#thankfully we stopped that train of conversation before it could become a full on argument

[shortkidenergy]

sometimes my dad will choose the absolute strangest hill to die on. today:

"one time i got jumped by 6 guys with golf clubs on the subway and it didn't really affect me why does nobody ever talk about how sometimes bad stuff happens to you and you DON'T get traumatized? >:("

????

[the--sad--hatter]

Steam - Chapter 1 (Loki x Reader)

Warnings - Loki, Smut, Violence & Gore, Swearing, Death, Angst, Dark Humour, Crack Humour, Shenanigan’s, Mutual Pining

Pairing - Loki X Reader (Slow Burn Romance), Enemies to Frenemies to Idiots in Love

Reader Description - Female, No physical descriptions, Only referred to by nicknames & Petnames (No use of Y/N)

Description/Blurb -

“So how’d you get the firepower? What’s your origin story?” Stark asked, peering at you curiously.

“Uh, this is my origin story…” You winced, sighing when he motioned for you to elaborate, “I got these powers about three days ago.”

It’s a tale as old as time, boy meets girl, boy tries to invade girls mind, girl sets boy on fire, boy turns into angry blue boy, they become sworn enemies.

When you suddenly become imbued with a power you have no idea how to control, Nick Fury picks you up and dumps you on The Avengers doorstep, deciding that they are best people to turn you from a wacky novice into a force to be reckoned with.

The power burning inside you has the potential to make you a hero, or destroy you completely, but your new fire based abilities are more than they appear, and in a stroke of spectacularly bad luck, The God of Mischief is the most qualified teacher to mentor you. With Loki guiding you, will you ever learn to control your power? Will you ever make it as an Avenger? Or will you crash and burn?

Only one thing is absolutely certain, when fire and ice collide, things are bound to get… steamy!

Chapter One - Ice Breaker

It was every bit as imposing as you’d imagined it would be, not that you’d ever imagined seeing it under these circumstances.

 “Are you coming?” Fury barked at you, breaking you out of your slack-jawed awe.

 You snapped your mouth closed and tore your eyes away from the legendary tower, looking at the doors where Fury was impatiently waiting for you.

 “Coming!” You squeaked, scurrying over to him, “It’s just when you said you were taking me somewhere where I could safely learn to control my powers, I was sort of picturing an underground bunker in the desert, not the freaking Avengers Tower!”

 “I utilise the assets I have, why would I send you away when I have a team of perfectly capable super-powered individuals?” He asked wryly, leading you across the lobby and straight past the security teams who did nothing to stop you both as you made your way into an elevator.

 “I’m just saying, a heads up would have been nice.” You muttered petulantly, crossing your arms over your chest and tucking your hands out of sight.

 You felt him look at you and studiously refused to meet his eye, staring instead at the numbers above the door as you were carried all the way to the top of the Tower.

 “Heads up, you’re meeting The Avengers.” He shot back.

You could say what you liked about the former director of Shield, he was true to his word, because the elevator doors wooshed open to reveal a waiting crowd of Avengers, all of them staring at the man next to you with varying levels of annoyance and/or distrust. You diligently pattered after Fury as he stepped forward to greet them, looking around the room reverently.

 The first person you laid eyes on was Tony Stark, Iron Man; the billionaire who had kicked off the modern age of hero’s, and next to him, Captain America, the first of the first, the OG Superhero. Stood behind the Captain was Sam Wilson, the Falcon and a personal favourite of yours, side by side with Bucky Barnes, the former Winter Soldier and poster-child for taking back control of your own fate. Clint Barton aka Hawkeye and the deadliest marksman in the world stood to the side with the Black Widow, deadliest person in the world full stop. In the back of the room two other figures were hanging back, emitting two very different aura’s. Doctor Bruce Banner eyed Fury with trepadition, and well-placed mistrust.

 It was the last person in the room that the majority of your attention was reserved for, the tall, imposing god who skulked in the shadows. Contempt and boredom radiated from him, and you couldn’t safely say it was directed purely at Fury. He was also the only one who spared you more than a cursory glance, and you slowed to a stop as you found yourself trapped in his curious gaze. You stared back, trying to reconcile the villain who once tried to subjugate the planet with the one you were locking eyes with. It had been months since he had joined the Avengers, but it never stopped being strange to see him standing with them whenever you watched footage of them taking on whatever bad guy of the week they were battling. However, he had been fully cleared of any wrongdoing in the battle of New York, apparently he had been mind-controlled. As to why he was helping the Avengers, nobody really knew.  

 Someone cleared their throat loudly and you forced yourself to look away from the stupendously tall god, glancing around the room to see that you now had all eyes watching you expectantly. Apparently you’d zoned out for the introductions.

 “’Sup?” You offered, waving in Tony Starks general direction.

 “So you’re Fury’s fiery friend, what has that got to do with us?” Stark sighed.

 “What, you think he bothered to explain his reasoning to me before dragging my ass up here?” You scoffed.

 “She’s here because she has abilities, abilities that she is more likely to learn to handle among similarly gifted people.” Fury explained in a tone that brokered no argument.

 Naturally, The Avengers argued.

 “We don’t have anybody with fire abilities.” You heard Natasha Romanoff point out, just before you took the opportunity to zone out again.

 You were absolutely certain that nobody cared very much what your opinion on the matter was, thankfully. You weren’t sure you had an opinion on the matter. It wasn’t like you had a lot of experience with these kinds of issues, and as far as you were away there wasn’t some superhero academy that you could enrol yourself in. Besides, you were much more interested in re-instating your staring competition with the god of Mischief.

 In the brief time you’d been distracted, he’d stepped away from the shadows and moved closer to you, staring at you with his arms crossed.

 You resisted the urge to inhale deeply, who knew ex-murderous gods would smell so nice? You looked up, and then up again.

 “How tall are you?” You asked incredulously.

 His gaze flickered down at you impassively, while you stared back and tried to mentally calculate his height.

 “I’m a Frost Giant.” He stated coldly.

 “Oh in that case, you’re kinda short.” You scoffed.

 You were flooded with immediate remorse but it was drowned out by amusement.

 “I beg your pardon?” He demanded, uncrossing his arms and stepping into your personal space.

 “Down boy.” Iron Man sniggered, stepping between you. “So how’d you get the firepower? What’s your origin story?” Stark asked, peering at you curiously.

 “Uh, this is my origin story…” You winced, sighing when he motioned for you to elaborate, “I got these powers about three days ago.”

 “So you’re a baby.” He stated matter-of-factly.

 “If I say yes does that mean I can just sit on the floor and cry until someone picks me up and holds me?” You asked, fully willing to give it a go.

 It had been three days since your life had literally gone up in flames, three days of pinning your arms at your sides, afraid to close your eyes, afraid to let your guard down for even a split second, afraid to allow yourself to feel even an iota of emotion.

 “So how did it happen?” The Captain asked firmly, getting the conversation back on track before you could find out if anyone would volunteer a hug.

 “I, well, I kind of…” You trailed off and looked at Fury for help, but he just stared back at you, the bastard.

 All eyes were on you as they waited for you to explain, nobody offering any kind of help. You exhaled forcefully and slumped your shoulders, tucking your chin so you didn’t have to look at them anymore.

 “I ate a bomb.” You whispered.

 There was a very long beat of silence before it was broken by several voices all at once.

 “I’m sorry, what?” Stark demanded.

 “What did it taste like?” The archer wondered, looking at you almost giddily.

 “She didn’t eat a bomb.” Fury finally stepped in to clarify, “She absorbed the blast, after failing to defuse it.”

 “Why was a civilian defusing a bomb in the first place?” Captain Rogers asked sharply, glancing at you in concern before turning back to Fury with a hard expression.

 “I’m not a civilian, I’m actually an Agent.” You reasoned.

 “She’s an Agent-In-Training.” Fury rebutted. “It was her first mission in the field.”

 “Baby.” Stark reiterated, faking a cough and smirking at you when you scowled at him.

 That was true, and you still didn’t think it was entirely your fault that the bomb had gone off. Yes you’d failed to diffuse it, but you were supposed to be watching the perimeter when you’d stumbled across the explosive device. It had less than thirty seconds on the clock, and you’d stupidly chosen to spend those seconds trying to stop it detonating instead of running away.

 “And you put her on bomb duty? Were you trying to get her blown up?” The Black Widow demanded, and you almost laughed until you saw the serious expression on her face.

 “There wasn’t supposed to be a bomb there, she was in the wrong place at the wrong time.” Fury shrugged, like it was inconsequential.

 To him it probably was.

 “She is still in the room, and I was exactly where you told me to be, when you told me to be there. If your intel was bad, that’s on you Mr Superspy.” You snapped.

 “Oh I see it now!” Stark briskly announced, “You’re trying to pawn her off on us because she’s too sassy for you.”

 “Precisely.” Fury admitted, surprisingly.

 “In the words of shortstack over there,” You hissed, gesturing at Loki “I beg your pardon?”

 “You don’t have the temperance to be an Agent.” Fury told you blankly, not bothering to soften the blow by at least telling you this in private instead of in front of the world greatest heroes.

 “I’d take that as a compliment.” Stark assured you.

 “You’re telling me I’m fired? Literally. Because I got blown up, through no fault of my own?” You huffed, clenching your firsts in an effort to keep your emotions from manifesting in a fiery inferno of rage.

 “Because you choose to try and handle a bomb you had no training to handle, instead of pursuing the target.” Fury amended, unphased by your distress.

 You bit back your retort because you knew it wouldn’t matter to him in the slightest. You couldn’t reason with him, couldn’t explain that you had made the choice not to pursue the target who’d planted the bomb, because you had to try and stop it exploding in a building filled with innocent people. Maybe Fury was right after all. Maybe you weren’t suited to being an Agent, because an Agent would have known that they couldn’t stop the bomb but they could stop the bomber. They would have let a hundred innocent people die and stopped the killer from killing a thousand more the next time. You weren’t an Agent because you’d chosen to die trying to save the hundred, and trusted in Fury and Hill to take down the Bomber.

 Of course, that wasn’t what had happened, and in the end nobody had died.

 “None of this explains how you ‘ate’ the bomb.” Clint Barton pointed out, and it was a good observation.

 “That’s because we don’t have an explanation. She went through the standard medical tests in her training, and all her bloodwork and scans indicated she was fully human. She walked into that building as a human being, and walked back out after absorbing a bomb, as who the hell knows what.”

 “So you’ve never done anything like this before?” Dr Banner asked you, speaking directly to you for the first time.

 “Not even remotely. I mean my eyes water when I eat chilli.” You shrugged.

 “Fascinating.” Banner muttered. “Inhuman?” He asked, turning to Stark.

 “Unlikely, she would have probably noticed going through Terragenesis.” Stark responded. “Mutant?” He shot back.

 “No, the mutant gene would have shown up in testing.” Dr Banner sighed, looking you over with a scientifically calculating eye. “Can you explain what happened in more detail?”

 “Sure, bomb went boom, I went AHHHHHH, and then it was all bright and hot and then the boom went away.” You told them.

 “So how do we know that it was you? What if something else contained the blast?” Someone asked, and you looked around before you finally realised it was Sam Wilson who had spoken.

 “No, it was… it definitely me.” You sighed.

 “How do you know?” Bucky Barnes interjected, backing up the Falcons line of questioning.

 That was the million dollar question. How could you be sure that you had anything to do with the bomb, that you had been imbued with fire power?

 “During the post-mission de-brief, there was an incident.” You alluded, side-eying Fury and taking a not-so-subtle step away from him.

 “Please tell me you tried to set him on fire?” Barton asked giddily, looking between you and your former boss.

 When Fury levelled you with a glare and you developed a sudden vested in the ceiling, the Archer sniggered joyfully. You chanced a look around the room and saw that Barton wasn’t the only one exhibiting mirth at the idea of Fury being set ablaze by your.. well, your fury.

 “He was yelling at me!” You defended, taking yet another step back when his glare intensified.

 “You’re lucky you had no aim and only managed to set fire to the table.” He snapped.

 “I think you were the lucky one.” Stark sniggered at Fury.

 “Do you want her or not?” Fury sighed.

 “Do I get a say in this?” You objected.

 “No.” Fury, Stark, Romanoff, and Loki said in unison.

 “I can run some tests to figure out what happened to you, if it’s reversible.” Banner offered comfortingly. “With your permission of course.”

 “I’m gonna go stand over there with him.” You huffed, making a beeline for the doctor and awkwardly hiding behind him.

 “Yeah, we’ll take her, should be an interesting riddle to solve.” Stark shrugged.

 Captain Rogers and his buddies glanced at you before appearing to have a silent conversation.

 “She can stay here while Stark and Banner figure out what happened, and we can go from there.” The Captain finally decided.

 “We’ll take good care of her.” Loki added with a charming smile.

 His eyes said something completely different, and you had a sick feeling that you were going to be made to pay for your short jokes.

 “Glad I meet your approval; I was worried I was going to fall short.” You sarked, immediately resisting the urge to punch yourself in the face.

 “Approval has nothing to do with it. Of all The Avengers, who do you think will be responsible for testing your abilities? You would do well to remember that I am more than mischief and lies, I am the god of chaos and fire.” He warned you cockily, visibly delighting in the way your grin faltered.

 You shot a pleading look around the room, but nobody was refuting Loki’s claim. In fact, they were nodding thoughtfully, or in Stark’s case; shrugging apologetically at you. You turned back to Loki, ignoring the deep sense of foreboding in your stomach.

 “Well Fe-Fi-Fo-Fuck.”

I have been trying to get back into writing for so long, and this is my last attempt. If this doesn’t work then I am out of ideas. 

I know this is a boring start but I have been re-working and rewriting it for days and I can’t improve it. If you enjoyed any part of this, please do tell me! If you didn’t, then tell me that as well. Just give me any feedback at all, I’d appreciate it so so so so so much. 

For those of you unaware (especially on AO3), I haven’t been writing for a while because my estranged mother passed away and it brought up issues that needed to be dealt with, but all that is over with now. Thank you to everyone who sent supportive messages and was patient with me ❤

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[morganaspendragonss]

holly's august extravaganza day 17: you and me (moving through this world as a two-man team)

for both my incredible birthday twin jenny (@laelipoo) and a little bit for myself! i hope you are having a wonderful, wonderful day and i wish you all the love in the world. i'm so glad we became friends and i cannot tell you how glad i am for our conversations 🥰🥰🥰

many, many, many thanks to jenny as well for helping me out with the plot!

ao3 | 3.1k | firefighter carlos, hurt/comfort, pining, developing relationship, major character injury (two of them 😌)

TK does not have a crush on the 126's latest hire.

Carlos Reyes: an Austin local, an incredible firefighter, and—objectively speaking—the most beautiful man TK has ever laid eyes on. Which is, in fact, the entire point; TK has eyes and, yes, he will use them to sneak a look or two when he’s suddenly sharing space with a man who looks like a Greek god.

That does not mean he has a crush, Paul.

(and, sure, maybe he does sometimes dream about how soft Carlos’s lips look and the soft blush he gets when he laughs and those little flecks of gold in his eyes, but he’s only human)

(how TK knows about the gold in Carlos’s eyes is none of anybody’s business)

The thing about Carlos Reyes is that he isn’t only stupidly hot; he’s also just plain nice. TK can’t even make up a flimsy excuse to keep his distance. Carlos is, quite literally, perfect.

He shares recipes and book recommendations with Paul, he spars with Marjan, he discusses superheroes with Mateo, and Judd has had nothing but good things to say since before Carlos even joined them. Apparently they’d worked together a lot before the explosion, when Carlos was with the 116, and he’s ‘one of the best damn firefighters’ Judd has ever seen.

He even makes time to hang with the paramedics, which...isn’t a new development, exactly. But it is recent, and TK is willing to bet they’d still be pretty divided if Tim hadn’t suddenly transferred back to Maryland and he hadn’t taken the leap to be a full paramedic.

Even after that… His friends were hardly going to abandon him after he switched, but Nancy had still only been semi-included at best. She’d called him out about it during their first week working together, but fixing it had been a slow process.

Until Carlos came along, that is. Excluding Judd, they all regularly hang out at his place now, and Nancy’s inclusion had never even been a question. Safe to say, Carlos has charmed everyone in the firehouse, including both captains, and the worst part is, he doesn’t seem to realise he’s doing it.

He’s perfect, from his freakishly toned body to his infuriatingly sweet personality to his incredible skills in the field, and TK does not have a crush, goddammit!

One morning about three weeks after Carlos’s arrival, TK is greeted in the firehouse by the sound of a long, beautiful laugh coming from the kitchen. Three weeks is an embarrassingly short amount of time to admit that he’s memorised everything about him, but he instantly recognises the noise as coming from Carlos, even if he can’t see him yet.

He saunters into the kitchen, where Carlos is standing with Paul, and leans up against the counter. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Carlos turns with a winning smile and holds out a steaming mug of coffee, clearly freshly made even though TK only got in two minutes ago.

He blinks. “How—” Then, taking in the slight pinkness to Carlos’s cheeks, “Are you seriously offering me your own coffee, Reyes?”

Carlos shrugs, forcing the mug into TK’s hands. “I only just made it so technically it belongs to anyone, and I can always make another,” he says. “Besides, you look like you could use it more than me.”

His grin has TK narrowing his eyes and stubbornly refusing to drink even though Carlos is right—he really, really needs it.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that was an insult.”

“Who says you do know better?”

TK splutters, momentarily left speechless in the face of Carlos’s smile and the twinkle in those goddamn eyes. He turns to Paul for help, but Paul...has disappeared. Huh. TK honestly hadn't noticed him go.

He shakes his head and looks back to Carlos, only to be stunned silent again by the way his smile has softened into something else, something more.

TK’s heart skips a beat or two and he swallows, staring down into Carlos’s coffee. “Whatever, Reyes,” he mutters.

It was too late for a witty comeback anyway.

Carlos’s laugh follows him out of the kitchen, and TK wonders when, exactly, he let himself fall this far.

*

“Earth to TK? Hello?”

TK is rudely snapped back to reality by one Nancy Gillian’s hand waving violently in his face. He scowls at her, to which she responds with an eye roll.

“Stop drooling over your man and come help me with inventory.”

“I’m not drooling,” TK argues, following her over to the rig. “And he’s not my man.”

“Right,” Nancy drawls, folding her arms over her chest as she leans against the ambulance. “So you’re just going to deny that weird energy around you two that makes the rest of us feel like we’re creeping on something?”

“Exactly.” TK nods emphatically, then frowns. “Wait, what?”

Nancy casts her eyes heavenward. “You know,” she says, “you’re a lot of things, Strand, but I hadn’t pegged you for oblivious.”

TK’s next words are reflexive, said without thought for the consequences—the story of his life, really.

“I’m not oblivious!”

The grin spreading over Nancy’s face rams home just how much he’s fucked up with those three words. TK drops his head in his hands and groans, unable and unwilling to look Nancy in the eye.

“Not a word,” he warns, which Nancy appears to respect, for now. TK is well aware that there will be words—several of them—later, whether he wants them or not.

The thing is, he really isn’t oblivious. He knows perfectly well what Nancy is talking about and he has often fantasised about all the things he’d do to Carlos given half a chance. TK likes Carlos, way more than just in the physical sense, and he’s pretty sure that Carlos likes him right back. It would be so easy to start something between them and, god, TK wants to. He just… He can’t.

One year—that’s what he promised himself back in New York. One year on his own to sort his head out and figure out how he fits back into the world after the overdose. Granted, his sobriety anniversary is only a couple of months away now, but he refuses to give up on his promise, especially when he’s so close.

Maybe in a couple months, if Carlos hasn’t gotten bored of something that’s clearly going nowhere.

But not now.

*

“He did not ask me out!”

“He totally did, dude, and you know it. You want to say yes, I can tell.”

“No, I don’t. I—”

“Children,” Tommy interrupts from the back of the ambulance. They’re heading to a callout, and Nancy has not let up the entire way about something TK is certain never actually happened. “Either of you want to enlighten me on what the argument is about this time?”

“TK’s too chicken to go out with Carlos,” Nancy jumps in, before TK can stop her.

“I am not!” he protests. “Plus, he wasn’t asking me out, he said we should go over to his place for dinner sometime, which Carlos does all the time. So there.”

“Strand, you are not this dense,” Nancy snarks, probably rolling her eyes. “His exact words were, ‘You should come over sometime’.”

“We were all there! It was obviously the plural you.”

“Oh my god—”

“Alright!” Tommy sighs wearily. “Nancy, can we keep from provoking TK until we’re back at the firehouse and he’s no longer driving?”

“Ha!” TK exclaims, but Tommy’s not done.

“TK, if I weren’t your captain, I’d be telling you that Nancy is right and you should pull your head out of your ass before it’s too late, understand?”

