#thought i was too recovered and swung the wrong direction only to find out i haven’t even made it to my original goal

[butch-himbo-king]

.

[drspencerweed]

Dreams Do Come True

Summary/Request: from anon: CONGRATS ON HITTING 500 ILYSM!!! random request,, having a wet dream about spencer while sharing a room on a case (i know, super original) and him getting all hot and bothered hearing you moan 🙈😁

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

W/C: 3484

Content: smut, fluff, friends to lovers, oral sex (both receiving), premature ejaculation, wet dream, sub!spencer

A/N: Hi! So this probably isn’t exactly what you asked for, but I started writing it and it kind of took on a mind of it’s own. I banged this out in two days, it practically wrote itself. I hope you enjoy! 

Masterlist

read on ao3

Sharing a hotel room with her was normal. It was. Sure, they had never done it before, but that was just because Hotch had never randomly assigned the two of them before. So okay, it wasn’t normal by definition. But he wasn’t going to make it weird. Just because he had a small crush on her did not mean that he would let it be weird. They were colleagues, and they even spent time together outside of work too! She would come to his apartment to watch old movies, and he would go to hers so she could cook for him. So he knew he could spend time with her alone, that wasn’t the problem. 

It was the sleeping that was potentially the issue. 

His little crush had been invading his subconscious almost constantly nowadays, and he was known to talk in his sleep. He was so scared he would say something wrong in his sleep. If she overheard something like that, he knew their friendship would never recover. How can you act normal around someone who said your name in their sleep? 

He had been avoiding going to sleep before her, so he had taken Derek up on his offer for a drink in his room to talk about anything but the case they were working. 

“So when are you going to tell [Y/N] that you’re into her?” Derek asked out of nowhere. 

Spencer stuttered around the sip of his drink. “W-Who says I’m interested in her?” 

Derek just laughed and clapped Spencer on the shoulder. His cheeks were burning, a sure sign of his embarrassment at being called out. “Pretty boy, you give her heart eyes every time she walks in a room.” 

His blush deepened. “Even if I was interested, there’s a very low probability that she is also interested. So the answer to your question would be never, obviously.” Derek stopped his giggling and gave Spencer an incredulous look. 

“All that genius and you don’t see how she looks at you?” Derek asked. 

“How she looks at me?” 

“She looks at you like you hung the stars, man.” 

Spencer scoffed, brushing off the comment. “No she doesn’t.” 

Derek started laughing again, “Yes she does! Oh my god, the genius can’t read basic body language?” 

“Even if, occasionally, her body language reflected an attraction to me, it was probably because she was thinking of someone she actually was attracted to.  Statistically, most women find me awkward and-”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, none of this negative self talk. You’re a catch!” 

Spencer just waved his hand at the comment, taking a long sip of his whiskey and coughing a bit as he swallowed. Derek eyed him curiously. 

“I’m telling you, you’re never gonna get anywhere if you never shoot your shot. The worst thing that could happen is she says no.” Derek advised. He shook his head and finished his drink . 

“The worst that could happen is she thinks I’m an absolute weirdo and never wants to talk to me again.” Spencer explained.

“That’s not going to happen.” Spencer rolled his eyes and shook his head. 

“I can’t risk losing her.” He insisted. Derek sighed and accepted that he was a lost cause, leaning back in his seat and changing the subject. 

~~~~

Spencer made his way back to the room a few hours later, saying a silent prayer to a God he didn’t believe in that she was already asleep. The light was off, so he clicked on the bathroom light so he could see but hopefully not wake her. 

“[Y/N]?” He called quietly into the dark. All he got in response was a small whimper. He thanked his lucky stars and made his way to the bathroom to get ready for bed. 

Once he was all cleaned up and in a pair of sweatpants and a tshirt, he made his way to climb into bed. Just as he swung the sheets off, he heard a low moan from the bed next to him. It stopped him in his tracks. He turned towards her bed, looking at her face for any signs of distress. Nightmares could be debilitating; he knew from experience. But her face was peaceful, beautifully restful. He stopped again for a different reason, taking in the way her face looked as she slept. 

Then it scrunched up as she let out another moan. His eyebrows furrowed, wanting to wake her in case she was having a bad dream, but not wanting to disturb her. He swallowed thickly. 

Another moan. This one was followed quickly by a quick, “Spencer!” He reeled, unsure where his name had come up. Was she dreaming about him? Was she having a nightmare about him? Or was she calling out for his help?

She let a long, drawn out, “Oh,” and rolled from her side onto her back. He took a step forward, planning to shake her awake from what was clearly a nightmare at this point. But suddenly, “Go on, lick me.” 

Spencer stopped with his hands out above her shoulders, inches from waking her. Lick me? He mouthed to himself. What could she possibly be dreaming about? 

“Fuck, Spencer, I’m gonna cum!” She exclaimed, rolling back on her side. And-oh my gosh. Spencer took three quick steps back, realizing far too late exactly what was happening. He was entirely unsure how to react. [Y/N]? Having a sex dream about him? It was unbelievable. On his third step back, he ran right into his bed, and lost his balance. 

He fell to the floor with a crash. 

Her eyes blinked open, and he didn’t have any time to get up or move at all, so her eyes met his immediately upon waking. “Spencer? What happened?” Her voice was tired from sleep.

Spencer blinked, and immediately panicked. He was never good at lying under pressure. “I-uh. You were having a, uhm, dream. And I thought, thought it was a nightmare so-” As he spoke, [Y/N]’s face got redder and redder, and she sat up in bed and placed her face in her hands. 

“Oh no, you didn’t hear anything, did you?” She asked cautiously, barely chancing a glance up at him. He swallowed tightly and nodded. “Fuck me!” She said, throwing her head back on the pillow. Her voice sent something through him, and all he wanted was to say Okay and kiss her. But Spencer knew one didn’t control their own subconscious. Just because she had a dream about him didn’t means she actually wanted it to happen. He scrambled to his feet and cleared his throat. 

Before he could say something, anything really, she was sitting up again with a groan, rubbing her hand over her face. “Well I guess now you know about my stupid crush.” 

“Your crush?” He asked. She looked at him incredulously. 

“You heard me moan your name in my sleep. Yes, obviously, my crush. On you.” She explained matter of factly. He stuttered, trying to allow his brain to process the amount of information he had just been given. It didn’t make sense to him. [Y/N] was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen, not to mention one of the most confident. She carried herself with such authority he never thought she’d look twice in his direction. Clearly, she’d want some confident alpha male who could match her energy, not his insecure nervous self. But here she was, telling him point blank that she had a crush on him. 

He didn’t know what to do. While he was standing there, stuttering, trying to gather his thoughts, [Y/N] made her way out of her bed to stand in front of him. She was only wearing a tank top and a pair of small shorts, and he could barely keep himself from staring at her body. “I had no idea.” He finally settled on saying, and she let out a loud laugh. 

“Really? Profiler extraordinaire? No idea? Why do you think I cooked for you so many times?” She smiled at him while she said it, like she couldn’t quite believe he didn’t see it. 

“I thought you just wanted to be friends!” He exclaimed, running a hand through his hair. She seemed to deflate at this, her face falling and wringing her hands together. 

“I did! I do! But I was always open to...more. I just wanted to spend time with you.” She explained, sitting back on the edge of her bed and staring down at her hands. “But you clearly have no interest in that-” 

“No! No.” He corrected quickly, and then realized with a sudden clarity that since her confession he’d done nothing to imply he felt the same. She stared up at him at his exclamation, unsure what he meant. 

“No?” 

“No, you’re wrong, I do have interest in that. In more.” He explained, sitting next to her. He awkwardly reached for her hand, which she offered with a small smile. Lacing their fingers together, he looked her in the eye with purpose. “I also have a crush on you. I stayed out of the room tonight because I was trying to avoid, uhm. What happened to you. I thought that might happen to me.” 

She stared at their entwined hands, and then looked back at him. “Really?” 

“Yes, really.” He smiled at her, and her face brightened immediately. She turned completely towards him and pulled him in by the neck, pressing their foreheads together. Spencer let their noses rub together, both of them still beaming. 

“I’m going to kiss you now.” She whispered, her breath fanning over his lips as she said it. Before he could even nod, her lips pressed to his. It was magic. Her lips were soft and urgent, catching his bottom lip between them. Her hands pulled him closer to her by the neck, and he let his hands find her waist, urging her closer. She climbed into his lap with his guidance, and he let his tongue slip into her mouth as she did it. Her hands roamed into his hair, pushing it off his head and carding her fingers through it, causing him to moan. She giggled into his mouth. 

“You like having your hair played with, baby?” She asked, pulling away to watch his reaction as she tugged on his roots. His eyes rolled back in his head, and he let his hands drop to her ass. He squeezed and pulled her down onto him, letting his lips find her neck. She let out a loud groan as he sucked a mark into her pulse point, but she pushed him away with both hands on his cheeks. 

“Not above the collar,” She reminded. He smirked at the idea of everyone on the team knowing what they were doing. At everyone on the team knowing that she wanted to do this with him. 

“But what if I want people to know you’re mine.” He asked, pressing a quick kiss to her lips as he said it. She smiled at him. 

“I think you’ve got this whole thing wrong then.” 

He furrowed his brow at her, unsure what he could have possibly misunderstood. 

“You, Dr. Reid, are mine.” She said, and then pushed him down onto the bed. He stared up at her perched on his lap, and let his hands roam her body. Now that he had free reign to touch, he never wanted to stop. She sighed and ran her hands down his chest, going to the bottom of his shirt and pulling it off of him. Her hands lit fires under his skin, as he gripped her by the hips and rolled his hardness into her. She chuckled at him. 

“Hard already, baby?” She teased. He moaned and threw his head back as she rotated her hips on him. “Use your words.” She ordered, gripping his face to make him look at her. 

“Yes, miss.” He answered on instinct. He immediately froze up, trying to take back the honorific when they had never discussed anything like that. It just slipped out, his little experience with being a submissive taking over because of [Y/N]’s naturally dominant role. But her eyes lit up, and she simply smirked at him. 

“Good boy.” She whispered, and pressed down hard with her hips. 

He came in his pants. 

With a loud groan and a thrust upward, he shot into his sweatpants. She chuckled as he shuddered through his orgasm, and leaned down to kiss him. As soon as he came down from the high, embarrassment overtook him. He had a chance with his dream girl, and he literally blew it not five minutes in. Because she called him a Good boy. He brought his hands up to cover his face, but she caught his wrists before he could reach. He closed his eyes and turned his face away, not ready for the ridicule that was sure to follow.

“Awh, did I make you cum?” She rolled her hips a few times, and he hissed at the oversensitivity.  “That’s so hot.” 

“W-What?” He asked, turning back towards her slowly. She was beaming at him. 

“You were so overwhelmed with me that you came so quick, what’s not hot about that?” She said, stroking his cheek. “The cutest boy, all worked up, just for me.” 

He blushed again, and swallowed as he smiled back at her. “But what about you?” 

“What about me?” She asked. His hands danced along her sides, cupping her breasts and teasing her nipples through her shirt. 

“Wanna make you feel good.” He said while she gasped. 

“What’s stopping you?” She asked with a smirk. He surged upwards and began kissing her again, only stopping to finally rip her shirt off of her and get his hands on her bare breasts. Her hands found his hair again and tugged on the strands, causing their mouths to break apart as he panted. 

“Wanna taste you.” He requested. She moaned and pulled him into another kiss, guiding his hands to touch her under her shorts. His fingers trailed through her wetness, and she moaned against his lips. Then he brought his fingers to his mouth and sucked on them, while her eyes watched through hooded lids. He moaned around his fingers, the taste of her so intoxicating he wanted more of it.  

“You’re so fucking hot. Such a good, good boy.” She whispered, stroking his hair. Then she crawled off his lap and laid out on the bed next to him. He turned to watch her as she shimmied off her shorts. Her eyes fell to where he was still sucking on his fingers. She gestured him over to her, and he quickly crawled between her legs. She nodded towards him. “Go on then, taste me.” 

He dove in tongue first, with broad licks up and down her pussy. Her hands immediately laced through his hair, pulling him closer to her. His tongue traced from her hole to her clit. He wrapped his arms around her thighs and pulled her in, letting his lips latch onto her clit and sucking. Flicking the tip of it with his tongue, she moaned and threw her head back on the pillows. 

“Oh!” She cried, and it sounded just like when she was having the dream earlier. Spencer had a quick thought about making her dreams come true,  but brushed it to the side as idealized thinking. Then she lifted his head off of her and looked straight into his eyes. “Go on, lick me.” 

Whether she remembered her dream or not, she was clearly living out her fantasy. He lolled his tongue out of his mouth and leisurely licked over her pussy, his tongue flat and wide. She canted her hips up towards him, and he let his tongue form rapid circles around her clit. Her moans fueled his motions, and he moved one of his hands down to pressed two fingers into her. 

She whined as he entered her, and let out a quick “Spencer!” He curled his fingers while sucking on her clit again, and her thighs began to clench around his head. He found the right spot inside her by listening to her moans, and then focused all his attention there while flicking his tongue against her clit. 

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum!” She cried, tugging on his hair. He kept doing everything exactly the same, pushing her over the edge with a loud shout. He kept up his ministrations until she pushed him off from the oversensitivity. She let out a loud sigh as he pulled off, and her hands went up to clutch at her own hair for a change. Staring up at the ceiling, she let a grin cross her face as a few aftershocks rolled through her. He admired her as she came down from her high, and then moved to the bathroom to wash his hands and get a rag to clean her up. 

When he came back he went to wipe her down, but she took the rag from him. “Sit. I get to take care of you, now.” She wiped herself down and then kneeled in front of him. She pulled down his sweatpants, which stuck a little to his cock which was hard again. Smirking up at him, she began wiping him down while he hissed, the gentle touches not enough for him. Suddenly her hot mouth wrapped around his head, and he groaned out. She made quick work of him, throwing her all into the blowjob from the start, taking him as deep as possible over and over. His hands clenched in the sheets as he came for a second time, this time down her throat. 

She swallowed as he watched in awe, and then wiped down his softening cock and stood up. Silently, she made her way to the bathroom and got rid of the dirty towel. 

When she came back Spencer was still sitting on the edge of the bed. He smiled up at her and reached out a hand, which she took gladly letting him pull her in for a hug, with her standing between his knees. 

“I really like you, you know.” He said, his chin resting between her breasts as he stared up at her. 

“I know. I really like you too.” 

“Would you like to get dinner with me, when the case is over?” 

“As long as we can keep doing what we just did before then, absolutely.” She said with raised eyebrows. He let out a laugh which made her smile, and he pressed a kiss to her chest. 

“Of course.” 

“You can make my other dreams come true.” She smirked. 

“I’d love to.” 

~~~~

When they walked into the precinct the next morning, [Y/N] was wearing a scarf, despite the hot Texas heat. She hadn’t quite caught Spencer in time, and he had in fact left a mark. Of course the whole team noticed.

“Oi, Pretty Boy, was [Y/N] in your room last night?” Derek asked at the coffee station. Luckily Spencer was facing away from him, so Derek didn’t see how his immediate reaction was to blanche at the memories from the night before. He gathered himself quickly.

“Yes, of course, why?” He asked as he turned around, stirring his coffee. Derek’s attention was on [Y/N], who was talking to an officer on the other side of the precinct.

“That scarf is only there to hide something, I think our lovely lady might’ve got some last night.” Derek said with a smirk. “Don’t let it break your heart, you still have a chance!” He turned to Spencer and clapped him on the shoulder, who was blushing intensely at the tease. [Y/N] had, in fact, ‘got some’, and he was the some she got with. Derek noticed he was off. 

“C’mon, I’m just teasing. She probably didn’t get a chance to-” While he was talking, Spencer caught [Y/N]’s eye from across the room. She smirked at him and waved, and he smiled and waved back. Derek cut himself off when he saw Spencer’s wave, turning to see just as [Y/N]’s face turned back to the officer she was talking to. “Oh my god. You crazy man, you actually did it!” Derek exclaimed, shaking Spencer. 

Spencer spluttered, shaking his head. “N-No, it’s not like that, I-” 

“I don’t need all the details, I just need to know it happened. Because it did happen, didn’t it?” He asked, trying to look Spencer in the eye, but the latter was aggressively avoiding eye contact. Spencer pursed his lips to try and contain his smile as he nodded. “My man!” Derek exclaimed, pulling him into a hug. 

Spencer caught [Y/N]’s eye again over Derek’s shoulder, and the smile she gave him made him smile right back. 

They had dreams to realize tonight.

Final A/N: thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed! 

taglist: @rusticreid​ @itsmyblogandillreblogifiwantto​ 

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[helnjk]

She Used To Be Mine - R.W.

Ron Weasley x fem!reader

based on the song She Used To Be Mine from the musical Waitress & part of my showtunes fic list ! i’m sorry in advance for the ouchie

Word Count: 3k

Summary: when ron leaves to go on the run, she’s left a shell of the person she used to be. 

Warnings: there’s major angst (but maybe a happy ending? you’ll have to find out), injury, & mentions of the war/final battle 

lyrics are bolded & italicized

flashbacks are italicized

–

She is hard on herself

She is broken and won't ask for help

The field was quiet. It was as if time was frozen in their little bubble, not a breeze in the air nor a rustle in the leaves. Y/N hated it. The silence allowed her thoughts to wander in the direction she couldn’t bear to think about. 

–

The Burrow was alight with music and happy conversations. Bill and Fleur’s wedding was in full swing and the crowd had made the most of this opportunity to celebrate life and love, even in the midst of a war. 

Y/N could tell something was wrong with Ron. He hadn’t uttered a single word to her the entire night, only tightly gripping onto her hand. 

They were sat at one of the tables, empty save for them. The rest of their friends were mingling with the distant Weasley relatives, grabbing a drink, or dancing on the floor. The silence was unbearable for her, something in her mind nagging at her to say something, anything. 

To her surprise, Ron was the first to speak. 

“I need to talk to you,” He said. 

Y/N took a deep breath before turning to face him, “Is everything okay?” 

“Yeah, brilliant.” His reply was too quick, too immediate, and he realized his mistake right away, “I-erm. No actually, no it’s not.”

The pounding in her ears stopped her from hearing much else. The lively music and the chatter of the crowd faded around her, time had stopped. Her eyes blurred in and out of focus and her pulse beat almost unbearably in her neck. Through the fog, she could make out a few words here and there. 

“We can’t be together anymore.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“It’s for the best.” 

This had come out of nowhere, everything had been fine leading up to that moment. Where had it all gone wrong? In the span of seconds, her entire world seemed to be crumbling in front of her. 

“I don’t understand,” She managed to choke out, her eyes searching for any sort of answer on his face, “Was it something that I did? Is there anything I can do?” 

Her voice grew more and more desperate, her body was flushed with heat. She could tell that Ron was uncomfortable, he was fidgeting in his seat and his eyes kept glancing towards the nearest exit, but she thought she deserved an answer. 

