a mind of its own and wanted to get out even more than she wanted to tell it.

The stars spun and whirled in the air, reflected in Asra’s eyes. “Wow...” he said quietly, letting his own light fizzle out as he leaned in closer. She could feel her heart hammering wildly against her ribs, adrenaline coursing through and tingling at the surface of her palm below the small display she was creating.

Then a loud clatter sounded from across the way, and Ophelia jumped, closed her fist, winking the stars into oblivion, nothing left but a crackle of magical energy that only the two of them could sense. “I don’t know why I told you that,” she said, picking her basket up with a movement that felt jerky and sudden after the breaking of the spell.

He shook his head. “Magicians... my mentor told me that their power can seek others’ power. Especially if they have a strong gift.” Smiling, Asra took her hand in his, and she felt a brief pulse of energy pass from him to her, filling her to the brim with light. “You never told me your name.”

“Ophelia,” she said, trying not to stare too hard at this person who had just turned her world inside out in a few moments.

“I’m sure I’ll see you again soon. There’s no way I could miss you now.” His grin turned just a bit mischievous as he dipped into a shorter bow again, then walked off towards his friends, sun still gleaming in the white whorls of his hair.

For the rest of the day, Ophelia could only think of those few minutes, as she walked back to the temple (hanging three wrong turns), finished up her daily chores (taking twice as long as usual), and even as she laid down to sleep. The magic that Asra had passed on to her had shocked her, given her insides a scrubbed-clean feeling, a hopeful expansion the same way she felt when she looked out onto the streets of the city from the bell tower. A knowledge that more was out there, more for her to see and do, and the sense of peace and resolve that came with finally accepting that.

[hvlfwygod]

blank spaces | ben & jacob

summary: the two roommates get to know each other tw: mention of (past) suicidal ideation

Ben’s eyes were closed. Music floated in the air around him, a guitar riff spilling out of the speakers. His fingers twitched, automatically searching for the strings of his guitar (propped up in his room across the hall) to replicate the sound. Jacob surely felt the movement, since Ben’s hand was resting on his knee, which was incidentally pressed lightly against his roommate’s; he bumped against the fabric of Jacob’s jeans.

Ben’s eyes were closed, but he could sense exactly where Jacob was, how he was sitting on the floor of his bedroom. Still, Ben lifted his eyelids to see if Jacob had noticed his slight reaction, or if he would choose to comment. The lights were off and the sunset was painting half of the room a glowing orange. Ben took a deep breath as the song faded out, closing his eyes again. The food Jacob had offered to split with Ben when he invited him to listen to music was mostly eaten and forgotten, pushed to the side so they could sit closer. 

The first song on the album started to play again, and Ben finally spoke, but quietly, not wanting to make either of them jolt with a new sound. “I really liked that.”

There was a new sort of comfort Jacob was beginning to discover in these recent moments shared with Ben, one he had little experience with. Barely over a month ago, the idea of a relaxing evening would call to mind headphones, a closed door, and no company but his own thoughts. He could not pin down when a change had occurred, but he was certain one had– lately, more and more often, he found himself seeking out the company of his roommate.

Ben's voice pulled Jacob back from his thoughts, though he did not yet open his eyes. He reached over to pick up his phone and pause the music as the song began to repeat– the resulting silence was heavy in the air, but not uncomfortable. "I imagined you might," he responded after a few seconds of simply sitting and enjoying the peace. "I listened to it for the first time this morning and the sound reminded me of you." He pressed his knee into Ben's more.

When, Ben wondered, would he get used to comments like that? Maybe never, maybe he would always feel a small chill when someone seemed to see him without him being there. Maybe it felt especially nice because it was Jacob. Ben let his hand move again, his fingers flexing over both their legs and resting there. "I... appreciate it. That's really... I, sorry, I just mean, it's cool that you um, thought of me." His own genuineness surprised him a bit, but he let the words hang.

When Jacob had spoken, he had been curious as to what Ben's response would be, after having phrased the comment in a deliberate way to get a reaction. Ben did not disappoint. One corner of Jacob's mouth lifted, and he rested his hand over his roommate's on their legs. "It's unsurprising. I think of you often, you have made quite an impact as of late."

A slight, creeping blush appeared along his face, at that. "Yeah?" Ben was curious, not for the first time, if Jacob could hear a smile in his voice, and how often. Could he hear it now? "I... think about you a lot, too."

Jacob allowed Ben's words to hang in the silence, taking the time to ghost his hand over the back of Ben's forearm, forward and back. The headache that had been clinging behind his eyes all day was finally beginning to melt away. "There is much yet to learn about you," Jacob commented, opening his eyes and blinking a few times as the light increased. "Something as trivial as the texture of your hair came as a surprise to me." As he spoke, he reached forward and found Ben's shoulder. "I would like to know you more, if you will allow it."

Ben had to fight the sudden urge to move away. His hand, still resting partway against Jacob's knee, grew stiff, like he was gripping something subconsciously. "Of course," he said after a few seconds of silence, despite his instinctual recoil. Ben swallowed down a swell of nerves and shifted so they were facing each other more fully. The light from the sinking sun wrapped over Jacob's shoulders, illuminated the edges of his hair, momentarily crimson. "Right now?"

“If you will allow it,” Jacob repeated, softer than before. He turned as well when he heard Ben shift, moving so both their knees were touching. His hand stayed on Ben’s shoulder but his thumb traced circles into his collarbone, trying to judge the texture of his shirt. When he spoke again, his voice was only raised enough to cross the space between them. “Any objections?”

He wished his heart would stop beating so hard. "I'm not great at talking about myself," Ben offered by way of an answer. "But, no objections." He was quiet again, though, after that, focusing on the sensation of Jacob's thumb traveling along his collarbone. "Can you... Um, what do you want to know?"

“So much.” Jacob drifted his fingers up to the side of Ben’s neck, resting his other hand just above Ben’s knee. He took some time considering his options and taking in the moment, eventually settling on starting slow and filling in the blanks. “How old were you when you came here?”

Jacob's hand was drifting further and further upwards, but Ben somehow found this more comfortable than a simple question. He placed his own hands out, pressing his palms against both of Jacob's knees this time. "Um... I came," he blinked, "nine years ago? So, sixteen."

Jacob dipped his head in a nod as Ben spoke to show he was listening, taking into account Ben’s age, which he also learned for the first time. “Were you claimed immediately?” As he spoke, Jacob lifted his hand to trace two fingers along the shape of Ben’s jaw.

Ben's brow furrowed, a small smile tugging at his mouth. "Huh, I don't know. I already knew who my godly parent was before I came so I never thought about it." Somehow, this felt fitting, exactly what he'd expect from his mom. "I guess she did? Or maybe she didn't bother. I don't really remember."

Jacob’s hand stilled, then resumed its path along Ben’s jaw. “You have always been aware that you are a demigod?” He rubbed his thumb back and forth over Ben’s leg with his other hand. “That is rare, no?”

"Uh, no." Ben's throat closed briefly. "I mean, yes, that is rare. I didn't always know. I found out um..." This part of his life was blurred and unclear, and hard to think about. "A few months before I got to camp."

“Ah.” Jacob decided to save that topic for later. He dropped the touch briefly as he shifted to his knees in front of Ben, resting his hands on top of his thighs as he sat back on his heels and thought. “Do you have any siblings?”

Ben found himself missing the touch once Jacob's hand moved away, and he almost moved his hands back out to initiate more contact. But the question made him freeze, hands hovering midair. His mind flickered to Akira, the understated and strange realization that they were related. Ben considered making something up, but he wanted to be honest, and his silence was surely already an answer, anyway. "Um, I met someone who, I think so? I don't really know them, though. I always lived in the cabin alone, if that's what you mean."

Jacob remained motionless until Ben finished speaking, at which point he reached forward again to splay a hand over Ben’s ribs, where they had been injured previously. “Have you met your mother?”

Ben released a breath and decided to follow Jacob's lead by placing one of his hands on the side of his face, his thumb resting against his cheekbone. "A few times." He paused and inhaled slowly. "Remember, when I was in the hospital, I said I was seeing things? I thought I was, I mean..." He shook his head. "I was. But I saw her, too, and that... was probably real. She also talked to me a lot on the quest."

Jacob closed his eyes again at Ben’s touch and gave no response to Ben’s answer other than a quiet nod. After a few slow seconds of silence, Jacob lifted his hand to touch Ben’s cheek and trail down to his jaw. “When did you first get into music?”

His mind was caught up in the motion of Jacob’s fingers, as feather-light and small as it was. Ben almost didn’t register the question and his thumb moved up, tracing Jacob’s brow and moving along the crescent around his outer eye. “I was always into music,” he said, voice just for the two of them. He studied Jacob’s face as best he could in the low light. “As long as I can remember. If I wasn’t in class or dealing with my dad I was listening to something. I got my guitar when I was fourteen and taught myself.”

The crease between Jacob's eyebrows, an expression that seemed ever present, smoothed out as the touch drifted across his face. Jacob followed suit, trying for at least a vague image of Ben's features under his hands as he skimmed a thumb over Ben's lip. "You learned from yourself? That takes drive." He fell silent again, tracing one finger up to Ben's temple.

"I guess so, but I had to," Ben muttered, a frown pulling at his lips, a strange tightness forming in his chest. What he said was true— there was no way he would have been allowed to take lessons— but something about what he said felt more vulnerable than he intended. "I mean... I had no choice." What was meant to be a clarification seemed to be just as heavy when Ben replayed the words in his head. He took a deep breath and moved the focus of his touch to the outline of Jacob's jaw.

Jacob frowned slightly, running his thumb above Ben's eyebrow a few times, hand on the side of his face. It felt as though there was a choice here that would guide the rest of the conversation– he could easily ask another question, on a different track, and sweep the moment along. There was no appeal in that. "Why?"

He wondered if the motion was an attempt at comfort, an unconscious repetition, or an effort to commit something to memory. Regardless, Ben found it soothing in a small way, and he tilted his head slightly, putting just a little more pressure into Jacob's palm. He closed his eyes, thinking it might be easier to speak if he couldn't see even Jacob's shadowy, barely-visible face change. "Because sometimes, it was the only thing," Ben swallowed, and when he spoke again, his voice was even quieter, "keeping me alive?"

The increased weight on his palm was enough of a sign for Jacob-  he kept his hand against Ben’s cheek, brushing a thumb over his face. It tested a seldom used part of him, having a moment like this with his roommate. Now that he thought about it, it was impossible to remember the last time he was this intimate with anyone. Following Ben’s lead, Jacob kept his voice low. An odd desire to press a kiss to Ben’s forehead arose, but he held it back, settling for taking one of Ben’s hands in his and lifting it to his lips. “Is that still the case?”

Ben swallowed, surprised at how comfortable he felt. He gripped the hand holding his gently, and turned his head to press his lips into Jacob's palm. "I don't know," he answered, looking forward again, his fingers wandering to the ridges of Jacob's ear. He paused the motion, though, when he spoke again. "No, I think. There's more things that keep me here. I think part of it is... I don't live with my dad anymore." He couldn't remember the last time he talked about this without being prompted to get out every syllable. But now, in the dark with his eyes closed and his hands against Jacob, it was almost easy to give over details he normally kept buried and hidden. "I hated living with him. And I didn't get... it didn't all go away when I left. I was a mess. I'm probably still a mess. But I guess I found more than one reason to stick around, even if I didn't always, um, remember they were there."