Now it’s Nancy’s turn to be triumphant as TK struggles to form a coherent response. Thankfully, he’s saved from further torment by them finally pulling up at the scene—a warehouse where one of the workers had become trapped after parts of the upper level walkway had broken and fallen. Apparently, the falling metal had caused some of the machinery to malfunction, turning the call from simple to beyond complicated in a matter of minutes.

“TK, grab your turnout gear and your bag; I’m sending you in with them,” Tommy informs him as soon as they’re out of the rig. “Normally, we’d just talk the firefighters through it over radio, but given your training it’ll be quicker and safer for you to deal with our patient.”

TK grins; he’s missed the adrenaline rush of running into emergencies more than he can say. “Got it, Cap.”

“Maybe try and look a little less happy about a serious injury, too.”

“Copy that.”

*

The noise when they enter the warehouse is deafening, an ugly screeching cutting right through TK’s skull.

“Shouldn’t they have shut the machines off?” he shouts, fighting to be heard.

“Apparently they can’t,” Judd calls back. “Something wrong with the control panel, I don’t know exactly what.”

TK groans—just what they need. The sound is lost in the din, but Carlos still looks over and gives him a sympathetic grin, shrugging in a ‘what can you do’ motion. TK can’t help but grin back, the mere sight of Carlos easing the annoyance he feels and the headache already beginning to build behind his eyes.

Their patient, when they reach him, is pinned under a large, heavy-looking sheet of metal. He’s bleeding from a gash on his temple and his skin is worryingly pale, to the extent that TK can tell even from a distance. He jogs to the patient’s side and kneels down, pressing his fingers against his neck.

“Cap, I have a pulse,” he reports into his radio after a few seconds. “But he’s unconscious with a head wound, and I think there are probably injuries I can’t see yet. Possible spinal damage, but I can’t tell until we’ve got this metal off him.”

“Copy that,” Captain Vega says. “Get ready to run a line; he’s gonna need it as soon as he’s free.”

TK nods and moves to secure a c-collar around his neck. “We need to cut this thing off of him,” he says, addressing the team. “Quickly, but carefully.”

Judd steps forward, brandishing the saw. He hands TK a couple of spare turnouts and kneels on the patient’s other side. “Couple of you need to cover him, and yourselves.”

TK doesn’t even have to ask before Carlos appears next to him, taking one of the turnouts from him. He smiles gratefully before arranging himself to provide maximum protection to all three of them as Judd starts working on the metal. The vibrations from the saw are unpleasant, and TK dreads to think what effect it’s having on the already unstable machinery, but it’s the only option they have to get their patient free.

Fortunately, everything seems to go off without a hitch, and soon the team are able to remove the metal. TK immediately gets to work, feeling for any damage. As he suspected, there’s a pretty large gash on the man’s leg which is bleeding badly, though thankfully it seems to have missed any arteries. He also seems to have a broken wrist, but he should heal.

TK quickly wraps his leg, then gets Carlos and Judd to help move him onto the spine board. It feels like, for once, the call has gone as smoothly as possible, and TK allows himself a breath of relief as they prep to get the guy outside to the ambulance.

Naturally, that’s when everything goes to hell.

The machine closest to them lets out a threatening groan and shudders before there’s a loud roar and it explodes. On instinct, TK folds himself over the patient as shrapnel rains down on them, and he sees Carlos doing the same in his periphery.

The downpour seems to last forever, but eventually it slows and comes to a stop. TK cautiously lifts his head, his heart pounding, and sags in relief as it seems that the worst is over.

They need to get out of here, now.

He stands, a brief stab of pain running through his back—probably because of his awkward position over the patient—and turns to Carlos, reaching to offer him a hand up.

Only to see Carlos’s face tight with agony, and then the cause—a jagged piece of shrapnel running right through his hand.

“Carlos,” TK breathes, horrified. Carlos looks up at him, his breathing carefully measured and his eyes wide, and TK drops back to his knees, reaching out for him. “It’s okay, I’ve got you, don’t worry.”

Carlos swallows and nods, his eyes squeezing tight. TK’s heart rate skyrockets, and he’s barely able to keep his cool as he signals to the others to get their first patient out of the warehouse.

“Cap, the team are bringing him out, but we have a problem.”

“Talk to me, Strand, what’s going on?”

“It—It’s Carlos.” TK breathes out shakily and takes a moment to steady himself before continuing, “It’s not serious, but some of the machinery broke apart and some shrapnel impaled his hand. I’ve got to stabilise the shard before we come out to you.”

“Alright, but hurry. I don’t want you guys in there for longer than necessary.”

“Copy.”

Stabilising the shrapnel with rolls of gauze and wrapping Carlos’s hand should be a matter of course—it’s an easy process that TK could probably do in his sleep. But this is Carlos, so his damn hands won’t stop shaking and he almost fumbles and drops his supplies.

He manages though, and soon he’s helping Carlos up, instructing him to hold his injured hand above his heart. Carlos sends him a wobbly smile, which ends up turning out to be more of a grimace, but it’s a comfort nonetheless. Things could have gone so much worse today; TK could have even lost him, and he would have never been able to—

But that’s not important. Carlos is okay, or he will be, and they still have plenty of time to figure out whatever this is between them.

Everything will be okay.

TK’s back and side twinge again as they make their way out, but he brushes it off, too focused on getting Carlos to the hospital as fast as possible. Tommy shakes her head as they make their way over, her eyebrows raised despite the concern clearly in her expression.

“Never a peaceful moment with you, Strand, is it?” she asks dryly, hissing as she inspects Carlos’s wound.

“In my defence, Cap,” he says, more at ease now that they’re safe, “it’s not me who’s injured this time.”

Tommy hums, then directs Carlos into the back of the rig, jumping in after him. “Get back here, TK. Nancy’s driving.”

She has a teasing look in her eyes that instantly makes TK suspicious, but he moves to comply, shrugging off his turnout coat as he does. The movement hurts, which is weird, but he thinks nothing of it.

At least, until Tommy’s eyes go wide and she stands from her seat, holding her hands out towards him. “TK, do not move,” she instructs, her eyes firmly fixed on his right side.

TK frowns, then follows her gaze down, and— Oh.

His grey undershirt is stained with blood, and it’s difficult to miss the large piece of metal sticking out of his side. He has no idea how he missed it, but now that he knows, the pain slams into him full force, causing him to stagger.

“Oh,” he gasps, eloquently.

Then, his legs buckle and the world goes black.

*

TK wakes up to a steady beeping sound, which only exacerbates his pounding headache. He groans, scrunching his face up, before slowly peeling his eyes open, almost slamming them shut again after getting an eyeful of obnoxiously bright fluorescents.

“You’re awake,” a voice says, sounding surprised, then the lights suddenly dim, the room lit by the gentle glow of a lamp. TK sighs in relief and shifts to look at his saviour.

It’s Carlos.

“You… You’re here,” TK states, confused. His gaze drifts down Carlos’s body and lands on the white bandages around his hand, the memories of the warehouse suddenly hitting him all at once. “Shit, you— How are you?”

Carlos shakes his head and comes to sit in the chair by TK’s bed. “I can’t believe you’re the one asking me that.”

“I’m a paramedic, it’s my job.”

“Not when you’re the one in the hospital bed,” Carlos counters, sighing. “If you must know, I’m fine. They gave me some pretty good drugs, so…” He shrugs, and TK can’t help but laugh, which proves to be a very bad idea.

His side lights up, an unnecessary reminder that TK is very much not on the good drugs, and he moans softly, slowly settling back in the bed. “I hate you,” he mumbles, eyes closed.

“You love me,” Carlos says, and TK’s heart seizes in his chest.

The silence after his words is deafening, so TK forces himself to crack his eyes open enough to look at him. Carlos is frozen in his chair, biting his lip hard, and he looks like he either wants to bolt or be swallowed by the earth.

TK thinks he should probably be feeling the same. They’ve been dancing around this issue for weeks now, and he’d thought he had it under control. That he could last that little bit longer until his one year was up; that he could ignore these feelings that have been steadily growing since he first laid eyes on Carlos.

It was a hopeless endeavour; he recognises that now. TK remembers the fear he felt when Carlos was injured back at the warehouse, the desperation for him to be better, and now with his own injury…

He could have lost this chance before he ever got it, and TK isn’t about to let it slip through his fingers now. He reaches out and takes Carlos’s good hand, startling him into meeting TK’s eyes.

“Yeah,” TK whispers, just loud enough for Carlos to hear him. “I think I do.”

The smile Carlos gives him lights up the room, and he doesn’t waste any time in leaning down to kiss TK. And it’s… It’s everything TK had hoped and imagined it would be and more. It’s soft and sweet and gentle and perfect, and he never wants it to end.

But end it does, though Carlos doesn’t go far. TK smiles at him, squeezing his hand with all the strength he can muster.

“That’s a yes, by the way,” he says.

Carlos frowns. “What?”

TK’s smile widens and he flicks his eyebrows at Carlos. “To dinner. Or were you not asking me out after all?”

Carlos huffs a laugh, and the look in his eyes when they lock back onto TK’s melts his heart and makes his entire chest ache. “Does Friday work for you?”

He nods, tugging Carlos down for another kiss. “It’s a date.”

[miamlfy]

Homemade Rings

A/N: I am on a roll with these fics. Heres another Draco fic for all you Draco lovers, my next fic will for sure be a Sirius x reader. I’ve had this idea for a while now and I’m not sure if I like it or not. Give me feedback on it, I want to know ways on how to improve. Anyways, send in some requests. I wanna hear your ideas! 

Pairing: Draco Malfoy X Potter! Reader

Summary: Draco’s parents find out about his relationship with Harry’s twin sister and they do not like it. 

Warnings: Lucius being an abusive prick. Jily is alive (obviously) and some Wolfstar, if you squint. 

Word Count: 3k

Masterlist

Enjoy!

(Not my gif, credit to whoever made it)

Waking up, the smell of bacon hits your nostrils. You sit up on your bed and stretch out your arms, letting out a loud yawn. Looking around your room, your school books were sprawled out on your desk from last night. To prepare for the upcoming OWL’s. your teachers assigned work for the summer and expected all fifth years to have it complete by September. It was utterly rubbish but you wanted top scores, so you dealt with it. 

Leaving your warm bed, you made your way downstairs and entered the kitchen, “Good morning dad, good morning mum.” You said, giving each parent a kiss on the cheek. You sat down at your regular chair, next to your dad. 

“Y/n, be a dear and call your brother downstairs.” Your mum said while placing pancakes onto your fathers plate. 

“Harry, get your ass downstairs! Mum made breakfast which dad and I are gonna eat all if you don’t come eat now!” You yelled, making Lily jump and your dad earning a glare from her for laughing. 

“Not like that Y/n and watch your language. Merlin knows where you get those words from.” You laughed mumbling a ‘uncle Sirius’ and began nibbling on a piece of bacon. Harry made his way downstairs and sat down next to you. 

“Did you really have to yell? Your annoying voice probably made the whole house shake.” Your twin rubbed his eyes, as he was still half asleep. 

“Awe did I disturb the dream you had about Ginny?” You teased taking a bite from your piece of toast, a light blush formed on his face. 

“How was your dream about Dr— Ow!” You kicked him in the leg before he could finish his sentence, sending him a death glare as well. Your parents didn’t know about your relationship with Draco, the both of you made an agreement to wait to tell each others families. The only reason Harry knew was because he caught you and Draco making out in the quidditch locker rooms, which he deeply wishes he could erase the memory of his enemy having his sister against the wall. 

“Dreaming about who now?” James asked, looking at you suspiciously. 

You put on your most innocent smile and turned your gaze to him, “No one daddy, Harry is just being an idiot. Isn’t that right Harry?” You asked, turning back to your twin brother. 

Harry nodded his head in agreement while rubbing the area where you kicked him. James stared at you for a few more seconds, then began talking about any recent quidditch news. When he found out Harry joined Gryffindors quidditch team in first year and you joining in your second year, he was over the moon. He bragged about it to anyone who would listen and made sure to attend every game you two had. Which also meant that you and Harry had to have practice outside of school whenever you were both home. Thankfully this summer he took it down a notch on the training since he heard Oliver Wood put the Gryffindor team through rigorous training day and night. You could still feel your bones being sore even if its been months since then. 

After breakfast, Lily made you and Harry clean up which only resulted in an argument involving who would wash the dishes. You ended up throwing water at Harry, who did the same the to you. Lily sent James to stop the two of you but that only made James join in on the water fight. It ended once Lily walked in and made the three of your clean it all up, without magic. 

“I asked for two kids and I ended up with three!” She exclaimed after shoving a mop into your dads hand and left the room. The three of erupted into a laughing fit and began to clean up. 

When Draco woke up that morning, he knew something was going to happen that day and his guts were giving him the indication that it wasn’t something good. He dragged himself out of bed and got dressed. Going to his nightstand, he picked up the ring you gifted him for his birthday on the train ride back home. The minute you gave him the ring, he loved it. It was one of the only items he owned that was handmade with love. You told him how you made it with your uncle Remus. He placed it on his right ring finger and walked down to eat his breakfast. 

He saw his mother already sitting down with a book in her hands and a cup of tea to her left. He sat down and his breakfast was placed in front of him. 

Narcissa looked down, noticing the ‘new’ ring on his finger, “Where did you the ring from?” She questioned. 

Draco looked down and stared at it while his spoke, “Oh um a friend gifted it to me as a birthday present.” He avoided his mothers eyes, she always knew when he lied and he hoped she would drop it. It wasn’t a full lie either. 

“Friend as in girlfriend?” A smile grew on her face, Draco looked at her now. “You don’t have to hide it from me Draco, tell me about her. Oh! Lucius dear, Draco was just about to tell me about his girlfriend.” Narcissa spoke, becoming more eager to hear about the girl who stole her sons heart. Lucius sat down across from his wife and motioned for Draco to start speaking. 

Draco’s palms started to sweat and his face began to redden. “What’s her name?” Narcissa asked. 

“Her n-name is Y/n.” He stuttered, he wiped his hands on his trousers. Last time he felt this nervous was when he asked you out. 

“And her last name?” Lucius asked, growing interested. He heard the name before, he just couldn’t pinpoint where. Draco knew his parents weren’t going to drop the conversation until they were satisfied. He sighed, preparing for the outcome. He looked over to his mother, who was smiling and waiting for him to respond.

Draco looked back down to his ring, “Her last name is Potter.” 

Narcissa’s smile quickly turned to a frown and Lucius dropped the fork onto his plate. 

“Don’t play jokes, Draco. They aren’t pleasant,” Draco shook his head at his fathers words, “well then I guess you’ll just have to end it then. We cannot be associated with blood traitors, especially the Potters. They are awful people.” 

Draco began growing angry at his fathers words, gripping the fork in his hands tighter. Although he didn’t like Harry and was annoyed by his presence, Draco simply couldn’t categorize your family as awful. Suddenly a wave of confidence hit Draco and before thinking, he stood up to Lucius. 

“You’re the awful one father, you’re simply judging Y/n’s family because you didn’t like her father back in school. I love her a lot and I refuse to break up with her.” Lucius stood up abruptly snd forced Draco to stand up. Holding him up by the collar of his shirt, Lucius slammed Draco against the wall. Narcissa let out a yell. 

“You will not speak to me like that in my own house! You will break up with her Draco!” Draco flinched at his fathers shouts but he hasn’t about to back down. 

“I’m not breaking up with her.” He looked directly into his fathers eyes and tried shoving him off. 

Lucius threw Draco onto the hard floor, the side of his face began to pound in pain as it hit the floor. “Then you can leave and never come back.” Lucius walked out of the room, his footsteps echoing in the silent house. 

Turning to face his mother, Narcissa simply turned around and left the room. Draco wiped away the blood that was running down his, now broken, nose. He quickly made his way up back to his bedroom and began packing. He’d much rather lose the two people who made his life miserable rather the girl who showed how to love others and himself. He left his bedroom, he debated saying goodbye to his mother but decided against it. He didn’t want to make the situation worse. 

Arriving at Godrics Hollow, he ignored the people giving him weird looks. No doubt that they were all confused at the boy who appeared like he just got out of a rough fight and was walking around in none summer clothing. 

He stood in front of your house feeling stupid. He shouldn’t have showed up here and instead went somewhere else. He’s never meet your family, only your brother of course. What if they didn’t want him there? What if you didn’t want him there? 

His felt as if he lost control of his body because now he found himself knocking on the front door, 'too late now’, he thought. He could hear loud laughs coming from the other side of the door, his heart swelled when he heard yours. Draco also began to grow sadder, those laughs were coming from everyone inside the house, something he never got to experience in his. Knocking once more, he started to hear footsteps approaching the door. 

You and your family were seated in the living room, eating cookies that your mum and you made together the night before. Your brother and dad were no help of course, along with your uncle Sirius. You were quite surprised he hasn’t showed up yet, Sirius was there almost everyday and Remus could only stop him so many times. 

Laughing at some stupid dad joke James made, knocking was heard in the living room. James got up to answer it. He immediately recognized him as Malfoy’s son, the platinum blonde hair was also an obvious factor. 

“Draco, what brings you here?” James grew more concerned when he saw Draco’s bruised face and blood coated nose, “here come in, come in.” He helped Draco into the foyer and called out to Lily. He couldn’t help but let his mind go back to when Sirius was in a similar position when they were 16. 

You and Harry looked at each other confused, were your ears playing jokes on you or was Draco actually at your door? Your eyes widened and were filled with concern when your parents brought Draco to the couch. Almost as a reflex, you made you way to him and cupped his face with your hands. Draco winced at your touch, tears began to cloud your eyesight. You never seen him like this before, the only time you saw get hurt was back in third year with the hippogriff incident. 

“Harry, go get the first aid kit and my wand,” you looked over to your brother as your mother spoke, he was frozen. His face filled with shock, he knew Lucius could be mean but he never thought he would hurt his own son. “Harry now please.” Back to reality, he nodded and went to grab the items Lily asked for. 

Words couldn’t form in your mouth, you wanted to ask him how this happened and why it happened. In the back of your mind, you felt as if you already knew the answers to your questions. Draco wiped away the tears the spilled from your eyes with his thumb, you smiled sweetly at him. Your brother came back and handed the things to Lily, Harry moved you to give your parents space to heal Draco. 

Once they finished, they left the room to give you two space, your closeness to him already confirmed that you two were together. They noticed the ring you made on his finger, as well. Silence surrounded the room as you laid next to him. Neither of you wanting to ruin the quietness. 

“It was father,” Draco spoke softly, you looked up and stared at him, “mother saw the ring and started asking questions. I told them about you and father got angry. Mother didn’t do anything, she didn’t even try to stop him when he kicked me out.” His voice breaking as he spoke, tears that he held in, were now streaming down his face. 

You held him tightly and let him cry it out, it was rare to see Draco like this and you knew he needed all the support he could get right now. You helped him enter your bedroom and laid him down on your bed. Harry let him borrow some of his clothes, as much as he didn’t like Draco, Harry knew this wasn’t about him and he knew he had to be friend not an enemy to Draco right now. 

You let Draco fall asleep, whispering reassuring words to him. Once you were sure he was sleeping, you made your way downstairs to the kitchen to help your mom with dinner. Lily noticed you walk in and motioned you to help cut the vegetables. 

“How long have you guys been together for?” Your mothers soft voice interrupted your thoughts. 

“Nearly a year and before you get upset with me, we both wanted to wait till we told our families. We were just worried that something like this would happen.” Lily simply nodded and gave you a smile. 

“Well you two look well for each other and I couldn’t be more grateful.” The two of continued to cook in silence. 

Draco woke up from your bed and he saw a note on your nightstand, ‘Don’t worry love, I’m in the kitchen helping mum with dinner. Feel free to come down and sit in the living room, love you.’ He smiled and looked in the mirror, he face looked a lot better but it was still bruised. 

He left your room and looked around in the hallway, Harry’s room was across from yours. The door was slightly open, he noticed a few posters on his wall. Mostly of quidditch. His parents never allowed him to put posters on his walls, they thought it was ugly and didn’t match the aesthetic the Manor held. 

He walked down the stairs and entered the living room, he noticed your dad sitting in one of the chairs, reading a books. Making his way towards the same couch he was once on, he sat down and James looked up from his book, giving him a warm smile. 

“Lily and Y/n are finishing up dinner, I’m assuming you must be starving.” Draco gave him a nod. 

“I want to thank you, Mr. Potter for allowing me in your home. I know I just showed up without warning, which I apologize for but it was the only place that came to mind.” Draco played with the rings on his fingers. 

“Please don’t apologize, this isn’t the first time something similar like this has happened and we can only accept you with open arms, and please call me James. Being called ‘Mr. Potter’ makes me feel old.” James set his book down on the coffee table, “I’m not going to lie Draco, when Harry and Y/n came home for the holidays in their first year and told us about how you would bully them, or more bullied Harry and his friends, I wanted nothing more than to set you straight. But I look at you now and I see a boy who grew up with the wrong beliefs. I can tell now, that you merely were engraved with the wrong words. I remember when Harry told me you and Y/n became friends in third year and although I didn’t enjoy it at first, I knew my little girl would help you become better and see things in a different light.” Draco’s eyes glistened. 