“Look, Y/N,” Ron began, “With everything going on right now–”

“Oh don’t give me that excuse,” Y/N snapped and immediately shut her mouth. She didn’t know what had gotten into her, but she refused to believe what he was saying. 

“It’s not an excuse!” He was agitated as well now, no longer antsy in his seat but face flushed with frustration, “I’ve got a job to do and I don’t want to–”

Whatever he was trying to say was drowned out by the arrival of Kingsley’s patronus. In between hearing his message and the chaos that ensued afterwards, Y/N had lost sight of Ron.

When the last of the Death Eaters had disapparated away and all that was left was silence, the searing pain of heartbreak overcame her and she was left an empty shell of herself. 

–

A soft grip on Y/N’s shoulder brought her out of her thoughts. 

“You alright?” Tonks asked, sending a concerned glance her way. 

Y/N shook her head in an attempt to clear it from any unwanted thoughts and sent a soft smile in the direction of her friend, “Yeah. I’m fine.” 

She could tell Tonks wanted to say something more but had decided against it, and she was thankful. She wasn’t in a mood to talk. Well, she hadn’t been in that kind of mood in a long time, and she could tell that other Order members were getting concerned. 

Most days she sat alone in her tiny flat, staring out the window. The hours would pass her by too slowly and she itched for something to take her mind off things. Most nights she spent pacing a hole into her floor because she couldn’t sleep. 

Not when all she thought about was how inadequate she had been for Ron to have left her like that. Like she didn’t matter to him at all. 

Fortunately, or unfortunately, for Y/N, the telltale crack of apparition sounded at the house they were in charge of staking-out. The pair of them sent glances at each other before grabbing their wands and breaking into a sprint in the direction of the sound. 

The moment the two of them crossed into the threshold, it was a flurry of spells and curses hurled in different directions. She could barely make out who was sending out what colorful jet of light in her direction, her mind had simply gone on autopilot. 

Y/N knew how intense this mission could get, but she had willingly (and almost forcefully) asserted that she would be the one to accompany Tonks. Anything to get out of her house and not have to think for just a moment. 

The next thing she knew, she was fading in and out of consciousness. She could vaguely make out a pair of strong arms carrying her and hear shouts of concern that sounded as if she was underwater. 

–

Molly Weasley nearly brought her whole house down with how loudly she had screamed when she saw Bill carrying an unconscious Y/N through the wards of her home, Tonks right at their side. 

“What happened?” She demanded, rushed towards them. 

No one said anything as the three of them struggled to bring her inside and onto the soft surface of the couch. When they were satisfied with the arrangement, Molly repeated her question. 

Tonks was the first to reply, “They were too many at the raid, it was overwhelming. I barely made it out with her, and I had to call Bill for back up.”

“We couldn’t bring her to Mungo’s, it was too risky. Who knows how many people You-Know-Who has on the inside.” Bill continued, and the Weasley matriarch nodded her head. 

The three of them collectively let out a breath, but they knew that they weren’t out of the woods just yet. 

If I'm honest I know I would give it all back 

For a chance to start over

And rewrite an ending or two

Ron knew he had made a mistake. Well, more than just one. 

First, he buggered the last conversation he had with Y/N and he wasn’t sure if he’d ever see her again. Or if she would even look him in the eye if he did. He didn’t want to end things that way, but he felt like he had no choice. Keeping her close to him was effectively putting her in the line of fire, and he couldn’t bear to do that to her. Not when she meant so much to him. 

Then, he let that stupid locket mess with his head and his insecurities, and now he had no idea how to find his way back to Harry and Hermione. 

With a defeated sigh, he took a step forward and twisted to the right. The familiar sensation of apparition enveloped him and soon he found himself just outside the wards of the Burrow. 

“Ron?” Molly gasped, looking out the window to see her youngest son slowly trudging towards her. 

Then, her eyes subconsciously darted towards the stairs, as she knew that Y/N was just a few floors above, lying on Bill’s old bed. This was going to be interesting. 

“Oh Merlin what has that boy gotten himself into,” She muttered and moved towards the door. 

Before Ron could even raise his hand to grip the doorknob, it swung open to reveal Molly. His eyes searched hers tentatively for any sort of signs of anger or ill-will. He found none and his body sagged in relief. 

“Mum,” He choked out and immediately he was engulfed in one of her signature hugs. In that moment, everything seemed to crash down on him and he was wracked with sobs. 

He felt like a little boy again, clinging onto his mother for comfort, and she let him. She rubbed his back gently and kept her other arm wrapped tightly around him. 

When he had somewhat calmed down, he found himself on the couch with a warm mug of tea pressed into his hands. 

“Want to tell me what’s happened?” Molly asked, taking a seat next to her son, “Where are Harry and Hermione?” 

Through a few more tears and more cups of tea than necessary, Ron regaled what had happened to them on the run. Molly’s heart broke for her son and for the mistakes that he had made, but she knew that his intentions were in the right place. She could also tell that guilt was plaguing him for a completely different reason as well.

And so, after reassuring him that he would be able to find his way back to his two best friends, she decided to share the news of their house’s latest guest with him. 

“I have something to tell you as well, dear,” she began, “It has to do with Y/N.” 

The moment she finished retelling what had happened to her, Ron was out of his seat and was nearly sprinting up the stairs. The door to Bill’s old room creaked as he pushed it open, but it didn’t do much to stir any sort of reaction from the person inside. 

Ron’s eyes scanned over Y/N’s tiny figure, curled up at the corner of the bed. He could feel his heart hammering in his chest as he approached, his mind still not having processed what his mum had told him. The person he knew her to be–strong willed, witty, and confident–did not align with what he saw in front of him. 

And he vowed that he would do whatever it took to get her to be that person once again. To right his wrongs and rewrite how their story ended. 

–

The sun had just started to rise above the horizon and the other residents of the Burrow were not yet awake. Y/N stumbled midstep as she attempted to make her way into the bathroom. She thought that she was perfectly capable of bringing herself to wash and get ready for the day in the shared bathroom, but she was proven wrong. 

A small gasp escaped her lips as she felt her body falling. She was still recovering from whatever curse had been shot at her, therefore she wasn’t in full control of all her limbs yet. But she was stubborn, and she overexerted herself everyday. 

Before she could hit the ground and cause even more damage to herself, a pair of strong arms caught her. 

Ron’s bright blue eyes locked with hers and she felt her heart stutter. 

It had been almost a week since his unannounced arrival, and she hadn’t spoken a word to him. She could barely even look him in the eyes without wanting to burst into tears. 

Quickly, she gathered as much strength as she could muster and she stood, albeit shakily. No words were exchanged between the two of them, but Ron didn’t let go of her until she was safely in the bathroom. 

When the door closed behind her, she breathed a sigh of relief. It was all too confusing, being so near him after all of this time. She didn’t know if she had it in her to actually have a conversation with him, not without bringing up feelings she worked so hard to repress. 

Still, when she finished washing up and opened the door to the bathroom, she was not as surprised to find Ron still standing there. 

“C’mon, I’ll help you to your room,” he spoke, holding out his arm. When she hesitated, he let at an almost inaudible sigh, “We don’t have to talk. I just want to make sure that you don’t have another incident like earlier.” 

Y/N closed her eyes for a brief moment, weighing her options. Ultimately, she knew that risking another fall was not something she wanted to do, so she gently took his arm. True to his word, Ron didn’t bother trying to speak with her, but on the inside, his heart was stuttering at being in such close proximity with her. 

And so began his habit of being her caretaker. 

Over the next few days, it was rare to see Y/N without Ron by her side. He was the support that she needed, both physically and emotionally, though she never spoke to him directly. Her communication came in gentle touches, squeezes of the arm when pain would shoot up her spine or hitches of the breath whenever the redressing of her wounds would sting a little too much. 

He made up for the silence on her end, whispering words of encouragement and comfort. 

“I’ve got you.” 

“You’re doing so great, love.” 

“Let me help you.” 

Little by little Y/N’s resolve began to crumble. 

One night, as he dropped her off at her room for bed, she caved. 

“Ron,” she said, watching his retreating figure. His whole body tensed before he slowly turned around. 

“Is everything alright?” he asked, eyebrows knitted in concern, “Are you hurting? What do you need me to do?”

Her heart cracked at the sight of the man in front of her, so selfless in his love and care for her, even if she had been so cold and distant in return, “I–I wanted to talk.” 

The simple sentence seemed to have broken whatever wall that stood between the two of them. 

Ron swallowed, “Right, right. Of course.”

“You can come inside, you know.” She cracked a smile in his direction. 

The moment he took a seat on one of the chairs in the room, Y/N had no clue what to say. It was as if everything that had plagued her mind for the past week had disappeared.

Before she could open her mouth, he spoke, “I wanted to apologize.”

“What?” 

He nervously fidgeted in his seat, “For–Well, for how things had ended between the two of us.” Another pause. “I didn’t say what I meant to say and everything kind of just ended so quickly, and you didn’t–you don’t–deserve that.” 

“Right.” Y/N nodded her head, her mind going on overdrive. 

“And,” he swallowed again, nervously, “When I heard about how you got hurt, I–I couldn’t imagine what it would be like not having you in my life. Being on the run, I would stay up all night hoping not to hear your name on the radio, and when I got home, it was like my worst nightmares were coming true.

“What are you trying to say, Ron?” She asked, meeting his eyes for the first time since he sat down, “I don’t understand.” 

“What I’m trying to say is that I love you, Y/N. And I want to fight for us, for our future together.” 

To fight just a little 

To bring back the fire in her eyes

Y/N was stood by the door frame, observing Ron as he packed and repacked his bag. Too much time had passed since he was last with Harry and Hermione, she knew that. It was time for him to try and find them, to go back on the run and make sure that they found whatever it was that they were looking for. 

Still, her heart ached at the thought of him leaving again. 

“Honestly, Ron, you’ve packed that bag enough times. You have what you need,” She teased, finally willing herself to enter the room. 

His head snapped up, not knowing that she had been standing there, “Just nervous. I don’t wanna forget something and not be able to come back.” 

She only hummed in response, wrapping her arms around his torso, savoring the feeling of his body pressed against hers. 

“I’m going to miss you.” She mumbled against the fabric of his shirt. 

Ron sighed and tightened his hold on her, “I’m going to miss you too.”

She leant back, making sure to look him in the eyes, “You better come back to me. Merlin knows I’d figure out a way to murder you in the afterlife if you don’t.”

The pair of them stared at each other for a second before bursting into laughter. He shook his head in disbelief at her statement, “Of course you would. And I promise I’ll come back to you, I just have a job to do.” 

Neither of them moved from their position. They stayed wrapped in each other’s arms for as long as they could, slightly swaying from side to side. It wasn’t said, but both knew that Ron would have to make his leave sooner or later. 

When the time finally came, he let out a breath and pulled away slightly. 

“I love you, Y/N.” He whispered. 

“I love you too.” 

Then, his lips pressed against hers softly and her eyes closed. This wasn’t just a kiss to them, it was a promise. A promise to fight for each other, to fight for their futures. A promise that they would see each other again and that they would live the lives they planned out together. 

–

It was chaos. 

The amount of relief and celebration that those who found themselves in the Great Hall after the Dark Lord’s fall felt was euphoric. People gathered together in groups, tears in their eyes, hugging and laughing and letting out sighs of relief. 

Y/N’s eyes nervously scanned the room for the familiar blue eyes she was desperate to find. She sat with the rest of the Weasleys, near the cot where Fred had laid, but he soon joined them in their vigil waiting for the last of their brood to arrive. 

“Y/N!” A voice yelled from across the room. 

She spun around to see Ron nearly sprinting towards her. A relieved laugh escaped her lips just as he reached her, tackling her into the biggest hug she had ever received. Unable to stop them, tears escaped her eyes as she gripped onto him, unbelievably grateful that she had this wonderful man in her arms again.

“I’m so glad you’re okay.” She whispered as they released their grips on each other ever so slightly. 

“Me too.” 

And then his lips were on hers and they shared a passionate kiss. 

–

general taglist: @expectoevans​ @george-fabian-weasley​ @gxthsanrio​ @slytherinscribbles​ @harpyloon​

message to be added or removed!! 

[groovyzombiellama]

My Powerful Queen

Title: My Powerful Queen

Requested? Yes.

Plot: You are a powerful magician that’s under the wing of one of Arthur’s mages and when he goes to help the future king, you two meet and get close. When you’re found out to have more power than anticipated,you get kidnapped by VIkings and Arthur saves you, confessing his feelings in the process, and when you recover and tell him you return his feelings, he asks you to be his queen.

Word count: 2427

---***---

“That’s right Y/N, just focus your energy and don’t forget to control your breathing.“ Your teacher was instructing you how to master one of the newest spells that he had taught you. You had a bit of trouble when you first tried it, but with all of the practice and your teacher’s guidance, you were getting better and better at it, soon you’ll be able to use it without worry that something might go wrong. You were proud of yourself and how you were able to control yourself, even though it still takes you some time to regain your composure after being interrupted before the spell was done. Which is what happened this time, as the door swung open and a woman in a grey dress rushed in. You felt dizzy for a moment, and your teacher held up his hand in front of the woman, instructing her to hold on, as he checked on you. You nodded your head, to affirm you were alright, not trusting your voice, because your vertigo was still blurring your vision. As you finally felt like the room had stopped spinning, you heard your teacher talking with that woman who rushed into your house, and they were mentioning Arthur, the future king, the one man who managed to pull the enchanted sword out of the stone.

The woman was in a rush because of Arthur’s inability to control the sword yet, and she, as one of his servants, was afraid he would harm himself or someone around him if he doesn’t get someone to help him control the sword. Your teacher agreed to go over to the future king and offer his help. You quickly offered to go with him, and even though your teacher was still suspicious if you had recovered enough, he agreed, but kept a close eye on you. You had never really seen Arthur before, so you were really interested to see what the future king looks like. But you didn’t expect your vertigo to make a comeback when you finally saw him. Although the butterflies in your stomach were stronger, as your eyes met his blue orbs. This time your head was spinning because of his handsome features, but when he smiled at you, you immediately felt a rush of energy, as if he was your battery, and all you needed to get back to full power was him, and his smile.

Your teacher spoke to Arthur and introduced you as one of his strongest magicians, perhaps the strongest in the land, which intrigued Arthur, as well as one other person, in a black cloak, observing the future king and his guests. After your teacher had given him some instructions, he insisted he had other work to tend to and couldn’t help him further than that. “I could help him!“ That came out a bit faster than you had intended, even before your teacher finished his last sentence. Both men looked at you and you tried to redeem yourself, saying that the people might feel more safe to put their trust in a ruler that had control of his weapon, and since you never involved yourself in your teacher’s business more than he let you, you figured it would be good to not spend your time between practice doing nothing. And you wanted to spend some time with Arthur, you couldn’t deny that he intrigued you as much as you intrigued him. Your teacher agreed, since the work he needed to tend to was out of town, and he didn’t feel too comfortable leaving his most powerful magician alone, and he trusted you enough to know you had what it takes to help Arthur.

“If you hold it like that, you might poke your own eye out, your highness.“ You said, seeing the way Arthur was holding the sword, earning a low chuckle form him, as he let the tip of the sword to the ground, asking you first, for the fifth time now, to stop calling him royal terms, because he was not a king yet, and even then, he wouldn’t want you to call him that, since he believed you were more powerful than he could ever be. He wanted the two of you to be equals, and even offered you to be his right hand when he’s king and you finish your training. It made you smile that he had such high regards of you, and said you’d consider his proposal, after he actually learns to control the weapon he’s wielding, getting another chuckle from the blonde man in front of you. God, you could get used to hearing his laugh. But before you could get more lost in your thoughts, he was asking you the second thing. “And how do you propose I hold it, oh powerful one?“

“If I should’t call you highness, you shouldn’t use any other terms than my name, Arthur.“ You accentuated his name a small bit, and walked up to him, stopping at his side and grabbing his hands, a small shade of red coloring your cheeks, but you tried your best to focus on the task at hand and placed his hands on the handle more properly, which Arthur acknowledged gave him a bigger advantage when he wielded the sword. During these practices, the two of you got closer with each other, and would often sit down in the grass after training and just talk for a bit before going back to the castle. After a few months, the two of you knew a lot about each other, some might even say you knew more about him than about yourself and vice versa. You don’t know when you started having these feelings, but it wasn’t hard to determine what they were, you were slowly falling in love with Arthur. You didn’t want to try and determine what Arthur was feeling, because you didn’t want to face the rejection. You thought you were shooting way too high, he was the future king of the land, you were not on the same level as him.

However, you had no idea that your world would turn around completely, as the cloaked figure from the first time you met Arthur was following you the entire time, waiting for his time to strike. And he finally saw his chance when one day you were waiting for Arthur to come to practice and he was running a bit late, because of some issue that happened in the castle. You noticed a figure approach you from the woods, completely the opposite way that Arthur usually comes from, but the cloaked figure ended up being one of the Vikings who were trying to take over the land, and after hearing about you being the most powerful magician in the land, this viking figured that if you were as powerful as they claimed, you’d be perfect to help them. And when Arthur finally reached your usual practice place, you were nowhere to be found. At first he thought you were playing a trick on him, as you had already once hid in order to surprise him before practice. But after some time and a bit of searching for you where you would be able to hide, he realised you were really not here.

He didn’t know what was going on, and only when he came back to the castle did he find out, from one of the servants who went to the forest to chop some wood, and upon his return, he noticed, that some cloaked figure approached you and hoisted you over his shoulder, and regardless of how much you kicked and screamed, he just walked away with you further into the thick forest. That made Arthur’s blood boil and he was soon getting suited up with his men in order to look for you. After hearing how the servant described your kidnapper, he realised it was one of the Vikings, who had somehow infiltrated the castle without anyone noticing him, so he ordered his men to go in the direction of the viking village that he had seen on the shore. At that same village, you were living your worst nightmare. Your body was covered with cuts and bruises that you were sure would get infected if you don’t escape thes dungeon soon, and you could barely stand, your whole body in pain. You probably even had internal bleeding, but you were still not gonna give the Vikings what they wanted. You didn’t want to betray your people, and especially Arthur.

You didn’t know how much more you can take, because these people have let you know that they won’t hesitate to kill you if you didn’t help them, as that would also be in their benefit, getting rid of someone that powerful from the enemies side is almost as good as getting that someone to work for them in the eyes of the Vikings. In your head you regretted so many things that you could have done before this and you didn’t, somehow your thoughts mostly revolved around Arthur, but you tried your best to convince yourself that he didn’t care about you all that much and that he wouldn’t care if you were dead or alive. Even the first time they beat you up, you were too weak to even try a healing spell, not to mention that they didn’t let you recover for too long before they were back. This was it, this was where you die, and you were slowly comming to grips with it, when you heard commotion in the house above the dungeon where you were held. You did your best to get up on your feet. If they are comming back to finish you off, you were not gonna let them hit you while you were down. You were gonna show them that you were strong even in your final moments, and that was one of the reasons why you were considered so powerful.