Jacob chewed the inside of his cheek as he drifted his hand down the side of Ben's neck, pausing at the dip of his collarbone to outline the shape with his fingertips. After the album they had been listening to, the resulting silence seemed to envelop the two of them in between words. Everything Ben was telling him filled in blanks, explained more about him to Jacob, but the new knowledge was hardly satisfying. Jacob didn't feel how he normally did after a mystery was unveiled– Ben's explanation was real and raw, not gratifying. It was a new, though not unwelcome sensation. "But you have been reminded recently? That they are there?"

He wanted to answer yes automatically and reassure Jacob, who seemed, to Ben, to have a hint of concern in his voice. But he was quiet, instead, trying to make sure he meant it before he said it. Silence was normal for them, filling in the gaps of their conversation, but this one felt heavier. Ben opened his eyes. The sun had gone below the window— the sky still blazed orange but Ben could only make out Jacob by touch. He shifted a little closer, moving his hand to the back of Jacob's neck. "I have," he said. "I knew for a long time, but I wouldn't let myself believe it." He took a deep breath. "I'm, um, hopeful about this time, though. I don't know. I want to be here."

Jacob flattened his hand against the front of Ben's shirt, over his heart. He opened his eyes halfway now that the room was darker and focused on the rhythm beating under his touch, leaning forward as Ben's hand landed on the back of his neck. His own heart was heavy in his chest from emotion, but it wasn't unpleasant, not really. It felt good to feel something this much. "Hm." His usually endless well of words was drying up in his throat. He swallowed. "Did something change?"

They were so close, now, and Ben tilted forward just a bit so his forehead pressed against Jacob's. The hand over his heart felt like a pressure against an open, bleeding wound, but he was somehow relieved to be doing this. "No... I don't know. Yes but, I don't know what. I just feel different."

Jacob curled his fingers around the front of Ben’s shirt, heel of his hand constant against his roommate’s heartbeat. He didn’t want to detract from the conversation but the urge to lean in was strong, so he pressed his lips to the corner of Ben’s mouth briefly. It wasn’t meant as a sexual gesture, nor a romantic one- just a motion of understanding, from a man whose problems were so far from the other’s. “A shift in priorities,” he suggested quietly, the innate suggestion to comfort overtaken, as always, by his need to suggest solutions. “A realignment?”

As Jacob leaned in and kissed him quickly, Ben's vision blurred with sudden tears. He wasn't sad, scared, in any particular pain, but he was overwhelmed. They ended as quickly as they came, a few streaks down his face and then nothing to show once again for the swell of emotion inside of him. "I like that word," he replied. Maybe hitting rock bottom let him stand back up, assembled just differently enough. "I meant it when I told you I planned on being here a long time."

Without a hand on Ben's face, Jacob was unaware of the reaction he had elicited, but he left the silence untouched. Ben's last sentence brought a small smile to his face. It didn't feel like Ben was just trying to reassure him, which was strangely reassuring in itself. He lifted his touch from Ben's chest to his shoulder to follow the path down his arm towards his hand. "Words are what I am best at," Jacob commented, pushing his hair back with his other hand as it fell across his face. "And I am glad. Genuinely. My life is better for having you in it."

The moment seemed to pass, the air around Ben getting a little lighter. He dropped his hand from the back of Jacob's neck and let it slide over his shoulder and chest before he drew it into his lap. His other hand was in Jacob's and again, his grip tightened somewhat. This, too, was strange to hear and Ben was sure he wouldn't ever get used to it without the urge to disagree. "That's um... really nice to hear," he tried. "I feel the same about you, too."

Jacob smiled at him now as the mood seemed to lift, even slightly. He squeezed Ben's hand back, taking the words directed towards him and holding them in his mind. "Can you do me a favour?" he asked after enjoying the lighter silence for a few long seconds. "In a week, can you ask me about this conversation? It is not something I wish to forget, but memory is a fickle thing."

Ben's brow furrowed. He knew about Jacob's lost memory, but had no idea that he struggled with it currently, too. "Yeah, of course," he said quietly. "Could you completely forget it, or will asking about it remind you?"

Jacob shook his head once, eyes closed peacefully. “If it is gone, it is gone, but it will remind me to check my voice notes. They serve as a diary, of sorts.”

"Oh, okay." Ben flushed a bit when he realized that this meant Jacob was probably going to diary about him. But he didn't dwell on it, instead wanting to focus on what his roommate was telling him. He ran his thumb over Jacob's knuckles. "Does that happen often?"

Jacob ran his tongue over his teeth and sighed. "I don't... I do not know how often. Sometimes it is obvious, a recent week or month missing that I realize is unaccounted for, but I am sure there are numerous days from further back that are disappearing one by one." He pushed his hair back again with his free hand.

He didn't know what to say that wouldn't sound useless or unhelpful. Ben watched Jacob push his hair back with a slightly growing frown. "I see," he said. He flipped Jacob's hand over and slid his index finger the lines on his palm.

The corner of Jacob's mouth twisted in the ghost of a smile as he held back the obvious joke in response to Ben's words. "In an odd twist of fate, I appear to have stocked my circle of friends with people who would rather not remember the first half of their lives."

Ben paused, then breathed out a small, quiet laugh, but it died in his throat after a few seconds. Jacob didn't sound accusatory, but the words still made him feel strange, almost guilty that he would want for something that the person sitting across from him had to live with every day. "I hope you don't think that I..." He faltered, wondering if what he was about to say would sound worse than he meant. "I don't think you have it, easier or... I don't know."

Jacob raised his eyebrows. If Ben had not recently been so open with him then the stumbling would have been far more amusing but, as things stood, he simply smiled. "I understand. I only meant that it is intriguing, how I search for something others would rather leave in the dark." Although his words were longer and sentences more pieced together, Jacob was still overly conscious of his tone. Unlike in conversations with Abel, there was no resentment here– but he didn't know if he was even capable of speaking of this in a way that was neither clinical nor sarcastic. "I don't know." As always, those words left a bad taste in his mouth. "Perhaps if I do discover it, I will feel differently."

"Is there anything that you can..." Ben trailed off again, and shook his head. "Dumb question." His movement over Jacob's palm shifted to travel lightly down his wrist, then back up, idly tracing the shape of his hand. "Better question, is there anything um, I can do? To try to help?"

Jacob closed his eyes in a vague hope that would amplify the feeling of Ben's touch and ground him again. "I am a medical mystery," he quoted wryly, corners of his mouth tugging down despite his best efforts. The headache from earlier, faded due to the painkillers he had taken, was still a calm thrum in the back of his mind. As much as the urge to continue speaking tugged at him, he had a difficult time even sorting his thoughts about his own situation enough to put them into words that were not a repetition of what someone else had said. "There is nothing to do, so I am told. I suppose..." Jacob tilted his head down, then pushed his hair back as it fell in his face again. "I do not even know what to suggest."

Ben gave in to the sudden urge to kiss Jacob's hand, lifting it up to his lips briefly and then holding it in both of his. Often he felt powerless to his own fate, to his mind and all the ways it went wrong, but he couldn't seem to accept that for Jacob. He wanted to help, though he had no idea how. "You don't have to suggest anything." Darkness had fully overtaken the room, but Ben didn't need the light anymore to find Jacob's face, brush his fingers along his jawline yet again.

Jacob leaned into Ben's touch on his jaw, if only slightly. It was so uncommon, a touch that was led with feeling rather than intention, that he was surprised by how much he enjoyed it. "Yet it is out of my nature to leave a subject without a resolution." Jacob lifted his hand and pressed it against Ben's ribs.

Gently, Ben tilted Jacob's chin upward, so they were facing each other, unseeing as they both were. As his eyes adjusted to the dark, he could see that Jacob's were closed. He could tell, though, by the palm against his side that Jacob was alert, not lost in a sea of introspection but feeling every movement. "It's okay if you don't know," Ben muttered, trying to sound reassuring, moving his thumb over Jacob's cheek in an attempt to soothe him physically as well.

Ben's words made Jacob's own catch in his throat with his breath and he frowned, taken aback by his own reaction. He swallowed and repeated the words to himself in his mind– they felt foreign, but they were stuck in his head now, a broken record. The touch to his face kept him tethered to the moment instead of whisked away by his thoughts and he leaned into it more, grateful. In his own room, safe in the darkness, the shame or embarrassment he expected to come from accepting this help didn't surface. "Ah." His voice was low, barely more than a whisper. It took effort to push the next words out, and he almost forgot to reply amidst the storm of thoughts running loose in his head. "You have a point."

Only now, feeling Jacob suddenly falter and struggle with a response, did Ben start to understand the enormity of what his friend was dealing with. He hadn't expected his words to be anything more than a reminder, but it seemed he had shaken Jacob. Ben couldn't quite wrap his head around it, still, but he felt a protective surge all the same. He applied a little more pressure with his palm, pressing the flat of his thumb under Jacob's eye. Nothing he thought to say sounded right, so he let the silence settle between them, trying to wordlessly extend comfort.

Jacob let out a long, slow breath. There was a reaction, something automatic and so deeply engrained in him that he could not even begin to untangle its roots, that made speaking in this way come hand in hand with a self-consciousness otherwise unbeknownst. He squeezed his eyes further shut and covered the hand on his face with his own, reminding himself that there shouldn't be anything shameful about this. After all, just because he was composed most of the time didn't mean he had to be all of the time, right? The way he spoke, the way he acted, they were supposed to help him build himself up, construct the parts he was missing– but apparently somewhere along the line, that intention had twisted. He swallowed again and tilted his head to press his temple into Ben's palm. "Hm."

Acting again on impulse, Ben uncrossed his legs and moved them to either side of Jacob, giving him the space to slide a little closer. He brought his other hand up as well, sweeping Jacob's hair back, fingertips gliding over his hairline. Ben recognized the hesitation, the prolonged and strained silence that came before maybe, maybe saying something close to your heart. He'd been in the same position several times over, the most recent just a few minutes earlier. Though it seemed he had more practice with dragging the words forward than Jacob. "It has to be really... scary," Ben offered lamely, "to keep losing pieces." He frowned, already worried he pressed too hard on a tender subject.

Feeling and hearing Ben move closer, Jacob leaned forward. He tilted his head down to rest his forehead against Ben's shoulder as Ben pushed his hair back, unsure how a simple touch could press his heart into his throat. Uncertainty was a common theme for the night– this conversation had already brought so much into question. Something pricked in the corner of his eyes at Ben's comment. As he lifted a hand to rub at them, he realized it was tears. Shame heated his skin, but he laughed all the same. "Yeah." He pressed a hand to Ben's chest, then curled his grip around the front of his shirt. "Um. Yeah. It is. I don't..." Jacob was grasping for something as he spoke without knowing what. "I don't know how much I've lost. It's terrifying." The confession loosened a knot deep in his chest even as it made his heart heavier. "It is."

Once Jacob leaned against him, Ben shifted so he could better hold his roommate, moving his arm around his torso. He felt a warmth spread over his shirt and realized that Jacob was crying. Ben's heart was in his throat. Hearing his friend stumble over words, sounding more like him than the person he'd come to know, was almost surreal. "It is," he repeated. How strange, Ben thought, that their lives were so different but they struggled to talk about it in the same way. Ben pressed his lips to the top of Jacob's head. "It is," he said again, mumbling into Jacob's hair.