“The ring your wearing,” James pointed out the ring Draco was wearing on his finger, “she said she made it for someone special and someone she loved. The second I saw it on you, I knew just how much you mean to her, the way she described every detail on it to Lily and seeing how happy it made her, made me incredibly happy and wonder who was the lucky boy or girl making my daughter gleam with happiness. You are family now, Draco. We will always be there for each other and you are welcomed to stay here for as long as you need to. The Potters will always welcome you with open arms and warm food, clothes, and whatever you need. Don’t feel like a stranger here.” 

You stood by the door, as you saw your dad and boyfriend hug it out. You cleared your throat while smiling widely, “Dinner is ready, mum said to call Harry down dad.” 

“Harry, dinner is ready! Hurry up or you’re going to miss out!” Your dad shouted, already making his way to the dinner table. 

“Oh for merlin’s sake James, not again.” Lily scolded. 

You held out your hand towards Draco, “Come love, dinner is extremely delicious tonight.” Draco smiled and took your hand. 

Harry entered the room, “Dad please stop yelling, you and Y/n really need to stop doing that already.” Giving a smile to Draco, he sat down across from you. 

“Never dear brother, what were you doing anyways? Trying to come up with a plan to sneak into the girls dorms and make out with Ginny?” You teased, Harry threw a piece of bread at you. 

“Oh good luck on that Harry, Sirius and I could never figure it out. Let me know how it goes.” Lily hit James’ head, 

“Don’t encourage him dad, the last thing mum needs is a later from him explaining how he got Ginny pregnant.” Now it was Harry’s turn to kick you, “Ow!” 

“Speaking of which, Draco you will be sleeping with Harry in the meantime while we prep a room for you, I am way too young and handsome to become a grandfather.” 

“Of course sir, Harry you won’t mind if I put up some Slytherin posters right?” Draco gave a cheeky smile to Harry, which resulted in Harry’s having a playful scowl on his face. 

“Wait dad, I thought you were fifty?” You said. 

“Hey! I’m far from fifty!” 

[pathogenic]

Chapter 3: The Hag

Prologue

Chapter 1: The Necromancer

Chapter 2: The Prophet

Chapter 3: The Hag

Chapter 4: The Brigand Vvulf

Chapter 5: The Brigand’s Cannon

Chapter 6: The Drowned Crew

Chapter 7: The Siren

Chapter 8: The Swine God

Chapter 9: The Formless Flesh

Chapter 10: The Ancestor

Epilogue

The following weeks I was deep in my training as I sent out the heroes I had assembled into the area surrounding the Hamlet. With the dungeon cleared, it was unclear where we needed to focus our efforts next. While I knew any of the immediate surrounding area was bound to hold something, I preferred to have an order of priority.

While they were exploring the area, I met the most peculiar and concerning man in all of existence. When he arrived, he asked for me by name. I met him in the Town Square to ensure that we were seen by all as I did not have the best feeling when I was informed of him. He stood tall with marks all along his bare chest and arms. It seemed like he was always covered in some blood, usually his own, but I was not aware of that yet. As far as I was concerned, someone bloody and vicious was in my Hamlet and I was expecting trouble.

When I arrived, he broke into a grin and greeted me with a booming voice. He informed me that the closest branch of the Church of the Light had sent him. He asked where the Vestal Julia was as she had stopped writing to them and given the contents of her letters, they found it fitting to have someone look into it. Seeing that the man was not a threat and we were about to talk about a much more… sensitive topic I only saw it fit to invite him back to the Estate.

From there, I had the grim duty of informing him and Julia’s demise. The scarred man did not seemed surprised, but simply nodded. He asked if her reports on an undead Necromancer were true and I confirmed that as well. I saw no benefit to lying to him or the Church of Light. My encounters with their kind had shown that lying was a good way to earn their ire. If these lands truly are cursed by something my Ancestor did, I do not wish to lose their support no matter my personal opinions on their faith.

The man then paused and looked around before saying that he would stay to help purge the evil out of these lands. I was taken aback and asked him if he was even allowed to do that. Didn’t he have to return to his Church and report Julia’s death? He said that no, a letter would suffice. He pointed out that she told the Church of her efforts to reestablish the Light in the Hamlet and with her death, it would be to our advantage to have someone tied to the larger church to help revitalize it. I couldn’t provide any argument against this. I was certain Reynauld would appreciate the help so he was not the only person seeing the revival of the church.

I asked the man what he could bring to the group and he informed me that he had a unique talent for sharing the burdens of another person. He went into a frankly terrifying conversation about how pain liberated him of his worries and his burdens, so he shares this joy with others. I decided I wanted to keep a closer eye on this man and instead of placing him in the barracks we had made for the heroes, I decided it was best he remained close. He offered no argument and said that the feeling was mutual. It was not the most reassuring response, but I could hardly blame him, I suppose. I am the owner of a twisted, corrupted land and I did just have a Vestal killed under my care. After our conversation, I lead him through the estate and had him pick his chambers. He picked a humble servant chamber, and I cannot say I was surprised. Still, I ensured the space was clean and showed him where everything he could need was within the house.

Within the following days, I discovered that his name is Damian. He had been close to me since he arrived, seeming keen on discussing either Julia or what has been happening in and around the Hamlet. I admit I am still apprehensive speaking to him. I do not wish to receive a religious lecture about death or about cleansing the lands.

Thankfully, I did not have to wait much longer for news to arrive. Apparently, there were two things that required my attention. The first was the Coves. There were reports of inhabitants entering them and never returning and there is no indication of why they entered in the first place. The second was more concerning, however. There was a strange fungus encroaching from the Wealds. Whenever someone moved to try to harvest it or stamp it out, it released spores that either caused the person to become confused, or it poisoned them. It took a good number of spores to kill someone, but if it was pushing in on the Hamlet, I did not want to take any risks.

Once I had received this news, I devised a plan with Paracelsus to set fire to the fungi from afar as it was the only conceivable way we could think of to eradicate it. With help from the others, it seemed we had a good way of combating the issue and keeping them locked in the Wealds, but I suppose it was only a temporary solution at best as eventually the mushrooms seemed to react to our reagents as well. Poor Boudica needed a rescue party since she was so lost after being confused by a plume of spores.

It seemed luck was eventually on our side again, however. Shortly after our solution started to fail, a woman by the name of Missandei arrived. She is a gifted marksman with a crossbow and while she was more soldier than survivalist, she claimed to have some understanding of the Wealds. While she admitted that she was not familiar with the mushrooms we were struggling with, she still knew enough to lay some poisons by firing them into where they grew the densest. This at least provided us with footpaths where there were no mushrooms so we could move further in and eradicate more of the pests without risking losses.

It was shortly after we started to see a serious decline in the number of hazardous mushrooms that I received a letter from a curious address. The man who delivered it to me could hardly remember how he came upon the letter, much less how he came to my estate to deliver it. My only theory is that he was under the influence of their spores and someone took advantage of that, or that perhaps someone purposefully used them to the same effect. Regardless, the letter came from someone living deep within the Wealds. It seemed like such an impossible notion that someone could live surrounded by the vicious wildlife and that mushrooms, but I was quickly learning that the Hamlet and its surrounding area seemed to thrive on the impossible.

The letter was addressed to my ancestor, the same one who reached out to me and begged that I return to the Hamlet to redeem it. The letter expressed surprise that he had returned and invited him out to their hut in the woods. They said they’d leave him a path so he could arrive unharmed. It was about this point that I received a report that despite our best efforts, the fungi were back in full force. It was at this point that I started to suspect that there was a supernatural element to them and that perhaps whoever wrote this letter would know more. On top of that, if they knew my ancestor personally, I figured they would be able to answer some questions about him.

The following morning, I set out with Paracelsus, Missandei, and Reynauld. We found a path that was clear of mushrooms and I felt that was confirming my suspicions that whoever wrote the letter likely had something to do with them. We pressed cloths to our faces to keep out the spores to the best of our abilities should the need arise and pressed on.

We stuck to this path, being careful that our movements did not set off their spores, or the creatures consumed by them that occasionally moved and walked. The path cut through a Graveyard that once belonged to the Hamlet but had long since been abandoned since it was so far from the town proper to be safe. To our surprise, we were not the only people there. It seemed someone else had noticed the opening and decided to take advantage. A woman in strange clothes paused as she saw us. She almost fled the scene, but thankfully there was only one path she could follow, so catching her was no problem.

I asked this woman why she was digging up the graves and she ever so kindly asked me what I thought. Of course she was robbing graves, there were some rich people buried in that graveyard. No doubt they were buried with their finest jewels and she wanted them. I asked her why she wanted their jewels and she informed that she needed the money, but she also just liked the look of them. Ignoring the second part, I offered her employment instead. There was no sense in having her rob our graves when we could put her to work. The woman was just as surprised as the rest of the group, but reluctantly agreed. Though she said that if she felt she wasn’t receiving fair pay, she would leave and likely take some gold with her. I still let her in.

The grave robber by the name of Audrey then joined us, helping us travel further into the Wealds and to the hut that belonged to the mystery author of the letter. Audrey was mercifully light footed and would often scout the path for us to make sure it was clear, though I am certain it was also to keep some distance from Reynauld as he attempted to lecture her on her grave robbing habits. The humor of him, a known cheating gambler, lecturing someone else on not committing crime was a touch humorous to me, but I refused to explain why I was laughing.

Soon enough we arrived at the location of this hut, unharmed just as promised. The doors opened as we arrived and a woman stepped out to greet us. Though it was clear she was by no means a normal woman as she had plenty of markings on her clothes and there were herbs I knew to be arcane in nature hanging from her belt. She looked confused and baffled once she realized that we were not my ancestor and asked what the meaning of this was, she was very clear about who she wanted to see in her letter. I informed her that to the best of our knowledge, my ancestor was dead. He sent me letter begging me to arrive and no one had seen him since. The woman gave a horrible laugh before shaking her head, saying something about how he “must have finally done it”. I asked her what she meant, but she simply waved her hand, dismissing the question.

She moved to sit near a large cauldron that she had outside her home. As she settled down, she took out a knife and took some of the herbs that were hanging off of her belt and started to cut them into the pot. Finally, after a moment of silent cutting, she asked if I knew what I had been summoned to the Hamlet for. I told her that I had been asked to help cleanse it of whatever evils my ancestor had released. The witch shook her head, her expression becoming grimmer as she said that the cycle begins again with me. At that point I was reminded of what the Prophet had said, and I could feel my veins run cold. I still did not know what this cycle was and yet two separate people mentioned it. It had to be a pattern of some kind and I was no closer to understanding it than I was weeks ago.

I wanted information. I wanted to know just what I had apparently done by existing in this space, so I asked the witch if she could explain what this cycle was, but she did not take kindly to me asking anymore questions. At that point she started to spat about me being ungrateful. As it was, I did arrive to her home uninvited and started to demand answers of her. While I could understand her irritation, I felt I had to press the issue. The idea that I was causing something awful by stepping foot into the Hamlet was too great to ignore, but she told me to find my own answers. She said there had to be plenty around the Hamlet to work with, and she “did not deal with simpletons”.

At this point I was at a loss for words about this issue, so I asked her if I could ask a question on a different subject. She reluctantly said that she would, so I asked her about the mushrooms. How did she know that there would be a path? Did she know what powers them? At that point, she smiled and said that they were hers. She used them for her spells and potions and she always needed lots of them, so she allowed them to spread. I pointed out that the spores were hazardous to humans, but she simply shrugged and said they never bothered her, so it was no problem of hers.

I don’t know where the thought came from, but I was so bold as to ask her if they were tied to her. I asked if the mushrooms would survive without her. She paused, staring me down, challenging me, and said that no, the mushrooms would die with her. There was something dangerous in her voice, but something pushed back, and I lunged. For the longest time, I did not and could not understand what drove me to attack the witch, but one moment I was standing before her, the next I had a sword stuck in her arm where I had missed her chest. She howled in pain and started to attack. My companions, though reluctant, did rush to my aid.

The battle was not long. Though she performed strange, terrible spells that nearly cooked poor Reynauld alive, she was no match for Missandei and Audrey’s amazing shots and Paracelsus’ blight filled bombs. As she fell, it was just as she had promised. We could see the mushrooms in the immediate area begin to whither and fade away. The air was suddenly that much clearer, and we could walk back without fear of losing our way due to the confusing, poisonous spores they released.

As we walked back though, I could not help but replay the words of the Hag and the Prophet in my mind. If there was a cycle, then it had something to do with my ancestor and me. If my ancestor had released something evil, then was I expected to do the same. Was that “something evil” the cause for my outburst or was I growing irritable myself with stress? I didn’t know. I didn’t know which answer was worst for it meant that either I was not in control of my actions, or I was, and I did something I was not proud of.

Regardless, from that day on I decided I needed to watch my actions closer and watch for any signs for something awful lurking within me. I hated the thought but doing anything else felt irresponsible.

[bel0vedmendes]

Inevitable : AU Part 1

BrothersFriend!Shawn x Reader

Words: 3,510

Warnings: Language, drinking, smoking

Description: When Jason left, he made Shawn (his best friend) promise to keep a watchful eye on Y/N. He swears that we will. Along with the help of Brian and Kyle, he keeps his promise. As Y/n gets older the dynamic of their relationship begins to change. Will they figure out what they mean to each other or will Shawn always see her as his best friend’s little sister?

A/N: I’ve been writing this for awhile now, and I finally have an ending that I'm obsessed with. This is an AU so Shawn is not a Rockstar. I hope you like it! Please let me know your thoughts!

Many things in life are inevitable. Falling in love is one of those inevitable things, and unfortunately, falling out of love is too. I remember the day they told us like it was yesterday. After years of therapy and unresolved arguments my mom and dad, thankfully, decided to call it quits. They sat my brother, Jason, and I down at our kitchen table and we had to pretend like we didn’t already know what was going to happen. Everything was fine until they told us that my mom was moving back to her hometown and my dad was staying here for work. My brother and I just stared at them like they were pranking us. I was 13 almost 14 and my brother was 16. We sat there in shock while they explained what was going to happen. The only decision they gave us to make was who would stay with who. Jason and I decided that he would go with mom since he and dad never had the best relationship. Neither of us did really, but it was easier for me and dad to get along. 

That night Jason had his three best friends over to tell them the bad news. Shawn, Brian, Kyle and Jason had been best friends for as long as I could remember. They were all extremely close and spent every second they could together. I had become rather close to all of them too since our mom would make Jason bring me every where he went. I knew it annoyed him but I always tried my best to be as invisible as possible. That night Jason asked me if I wanted to play video games with him and his friends, and I agreed. We stared at the screen playing Mario Cart until our eyes burned. It was a quiet night full of unanswered questions. I remember Kyle saying repeatedly that it ‘fucking sucked’ that Jason was moving. Jason always made me swear not to snitch on his friends for their bad language, it really didn’t phase me. I thought it was funny when they would cuss to make them look cooler.  Brian kept swearing that they would visit each other, and it would be fine, and they could always go to college together. Shawn was fairly quiet about everything, probably because he was the most upset. I think it was also because he knew that it wouldn’t be as easy as everyone was making it seem to be. Shawn was Jason’s best friend; they had been close since kindergarten when his family lived next door to us. They were inseparable.

The part of that night that I still think about often was the conversation that we all had after I had lost Mario Cart for the millionth time. They were all so competitive, I could never win anything when I played against them. I complained about being the youngest and how they should take it easy on me. Jason responded with “If we took it easy on you, you wouldn’t try as hard.”  Which was true, I tried my hardest to beat them and one day I knew I would.  Then Jason looked at me and I think that was the first time he realized that it wouldn’t be like this anymore. He wouldn’t be able to help me through my teenage years. Sure, he would be a call away and I’d see him maybe a few times a month, but it was going to be so different. He wouldn’t be a room away if I needed him. He instantly walked over and wrapped his arms tight around me. Tears slowly streaming down our faces as we realize how much this is going to change our relationship.

Brian and Kyle excuse themselves from room but Shawn stayed. He stayed and listened to my brother as he made me promise him, that I would call him every day. I would tell him everything that was happening in my life, and that I wouldn’t keep any secrets from him. I cried and I promised him that I would, but he needed to do the same. Finally, he took his hands and held my shoulders, wiping my tear stained face before smiling one of his infamous Jason smiles. I smiled back, knowing that everything would be fine because Jason would make sure it was. He told me to head upstairs and preheat the oven so that we could make a pizza. On my way up I stopped when I heard my name being exchanged between Jason and Shawn.

“Shawn, you have to promise me. I need someone to watch over her. I hate that I can’t be here. Until I can come back home you have to make sure she’s okay, promise me?”  

“I promise, Jay, I’ll take care of her.”

Still to this day, neither of them know I heard that conversation. I’m 17 almost 18 now, and It’s been such an insane almost 4 years since my brother and my mom moved away. So many things have changed. The first year, I would visit mom and Jay a lot, Jason would visit a lot too. We would still talk every day on the phone if we could. The second year my dad started dating someone new. She is god awful, so I did a lot of visiting but Jason dreaded coming to visit Dad. I couldn’t blame him. He and his friends went on a road trip together, and he told them that he was going into the Army. I was pretty pissed that he told them before me, but I got over it eventually. The third year Jason was away for basic training for a majority of the year. I got to see him maybe 5 times the entire year, he would call me every now and then to make sure everything was okay. I stupidly confessed to him that my boyfriend at the time had been caught flirting with another girl. I tried to brush it off like it wasn’t a big deal, but Jason knew better and sent in reinforcements. Shawn, Brian, Kyle all showed up at the house and took me on a date. I pretended the entire time like I was annoyed, and I didn’t need the attention, but I think deep down they knew I did. That happened a lot through the years. They would give me rides, help me with homework, take me on adventures. They would take me and my friends to the movies and watch over us. My friends would all gush and flirt with them. They would act annoyed but secretly they loved it. Shawn hated it, he would always tell me that I deserved better when it came to the boys I dated and the friends I picked. They didn’t lie to Jay when they said they would watch out for me; they were like my brothers.

Over the years we all got extremely close. They still took the older brother role seriously, but they all definitely loosened up around me. They were all at least 2 years older than me, so they really stepped up when it was time for me to make any hard life decisions. My dad couldn’t care less about what I did with my life, and to be honest I couldn’t wait to move out. The boys knew that was my goal and they supported me one hundred percent, because they knew that’s what Jason would want. That brings us to today.

Currently standing outside of my dad’s house waiting for Shawn to pick me up. My list of potential apartments tight in my hand. Shawn insisted on taking me, kept saying ‘Ill know what to look for.’ I never knew when something was Jason asking the boys to help or when they were doing it on their own. Either way, I knew they didn’t mind, and it was something they enjoyed doing so I let it be.

He finally arrived, pulling his jeep behind my beat-up Honda Civic. I rushed over to passenger side hoping in, hopeful that today would be the start to a new adventure. I couldn’t wait to move out and not have to worry about my dad or his horrible fiancé and their judgmental attitudes.

“You ready for this?” Shawn asks with his hand on my seat turning his body as he reverses out of the driveway.

“So, fucking ready.” I sing, not needing to explain why because he already knows.

He punches in the address of the first apartment and we head on our way. I link my phone to the Bluetooth without asking, and I start to play some of the new music I’ve recently been loving. The first one being Talk by Khalid. I loved when Shawn drove me because he genuinely loved when I would play music in the car. He would giggle when I would try harmonizing with the song, eventually joining in. I would always stop singing because I loved hearing his voice.

We eventually arrived at the first apartment complex, the landlord meeting us to let us in. I was instantly turned off by the group of boys standing outside smoking cigarettes. I watched Shawn’s jaw clench as they cat called me as we walked by. Was it jealousy or was he being protective? Part of me enjoyed thinking that he was jealous, and he didn’t like men looking at me like that. The other part of me figured it was he was just being his normal protective self.

We walked into the apartment instantly being choked by the overwhelming smell of cigarettes and mildew. I tried to keep my composure, but honestly, I was already over this place. I glanced over at Shawn to see if he was thinking the same way as me, but his poker face was intense. I had no clue, maybe this apartment was okay, and I was being over dramatic. I started to breath through my mouth so the smell wouldn’t distract me. It was only a smell after all, nothing a candle couldn’t fix. Well… maybe a little bit more than a candle. The landlord walked us through the rooms, we smiled and nodded as he talked about the ‘great qualities’ of the apartment. He finally left us alone so we could talk about it on our own. Shawn and I walk into the bedroom, his finger running over the fresh dry wall that was placed over the multiple holes that the previous tenant had left.