But when Arthur ran into the dungeon and your eyes met, you couldn’t believe it was him. You thought it was just your mind playing tricks on you as he was the one you wanted to see in your final moments. When the viking he had captive finally opened the door of the dungeon, Arthur rushed to you, and it was only when you felt his hands embrace you did you realise it was real, he was here, and you let your tiredness and pain take over as you collapsed in his arms. He quickly picked you up bridal style and surrounded by his men exited the dungeon and passed the dead bodies he had to go through to get to you, not caring at the possibility of starting a war with the Vikings. He had to get to you, he had to save you.

Seeing your weak state, Arthur worried if you would be able to survive the trip back to his kingdom, but he was determined to do everything to make sure you do, so that his healers could help you. He didn’t want to lose you, and even though you were barely holding on to life at that point, you could still hear him telling you not to give up, to stay with him. “Please, just fight it, please stay with me. If you leave me, I’ll never be able to tell you how much I love you. These few months I had started having feelings for you, but when I heard you were kidnapped, and seeing how badly they hurt you, it made me realise that those feelings are love. I’m in love with you Y/N, and I promise that, if you fight this and stay with me, I will never let anyone harm you ever again. I’ll protect you with my life. Please.“ You couldn’t believe Arthur felt the same way you did, but no matter how much you tried, you couldn’t find your voice to tell him that you felt the same, even when you felt his warm tears falling onto your upper arm. All you could do was give it all you can and fight to survive.

Arthur stayed by your side as much as he could while you were recovering, thanking god that you were still with him, and swearing that once you were finally back to full health, he’ll ask you to be his queen. You had finally recovered, after quite some time, but you knew Athur being there for you sped up the process. It was about a week before Arthur was to be proclamed as king, and you were finally back on your feet, feeling strong enough to perform a healing spell on yourself, and get yourself back to you peak performance. You walked back to that patch of land where you and Arthur once practiced and you saw him training on his own, stopping abruptly once he saw you. A small smile tugged on his features, but you could notice how worried his eyes looked. “I’m fine, if I wasn’t I wouldn’t have come here. Don’t you want to hear my answer to your confession?“ That had gotten Artur’s attention, and that small smile on his face grew wide when you told him that you felt the same way, that you loved him just the same as he loved you. He didn’t let you go on for too long before pressing his lips to yours in a gentle, but passionate kiss.

“I’ll be coronated in a week, and every king needs a queen. Would you do me the honor of being mine?“ Arthur said as the two of you parted from the kiss, eyes still closed, and foreheads rested against each other. That had you pulling away and opening your eyes in surprise. You asked him if he was sure of what he had just said. “Of course I’m sure, my love. You love me, I love you, why wouldn’t we get married and spend our lives together? You’re the one I want. I almost lost you, and with that I realised that I can’t imagine life without you.“ His words ringing in your ears, especially “my love“, you smiled and kissed him again, after which you once again confirmed you accept his proposal, verbally this time, proudly admiring your future husband beaming down at you with his wide smile, that smile, the one that you couldn’t wait to spend the rest of your live waking up to. “I love you, my king.“ “I love you too, my powerful queen.“

---***---

@blackispink00​ I hope you like it, and I’m so sorry it took so long, Tumblr deleted some of my messages, so some of my requests got lost :) I missed having Charlie on my blog <3

Also, since Tumblr had somehow deleted some of my messages, if the person who requested an imagine with Colson Baker through my messages rather than the askbox sees this, please send in your request again and I’ll do it immediately if I haven’t done it yet, bcs I’m not sure if I’ve done it or not :D

[theladyismyshepard]

Mother Miranda

#7 prompt fill — Betrayal (Myra)

(Anonymous with a dream, you’re next)

The sun was at its highest peak in the sky, and unleashed its powerful rays upon every inch of the earth. It warmed your skin from the usual chill that lingered throughout the castle, making it feel like winter year round. The Dimitrescu family might be comfortable, but you needed the occasional reprieve that only straight sunlight could provide.

So there you were, sprawled along the grass of the courtyard, your fingers interlocked behind your head as support. Your eyes stared up at the clouds that idly floated away, but after a moment, they went unseen as your focus blurred and shifted to the way your morning had went so far.

A smile slowly twisted the edges of your lips upward, and you didn't fight it. You awoke to red hair in your line of vision, and became acutely aware of the lips peppering the column of your throat with kisses. You had to swallow the dryness from your mouth, and as you did, you felt her smile against your skin before she gently bit down, not even hard enough to bruise.

"Someone's in a good mood," you mumbled, still shaking off the layer of sleep that had you in a haze.

"That is every morning with you." said Myra easily, as if she were speaking of the weather.

You felt your heart pumping wildly in response, and as you briefly wondered if she could hear it, she answered in kind by grazing her fingertips across your chest before sprawling them out and lying her palm flat to your heart.

"Well then tell me what I can do to help keep up this good mood. What do you want to do today?" you asked kindly, nudging against her until she got the hint and rolled over to allow you to hover over her.

"Actually," started Myra, her face already morphing into apologetic. "Mother wants to speak with my sisters and I today. I must be going soon, but I couldn't resist."

You puffed out a small "oh", a little disappointed, but you quickly recovered, giving Myra a reassuring smile before surging forward and connecting your lips in a searing kiss, soothing the line forming between her eyebrows.

"I think I might get me some sunlight today then." you decided, nodding once for emphasis.

"Come find me after," she demanded, pulling you close by the front of your shirt to give one last kiss.

She rolled you off of her, and donned her hooded robe before taking her leave to undoubtedly collect her sisters for the meeting with Lady Dimitrescu. That was how you found yourself sunbathing in the courtyard. The warmth that tingled the top layer of your skin was easing you into alertness, warding off the sleep that left traces throughout your body. Although a thundering crash gave you an extra jolt.

You bolted upright, neck already craned in the direction of the disturbance. A crease formed between your brow when you recognized that the sound had come from Lady Dimitrescu’s office. Dread had you rooted to the spot as you eyed the window, expecting the worst.

You had been given free reign of the castle, but you do have the common sense to know that it is disrespectful to eavesdrop, and Lady Dimitrescu prides herself of her poise and respect. The occupants of the castle were expected to hold the same morals (though Daniela struggles). You knew you should wait and let someone explain when the meeting was done, but the crash was too violent to not respond to out of mere reflex.

You kept your footing light despite knowing they are aware of your presence by your scent and heartbeat alone, and crept along the courtyard until you found yourself ducked beneath the window sill outside of the office. You were uncertain if you had already been caught, but the conversation at hand must have been more dire than originally thought because after a moment, you remained undetected.

“To hell with the ceremony!”

It was so shrill that your brows couldn’t help but to disappear into your hairline. There was venom lacing every syllable of the shriek, and while you were no stranger to fury echoing down the corridors, you hardly heard such harshness come from Myra’s mouth. The silence of the room led you to believe that the other occupants were as stunned as you were.

“Myra-”

“No!”

You had to swallow down the gasp that bubbled in your throat, your hand thrown over your mouth as an added precaution. It was one thing for Myra to lash out, but to outright talk back to Lady Dimitrescu was something that seemed forbidden. If the two sharp intakes of breath that immediately followed were anything to go by, the sisters knew so as well.

“I am well aware that emotion is clouding your perception right now, but you do not ever raise your voice to me.” warned Alcina, her tone clipped.

There was a pause, and you could practically see Myra’s calculating nature taking over in your mind’s eye. The brief silence allowed for her mother to continue.

“As you are well aware, we cannot afford to cross Mother Miranda, especially when your fool uncle already has her on edge with his own mistakes... The ceremony must happen."

You had heard about a man named Ethan Winters evading Heisenberg, and while you didn’t understand the exact severity of it, you knew it was stirring trouble within the castle. It brought enough hesitancy to even have Alcina tentative to call Mother Miranda. What you were wracking your brain over was the ceremony that had prompted this argument. What had Myra so heated?

"Is there really no one else that will do?"

When people speak, you have always listened to the tones more so than the actual words, so you didn't miss the underlining desperation when Andromeda whispered.

What the hell's going on?

"No... I truly am sorry, Myra, it might not seem like I care, but it pains me greatly to have to take away your pet. Mother Miranda chose your human specifically."

You had long since gotten over being referred to as "pet" in the third-person by the Lady, but is she really to just discard of you as such? Your face went slack as it couldn't comprehend which emotion to show first. There was hurt, there was anger, there was fear, and it was coursing through your veins, pumping into your heart. Please don't hear me.

"Yes, mother,"

Betrayal.

There was no emotion in Myra's voice. It was a solid deadpan, and somehow you were able to hear everything she wasn't conveying to Alcina. You know Myra doesn't want to let you go, you know she isn’t allowed to have you lingering around... but you’re still going to be taken away for this ritual for Mother Miranda.

You thought you were something special to these women after your loyalty and adoration for Myra had you squeezing into the family. You thought you had solidified something... but you didn’t, and you wouldn’t mean anything after time had eased you from their memories, something to be forgotten.

This is what I get for eavesdropping, I suppose.

You began to lose your inhibitions as nothing really mattered to you in that moment — Remaining unseen, going unheard, you had no care, not when it appeared as though you were on borrowed time as it was. You gazed back up at the clouds idly floating by and realized that although your world felt as though it was at a standstill, reality would continue on with or without you.

All thoughts of sunbathing had drifted from your mind as you wandered towards the gate at the edge of the property. The exit was just within your sight, and you could run before they thought to chase after you...

Myra.

You turned back to Castle Dimitrescu, a war raging inside of you. You had nowhere else to turn to, and honestly... where could you run? Who could possibly hide you when Mother Miranda had her eyes set on you? It all felt unfair, but you suppose it was bound to happen when you fell in love with a woman whose family’s basement had enough standing blood that it submerged to the calf.

You always wondered when it would be your turn to hang from the ceiling down below, and it came a lot sooner than you had prepared for. You sighed so heavily that it had you closing your eyes. What were you supposed to do now? You could only stand there aimlessly, no real purpose driving you forward.

But you suppose you should start walking back, but suddenly it took everything in you to slowly inch forward, step by step. You had never appreciated walking before... breathing in fresh air... living.

The castle door swung open to reveal none other than the woman who occupied your entire mind. Her back was stiff and she couldn’t keep her hands still. As you approached, you stilled them. Her eyes locked onto yours and there was so much screaming inside of them that she didn’t even need to open her mouth.

“Where to now, hun?”

Her lips set into a hard line, but you know by now that that was her tell when she was about to cry; Her chin always wobbled when she couldn’t contain it anymore.

“We... we are throwing a party.” whispered Myra.

“Oh?” you acted surprised. “When is it?”

She stared down at her feet as she said, “Tonight.”

Your breath was stolen from you, almost like she punched you square in the gut. How could they? That quick? As if you never meant anything at all... You gulped.

“That short notice, eh?” The tremble was getting harder to hide. “What are we waiting for? Can’t keep everyone waiting — speaking of! Who’ll be coming?”

“Only the most important people,” deadpanned Myra, showing no enthusiasm. “Let’s ... get this over with.”

The smile you plastered on was all wrong, it didn’t feel right on your face; completely uncomfortable. The curves were too forced to slip into genuine and natural. Just get it over with... like a bandaid.

You wanted her to fight, wanted her to be angry, wanted her to feel as lost as you, but the emotionless mask she was wearing had you feeling betrayed. She accepted this so easily... she could find a replacement for you before the ceremony was even over.

“Let’s get it over with.”

***

All traces of sunlight were erased from the sky as the moon blanketed darkness across the land. The hours had flown by before you could really blink even, and you were left wondering where the time went.

You and Myra had met up with Daniela and Andromeda inside the castle, and you found that they didn’t have much to say either. However, all three stared you down the entire day. You could feel their eyes boring into you throughout preparing you for the ceremony... no one else had a dress code it seemed. Your white robe contrasted against their black ones, making you stand out as you stood among them.

Myra had offered to bring you a tray full of food, any kind you wanted, but the knots in your stomach couldn’t uncurl enough to allow you to eat a single bite. Your heart dropped even further when you saw her face fall when you denied.

She’s the one doing this to you.��� To us.

You hardened, pressing on through the day, and before you knew it, you found yourself sitting with the sisters in Myra’s bedroom, just waiting as your time was dwindling. Soon, you could hear Lady Dimitrescu’s heels clacking down the staircase and to the door when there was a sharp rap. One glance out the window and you see that night had fallen.

Myra had become hyper aware of that fact as well, and the nervous energy she held just below the surface was oozing out in waves. Daniela and Andromeda hovered, obviously on edge themselves, but the eldest sister was shooing them away once she noticed you had started trembling.

“My love,” Myra whispered, reaching for your hand. You flinched. “You shouldn’t eavesdrop.”

Your eyes connect, and it was the softest you had ever really seen them. Your vision blurred, and you didn’t even try to stop the tears as they clung to your lashes before you blinked and they spilled down your cheeks, leaving tracks. You gave her a smile that wobbled.

“What’re you gonna do? Kill me?”

The soft smile you’ve come to love waking up to was gone too quick for your liking, and you briefly wondered if that was the last time you’d get to see it. You were seated on the foot of your shared bed, Myra standing before you. You accepted the hands that cupped the back of your neck and the side of your throat, reeling you in.

“I have to do this, please.” The first tear broke free, and you reached up to brush it away with your thumb.

“I know,”

Teeth embedded themselves into your neck, and you couldn’t help the yelp of pain as you felt your flesh tear away. A hiss escaped you as you felt suction, and while you could kind of get into it when the moment is heated, this felt different, wrong.

You felt lightheaded from your blood rushing, but you also burned from the inside out. You’d tear into your own skin if Myra wasn’t holding onto you with a death grip. Your throat stung as well and only then did you realize that your hiss had turned into a scream.

You felt sick to your stomach, but you could tell it was your organs failing you. You could barely keep your eyes open, too weak to fight against the heaviness of your eyelids. You weren’t even aware that she was leaning you back against the bed. You weren’t aware of your blood adding color to your white robe and spilling out into your bedsheets. You weren’t aware of the tears adding wetness to your neck. You merely closed your eyes and accepted the darkness creeping into the edges of your vision.

...

Until you bolted upright in bed, sending Myra toppling back onto the floor. There was a burning sensation in your throat that left you with a haze settled around your brain, unable to focus on anything else.

Not the oxygen that you didn’t require, not the change of your iris color, not even your heightened sense of smell.

A hand cupped your chin, forcing you to look up, and you met worried eyes. She had never looked more beautiful, and you told her as much, relishing in that megawatt smile that you thought you had lost.

“I will never let anyone take you away from me.” Myra vowed, leaving you floored.

Oh how easily you had doubted her love for you before. You felt so foolish for second guessing her now that you stood there, completely reformed for her, by her. You had felt so weighed down by being betrayed that your body completely bounced back and had you feeling ten times lighter.

“Not even Mother Miranda?” You pushed, though you couldn’t rid yourself of your grin.

“Did I not just prove to you that not even Mother Miranda can take my pet away?” she asked, attempting to sound oh so innocently.

“You’re a little brat.”

Before she could get a word in, you pulled her closer to you, capturing her lips into a searing kiss. Nothing seemed impossible or scary in that moment. Not even the notorious Mother Miranda waiting downstairs could stir fear into you. You had eternity to face her after all.

“I love you, you know?”

Myra smiled softly before pulling you into a hug, tucking her face into your neck. A gentle kiss was placed upon the bite mark that turned you.

“You have forever to tell me, now.”

[btsinwonderland]

A Drop of Poison - Ch. 16: Questions

A Loki fanfiction!

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Full Chapter List

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Hungry. Blood. Flesh.

Hungry. Blood. Flesh.

The mantra circles in your mind as you prowl the forest, searching for your next meal. It has been days since you found something good. The creatures of the forest were now keen to your presence, so they found better spots to hide.

You stalk the forest floor, smelling the scent of flesh in the air. Nothing but carcass and dead meat until you catch the scent of a sweeter meat. You run in the direction and give way to the chase. The creature runs from you and you snarl, laughing. There are few things in this forest that can outrun you.

You pounce and look into the eyes of a doe. It lets out a gargled yelp as you snap your jaws around its throat.

Hungry. Blood. Flesh.

You awoke with a start and felt bile in the back of your throat. You tasted blood in your mouth and nearly vomited from the thought of eating flesh. Inspecting with your finger, you realized you had bitten your cheek in your sleep. You took a minute to settle back into reality while the nightmare faded away, though the stench of blood was hot in your mouth.

The bed was empty save for you, and you looked around. Your school clothes were neatly folded and ready for you at the end of the bed.

“Hello?” you said once you got clothed and felt a little more like yourself again. Fatigue still coated every one of your steps, but you stood by his desk and glanced around the room. He popped out from the closet and gave you a tight smile. He was holding a briefcase.

“Ah, you’re awake,” he said. “I left breakfast on the nightstand there,” he said, gesturing to a plate of toast, eggs, and bacon.

“Where are you going?” you said, sliding over beside the nightstand and taking a bite of bacon.

His jaw tightened. “I must tend to some business, I shall return in a week.”

Your eyes narrowed. “What business?”

“I did not realize that I was to run every meeting in my schedule through you, Miss Eves,” he said. He looked irritated, though it seemed like a faraway sort of feeling.

Your heart hitched at his words. “I just want to know why you’re leaving when Hogwarts was attacked again, it will look suspicious.”

He chuckled humorlessly. “Ah, so you think I was behind this, too. You didn’t care to mention that last night,” he said, looking away.

Anger flared up within you. Anger and embarrassment. “I didn’t mean to insinuate anything. I’m just saying that it will not help your case if you cut and run after another attack.”

He glared at you. “I do not ‘cut and run’, Miss Eves. Nor do I care what the rest of the school thinks. You may do what you wish, as will I.”

You dropped the half eaten bacon on the plate and got up. “Why can’t you just talk about things like a normal person? Did it ever occur to you that sometimes you have to earn trust than just expect it blindly?”

He was wearing the icy shield that he usually surrounded himself in. It was impenetrable, and you knew you would not get anywhere with him now.

“If you do not trust me, Miss Eves, then you are free to leave. And be sure to stay out of my way,” he said coldly.

You felt the sting of tears in your eyes but refused to show him your weakness. Anger boiled your blood, along with a maddening frustration. You stormed to the door and just before slamming it shut, said, “this is why you’re always alone.”

***

After about an hour of being a tearful mess in your room, you decided it was enough. He said things that hurt you and so you retaliated and were ashamed of what a low blow you had given him. You had not bothered to see him afterwards, in order to apologize, and by now you assumed he was off conducting his ‘business’. You sighed and went to wash your face.

This was no time to be crying or taking things personally. You knew he acted angry whenever he was hiding something or wanted to throw you off. He was a man that smiled and joked around but kept everyone more than an arm’s length away. He was not going to shake you that easily, if that’s what he thought would happen. You promised yourself that you would not let him die, and you would sooner die yourself than go back on your word.

You thought about the first vision you had of him. It seemed like a dream of a dream now. It had been weeks since you had any sort of vision. Ever since your encounter with Fenris, you were haunted. Infected. Looking in the mirror, you reached up a hand and caressed the skin on your face, observing the sallow quality it had taken on, getting used to the black half moons under your eyes.