As natural as the movement should feel and as much as he wanted to do it, Jacob had to force himself to let go of Ben's shirt to wrap his arms around his middle. He sunk against him, some tension bleeding out of his shoulders at the touch, grateful that Ben couldn't see his face as he blinked more tears away. "This is embarrassing," he breathed into Ben's shirt, making no move to pull away. If anything, he leaned into the hug more. "I'm not sure why, um. I'm reacting like this."

Ben tightened his hold as Jacob slumped against him, wrapping his other arm around as well so they were fully embracing. "It's okay," he murmured, voice floating just above a whisper. He felt heavy with emotion, too much of it to know what to properly do but sit there and hug his roommate. "If it makes you feel better, I was crying before, you just didn't catch it."

Jacob had assumed the offer of comfort would get under his skin, worsen his embarrassment or make him want to pull away– he was taken aback by how a reassurance as simple as it's okay actually succeeded in lifting some of the weight from his chest. Then again, thinking about it now, he couldn't think of the last time someone had said that to him. "That does help," he agreed with a small laugh, turning his head to the side so he could wipe the rest of the tears away. "Uh, it does. Thanks.”

"Good, I'm glad." Ben moved his hand lightly along Jacob's spine, the motion slowly turning automatic, until his fingertips were just barely brushing the fabric of his shirt. He could stay there all night, he thought, the two of them sitting in what felt like a new kind of closeness. But eventually, reluctantly, he tilted his head just enough to be looking at Jacob. "Do you want to lie down?"

Jacob leaned away from Ben when he spoke, pulled back to the present of them sitting on his bedroom floor. He rubbed his hands over the tops of his jeans, uncertain how to feel about everything that had just happened, but smiled towards Ben nonetheless. "Okay. In here?"

It was only for a second, but Jacob's question made Ben falter. Just being in Jacob's room was already a big sign of trust, he knew. If they were ever sharing a bed, it was Ben's. His chest constricted somewhat, and he returned the smile. "If that's okay with you."

"If it wasn't I wouldn't have asked." Jacob stretched as he stood up, only realizing at that point how long they had been sitting on the ground since he had first invited Ben in to listen to that album. He took a seat on the edge of his bed and waited for Ben to join him.

Ben let Jacob move first, then made his way to his feet and followed him to the bed. As soon as they were both sitting, hands sliding into each other's, they moved so they were lying down. Ben normally perched himself under Jacob's arm, if they held each other at all. But this time he pulled Jacob in, one arm wrapped around his waist and keeping him close.

Jacob tensed when he felt Ben's arm around him– it wasn't unpleasant, but it caught him by surprise. This felt far more intimate than their similar position on the floor. He shifted closer into the embrace anyway, wondering if this new level to their friendship was something temporary for the night or if they would acknowledge it the next day. With his next exhale, the rest of the tension left his body, and he rested his hand on Ben's ribs.

As soon as Jacob relaxed, so did Ben, sinking even more into the embrace. He turned his head and lightly pressed his lips to his forehead as another surge of emotion swept over him. Everything about the night felt like new territory, but this was especially so. The one thing he recognized was the long, comfortable silence that stretched out between them. There was so much more they could say, so many more questions they could ask, but this felt like enough for them. The quiet was enough.

[human-trash-fire]

Beautiful Disaster: Ch. 4 (Pynch Soulmate-AU)

I realized I never posted Ch 4 for my Pynch AU! So here it is, for anyone interested, HERE is a link to my masterlist where you can find the first 3 chapters. (THIS WILL NOT MAKE SENSE WITHOUT READING THE OTHERS) I’m also on Ao3 as glam_reaper2 <3 

Anyways, this fic is the writing I’m most proud of, and I can’t wait to drop Ch 5 this week! 

TW: Adam’s Dad/ mentioning abuse, graphic depiction of violence, mention of suicide attempt.

Adam Parrish woke in the early hours on the third day after the alley. The pre-dawn glow streaming through the crack in his curtains cast shadows on the plants and books covering his shelves. Eyes heavy and throat raw, Adam took a deep breath. In through his nose, oxygen flooding his lungs, battling to release the weight that had long since laid claim on the space behind his ribs. He held it until he thought he might choke. Vision blurring, heartbeat hammering in his ears, a pulsing reminder that he was still here; then in a rush, he released. The momentary weightlessness was a small reprieve.

The tiny arm slung across his abdomen a reminder that, at least for now, he wasn’t alone. Blue had crawled into his bed the afternoon before and stayed with him through the long night. Adam moved her arm off and slid as carefully and quietly as he could from the bed, he didn’t wish to wake her. She needed sleep, the exhaustion evident on her face even now. 

He moved toward the window, reaching out to open his curtains, allowing the morning light to flood in. And there he stood, hand still holding the curtain, eyes trained on the horizon. He remained unmoved, watching the sun crawl from the earth bathing everything in its path in colors Adam had never seen. They were fresh, warm, soft. They stole his breath and for a moment, a lifetime, he stood frozen and allowed that hopeful warmth to settle in his bones. In awe of the majesty of nature, swallowed whole by the gift of color, broken by it. 

His breath stuttered.

The man in the alley would never see a sunrise, or a sunset. He had given Adam this gift and left mere hours before Adam could have reciprocated. His thoughts spiraled, fingers tightening on the curtain, eyes burning. The sunrise moved from photographic clarity to an impressionist painting, and salt kissed his lips.

“Adam…” Blue breathed from his side, reaching out and pulling aside the second curtain to allow a full view.

“It’s-” Adam choked on a whisper, “It’s magnificent, and he’ll never see.”

~~

Adam spent the rest of the week coping in the only way he knew how: throwing himself into his jobs and school work. Blue and Henry had closed ranks, showering him with their own personal versions of love. 

For Henry, it was distraction, mindless conversation, a steady companionship during hours in the library. Henry Cheng, though initially someone Adam never saw friendship potential in, was more than most gave him credit for. On the outside, he was loud. From his clothes to hair, he was unabashedly himself: caring, vibrant, loyal. Adam appreciated the effort, never pressured to talk about what was clearly tearing him apart. 

Blue was the opposite, in a very Blue way. She brought him coffees and hugs, asked him about his mood, and made highly unsubtle references to “healthy coping mechanisms.” She was kind but stern, pushing him towards what he knew logically was the next step. But this trauma was too big, too heady to file away in the closet in his mind marked “DANGER.”

It had been a little over a week since he watched his first true sunrise when Blue decided to take off the kid gloves.

“Look.” Her voice was as unwavering as her eye contact, sitting next to him on the chipped-white metal bench in the alley beside Nino’s Cafe where they took their break. Nino’s was his second job, and Blue’s “fun money/ free caffeine” job, covering the hours she wasn’t working on her photography portfolio.

Adam held her gaze, and his breath. Her tone brokered no room for argument, and he knew he had spent enough time avoiding answering anything truthfully… Her forcing a “talk” on him was inevitable. He nodded once to indicate he was listening, and waited for her to continue.

“I know you aren’t ready to talk, and that is completely fine. I won’t bullshit you and pretend I have any idea what kind of pain you’re in. No- no,” she held up a finger to cut off Adam’s rebuttal. “Don’t shake your head and feed me you’re ‘i’m fine’ because we both know you’re not. That being said you’re a grown ass man, who makes his own decisions and I respect that. But, Adam?”

He cocked his head to the side, and made a noncommittal grunt.

“You need to do something. You know I always advocate therapy, but -don’t scoff asshole- but, I’m also aware that it’s ‘not your thing’ so I had another idea. Here,” Blue thrust a bag towards Adam. It was a recycled paper shopping bag, rolled at the top and lighter than he expected.

“What’s this?” He asked.

“Open it.”

He unrolled the bag skeptically and peered inside. His right eyebrow hitched as he looked away from the bag’s contents and towards Blue. “The fuck?”

“Letters. That’s my idea. Something I never told you but, when my dad left I had all this rage and I had no one to direct it towards. My mom got me a pack of envelopes and blank paper and told me to try writing a letter to him. She told me I didn’t ever have to send what I wrote to him if I didn’t want too, and I didn’t. The act of venting everything in a direct way really helped me, it was more than a diary, or whatever, because these were shots at an intended target. I could be mad and then seal it in an envelope and the weight in my chest lifted a little. I thought maybe…” She motioned towards the bag with a crooked smile and a shrug.

“Letters…” Adam repeated. “To a dead guy?”

“Yes.”

“Blue, I don’t know.”

“Look, just take the damn bag. Do it, or don’t. I can’t and wont force you. But at least consider it.” Then she rose to her full height, the most intimidating 5 feet he had ever seen, giving him what could only be called a “mom look” and sauntered back inside.

~~

That night, weighted down by grief and half delirious with exhaustion, Adam opened the bag. He pulled out the box of white envelopes, cracked open the pack of college-rule paper, and grabbed a black pen from the cup at the right of his desk. This is so stupid, he thought as he put his pen to paper...