“So… It’s kinda…nice?” my voice squeaks at the end, quietly trying to sound somewhat optimistic.

“y/n, this place is a fucking dump,” He says scrunching his nose up, obviously a side effect of the horrid odor.

“Oh, thank god. I thought maybe I was being too much of a diva,” I chuckle as I start to head for the door as he follows me.

“No, there is no way in hell you’re living here,” He places a hand on my lower back as we walk out of the apartment and eventually through the group of inappropriate boys. I still didn’t know if it was an act of jealousy or protectiveness, but I did know that I liked the feeling of whatever it was.

We made our way to the next apartment, optimistic that it would be better than the last. As soon as we entered, we were amazed that the quality had actually gone down, compared to the previous place. The carpet was a disaster, covered in stains of all different colors. The look Shawn gave me when the landlord mentioned a ‘slight ant infestation’ made me lose it. We instantly dismissed ourselves, knowing that is was not the home for me. We made our way back to his jeep. He slowly turns his head with his eyebrows raised high.

“y/n where the hell did you find these postings?” He says huffing, this was stressing him out more than it was me.

“This is all I can afford without a roommate, Shawn. I don’t know what to tell you.” I roll my eyes as I punch in the address of the next place. Which was hysterically worse than both of the previous ones combined. We stepped in and Shawn instantly thanked the landlord and told him we weren’t interested. I had to laugh at how uptight he was being. It was adorable, really.

We get in the car, and I give him a few minutes to gather his thoughts.

“Please tell me the last one is better than this. Please.” He begs massaging the area between his eyes.

“It’s definitely better, I’ve seen pictures. The only thing is that I would be someone’s roommate.” I tell him without making eye contact unsure of how he would respond.

“Okay, that might work. I think you could use a roommate anyway.”

We pull up to the last apartment complex. The building was beautiful. There were flowers all along the edge of the building and a beautiful fountain in a courtyard to the side. I smiled at Shawn knowing that he was as optimistic as I was about this place.

We find the room and gently knock. A tall blonde-haired boy answers the door. He looked to be about 25, piercing blue eyes, and dimples so deep I could swim in them. I stuttered for a moment, struggling to get my words out. A jab in my side pulling me out of my thoughts.

“Uhm, Hi… I was supposed to meet Sam here; we had talked about the room she had available online?” I question the gorgeous man in front of me.

“Yeah, that’s me babe. Y/n, right?” He smiles the most beautiful smile, making me giggle like a little girl.

“Oh, oh my god. I’m so sorry. I thought…” I start to explain but he cuts me off by taking my hand and pulling me inside.

“All good, I guess I never really specified.” He says smirking at me as he looks me up and down slowly. I can feel the heat rising in my cheeks. Then his gaze switches over to an extremely annoyed Shawn. Fuck, he does not look happy.

Sam walks over to Shawn putting his hand out to shake it “Boyfriend?”

“Shawn.” He says bluntly, taking Sam’s hand tight into his.

“Not my boyfriend, a friend.” I interject wondering why Shawn so obviously avoided answering the question.

Sam’s smile widens as he looks back at me.

“Let me show you the room then, baby doll.” He says as his hand finds the place on my lower back where Shawn’s was earlier today. I hear Shawn’s groan as he watches Sam walk me to the bedroom. The room was beautiful, it had beautiful grey hard wood floors, with a huge balcony and its own private bathroom.

“That bathroom is pretty small, you’re more than welcome to use mine if you want.” Sam says with a wink, causing my stomach to turn.

“Okay! I think that’s all we need to see!” Shawn interjects, taking my hand in his as he pulls me towards the front door.

“The room is gorgeous! Ill be messaging you soon!” I yell out with a smile, still being tugged out the door, by the bouncy haired brunette.

“Looking forward to it.” Sam says sending a wink, as the door closes behind me. Shawn still pulling me towards the Jeep, not saying a word but radiating anger… or jealousy? Once again, I had no fucking clue.

We get into the car, and I can practically feel the heat coming from Shawn.

“I loved that room,” I say quietly still unsure of why he was acting this way, so I decided to play dumb. He slowly turned to me. Squinting his eyes at me as If I should understand what was going through his head. I press my lips into a tight line raising my eyebrows. Two can play this game.

“Yes, it was pretty, but you are not rooming with that boy.” He says dominantly as he starts to pull away.

“Uhm okay… first thing he was not a boy. Second thing, you don’t get to decide what I do.” I defend as my arms cross over the front of my chest.

“Yeah, we’ll see what Jason has to say about that.” He mutters. Earning a loud scoff from me.

“Jason is NOT my father. Neither are you.” I snap turning away from him quickly.

“We both know that Jason was more of a father figure than your actual dad, so cut the shit.”

I took a deep breath deciding not to respond because he was right. He knew he was. Jason’s opinion always meant more to me than my father’s did. Hell, Shawn’s even meant more than my dads did. That still didn’t make was he was saying fair.

We drove about 20 minutes until we pulled in a familiar driveway. Brian and Kyle were renting a house that was just 5 minutes away from campus. The campus that I would be attending next fall. Shawn had an apartment a little outside the city, he cherished his alone time unlike the other two boys. We walked inside the front door; it was unlocked like it usually was. They always had people coming in and out of the house. Brian and Kyle were sitting in front of their huge flat screen tv, yelling at the screen while they violently smashed the buttons on their controllers. They didn’t even bother looking at the two people that had just walked into their house. Shawn and I made our way to the kitchen where he pulled out two bottled waters, handing one to me. Finally, the other two boys came into the kitchen to greet us, making the situation a little less awkward.

Brian walked over to me kissing me on the cheek as he usually did, Kyle grabbing the rubber band on my wrist and pulling to back so it would slap me on the wrist. I instantly smacked him on the chest as he laughed.

“What are you two doing here?” Brian questioned as he pulled a beer out from the fridge. Shawn giving him a look of ‘its 4 pm dude’.

“We were looking at apartments for y/n, but we didn’t find any.” Shawn replied

“We were not looking,” I quip, drawing out the e in we, “I happened to find a beautiful apartment, with a roommate.” I raise my eyebrows at Shawn specifically, letting him know I wasn’t over our conversation. Brian and Kyle both started to nod in approval at my statement, knowing how hard it can be to find a place at a great price.

“Yeah, the roommate happens to be a dude in his mid-twenties who couldn’t stop checking you out,” Shawn scoffs leaning back against the counter.

“Oh, hell no, Jason would kill us if we let that happen,” Brian agrees with Shawn, causing him to smirk in my direction.

“Exactly what I said,” Shawn challenged, waiting for me to disagree.

“Fine! What the hell am I supposed to do then. I need to find a place close to campus, and I need to get out of my dad’s house,” I complained as I started to rummage through the boy’s fridge for a snack, pushing beer and condiments out of the way to find two week old leftovers. How do they survive on their own?

“Why don’t you move in here?” Kyle asked out loud, causing everyone to pause and think before they responded.

“Honestly that’s not a horrible idea, we have an extra room,” Brian says looking at Shawn to see what he thought about the idea, something he did often. Always needed to check for approval. Shawn was slowly nodding, as the wheels in his head turned. I could tell he was thinking about the pros and cons of me living in the house and weighing the options. That’s why everyone around him relied on his opinion so much it was always well thought out.

“You realize this is a party house, right?” Shawn warned, immediately causing my eyes to roll back into my head. I walk over to him poking him in the chest.

“You realize I'm not a child, right?” I sass him, poking him in the chest with every word. His eyebrows raise and I hear him laugh under his breath. Finally raising both his hands up to signal a defeat. I knew he really wanted to say, ‘You’ll figure it out on your own.’ I appreciated him keeping the brotherly thought to himself.

“Hell yeah, lets get you moved in!” Kyle yells as he picks me up and throws me over his shoulder taking me to the room I would be moving into. Shawn was right, this was going to be different for me. He knew I needed my private space, but I was ready for something knew. It was also reassuring that I would be living with two of the boys that would do anything for me. 

____________________________________________________________

[brightingales]

Mr Nightingale (5k)

Rated: T, No Warnings  Read on AO3 here 

Harry and James decide that breaking up and moving on is the right thing to do. Harry is fine with it; until he really, really isn’t.

Or – James steals one of Mr Rochester’s schemes from Jane Eyre to try and drive Harry wild with jealousy. Spoiler: it works. 

#Wedding Planning #Anglst with a Happy Ending #Jane Eyre References #Pining

“Ah, Harry!” James says as he sits down at the coffee table. “Just the man I wanted to see!”

Harry finds that hard to believe; ever since their break-up they’ve been doing a very good job of ignoring each other. Harry has finally been able to build a life for himself – no longer in Ste’s shadow or held within James’s clutches. He’s mending his relationship with his family. He’s enrolled in a course at a University in Liverpool. He’s got his own place (or, at least, he’s living off his student loan and sharing a house with four other lads who are all even younger than him).

“I can’t,” he says, trying to disappear into his Tort Law textbook, “I’m waiting for Dad. Dee Dee’s last chemo treatment is today, and I wanted to take him for coffee afterwards.”

“A noble idea,” James says with a smile. “It’s only a quick question that I need your help with.” James is using that tone of voice that means he’s just going to sit and badger on until he gets his way. Harry sighs and closes his book.

“You have a sort of… youthful flair with fashion,” James says, “and you’ve always dressed better than your peers. You’ve got quite the eye for design, actually, when you put your mind to it. Anyway, I was wondering if you would give me your opinion on this.”

James reaches into his briefcase and pulls out a file which he opens to reveal a collection of scraps of paper. It takes Harry a while to piece together what he is looking at.

“Is this a mood board?” Harry asks. The thought of James flicking through magazines, cutting things out, and painstakingly sticking them down is so unlike any image he has of James in his head that he briefly wonders if he has somehow gained a concussion in the last few seconds.

“No. Well, I suppose it is in a roundabout way.”

“Are you decorating?”

“No! It’s for the wedding, of course!”

The entire world stops for Harry.

James is getting married. He’s really moved on. Harry has lost his final chance to win him back. He chokes down the bile rising in his throat and takes a deep breath to cover the fact that he feels like he might burst into tears like some scolded schoolboy.

“Oh… Cool…” Harry can only say one word at a time. “Wedding… Wow…”

James seems amused by Harry’s mental breakdown but thankfully allows him time to process the information.

“Yes, well, it was a bit of a shock to me. I’ve never been the marrying kind. But this is the right thing to do! I love him, I want to commit to him, and I plan to give him the kind of security that he’s never had before.”

Hearing James declare his love for someone else is like a knife in Harry’s chest. Everything else is just salt in the wound.

“I want every detail to be perfect for him,” James continues not noticing the way Harry is wincing every time James mentions his fiancé. “Which is why I need your help picking the colour scheme.”

Harry would literally rather do anything else. But he knows James: he’s not going to let this drop. It’s better to give him a quick answer and escape the situation than spend ages arguing about it. He takes the folder in his hands and tries to hide his face with it so that James won’t see the angry blush colouring his cheeks. James has shown a surprising amount of artistic flair here: there are colour swatches, photographs of different suit cuts, even a peacock feather stuck to the page labelled ‘for inspiration’.

“Emerald,” Harry eventually chokes out. “It will match your eyes. Then maybe a lighter green for him. Or Purple for you both. And white. Everyone wants white at their wedding.”

“And the flowers? Roses or…”

“I’ve got to go,” Harry interrupts, utterly desperate to get away. “Good luck with the wedding planning,” he says as he haphazardly packs up his things and throws himself towards the exit.

It’s the least sincere thing he’s ever said.  

--

There’s a sort of commotion coming from around the corner and Harry alters the path he is jogging on so that he can find out what the cause is. It becomes immediately clear. A gang of the village’s teenagers is ‘ooohing’ and ‘ahhhing’ over a dark silver Aston Martin parked outside James’s flat.

The car is gorgeous. So is the man standing beside it. James is perfectly matched to the sleek and beautiful machine. The curves of his body, that Harry once knew so well, are hugged by a new charcoal coloured suit. James’s favourite chequered pattern is delicately woven into the material and a blood red tie bringing together the whole scene with an elaborate flourish.

Harry aches at the sight of him.

“Harry!” Damn James and his ability to spot Harry in a crowd. “Just the man I wanted to see! What do you think of my new wheels?”

“Yeah, they’re great,” Harry admits through gritted teeth. “Who doesn’t like an Aston Martin?”

“Who indeed?” James says with a wry smile. “So, you think this will make an acceptable carriage for the new Mr Nightingale?” Another mention of James’s fiancé is another bruise on Harry’s heart. James either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. “Won’t we look good together, driving off to the wedding venue?”

“Yes, of course,” Harry replies.

“Of course, you’ll look good; you look good in everything,” remains unsaid.

--

The only way he can avoid James is to spend as much time as he can away from the village. Which is fine; he doesn’t really have any reason to be there except for the occasional cautious visit home. He’s doing well for himself in Liverpool. Sure, making friends is a bit difficult; he’s not yet found anyone who he shares any ‘common life experiences’ with. But that’s ok. He’s got his law books to curl up with in the evening and a new city to explore in the day. Harry’s even challenged himself if he can find a new coffee shop to go to whenever he needs a caffeine fix.

So how is it possible, that out of literally hundreds of different coffee shops in this city, Harry walks into the only one where James Nightingale is sitting. He almost turns on his heal and storms out. James hasn’t seen him yet. It would be so easy to just quietly slip away and pretend that none of this has happened.

“Coward” a voice within him calls.

Harry could move to Timbuktu and he would still look for James around every corner. He would still dream of bumping into him and seeing him smile once more. He would still find things that made him think of James and made him want to talk to him, even if they were living thousands of miles apart. Separation clearly isn’t helping him get over James. He needs another approach. Perhaps, if they can’t be lovers, they can at least try to be friends?

“James,” Harry says. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“Oh! Harry!” James looks up from the magazine he’s flicking through. “You’re looking well! Law school must suit you.”

Harry knows that he must be blushing. Coming from James, this is high praise indeed.

“Do you want a drink?” James asks.

Harry feels like he is on the precipice of something. Sure, he has just had a full-on argument with himself about whether or not he should try being friends with James. But letting James buy him coffee feels like a line in the sand somehow. Still, Harry knows himself well enough to realise that he can’t walk away from James. Especially when the older man is looking up at him with a wide and genuine smile.

So, they have coffee as James listens to Harry talk about his University course. They compare the differences in their training and tell silly jokes about how Harry’s “experiences” with the legal system have given him an edge over his fellow students. Harry confesses that he doesn’t think he’ll ever understand Property Law and James swears him to secrecy when he admits that he once failed an exam and had to work the whole way through summer to retake it before any of his friends noticed that he was behind.

It’s so easy, it’s almost scary. Falling back into friendship with James is like rediscovering a favourite album. Everything feels familiar, Harry still remembers all the lyrical parts of the man sitting in front of him, even the tiny details that he thought he had long forgotten – like the crease at the corner of his eye or the precise tone of his sigh. He knows that he will be singing James in his head for the rest of the day.  

“What are you doing in Liverpool, then?” Harry eventually asks.

“Well, this might be old fashioned, but I was at the travel agents. I know: I’m a dinosaur. But I wanted some advice on Honeymoon destinations and it’s so much easier to talk to a real person about these sorts of things.”

Harry nearly chokes on his coffee. That warm and fuzzy feeling that has settled so nicely over their conversation suddenly turns lukewarm. The spectre of this hated fiancé hovers behind James and Harry curses himself for not running away when he had the chance.

“Anyway, I left the shop more confused than when I started,” James continues. “What do you think of Ibiza? I know I’d probably stick out like a sore thumb, but I’m sure the new Mr Nightingale will enjoy it immensely, and I just want to see him happy.”

Harry doesn’t know much about Ibiza, but he does know that he’s going to be sick. Still, it would be rude to throw up the coffee James has just bought him all over the man’s expensive leather shoes, so he gets a hold of himself. After all, James had to watch him swan about the village planning his disastrous wedding to Ste. Some might say this is Karma. He picks up some of the glossy brochures lying across the table. The bright colours and photoshopped pictures proclaim that the holidays featured inside are “great deals” that are “perfect for two!” He flicks through the pages trying not to imagine that he is the one James wants to take backpacking in Eastern Europe, or on a cruise around the frozen fjords of Norway, or on the road trip of a lifetime along the north-California coast.

Harry knows that he will dream of this tonight – a perfect nightmare where James leads him around the globe by the hand and shows him off as Mr Nightingale to every person that they meet.

Now is not the time for fantasy. He needs to give James his answer or risk appearing sullen and ungrateful. He’s too ashamed of himself and his continued pathetic crush on James to admit that he was wrong when he said that they should end things, that he couldn’t see a future for the two of them, that he was fine with James moving on and seeing other people.

“Your fiancé will enjoy the beaches,” Harry says eventually. He doesn’t actually know if this is true; he’s never met the man. But he has seen James hanging around with a tall, slim, boy who has a toned body, a snappy dress sense, and impeccably groomed facial hair. Harry shouldn’t judge –especially when he is hurt and wounded and looking for an excuse to hate something – but the boy seems to be the sort that would go on holiday just to display his body and work on his tan.  

“But…” Harry continues, “You’ll get bored. And sunburnt. You should go somewhere romantic. Classic. Somewhere where you can show off exactly how much you know about the local art or the architecture…”

“Won’t that be a bit boring for him…?” James asks with a strange sort of smile.

“Not if he loves you!” Harry says, almost too quickly. “I mean… healthy relationships are about compromise, right? You told me that once. He should want to let you soak up all the culture you can, and I know you’ll prioritise his wants without sacrificing your own because that’s how you always were with me…”

It’s a stupid thing to say.

Harry might as well have just carved his own heart out of his chest and laid it, still beating and bleeding, on the table in front of them. This isn’t fair. He wants James. And it was only through his own stupidity that he lost him. But that doesn’t mean that James should be miserable too. The least Harry can do is give James and his new lover his blessing.

He finds exactly the right page and hands it back over to James.

“Genoa?” the older man questions. “It’s a bit unusual.”

“It’s perfect. I thought of maybe Barcelona or Venice but they’re both too touristy. Genoa has the best of everything you want. Sun. Great food. Loads of things that you can do together…”

“This is perfect Harry,” James tells him. That strange smile Harry has noticed before blooms over James’s lips again and Harry aches to reach out and kiss him. James looks so pleased with the thought of marrying his lover and taking him off to Italy, but there’s something else there too. The gleam in James’s eye that he only ever gets when a plan starts forming in his head. The confident posture that James only relaxes into when he is sure that he has done the right thing. The blush on his neck that only appears when James is imagining something filled with pleasure and passion.

Harry is about to tear out his own hair with envy. But thankfully, before he can go completely mad, something distracts James.

“Christ is that the time?” James says. “Sorry, Harry. I’ve got an important appointment and I have to run. It was nice to see you. And thanks for the help – this honeymoon will be perfect!”

Harry doesn’t watch him leave. He just stares at the floor and wishes that it will swallow him whole.  

He stays there for ages, too paralyzed with jealousy to move. He knows he’s been there too long when one of the waitresses comes over to the table and pointedly asks him whether he’s going to finish the last dregs of cold coffee in his mug. He shakes his head but doesn’t get out of the way even when she starts to tidy up around him. He knows he’s being childish, but he needs to sit and sulk for just a little while longer.

“Oh! Your friend left his wallet on the table,” the waitress says. “Can you tell him we’ve put it behind the counter for him?”

Harry’s never been much of a masochist, but he must be in the mood for it today. Because before he can realise what a bad idea this is he’s saying: “No need. James and I live in the same village. I’ll take it back to his place now.”

He grabs the wallet – maybe a little too forcefully – out of her hand. For a second, she looks like she is going to argue with him, and Harry realises that he probably looks quite suspicious. “If he comes back, tell him Harry has his wallet,’ he says to reassure her before throwing his coat on and rushing out of the shop.

--

The whole journey back to Hollyoaks is spent worrying that he has made a massive mistake. After that disastrous attempt at friendship, Harry knows now more than ever that if he wants to get over James he needs to stay away. But Harry feels just as desperate to see James as he did back in the early days of their affair. It’s like there is thread suspended between the two of them, one end tied around the bones of Harry’s ribcage, the other clasped in James’s hand for him to pull and tug on however he wishes. If James lets go, Harry will drift away, like a balloon caught in the breeze, unable to find his way back to safety, drifting aimlessly away from everything he once called ‘home’.

James is in the flat; the light from the living room window tells Harry that. He should probably just post the wallet back through the letterbox of the front door, and for a moment that seems like the most elegant solution. But, of course, the wallet is too swollen with cash and ticket stubs to fit through. Harry will have to be brave.

He knocks.

For once, James looks surprised.

“Youleftyourwallet” comes out all in one word. Harry holds it out to James, who takes it. But rather than simply closing the door on him, as Harry half hoped that he would, James moves aside, implicitly inviting him in. Harry is helpless but to follow him.