You tied up your hair in a ponytail that was all business and went to the Great Hall for lunch. Valkyrie was there, and she jumped up and embraced you as soon as your eyes met.

“Freya!” she said, giving you a bear hug. You had never heard such intense concern in her voice before. “I knew you’d make it, but for a moment I thought...”

You pulled away and looked at her face; it was creased with anxiety. “What’s wrong?”

She sighed and pulled you into a corner, away from eager ears. “It’s Thor - Professor Odinson. He’s still in the infirmary. That...thing that attacked you was a serperus. And there were more of them in the gardens. Odinson went to fight them off and was lashed by three of them before he went down.” Valkyrie ran her fingers through her hair and shook her head. “I should have been there with him...but those bloody leech things that popped out of the balloons.... We lost each other in the ball from all the chaos.” She sighed. “Volstagg says he’s a fighter, that he’ll make it. But there was so much venom Freya...his legs turned purple.”

You concealed a cringe that went through your body. Recalling the pain of one serperus was awful enough, but three? You would have surely died. “Professor Odinson is one of the strongest wizards I know. He’s going to recover.” You squeezed her hands.

She nodded, the sparkle of determination returning to her eyes. “Who’s doing this? First Rattowl, then the Quidditch game gets fucked up, then you find Pom’s brother mutilated in the forest, then that bloody message about some heir, and now they set off these disgusting creatures at the ball? What the fuck is going on?” Her jaw clenched in rage. “The teachers are all buffoons; a fat lot of help they’ve been!”

“That’s why we need to find who’s doing this,” you said. “ And I think I know where to start.”

With that, the both of you headed to Professor Bjorn’s hut just outside the castle. Hogwarts was now under strong guard and you had to sneak back and grab the invisibility cloak before going outside. Professor Laufeyson was the only one who could tell where you were when you were cloaked since he had the marauder’s map, though you doubted he would keep watch of anything during his trip; a fact which both relieved and irritated you.

“Why are we going to Bjorn’s? You think he’s behind this?” Valkyrie said, confused.

You scoffed. “No! But he’s the expert on magical creatures. How could someone transport that many blood slugs and serperus’ into the castle undetected?”

As you walked, Valkyrie caught you up on everything you had missed in the last couple days since the ball disaster. During the ball, at midnight, the students and teachers knew there would be some sort of prank as per annual custom, but when the first of the balloons burst, and a young second-year student screamed his lungs out and thumped to the floor, chaos ensued. Apparently, Mo had to pry a slug off of Nila’s neck and she was bleeding profusely. Pom and her date were helping others as well until a slug took her date down by the ankle and he had two feasting on him before Valkyrie came over and helped Pom pry them off.

“Goddamn, leeches bite hard. Tearing them off was a nightmare,” Valkyrie said.

You shuddered and almost preferred the fatal venom to having slimy leeches attached to you.

The infirmary was overloaded once again, and much worse this time. Students and teachers were called to volunteer and assist the infirmary staff since there were so many injured. The Ministry Blood Bank had to bring in a special order for all the students and staff suffering from major blood loss.

“The Ministry is pissed off,” she said. You thought about Odin and the image of him in Professor Laufeyson’s memories. He always looked angry, though you would imagine that his entire administration was now going to be up in arms.

The hut was cloaked in fog, with only the thin lamplight from the windows guiding you towards it. The edge of the Forbidden Forest was dangerously close to his home, and you wondered how he was comfortable with it. You and Valkyrie walked down the hill and approached the house, concealed underneath the cloak. There was a crash and bang from inside that made you both jump.

You took off the cloak and rapped on the door. The wood was cold and cracked; it stung your knuckles.

“No guests till tomorrow!” shouted Bjorn’s raspy voice. You heard another sound from inside, a mewling sort of sound that was almost like a mixture of a bird and a cat.

“Come on, Professor Bjorn, what’s goin’ on in there?” Valkyrie said, pounding her first on the door so hard that it shook.

The door swung open and slammed against the inside wall. Professor Bjorn stood there, towering over the both of you. He smelled funny, like a fish market in the summer, and his beard was singed at the tips, as if he leaned too close to a fire. “No students on the grounds! Get back to the school before I dock ya,” he said with a growl, and slammed the door. Valkyrie put her foot out just in time and shoved the door open, entering the hut.

You were always impressed with her fearlessness and lack of hesitation. You had expected Professor Bjorn to fight back, but in fact, he backed up into a corner and tried to conceal something behind him. Something that was moving.

“I-it’s not what it looks like, I swear,” he said, his tone dropping.

Valkyrie pulled out her wand and pointed it at him, “you bastard!”

“Wait, Valkyrie!” you said as you moved closer to see what he was hiding. Five tiny heads tilted towards you with forked tongues slipping out of scaly mouths. It was a serperus, though it was about half the size of the one you had remembered seeing before you passed out. You pulled out your want and pointed it at Professor Bjorn. How could he?

“You did this?” you said, disbelief in your words.

Professor Bjorn was terribly sweaty and distressed. He frowned as if he might cry and shook his head. “No! Please understand, they were killin’ all of them. I found this one hiding in the corner, so confused and lost. Serperus’ don’t attack people, ‘tis not in their nature!”

Valkyrie took a step forward and clenched her jaw. “What - so we’re supposed to believe you were just rescuing the monster that almost killed us? Freya nearly died! Professor Odinson is lying unconscious ‘cause of this thing! How can you sit here, protecting it?”

“It’s just an animal! It’s scared and I don’t know what dark enchantments were used to control these things, but they’re not harmful,” he paused when both you and Valkyrie scoffed at him, implying they were not dangerous. “I’m not saying they can’t be harmful, but they eat rabbits, mice and fish! Everythin’ else is a defense mechanism. These beasts are like cats.”

You and Valkyrie looked at each other. “Cats?” you said incredulously.

The small serperus slithered out of the corner, its scales glimmered with a bluish sheen from the lamplight. The barbs on its tail were red coloured, but they were not fanned out like the one in your memory, but tucked in like a feline’s claws. One head moved towards you while the others looked at Valkyrie. The creature slithered over to you, and when you took a step back, its tail twitched and Valkyrie was about to shoot a spell at it. You raised your hand and silently stopped her. The creature slithered across the floorboards and moved through your legs, like some sort of monstrous cat.

“It likes you,” Bjorn said with a smile.

You sighed, your palpitations decreasing now that you knew you would not be stung. Glancing at Valkyrie with a pleading look, she reluctantly lowered her wand. Since the entire room released tension, Professor Bjorn pulled out two chairs and put on a kettle of tea.

Once you were all situated around the table with a cup of tea, you spoke. “Professor, how could someone control these creatures? And the blood slugs, how was someone able to get them into the school?”

Valkyrie wrinkled her nose at the smell of raw fish that sat in the bucket beside Professor Bjorn. He reached inside with an ungloved hand and pulled out fish guts, feeding it to the serperus, who happily slopped up its food with each of its five mouths. He then stroked his beard with the fish stained hand. “That’s the question, ain’t it? The only curse that can control a beast to that extent is one of the forbidden curses.”

“The imperius curse,” Valkyrie said.

Bjorn nodded. “That’s the one. As for the blood slugs,” he said, scratching at his head. “I have no clue how those would have been brought into Hogwarts without us knowin’. We got charms here, you know, all sorts of protection spells.”

“How does someone even get blood slugs? I can’t imagine this person spent a week hunting and collecting hundreds of them in the forest,” you said.

Bjorn shook his head. “Nah, Freya, blood slugs live in the swamp, not the forest. But you got a point. There are...certain folks who are in the market of selling strange and exotic creatures.”

You straightened in your chair. “Can you find out who it was?”

The serperus mewled, and Bjorn took another handful of fish huts and held out his hand for it to eat. “I-I don’t know anybody like that. I’m completely above board, kids,” he said, looking down at the fish bucket.

Valkyrie raised a brow. “Oh please, save us the lies. You know someone in the market, and you’re going to find out who was exporting blood slugs and to whom.” She glanced at the serperus. “Or else we’ll have to tell the teachers about your...pet.”

You raised your brows at Valkyrie, impressed. Exploitation was not something you enjoyed, but this was important.

Bjorn balked. “Don’t tell them, please! They’re goin’ to kill ‘im!”

You folded your hands on the table. “Then help us, please, sir. People are getting hurt,” you said earnestly. He looked at you and sighed.

“Alright, I’ll call my old buddies and see wha’ I can get.”

Once you returned to the castle, you snuck Valkyrie into your room and stuffed the cloak under your bed. She jumped onto the bed of your estranged roommate and stared at the ceiling. “I smell like fish guts,” she said.

Perhaps it was the fatigue or the despair. Regardless, you both immediately burst out laughing to the point of tears. You slid down the bed and onto the floor, holding onto your stomach and trying to contain yourself. It was partial hysteria, but once you settled down you appreciated the moment of levity.

“I’m going to use your shower,” she said, staggering up and wiping tears off her face.

“Want to stay the night? I’ll grab some food from the kitchen,” you said.

Valkyrie smiled at you and nodded. It had been a while since you two had time to catch up. You also didn’t want to be alone. There was too much happening and in all truth, it frightened you. So you headed out of the common room and ventured out to find some grub.

The halls were strangely vacant as you headed towards the kitchen. You saw Skurge mopping up the stairs from across the hall and recalled that time in the library when you first saw Professor Laufeyson. He was having sex with Professor Sif, trying to get information out of her. You thought that you would be jealous, but in fact the memory reignited your desire for him. What if it had been you in Sif’s place? You shivered at the thought of his length inside you. Your imagination transformed your memory and now it was you splayed on the table, with him pounding into you. You bit your lip and shook your head. A sigh escaped your lips as you crossed your arms and tried not to think about him.

“Freya!” a small voice called from behind. It was Pom. She stuck her head out from a set of doors.

You had not realized that you passed the library and walked in to see Pom. “How are you?” you said.

She widened her eyes and blinked several times. “I don’t know, Freya. I was one of the lucky ones. But I need to show you something!” She pulled you by the hand to the area she was working in. Piles of books sat atop the tables labeled as “The Era of the Dark One”.

Pom pulled out one labelled Volume IX and opened it. “Okay, so remember when we were freaking out about that message on the wall? Everybody wondered who was the heir and of what? And before the ball, I started reading about the magical war and history about the Dark One. There is so much to read through, it was going to take me nearly a week! Then the ball happened…” she collected herself, then continued, “so I came back here since I had nothing better to do. And I found something.”

You leaned closer to her. “Found what?”

She smiled, proud of herself. “The Dark One,” she said, lowering her voice. “He had a child.”

Your stomach sank, wondering if she would unveil that Professor Laufeyson was the mastermind. “Everybody knows that Professor Laufeyson was the Dark One’s son, but it can’t be him…”

Pom shook her head. “No! He had another child…”

You felt a headache settling in, right between your eyes. “What do you mean? The one that died with him in battle?”

She nodded. “Yes! And no! There’s almost no information about his second child, as if it’s been wiped from all records. But...I think I may find something in one of these books!”

“How’s a dead wizard going to help us?”

Pom’s face fell a little. She scrunched her nose. “I know there’s something more here. I have a hunch. I’ll let you know when I find something!”

You nodded and left her to keep scouring through the old texts. The thought crossed your mind to write in the magical notebook you had found and ask Leah if she knew anything. Though you could no longer recall where you kept the book. Unless it had switched away from you, which would be unfortunate.

The headache split your head in two as you flinched from the pain. He would have something useful, a draught or pill that would make the pain go away. Your heart yearned for him, not just for the use of his potions skills. It was going to be a long week until he returned and you prayed that nothing else got destroyed along the way.

[silkling]

Falsely Accused: Revelations

Prowl leapt to the side, hissing as neglected joints protested a movement that had once been as natural to him as breathing was to an organic. His leg gave out, and he fell to one knee. Wing’s blade stopped micrometers from his throat cables. It hovered there for a beat, then the larger mech swung it around his back and sheathed it. He knelt next to the fallen mechling, frowning.

“Prowl?” he said gently.

He released a shuddering vent, then pushed himself up. Prowl had had regular fuel and recharge for the past quadricycle since he’d accepted Wing’s offer. He wasn’t better yet, and wouldn’t be in top shape until he saw a medic, but already the food and rest was helping him. He’d need a repaint desperately, but being able to use the ship’s washracks had gone a long way in making him look better, appearance wise. He’d rested for the past few orns, but then this morning he’d asked Wing if they could spar. The jet had carefully agreed. So far, he wasn’t doing so well.

“Prowl?” Wing asked again.

“I’m fine.” he said, forcing himself up. Wing followed. “Let’s keep going.”

“Are you certain?”

“Yes I’m certain!”

Wing frowned at the harsh reply, and Prowl recoiled. “I’m sorry.” he said. “I just-“

“I understand.” Wing said soothingly. “I just don’t want you stressing yourself too much. There is time, Prowl. You don’t need to recover immediately.”

“You don’t even know what I’m trying to recover from.”

“No.” he agreed. “But I know it was bad, and I know it has weighed on you and hurt you. I know you need to let yourself recover naturally, or you will only hurt yourself more.”

The mechling was still, gaze directed at the ground. After a moment, he nodded. “I…understand. But I want to continue. I want to know how much I’ve lost. Please.”

Ah. So that was it, Wing realized. His spark ached in sympathy for the hurting Praxian. He wanted to figure out how far his skills had dropped since…well, Wing knew. He didn’t want to tell Prowl, but he was sure he had a decent idea.

“Alright.” he agreed. “A little bit more today, and then you need to rest and recover. We’re currently headed for an old friend of mine. He’s a Neutral medic. He’ll help you. Once you’ve been properly seen to and physically recovered more, then we can start with your training.”

Prowl looked at him, then nodded slowly. Prowl had already told him they were heading to a medic first, so that wasn’t new information, but it seemed he appreciated being told what to expect until then and after it.

“Good.” Wing smiled, keeping his EM field soothing and calm. Then he stepped back, slipping into an easy stance and deciding to forgo his blade. “Ready yourself.”

Prowl slipped into an easy stance, and Wing moved. He went in for a chest strike, but the slim mech danced away in a smooth two-step maneuver. On the second step, his weight shifted and he was sliding underneath the white jet, coming up straight and spinning in the same movement that he lashed out with a servo. Wing smoothly ducked and rolled on his heels away from the attack, then dipped low under the Praxian’s arms and came up on his right side, and lashed out with a palm aimed at the side of his helm.

He fully expected the mechling to see the strike coming and dodge. He wasn’t moving fast, and the hit wasn’t even a very hard one. It would be easy to move away from. So he was very surprised when his palm made contact, and the Praxian stumbled, legs buckling and sending him to his knees.

Wing was kneeling beside him in an instant, one servo on his shoulder to steady him and the other reaching for the newly-cracked visor. It had already been old, so he wasn’t surprised he’d damaged it by mistake. Before his fingers could touch it, Prowl was gripping his wrist, his field flaring with panic. Wing paused, and his helm tilted.

He had a feeling he knew what this was about. He strongly suspected that Prowl’s right optic was damaged. Most likely something he’d sustained during….well, Wing was fairly certain he knew when it had happened.

If he had to guess, the optic itself was likely broken, or damaged in a way that threw off Prowl’s depth perception or ability to distinguish shapes. It’d explain why he acted like he did. He had noticed how the younger cyber-ninja didn’t like anyone on his right side, and if he could he always put himself close to a wall, with the wall to his right. He never let a mech out of his left side. Wing was certain there was something wrong. He just needed to know exactly what.

“Prowl.” he soothed. “I need to see. We’re going to a medic now, and Blades will want to know how damaged your optic is if he’s going to be able to fix it.”

Prowl tensed. “It’s not damaged. I just don’t like mechs reaching for my face.”

“Oh? Is that why you never let someone on your right side?”

Prowl was silent.

“Prowl.” Wing said, voice soft. “I need to know. It needs repair, and depending on the damage level it might affect how I go about your training. I promise, I won’t hurt you. But I need to know, mechling.” he murmured.

Prowl stared, and then his grip on the jet’s wrist loosened and dropped. Wing reached forward, and carefully slid the visor off. He dropped his optics to it, setting it by Prowl’s knee, and then his gaze rose to his newest student’s face.

He froze.

Oh, Primus. It was worse than he thought.

Prowl’s right optic was black, like a dead mech’s.

Wing had seen this before, but never with optics. Sometimes,a Cybertronian was hurt severely enough, usually in one of their limbs, that the wires and circuitry and connections that linked that limb to the processor stopped transmitting or processing any energy or form of life. The limb, in those scenarios, would essentially die. The only fix was to amputate, replace all the dead wires and connections, and attach a new limb. Unfortunately, that was an operation with a very, very low success rate. It was almost like, in those cases, the connection at the processor itself was dead. Wing knew that there was no medic who could fix Prowl’s optic. No one who might be skillful enough would be willing to even try. The optics were already delicate enough to replace, but to replace the connections and circuitry between it and his processor…there was too much risk. This wasn’t the type of optic injury that could be fixed by removing the damaged one and giving him a new one.

Prowl was half-blind, and would be for the rest of his life.

“Oh, Prowl….” he breathed, his servo cupping the mechling’s face, his thumb swiping under the black, sightless optic that should have been a twin for the lovely blue one shining bright from the left side of Prowl’s face.

“Don’t.” he choked.

“Don’t what?” Wing asked.

“Don’t…” he trailed off, then started again. “I don’t want pity.” He spat the word like it was a curse.

“Prowl, no.” Wing said, aching inside for the broken mechling in front of him. “It’s not pity. It’s…” he shook his helm. “It’s grief, Prowl.” He fought to keep it from his voice. The Praxian needed his strength right now. “I’m grieving for you.”

“…why?” He didn’t seem defensive anymore, just tired. Tired and confused. It hurt Wing to know a mech so young was so wary of any form of kindness.

“Because it’s not right, Prowl.” he said gently. “An injury like that…it doesn’t happen on accident. Someone did that to you.” He squeezed his shoulder, gaze soft and sad. “You didn’t deserve this, Prowl. You deserved so much better.”

“You don’t even know what happened.”

“No.” he agreed. “But that doesn’t mean I’m wrong.” When Prowl’s gaze dropped, Wing moved his servo from his cheek to his chin, tipping his face up. “Do you hear me, Prowl?” he asked gently. “You deserved better.”

The Praxian stared, his single working optic overbright and shining. His vents hitched, and Wing’s resolve to wait for Prowl to come to him for assurance crumbled. He tugged the mechling into his chest, guiding his helm to rest in the crook of his neck. Prowl was stiff for a moment, and then he sagged and started shaking. He didn’t make a noise, aside from the hitching of his vents, but Wing would feel the wetness gather where his face was pressed.

The ninja master sat there, holding the crying mechling who had never once been told that he hadn’t deserved his fate, and tilted his helm up. Primus was a cruel master sometimes, he thought ruefully. Their Creator had infinite kindness and love, but there were times where he simply forgot to direct his attention to those who needed it the most.