i. You, I never knew your name. You left before I ever had the chance to ask. I wish more than anything that I knew your name, at least then I’d be able to grieve a person instead of a stranger in an alley. You were… Exquisite. Even floating in a pool of your own life, you were beautiful. You were. Past tense. Gone. I dreamed of knowing you. The idea of you, in abstract my whole life. I didn’t know who you’d be, but, still I dreamed. It was my secret. The odds of finding your soulmate are so slim these days, and yet… In the quiet hours of the night, bone tired and barely standing at work, or when the hunger pains threatened to cripple me, I’d pull you out of the careful place in my mind, and dream. It’s dangerous to dream. I know better now. You fucking left me. How dare you? It’s probably a good thing you’ll never read these letters. Blue, my best friend, suggested I write them to help me “find closure.” That’s very Blue. She’s all about self-care and talking through feelings. Henry, my other friend, agrees with her. So here I am, attempting to vomit my heart on a page in hope of finding some semblance of peace. There is so much I wish I could have told you, and so much more that would have terrified me to admit. That’s one benefit to your never knowing me I suppose... Honestly, it was probably for the best that, in the end, you never had the chance to try knowing me. I’m a disaster. I’m unknowable. And that’s, fine. Ya know? I’m okay, I think. Holding onto that which sets me apart, and working my hardest to  fix everything else that’s in my power. That’s how I got here, Georgetown. I did it myself.  That’s something I would have told you, because it’s something I am proud of, though I’ll never say. I worked 3 jobs through highschool, made straight A’s, volunteered, and slaved away. I saved money in a shoebox under a loose vent in my trailer to buy books. My dad would have killed me, literally, if he’d ever found that. I was supposed to give them everything, but I hid that. I hid so much. I got really good at hiding in that place. Henrietta… What a fucking shit show. Anyways, I saved and pushed myself. I think I ate maybe once a day for those years, if I was lucky? I know I barely slept. But it was worth it the day the acceptance letter came in the mail. Georgetown. 3 hours away. A world away. A full ride. I was so fucking happy that day, I even allowed myself to dip into the shoebox to buy a coke fom the gas station by the autoshop I worked at. That was my life then, and still is now, to some extent. Small rewards, focus on the bigger picture. Work, work, work, and then one day have the power and money, the status, the ability to fight for people like me. I had barely put the box back when my dad, Robert, saw me holding my acceptance letter, and a $20. I wasn’t allowed to have money in my room, even if I made it myself. It was “for the family” he always said. “Do you want us to starve?” “you think you’re so fancy at your charter school don’t you?” always the same. Always cruel. So I’m standing there, money and letter in hand, smiling like an idiot when he comes in. I’ll never forget that day. I’d taken so many beatings from him by the time I was 17, it was second nature really. But this one? For some reason it surprised me. I thought for sure that he would be capable of some sense of joy. I got into college, for free. But Robert wasn’t like that. I could smell the beer on his breath. Keystone, always fucking Keystone. It smells like piss. It still makes me gag.  “What the fuck is that?” he asked. And I didn’t know how to respond. I remember stuttering. I was always stuttering, mumbling, hiding, lying. Anything to avoid the inevitable. “I asked you a question, boy.”  I panicked. “Its, uh, a letter, sir. An acceptance letter. From college. I-I got in.” Apparently it wasn’t the right response. I don’t remember much after that, I know he told me I had no right to hide money because I “owed him.” I always owed him. For breathing, for having the audacity to live. That night was the worst I can remember though. He wouldn’t stop. He was screaming about how I wasn’t allowed to just leave. I took more hits than usual, but I could have handled it. I’m no stranger to broken bones and bruises. But I was so scared this time. I knew, somehow I knew that this was it. If I didn’t get out he was going to kill me. Kill me because of a $20 and a full ride. I tried to run. I did.  I never made it very far though. He caught me, and the last thing I remember was a screaming pain in the left side of my head. I don’t know why I’m even writing all this, maybe Blue and Henry were right? I’ve never even told them all of this. I really doubt I would have told you this had I been given the chance. I would have stuck to the barest details: Deaf in left ear. Accident. Long time ago. I don’t talk to my parents.  Or maybe I wouldn’t have hid…Soulmates are a safe space right? Through whatever magic, or science, or God (if you believe in one of those, I don’t- hope you wouldn’t have cared) we are supposed to be able to share it all. A balance. A quiet place. A home. I wonder what you would have said if I told you? I hope it wouldn’t have been pitying. I don’t do pity. I’ll never know that though, which is maybe a relief? I don’t know. I hope you would have been proud though, that I did get out. Of what I’m doing with my life now. I haven’t even told “you” have I? I got a double Bachelors in Political Science and Conflict Resolution. I’m currently taking a Masters in Public Policy. I know, most people see “Georgetown” and “Politics” and think “Here’s another white guy with dreams of power.” But it’s not that. I’m going to change things, my thesis is on Domestic Violence: prevention and programs. I’m going to fight for the kids like me, in the homes like mine. I’m going to fight for every time I didn’t hit back. Every bruise and broken bone. I’m going to change the world for the Adam Parrish’s. I’m going to bring an end to the Roberts.  That’s what I’m doing now. I guess I’ll be okay without you. I’ve always been better at work than relationships anyway. If we’re being honest you probably would have hated me. I’m terrible with making time for anyone. I have goals though, I don’t have the luxery to fuck around. I’m not conducive to a partnership, and I’m not even sure I’d be capable of love.  I would have tried for you though.  Maybe you needed that. Maybe if you’d had it, love, you wouldn’t have ended up in the alley. I don’t know. I wish I could ask you why. I just… fuck. This letter is getting severely out of hand.  It doesn’t matter why you did it.  You did. And that’s that I suppose.  Forever a mystery, the man with the beautiful face and ice blue eyes. “I used to build dreams about you.” - F. Scott Fitzgerald, Benediction That’s all you are now. A dream.

He folded the pages in thirds, slipping them in an envelope, and sealing them away. On the outside he wrote the number one, then slid the envelope into a crack between one of his potted plants and a row of books on his window sill. Then Adam crawled into bed and finally slept; for once it was a dreamless- restorative sleep.

~~

Shattered heart hanging heavy in his chest, Adam looked up when the bell above the door to Nino’s chimed the arrival of a new patron. The young couple made their way towards the counter. The smaller man leaning lovingly into the side of his partner, while the taller man looked down lovingly, arm draped across the first’s shoulders. It was a quiet moment, something so personal and beautiful Adam looked down, he didn’t want to intrude. His hands were shaking, a bitter jealousy crashing like waves in a storm through his entire being. He took a steadying breath, trying to quell the rage, and uncapped the black marker, grabbing a cup to prepare to take their order. 

“Hi,” he bit out through his customer service smile. He looked up from the cup in hand, allowing a little of his Henrietta lilt to color his words into something close to friendly. “Welcome to Nino’s, what can I get started for you today?” 

“Hi! Can we please get a- Oh, wow!” The shorter man had stopped mid-sentence and leaned close to Adam across the counter. “Your eyes are so blue! Babe, have you ever seen eyes so beautiful?” Adam wanted to fucking snap. The larger man leaned in as well and hummed in approval.

“No I haven’t, sorry. I know this is probably so inappropriate,” he leaned back, tone placating. “We don’t mean to make you uncomfortable, this is just all new for us-”

Adam didn’t fucking care.

“-Anyways, can we please get two Americanos, and a a slice of apple pie with two forks?”

Of course, Adam nodded. He finished the order and made the drinks with shaking hands and a barely controlled rage burning him from within, blooming pink across his cheeks.

 He couldn’t breathe. 

When he returned home, he slammed his door and flew to his desk; practically tearing a lined sheet from the pile of supplies from Blue and began to write. Pen pressed so hard small tears formed in the paper as he purged…

ii.

You.

Fuck you for what you did. For what you did to yourself. What you did to that man in the alley. Screaming. Begging. Holding you together.

 For what you did to me. 

I hate you. 

I hate that I love you. The idea of you. Because you couldn’t even wait for me. I never got the chance to love the real you, and I loathe you for it.

You fucking left me alone.

All this goddamn color, all these beautiful things, and I’m still living in black and white. 

I’m drowning.

You were my hope. 

You were my end game. Sometimes, I fear you’ll be my end. 

I can’t get away from the idea of you.

I see your face every time I close my eyes.

You’re haunting me.

You’re ruining me.

Fuck you. 

I hate you.

Fuck, You.

You…

Why did you leave me all alone?

When he finished his breath was ragged, chest rising and falling in heavy swells. Angry tears drying splotches across the page before him, turning certain words into a blurry but still legible watercolor. He threw his pen across the room, shoved the letter into the envelope marked 2, and placed it alongside the first. 

~~

Adam spent the remaining days of September numb. He had taken to carrying a few sheets of paper and envelopes in his messenger bag in case he ever needed them. 

It was on one particular afternoon -two days before September ended- as he sat in Nino’s sipping coffee and staring blankly at the textbook in front of him, that he wrote his third letter. He felt untethered, unbalanced, the sky outside was such a pale blue that his mind began to wander. With a sigh, he pulled out a sheet of paper, and an envelope marking the outside with the number three. 

iii.

You,

I’m so lost…

I can’t fall asleep without seeing your eyes.

Unfocused.

Unblinking. 

Ice cold.

Fathomless.

Broken.

I wonder how they looked when you were happy… I hope you were happy, truly happy. At least once there before the end.

I bet they were beautiful.

Come back.

Please…

Adam stayed staring at that plea, that unanswered wish, until his coffee was cold. He wondered if this would ever end, he wasn’t unfamiliar with want. Adam had wanted more than anyone he had ever known. He was accustomed to the pain, the resentment that came with wanting that which you cannot have, but unlike all the other times this was wholly unattainable. No amount of extra shifts, A’s on homework, perfect test scores, hard-work would ever give him this particular want. 

He packed his bag slowly, tossing his coffee in the trash by the door and waving half-heartedly at his coworker behind the counter. The bell chimed his departure and he made his way out into the chilly September afternoon. The walk from Nino’s to his apartment was blessedly short. As he rounded the corner at the end of the block he was assaulted by the acrid smell of smoke.

Adam looked up, chill already forgotten, for the source and his eyes landed on a peculiar sight: A handsome man, in a nice crisp peacoat and cashmere scarf. Standing, hands clasped behind his neck, staring into the open maw of a smoking, Candy-Orange, ‘73 Camero.

“Hey!” he half shouted, making his way towards the gentleman, his greeting had clearly disturbed an emotional crisis. “Hey, sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you, did you maybe need some help?”

“Oh, hi. Yes, Hello. I’m, no thank you. I’m alright. I’ll give someone a call, The Pig is an auto-shop frequent flyer I’m afraid. Though, I’ve never seen it smoke quite so heavily.” The man half laughed, and shook his head.

“I don’t mind, I’m actually a mechanic down at Boyds. I can take a peak and see if I can do anything here if you’d like? Save you a trip.”

“Are you sure? I’d be more than happy to pay y-”

Adam shook his head fiercely, “No need. I’m Adam, by the way.” 

He held out his hand towards the man, who grasped his in kind. A vibrant smile lit his face, “Lovely to meet you Adam, I’m Gansey.”

[the-pan-ace-writings]

Chapter 11 Things left unspoken

    First Previous  Masterlist  

 As soon as she was able to function without feeling extremely nauseous and could breathe without the ache in her ribs she left for Nick Valentine’s office.      “Nick, it's going to be a little bit before I continue our investigation, I just.. I can't right now. I-” her voice cracked and she looked at the door frame she was leaning in refusing to look at Nick at that moment. She felt him place a hand on her shoulder comfortingly.     “You take your time, its a lot. Come back here when you’re ready.”      “Thank you.” it was whispered before she turned away from his office, she tried to walk with her normal confidence but it was clear she was starting to crack again. She felt weak. Like when she had just exited the vault, it took her a long time to collect herself and glue composure back together. She just wanted to go back before things had started to fall through. 