“Thanks for this,” James says as he places the wallet on the breakfast bar. “You’ve saved me the journey back into Liverpool.”

“It’s the least I could do,” Harry mutters, ducking his head so that he won’t have to see the peculiar way James is looking at him. Something is off with him tonight. As he turns his head, Harry notices a pair of suits laid out across the back of the sofa. James catches him looking.

“They’re nice, aren’t they?”

“Special occasion?” Harry asks, half knowing the answer already.

“What else!” James replies. He goes over to unzip one of the suits out of its protective cover. The suit jacket he pulls out is a rich and deep purple. Harry can tell, just by looking, that it is made out of the finest quality wool. James holds it out to Harry as if he can see Harry’s fingers itch to touch it.

“I took your advice, with some adaptations, of course,” James tells him. “Purple for the wedding suits, emerald accents where possible. A darker shirt for me, something lighter and more youthful for him. I’d make a joke about that reflecting our personalities, but it would probably be too crass,” he says with a sly chuckle. “Here, help me with this.”

James seems to suddenly grow eight arms, because before Harry can even register what’s happening, James has taken him out of his coat and slipped the suit jacket onto Harry’s shoulders. He moves quickly, pulling the fabric this way and that, checking the fit and smoothing out non-existent creases. He drags Harry further into the living room, looking at him intensely under the light and circling him like a vulture.

“Stay there. I just need to check something,” James tells Harry, heading off into the bedroom and leaving Harry shocked and alone. He doesn’t even have the time to process what has happened before James is back, a large mirror in his hands. He holds it up so that Harry can take a good look at himself.

The suit fits. It shouldn’t – for all that Harry has always been a bit petite, there’s a breadth to his shoulders and a thickness to his chest that doesn’t match the scrawny frame of James’s new lover. It should be far too small for him, but instead, every dart, every seam, every fold, hits the perfect angle on his torso. The shade of purple is beautiful. Royal in its richness, Harry has never seen a colour that suits his skin so well or makes him look as elegant and as refined as this. The wool is just as heavy as he thought it would be. But rather than feeling like a comfort, the weight that presses down on his shoulders and hugs around his torso feels like it may suffocate him at any moment.

Finally, he stares his reflection in the eye. He looks like a dream. Like an impossible fantasy of the life he so wishes he could live.

“James…” he says, his voice thick with tears. “James, this has to stop.”

James has been admiring the suit from where he is holding the mirror. But when he sees the tears in Harry’s eyes his expression changes from one of pride to one of horror.

“You are many things, James,” Harry continues. “You are spiteful, and egotistical, and conniving. But you’ve never been cruel. At least not to me.” The tears flow freely, and Harry gives in to the urge to sob, “so why are you being so cruel now?”

“Harry… I….”

Harry tries to wipe some of the tears away ignoring James’s pity-filled eyes: “Look. I get it. I deserve this for what I put you through with Ste. And I thought I could handle it. Talking about colours, and flowers, and venues. It hurt but it was fine. I guessed it was karma. That I deserved it after all the pain I caused you. But this! Dressing me up like your fiancé, making me wear the clothes that he is going to marry you in, dangling the future I could have had in front of me and then snatching it away…? How could you be so vindictive? Don’t you feel anything for me?”

Harry’s knees buckle under him and he falls onto the sofa. He hides his face in his hands and, for the first time in months, lets all of the hurt and disappointment flow out of him. The sleeves of the suit jacket are wet with tears. His face is red and blotchy. He must look so disgusting to James.

“I guess you just feel contempt,” Harry murmurs through his sobs. “It’s all I deserve but… this is too much. I can’t stand being so jealous. And I can’t bear for you to be out in the world hating me as much as you do now.”

Through the tightness in his chest and the throbbing pain in his head from crying too much too fast, Harry becomes aware of the fact that James has moved and is now standing in front of him. Harry looks up at James looking down at him, so perfect and so handsome and so utterly out of his reach.

“James… Please…” Harry begs.

James’s expression is unreadable: “What are you asking for, Harry?”

“I don’t know…!” it comes out almost like a wail and Harry has to hide his face again; he’s so embarrassed.

The sofa dips beside him and James rests a hand softly on Harry’s back as if he is trying to soothe the sobs that still wrack his body. It’s a kindness that tastes too vicious for words.

“Come on now, no more tears,” James says quietly. “I’ve never liked seeing you upset.”

Harry does his best to pull himself together. James offers him a tissue and he does what he can to mop his face up and look a bit more presentable. He’s sure he looks a wreck though; he feels like the tears he has cried have left a trail of blisters down his cheeks.

“Harry, I’m going to ask you something, and I want you to give me an honest answer, ok?” James eventually says. “What do you actually think of my fiancé?”

“Oh James, come on.”

“I know. Just answer me. What do you think of him?”

Harry tries to conjure an image of the young man in his head. “I don’t know him well enough. He’s handsome I guess. Young. Even younger than me…”

“And how do you feel when you see me touch him, or kiss him?”

“James…”

“Just answer,” James says, his voice still quiet and soothing.

Harry knows that watching James be with someone else makes him overwhelmed with jealousy and he opens his mouth to tell James that. But then… then he realises he’s actually never seen the two of them do more but walk around the village chatting, or sometimes sit and have a coffee together.

“I haven’t seen you,” Harry admits. “I thought you were trying to spare my feelings.”

“Even after all the things you’ve just accused me of doing?”

Harry shakes his head, utterly ashamed of himself.

“Look,” James says reaching over to take a photo frame off the coffee table. The picture is a selfie of James and his young man, smiling gently in the winter sunshine. “This boy here – his name is Romeo. He’s not my fiancé.”

Harry needs a moment to let the news sink in. He spent so long obsessed with the idea that this boy will one day marry his James that he’d never even considered the fact that he’s not actually seen them be affectionate in public.

“He’s my son,” James explains.

Really, it’s just made the whole scenario much more confusing. But the relief Harry feels is enough to make him accept the news without questioning it. Much.

“How?” he manages to say.

James shrugs. “It’s a long, complicated, and not particularly pleasant story. I’ve only known about him for 6 months or so and we’re still trying to figure out what kind of relationship we want to have. But that’s why I’ve been spending so much time with him. Nothing else.”

“But if he’s not your fiancé, who is…?”

James sighs. He gets up and goes to the kitchen where he pours two glasses of whiskey.

“You’ve accused me of being cruel, and you’re right,” James admits as he hands one of the glasses over to Harry. “I’m not proud of myself, but it was the only way I could think of to get through to you. You weren’t answering my calls. You were hardly ever in the village. I needed to be sure that you still wanted me, and I didn’t trust you to be honest with me if I asked.”

“James, what are you talking about?”

“I thought you might get the hint after the colours. Or that, maybe, you had figured it out when I asked about the honeymoon….”

“You’re not making any sense, James,” Harry interrupts.

“It’s you, Harry. You’re the man I’m going to marry.”

Harry pauses. And then: “Are you joking? Aren’t I upset enough for you, now you have to dig the knife in even more? Christ, when did you become such a sadist?” He knows he has to leave so he pushes the whiskey glass away from him and tears himself out of the suit throwing it at James’s head.

“You’ve never read Jane Eyre have you?” James asks.

“And now you’re taking the piss!”

“I’m not Harry!” James shouts. “I’m not. I promise. I’m just explaining myself badly. Please, hear me out.”

Harry considers his options. He can’t help but feel that he’s the centre of some massive cruel joke. But he also can’t say no to James when he is looking at him with such hope in his eyes.

“Fine,” Harry concedes. “But I need you to be clear with me, ok? What exactly is going on?”

James goes over to where Harry is hovering by the door unsure of whether he should cut his losses and run. They stand toe-to-toe and Harry’s vision is suddenly full of green eyes and rose-pink skin.

“I wanted you to be jealous. I shouldn’t have done. But I didn’t know how else to get your attention. I thought if you realised I had moved on you might try and fight to get me back. So, I sat down, I imagined what it would be like to marry you, and I constructed this fake engagement in my head so that I could ask you all sorts of questions about it and find out if you had really let me go. But then, you gave me such good advice. You were so thoughtful and so selfless. And I realised that I couldn’t deceive you like this anymore, that I was wrong to try and manipulate you like that. I was actually, just now, on my way out to come to find you and tell you the truth.”

“All of this,” Harry asks, “just to make me think you were marrying someone else? Just to make me admit that I want it to be me that you marry?”

“Do you?” James asks, his voice cracking with hope. “Do you still want that?”

After all the angst – the upsets, and the envy, and the bone-crushing agony of thinking that he had lost James for good – he knows now more than ever that whatever mistake James has made Harry will always find it within himself to forgive him.

He tells him so with a kiss. Harry reaches up and caresses the back of James’s neck. He pulls him down and presses their lips together, the touch as light as a pair of butterfly wings.

“Harry,” James sounds utterly broken when they pull apart.

“I love you, James,” Harry says to reassure him. “These last weeks have been hell, and I’m still cross that you put me through them, but I love you more than anything. And I’m so strangely flattered that you went to all this effort just to make me jealous. I mean – you ordered suits.”

James smiles at that. “I had your one made to your measurements. I couldn’t wait to see you in it, and when you turned up today I couldn’t resist. We can take them back though if you want to.”

“I’m not sure they’ll take them back; not with my snot all over the sleeves.” That, at least, causes James to laugh and helps him relax a little bit more. “Anyway. I love my suit. And I want to marry you in it.”

“Really?” James gasps.

Harry wraps his arms around James’s middle, pulls him closer so that he can rest his head against James’s chest and listen to his heartbeat there.

“I’ve had a lot of time to think about this recently. And there’s one thing I know for sure now. I want to be Mr Nightingale. I want all of the things you described to me. I want the security and the commitment. I want a ring on my finger that shows the world that you love me. I want to be part of your family. I want to belong to you, legally, and I want you to be mine.”

“Harry Thompson, are you proposing to me?” James asks with so much joy in his voice that Harry thinks he might burst.

“Mr Nightingale, are you saying yes?”

It’s James’s turn to kiss him now. Which he does. Over and over and over again.

[likesugarandcyanide]

Invincible [Chapter 6] It Only Hurts [Katsuki Bakugou]

Chapter 1: Resolve

Chapter 2: Shatter Me

Chapter 3: Out of Body Thinking

Chapter 4: Game On

Chapter 5: Electro Heart

“Hold on just a second you two.”

Inko – Izuku’s mother – catches us at the door. We are running late, thanks to me; I forgot to charge my cell phone. However, both of us stop to pose in a quick picture together before rushing to catch the train.

Our timing is fortunate as Izuku manages to catch the door before it closes. It’s packed this morning, like most, but Izuku and I find a narrow corner near the front and move in close to free up space. We are lucky. A few seconds more and the two of us would have missed the train. I am out of breath, and looking at Izuku, I note that he is too. Suddenly, I can’t help but chuckle. This catches the green-eyed teen’s attention, inciting a cheery laugh from him as well.

“Sorry about that. My mother gets carried away sometimes,” he explains.

“It’s fine,” I assure him. “Besides, it’s my fault we didn’t leave sooner. I asked you to wait on me, even though you were ready to leave.”

Izuku tells me not to worry about it, but I do. This morning I had plans to meet with and walk to school with Katsuki, but my alarm never went off. I imagine he went on without me. The blonde isn’t very patient, and after what happened between us, I doubt he wants the company.

The teen beside me deserves an apology. Katsuki chose to be rude to him once he found out that Izuku made it into U.A. High. I remember being in the middle of their argument and feeling helpless. I am with Katsuki, but I want to assure Izuku that everything will be fine. The two boys never allow me to speak, and by doing nothing, I feel like a bridge is being burned between us.

“Izuku,” I call to him. He leans closer to me as I continue. “I want to apologize for Katsuki, for what he said to you after school a while back. You don’t deserve that.”

His hand gently touches my arm. “Airi, please don’t worry.” Izuku says nothing on behalf of the blonde. I expect an explanation, but maybe this is his way of showing me how well he can handle Katsuki now that he is mature. I give him a nod, despite my feelings. I trust him wholly, and I hope he feels the same.

Minutes later, the train makes its stop. We get off and rush to the school. Not much is said between us as we navigate through the massive building towards our homeroom; class 1-A. This is the first time we’ve shared a class together and I wonder if Katsuki will be there too. Since the breakdown at his house, I never thought to ask him which homeroom he’d be in, or even if he passed the exam – I’m more than sure he did. And yet I hold my breath as Izuku opens the door. Just as I wanted, the blonde is here too. A wide smile pulls across my face.

“I’ll catch up with you later,” I tell Izuku as I move around him and into the room. There seems to be a one-sided conversation going on between Katsuki and another student; the typical ‘two-bit extra’ insult he calls everyone he sees as a stepping stone in his way. I shake my head and walk over to them. Iida – he introduces himself as – looks appalled by the way Katsuki threatens him and turns his attention elsewhere. He quickly moves away and leaves me to speak with the blonde alone.

“I see you’re making new friends already,” I say with a laugh.

Katsuki grunts at this. “I won’t even remember his name later.” His arrogant smirk is replaced by a frown as he looks me over. “The hell are you wearing?”

I glance down at my clothes. Last I checked, I am in uniform, wearing the school’s colors of grey and green. “Is there a problem with how I’m dressed?” Nothing seems off to me.

The blonde slides out his leg from under the desk and kicks me hard in the shin. I yelp in surprise. It hurts, but I see what he means; I’m not wearing knee high socks this morning. The weather seems nice enough for me to go without, so I wore anklets instead.

“They’re within dress code, idiot. No need to be violent,” I sulk, while rubbing my leg.

Since when does Katsuki care about how I wear my uniform? He never seemed to mind before. Besides, I look no different than I did in middle school; with the exception of wearing my hair down. I playfully stick my tongue out at him, but catch myself staring at a familiar male seated beside us. Is it really him?

“I remember you,” I say loudly, pointing my finger to the blonde with the lightning-shaped strokes in his hair. “From the entrance exam, right? You finished off that 3 point robot I was up against.” The word I want to use is kill-steal, but in the exam I doubt such a thing is against the rules.

The male’s eyes light up. I see he recognizes me too. “That’s me,” he confirms. A light shade of pink dusts his cheeks. “I have to admit, I’m happy that such a pretty girl remembers me.”

I feel my face heat up at his words. Does he really think I’m pretty? I want to thank him, but another sudden whack to my shin makes me swear out in pain. The nerve of him. I give Katsuki an irritated glare, but he brushes it off like it means nothing to him and directs his attention to something across the room.

“Sorry about him,” I say with a nervous laugh, glancing at the other male. I have no clue what is wrong with Katsuki. He’s usually not this rude to me. “I’m Usui Airi by the way.”

“It’s a pleasure. I’m Kaminari Denki,” replies the blonde. He lifts out his hand for me to take, which I do.

For a second, I believe that Kaminari blanks out on me, because his eyes become unfocused even though he is looking directly at me. This feels sort of awkward, so I pull my hand from his and snap him out of it. I don’t think another person has ever looked at me so strangely before. While it seems flattering in a way, I don’t entirely know how to reply to it.

Thankfully the moment never comes, because a deep voice ends the chatter in the room by way of insult, claiming our class lacks the common sense to settle down. I follow suit and look to the doorway, where a lanky, washed-up man is standing; sleeping bag huddled at his knees. He introduces himself as Aizawa Shouta, our homeroom teacher. I realize he must be a pro hero, but I’m not sure who he is.

Aizawa reaches into his sleeping bag and pulls out a uniform. It’s bright blue with red strokes along the sleeves. The school’s initials are printed in bold, white letters down the front of the two-piece set. “Wear these, immediately,” he orders us. “And then shove off to the P.E. grounds.”

Each of us quickly take a uniform from him, and rush off to the locker rooms to get dressed. Once I am wearing mine, I pull my hair into a lose bun and follow behind a girl with pink skin to the massive pitch outside the school. I stand close to Katsuki, feeling more nervous than before. The urge to take his hand washes over me, but I cross my arms over my chest and reframe from touching him while on campus.

When the entire class is present, Aizawa informs us that the reason we are here, instead of the opening ceremony is because he plans to have us do an apprehension test. I remember doing one in middle school, but without the use of my quirk, since they are barred from use. I’m happy to see that the department of heroics plan to teach its students to their full potential.

“The softball pitch, standing long jump, 50 meter dash, endurance running, grip strength test, sustained sideways jumps, upper body exercises, seated toe-touch. These are all activities you know from middle school, naturally,” Aizawa explains. “Physical tests where you were barred from using your quirks.” He mentions that Mext – the ministry of education, culture, sports, science and technology – is responsible for not getting around to keeping track of average performance levels. It means without the use of a quirk, a person may have a lower record of performance. I assume Aizawa wants to test our quirks to see how strong we are.

“Bakugou,” Aizawa calls. “How far could you pitch a softball in middle school?”

“67 meters,” the blonde replies.

I remember this. Katsuki excels in all the things he does, especially when it comes to physical activities. If he is allowed to use his quirk during this, I can only imagine the score he is going to rack up.

Aizawa motions him over to a circle 2 meters in diameter and tosses him a softball. “Try using your quirk this time around. As long as you don’t exit the circle, anything you do is fine,” he explains.

Katsuki is given the approval not to hold back. He stretches his arm and curls it back, pitching the ball. His quirk causes a shockwave that sends the ball soaring into the air, nearly blowing me back with the effect it makes. A sharp beep is heard as Aizawa lifts a small metric reader up for us to see. It reads 705 meters.

I clap happily for the blonde. Our class seems excited and in awe of what is to come. Unfortunately for us, that all ends when Aizawa sees we are more thrilled to be able to use our quirks than worrying about the hero training.

“All right then,” he says menacingly. “In that case, new rule: the student who ranks last in total points will be judged hopeless, and instantly expelled.”

Is he serious? I think he may be. Looking around, my fellow classmates have determination set in their eyes. Some seem nervous, like Izuku and myself, but I know we can make it. I bite my bottom lip and clutch my fingers into a fist. I won’t come in last, and I will not fail.

The first trail Aizawa puts us through is the 50-meter dash. I am a little nervous about this one, since I know my water quirk will not be much help. However, I have years of track on my record, so by ending with 4.12 seconds, I manage to shave off a few minutes from my middle school record. I feel content with this, but I know at some point I need to show off how well I can use my quirk. My only problem is, when do I use it?

Trail 2 and 3 pass with ease, but I still don’t get the chance to put my quirk into action. On the 4th trail – the pitch – I decide to augment my distance a little. The diameter of the circle is within my range, so I surround the ball with water from the holster around my leg, and focus on holding the ball up with my mind. It keeps suspended at the tip of my finger, and with a push, I shoot the concentrated water out like a bullet. Once it leaves my range, the water falls, but the ball continues to spiral into the air. The reader in Aizawa’s hand goes off and reads 237 meters. Not too bad, but also not too good.

I return to Katsuki’s side, and Izuku is next to pitch. He looks nervous and I can understand why, he’s not doing so well. The last three trails nearly fail him. But I know he can do it.

“Midoriya’s not doing too well, is he?” Iida is the one who spoke. He, a girl with brown hair, and a flamboyant blonde are next to us.

Katsuki choses to answer. “Of course not. He’s a quirkless fucking guppy,” he answers while pointing his finger at the boy. I pull down his hand, telling him not to be rude. The blonde doesn’t listen.

Iida seems to reply something to his comment, but I don’t hear it. Instead, I keep my attention on Izuku as he curls his arm back to pitch. However, the moment he lets go of the ball, it soars a few meters and then falls to the ground with a thump. The reader spots him at 46 meters. My heart aches for him. While Aizawa pulls him aside to talk, I reach and grab Katsuki by the arm.

“Do you really think he’s going to get expelled?”

“No doubt about it,” he answers with a grunt. His hand pulls mine from the sleeve of his uniform. “The hell are you so worried about? You managed to stack some points in this last trail.”

He’s really terrible at this, but even so, I smile. Besides, I’m not worried about me at the moment. I’m worried about Izuku. I want him to pass. Aizawa seems to allow him a second chance to pitch. He winds back his arm again and throws, but before the ball leaves his hand, a shockwave sends it soaring at full speed into the air. I can’t believe this. What is this power? Could it have been a quirk?

“I – I don’t understand,” I whisper in alarm. Izuku didn’t have a quirk. But then how do I label this? It undeniably is a quirk of some kind.

All of a sudden, I feel extreme heat pouring off the blonde next to me. I am in awe at the horrified expression on his face and take a step back. This isn’t going to end well. No sooner than the words cross my mind, he flies into a rage. The effect of his quirk at close range is enough to knock me off my feet, but a pair of strong arms keep me upright.

“Careful now,” the calm voice of my savior says. I glance back and see a familiar face. It’s the spiky-haired male who saved me during the entrance exam.