Wing shifted his gaze when he sensed a presence by the door of the ship’s small training room, finding Drift standing there. His older student stared, a knowing look in his optics, and bowed his helm before turning to leave. Drift would know what to do. After all, it had once been him in Prowl’s position, though then there had been no senior student to step in.

Eventually, the injured mechling tired himself out, his frame going limp as his exhausted, overtaxed systems forced him into recharge. Wing shifted him, one servo grabbing his visor, and then he was lifting him into his arms and standing up. He carried Prowl to his room, setting him on the berth and putting the visor on the nightstand. He carefully tugged the blankets up around his sleeping student, then headed to the door.

He paused before he left the room, casting a glance at the cracked visor. They were near a space-port. They could dock for a groon or two so Wing could send Drift to purchase a new visor. With how tired Prowl was, he likely would sleep all through the stop anyway.

Prowl shifted in his sleep, rolling to curl up on his side, and Wing smiled fondly before he left the room and let the door slide shut behind him. That could come later. Right now, Prowl needed his rest.

——————————

When Prowl woke, he was confused. It took him a moment to realize why he was in his berth, and then the memories hit. His optic onlined slowly, and he sat up. His blanket fell, pooling around his lap. Had Wing put him to berth? It certainly seemed so.

He winced when his tanks growled, a quick check to his HUD informing him he was low on fuel. He pushed the blankets off, then slid out of the berth. His gaze landed on his visor, and he reached for it. As soon as he picked it up, the crack grew, and the visor fell into two pieces. He stared, before his doorwings slumped and he set the broken visor down again. Right. Of course that would happen. Primus really did have it out for him.

Another growl from his tanks reminded him of his hunger, and he heaved a sigh before turning and leaving his room. There was a small rec room in the ship, where the energon dispenser was. He’d go there, and avoid Drift if he saw him. Wing knew about his optic now, so there was no hiding it, but he wasn’t ready for the racer to know, too.

Prowl arrived at the rec room, his optic finding Wing sitting in a corner by the view port. He still wasn’t sure how he felt about the jet. He’d accepted the mech’s offer, but he couldn’t yet think of him as “Master Wing”. He had yet to address the other bot as such. He supposed a part of him wasn’t willing to believe that Wing actually cared. Another, smaller part of him still clung to Master Yoketron.

The mech in question obviously sensed him, because Prowl found himself pinned under the force of his bright amber optics. A smile stretched across his faceplates, and the white bot nodded.

“Hello, Prowl. Recharge well?”

“Yes.” he answered, walking over to where Wing was seated.

“That’s good. We made a short stop while you were out. I asked Drift to pick up something for you.”

Prowl blinked, surprised. “For me? That’s not necessary.”

“I think it is.” Wing smiled, then pulled something out of his subspace and set it in front of the Praxian.

Prowl’s vents froze. It was a visor. It was a very similar make to his old one, but it was slimmer and not as long. When he reached out to touch it, he could tell immediately that it was a much better, lighter material. More durable, too. Slowly, he lifted it, waiting to be told it was a prank and to have it snatched away. Wing did no such thing, and Prowl was soon pushing it into place over his optics. He could see through it even better than his last, and when he looked to the nearest reflexive surface he realized that the visor glowed faintly like his optic did, but it did so uniformly. It wasn’t dimmer or dark on the right side, the side that covered his dead optic. Looking at him, it’d be impossible to tell he was half-blind.

He swallowed, deciding to cautiously take this at face value. “Thank you.”

“Of course, little one. I broke yours, it was only right to replace it.” He smiled. “I also picked up a couple extras, in case that one breaks as well.”

Here, Wing pulled a small box out of his subspace and set it down. Prowl was quick to grab it and slip it into his own subspace, not wanting to take the chance of losing the spare visors to a change of mind when they were the only thing keeping the world from learning about his optic.

Wing smiled sadly, though for the life of him Prowl still didn’t understand why. “There’s something I’d like to talk to you about, Prowl.” he said. “You know I knew Yoketron. I think it’s time I tell you the full story, if you wish to hear it.”

Prowl stiffened at the mention of his old mentor, but he didn’t say anything for a moment. All he could think about was how he wanted to learn more about the mech who had given him a home and a purpose.

“Please.” he whispered.

Wing smiled. “Yoketron and I were students together.” he explained.

Prowl froze. “You…what?”

“We were students together, at the same time and under the same master.” He explained. “This was before the war, of course. Back when the Cyber-Ninja Corps was larger. Our master commonly took on pairs of students. One the senior student, one the junior. The senior student could help their junior, if need be, and they’d train together, live together, learn together. When the senior student graduated, our master would take on a new student, and the one who was previously the junior student would become the senior while the new one would become the junior.” Wing said. “It was a common way to teach students, back then. Yoketron was the one who decided to start only taking one student at the time.”

Prowl stared, carefully turning that information over in his processor. “You…were more than just cohorts, then.”

“Yes.” Wing agreed. “Yoketron was my junior, actually. And he was our master’s last student. After he graduated and after he achieved the title of cyber-ninja master, he was given the role of Master of the Corps.” The jet’s smile turned soft and wistful. “We were Amica. I will miss him dearly.”

Prowl stared, and then his gaze dropped. “I’m sorry.” He whispered. His master had had an Amica? He almost couldn’t believe it.

“It’s not your fault, mechling.” Wing soothed, chuckling. “You are not to blame for his death.”

He was still, not knowing how to respond. For mega-cycles, he had been blamed for his Master’s death. He didn’t know how to react to someone telling him otherwise. He didn’t know if Wing meant it. He probably did, the jet was rather genuine in all the the he he did. Pits, but Prowl didn’t want to think about Yoketron. The memory still sent jagged bolts of agony through his spark.

“Your Master.” he said, grasping a topic to focus on. “What was his name?”

Wing laughed, helm tilting. “Her name, actually. Master Windblade was a femme. Cyber-ninja titles don’t differentiate between gender. Every bot of a certain rank has the same title, regardless of their frame type or whether they’re a mech or femme.”

“A femme?” Prowl asked, stunned. “There was a femme as the Master of the Corps?”

“Is that so surprising?” Wing asked, frowning.

“Femmes, ah….” Prowl trailed off. “Most are not involved in positions that would involve any degree of combat or political power. They are primarily medics, or work in similar soft fields, if they work in the Autobot forces at all. Femmes are rare, and most of them are civilians.” he said.

The jet went still, frowning. “Oh? Is that so?” he murmured.

“Yes.” he said quietly. “They are…highly discouraged from pursuing anything violent.”

Wing shook his helm. “Yet another failing of the Autobot leadership.” he sighed.

Prowl was confused. “Another?” He knew High Command weren’t perfect, in fact he knew that the structure of the Autobots on Cybertron was twisted at best, but he had a feeling Wing wasn’t talking about that.

“Yes.” he said. “Did you know, little one, that there used to be a multitude of flight-frames among the Autobot and civilian population? Before and even during the war, our species wasn’t divided into just Autobot and Decepticon. There were many who were neither. Now, those who refused to pick a side must live away from our homeworld.”

“As Neutrals.”

“Yes. And during the war, there were quite a few Autobot flyers. A rather famous one was a soldier called Whirl. A group known as the Aerialbots fought together and dominated the skies. There was even a mech named Blades, though he worked more in rescue and medicine than in active combat.”

“So what happened to them all?” Prowl asked. There were no flyers on Cybertron. In fact, before his imprisonment, during which he’d first learned of the Neutrals, and before meeting Wing, he’d assumed that all flyers were Decepticons.

“They were forced off planet with the Decepticons. Most became Neutrals. I suppose the Autobot leadership wanted to create a certain narrative, and their flyers didn’t fit into it.”

Prowl frowned, then something occurred to him. “Blades…that’s the medic we’re going to see?”

Wing smiled. “Yes. He’s a skittish mech, but he has a good spark. He just wants to do good for others.”

Prowl nodded. “You know a lot about this.” he said.

“I should.” Wing said. “Master Windblade was a jet. As am I, as you’ve noticed. After I completed my training, she asked if I wished to continue advanced training to become a paladin. I agreed, and when she completed Yoketron’s tutelage she took me off-planet for the rest of my own training. It was shortly after I’d become a paladin that Cybertron sent us a message telling us we wouldn’t be permitted to return.”

Prowl was stunned. Of course he’d always known that there were no Autobot flyers, but he hadn’t thought that meant Autobot High Command had forced the ones it did have to leave their home. But if he was being honest, he wasn’t too surprised. He remembered what his people had done to him. He knew they had an astounding capacity for cruelty.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered.

Wing shook his helm. “It’s quite alright, Prowl. Cybertron hasn’t been home for me in a long time. I preferred exploring the stars, if I’m honest.”

Prowl hummed, then lifted his helm as something the mech had said caught his attention. “You mentioned…becoming a paladin?”

“Ah, yes.” Wing smiled. “Paladins are a part of the cyber-ninja corps. It’s a title. To earn it, a cyber-ninja who competes their full training must be willing to take on additional, advanced training.” He gestured at his back, where the hilt of his sword, a gem glinting in its pommel, sat sheathed. “I’m sure you’ve noticed my blade.”

“I have.”

“It is what is called a Great Sword, and is the final step in becoming a paladin. Master Windblade was one, too. The gems in the blades give them immense power and a small degree of…sentience, almost. When a paladin in training becomes ready for a Sword, they are taken to the Vault. It’s a location far off of Cybertron where all the Great Swords are kept. When a paladin-hopeful arrives, they must visit each blade, and if they are deemed worthy, one of the blades will choose them and bind to their very spark.”

Prowl blinked. “So your sword…”

“Is tied to my spark, yes. It’s name is Knowing Light. I can use the blade as a simple sword, without drawing on its power, but when I do use it’s full strength it forms an active link to my spark. Using the energy of my spark, it makes itself far more powerful and stronger.”

“And what’s the consequence of that?”

Wing laughed. “Shrewd, aren’t you? Yes, there is a consequence to linking and powering a Great Sword. Each time a paladin does, it drains just that much more of their life force. The blade is not to be used lightly. One can fight with it without drawing on its power, but if you wish to make it stronger you must sacrifice some of yourself to do so.” he explained.

“So…you’re a paladin.” Prowl was staring, optic wide behind his visor. “If you bind your spark to your blade, does that mean it’s bound to you and you alone?”

“Indeed.” Wing chuckled. “No other can use Knowing Light as long as I live. I am currently training Drift to become a paladin as well. One day, he will visit the Vault and see if any of the Great Swords deem him worthy.”

Prowl nodded. That…he’d never known about that. It wasn’t in any records at the Dojo. He didn’t think that knowledge existed in the Corps anymore.

“And me?” he asked. Did Wing intend to make him a paladin, too?

Wing shrugged. “Only if you wish it, little one. It’s a great deal of work, and a rather heavy burden and responsibility. If you only want the training to graduate as a cyber-ninja, I will be happy to give just that much to you. If you wish to take the path of the paladin, then I’d be most honored to guide you in that journey.”

Prowl wasn’t sure how to respond to that. Wing really meant it, he thought. He had a choice in this. The jet would teach him whatever he wanted to learn. His tanks growled, and the mech startled before laughing lightly. He stood, and before Prowl really processed anything he was back from the dispenser and setting a full cube in front of him.

“Slowly.” Wing reminded gently.

Prowl nodded, picking up the cube. “Thank you.” he murmured, lifting it for a long, slow sip. He swallowed, sighing as he felt his tanks begin to settle with the promise of fuel.

“I…have a question.” he said.

Wing hummed as he sat back down. “And I shall endeavor to answer it.”

“The medic, Blades…do you know him?”

“Quite well. Drift and I both have enough medical knowledge to treat ourselves of basic injuries, but we go to Blades whenever it’s something more serious.” he explained.

“Do you think he could….” He trailed off. How did he even ask?

“He can’t fix your optic, Prowl.” Wing whispered.

“No, no!” Prowl looked up. “I….I know. That’s not what…”

“Then what?” he asked patiently.

“Do you think he can change my frame?”

Wing froze. “Prowl.” he said carefully. “A frame reformat is not a good idea.”

“Not that, either.” Prowl shook his helm. “Just…” he trailed off, catching his reflection in the dark window beside them and wincing. “I can’t look at myself without seeing who I was before and remembering everything I have suffered.” he whispered. “I don’t want a reformat. Just…cosmetic changes. Minor ones, and a new paint job. I know it is selfish, but I do not want to look at myself and only see an echo of the past I’ve lost.”

Wing tilted his helm. “It is selfish.” he agreed. “But selfish is not bad, Prowl. Everyone needs to be selfish, sometimes. So long as you do not live your life as such, there is nothing wrong with being selfish in your personal matters.”

Prowl swallowed, throat feeling thick. He didn’t say anything.

Wing smiled. “Blades can very easily after your frame cosmetically. And a new paint job is also easy. Drift wished for the same when he became my student. I will not deny it to you.”

Prowl nodded, gaze dropping. He wondered why Drift had needed such changes. Perhaps, now that he was here, he’d have time to find out and get to know his senior.

“Thank you.” he whispered.

Wing chuckled, nodding. “Of course, little one. You deserve to feel good about yourself. I won’t deny you that chance to.”

Prowl stood abruptly, tucking his cube to his chest. Wing watched, but said nothing. This was getting too much. He appreciated everything he’d been told, all the respects and cares Wing was extending to him, but he just desperately needed some time to himself to he could process it all and assure himself it wasn’t a cruel trick. It would take time to learn to trust again, but he thought he could come to trust Wing, if things continued like this. He turned, heading for the exit of the red room with the cube in hand. At the door, he paused but didn’t look back.

“Thank you.” he said again, ignoring the tremor in his voice. “I hope you have a pleasant orn, Master Wing.”

And then he was fleeing down the hall back to his room.

Back in the recipe room, Wing was still. That had been the first time Prowl had addressed him like that. He paused, and then he was smiling even wider.

Yes, he’d made the right decision.

He could feel it.

———————————————————————————————————

And here we finally have it! The reveal of what happened to Prowl’s optics and where Wing knew Yoketron from! I wanted to incorporate the idea of the Knights into this somehow, and since Axe and Dai Atlas are canonically cyber-ninjas I thought why not make the Knights an extension of the Corps, just under a different name? I thought it fit.

I also really liked the idea of ninja lady Windblade teaching Wing and Yoketron. In my mind, Wing was a hellion and a wild feral child who liked having fun, and Yoketron was the surly, egotistical, rude little jerk. She whipped them both into shape, though!

I’d also like to apologize for the wait since my last fic, and give y’all a heads up. Updates and fic request fills will be slower coming. They’ll still happen, but for now I’ve closed requests until I can fill all the ones I have and write for my other series too. This is all cause I started my freshman year of college recently, so that’s going to be my primary focus for a while. I’ll write in the times I have to spare and post when I can, but it won’t be regular. Thank you all so much for your support, though! It really means a lot and is what makes me keep writing!

I hope you liked this fic, and if you have any thoughts be sure to let me know!

Until next time, folks!

[shih-coulda-had-it]

casualty report

my entry for @queenangst‘s bnha gen contest! Link to AO3, but also contained below the Keep Reading.

WC: 2,454

Summary: Hospitals are supposed to be places of healing. Yet whenever Toshinori sits in one with Gran Torino, it seems that Toshinori is always clawing at his own heart. Spoilers up to C305.

//

The air is cold, sterile, and silent, save for the low hum of machinery and intermittent beeping of the heart monitor.

Yagi Toshinori enters Gran Torino’s assigned room in a similarly muted fashion, sliding the door open and shut with barely a click. He finds the chair where he left it; the old man hasn’t gotten any visitors besides him and the nurses. Like Midoriya, Torino teeters on the knife edge of survival, and like Midoriya’s classmates, Torino’s colleagues are swamped with work.

Toshinori has the privilege to visit them both. So he splits his time between his teacher-mentor-father and his student-successor-son and waits. They are similarly stubborn about clinging to life; Toshinori is confident they will wake.

Whether they will be happy about it…

As he sits, Gran Torino’s eyes crack open. His already labored breathing stutters, resulting in a full-body twitch that eventually culminates in a pained groan.

“Take it slow,” Toshinori advises.

“Stupid lesson from a stupid teacher,” Torino snaps. Toshinori looks away to focus on the bright yellow fabric bundled on top of a cabinet, neither laundered nor repaired. He’ll have to do it later. 

The silence between them is tense. Surprisingly, it’s Torino who breaks it.

“Izuku?”

“Coma,” Toshinori says, fingers curling into fists. Before Torino can curse, Toshinori adds, “I think he’s talking to the predecessors of One for All.”

“Not something you could do,” the old man comments. He’s peering down at his injuries with a detached fascination: the maimed leg, the thick compress hiding beneath his bandages. Toshinori is uncomfortably reminded of his own injury, and of his own convalescence. He had recovered quickly, and privately, though he suspects that One for All had assisted with the process.

However lucky Torino is to have survived, Toshinori thinks the aftermath will be so much messier.

“It’s not,” he agrees.

“How can you tell?”

“A feeling,” says Toshinori. He forges on despite Gran Torino’s disbelieving eyebrows. “I think oshishou had a point, about the predecessors’ spirits living on in One for All. I’m not able to channel One for All anymore, but I think I still have some connection to the Quirk.”

“Ghosts in the machine,” says Torino dryly. He studies Toshinori. “Oh. You’re not joking.”

“I wouldn’t joke about this.”

Honestly, Toshinori had thought Torino would be ecstatic (as ecstatic as the old man ever got, as he swung between smugness, serenity, and seething fury) at the possibility of reconnecting with Shimura Nana. He had also quailed at the thought of telling Gran Torino that Toshinori’s own connection seemed to be a one-way thing.

And Toshinori doesn’t know how to tell Torino that he feels betrayed, in a way.

When he was researching the previous users of One for All, an alien-like urgency had pushed him past investigating to obsessing. As though a whisper had filtered through his head and said: what else, what more, why now?

Shinomori’s case. The hypothesis that Toshinori’s Quirkless heritage had protected him from the pitfalls of a stockpile Quirk.

The harsh intake of multiple people breathing in at once, even though Toshinori had been alone, with only stacks of heavily-redacted reports to keep him company. All of Toshinori’s devotion, and it had earned him nothing but sleepless nights and silent vigils.

Torino sighs then, heavy with resignation. And just like that, he moves on. “Shigaraki?”

“Escaped,” Toshinori reluctantly says. He doesn’t want to talk about the current situation of society and its failure to stabilize in the wake of so many terrible revelations and events. He really doesn’t want to talk about Tartarus. Except, it will be impossible to keep Torino in the dark about it forever. “Don’t have a heart attack on me, but—All for One’s back on the field.”

One heartbeat. Then two.

Something like forty years ago, Gran Torino and Toshinori had sat in a hospital room, numbed to the core by the very real confrontation and consequence of baiting All for One into the light. The superficial injuries belied the grief suffusing Toshinori’s body, and although he hadn’t recognized it at the time, the terror in Torino’s.

White-faced, Gran Torino had told Toshinori that they could not afford to stop moving.