    She steeled herself before she entered the room again. She had been fixing her armor before she had left, she could hear the water running in the restroom.      She spent the majority of the time collecting and packing her ruck, and she had finished equipping her armor when MacCready had stepped out of the restroom dressed and damp towels in hand.      “Where are Winlock and Barnes anyway?”      “Mass pike interchange, they’ve set up on the old overpasses.” He started packing up his own ruck and had swung his newly cleaned rifle over his shoulder. “It's probably a day worth of travel”      Dogmeat had gotten up from his spot on the bed and was now standing near the door wagging his tail anxiously looking back at them. Riona shook her head in amusement at the dog.      “I guess we’re starting now.” She double checked her equipment and opened the door.      The market place was surprisingly busy for the time of the morning it was but It was still manageable to maneuver, they were just about to leave before MacCready insisted on stopping to collect more medical supplies.      “We went through a lot the last time we went out, should get more.” He went off with Dogmeat for a moment and Riona sat down on a fence trying to plot out the best way to get to the interchange, she had decided to avoid going towards the west tunnel of the interchange because it was likely collapsed. She was still working on plotting out their path when they had returned, MacCready was looking over her shoulder leaning on the fence she was perched on, She tipped it towards him to show their path.      “Figured we could go up north, then west to take the bridge than to try going through the tunnels.” She looked up at him expectantly waiting for him to give feedback.      “Looks good Boss,” He said with a smile and pushed off the fence waiting for them to leave.      They traveled with relative ease until they hit a portion of the city MacCready had called hangman's alley. Riona grumbled, they would have to clear this before they could continue, She tugged on her helmet and put her visor in place before flicking on her sword.     They both could hear a firefight going on in the near distance which set them on edge.      “Cready’ watch our back” She was already crouched down by one of the doors to enter hangman’s alley, trying to unlock the chained doors. Once they swung open it the alley broke into chaos.      There was a guard post right next to the door, she immediately climbed up onto it and gutted the raider that stood post there. She could hear others running from their dilapidated shacks, and hear one or two yells in the signature psycho high. Dogmeat had bolted in after her and crashed into another raider, pinning them down on the ground, Riona had made short work of the entrapped raider.      MacCready had taken out a raider that was perched upon one of the roofs, that was taking aim down at Riona. Of which was currently fist fighting a psycho raider, it took mere seconds for Riona to lose her patients with the raider who had managed to disarm her. She had kicked his legs out from under him and slammed his head into the workbench that she was previously pinned against, a curtain of red dripping down from it and her face splattered.      It was a relatively short battle and one that only Riona had managed to come out dirty. But she was excited to continue their journey, she was excited to have an attainable goal, something physical and something she knew the outcome. So when she took off her visor and helmet she was beaming, s look MacCready hadn't seen on her before.      “You just like killing' things dontcha?” he knocked his shoulder into hers, she pushed back and looked up at him.      “I'm just glad to be getting stuff done.” she placed her visor and sword back at her hip, before biting her lip and looking away from him fiddling with a strap on her shoulder. “We should only be going north for a little bit more.”      It was relatively quiet for being in the outdoors, occasionally Dogmeat would bolt off to collect some items that Riona hadn't seen. It was a peaceful kind of silence that had become rare in the commonwealth and even rarer when if you traveled the commonwealth often. Riona had decided to start flicking through the radio stations and had settled on the diamond city radio, which had been playing jovial songs.      “I wonder how they managed to find so many different songs after the bombs, their tapes had been hard to keep before.” She was just saying what floated off her mind at the moment and occasionally humming along. MacCready seemed momentarily surprised before looking down at her again.     “What was it like? Before the bombs?” He tried to sound nonchalant, not wanting to dive into her past and make her uncomfortable. She hummed and pulled on the lapels of her coat, it was becoming the time of year that she would expect to see snow soon, her new coat and armor doing little now to defend against the chill.      “It was… Different. It wasn't violent near our homes or in our towns but it felt like it could happen any day. There were supply shortages all the time for the home front, almost everything had been pushed to back our military. Cars couldn't drive, there was no fuel for anything that wasn't deemed important, and the fusion cars that are left on the roads today were too expensive and hard to obtain. We were waiting for the shoe to drop...I was apart of the Army before. They had just started a real campaign into fusion power, it was powered the majority of what we had left, it was introduced into schools and hospitals which had been important enough to keep power. Our armor was powered by it, and it was mostly what our group troops had used.      I had joined when I turned 18, it was in the middle of the riots in Canada, almost immediately after my training they sent my unit to the Alaskan front. I couldn't tell you how long we were there on that front but I had finished my first contract on that front. I was a little less than two years into my second contract when I was sent home, pregnant.      I was forced back home. I hated it. Back to Nate, a coward. He thought it was a good thing, glad that I was pregnant, even though it wasn't going to be his. He thought a baby would fix our marriage. We never should have gotten married in the first place, he was nervous when I had joined, and when I came home from basic he insisted we get married.      He got to enjoy the creature comforts that my service rewarded, the home in Sanctuary, and easier access to supply. When I got home I had taken up needlepoint just trying to forget what I had seen and to forget who I lived with. It all felt like a blur at that point.      When Shaun was born it was like a little light had been brought into my blur of life, I poured everything else I had at that point into caring for him. He wasn't even a year old when the bombs fell when he was stolen.” she was silent, and pulled at her fingers, adjusting anything that her hands could find, anything to avoid looking at MacCready after her likely oversharing. She hadn't thought of before in real detail until he had asked, it was something she had never really wanted to delve into when there were other things to do. She frowned, it was deep, her brow was furrowed. “I'm sorry, you're not here for a life story, it was chaotic before, difficult to navigate, this, today is much easier to manage.” It was short, stern and not really open for anything else.      “Riona, I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories or upset you.” He was soft spoken, something which surprised Riona entirely, she met his eyes and noticed how incredibly worried he seemed momentary, he seemed extremely stressed out about the whole scenario at this point. She didn't like it.     It was silent once again before she pointed out that they had to start traveling west on the road they had met. Dogmeat had found a large stick that he was dragging along the road and kept bounding between the both of them. She was smiling once again, as she picked up a smaller stick and chucked it for the dog, Of which bolted after it leaves the small tree he was dragging behind. Dogmeat had crashed into her when he returned with his stick, knocking her off balance and nearly to the ground when MacCready had caught her. She laughed lightly as she straightens, collecting the stick to toss for dogmeat.      “Thank you Cready’” it was like playing with Dogmeat had taken years off of her, the normal scowl marks and stern face had melted into a warm smile.      It was MacCready’s turn to throw Dogmeat's stick when he had bounded back towards them, When he looked at Riona she was fixing her hair, pulling it from the messy bun into a braid that hit on her mid-back.      “How old are you?” it came out thoughtlessly, slipped from his tongue without a moment of thought put into it. She looked up at him, eyes wider than normal. He was beet red and was stammering an apology.     “25, I think. Give or take a few hundred years” She chuckled at that and bumped into his side. “Cready’ it's not that big of a deal, don't worry bout’ it.” She had half a mind to laugh at him, she had no idea he could get so flustered over something like that. “How old are you then?”      He looked strained for a moment, deep in thought and she thought he wasn't going to answer her until he spoke. “22” She was surprised, it was only three years but she would have guessed that he was at least her age or older, with how stressed he looked all of the time. She supposed a life out in the commonwealth would do that to you though.    “Oh, I didn't expect that,” she laughed, trying to lighten the mood again. He smiled     “What? You expect me to be old like you, huh?” He had a grin growing as he looked down at her. She feigned offense, pressing a hand to her chest and putting a haughty look upon her face.      “Well, I'll be! I'm not old! You're just jealous” she was laughing fully leaning against MacCready as they walked, it had fallen quiet again, songs from the radio slowly filtering in. Dogmeat had joined them again and was currently struggling between carrying his throwing stick and another small tree. She had checked the map on her pip-boy, they were probably a few more hours out.     They walked close for a while, she was worrying her lip again when she let out a small huff and wound her arm through his without saying a word, she had a slight blush graced across her face, which only deepened when she felt his handset on top of hers.     They stayed like that, undisturbed on their travels to mass pike interchange, they stopped about a half hour out to set up in an abandoned shack to rest through the night. 

Next

[frozs]

I only have twelve bullets, and you’re all gonna have to share: Chapter 1/4

Summary:

Hidan and Rock Lee race around the world trying to find Orochimaru, the dickhead who made Hidan immortal. Deadpool inspired fic.

Warnings: Swearing and shit, Hidan x Ino (Is that even a warning? idk) 

Word Count: 3, 527 

@syndellwins​

“For peace, and silence, we have our sacrifices that make Konoha, and the rest of the world yearn for peace…”

All Hidan could hear was: blah blah. blah, blah blah.

(Blah blah).

“For The Will of Fire, amen.”

Everyone said amen at once, except for Hidan, who wasn’t paying attention. His girlfriend, Ino, was sobbing quietly into a polka dot handkerchief next to him. Hidan had only turned up because Ino demanded he pay respects to her father, who’d lost his life during The Fourth World War. He’d been in the intelligence division, and although he didn’t like Hidan very much, Inochi supported their “relationship” - if you could call it a relationship. It definitely wasn’t a normal relationship.

Inopig - Ino’s pet miniature pig - was sitting on a cushion next to Ino, whose handkerchief matched the frilly vest she’d dressed the little creature in. On Hidan’s side was probably some other blonde haired, blue eyed Yamanaka who looked at him accusingly as if he shouldn’t be there.

Ino had said that Hidan should come along to the memorial service, especially because it was religious, and told him to pay his fucking respects as he was a good little god-fearing twit, wasn’t he?

Ino and Hidan were both snarky fuckers who somehow managed to make their relationship work in a war zone. The Yamanakas played a large part in the war, in the area of intelligence-gathering and interrogation. Ino was promoted to head of interrogation after the enemy blew up HQ, and quickly she and Hidan became a close-knit team; she as the interrogator, and he the torturer.

They had mostly argumentative hate sex in the secluded dugout where nobody went - once even someone got shot and died just as they finished. Ino had pushed away, saying that was disgusting. Hidan had paid more attention to the blood splatter on his face while Ino grumbled about getting brains and half an eyebrow on her skirt before they went back to work. Sai came to announce that they’d captured a Kumo spy, so Hidan went to rip their fingernails off with pliers while Ino calmly spoke to them, trying to extract information about the Raikage’s whereabouts, all while giving them a good look at her cleavage.

Hidan had been staring at Ino’s leg for the last few minutes, thinking about the amount of sacrifices he had made to Jashin during the war. Was it eighty-five, or eighty-six sacrifices?

It was definitely eighty-six, said the little fucked up voice named Jashin in his head. Ino elbowed him in the ribs, so he stopped and pretended to pay attention to the long list of names of those who sacrificed their lives for the Fire, Wind, River and Steam countries to ensure peace in the world.

He left the shitty temple with its shitty wooden pews before the shitty people attempted to have an even shittier conversation with him. He was regarded as batshit insane compared to the rest of the folk in Konoha. He was the only person in the world who was pissed the war was over. Hidan was a soldier, not a civilian, and he was not interested in the sissy civilian life of working at a supermarket scanning tampons at eleven o’clock at night - something which might even happen if he continued to be broke and acted like he was talking to some crazy fucker in his head named Jashin all the time.

There was a military parade in the afternoon following the memorial service, showcasing the surviving Konoha, River and Suna soldiers doing the goose step. They looked strong and serious, chins up with rifles to their left side and headbands showing their alliances. Floats with papier mache animals moved their eyes forward and back, as people used rods to move the hands up and down as if they were waving. A marching band played in front of the parade. He recognised the song they were playing, Soldiers of The Old Home Guard, while the leaders of Konoha and Suna, the Hokage and the Kazekage, waved from their seats politely, opposite Hidan and the crowd of mostly women and children clapping and cheering. They didn’t even ask Hidan to participate as the only remaining Yugakure soldier left.

He could figure out why he hadn’t been invited to join in. The nickname Hidan of Hot Water stuck, because of his foul temper, and it was almost as though steam came out of his ears when he was shouting. Not to mention he was from a tourist resort, not a military state. Sometimes he wouldn’t have minded putting his bayonet into asshole Konoha soldiers who smirked when he muttered his prayers at nightfall by the glow of a matchstick (they’d taken his fucking candles) who said that their religion, The Will of Fire, was the correct and only religion that mattered. Hidan tried to argue that it wasn’t a religion, it was more of a tradition, but nobody cared.

Burnt out crates littered Konoha like strays, as nobody had got rid of them yet. Blackened buildings were a common sight. The smell of dirt permeated the air as people’s shoes scuffed up the dirt, making the ground look like brown fog. He could see the parade bringing in more floats of Mount Myoboku, the legendary One Tail and including one that was marked WILL OF FIRE with people handing out pamphlets.