“Hi again,” I stutter nervously.

He smiles and helps me to stand. I want to thank him, but I’m more worried about the events yet to come, once Katsuki gets his hands on the curly-haired teen. Thankfully, Aizawa stops him before then, capturing the blonde with his scarf – he explains that it’s a steel wire alloy woven with carbon nanofibers, a special capturing weapon.

“We’re wasting time.” Aizawa says, releasing Katsuki from his quirk. “Prepare for the next trail.”

I stand motionless as a statue and watch. Izuku seems fine, other than a swollen finger. He doesn’t make eye contact with me as he passes, but I do. He’s avoiding me. I don’t believe this. How could he do this to me? Tears threaten to pour from my eyes. Can he not trust me to tell me about this new found power? I hold back a sob and get in line for the endurance run.

It’s the end of the first day. School is finally out, and I am tired. The remaining 4 trails made me doubt my quirk, seeing as I didn’t use it as much, other than to hydrate myself and a few others. My determination helped keep me afloat, and despite the struggle, I end up ranking 9th out of the whole class. Izuku is dead last.

Fortunately for him, the whole expulsion thing happens to be a lie – round one goes to Aizawa. Class 1-A passes. For obvious reasons I don’t feel very happy about it.

I follow behind Katsuki off campus, tottering slowly without so much as a care. The day seems nice, but I can’t focus on anything but the events of the apprehension test. Izuku doesn’t trust me enough to tell me about his quirk. No, I need to let it go. But the more I think about it, the more I want to cry.  

I bite my bottom lip and stare at the back of my boyfriend’s head. He says nothing about earlier, but I know he is thinking about it too. Katsuki may be a hot-head, but most of the time he keeps his worries to himself. I’m not like him. I can’t seem to understand why Izuku would keep this from me – he has a quirk. Doesn’t he know that I will be happy for him?

My eyes burn with tears. I just don’t understand it. I can’t help myself; I begin to cry. My body shivers with sorrow. I stop to collect myself, but a hand takes mine and pulls me forward. I lean against the blonde’s chest and sob loudly.

“Stop being such a damn baby. People are starting to stare,” he insults me. His warm arms wrap around my back.

I try to speak, but all that comes out are my cries. I bury my fingers into the fabric of Katsuki’s blazer and hug him tightly. Would he lie to me too? Does he really care for me? It hurts to think about.

“Deku doesn’t need you as a friend. Do you understand me? He doesn’t deserve you.”

I agree with a nod. The sobs go silent the longer we stand here. But Katsuki never lets me go. Could it be true? Izuku and I are close, but maybe I don’t need him like I thought. Does he still consider me a friend? I don’t know the answers, but I do know how much I want Katsuki to never lie to me. I need him more than ever right now.

[lostinreality014]

Crossfade

Author’s Notes: In my mind, this piece is a chapter to story that I may not ever write. While this piece is purely fan fiction, it is quite personal and very close to my heart. There are aspects of this piece that I have experienced in my own life which, in some ways made it very easy for me to write. But it was also terrifying to write because of the anxiety I feel putting a fairly big piece of myself out there. I truly and honestly don’t know if I’ll ever develop a full story for this. I have lots of ideas, but they’re not ideas that can be formulated into a story at the moment. Hopefully one day I will write it. But until then... I wanted share this part of it with you.

Also note: This piece is also posted on my WATTPAD account

I have to say a massive, massive thank you to @wdmsusie for being my beta to this piece, for all of her invaluable input, and for assuring me my writing doesn’t completely suck. 

Emerson was sitting on the sofa with the TV tuned in to reruns of Will and Grace to keep her company until Niall returned home. She had left his single release party around 10, and to say she was not in a good mood would be an understatement. Since her knee injury a few weeks ago, it had been a struggle both mentally and physically on a daily basis. Even though she was thrilled for Niall and so proud of him for everything he was accomplishing so far as a solo artist, she found it incredibly hard to not be in a constant state of jealousy. And while things had been rough between them the last two or three months, and especially since her surgery, she had been determined to put their issues and her own struggles aside so as not to take away from his special day.

The reruns of her favorite show, also turned on as a means of distraction, were doing a poor job of keeping the memories from the day she learned her career was over from playing on a loop in her head. She supposed that's what she got for knowing the episodes so well. Initially the doctors had thought her injury wasn't as serious as it was. Her MRI results showed otherwise. They showed a complete tear of her ACL rather than a minor tear as was originally thought. The moment the doctors explained the full extent of her injury and the surgery she would need, she knew her dance career was over. Thankfully, Niall had been able to reschedule the couple of meetings he'd had the day she got the news of her MRI results so he could be there with her. While she didn't handle the news well at all, she knew she wouldn't have handled it as well as she did if Niall hadn't been there with her.

Dance was who Emerson was. Her dad had enrolled her in ballet lessons for her fifth birthday and she'd fallen in love immediately. And one of the things she had struggled with the most since her surgery was knowing the one thing that made her feel like she had a purpose in the world and made her feel like she belonged somewhere, she no longer had. Dance had been her outlet; her way of conveying her thoughts and feelings. When words failed her, dance was there. Being a professional ballet dancer didn't pay as well as other jobs would have, and it certainly didn't pay anywhere near the kind of money Niall brought in with his career, but she'd been happy. And she'd been able to support herself and also send some extra money back to her dad in Toronto long before her and Niall had started dating and he'd asked her to move in with him.

What hurt as much as losing her career was knowing her dad had lost just as much. He was her biggest fan and supporter. And even though he hadn't been able to fly to London to visit her very often, anytime she called to tell him she'd been cast in a lead role, or a role that meant a lot to her, he found a way be in the audience on her opening night. He'd sacrificed so much for her, so much more than any single parent should have had to. There had been many times when they didn't have enough money to pay the bills and the only thing they had to eat was cereal and peanut butter sandwiches. But his little girl was his world, and his only concern was that she was happy.

Emerson's dad had done everything he could to make sure she got the training and education she needed to make her dream of becoming a professional ballet dancer a reality. And when she nearly turned down the offer to study at the Royal Ballet School in London on full scholarship following her performance at the Youth America Grand Prix competition, her dad refused to let her. Aside from losing his wife and mother of his only child, leaving Emerson in London after she was settled in was the hardest thing he'd ever done. But he wasn't going to let her pass up the opportunity of a lifetime. When Emerson saw the tears of pure joy on her dad's face the day she graduated from Royal Ballet School and was offered a place in The Royal Ballet as a Soloist, she knew all the time spent apart and all the sacrifices he'd made had been worth it. And her dad had felt the exact same.

The commotion going on in the current episode snapped Emerson out of the place she'd gone to in her head. And when she got her bearings back and realized she was at home instead of Niall's release party, all of the frustration she'd felt earlier came flooding back because things had gone smoothly for the most part all day... until they weren't once at the party. There'd been plenty to do before having to get ready and then head to the venue so it'd been easy to keep herself distracted. But after being left alone for nearly an hour while Niall schmoozed it up with his friends and various industry people, she'd decided it was time to head home. She'd been to plenty of these events for the Royal Ballet before her injury, so she was well aware that people would be after Niall's attention all night. But she had hoped Niall would at least be nearby and include her in the conversations and celebration of his second single release as a solo artist.

The cab ride back home was spent dealing with the war going on inside of her head. She'd called Sadie and by the time the cab pulled into the drive, coming to a stop at the gate, Emerson had a plan. She was going to pack as much as she could in her two travel cases and wait for Niall to return home. Her mind was seventy-five percent made up about going back to Toronto to be with her dad for a few weeks while she started her knee rehabilitation, figuring out how to start over, and what she would do next. That other twenty-five percent wanted to stay in London. She knew her decision to stay or go to Toronto would largely depend on how the impending conversation with Niall went.

It was nearly midnight before she heard the front door open and close, signaling Niall was finally home. Emerson didn't bother getting up to greet him (not that she could have done that easily with her knee at the moment), nor did she acknowledge he was home until he had spoken to her first.

"Have you been here the whole time?" Niall asked, his tone tense and annoyed. Emerson held her gaze on the TV for a few seconds more before finally acknowledging him, sending visual daggers in his direction.

"Took you this long to notice I'd left?" she asked coldly.

"Noticed it when I came back with our drinks. Spent the last two hours tryin to find ya instead of enjoyin the evenin with ya."

"Enjoying it with me?" She laughed sarcastically. "You deserted me when you went to get our drinks."

"I wasn't gone that long," he huffed. Emerson raised an eyebrow at him.

"I was alone for nearly an hour before I decided to leave. I know we have no intention of making our relationship public knowledge to the whole world anytime soon, but enough people within your circle know we're together. And it's beyond humiliating to be at a table by myself with everyone throwing sideways glances at me and having to cover for you and say that you just stepped away to get us drinks when that wasn't the reality of the situation."

"I tried to get back to ya. I kept getting stopped every time I turned around because someone wanted to say hello or introduce me to someone."

"Yeah... I know how these parties work. I've been to a few of them myself. You are allowed to tell people that you'd be happy to meet someone or say hello, but you just need to step out for a moment and you'll be right back."

"Cause that's not rude when someone wants to introduce you to one of the top executives in the industry."

"But it's not rude to leave your girlfriend alone for nearly an hour?" she asked, her voice slightly higher than normal. "I'm sure whoever wanted to meet you would have understood. Record execs attend these parties all the time so I don't think they would have been offended that you needed to step out for a moment. And I don't think they would have been upset either if it took you a few minutes to get to them because other people want your attention." He rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest. "Clearly it didn't occur to you to ask them, or others, to meet you at the table where you left me so I could have been included in some part of your evening."

"Not like you would have been there when I got back since you up and left and didn't even bother to tell me you were leaving." He snapped, his eyes flashing angrily at her.

Emerson watched him close his eyes as he made himself take a deep breath to keep his emotions in check. Arguing was something that Niall and Emerson didn't do very often. In fact, the number blow out arguments they'd had in the time that they'd known each other could be counted on one hand. Every time they had one of those arguments, they made it a point to remind themselves of their promise to communicate and be open with each other so they could hopefully avoid anything more than a heated conversation. And as much as they didn't want to get into another full blown argument tonight, they were both finding it increasingly difficult to keep their cool.

"I tried to tell you I was leaving. I called you and texted you. Multiple times. I never got a response."

"I left me phone in the car and didn't realize it. You could have tried to find me."

"You're really suggesting that to me right now? Especially when you know I haven't been cleared to put weight on my leg for more than ten or fifteen minutes at a time? Hell I have a hard time getting around on these crutches as it is. And this damn contraption on my knee doesn't make it any easier."

"What the hell is with you lately?"

"What's with me?" Emerson laughed humorlessly. "Of course you haven't noticed. You've been too wrapped up in your own little world to notice or care for that matter."

"Notice what? That you've been clingy and needy as hell? And too busy acting like a jealous brat?" The moment he said it, he wanted to take it all back. He hadn't meant to lash out at her like that and he certainly hadn't meant to say those things. But this was a rare moment when his filter failed him and his temper got the better of him.

"That's low. Even for you," Emerson said softly, her voice trembling now. She'd done well with keeping the tears at bay, but that stung. A lot. His words had hit her with as much force as if she'd been physically punched in the stomach.

"Emmy..."

"Don't." she snapped. "Don't try to take it back. Clearly you meant it." She sniffled as a tear rolled down her cheek.

"No, I didn't." he said adamantly. "I didn't mean it."

"If you didn't mean it, you wouldn't have been thinking it in the first place. And for you to say it so easily, it's clear that you have been thinking it for a while." He opened his mouth to respond, but he had nothing. He had nothing because she was right. He hated that she was. Well she was right that the thought had been running through his mind lately. But he truly hadn't meant it. And knowing Emerson as well as he did, he knew trying to defend himself or apologize in this moment wouldn't help matters. It would just dig him in deeper.

"Since it seems you've forgot again," Emerson sneered, "I'm not physically capable of doing some things I normally can do on my own at the moment. I didn't realize asking for help or needing help doing some things made me clingy. I'm so sorry I'm such an inconvenience to you."

"You're not an inconvenience!" Niall exclaimed in exasperation.

"You sure have an odd way of showing it." She seethed. "I would have thought you'd be more understanding and sympathetic since you were in my position a few years ago." Emerson paused for a moment to take a breath. "I get how frustrating it is to be interrupted, especially when you're on a roll. But I've tried really hard to be considerate of you and the work you've been trying to get done. When you're home, I only ask you for help when I think you've reached a stopping point, or when you're not in the middle of keeping up with some golf tournament. Every time you complain when I ask for help, it makes me feel like I'm a burden to you."

"You're not a burden, Emmy! You're still recovering from major surgery. Of course you're going to need some help until you heal."

"Then don't act like it's the end of the fucking world when I ask for help. Surely you haven't forgot what it was like in the weeks after your knee surgery. If I'm not a burden or an inconvenience, the least you could do is help me out without all the moaning and groaning. I already feel guilty enough that I have to rely on you more than normal when you're busy working." Niall started to say something, but promptly shut his mouth. Again, Emerson had a point. And since he'd already shoved his foot in his mouth with his earlier comments about her being clingy and jealous, he knew it best to not say anything else for the moment.

"And that whole jealousy thing," Emerson said, her voice bitter. "You're right. I am jealous. But not for the reasons you think I am."

"I'm not following."

"Your knee surgery didn't end your career. Mine did. Do the math."

"Now who's acting like the world ended."

"Fuck you!" Emerson spat. "I can't believe you have the audacity to say that to me."

"There is more than one career out there. You can have any career you want."

"Are you serious right now?" she exclaimed. "I cannot believe those words just came out of your mouth. Of course there is more than one career out there. And maybe I could have any one of them. But they're not the careers I want, Niall. They're not the careers I poured my heart and soul into for years and spent hours training and practicing for. Do you really think that little of my career and my dreams?"

"Of course not!" He exclaimed. "Anyone who watched ya on stage or listened to ya talk about dancing could see how much ya love it. Anyone could see that's what ya were meant to do. Meself included."

"Really?! Because if you believe that, if you really knew how much I loved ballet like you claim you do, you wouldn't be brushing any of what I'm going through off as me overreacting and being jealous. If you really believe that I was meant to be a ballet dancer, you wouldn't be saying the shit you just did, and you would have noticed how much I'm struggling to cope with having my career taken away from me on top of trying to recover from my surgery."

"How would I know when you never talk to me anymore?!" He cried. Emerson laughed in disbelief.

"Don't you dare," her voice was so low is sounded like a growl, "Don't you dare pin this on me. Especially when you were calling me clingy not even two minutes ago. You sat on this couch with me and held me while I cried the day I was told my career was over and promised me that you'd be here for me. You promised me that you'd help me get through this and help me figure out how to start over. You have yet to follow through on either of those promises. And every time I try to talk to you when it seems like you show the slightest bit of interest in how I'm doing, or when I'm really struggling to cope with everything, I get interrupted by someone who needs you to be somewhere two days ago. And then I'm left in the dust wondering when I stopped being a priority in your life. When we stopped being a priority."

"How can you say that? You know you're a top priority to me." Emerson laughed again, but it was empty and hollow sounding.

"Do I know that? Because you haven't given me any reason in the last several weeks to believe I am. Or that we are."

"This is me life, Emmy. This is me job. I thought you knew what you were signing up for when we decided being friends wasn't enough for either of us."

"I'm well aware of what I signed up for." she snapped. "God you really can be an ass when you want to be. No..." she said firmly when he went to say something. "No. You've wanted me to talk to you, so I'm going to. And you're going to listen." He snapped his mouth shut.

"While my job may not have been as demanding as yours in some ways, I get that there are times when you have to drop everything on a moment's notice to take care of something. But for the most part, your career won't stop or end because you don't take care of something right this second. If I really am a priority in your life, you wouldn't put your work before your girlfriend every fucking time the phone rings. You would make it a point to tell whoever calls that unless it's an absolute emergency, you have something else that needs your attention at the moment and you'll be there as soon as you can. There'd be a balance between work and personal life, which we were doing pretty good at until I got injured. If I am a priority, you would have noticed how much I've been struggling since my surgery. And not just physically." Emerson carefully stood up and steadied herself, wincing slightly at the sharp pain that shot through her knee, before looking back up at him and carefully side stepping her way around the coffee table.

"But I see now that asking for help and asking to be a priority in your life that's at the very minimum, an equal priority to your job is asking too much of you."

"Where ya goin?" she could hear the confusion mixed with panic in his voice as she made her way toward the stairs and she hated that she was about to walk out on him. Whether that was for good or temporary, she didn't know yet.

"Back to Toronto to spend time with my dad for a while. I need to figure things out. And at least he'll be there to help me through all this since you're too busy being the mega pop star that you are." She knew that was a low blow coming from her, but she'd never held his career or music against him for the long stretches of time they spent apart from each other until this moment. And as selfish as it was, she didn't want her or their relationship to be low on the priority list anymore.

"That's not fair."

"And the way you treated me tonight is?! Or the way you've been treating me for the last few weeks since I've been cleared to do more than move from our bed to our couch and back again?" Emerson nearly yelled as she reached the top of the stairs.

"So you're just gonna leave?" He asked angrily, his voice slightly higher than usual.

"What reason do I have to stay?" she bit back, wishing she could storm down the hall like she wanted to.

"What reason?" Niall spluttered. "What about me? What about us?!" he exclaimed, the panic in his voice was evident.

Emerson was well aware of his fear of being without her. She was just as scared of being without him as well. They weren't dependent on each other to the point where they couldn't function on their own without the other being near, but they depended on each other a lot because their careers were similar in many ways. They were both the constant in each other's lives. The constant that kept them grounded when things started to get too overwhelming. But it was clear to her now that she couldn't stay. Not when the one person she really needed to help her navigate through the rough waters she's facing couldn't be bothered to be there for her. She knew deep in her heart that she needed to get away and clear her head for a little bit so she could figure out what she wanted to do next.

"It doesn't feel like there's much of an us anymore." she said as she hobbled into their bedroom.

Emerson's voice breaking and seeing her suitcases on their bed caused Niall to stop dead in the doorway of their bedroom. He'd honestly thought Emerson saying she was going back to Toronto was being said out of frustration and anger, which she had every right to be when he thought about it. He didn't think she'd actually leave and back down from the challenge of figuring out what to do next. It wasn't something Emerson did. If someone told her she couldn't do something, she'd find all the ways she could to prove them wrong. As he watched her slowly make her way across the room, he realized she was right that he hadn't given her any reason to stay. He hadn't followed through on his promises to her to be there for her and help her through this transition in her life.

"I love you, Niall. I truly am happy that things are going so well for you, and I'm so proud of you even if doesn't seem like I am. But it hurts to see you spend every day doing something you love and seeing your career as a solo artist take off. Part of your life was my life a few shorts weeks ago. And I don't want to look at you and feel that way because you deserve every good thing that is about to come your way. You worked so hard as part of the group, and you're working hard now to prove that you can be just as successful on your own. This knee injury and not being able to live out my dream anymore is unfortunate and something neither of us could control. If I stay, I'll end up resenting you more than I already do. And I don't want to resent you for living out your dreams and doing something you love. That's not fair to you." She paused and turned to take her suitcases off the bed and set them on the floor.

Niall debated whether or not to go over and help, not that he wanted to because he didn't want to her to leave but he also didn't want her to risk hurting her knee. But that nagging feeling in his stomach told him to stay put.

"You've watched what losing my career as done to me over the last few weeks. But you still don't see how much its affected me. And I'm starting to wonder if you ever will."

When she looked up and her eyes met his, Niall felt his heart flutter in his chest, and not in a good way. The pain in her eyes was like a flashing neon sign. In that moment, Niall was forced to admit to himself that he had no idea what Emerson was going through. He had no idea what it was like to have a career you loved suddenly taken away from you without any say in it. All those moments when someone called him and said they needed him to be somewhere for something and he went instead of staying with Emerson were now flashing through his mind at a rapid pace. He felt like a complete ass for putting his music first when he should have been putting her first. And he felt even worse for accusing her of being clingy when she was very clearly asking for his help.

"It would be so much easier to stay and figure out what's next if I had decided it was time to move on to the next chapter of my life. But it wasn't my decision. I was forced to retire because of this injury."

"I don't want you to leave." he said softly, debating whether or not it was safe to approach her. "You've never backed down from any challenge, no matter how tough it is. Anytime someone said you couldn't do something, you always proved them wrong. You going back to Toronto feels like you're running away."

"So I'm supposed to stay and try and figure out how to start my life over when being here is a constant reminder of everything that I had? I'm supposed to stay and figure out how to start over while watching you perform every night wishing it was me on stage? How is that fair to me? How is that going to help me move on?" He shrugged because he didn't know what to say, much less have an answer. And because the thought of her leaving in any capacity terrified him.