Sleep. Wake up. Go to school. Your internship hours are going to be spent sparring with me.

For the rest of the year?

Until I’m goddamn satisfied.

It was a miracle they had survived the first week without killing each other. In retrospect, Toshinori could see the value in Torino’s decision to forgo the mourning period. Toshinori had still ended up sobbing on the ground, confessing to his father what he could not to his mother.

And of course, without dwelling on Toshinori’s admission, Gran Torino moved on to the next point of business.

“Cockroach,” Torino says through gritted teeth. The heart monitor stays impressively calm. “Third time’s the charm, then?”

“Torino-sensei, the third time was Kamino Ward. It’s safe to say the odds are against us.”

Toshinori’s bleak assessment earns him a narrowed glare, and it’s a sign of how exhausted and bitter Toshinori feels that he is unfazed. He can afford to be scared of Torino when Torino is walking of his own volition, cursing up a storm about the fact that he can no longer eat a whole box of microwaved taiyaki.

“Casualties?”

“Multiple civilians,” says Toshinori. “Multiple pro-heroes. None of the students, thank goodness.”

Torino stares at him. “There were no students at the hospital.”

“Many were… encouraged to participate in the mansion raid.” It still leaves a sour taste in his mouth. Terrible, yes, to see Eraserhead bandaged up yet again due to Toshinori’s failures, but it was even worse to see his students file back into U.A.’s dorms, eyes shadowed with something more than grief. Midnight’s death haunts them still.

The old man breathes.

“What else?”

“A loss of trust,” Toshinori says, leaning his elbows on his knees, fingers pressed together like a prayer. “Civilians want to protect themselves, and the remaining pro-heroes of Japan are stretched thin. Some died, and many are retiring.” He offers Torino a mirthless smile. “Yoroi Musha is out.”

“Twenty years too late,” Torino responds.

“You never liked him.”

“Gimmicky cowards with a chip on their shoulder shouldn’t be in this line of work.”

Well. Either Toshinori takes that as a personal insult, an unintentional dig, or Gran Torino’s acerbic sense of humor. He goes quiet anyway. Now is a good time as any for a lull in conversation to occur, but Toshinori doesn’t get long to contemplate his next move. 

“What’s eating you up,” Torino demands flatly.

“Nothing.”

“Pull my other leg.”

“It’s nothing,” Toshinori stresses. “And if there was something, I wouldn’t want to talk about it.”

“Toshinori. When you bottle up your specific brand of guilt, it has a tendency to backfire on you spectacularly,” says Torino. “I’m not walking away for a long time, so get it off your chest right now while I’m wired to half a dozen machines.”

Toshinori interlocks his fingers.

“Toshinori.”

“The Public Safety Commission has been disbanded,” he tries. “Their headquarters were attacked the same time the raids occurred.”

“Unsurprising,” says Torino. 

“I don’t think anyone could have anticipated a direct attack, Torino-sensei.”

“I’m not talking about the Commission. I’m talking about you. Deflecting.” 

Hospitals are supposed to be places of healing. Yet whenever Toshinori sits in one with Gran Torino, it seems that Toshinori is always clawing at his own heart.

“Do I disappoint you?” Toshinori asks, resigned to hearing an answer he already knows, staring hard at his hands. He’s pushing the wrong side of his fifties, less grizzled and more gaunt, more of a beanpole and less of a pillar. It’s impossible to remember all the things he did right when all Toshinori can see is where he went wrong.

And even though Gran Torino looks so fragile, tiny and bedridden, bandaged and hooked up to more machines than Toshinori can count on one hand—he still has the strength to look ahead.

Toshinori didn’t learn that. He had thought he did, those six years ago when he survived the fight with All for One, because in spite of the grievous injury, All Might had forged on.

“You can be honest,” Toshinori says. “Just like in U.A.”

“We’re a long way from that time,” says Gran Torino. His expectant and unimpressed expression hasn’t changed.

“It was a yes or no question, Torino-sensei.”

“No, then.”

He says it so simply. Toshinori blinks. Torino tips his head to the side, watching with half-lidded eyes how Toshinori processes his answer. Except Toshinori cannot fathom when this change of perception happened, because just as recently as Kamino Ward, Toshinori had still been reduced to sitting on his ass, listening to Gran Torino’s instructions.

“You’ve done more than anyone should have asked of you,” Torino says. “And you did it well.”

“I overlooked so many problems,” Toshinori protests. “So many people didn’t feel safe.”

“Brat,” says Gran Torino fondly.

“Torino-sensei.”

“There’s something more than that. You’ve been dealing with that insecurity for decades, and you know as well as I do that even a Symbol of Peace can’t catch everything. What’s going on?” Torino is ruthless when he wants to make a point; Toshinori circles back to his original impulsive question and thinks—

“Midoriya-shonen,” says Toshinori in a soft voice. “He’s talking to the predecessors.”

“So you said.”

“And I couldn’t. I can’t, even now, even though I’m connected to One for All still.” From there, the words come spilling out. “Oshishou told me from the beginning that One for All had some kind of spiritual essence. She might not have said outright about the voices, but she hinted at it. That we could meet again, somehow. And all those years… forty years, Torino-sensei, and—and nothing. Not a word, not a vision.”

Midoriya’s crybaby genes must have bounced over the connection, because horrifically, Toshinori can feel his face contort and his eyes water. He hasn’t cried in front of Gran Torino in decades.

“Like I wasn’t worthy,” Toshinori concludes, choking on the last word.

Here is what Toshinori learned on his own, independent of Gran Torino’s teachings: don’t cry. Smile through the fear and the pain, and don’t cry.

Conveniently, Toshinori has forgotten that all those decades ago, Gran Torino never censured him for his tears. So it is now, that Toshinori feels the unfamiliar prickle and the cooling trails sliding down his face, and Gran Torino says nothing.

Until he does.

“You’re everything Shimura stopped hoping for. Did you know that?” Toshinori jerks his head up from its bowed position; he can hear oshishou saying in her wry tone, typical Torino. Can’t make eye contact when communicating an emotion. “I saw her through almost every big milestone in her life. Her pro-hero license, her marriage, her pregnancy. The loss of her husband, and then her son.”

“You didn’t try and stop her.”

“She knew best.” Torino’s grin is painful. “I believed that then, and I believe it now. Kotarou survived longer than he would’ve if he stayed in her custody, which was ultimately her goal. So Shimura was right on that, never mind what Kotarou did with his life after. And you… I told you already.”

“You know me,” Toshinori jokes. He recalls his rusty impression of Torino’s lecturing tone, perfected during those golden hours of patrol with oshishou. “‘It takes twice as long for me to tell you something, versus me beating the lesson into you once.’”

“Then listen,” says Torino. “When Shimura met you, she was still hurting from giving up Kotarou. She couldn’t stop being a hero, but she didn’t want to stop being a mother. And every day, the news cycle spoke of a crime wave, fueled by something bigger than the injustices of the world.

“I was enough to keep her from drowning in work. It wasn’t until she met you that she started smiling again. That she had a son again.”

Toshinori scrubs his eyes. “Really could’ve used this talk forty years ago,” he manages.

“I wasn’t this emotionally intelligent forty years ago.”

“If Hound Dog ever managed to sit us down for therapy, he’d diagnose us both as emotionally-stunted,” he tells Torino. “You probably perpetuated a family cycle, Torino-sensei.”

“One of us cries, and it isn’t me,” Torino shoots back waspishly.

“It’s Midoriya-shonen,” Toshinori agrees.

Torino’s laugh comes out as a wheeze, and Toshinori winces in sympathy. The exhaustion that comes out of crying begins to settle in; he hasn’t allowed himself to cry for a while. Not in front of the students, and not in front of his colleagues. Gran Torino is situated in that blurred zone of family and teacher and co-worker.

Gran Torino is tiring as well. The conversation’s taken a lot out of him, and it surely doesn’t help that he was treated to a hint of Toshinori’s resurfacing insecurities.

“You asked if you disappointed me,” the old man says quietly, hoarsely. “Didn’t I disappoint you?”

His throat sticks.

Torino smiles, wry. “I know,” he says.

“Torino-sensei,” Toshinori attempts, horrified at his slip. He should fix this. He has to make sure Gran Torino knows that the past is past, and that his efforts haven’t been wasted on an ungrateful child. As Toshinori opens his mouth to reassure Torino, an urgent flicker of something calls out to him.

His head jerks to the door. Outside, down the hallway, in another room—

“He’s waking?”

Toshinori looks back to Torino, distractedly saying, “Yes,” before he freezes. Gran Torino has propped himself up halfway, teeth gritted with the effort it takes. He has reached out and clumsily pressed his hand against Toshinori’s forehead, fingers dipping into his hair.

It feels like a benediction.

“I am,” Torino forces out, “so proud of you. I could not be prouder. You were worth it, do you hear me, Toshinori? You are, still.”

The moment doesn’t last forever. Whatever burst of adrenaline fuels Torino, it dwindles with emotional vulnerability. He pats the top of Toshinori’s head and slumps back into his pillow, looking gray with exhaustion.

For his part, Toshinori stares, wide-eyed, like he’s fourteen years old again, meeting Gran Torino for the first time.

“Go,” says Torino. “Izuku shouldn’t wake up alone. He should have his family with him.”

There is a weak grin pulling at Torino’s mouth, familiar in its toothiness. Toshinori gets to his feet. He’s unable to return the smile, because he is suddenly terrified that if he leaves this room, Torino will somehow find a way to escape the hospital, hole up in his apartment, and—and—

“He’ll need you too,” says Toshinori. “Get better soon, tou—Torino-sensei.”

Gran Torino closes his eyes, and Yagi Toshinori moves on.

[miscellaneous-obsession]

Hi, I'm not sure if you do requests but I came across your ongoing fic about Alcina Dimitrescu and the maiden. I was wondering if you could write an angst piece about the family involving Ethan Winters and him carrying out his mission in the castle (as hinted during gameplay)? You can make it as sad and gory as you want!

Ah thank you for the ask, I really tried to go all out with the piece! Also please note this was written before canon details of the girl's weakness was revealed.

The Inevitable

Warnings: Graphic violence, death of main characters, implied suicide, details of injury and blood, use of blades and guns and not suitable for minors.

Anguish consumed her entire being as sobs were ripped from her throat, each more violent than the last. Her chest heaved, becoming more breathless as tears relentlessly trailed down her cheeks, falling only to land on the creamy expanse of Alcina's dress.

Being the last to have turned, Ethan presumed her mortal connections of humanity lingered longer than most. The emotional intensity of the scene that unfolded before him forced him to avert his gaze as guilt threatened to tear through his heart. He was the cause of such destruction; he had laid waste, bringing about the death of a family in reparation and retaliation for the loss of his own.

He called them monsters, but there was always a chance he was wrong. Was it he who was becoming the villain of the story?

Forcing himself to face the consequences of his actions, his stomach turned. Recalling the events that led him to believe that the brunette was the first he had slaughtered. She had walked into the hall unsuspecting of the company hovering above on the bannister, perched in wait, ready to leap onto her frame. Unable to swarm and seek help from her sisters, Ethan had plunged a blade through the skin and muscle of her neck with such force even the crunch of bone and cartilage echoed alongside a gurgled scream. Her eyes had widened, arms flailing helplessly as her mind continued to fight, hoping that this was not her untimely end.

"Cassandra," the cry of her name rang throughout the expansive room and with force, Ethan was flung from his position over the fading woman. The redhead looked torn; anger and sorrow clashed together like waves against a cliff. Her bottom lip trembled as tears threatened to spill over with the force she blinked, a truly futile effort to contain them.

"You can't go, Cassie; who will I bicker with?"

Ethan had recovered by then, his heart aching with a drop of adrenaline as these sisters were forced to part, separated by planes of existence by his actions. The brunette now lay lifeless in a pool of her own blood, cradled by whom he knew to be Daniela. The very same redhead remained unguarded, vulnerable, and against his better judgement, he retrieved his gun. Solely focused on Cassandra's corpse, Daniela had less than a second to react as she unsheathed her sickle, refracting the bullet, so it embedded within wooden panelling rather than her head. 

"You bastard," with sloppy movements, she swung the blade that remained coated in her previous victim's blood. Advancing with ferocity, Ethan was compelled to retreat; his steps backward created a minute distance only to be quickly eliminated by Daniela's persistence. With both knife and gun in hand, Ethan continued to parry, deflecting potentially lethal blows, waiting patiently for an opening.

Two sounds followed in succession, first a second shot of the gun, then the thud of a fallen body. Not far from her elder sister lay Daniela, her body shaking as she slid across the marbled floor leaving behind an abhorrent bloody trail in her wake. Her effort was not in vain as she curled into Cassandra's now cooling body, hoping for a semblance of comfort in the absence of her mothers and only remaining sister.

Seconds later, the matriarch's wife stormed in, her fury no less palpable than her youngest’s. "No," her voice was soft as disbelief seeped in; ignoring the direct threat before her, she came to her daughter's side. The redhead forced a smile, hoping to alleviate the distress that crossed her mama's face.

"Mama," that sole word was enough for the maiden to hush the girl who she pecked on her forehead.

"Relax, Dani, you did so well, my darling. I am proud, so proud."

The slight smile, still as toothy as ever, cracked the maiden's heart, knowing it would be the last she caught from her daughter.

"Cassandra will be waiting, so do not fear, for you won't be alone."

The comfort Daniela sought was given in tenfold as always, and as she closed her two-toned eyes for the final time, she was only aware of her mama's delicate fingers carding through her hair. 

Much like her daughter, who had just passed, the blonde could not contain her pain at the sight of her deceased children. Although before Ethan could act, the two remaining ladies of the house emerged, summoned by the ruckus he was responsible for.

Bela surged forward after a single glance to her younger sisters; her protective nature had not dulled even in their deaths. On the other hand, Alcina flew to her wife's side, sharing in the grief that constricted their unbeating hearts. Never had she thought that a single man could enact such damage.

Bela was relentless, her anger conforming to her will and an advantage as she slashed with precision. Her blade getting too close for comfort for Ethan's liking, but he was prepared. Blocking and countering with his own attacks saw the blonde thrown off-kilter, her movements becoming sluggish as she expended her energy far too much over the course of the evening.

Observing her daughters struggles, Alcina moved to step in, only to be too late as Ethan used Bela's momentum against her. With her sickle wedged within the hearth of the fireplace, unable to rip it out in time, both blade and bullets penetrated her unprotected abdomen. The inhuman cry from Alcina sent Ethan staggering as she pulled Bela into her embrace, coaxing and pleading for her to stay awake. Quickly cream became crimson within seconds but was ignored in favour of re-joining her wife. Held safely in her mother's arms brought Bela a semblance of peace; she desperately wanted to stay but knew there was nothing to fear anymore, for she had her sisters to join.

"I'm sorry, mother, mama," she looked to them in turn as she spoke their favoured terms of endearment, eyes fluttering with each movement.

"Nonsense dragă mea, you were perfect." 

A small nod from the maiden confirmed Alcina's statement, confident that her daughter had succeeded. "Rest Bela," was the last thing the blonde heard as she slipped into an endless sleep, still held and cradled in the soothing caress that her mothers provided.

Only when they were sure did they let go, allowing Bela to lay by her sisters, placed with such delicacy it surprised Ethan. Only two to go; it was a thought that crossed his mind as both women stood, bodies stiff and ready to pounce as though they were predators and he was their prey.

Both matriarch and her wife were riddled with injuries by the end of the fight, Alcina more so as she had taken blows in an effort to save her beloved. Foolishly it was this notion, her own sentimentality, that brought about her end. Having collapsed her wife catching her with practised ease, Alcina was held against the blonde's chest. With an urgent need to convey her love, Alcina forced herself upright, seeking the lips of her maiden. Granting one of her last requests, her beloved closed the distance, savouring what would be the final kiss in which the matriarch would or could reciprocate. A hand rose to Alcina's cheek as she came to rest her head in the column of her wife's neck, fingers tracing skin with unparalleled tenderness. Ethan's own heart ached, he had lost his wife, his Mia, and he was the reason his ancestor was losing her own.

"I'll be with you soon, my love; I promise even death won't separate us."

Alcina hummed, although not in disagreement; she too did not want to be parted in the afterlife. "You are mine dragă mea."

"I am yours just as you are mine; that will never change."

Smoothing out tangled curls, the maiden pressed a gentle kiss to the crown of her wife's head. Seconds later, Alcina's chest stilled and only then did the final Dimitrescu shed her tears, leading to the scene Ethan saw before him.

"Where is my daughter?"

No success, her sobs continued to wrack her body, oblivious to the man's question as she pressed her face into the top of her wife's head.

"Where is Rose?"

He demanded louder each time, growing more frustrated with a lack of results he had hoped to achieve from this massacre. Eventually, without any patience left, he drew closer, his footfalls treading carefully across stained floors. Extending an arm, allowing a hand to come into contact with the blonde’s shoulder, snapped the maiden’s attention to the man who murdered her family, her innate fear of being removed from her beloved squashed upon meeting his bitter gaze.

"Why would I tell you anything, Ethan Winters?"

For once, he had no response, but she filled the silence with her resentful tone, despite her wavering voice and quivering lip. "You hold no more bargaining chips. You played your cards much too early. How foolish a man to have made such avoidable mistakes."

He scoffed as if to refute her statement; despite all of the stacking evidence that she was right, some small part of his mind refused to acknowledge or toy with the concept that she was wrong.

"You want a daughter you will not find; I will not divulge a secret of which I was entrusted with. For you killed my daughters, my wife, my everything. Nothing you can say or do could repair or undo the damage you have caused. You will leave here knowing you have failed."

With that said, the maiden prepared for the inevitable, for Ethan's weapons to end her life much like he had the other four Dimitrescu's at her refusal to share what information he desired. Holding her wife tighter and an arm resting across her daughters, she waited. But the blow nor bullet she anticipated came, leaving a hollow, empty sensation festering in her chest.

"I won't kill you until I leave with what I came for."

"Unfortunately for you, that is the opposite of what will happen."

Before Ethan could stop her, she grabbed her youngest’s discarded sickle, and for all to hear, she said aloud, "In life and in death, glory to Mother Miranda." The weapon was swung with force, finalising the end of the Dimitrescu household, allowing the last member to come to rest, still clutching her wife's body with a loosened grip.

Ethan had failed.

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

Only hours later, without hearing from his sister, did Heisenberg approach the castle. Lacking his lycans or other substantial back up he entered silently, aware of the games that may be ongoing. He did not want to spoil his niece's fun.

Entering the hall brought about a shock; in the light of the fires dying embers lay those who he had called his family. Untouched from the fight, Daniela was held between her sisters, flanked on either side, just as she had adored as a child. Alcina was to their right, body held by her wife, who distinctly lacked the sickle once embedded in her skin. The very weapon was strewn to the side, still marred by her blood. Those emerald eyes Alcina adored to talk of were now closed in respect, an unforeseen gesture carried out by none other than the man who wreaked such havoc before having absconded. The matriarch's wife had her arm extended, albeit stiff with rigour mortis, across the girls, forever comforting them in a maternal gesture.