Hidan took one anyway. Be Loyal To Your Country, it read. “Fucking patriotism at its worst,” he mumbled. “Ow!”

Inopig bit Hidan’s ankle and snarled at him. Well, as much of a snarl as a pig the size of a piggy bank could muster. A few people looked around in surprise.

Hidan snarled back - that pig fucking hated him, and he returned the feeling. “What do you want?” he snapped. Usually Inopig had a reason to be following him around, usually outside the interrogation room while he was having a break after slowly pushing pencils into people’s ears while they screamed in glorious agony. He spotted on Inopig’s collar a note shoved between the skin and the ugly jeweled band covering her fat neck.

“Don’t bite - for fucks sake - ow!” Hidan managed to get the note off Inopig before she pushed her snout into his hand to bite him a second time. Pulling himself onto a nearby bench so that Inopig wouldn’t try to attack him again, he read, in Ino’s neat handwriting, Hidan get your ass over here right now, someone’s been looking for you! on ornate Yamanaka Flowers Stationery.

He followed Inopig through the narrow rubble-covered streets of Konoha, ignoring the stares, currently from a mix of Suna and Konoha folk with banners and rifles. Konoha was slowly getting back on its feet after a more than a year of war against the neighbouring large countries. As Inopig and Hidan approached Yamanaka Flowers, he realised there were now little chairs outside with umbrellas over them, and the blackboard a-sign announced new stock: candles, keyrings, vegan treats, stationery sets in store now!

“Oi! Angel of the Morning. You sell candles and vegan shit now?” Hidan said loudly, entering Yamanaka Flowers. Ino didn’t look up, until he reached up where the top lock was on the door and dinged the bell loudly several times with his finger. Ding ding.

Ding.

Dingdingdingdingding-

“I can hear you, shut up,” Ino said, turning around and crossing her arms. Inopig trotted to her owner, who patted her on the head and gave the pig a treat. Inopig squealed in delight, then plonked down on the cushion she usually occupied in the shop corner. Her beady eyes remained on Hidan, who glowered back.

“Can’t you send a carrier pigeon next time, jeez? My poor ankle.” Hidan pulled up a camouflaged leg to show a dark red mark. He didn’t seem to have a spare change of clothes that weren’t the Yugakure military uniform.

“Hmm…” Ino put a finger to her lips and looked up at the ceiling. She spend a few seconds pretending to actually reconsider using a carrier pigeon instead of Inopig to send messages.

“Well?” asked Hidan impatiently.

She smiled. “No.”

Figures. Hidan pretended to look interested in the new stock shelf which had been decorated with plastic orchids.

“What do you want?” Hidan wasn’t even going to try and be nice. Ino knew Jashin came first, and she came a very, very distant second in Hidan’s life. “Is someone pissed at me again?”

“Someone asked me to hand this to you,” said Ino, tapping her finger at a piece of paper while she balanced flower stalks on those metal spike things so they held up on display - Hidan forgot what they were called. “It’s like a Jashin meeting, or something?”

He perked up at the word Jashin.

“Really?” He stalked over and swiped up the paper. It was on pale blue card, typed out neatly, informing that there was a Way of Jashin meeting tomorrow, at the local temple that had held the memorial service this morning. “There must be a Lord Jashin follower around here. Like for fuck’s sake, I thought I was the only one.” He pulled his hair back, cherishing the card as if it was his firstborn.

His heart - his cold dead heart - as Ino called it, felt happy, instead of moody and shitty since the war was over. Ino shrugged. She had no interest in Jashin, and she was up-front about it. One of her hobbies was intentionally pissing Hidan off about it for fun.

“You better go then, see what other freaks will be there who also like taking pleasure in the suffering of others.”

“I think I will,” Hidan put the blue card and put it in his back pocket, “Might find myself a hot Jashinist girl, and we can go sacrificing some lambs together.”

“How romantic,” Ino remarked, with more than a hint of sarcasm. She had finished putting the stalks on the spikes, and was placing them carefully in vases for the front shop window. Inopig had stretched her trotters out and was now snoring loudly.

“I better prepare,” said Hidan, and he waved as he walked out the shop. “See you, bitch.”

“Bye, dickhead.”

In retrospect, he really should have realised something was up, because Jashin followers were almost nonexistent. He knew of several, but they weren’t soldiers - they owned butcher shops, mostly, but spent their night sacrificing lambs in caves and carving the circle-triangle symbol into their chests while screaming in glorious Jashin-filled agony.

Hidan ignored the parade on the way back, which had almost finished up by the time he had crossed the main streets to get back to his hotel. Ino’s mother refused to let him stay in the Yamanaka apartment after Ino mentioned that her boyfriend was a Jashin follower and that they were also pretty mean to each other on purpose. The foreign soldiers were currently staying at the hotel. River and Suna soldiers were just about to get out a pack of cards to play in the lobby after their bit in the parade had finished. They whispered when he approached, gossiping about his exploits during the war.

“Eighty-three hits? Wow.”

“Yeah, but he’s mental. He’s always going on about his delusional God.”

“Jashinists are weird as fuck. Just ignore him.”

He turned around to the Suna moron who had been polishing his headband. “It’s eighty-six confirmed hits, dickhead.”

He then spent the next twenty-four hours studying his scripture, as if he didn’t know it off by heart already. But there was always something new to be found in it, and he had sent off for a copy of the old testamental version through mail order to be delivered to his hotel room. Inopig didn’t come back with any more messages from Ino, so he stayed in his room. He used an old maths compass needle to re-carve his Jashin symbol into his chest, and then two onto the underside of his feet, which represented the earth he would walk on and its sacrifices made for him. Walking through the pain - literally - made him feel closer to God.

At six o’clock the next day, he dodged the crowds of happy veterans all fattening themselves up with ramen and yakitori. He recognised a few faces, such as Sai, who also worked in Intelligence with them, and Shikamaru, an old friend of Ino’s. Sai had that horrible smile on his stupid face again and Shikamaru raised his eyebrow only a tiny bit in acknowledgement when Hidan strolled past.

Can’t believe there’s a fucking Jashin meeting in this temple.

The temple, with its Konoha flags falling down from the ceilings, and polished wooden pews and floor, was empty. The lights were on, but no Jashin symbols… no nothing.

Feeling a bit pissed off, Hidan turned from the room to leave. Then the door slammed, and he hit the floor.

Now he knew he wasn’t here for any Jashinist meeting.

*

Feeling groggy as fuck (the only way he could describe it) and feeling as if someone had dumped him in a pool of anaesthetic, Hidan woke. His first thought was that he had been gassed with Zyklon B. Eyes blurry, head hurting and feeling as if his brain was sloshing around in his skull, his retinas burned as he squinted up at the blurred figures in front of him. He realised they were calling his name. He tried to answer but stopped when he saw who they were. He didn’t recognise them, but he knew the colours.

Two men dressed in Konoha flak jackets were smiling down at him. One of them had a white lab coat over the dark green uniform. Hidan was tied down with rope, sitting propped up with his arms pulled out in front of him like a doll. He could see red pinpricks on them. He was reminded of the children’s game heads down, thumbs up, except this was a much, much more gruesome version of it.

They definitely weren’t here for a Lord Jashin meeting.

“Fuck off, what the hell?! Is this revenge for accidentally putting those Fire country cunts in the gas chamber?!” A pale man with long black hair smiled and his tongue flicked out. It was long. It was even forked like a snake. Gross.

“I knew he was going to be hard to handle,” said the man with the ponytail and glasses. “After all this time, he’s finally woken up.”

“I am Orochimaru. My subordinate is very sorry for gassing you,” said Snake Man, not sounding very sorry at all, but looking down at Hidan’s body with interest. “Kabuto, give me the syringe.”

“What are you fucking doing, fucking nerd?!” Fucking Nerd’s white laboratory coat made him look s if he was going to give a speech on body creams in some CGI skin rejuvenation clinic. A syringe full of red liquid was produced from somewhere, and Hidan couldn’t move. Orochimaru jabbed the syringe into a vein in his arm. The liquid was blinding hot. Almost like he had thrown his arm into a hot spring back home, but hey, he had a high pain tolerance.

“What the hell are you doing!?” Hidan decided on a more nicer and less-sweary approach find out why these two weirdos from Konoha had kidnapped him and tied him up, which was upsetting because it wasn’t Ino doing it, and also put drugs and shit into his system.

“Well, put it this way, I’m going activate a few genes. You are Hidan of Hot Water, the only living soldier from Steam Country.” said Kabuto. “And we have been watching… certain soldiers. During the war. Eighty-eight confirmed kills. Nice.”

“Eighty-six, godless moron.” Why can anyone get it right?

“Out of everyone in the war, you were probably the bravest - yet you didn’t even receive the Kage Cross. You threw yourself into bombs, catching grenades - it’s like you wanted to die.”

“But then I got transferred to torture so that shit stopped,” said Hidan. “Why are you interested in me?”

“What if I told you we are all in a Infinite Tsukuyomi?” Orochimaru suddenly said, putting a long finger on the skin where he had just injected the liquid. Hidan’s blood seeped slowly underneath his finger, and he kept it there instead of getting a cotton ball or whatever the hell creepy Orochimaru had in his creepy room. It was dark, only lit by several candles, so Hidan had no idea where they were.

“Infinite Fucking What?”

Orochimaru sighed.

“This world is an illusion, Hidan.”

Hidan shook his head, strands of silver-purple hair falling over his eyes. “I’m not stupid.”

“It is,” said Kabuto, aka The Fucking Nerd. “Originally, we were all ninjas.”

Hidan gawked. “You’re fucking kidding me.”

Orochimaru and Kabuto raised their eyebrows as Hidan laughed, “Ninjas? Like those old assassins with the swords that stabbed themselves in the stomach when they got sad and shit? Let me go, freaks. I have better things to do then become a meth head.”

“During the Fourth Shinobi War, we were all placed in an illusion. My subordinate and I have figured out how to regain our original powers, but not our memories. My test subjects can do things like walk on water, become water. They can make things explode with only a few hand signals, and even create clones of themselves. They can become stronger than anyone else just by lifting a finger.”

“That’s nice,” Hidan said, not paying attention to them, but rather, seeing if he could somehow get himself out of the ropes. “Let me go, Snake Man.”

“We are bringing your powers back,” said Orochimaru. “We’ve done a lot of work while you were unconscious. Have a good look at yourself.”

Kabuto produced a small mirror from his lab coat, and Hidan had to now “take a good look at himself.”

His hair had grown at least an inch, and his eyes were crazy bloodshot. But that wasn’t what he cared about. The Jashin symbol - the infamous triangle in a circle - which he re-carved religiously into his chest once a week so it would never, ever heal - was gone. It had been a part of him since he was a teenager, since he’d crushed those bird eggs as part of his first sacrifice. The symbol had grown bigger and deeper over the years.

“How long has it been?”

“We knocked you out for a month, while we administered what we needed,” said Orochimaru. “In your real life - that is, the one where the Infinite Tsukuyomi doesn’t exist - you were definitely a ninja, although we do not know what powers you possessed, except for your healing powers and ability to not die.”