"If I asked you to stay and at least give it a try, would you?" his voice was so soft, but the fear in his tone was crystal clear.

"No," Emerson's voice was gentle, but sad. "Everything that's happened over the last couple of months, what's happened tonight, and since you got home especially, has shown me what I've been avoiding for a while now. I need to go back and be with my dad for a bit. I need to figure out how to start over and I can't do that in the city that held and still holds all my dreams. And I really need someone that can be my support system and be there for every step of my recovery and starting over."

"I know I've done a shit job of it lately. And you're right that I haven't given you much of a reason to stay. But I can be that person, Em. I can. Let me prove it."

"I know you can because you have been before. But I don't think you can this time. I have to accept that and so do you."

"No. We don't have to accept that."

"Yes. We do." Her voice was still gentle, but it was firm. "Be honest with yourself. Do you really think you'll be able to be there for me the way I'll need you to be, when you're about to go off on a massive promo tour for your new single?" His shoulders slumped in defeat. He knew she was right.

Niall knew in the pit of his stomach he wouldn't be able to be the support system she needed when he was in a different city every two days with all of his focus on promoting the new single. And for a split second, even though he knew it was completely unrealistic and would be nearly impossible for her as far as her rehab would go, he considered asking her to come with him on his promo tour.

"So where does that leave us?" he asked, slowly making his way toward her. "Does this mean we're over? Because I don't want us to be over." Emerson shrugged and tried to bite back the sob that was bubbling up in her throat when he took her hands and rubbed gentle circles to the backs of them with his thumbs.

"I don't want us to be over either," she hiccuped. She truly didn't want that. But she knew if they wanted their relationship to last, they couldn't keep going on like this. "But my head is all over the place and I can't think clearly. I just know that I need to get out of London for a while. And I think we could use some space ourselves. You just dropped another single, and you need to focus on that and whatever it is you need to do to finish the album so it can be released when you want it to be. I need to focus on the next phase of my rehab and taking care of me, both physically and mentally. Me staying isn't going to do either of us any good. Me staying will hold you back."

"You won't hold me back." He argued.

"I already am. We're both holding each other back as it is. This constant bickering that we've been doing, and taking out our frustrations on each other, it's not good for either of us. This isn't healthy. Maybe if we'd both paid a little bit more attention and communicated better like we promised ourselves after our last blow out argument, we could have avoided this whole situation." Emerson could see the wheels turning in his head and kept quiet, giving him the time to process his thoughts.

"I know it's too late for me to realize how much I've fucked up." Niall spoke softly after a minute or two. "And I'll do whatever it is I have to, to make it up to ya. I really don't want us to be over." The tears Emerson had been holding back spilled down her cheeks when his voice broke.

"I don't know if we need space or if we need to close ourselves off from everything and everyone for a couple of days and just talk and focus on us. But it seems like your mind is already made up. And if ya want to go back to be with your dad for a bit, if that's what ya think ya need, I won't stop ya." Emerson bit her lip when he gave her hands a gentle squeeze. She could see that as painful as it would be to let her go for a bit, he didn't want to force her into anything she didn't want to do.

"And you're right. I haven't been treatin ya the way you should be and deserve to be. I'm gonna kick meself in the ass for a long time about it. But I wanna to do whatever I can to help you because I love you and because you're the most important person in me life."

The small sob Emerson had held back a few minutes ago forced its way out of her throat against her will. And whether she wanted it or not, Niall wrapped her up in his arms and held her tightly, knowing this was going to be the last time for a while that he'd get to hold her and comfort her. He almost let out a sigh of relief when he felt her arms wrap around his waist, her hands fisting his shirt tightly. To him that was a positive sign. It was a sign that she still wanted him to be the person she turned to when things got tough. But it also made his heart squeeze uncomfortably in his chest because he could feel how much she'd missed being able to turn to him for comfort and reassurance when she'd needed it, and him, the most.

"I'm sorry I haven't been there for ya like I promised I would be. I'm sorry I failed ya." he whispered against her ear, tears burning at the backs of his eyes as he loosened his hold and took a small step back from her, keeping his arms around her waist. He wasn't going to let go until she made that move. When Emerson finally looked up at him, he could have sworn he felt his heart crack inside his chest. And he hated himself even more for being a reason for the pain she was feeling.

"I'm sorry too." she whispered, hiccuping softly.

"I know I don't have the right to ask, but please don't leave. Let me hold you tonight and be there for ya like I should have been. Ya can talk to me if ya want, or not. Just give me one more night." he pleaded softly.

"You won't try to convince me to stay?" Niall took a shuddering breath, a tear rolling down his cheek much to his dismay. He hated himself for giving her any reason to think that he would try to change her mind when it was already made up.

"No. If ya still want to go back to Toronto in the morning, I won't stop ya. I'll drive ya to the airport meself."

Emerson didn't say anything, just contemplated his request for a few moments. She wasn't sure it was a good idea to stay, but the pain and guilt etched in his eyes was enough to make her cave. Not only did she selfishly want to spend a few hours wrapped up in his arms again, the nagging feeling in her chest felt like a sign that staying one more night would give them the chance to work things out somewhere down the line. And she really wanted them to have that chance once she'd got her feet back underneath her because she couldn't picture her life without Niall in it.

"Okay. I'll stay."

When Niall woke the next morning, rain was pelting against the windows (fitting for the mood), one half of the bed was empty, and there was a hole in his chest where he was pretty sure his heart was meant to be. He stared at the empty spot next to him, mentally kicking himself in the ass for fucking up so badly, and hoping like hell he could fix it and have a second chance at a future with the girl he knew he was meant to marry.

[mamaredd123]

Close Encounters part 7

PAIRING: Dean x Reader

WARNINGS: none really that I can think of (If anyone recognizes a trigger PLEASE let me know though)

WORD COUNT:  1818

Thanks again to @atc74 for being my beta and keeping me straight on this one!!!!!

I will be posting Part 8 to this series tomorrow and then the conclusion will come Thursday evening so if you missed a part? Just finding this series? Get caught up here, Close Encounters Master List

Mama’s Master List

Waking up in the mornings has become my worst nightmare. I had another episode the night after I heard Sam and Dean’s argument. The only odd thing was I only lost three days that time. I was trying to look on the positive side of things; I mean, I lost three days versus the normal five, but it was still hard to do. Dean, and sometimes Sam, would start talking to me about things that I did or said, yet I have no memory of that time. It was getting harder and harder to keep this up.

I was sitting in the front room attempting to watch movie on the TV when the brothers came in and joined me. Dean sat on the couch beside me and Sam sat on the chair opposite of us. Maybe because I was so wrapped up in my pity party, it took me a few moments to realize they were watching me.

“What the hell guys? Do I have something on my face or what?”

“We need to talk,” Sam said seriously.

I turned to Dean and he had the same look on his face.

“Baby, we have to figure this out,” he said, softly.

“Okay, whatever. Spit it out,” I replied, almost gruffly.

We know something has been going on with you ever since we had that case with the weird pants. At first we thought everything was okay but…” Dean started.

“We know you are not okay. You tried to give Dean some excuse about it being hormones or something but that’s not it, is it Y/N?” Sam asked.

I was torn. I wanted to keep denying everything but something was telling me that wouldn’t be possible anymore. I looked over at Dean and saw such concern on his face. I could tell he was truly worried. With a sigh, I dropped my head.

“No, it’s not hormones Sam,” I finally told them.

“How bad is it?” Dean asked gently.

“I guess it is pretty bad.”

“Tell me what you have figured out and then maybe we can help fill in the blanks,” Sam said.

“The blackouts have never stopped. There have been at least six, maybe seven, that I can account for. I started keeping a log of sorts and that has helped me keep up with them somewhat, but I can’t swear it’s an accurate accounting. The good news s that the last one only lasted three days.”

“Three days?” Dean asked. “How long do they usually last?”

“Every one of them except the last one always lasted five days.”

“Hmm,” Sam replied. “That might actually have a meaning. I will look and see if that rings a bell with anything.”

“What else sweetheart? Is there anything else you can tell us?”

“Not really. I assumed in the first one that I didn’t do anything but sleep. In everyone one of them since then, apparently I am up and going about my life. Clearly, I have conversations with both of you. I am eating. I changed my clothes and even,” I paused, glancing at Dean, feeling my face flush with embarrassment. “And I think we even have sex and it’s during those times, especially, when I don’t know what is going on or how I got there, when I come to.”

I watched Dean’s eyes widen and I hoped he knew what I was referring to.

“You mean? You weren’t really with me then?” he asked softly.

“Once. I came to in the middle of it.”

Dean leaned forward and pulled me to him. His arms squeezed me tightly and I returned the hug.

“Okay,.so you have been having these blackouts, usually lasting five days, totally functioning as if you are with us the whole time but you have no recollection at all of that time. Does that sound about right?” Sam asked.

Without leaving Dean’s arm, I turned towards Sam and nodded.

“Y/N, I can’t believe you didn’t tell us about this, about what has been going on with you; you know what we do for a living.” Sam almost scoffed.

“I’m sorry. I really am. But I am scared and I wasn’t sure how either of you would react if I told you the truth.”

Dean pulled back slightly and looked me in the eyes.

“Baby, I told you I love you. I don’t want anything to hurt or threaten you.”

“Dean, everything is on hold until we get to the bottom of this. You stay with her; do not leave her side. I need to go look into something,” Sam declared as he jumped up from the chair. He was still talking as he bolted from the room.

“Come here sweetheart. We will figure this out and everything will be okay,” he told me as he pulled me back into his arms. “It took me this long to find you and I damn sure am not going to let anything take you away from me.”

I leaned back against his chest and let the tears of relief fall down my face until there were no more. Now that this burden of truth had been lifted, I was no longer alone in all this.  I don’t know what I had been so worried about. Dean laid there with me on the couch, murmuring comforting words and rubbing my back. I could feel, in every way possible, how much he really loved me. I stretched my arms around his back and held on tightly as I drifted off to sleep.

--------

(The following is told from Dean’s POV)

Her tears had soaked my shirt. Man, my heart was hurting so bad right now. She has been trying to figure all this out by herself this whole time. Damn it to hell, why didn’t I see the signs?

I kept rubbing her back and whispering to her that it was going to be alright. It must be helping some, because she fell asleep not long after I wrapped her in my arms. I am scared to move for fear of waking her.

“Shh!” I told Sam quietly as he rushed back in the room.

Sam paused and looked down at her. I was glad to see his face soften a little. I hated that he was right about her, but I didn’t want him mad at her either.

“I think I found something,” he whispered. “Come find me when she wakes up.”

I nodded and watched as he turned around and left. Looking back down at the top of her head, I was reminded again of how I should have noticed something was off. I loved her long hair; it had been almost to her waist. When I came home a few weeks ago, it was all gone.  She had cut it all off, up to her ears.

“Hmm. I love it when you just hold me.”

“Sorry, sweetheart. I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“I wasn’t asleep. I was just laying here, enjoying the moment.”

Uh huh, I know better. She was out cold.

“Ok, that’s fine. Are you feeling better?” I asked her.

“Absolutely!” she replied sitting up. “But I’m starving! Let’s get something to eat.”

She stood up and grabbed my hand. Next thing I knew, she was pulling me into the kitchen. I kept a pace back from her and watched her. She was acting like nothing had happened. She walked up to the fridge and started grabbing stuff and setting it all out on the counter. What the hell? Oh shit! She’s blacked out again! That has to be it!

“Hey babe, you know we were talking about going to the movies after while. Did you decide if you wanted to go?” I asked her, testing my theory.

“I don’t know. I was thinking maybe we could just stay in tonight. We could maybe make our own movie? Your room? After while?” she said, smiling at me as she continued pulling stuff out of the cabinets.

“Huh?.. Oh, yea.. Yea, we can definitely do that.”

“Great! Well get over here and help get this stuff cooking then, silly.”

I wasn’t exactly sure how to handle this but it was beginning to freak me out a little. I remember some movie from the late 70’s, I think it was called ‘Sybil’, about a woman with multiple personalities, I wonder if that’s what’s wrong with her. Monsters I can handle, this, this is new for me.

Sam! Sam said he found something. I need to go let him know what was going on.

“Hey sweetheart, I’m gonna grab Sammy real quick and we can cook together, ok?”

“Aw, do you have to?”

“Well, umm…”

“Don’t go get him. Let it just be me and you for right now. We can get Sam when everything is ready, ok?”

“Ok,” I answered. Geez, maybe I should have come up with a better excuse to skip out.

I walked over and started helping her. She was a marvel in the kitchen, there is no doubt about that. She could whip up something delicious from practically nothing, which she has done many times since staying here. She was good about giving orders, too.

“No, Dean. You don’t cut it that way. Here let me show you again,” she fussed as she took the onion and knife away from me.

I stepped back and watched, not her cutting technique, but her. Now that I knew something was off, I kept seeing more and more signs of it that I never noticed before. Her mannerisms were different, the way she talked to me. It was more abrupt, bordering on harsh. She was nowhere close to as affectionate, either. When she is herself, she is always touching me: a hand on my arm while she talks to me, she would place her hand on the small of my back whenever she walked behind me, her foot would touch mine if we were sitting on opposite ends of the couch, and her head was always on my chest when we fell asleep.

Damn it! I was such a fool for not noticing, even after Sam brought it up.

“There; did you get it this time?” she snapped, breaking my train of thought.

“Probably about as good as I did the last time you showed me,” I answered, trying to laugh it off.

“It’s really not funny Dean. You have to know how to handle a knife. You have to respect it.”

“Uh, this is me you are talking to, remember?”

Thankfully, she just glared at me. That was another thing she never did when she was herself. I don’t think she has ever been angry with me. She has always been the most patient woman I have ever met in my life. No wonder I fell in love with her. I just had to get her back now, full time.

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[roguelioness]

A Rogue’s Finesse

Chapter 2 : Haven

Haven was… a mess. It would have been a quaint little village, Dani acknowledged, if it wasn’t for the sheer number currently present. Between the Inquisition and the refugees, Haven was overcrowded - so much so that there were numerous tents pitched outside the village walls to accommodate everyone, even though the ground was frozen and the temperatures plummeted at night. No one enjoyed sleeping outside; the tents provided little relief against the biting wind, but there was no other choice.

She winced, thinking back to the day she’d woken up after her attempt to seal the Breach. She’d been passed out for three days, she was informed by the terrified elf who’d been delivering provisions, and moments after she’d been referred to as the Herald of Andraste - which had left her utterly bemused - said elf had dropped to her knees and asked for Dani’s blessings, to which she’d replied… “thank you.”

Thank you? She groaned internally. What was wrong with her? She was supposed to be trained in the ways of conversation, for crying out loud! And all she could manage was thank you?

That hadn’t even been the worst part. She was told to meet Seeker Cassandra in the Chantry, and knowing the raven haired woman’s formidable templer - having been on the receiving end of it already - she’d gotten dressed as quickly as she could, and was on her way out of the door when she tripped on the undone lacings of her boot, and fell flat on her face… right in front of the huge crowd that had assembled in front of the hut.

Soldiers and villagers alike had stared at her, their first impression of the fabled Herald of Andraste who had closed the Breach being a red-cheeked woman with dirt on her face, hair sticking out in all directions, desperately trying to rapidly tie the laces on her boots.

There had been, she recalled with no small amount of mortification, quite a few chuckles and sniggers.

She’d dusted herself off as best as she could, raised her chin up - she was a Trevelyan, after all, modest in temper, bold in deed - and this was not going to affect her.

Not outwardly, anyway.

Ignoring the curious glances directed her way, she’d made her way to the Chantry, a large stone building with an arched doorway and a slate-tiled roof. She nodded politely at the Sisters standing outside, and entered confidently. Once inside, however, she’d hovered, uncertain as to where she was to go - one of Leliana’s scouts had had to direct her towards the “war room.”

War room. It didn’t sound like something she wanted to get involved in.

But she’d had little choice.

She could make out the sounds of a heated argument even through the thick oak door. She recognized the voices as those belonging to the Seeker and Chancellor Roderick, and that had almost made her turn around and walk away. She’d had no desire to meet the insufferable man a second time.

She’d gone in anyway.

As she’d predicted, the argument had become worse after her arrival, culminating in the Seeker furiously driving the Chancellor out of the room while waving around a book so thick it resembled a brick.

Her help was requested, she’d acquiesced, and in that stuffy room with the massive table, the Inquisition was “officially” reborn.

Officially, she’d been told by the ambassador later, because the Inquisition was technically already running even before the explosion at the Conclave. She’d nodded politely, but she hadn’t understood the technicalities of the formation of the Inquisition, and in all truth she had little interest in the matter.

What mattered was that she had some seriously weird magic in her hand - that had, with the closing of the Breach, thankfully stopped growing and trying to kill her - and she could use said magic to close rifts.

Which, so far as she could see, made her rather indispensable.

It also meant that her every move was noted.

And that, for a rogue, was insufferable. Even the cover of stealth wasn’t any use against the spymaster’s eyes and ears - and though she’d been in Haven for over a week now, Dani still hadn’t worked out how Leliana knew everything.

It was scary. And impressive, yes. But scary.

Dani made her way to the apothecary’s hut - she was one of the few people in Haven who enjoyed Adan’s gruff, blunt way of talking - stopping to let Solas examine her hand. She was immensely grateful to the elven apostate - even though she did find him a little stuffy - because he was clearly a very talented mage, and one who seemed to be able to quieten the Anchor when it thrummed uncomfortably.

“Have you noticed any change as to the condition of your mark?” he asked solicitously.

“Not really,” she wrinkled her forehead. “Although…” she trailed off.

“What is the matter?” he prompted.

“Well,” she said in a rush, “I’ve noticed that I’ve been rather… clumsy… after getting this mark.” She could make out the amused smile, though he tried to cover it up by examining the magic that was embedded in her palm. “You don’t believe me, do you?” she huffed.

“While it is certainly possible that the new, unfamiliar magic may be throwing you off balance,” he said delicately, “it would not occur to the level you are experiencing unless you had some amount of predilection towards awkwardness.”

“I am not awkward!” she huffed. “Just tell me how to stop this whole… clumsy business.”

“I’m afraid there is no solution for it,” he replied with a sympathetic look. “Training would improve your reflexes, but if you are certain the Anchor is causing some level of uncoordination, it will remain until it is removed.”

“So, basically, I’m going to remain a clumsy oaf unless someone removes this stupid magic thing from my hand?”

“Indeed.”

“Well, shit.”

He patted her shoulder awkwardly. “It is something you can overcome, I have no doubt.”

“I sure hope so,” she muttered. “Thanks anyway, Solas.”

“Of course.”

Adan was, as he usually was, at the potions table, grumbling under his breath.

“Everything okay, Adan?

He looked up, his frown easing away when he saw her. “That Seggritt is a greedy bastard,” he complained. “Says he won’t sell any of that old elfroot he has for less than ten silver. Ten silver! For something that grows everywhere! Where does he think we’re supposed to get the money from?”

“That’s pretty shitty. Anything I can do to help?”

“If you got the time, maybe you could collect some elfroot? Maker knows we need it, with the number of injured we have.”

“Not a problem. Any idea where I can find some? I don’t think I’ve seen anything outside the gates.”

“You know that old place down past the training ring?” She nodded. “Go past that, there’s a gate that leads out to the logging stand. Plenty of ram there, if you’ve a mind for some hunting. There’s plenty of elfroot there.”

“Got it. I’ll see what I can do.”

Adan grunted, a sound she took to mean “thanks”.

The training grounds rang out with the harsh clash of steel on steel, and Dani wondered why they were practicing with real weapons. She’d only met the Commander briefly - first when they made their way to the Breach, and then usually when they gathered in the war room to discuss Inquisition-related matters. She’d thought him capable and knowledgeable - that he was easy on the eyes was, in her opinion, a bonus - if a tad restrained around women.

Which, she shook her head in amusement, was a pity, because most of the people heading the Inquisition were women.

The area surrounding the Inquisition logging stand was, as Adan had said, abundant with elfroot. She began to collect as many of the plants she could, careful to pull it up whole with roots intact. There were plenty of rams around, and she felt the itch to hunt. They skittered away when they heard her approaching, but Dani wasn’t being particularly sneaky at the moment, so she wasn’t as stealthy as she was when she was in full rogue mode.

She was surprised to find druffalo roaming about. Where they’d come from, she had no idea, nor did she have a clue as to what they were doing here. It was unlikely that the snow-covered ground held much in the way of fodder for them.

She made a mental note to stay away from them. Tamed druffalo were docile, but these were wild, and therefore unpredictable.

Spotting a patch of elfroot, she trudged through the snow towards it, keeping a wide berth from the beasts. One last batch, she thought to herself, and she could return to Adan with what she’d collected. Her bag was almost full, and she was quite proud of the fact.