Never did Karl anticipate an ending like this, although he was only thankful for their departure together, for they remained a family even in their time of death.

But for now, it was time to inform Mother Miranda of their demise.

[balaroo]

Negative Reinforcement

Bakugou Katsuki/Midoriya Izuku one shot.

Summary: Bakugou Katsuki was the last person who should be picked to give emotional support- especially when he's stuck in a hospital room and bored out of his mind, but Izuku had shut down after their battle with Shigaraki, blaming himself for not being able to stop the carnage. When not even their classmates can pull him out of his mood Katsuki takes it into his own hands.

Aka, Katsuki has to cheer up Izuku and it goes surprisingly well.

Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Midoriya Izuku Needs A Hug, Soft Bakugou Katsuki, Worried Bakugou Katsuki, he's trying his best, It Can Be Read As Platonic But Who Am I Kidding, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, Cuddling, Bakugou Katsuki Swears A Lot, Bakugou Katsuki is Bad at Feelings, Bakugou Katsuki is a Good Friend, Post War Arc, not spoiler free, no beta we die like nighteye, this is so self indulgent you have no idea, Depressed Midoriya Izuku, Midoriya Izuku Feels Guilty, One Shot, short and sweet

Author’s Notes: I'm not really happy with how this turned out honestly. I loved the idea but I struggled to write it well, forgive me. Anyway, wanted to post it before the leaks for the new chapter come out and break me. This is my fluffy interpretation of what should happen but watch Hori stamp on my dreams.

Set right after chapter 296, there are many spoilers ahead and a few guesses about what will happen next! Thank you for reading and please leave some constructive feedback if you can! I'm still very new to writing fics like this.

Cross posted on my AO3 account, the link to which is in my bio if you’d prefer to read it there.

Rest of the work below the line!

Negative Reinforcement

If there were two things Katsuki hated more than he hated everything else the first would be hospitals. The sour smell of disinfectant that clung to each surface and the constant background hum of machines slowly drove him insane, that combined with Katsuki's own opinion that he'd spent enough time in the damned places already did not make them appealing to him. The second most hated thing would be dealing with other people's emotions. Hell- it was tiring enough having to figure out his own, let alone being expected to somehow know what other people were feeling and even if he got that bit right he was still meant to act accordingly. It was exhausting, so he tried to avoid it whenever he could. In this situation, avoiding it was not possible.

When Katsuki first woke up his thoughts had been jumbled, fleeting and fearful, considering the last thing he could remember was bleeding out in a ruined city it seemed fair enough. The room had been dark, cast in shadow with only the soft flashing lights of various medical devices to give any indication that Katsuki hadn’t been thrown into a void. He’d tossed fitfully in the hospital bed for a second, not quite grasping his surroundings and cried out as white-hot pain shot across his chest as if someone were tugging on his insides. “Kacchan?” The familiar voice was quiet but echoed with desperation and Katsuki frantically sought out its source, twisting his head, eyes finally adjusting to the gloom until he could make out a dark mound on the far side of the room that was moving. Katsuki finally separated the figure from the pile of blankets and pillows, ruffled hair stuck out in all directions and if he tried hard enough, Katsuki had been able to make out the faint gleam of green eyes piercing through the darkness locked directly onto him. “Thank goodness.” Izuku breathed as he saw Katsuki twist to look at him, his form slumped again, fading back into the shapeless mass of the hospital bed and Katsuki twitched anxiously in response. He felt completely disorientated, the thoughts in his head were moving too fast to pin down.

He’d tried to respond but his mouth felt dry and his tongue heavy, barely managing to rasp Izuku’s name in a thick croaky voice he wasn’t sure the other could even hear, struggling to lift the medicated fog that wrapped heavily around his mind like a thick blanket. Mingled feelings of relief and fear flitted around his head as he began to remember the carnage and bloodshed- Izuku was here, he had made it out and that alone calmed Katsuki enough to relax back into the bed. But what about everyone else?  Their classmates had been fighting their own battles all over the city. He had barely been able to focus but managed to form a few words, “The others?” Each breath, every swallow and twitch of his head sent fresh waves of pain rippling through his body, black spots threatened to overcome his vision but he fought through it. He could almost feel the other boy hesitating, it made him more distressed. “The class is fine.” Izuku had told him at last in a heavy voice, “You should go back to sleep.” Katsuki could remember thinking how defeated the other teen sounded. He’d ground his teeth together, feeling frustration building in the pit of his stomach that he was so helpless, unable to do anything more than shake and let his eyes fall shut again, slipping back into a fitful rest.

He woke the next day, feeling much more himself and determined to find out exactly what had happened but was immediately shut down by Recovery Girl who insisted he had to stay in bed or risk an even longer ban from training. Though, if he was honest, he wasn’t sure if he would’ve been able to stand up, let alone shake someone down for answers. Katsuki then tried to interrogate Izuku about it but the freckled nerd was annoyingly quiet for a change, spending most of his time with his back to Katsuki facing the bare white walls of the room. It was worrying, to say the least. Katsuki tried to tell himself that Izuku was just recovering from the wounds he’d sustained from All For One, damage that might not ever heal according to Recovery Girl. Izuku might never be able to use his arms in battle again.

Another day crawled by insufferably slowly. The only people allowed in their room had been Recovery Girl and a few different nurses who would bring food and water, all of which had clammed up the second Katsuki tried to ask them for news. He was frustrated with being talked over again and again, his hands tingled with a need to blow something up. So even by his own standards, he was in a lousy mood when their classmates were finally able to visit. Recovery Girl had forbidden the entire class from coming, “Only a few at a time.” She’d said as she’d been checking on their bandages, “If either of you reopens your wounds then I’ll have to put in overtime, and I won’t be quite so nice.” Katsuki snorted, tapping his fingers against the side of the bed impatiently. He’d spent the morning trying to coax a conversation out of Izuku. Well, not so much coax as annoy or tease, but they were solid tactics that usually got a reaction. Today, however, he got nothing more than one-word replies until Katsuki had gotten so annoyed he’d just given up completely. He’d prefer it if Izuku would just yell at him, yelling he understood. Just say Katsuki had made him mad, anything other than this stony silence. It had Katsuki on edge.

He was brought back to the present as he saw Izuku move so he was sat up in the bed facing the door. Katsuki could finally see his face properly for the first time. It looked drawn and tired, eyes that were usually bright stared blankly at the wall and there were dark bags under them. Katsuki briefly wondered how much Izuku had actually been sleeping while he was turned away from him. He thought again about trying to get his attention but then the door swung open, banging against the wall noisily and making Recovery Girl tsk in irritation. Iida was the first through the door, his face was still bruised slightly in places and his wrist had some kind of support on it but other than that he seemed okay. “We are here to represent the class!” The dark-haired teen announced. His good hand gripped a mixture of brightly coloured heart-shaped balloons all with ‘ Get well soon!’ scrawled across them. Katsuki’s eye twitched. He’d never wanted to leave a room more than he had at this moment. The others were filing in now. Including Iida, Uraraka, Todoroki, Mina, Kirishima, and Sero were the first ones who’d come to see them. They all bore marks of the battle in some way shape or form. Todoroki had a bandage wrapped around part of his face and Kirishima’s left arm was heavily bandaged. The rest had scratches that had been taped up but it was their expressions that made Katsuki realise something was wrong.

They entered the room with forced smiles which were surprisingly eerie and didn’t match the dullness in their eyes. They all looked so tired. Though when they saw Katsuki and Izuku both sat up in their beds, watching them, they did seem to brighten up. Mina was the first to move forwards, dropping to perch on the edge of Katsuki’s bed with a loud exhalation, “You two had us all worried!” Iida was now tying his balloons to the leg of a table between the two beds and Uraraka hurried forwards carrying an assortment of chocolate that she put on the table as well. She then turned to Izuku with a nervous smile. He was regarding their classmates with a far-away look in his eyes but he did meet Uraraka’s gaze. “We uh- got those mint chocolates you like.” She began awkwardly, “How are you feeling?” Katsuki watched the exchange with narrowed eyes. He could tell she was taken aback by Izuku’s state but she was doing a poor job of hiding it. For a moment Katsuki wasn’t sure if the green-haired boy was even going to respond, then, at last, he smiled faintly, though it seemed more like a grimace, and said, “I’m okay.” A brief rush of relief hit Katsuki as he saw the boy sit up a little more, though he still had that glazed expression.

Then Katsuki’s view of them was blocked by Sero and Kirishima who moved a few of the visitors' chairs to crowd around his bed. “It’s so good to see you, man!” Kirishima exclaimed, he had a grin on his face and patted Katsuki on his non-bandaged shoulder as he sat down. “They told us you guys were fine but they wouldn’t let anyone come near you. Are you doing okay?” Katsuki growled and picked at a spot on his bedsheet where the thread had come loose, “I’m just about ready to break out of here, consequences be fucked.” Sero chuckled sympathetically and glanced around at the very clean, very sparse room, “Pretty bored then huh?” Katsuki’s patience was thinning rapidly. He was glad to see them all in one piece but if he had to walk around social niceties to get a straight answer from someone he really was going to lose it. “Not just that,” He snapped, “No one here will tell me anything. What the hell happened after the battle?” He didn’t miss the way Mina caught Kirishima’s eye with a startled expression as he turned to look at each of them in turn. When no one offered up a quick answer Katsuki had to stifle another growl, they were holding something back from him and he knew it. “I know we’re here because the bastard set his Nomu’s loose or whatever and they thought they’d come after us, but why hasn’t anyone told us anything? All Mig-” Katsuki broke off and stared bitterly at his hands. He’d been about to say All Might hasn’t even been to see Deku but he didn’t want Izuku to overhear him. He could hear Todoroki talking faintly in the background so he hoped the other invalid teen hadn’t been listening to him about to point out the obvious but Katsuki was mad the former symbol of peace hadn’t been to see them yet. If anyone could pull Izuku out of whatever stupid funk he was in, it would be All Might.

“Bakugou…” Kirishima started warily, “A lot happened, we’re-” He stopped mid-sentence and glanced helplessly at Sero. “We’re not supposed to say much.” Sero finished for the redhead, “They said you needed more time to heal befo-” “Fuck that.” Katsuki snarled, his stomach was twisted into knots with anticipation. He wanted to stomp his foot like a child. Maybe break something against a wall. If they left without giving him any answers he didn’t know how much longer he’d have to wait to have another chance. They were all watching him with concern and Katsuki realised he’d been gripping the covers tightly in his fists. He let go quickly but he’d already left scorch marks smouldering in the pale blue sheets. He struggled to relax his jaw and tried again, “If I have to lie here one more day without knowing what’s going on out there, I really will get out of bed and find out myself. That sound like a great way to heal to you?”

It was Sero who broke first, “I guess, I don’t think I could stay still either.” He admitted, looking at Kirishima who sighed but murmured in agreement. “He does have a point,” Mina said from where she was still sitting at the end of the bed, “And I wouldn’t put it past him to sneak out.” She stuck her tongue out playfully as Katsuki glowered at her, but he was silently glad to see her acting normal. Kirishima breathed out heavily, slumping forwards in the chair and meeting Katsuki’s gaze. “What do you want to know first?” “How is everyone?” Katsuki asked immediately, “We could only get them to tell us no one else from the class was in hospital but that was pretty much it.” Smiling softly, Kirishima nodded, “Everyone’s okay. Kaminari wanted to come today but he’s still on bed rest.” He waved a hand as Katsuki opened his mouth, “Just in his dorm. He got a pretty bad knock to the head but he’s fine, really.” Katsuki closed his mouth and eyed the others quietly. There was still something they hadn’t told him, he could see it in their faces, in the smiles that looked too fake and the unspoken grief he could feel around them.

“What happened?” Was all he asked, “Something went wrong, didn’t it?” He could almost see their facade’s failing, Kirishima wouldn’t meet his eyes now and seemed very interested in his hands while Sero leaned further back into his chair, tugging subconsciously at the hem of his shirt. Mina’s head dropped and Katsuki could see her bottom lip trembling as she stared down at the floor, when Kirishima offered a hand to her she took it and clutched it tightly, like a lifeline. Her entire demeanour changed in a few short moments. Whatever had happened, it really distressed her. There was another silent moment before Kirishima started talking again, “You were there when Aizawa sensei was hit with a quirk deleter round?” Katsuki nodded grimly, “He took his own leg off, I saw.” The redhead winced, “He’s still recovering, it was bad.” “But he’ll be okay?” It was Sero who answered, “We haven’t been able to see him yet but Shinsou said he’s doing better.” Katsuki wanted to relax but the other’s tone of voice sounded heavy. “There’s something else…” Kirishima began, “When we were trying to keep Gigantomachia from reaching the city we…” Another deep breath and his bright red eyes looked watery. “We lost Midnight.” Mina’s shoulders shook and her body convulsed in a choked sob but Katsuki could only stare in disbelief. Midnight had been their teacher for almost a year, she couldn’t just be gone. Katsuki’s focus wavered, his mind drifting. He could tell from their reactions what they meant and felt a deep pit open in his stomach. After everything that had happened, all the fighting, he never thought they’d actually lose someone. God, he was fucking naive.

The others gave him a little while to process it and Katsuki found himself wishing for the umpteenth time that he was anywhere else. “Bakugou?” Sero asked eventually and Katsuki quickly returned his attention to them. Mina’s eyes were red around the edges and he knew now why they all looked so drained. “How did it happen?” He managed to ask. His body felt oddly numb but when he spoke his voice sounded unsteady, even to himself. Mina leant forwards and breathed out shakily, “W- we don’t really know. We hadn’t heard from her and then we just found her, lying there.” Tears trailed down her pink cheeks and she lifted her free hand as if she was reaching for something. “I was- I held her hand.” Her voice ended in a whisper, dark eyes hazy. Katsuki shifted uncomfortably, glancing away. He didn’t like being confined in one space for moments like this, it made him feel nervous as if he were trapped. Kirishima was trying to comfort Mina though he seemed just as broken down himself. Sero watched them sadly for a moment before glancing back at Katsuki, “Other heroes were killed too. No one we knew well but they got the number 6 hero, Crust.” The dark-haired teen hesitated before continuing as if he wasn’t sure how much he should say. “Most of the big heroes are out of action. Hawks and Endeavour are still in bad condition, Miruko as well. But they’ll heal.” He sounded unsure of himself. The numbness settled a little deeper into Katsuki and he closed his eyes. All the destruction he’d seen from Shigaraki’s quirk and then Gigantomachia tearing the city apart, he didn’t want to ask about civilian casualties.

There was silence then, nothing more to say really. Sero returned to consoling the other two, whether he was unsure of how to do the same for Katsuki or thought the blonde wanted the space Katsuki couldn’t tell, but he was grateful for it. During the break from their conversation, he tried to focus on what his other classmates were saying to Izuku. They’d arranged themselves near the freckled teen’s head and Uraraka was saying something in an upbeat voice. “Recovery Girl said you’d be okay to go outside for a bit,” the round-faced girl was saying, “Stretch your legs, maybe see Eri. She’s worried about you.” Todoroki and Iida murmured agreement but Katsuki could make out Izuku’s face between Kirishima and Sero now, he still had his eyes fixed downwards with that subdued look on his face. Katsuki wondered if they’d told Izuku about Midnight or if they thought he couldn’t handle it yet. “Maybe.” Izuku replied, Katsuki was vaguely relieved to hear this voice sounding a little louder, “I’m still really tired.” Uraraka and Iida exchanged glances. “We can uh- leave you to rest a bit more?” Iida asked though he sounded like he didn’t want to. When Izuku simply nodded mutely and settled back down into the bed, turning to face his back to them, Iida’s face fell. He said something quietly to Todoroki and Uraraka that Katsuki couldn’t make out but the three of them got up and made their way dejectedly towards Mina and the others. Katsuki wanted to yell at them to keep talking to him but he just stared worriedly at Izuku’s back, if he was refusing to talk to his friends, how could Katsuki get him to say anything?

Uraraka joined Mina at the foot of the bed, Katsuki felt the mattress shift beneath her weight as she put her head in her hands. Mina patted her on the back and Iida stood in front of her, looking concerned. Todoroki had come to stand closer to the Katsuki. He leaned forwards slightly, “Has he said anything to you?” He asked quietly, his eyes were anxious and Katsuki knew he was just as worried about Izuku. Katsuki wrinkled his face, not pleased with the fact he hadn’t, “No.” He returned to picking at the loose thread on his mattress. For a second, he thought he saw Todoroki smile faintly as if Katsuki’s reaction had amused him. But when he looked up, it was gone. “I feel so helpless,” Uraraka said through her hands, catching the blonde’s attention again. “He’s just…” She trailed off miserably and looked back up at the rest of them. Iida reached out to rest his hand tentatively on her shoulder and squeezed it gently. She gave him a weak smile in reply but still looked close to tears. Katsuki hated to agree with her but as he glanced across at the pitiful figure of Izuku, still curled up against the wall, his heart thumped uncomfortably hard in his chest. He felt like he needed to confront something, preferably something physical. If he could just get out of bed and blow off some steam maybe he’d be able to think clearly. But no. He was trapped here, in bed, with a bunch of emotional teenagers and no anger outlet. Definitely a worst-case scenario.

Katsuki finally drew his eyes away from Izuku as he saw Kirishima shift in his chair. He exchanged an apprehensive look with Sero and opened his mouth as if he were going to say something more. “Bakugou...” But Iida cut in before he could get anywhere. “We should let you get some rest.” Iida fixed Kirishima with a pointed look and the spiky-haired teen glanced away, still looking guilty. They all made a move to get up but Katsuki spoke first. He wasn’t going to let them leave without telling him the truth. The whole truth. “What are you hiding from me now?” He demanded, his voice bitter. He’d had enough of all the secrets now. More glances were exchanged between the visiting party and Katsuki furrowed his brow even deeper. “Tell me or get the fuck out.” He snapped at them, patience far beyond gone. If they wanted to keep shit from him, that was fine. Well, it wasn’t actually but he didn’t want them here if that was the case and if they kept looking at him like some fragile thing he was going to go feral.

Iida sighed at Katsuki’s brash tone and pushed his glasses further up his nose. He cast a look over his shoulder at where Izuku lay unmoving and shuffled closer to Katsuki, speaking in a low voice as if he didn’t want the other teen to hear him. “None of the teachers wanted us to tell you, but…”  Another pause as he built up the nerve to continue. Katsuki blinked in surprise and his anger faded slightly. Iida going rogue? The strict class representative was finally getting interesting. Iida stole a glance at where Recovery Girl was sitting in her usual chair in the far corner, head bowed as if she were dozing. She certainly wasn’t paying them any attention. “You’re being kept behind U.A’s defences because not long after Shigaraki disappeared, he sent his Nomu’s to Tartarus.” A cold feeling was beginning to settle in Katsuki’s stomach, “All For One’s prison.” He murmured. Iida nodded gravely, “Yes. Most of the top pro-heroes were still out of action or unaccounted for- There was no one to stop him. He took back his real body and broke out some more nasty criminals along the way. No one’s seen him since.”  