That is the true way of Jashin, the voice suddenly said in Hidan’s head. He perked up. Immortality. He knew that at the end of his life he would have been granted a spot by Jashin’s throne, the Death God of the Underworld, who watched over hell.

Wait.

“A month!?” he suddenly squawked. Ino would definitely think I’ve gone off with the rest of the people from that fake Jashin meeting…

“However,” Orochimaru flashed a smile. “I’d like to keep you. Usually those whom I have dealt with work for me afterwards. I think you’d be better off working for me. I myself am not immortal. Although I have the powers from our real world, I do not have what you have. I’m a little jealous, Jashin-boy.”

At this, Hidan realised that it wasn’t quiet in the room. Kabuto and Orochimaru now turned away, writing down notes on their clipboards and mumbling medical jargon Hidan didn’t understand. They said words like hemoglobin and thrombosis and platelet while Hidan listened in silence.

In the distance, he heard the screams of other people. A few minutes later, Kabuto pulled him up by the ropes, and pushed him out the door.

The torturer now being tortured. Fucking great. Candles lit the hallway, which meant that wherever they were in the world electricity hadn’t been restored yet. They passed cells of people, many of them with various muted colours covering their skin. Every single one of them had a mutation - wings out of one shoulder, bones covering their faces - and each was as ugly as the next one. The smell of death lingered when Kabuto shoved him into a small cell with nobody else in it.

For the next few days, every hour, on the hour (they forgot to take away his watch, turns out) they would come in with a syringe, or beat the shit out of him.

“You forgot I get off on that stuff,” he said as they slapped him, cut his arm away and watched it regrow. It hurt, but there was a high threshold of pain Hidan could take, and now everything felt numb and different to what he normally felt like. Watching a baby hand come out of his normal arm was a truly bizarre experience.

One day, being sedated after punching a guard with shark teeth in the face (whose face turned to water), Orochimaru cut his head off.

[miriannemiri]

Rogue Leader, Black Leader

Astonishingly, that prequel to Wingmates I said I might write is done.  It was requested for stakes in a wager, and then I ended up writing it all last night.  It just all came together, one of those fabulous moments when writing just works.

So, thank you to @kaelinaloveslomaris for both the prompt and the beta.  

The doomed mission and its immediate aftermath.  Contains brief mentions of unnamed characters dying.

Rogue Leader

The nexu roared as he caught it with his ‘saber, but Luke knew it wasn’t a debilitating wound.  This mission might well be the one he didn’t come back from.

Something had felt off about the mission—not least that he was assigned to a ground mission without any of the people he usually worked with.  The reasoning had been flimsy, wanting to have his Jedi awareness of danger because they were operating closer to the Core than usual and on a planet where they didn’t trust the governor was actually as on their side as she claimed.

He’d thought that the source of his unease at first, changed his opinion when he sensed Vader upon entering the system.  Nothing concrete, nothing that let him pinpoint the Sith’s actual location or even confirm he was nearby, instead of several systems away with his Death Squadron as reports indicated.  Nonetheless, he’d reinforced his shields as much as possible.

With so little to go on, he hadn’t mentioned it, but it had made him less cautious about that sense of unease.

Events a few moments ago had proved that relaxation had been a mistake.

They’d been jogging through a snowy forest to the rendezvous point where they were due to meet with their contact.  The mission leader had had a moderate lead, acting as scout, when they’d reached a meadow.  She had been a hundred meters into the meadow by the time the rest of the team left the trees, but she’d stopped and gestured for them to join up with her for a moment.  She hadn’t signaled danger, but something had twitched in the Force.  He’d quickened his pace, and the rest of the team had matched him.

She had reached for something on her belt, but he hadn’t had a chance to see what before the ground went out from under them, dropping them into a great pit with five hungry nexus.  With the leader still above, the nexus outnumbered them.  Luke had cursed and started to jump from the pit when one of the nexus swiped at him, but a sense of danger had him jumping back instead before a blaster bolt hit the ground right in front of him.  He hadn’t had time to investigate, grabbing his lightsaber and swiping at the nexu.

With the nexu distracted for a moment by its injury, he chanced a look up and found the person who’d shot at him—the woman who’d been leading the mission.  Worse, the pit was ringed with figures in the uniform of the governor’s personal guard.

Traitor.  For a moment, the voice in his mind sounded like Vader, but the death of one of his teammates pulled him from his fears that his anger with a traitor made him too similar to his father.

One of his still-living teammates had managed to get their back to the wall, blaster in their hands.  They were all right, for the moment.  The other had two nexus circling him, so Luke ran with Force-enhanced speed that let him get away from the nexu he’d injured for a moment.  He dodged several blaster bolts, but one of the circling nexus turned and lunged at him.  He dodged right into a blaster bolt.

It was a graze only, but it hit his forehead.  Blood covered half his face, got into his eye, and he fell to the ground as the world greyed for a moment.  That moment cost them.

Rage hit Luke hard, carrying a rush of energy with it, and he managed to stumble to his feet, away from the nexu that had been nosing him.  Both his teammates were down, and he could no longer sense the Force clearly.  Something was interfering.  A concussion?

Something black and red cut across his vision, and his head sang with pain and suddenly amplified sounds of combat.  Definitely a concussion.

Except that when he could see clearly again, the nexu was dead.

The red thing buzzed by his line of sight again, but this time, he got a better look at it.  A lightsaber.  A red lightsaber.

He looked up in time to see Stormtroopers corner the last of the soldiers on the rim while Vader leapt from the edge of the pit and caught his ‘saber on the way down.  The Sith landed in front of Luke, close enough the Sith’s cape brushed against him, and he felt dizzy.  He sank down, the tension he’d been feeling draining away.

His vision blurred for a time, but he heard the combat fade.  Then he heard Vader’s voice.  “Check for survivors from the Rebel team.  Ensure they are provided proper treatment for their injuries.  Do not mistreat them.”

Surprise made Luke blink his eyes open, not sure when he’d closed them.  He saw Vader walking over to him, but the fear he would have expected to feel just wasn’t there, even when the Sith crouched down and gathered him up.

Sleep, child.

The gentle voice carried him down into darkness.

Black Leader

Though he was certain the child would be horrified to see him there upon waking, might even blame him for the way the mission went wrong—and why wouldn’t he, after Bespin—Vader couldn’t bring himself to leave Luke’s side.

No one had known he was on the planet, no one but the troops he’d brought with him.  He’d had a premonition and acted on it, unwilling to lose Luke as he had Shmi.  (As he had Padmé, but he’d refused to acknowledge that, refusing to believe he would once again cause the loss with his actions.)  Still, that caution had made him come in secrecy, taking only a few troops and a ship that didn’t scream its association with the Imperial Military.  One of his personal ships that few knew was his, modified to be fast and difficult to track.

He’d had reason to be glad of his choice when he sensed his son pick up on his presence in the area, and he’d added to his shields just as the child had.  He’d been glad again when he arrived to find Luke already injured; the fast ship had made it easier to get Luke back to Executor quickly, rather than trust the nearest hospital.

A good thing, given what reports his subordinates had brought him about the planet’s governor while he paced before the bacta tank where Luke floated.  Traitor.  To both sides.

He hadn’t left the medical wing since he’d carried Luke inside.  While the medics had diagnosed and treated the child, he’d hovered.  While Luke had been in the bacta tank, he’d paced the room.  Now that Luke was sleeping peacefully, he’d relented enough to sit.  It had been a full day, and he was tired, but his bigger priority was that Luke might be less alarmed if he was not looming over the bed.

Vader could sense it when Luke’s mind shifted toward consciousness, and he braced himself for the child’s terror and rejection.  He doubted Luke even knew Vader had been the one to save him from the nexus, creatures that had given him too many flashbacks to an arena on Geonosis.  His son would carry scars from their claws, just as his wife had.  Luke’s shields had meant Vader nearly hadn’t gotten there in time, but he had.  That was what he had to remember; he didn’t have any hope Luke would believe him.

Luke turned, shifting, seeming to search for something.  His presence in the Force expanded, creating a far larger field of awareness.  That field brushed over Vader a second before Luke's eyes opened halfway, hazy and only half-aware but looking straight into Vader’s through the mask.

Instead of reacting badly, Luke smiled at him, closed his eyes, and drifted again, but the sense of the child’s Force presence remained wrapped around Vader.  He didn’t dare move, not wanting to disturb his son’s sleep, nor to end this short time when Luke had not only been glad to see him but trusted him to guard Luke while he slept.

The child only slept another thirty minutes before he woke again.  This time, he stiffened before he opened his eyes, and Vader knew it was his presence Luke had sensed.

“You are safe, young one,” he said.

Luke opened his eyes.

“I have ensured your injuries were treated.  When you have recovered, I will permit you to return to the Rebellion.  You have my word.”

For a long moment, Luke merely studied him without speaking, and he could sense the child using the Force to judge his honesty.  He made no attempt to hide his intentions.  “If my master learns you are aboard my ship, he will expect me to turn you over to him.  As I am unwilling to do that, I will allow you to leave.  Without tracking you.  No tricks.  No trap.  I came because the Force warned me you would be in danger.  That was my only motive this time.”

To Vader’s surprise, Luke only nodded.  “The rest of my team?”

“You were the only survivor.  I had my men check.”

“I know you did.”  Luke closed his eyes, and sorrow slipped through his shields.  Then he shook his head and looked back at Vader.  “What are my injuries?”

“You had a number of cuts where the nexus clawed you.  Two cracked ribs, probably from the fall into the pit.  Most seriously, you were hit by blaster fire twice, once on your thigh, mostly healed, and one to the head, leaving you with a concussion.  You will be spending another night in medical.”

“How long has it been?”

“Thirty hours.”

There was a long moment of contemplative silence, surprisingly comfortable.

“What now?” Luke asked eventually.

“Now, you focus on recovering.  You have nothing to fear from me or those under my command.”  When Luke’s stomach growled, Vader felt his scars stretch in a painful, unfamiliar smile.  “I will bring you something to eat.  It will not take me long.”

Indeed, he returned inside ten minutes with a tray he set down on Luke’s lap.  Then he sat quietly while the child ate.  Luke watched him periodically but didn’t speak.  By the time he finished eating, Vader could sense the child’s energy fading.

“Do you wish me to leave you to sleep in peace?”

“No.  Stay.  Please.”  Luke settled back in the bed.  “You’ve been here the whole time.  I don’t mind if you stay now.”

Pleased, touched in a way that was no longer familiar, Vader sank back into the chair at his son’s bedside.

In the next twenty-four hours, Luke woke more often.  Sometimes, he stayed awake long enough to eat and exchange a few words.  The rest of the time, he woke only long enough to confirm Vader’s presence.  Vader stayed the whole time.

A bit less than two hours before midday, Luke woke and stayed awake after he finished eating.  Vader summoned a medic into the room.  The medic discharged Luke, but they didn’t leave the private room immediately.  They were both aware of the significance of this moment.

“You may leave, as I promised.  I will provide you with an untraceable shuttle and credits to facilitate your return to your Rebels.”

“Or?” Luke asked after a moment.

Vader blinked.  “Or,” he said slowly, “we can attempt to reach an agreement between the two of us.”

“You want to bargain?”