Unfortunately, her movement caught the eye of an especially temperamental druffalo. A huffed snort was the only warning she got before she heard the sound of hooves charging through the snow. To see a one-ton beast charging in her direction was, needless to say, a fearful picture, and Dani quickly began running in the opposite direction… and proceeded to have a head-on collision with a second druffalo, who was not in the least pleased to have his meal interrupted.

It was a comical picture the Inquisition soldiers were treated to - the sight of the Herald of Andraste running for her life, yelling for help, a leather bag clutched tightly to her chest, two angry druffalos chasing after her. It was only when Commander Cullen barked out an order that they swung into action, clanging sword against shield to create a din that eventually drove the two beasts away. The men watched with utmost interest as their Commander approached the Herald, waiting to see what he would have to say.

“Are you alright?” Cullen asked, torn between amusement and concern.

“I’m fine,” she wheezed, doubled over as she tried to catch her breath. “It’s all good.”

Only it wasn’t. By the end of the day, the tale had spread through Haven, with several consequences - people now made mooing noises when they saw her, Varric had eagerly written down the story to publish in his next book and he’d started calling her “your grace” - which, as he’d pointed out, was because she was so clearly lacking in the department. Worst of all, Leliana had appointed a permanent bodyguard for her; the spymaster had claimed that Dani had proven to be a danger to herself when alone, and the Inquisition couldn’t risk having the only person who could close the rifts injured or dead - which meant that she was now stuck with a permanent babysitter.

It had not been a good day for the rogue.

[readbookywooks]

23 Every cell in my body wants me to dig into the stew and cram it, handful by handful into my mouth. But Peeta's voice stops me. "We better take it slow on that stew. Remember the first night on the train? The rich food made me sick and I wasn't even starving then." "You're right. And I could just inhale the whole thing!" I say regretfully. But I don't. We are quite sensible. We each have a roll, half an apple, and an egg-size serving of stew and rice. I make myself eat the stew in tiny spoonfuls  -  they even sent us silverware and plates  -  savoring each bite. When we finish, I stare longingly at the dish. "I want more." "Me, too. Tell you what. We wait an hour, if it stays down, then we get another serving," Peeta says. "Agreed," I say. "It's going to be a long hour." "Maybe not that long," says Peeta. "What was that you were saying just before the food arrived? Something about me. no competition. best thing that ever happened to you. " "I don't remember that last part," I say, hoping it's too dim in here for the cameras to pick up my blush. "Oh, that's right. That's what I was thinking," he says. "Scoot over, I'm freezing." I make room for him in the sleeping bag. We lean back against the cave wall, my head on his shoulder, his arms wrapped around me. I can feel Haymitch nudging me to keep up the act. "So, since we were five, you never even noticed any other girls?" I ask him. "No, I noticed just about every girl, but none of them made a lasting impression but you," he says. "I'm sure that would thrill your parents, you liking a girl from the Seam," I say. "Hardly. But I couldn't care less. Anyway, if we make it back, you won't be a girl from the Seam, you'll be a girl from the Victor's Village," he says. That's right. If we win, we'll each get a house in the part of town reserved for Hunger Games' victors. Long ago, when the Games began, the Capitol had built a dozen fine houses in each district. Of course, in ours only one is occupied. Most of the others have never been lived in at all. A disturbing thought hits me. "But then, our only neighbor will be Haymitch!" "Ah, that'll be nice," says Peeta, tightening his arms around me. "You and me and Haymitch. Very cozy. Picnics, birthdays, long winter nights around the fire retelling old Hunger Games' tales." "I told you, he hates me!" I say, but I can't help laughing at the image of Haymitch becoming my new pal. "Only sometimes. When he's sober, I've never heard him say one negative thing about you," says Peeta. "He's never sober!" I protest. "That's right. Who am I thinking of? Oh, I know. It's Cinna who likes you. But that's mainly because you didn't try to run when he set you on fire," says Peeta. "On the other hand, Haymitch. well, if I were you, I'd avoid Haymitch completely. He hates you." "I thought you said I was his favorite," I say. "He hates me more," says Peeta. "I don't think people in general are his sort of thing." I know the audience will enjoy our having fun at Haymitch's expense. He has been around so long, he's practically an old friend to some of them. And after his head-dive off the stage at the reaping, everybody knows him. By this time, they'll have dragged him out of the control room for interviews about us. No telling what sort of lies he's made up. He's at something of a disadvantage because most mentors have a partner, another victor to help them whereas Haymitch has to be ready to go into action at any moment. Kind of like me when I was alone in the arena. I wonder how he's holding up, with the drinking, the attention, and the stress of trying to keep us alive. It's funny. Haymitch and I don't get along well in person, but maybe Peeta is right about us being alike because he seems able to communicate with me by the timing of his gifts. Like how I knew I must be close to water when he withheld it and how I knew the sleep syrup just wasn't something to ease Peeta's pain and how I know now that I have to play up the romance. He hasn't made much effort to connect with Peeta really. Perhaps he thinks a bowl of broth would just be a bowl of broth to Peeta, whereas I'll see the strings attached to it. A thought hits me, and I'm amazed the question's taken so long to surface. Maybe it's because I've only recently begun to view Haymitch with a degree of curiosity. "How do you think he did it?" "Who? Did what?" Peeta asks. "Haymitch. How do you think he won the Games?" I say. Peeta considers this quite a while before he answers. Haymitch is sturdily built, but no physical wonder like Cato or Thresh. He's not particularly handsome. Not in the way that causes sponsors to rain gifts on you. And he's so surly, it's hard to imagine anyone teaming up with him. There's only one way Haymitch could have won, and Peeta says it just as I'm reaching this conclusion myself. "He outsmarted the others," says Peeta. I nod, then let the conversation drop. But secretly I'm wondering if Haymitch sobered up long enough to help Peeta and me because he thought we just might have the wits to survive. Maybe he wasn't always a drunk. Maybe, in the beginning, he tried to help the tributes. But then it got unbearable. It must be hell to mentor two kids and then watch them die. Year after year after year. I realize that if I get out of here, that will become my job. To mentor the girl from District 12. The idea is so repellent, I thrust it from my mind. About half an hour has passed before I decide I have to eat again. Peeta's too hungry himself to put up an argument. While I'm dishing up two more small servings of lamb stew and rice, we hear the anthem begin to play. Peeta presses his eyes against a crack in the rocks to watch the sky. "There won't be anything to see tonight," I say, far more interested in the stew than the sky. "Nothing's happened or we would've heard a cannon." "Katniss," Peeta says quietly. "What? Should we split another roll, too?" I ask. "Katniss," he repeats, but I find myself wanting to ignore him. "I'm going to split one. But I'll save the cheese for tomorrow," I say. I see Peeta staring at me. "What?" "Thresh is dead," says Peeta. "He can't be," I say. "They must have fired the cannon during the thunder and we missed it," says Peeta. "Are you sure? I mean, it's pouring buckets out there. I don't know how you can see anything," I say. I push him away from the rocks and squint out into the dark, rainy sky. For about ten seconds, I catch a distorted glimpse of Thresh's picture and then he's gone. Just like that. I slump down against the rocks, momentarily forgetting about the task at hand. Thresh dead. I should be happy, right? One less tribute to face. And a powerful one, too. But I'm not happy. All I can think about is Thresh letting me go, letting me run because of Rue, who died with that spear in her stomach. "You all right?" asks Peeta. I give a noncommittal shrug and cup my elbows in my hands, hugging them close to my body. I have to bury the real pain because who's going to bet on a tribute who keeps sniveling over the deaths of her opponents. Rue was one thing. We were allies. She was so young. But no one will understand my sorrow at Thresh's murder. The word pulls me up short. Murder! Thankfully, I didn't say it aloud. That's not going to win me any points in the arena. What I do say is, "It's just. if we didn't win. I wanted Thresh to. Because he let me go. And because of Rue." "Yeah, I know," says Peeta. "But this means we're one step closer to District Twelve." He nudges a plate of foot into my hands. "Eat. It's still warm." I take a bite of the stew to show I don't really care, but it's like glue in my mouth and takes a lot of effort to swallow. "It also means Cato will be back hunting us." "And he's got supplies again," says Peeta. "He'll be wounded, I bet," I say. "What makes you say that?" Peeta asks. "Because Thresh would have never gone down without a fight. He's so strong, I mean, he was. And they were in his territory," I say. "Good," says Peeta. "The more wounded Cato is the better. I wonder how Foxface is making out." "Oh, she's fine," I say peevishly. I'm still angry she thought of hiding in the Cornucopia and I didn't. "Probably be easier to catch Cato than her." "Maybe they'll catch each other and we can just go home," says Peeta. "But we better be extra careful about the watches. I dozed off a few times." "Me, too," I admit. "But not tonight." We finish our food in silence and then Peeta offers to take the first watch. I burrow down in the sleeping bag next to him, pulling my hood up over my face to hide it from the cameras. I just need a few moments of privacy where I can let any emotion cross my face without being seen. Under the hood, I silently say good-bye to Thresh and thank him for my life. I promise to remember him and, if I can, do something to help his family and Rue's, if I win. Then I escape into sleep, comforted by a full belly and the steady warmth of Peeta beside me. When Peeta wakes me later, the first thing I register is the smell of goat cheese. He's holding out half a roll spread with the creamy white stuff and topped with apple slices. "Don't be mad," he says. "I had to eat again. Here's your half." "Oh, good," I say, immediately taking a huge bite. The strong fatty cheese tastes just like the kind Prim makes, the apples are sweet and crunchy. "Mm." "We make a goat cheese and apple tart at the bakery," he says. "Bet that's expensive," I say. "Too expensive for my family to eat. Unless it's gone very stale. Of course, practically everything we eat is stale," says Peeta, pulling the sleeping bag up around him. In less than a minute, he's snoring. Huh. I always assumed the shopkeepers live a soft life. And it's true, Peeta has always had enough to eat. But there's something kind of depressing about living your life on stale bread, the hard, dry loaves that no one else wanted. One thing about us, since I bring our food home on a daily basis, most of it is so fresh you have to make sure it isn't going to make a run for it. Somewhere during my shift, the rain stops not gradually but all at once. The downpour ends and there's only the residual drippings of water from branches, the rush of the now overflowing stream below us. A full, beautiful moon emerges, and even without the glasses I can see outside. I can't decide if the moon is real or merely a projection of the Gamemakers. I know it was full shortly before I left home. Gale and I watched it rise as we hunted into the late hours. How long have I been gone? I'm guessing it's been about two weeks in the arena, and there was that week of preparation in the Capitol. Maybe the moon has completed its cycle. For some reason, I badly want it to be my moon, the same one I see from the woods around District 12. That would give me something to cling to in the surreal world of the arena where the authenticity of everything is to be doubted. Four of us left. For the first time, I allow myself to truly think about the possibility that I might make it home. To fame. To wealth. To my own house in the Victor's Village. My mother and Prim would live there with me. No more fear of hunger. A new kind of freedom. But then. what? What would my life be like on a daily basis? Most of it has been consumed with the acquisition of food. Take that away and I'm not really sure who I am, what my identity is. The idea scares me some. I think of Haymitch, with all his money. What did his life become? He lives alone, no wife or children, most of his waking hours drunk. I don't want to end up like that. "But you won't be alone," I whisper to myself. I have my mother and Prim. Well, for the time being. And then. I don't want to think about then, when Prim has grown up, my mother passed away. I know I'll never marry, never risk bringing a child into the world. Because if there's one thing being a victor doesn't guarantee, it's your children's safety. My kids' names would go right into the reaping balls with everyone else's. And I swear I'll never let that happen. The sun eventually rises, its light slipping through the cracks and illuminating Peeta's face. Who will he transform into if we make it home? This perplexing, good-natured boy who can spin out lies so convincingly the whole of Panem believes him to be hopelessly in love with me, and I'll admit it, there are moments when he makes me believe it myself? At least, we'll be friends, I think. Nothing will change the fact that we've saved each other's lives in here. And beyond that, he will always be the boy with the bread. Good friends. Anything beyond that though. and I feel Gale's gray eyes watching me watching Peeta, all the way from District 12. Discomfort causes me to move. I scoot over and shake Peeta's shoulder. His eyes open sleepily and when they focus on me, he pulls me down for a long kiss. "We're wasting hunting time," I say when I finally break away. "I wouldn't call it wasting," he says giving a big stretch as he sits up. "So do we hunt on empty stomachs to give us an edge?" "Not us," I say. "We stuff ourselves to give us staying power." "Count me in," Peeta says. But I can see he's surprised when I divide the rest of the stew and rice and hand a heaping plate to him. "All this?" "We'll earn it back today," I say, and we both plow into our plates. Even cold, it's one of the best things I've ever tasted. I abandon my fork and scrape up the last dabs of gravy with my finger. "I can feel Effie Trinket shuddering at my manners." "Hey, Effie, watch this!" says Peeta. He tosses his fork over his shoulder and literally licks his plate clean with his tongue making loud, satisfied sounds. Then he blows a kiss out to her in general and calls, "We miss you, Effie!" I cover his mouth with my hand, but I'm laughing. "Stop! Cato could be right outside our cave." He grabs my hand away. "What do I care? I've got you to protect me now," says Peeta, pulling me to him. "Come on," I say in exasperation, extricating myself from his grasp but not before he gets in another kiss. Once we're packed up and standing outside our cave, our mood shifts to serious. It's as though for the last few days, sheltered by the rocks and the rain and Cato's preoccupation with Thresh, we were given a respite, a holiday of sorts. Now, although the day is sunny and warm, we both sense we're really back in the Games. I hand Peeta my knife, since whatever weapons he once had are long gone, and he slips it into his belt. My last seven arrows  -  of the twelve I sacrificed three in the explosion, two at the feast  -  rattle a bit too loosely in the quiver. I can't afford to lose any more. "He'll be hunting us by now," says Peeta. "Cato isn't one to wait for his prey to wander by." "If he's wounded  - " I begin. "It won't matter," Peeta breaks in. "If he can move, he's coming." With all the rain, the stream has overrun its banks by several feet on either side. We stop there to replenish our water. I check the snares I set days ago and come up empty. Not surprising with the weather. Besides, I haven't seen many animals or signs of them in this area. "If we want food, we better head back up to my old hunting grounds," I say. "Your call. Just tell me what you need me to do," Peeta says. "Keep an eye out," I say. "Stay on the rocks as much as possible, no sense in leaving him tracks to follow. And listen for both of us." It's clear, at this point, that the explosion destroyed the hearing in my left ear for good. I'd walk in the water to cover our tracks completely, but I'm not sure Peeta's leg could take the current. Although the drugs have erased the infection, he's still pretty weak. My forehead hurts along the knife cut, but after three days the bleeding has stopped. I wear a bandage around my head though, just in case physical exertion should bring it back. As we head up alongside the stream, we pass the place where I found Peeta camouflaged in the weeds and mud. One good thing, between the downpour and the flooded banks, all signs of his hiding place have been wiped out. That means that, if need be, we can come back to our cave. Otherwise, I wouldn't risk it with Cato after us. The boulders diminish to rocks that eventually turn to pebbles, and then, to my relief, we're back on pine needles and the gentle incline of the forest floor. For the first time, I realize we have a problem. Navigating the rocky terrain with a bad leg  -  well, you're naturally going to make some noise. But even on the smooth bed of needles, Peeta is loud. And I mean loud loud, as if he's stomping his feet or something. I turn and look at him. "What?" he asks. "You've got to move more quietly," I say. "Forget about Cato, you're chasing off every rabbit in a ten-mile radius." "Really?" he says. "Sorry, I didn't know." So, we start up again and he's a tiny bit better, but even with only one working ear, he's making me jump. "Can you take your boots off?" I suggest. "Here?" he asks in disbelief, as if I'd asked him to walk barefoot on hot coals or something. I have to remind myself that he's still not used to the woods, that it's the scary, forbidden place beyond the fences of District 12. I think of Gale, with his velvet tread. It's eerie how little sound he makes, even when the leaves have fallen and it's a challenge to move at all without chasing off the game. I feel certain he's laughing back home. "Yes," I say patiently. "I will, too. That way we'll both be quieter." Like I was making any noise. So we both strip off our boots and socks and, while there's some improvement, I could swear he's making an effort to snap every branch we encounter. Needless to say, although it takes several hours to reach my old camp with Rue, I've shot nothing. If the stream would settle down, fish might be an option, but the current is still too strong. As we stop to rest and drink water, I try to work out a solution. Ideally, I'd dump Peeta now with some simple root-gathering chore and go hunt, but then he'd be left with only a knife to defend himself against Cato's spears and superior strength. So what I'd really like is to try and conceal him somewhere safe, then go hunt, and come back and collect him. But I have a feeling his ego isn't going to go for that suggestion. "Katniss," he says. "We need to split up. I know I'm chasing away the game." "Only because your leg's hurt," I say generously, because really, you can tell that's only a small part of the problem. "I know," he says. "So, why don't you go on? Show me some plants to gather and that way we'll both be useful." "Not if Cato comes and kills you." I tried to say it in a nice way, but it still sounds like I think he's a weakling. Surprisingly, he just laughs. "Look, I can handle Cato. I fought him before, didn't I?" Yeah, and that turned out great. You ended up dying in a mud bank. That's what I want to say, but I can't. He did save my life by taking on Cato after all. I try another tactic. "What if you climbed up in a tree and acted as a lookout while I hunted?" I say, trying to make it sound like very important work. "What if you show me what's edible around here and go get us some meat?" he says, mimicking my tone. "Just don't go far, in case you need help." I sigh and show him some roots to dig. We do need food, no question. One apple, two rolls, and a blob of cheese the size of a plum won't last long. I'll just go a short distance and hope Cato is a long way off. I teach him a bird whistle  -  not a melody like Rue's but a simple two-note whistle  -  which we can use to communicate that we're all right. Fortunately, he's good at this. Leaving him with the pack, I head off. I feel like I'm eleven again, tethered not to the safety of the fence but to Peeta, allowing myself twenty, maybe thirty yards of hunting space. Away from him though, the woods come alive with animal sounds. Reassured by his periodic whistles, I allow myself to drift farther away, and soon have two rabbits and a fat squirrel to show for it. I decide it's enough. I can set snares and maybe get some fish. With Peeta's roots, this will be enough for now. As I travel the short distance back, I realize we haven't exchanged signals in a while. When my whistle receives no response, I run. In no time, I find the pack, a neat pile of roots beside it. The sheet of plastic has been laid on the ground where the sun can reach the single layer of berries that covers it. But where is he? "Peeta!" I call out in a panic. "Peeta!" I turn to the rustle of brush and almost send an arrow through him. Fortunately, I pull my bow at the last second and it sticks in an oak trunk to his left. He jumps back, flinging a handful of berries into the foliage. My fear comes out as anger. "What are you doing? You're supposed to be here, not running around in the woods!" "I found some berries down by the stream," he says, clearly confused by my outburst. "I whistled. Why didn't you whistle back?" I snap at him. "I didn't hear. The water's too loud, I guess," he says. He crosses and puts his hands on my shoulders. That's when I feel that I'm trembling. "I thought Cato killed you!" I almost shout. "No, I'm fine." Peeta wraps his arms around me, but I don't respond. "Katniss?" I push away, trying to sort out my feelings. "If two people agree on a signal, they stay in range. Because if one of them doesn't answer, they're in trouble, all right?" "All right!" he says. "All right. Because that's what happened with Rue, and I watched her die!" I say. I turn away from him, go to the pack and open a fresh bottle of water, although I still have some in mine. But I'm not ready to forgive him. I notice the food. The rolls and apples are untouched, but someone's definitely picked away part of the cheese. "And you ate without me!" I really don't care, I just want something else to be mad about. "What? No, I didn't," Peeta says. "Oh, and I suppose the apples ate the cheese," I say. "I don't know what ate the cheese," Peeta says slowly and distinctly, as if trying not to lose his temper, "but it wasn't me. I've been down by the stream collecting berries. Would you care for some?" I would actually, but I don't want to relent too soon. I do walk over and look at them. I've never seen this type before. No, I have. But not in the arena. These aren't Rue's berries, although they resemble them. Nor do they match any I learned about in training. I lean down and scoop up a few, rolling them between my fingers. My father's voice comes back to me. "Not these, Katniss. Never these. They're nightlock. You'll be dead before they reach your stomach." Just then, the cannon fires. I whip around, expecting Peeta to collapse to the ground, but he only raises his eyebrows. The hovercraft appears a hundred yards or so away. What's left of Foxface's emaciated body is lifted into the air. I can see the red glint of her hair in the sunlight. I should have known the moment I saw the missing cheese. Peeta has me by the arm, pushing me toward a tree. "Climb. He'll be here in a second. We'll stand a better chance fighting him from above." I stop him, suddenly calm. "No, Peeta, she's your kill, not Cato's." "What? I haven't even seen her since the first day," he says. "How could I have killed her?" In answer, I hold out the berries.