“It is your choice, my son.  We both wish Palpatine dead, and I feel we would have a better chance of accomplishing that if we had some sort of cooperation established, but it is your decision now.”

The Force was completely still around them, giving no hint of guidance but clearly waiting, just as Vader was, for what Luke would decide.

“All right, Father.  Let’s talk.”

[thewitchandthebeasthimself]

The Witch and the Beast Himself: Chapter 11

I stood directly across from Izaya in my apartment with a fireball in my left hand, prepared to take him on. He stood across from me in my kitchen, posed in a fighting stance with his flick blade out and pointing at me. While he was right that I didn’t want to damage my apartment in any way, I needed to make it clear that he was not welcome to invade my home and that messing with me was a bad idea.

“Are you just going to stand there and gawk at me?” Izaya taunted me in English. “Or are we going to get this over with?”

“What are you even talking about?” I replied in English. “Why are you doing this to us?! All I wanted was a nice and peaceful life here but you continue to butt in!”

“I’ve already explained myself to you,” He responded. “Plus what made you think you were going to have a ‘nice and peaceful life’ here of all places? This city is brimming with dangerous savages and criminals. Nothing about this city is ‘nice and peaceful’. You signed up for this life once you moved here and started dating Shizu-chan, the most savage of them all. If you’ve found your person yet, then you should probably leave this city while you can.”

“I did find my person,” I replied, thinking of Celty. “And a few other great people along the way. They’ve become really great friends of mine and I am thankful to have them through all of this! Nothing you say is going to change my mind!”  

Celty’s outside! I thought. I need to get her attention, she could help me stop him!

“Yeah yeah,” Izaya waved his flick blade around as if to emphasize that he did not care either way. “They’ll turn on you once they find out who you are if they haven’t already.”

“No, you’re wrong,” I said. “Some have already seen it and continued to stay by my side.”

“I’m afraid that's where you're wrong. I’ve spent nearly my entire life watching and observing humans. They will turn their back on you the moment it is necessary for them to. Or worse, use you only for your power.” Izaya taunted. “You know why, (your name)? Because they’re human! All your friends are humans. It’s natural for humans to deny ideas and situations that they can’t understand even if it’s staring them dead in the face! Or they'll use you for their own means; they won't give a damn how you feel in the process because all you did was become beneficial to them. And that’s one reason why I love all humans, (your name)! I love every single one of them! Even the dangerous ones that make up this lovely hellhole!”

“You’re a fucking psychopath, Izaya. I’m done listening to you. Last warning, get the FUCK out of here RIGHT NOW before I burn your ass!”

He smirked at me as if my warning did not faze him, holding up his knife again. “You’ll realize it soon enough, (your name). I know every one of those humans you hang around. I know Celty. And I sure know that beast you're in love with.”

“I’m done listening to you!” I yelled angrily, charging at him with my fireball in hand to swipe it at him. He dodged me again by jumping to my left.

“Oop, too slow!” He laughed as he dodged my attack.

About as quickly as he jumped away from me I felt a jab of searing pain in my left side that pulsated throughout my body. I felt every move he made in almost slow motion as he shoved his flick blade into my side and quickly yanked it out. It took me a minute to realize exactly what just happened.

He stabbed me!  

“Ahhhh!!” I screamed out. My fireball went out as I bent over and held my side in pain. Struggling to catch my breath, I gasped as I looked up to see him point his blade in my face with an inch of my blood dripping from the tip. The sight of it shocked me, causing me to go hazy. My strength drained from my body; I began to feel weaker and weaker as I realized that he stabbed a vital pressure point. As I lost more blood I fell down on the ground, unable to move my body and gasping for air.

Dammit, I fucked up. After he mentioned Shizuo, I didn't stop to think about what I was doing before I acted. And now it has cost my life.

Izaya laughed at me again. “You didn’t see that coming, did you?! You’ve been hanging around Shizu-chan for too long! Unfortunate for you, you don’t have Shizu-chan’s retard strength! Well it was nice knowing you, (your name) and thanks for the blood. I’ve heard that a witch’s blood has powerful magic of its own, which I will put to the test. Buh-bye now!” I watched with blurry vision as he walked over to my living room window to jump out of it until a shadowy figure jumped over my body. It appeared to pull a bright silver katana straight out of it’s arm and lunged at Izaya. He quickly spun around to intercept its attack with his blood-coated flick blade. The clash of the two weapons caused him to lose his grip on his flick blade and sent it flying towards me. I watched in a dark daze as the flick blade slid and stopped in front of me as the two figures continued to fight. The last defining feature I caught of the shadowy figure before blacking out was it’s glowing red eyes.

**************************************************

Everything was a blur as I went in and out of consciousness. I caught glimpse of me laying down with my head in someone’s lap and being pulled by a black, shadowy horse drawn carriage. In another I heard Shizuo yelling incoherently at the top of his lungs. The rest was endless floating in the complete darkness of my subconscious with an unbearable, shooting pain in my side.

Multiple times I felt myself being drawn closer and closer to a comforting, faint light in the dark. Each time that I started to float towards it, the excruciating pain in my side lessened. But the closer I got to it, the clearer it became to me that once I reached it, my life on Earth was over. I thought of everyone that’s ever been in my life: Mom, Dad, some of my old friends in the US, the friends I’ve made here, and Shizuo. I would never see them again. I would never get to see my parents again. I would never get to laugh and talk about anime and manga with Erika, Walker, and the rest of the van gang. I would never get to become better acquainted Celty and Shinra. And most of all, my relationship with Shizuo would not continue. I would never get to feel his touch, experience his light hearted playfulness, or his sweet, warm kiss again.

And worst, I will never get to tell him I loved him.

Maybe Izaya was right. Coming here may have not been best decision in my life. I should’ve stayed hidden in Salem til I grew old, tired, and passed away of old age. But then again, maybe it would be better to just let myself go because now I get to experience the Paradise that awaits me at that the end of the light.

I thought of Izaya and all that he’s put me through. As much as he wants to taunt me and make me feel like garbage for coming here and falling in love with Shizuo, if I let myself die then that would mean Izaya won. He would continue to go after Shizuo without me around to be there by his side. He would have proven that I should’ve never came and that living a nice and peaceful life in this city would be impossible. I can’t allow that. I can’t allow that fucker to win! And I sure as hell can't leave everyone I know and love behind. Most of all, I can't leave Shizuo behind.

I planted myself in my hazy black dream, causing me to feel the pain with full force, as if I were stabbed a second time. I felt myself fall through blackness, down to the Earth, and crash land on my back, causing me to wake up, coughing and gasping for air. I woke up in a bright, white room which appeared to be a hospital, lying on a bed. I was wearing a hospital gown and had a hospital blanket draped over my chest. When I tried to sit up, pain seared from my side through my ribs. I winced and groaned before accepting the position I was in and lying back down.

“Ughhh, this sucks,” I groaned in English.

I felt a faint energy at my feet that jumped up. I was then greeted by Shizuo, who leaned his face into mine for a passionate kiss and an extremely light hug. Once he pulled away I seen expressions on his face that I had never seen before: worry and fear. He had been crying. He wiped the tears from his face, causing me to tear up a bit myself.

“You’re finally awake.” he said softly in Japanese. It took me a minute to process what he was saying to me as if I suddenly forgotten how to speak the language. I then understood what he said, replying in Japanese, “How long was I out?”

“It’s been about a week.”

“About a week?!” My eyes widened. “It felt like I was only out for a few hours.”

“Nope, it's been much longer than that. We thought you were...dead.” he shuddered. “Celty and that Saika girl rushed you to the hospital as soon as they could. The nurses eventually told us all that you could've died at any moment and that you were barely hanging on.”

“That's… that's crazy. I really had no idea it’d been that long. I'm sorry I was out for so long.” I said, feeling tears forming in my eyes.

“You better stop that shit,” Shizuo lightly joked, the skin around his eyes and cheekbones becoming red and puffy as if he were about to tear up himself. “And don't apologize to me about it. Neither of us saw it coming. You’re really lucky that the Saika girl happened to stop by when she did.”

“Who’s the ‘Saika girl’?” I asked.

“Um, shit, I can't ever remember her name. She lives next door to you, has glasses, big boobs…”

“Anri?!” I gasped. Was she that black shadowy figure with red eyes that I saw fighting Izaya before I passed out?

“Yeah, her!” Shizuo snapped his fingers as if I jogged his memory. “She told me everything that happened. She said that she noticed something really weird was going on in your place so she went to check on you. That’s when she saw that cockroach there and he’d stabbed you.” Anger spiked in his voice once he mentioned what Izaya did, but tried to contain himself. I could feel in his energy that he did not want to lose his temper in front of me in my condition. “She followed him after he jumped out your window but her path was blocked by those Blood shits. After slashing a couple of them and freaking them out, she said she ran back to your apartment to see Celty had went in and discovered what happened. They also found that he dropped his blade beside you before he took off.”

“Yeah, I remember that part, Anri knocked it out of his hand before I passed out.” I recalled, realizing that the black shadowy figure was definitely Anri.

“After that, they brought you here. I didn't find out until later on that night when Celty called Shinra.” Shizuo pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes before continuing his story. “I tried to go after the shithead to make him pay for what he did to you but I couldn't find him.”

“You’re getting creative with your nicknames,” I joked with him. He looked at me with seriousness in his face that made me lose my smile, seeing that he was no longer in a joking mood. I decided that I should be more considerate towards him since he had to wait almost a week for me to wake up.

“I'm just… I'm sick of this.” Shizuo said. “I'm sick of him butting into my life like this all the time and now he's brought you in the middle of it. I don't know what to do anymore. Maybe we should break up so that he'll leave you alone.”

“No!” I jumped up so quickly that the pain in my side sharpened. I winced a bit at the pain before lying back down and continuing, “I had some time to think about our relationship while I was pondering on my deathbed. Despite what he's put us through lately I don't want to break up. That would just mean that he won and he'll keep doing this to you until one of you kills the other. Plus did you honestly think I’d just agree to something like that?”

“Yeah… you're right.” he replied, taking in every word I said.

“I know I fucked up. I reacted to fast which allowed him the advantage. Normally I think my fights through before I act but I guess I was just so angry at him that I might've underestimated him at the time. But I promise that won't happen again.”

“I really hope so,” Shizuo said. “Because this will not be our last fight with him. The fleabag is up to something, and we need to stay prepared for whatever it is.”

“Of course,” I said. “I'm prepared to take on anything knowing that you'll be right there with me.”

He leaned his face back into mine, smiling gratefully.

“You know something, (your name)?” Shizuo said.

“What?”

“You look so beautiful right now, even like this.”

“Oh stop it, there's no way you could think that at a time like this.”

“I do think that. I think that about you all the time, no matter where we are or what we're doing.” he paused for a minute to watch my face, then said, “I’m so glad I didn't lose you. I missed you so much while you were out of it. It would've really sucked if you died on me before I even got a chance to say that I loved you.”

I looked into his eyes, taken aback that he finally said it to me. “I missed you too, Shizuo. So were you telling me that you loved me just now?”

Shizuo leaned his face into mine for another kiss. I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him down to me so that I would not have to raise up to him. He pulled back slightly to confidently say, “Yeah, and I'll say it again: I love you, (your name).”

I giggled in excitement and pulled him into me for another hug.

“I love you too, Shizuo Heiwajima.”