If All For One had his body back and control of Shigaraki’s powers as well as the Nomu, everything they’d sacrificed… Had it done anything? Katsuki shook his head as if shaking away the thought. No, he couldn’t think like that. They’d saved most of the city just by holding Shigaraki down, Gigantomachia too, it hadn’t been useless. He side-eyed Izuku’s bed again. Was it just his imagination or had the boy shifted slightly in his peripheral vision? Returning his attention to the others, Katsuki clenched his fists. Though he wasn’t happy that they were being guarded, he could admit it made a lot of sense. The U.A Barrier was pretty formidable but he wasn’t sure it could hold off the bastard if he really wanted to get to them. Another flicker of movement in the corner of his eye and Katsuki was sure of it now. “You should go.” He said to them. Kirishima started, “W- Bakugou, are-” Rolling his eyes, Katsuki interrupted him. “I’m sure, Shitty-Hair. Get going, I want to sleep.” The redhead hesitated then nodded slowly and got up. The others said their goodbyes and did the same, stacking the visitors’ chairs back up and piling them in the corner before heading for the door.

Katsuki was so focused on watching Izuku for more movement he didn’t realise Todoroki was lingering by the edge of his bed until he coughed. The other teen kept his voice low as he said to Katsuki, “You’ll talk to him, won’t you?” Katsuki knew what he meant instantly and scowled, “What do you think I’m doing, bastard?” Now piss off.” Todoroki backed off, but Katsuki could see that same knowing smile on his face as he turned away. Though he tried not to focus on it, Katsuki’s face felt flushed and he glared angrily at Todoroki’s retreating back. Soon, their classmates were gone and the room felt bare once again. Though Katsuki had been sure Recovery Girl was asleep, the moment the door swung shut she got slowly to her feet. The old medic gave Katsuki a wry smile. “I’ve got other things to get done. You two rest.” She paused, “and heal .” The emphasis she put on the last word made Katsuki uncomfortable again and he was sure she knew exactly what they’d been talking about. Then she left and it was just the two of them.

Katsuki took a deep breath and glanced across at the other bed. Izuku was still, his back turned to the room, looking pretty much dead to the world like he had done for the last few days. But Katsuki had been sure he’d seen him twitch when Iida had spoken of All For One. He was awake, and he must have heard what their classmates had said. “You should talk to them.” He said before he could lose his nerve. Izuku stiffened from across the room and Katsuki waited before continuing, “They’re worried about you.” The silence between them stretched longer and Katsuki was sure Izuku would just ignore him as he had done since he’d woken up here until finally, he shifted. “And tell them what?” The green-haired boy’s voice sounded so tired and bitter that Katsuki winced. He’d never seen Izuku so hopeless before. He’d always been the first to bounce back from everything, it was one of his most irritating qualities. “The truth. They want to help you, idiot.” More silence, then at last, “What is the truth?” Even quieter than before and Katsuki had to strain to hear it. Katsuki blinked, “Huh?” What the hell was he talking about? Izuku rolled onto his back and Katsuki caught a glimpse of his face. It was streaked with tears, more running silently down his cheeks and Katsuki’s chest tightened painfully. “The truth,” Izuku repeated, his voice catching in his throat. “That I wasn’t able to stop All For One. I was given this power to be a hero and I couldn’t even protect the people I care about the most.” Katsuki gawked incredulously at him, “ That’s what you’ve been upset about?” He demanded, “You have got to be the thickest person I h-” He broke off abruptly as Izuku lifted one of his heavily bandaged arms in front of his face. “Hey! Stop it. You’re not supposed to move them.” But the freckled teen didn’t seem to hear him, “All For One was right.” He murmured, “I’m worthless, I don’t deserve this power.”

Katsuki could only stare at him in shock- It was one of the last things he’d expected Izuku to be hung up over after everything he’d seen him accomplish in a single year. He struggled vainly to find something to say. This was the exact opposite of what he was good at. Izuku had dropped his hand back to his side, staring emptily at the ceiling, and Katsuki’s stomach twisted painfully again. Part of him just wanted to yell at the dumbass about how, well, dumb he was being. Could he not see everything he’d done? All the lives he’d saved? But his mouth felt thick and heavy, his heart pounded so loud now and he had to bite down on his tongue to stop from cursing himself. This was pathetic, not even able to tell Izuku, someone he’d been willing to die for, that he was impressed with him. What kind of person did he have to be to find jumping in front of those spikes easier than admitting he was wrong? If he was doing this it would be his way. The first step was to make Izuku realise how stupid he sounded.

“Deku.” He said after a few minutes of silence had passed, “Come here a second.” Wide confused eyes stared at him, “W-what?” “Come here.” He repeated. “Why?” Katsuki’s eye twitched, “Because I can’t get up and- Fuck’s sake, just move it!” The bedsheets rustled softly as Izuku pushed them aside and slowly got up. It was a bit awkward, not being able to use his arms to prop himself up, but he managed it and then stood there, pausing for a moment before he walked cautiously over to where Katsuki lay. He stopped near the top of the bed and Katsuki huffed in annoyance, beckoning the other one closer. Izuku still looked confused but shuffled another few steps forwards, leaning down until he was close enough for Katsuki to whack him upside the head. It wasn’t a particularly hard hit but Izuku still yelped and stared at Katsuki in disbelief, “What was that for?!” He whined loudly. Katsuki couldn’t help but smile slightly at the indignance in his voice, it felt like a long time since Izuku’s voice had sounded anything but broken. “Negative reinforcement,” he said, “When you say something stupid about yourself, I get to hit you.” Narrowed green eyes met his own but he was sure they seemed more focused than before. Katsuki sighed, shifting in his bed. “You really think you didn’t do anything to help?”

Izuku was watching him closely, his expression clouded with an emotion Katsuki couldn’t bring himself to figure out. But he didn’t reply so Katsuki continued. “For starters, the second you realised Shigaraki could track you, you led him away from the evacuation. Which was pretty fucking stupid because you tried to do it without telling anyone.” Izuku snorted but didn’t interrupt, he’d stopped crying now which was a win, right? Katsuki had to tear his eyes away from the teen, the itchiness he felt was back, crawling all over his skin until he ground his teeth together, hard. “Then you unlocked float,” Katsuki counted it down on his fingers as if he were making a list, “ And used blackwhip to keep everyone from being destroyed by decay.” Another finger down. “Kacchan…” Izuku said hesitantly and Katsuki glanced back up at him. Freckles stood out against a bright red face and he took another step forwards so he was right next to Katsuki’s bed. Katsuki raised an eyebrow, he was sure his own face was flushed too but he managed to keep his voice steady as he said, “What? Are you saying you didn’t do that?” Izuku shook his head slowly and Katsuki could swear he saw the hint of a smile begin to tug at his lips. “Exactly. Now shut the fuck up and let me tell it.” He heard a soft chuckle to his side and blinked rapidly, trying to remember where he’d stopped. It was an effort to keep talking. He didn’t like that reassuring someone else meant he had to say embarrassing things like this. “You managed to stop All For One from stealing your power then still got up and kept fighting him again. Am I missing anything?” Izuku was stood with his bowed, dark hair in his face but Katsuki could hear him sniffing and figured he was crying again.

Shoulders shaking slightly, Izuku looked back up and yep. He was definitely crying again. “I could only do that because you saved me! You, Lemillion, Todoroki, Iida, you all helped me. And I couldn’t even stop you from getting hurt!” Another sob shook him, “If I can’t protect the people I care about, what good am I?” Katsuki frowned and rapped Izuku’s head with his knuckles again. It wasn’t as hard as the first time, more like he was trying to knock some sense into him but it still made Izuku start. He stared at him, the tears in his eyes glittered in the harsh hospital lights and Katsuki faltered. He was sure his stomach was now trying to escape his body by making him want to throw it up but he drew in another breath to steady himself. “That’s our job, dumbass. We’re all trying to save as many people as we can.” Izuku shook his head, he moved forwards somewhat uncertainly to perch on the edge of the bed. It dipped slightly under his weigh and Katsuki moved further back towards the wall so Izuku could turn to face him, now sitting cross-legged on the sheets which took a degree of shuffling around. Katsuki was very aware of how Izuku’s knees were pressed against his side on the small space. It was through the sheets but he was sure he could feel it. When the other didn’t say anything about their new position, Izuku started again. “With One For All though, I’m meant to save everyone. That’s what I was given it for.” His gaze fell again, “Midnight, everyone who was killed, I should’ve saved them. But I couldn’t do it. I shouldn’t have this power.” He went silent, looking even more miserable. “They told you?” Katsuki asked. He tried to stay quiet but he was surprised Iida or either of the others would’ve said anything to him. Izuku shook his head glumly, “I heard the nurses talking when they thought I was asleep.”

Katsuki regarded him with a sad expression, that must’ve been why he’d been in such a slump, learning that their teacher was killed for the very thing he believed he should’ve prevented. He’d had the worlds biggest burden dropped on his shoulders in the middle of a war, but he wouldn’t ask anyone to help him carry it. Which was Katsuki’s fault. All through their childhood and then their teenage years, Izuku had just wanted to be included, he always tried so hard never to be a burden. Izuku glanced back up as he heard the other boy sigh, his face tinged pink, probably from all the crying, and Katsuki tried again. “Deku. You can’t save everyone, not all the time.” Izuku flinched and Katsuki hurried on, “Not even All Might could do that so stop putting so much pressure on yourself.” Those bright eyes were staring at him so intensely now but Katsuki couldn’t stop, Izuku had to hear this. He swallowed dryly, “All For One, One for All, they’re both cursed powers.” Izuku tilted his head to the side, “They’re not the same though,” He protested, “One For All is meant to help people.” Shaking his head, Katsuki struggled to sit up taller, ignoring Izuku’s worried protests. He had to make Izuku understand this. It was something he’d realised pretty soon after All Might told them about the other wielders of Izuku’s power.

“Just fucking listen, okay. One For All is only as good as whoever uses it. Every one of its past users died alone, trying to stop All For One because they thought like you. They thought they had to fight that bastard on their own so no one else would get hurt, but that’s exactly why they all died.” He stared straight into Izuku’s eyes, willing him to realise it. “If you keep trying to win by yourself then you’ll get killed. You have to let other people help you.” “But what if you get hurt again? What if you get killed? I don’t want that to happen!” Izuku’s voice was insistent, his eyes were set in the way Katsuki could tell he was going to be stubborn about it and his own temper flared up in retaliation. “What, and you think I’ll be okay if you die?!” The words were out of his mouth before he could think about them but he felt the heat creeping into his face as he realised what he said. It did succeed in silencing Izuku however, and Katsuki took the opportunity to keep talking. “Even if you did manage to defeat All For One, it wouldn’t be a victory for any of us-” He willed himself to say it again, “For me, if you get killed.” The heat was now spreading down his neck and he dropped his head to avoid Izuku’s gaze, frustration or something else was making his own vision blurry. The other boy was quiet and Katsuki very much wanted to curl up in a hole somewhere and think about what he’d just said for a few years or so. He resented how difficult this was. Neither of them moved until Katsuki heard Izuku sniff. He looked up in surprise to see more tears on the boys face. Had he said something wrong? Katsuki started to move forward and opened his mouth but Izuku shook his head, rubbing the tears off his cheeks with his shoulder. “Sorry, Kacchan. I’m just-” He sounded hoarse but there was a soft smile on his face, “When I was fighting Shigaraki, all I could think about was what would happen to you and everyone else that I-” “That you didn’t think about yourself.” Katsuki finished with a sigh, “I fucking hate that about you. Can’t be a hero if you’re dead, can you?” He’d meant it to be a rebuke but Izuku’s smile widened even more and he laughed. A proper laugh, the first time Katsuki had heard in what felt like forever, and he couldn’t help but relax at the sound of it. Okay, this sucked and he felt itchy all over, but it was rewarding to see the enthusiasm return to Izuku’s face.

The laugh faded and Izuku returned to staring at Katsuki with such a fond expression that he felt a sharp twinge of guilt in his gut. He knew Izuku had only ever wanted to be close again, like how it had been when they were kids, and he was still waiting after everything that Katsuki had done to him. Part of him wished Izuku would just hate him, it would be easier to understand for one thing. “Kacchan, thank you.” The soft voice broke him out of his thoughts, “Everything All For One said to me…” He trailed off and stared at his arms, still thickly bandaged and splinted. “I thought I had gotten past it but it made me feel so useless. I guess I’m still just Deku.” He said it so sadly that Katsuki felt the twinge grow into a gut-wrenching pain. That stupid nickname. Izuku had tried to reclaim it but it seemed he didn’t really believe it himself. Katsuki probably could have pulled his heart right out of his throat at this point, “Well, duh, Deku. You said you were always gonna try your best, right?” He tried to make it sound casual, but he was admitting to something he'd known for a while. That Deku hadn't meant worthless for a very long time.

The look of surprise on Izuku’s face only lasted for a second before his eyes filled with tears yet again, his bottom lip trembling as he sobbed out, “Kacchan.” Then he was launching himself towards Katsuki who promptly stiffened in shock. It was an incredibly uncomfortable hug to manoeuvre, it would've been without the weird position. Izuku couldn’t lift his arms so he sort of squished himself against Katsuki’s side, face mashed between Katsuki’s shoulder and neck. Katsuki’s heart was going haywire, he didn’t even notice the pain in his side and very slowly, he wrapped his good arm around Izuku’s shoulders, patting him clumsily on the back as he cried against his collarbone. “You’re pathetic,” He mumbled, uncomfortable with the silence, “Moping around for days and making everyone worry, bastard.” Izuku laughed between deep breaths, trying to stifle his sobs. “Should’ve said something earlier.” Izuku twisted his head so it was laying on Katsuki’s shoulder, “You’re meant to be nice to me, I’m upset.” He said though Katsuki could feel his lips curved in a smile against his skin. His face felt like it was on fire now, “This is me being nice, and you’re always upset about something.” “I know, thank you.” The other replied. Katsuki’s skin tingled where Izuku’s eyelashes fluttered against his neck, still blinking away tears. Katsuki wasn’t sure what to say after that. It was complicated. He knew Izuku needed him right now, but Katsuki hadn’t done enough to deserve it yet. It felt wrong to be so content that he was the one Izuku reached out for. Just be there for him now, he decided, be there for him and try harder to earn it.

He wasn’t sure exactly when Izuku fell asleep on him. At some point, his breathing evened out and he’d relaxed against Katsuki’s side. The blonde was still too wired to relax. Who knew a conversation could fill him with such adrenaline, he was struggling not to shift around and wake Izuku up. The boy had looked so tired, with everything he’d been holding in it wasn’t a surprise that he’d not gotten any peace. Katsuki hoped he would sleep soundly now. He was still awake when Recovery Girl stepped back into the room. She took one look at the two of them, curled up together on Katsuki’s bed and he was sure she’d say something about how they should be resting in separate beds, maybe she had to check their wounds or something and Izuku would be forced to move. He couldn’t lie that the thought made him a bit panicked. But she simply gave him a strange look, one eyebrow half-raised as if she were asking him a question. When Katsuki didn’t move the old lady shrugged, turning to leave again. She flicked off the light as she did so, leaving the room in dappled shadows as the sun sank lower in the sky. Was it that late already? He hadn’t noticed the time passing by but he was starting to feel tired. Emotions were just as draining, sometimes more so, than being in a fight, and Katsuki certainly felt like a battle had been won in that room today.

With a sigh, Katsuki accepted there wasn’t much more he could do at the moment. The warmth of Izuku against his side made him feel drowsy and he finally gave in- shifting in the bed as carefully as he could until he was lying down. He wrapped his arm a little more firmly against Izuku and smiled faintly as he felt him hum in response, pressing closer to Katsuki’s chest. Izuku was lying on top of the sheets and there wasn’t any way to get him under them without waking him up but there was a spare pile of blankets that rested on the chair closest to Katsuki’s bed and he managed to drag a couple closer to him, draping them over Izuku’s form. With that sorted, Katsuki could relax. He rested his head gently against the mass of green curls and let his eyes drift shut, trying to empty his mind. It didn’t matter if All For One was out to get them or if Izuku’s arms wouldn’t heal right. They were both alive for now, and they would figure it out.

[randomfandomimagine]

Fast Learner (Cloud Strife x Reader)

Character: Cloud Strife

Fandom: Final Fantasy VII

Tags: Fluff, flirting, training, mutual pining 

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1,8k words

Requested by anon: Could you do a Cloud Strife x reader (.....i think maybe headcannon? Idk whichever you wanna do) where reader has been begging for Cloud to train her and the day he does, he gets knocked flat on his back? Its cool if you don't wanna, stay safe and healthy 

A/N: HAPPY BIRTHDAY, CLOUD!!! 😍💖

Cloud Strife x Gender Neutral Reader

_

Cloud could not focus. He hadn’t expected this to happen, and although his SOLDIER experience reminded him to be alert in the middle of the battle, he could only worry about you and your wellbeing, your safety.

You had been taking a walk together, moving in silence even if you seemed coordinated, like two bodies that shared a single soul. The day was sunny and warm, and you were enjoying each other’s company. That was, until the enemies suddenly surrounded you and resulted in that sticky situation.

“Cloud?” You gasped, looking around you to observe the beasts that threatened you.

“It’s okay” He only said, using one arm to unsheathe his sword while he pushed you behind him with the other one. Despite his racing heart, he appeared calm. “Stay there”

You held on to him, simultaneously wanting him to feel you close and keep track of your position while at the same time seeking his comfort to calm your nerves. You weren’t used to battle, but Cloud didn’t bat an eye. He expertly swung his sword to one side and the other, leaning his weight in the direction needed without ever moving his feet. He stayed in that spot for your sake, still managing to quickly and effectively ending his opponents while also shielding you.

A bit shaken up by the encounter, you peeked over his shoulder when it was all over, still tightly holding on to him. Noticing your accelerated breathing, Cloud turned his head to you. When his hair brushed against your knuckles over his shoulders, you grew aware of how tightly you were clutching to him.

“Sorry…” You nervously chuckled, taking a step back to give him some space. “I just got a bit nervous”

“You okay?” He turned around to face you again, absently sheathing his sword.

“Yeah, I’m not hurt…”

“Then what’s wrong?”

You stared at him, surprised that he had read through you. Cloud wasn’t usually extremely perceptive, or at least he kept his thoughts to himself. At that moment, though, it seemed like he couldn’t help but to ask.

“I just… I think I really should learn how to fight”

“Not that crap again…” Rolling his eyes, Cloud resumed walking. When you noticed he was heading back for Seventh Heaven, you rushed to catch up to him.

“Listen, Cloud!” You tightly held on to his arm, shaking him a little to ensure he paid attention to you. Much to your surprise, he stopped walking and locked eyes with you. “I’m tired of not being able to defend myself!”

“I can protect you” He quickly replied, although his own answer flustered him and he corrected himself. “Don’t you think I’m capable of that?”

“Of course I do!” Showing him an angelical smile, you cutely tilted your head. “But I want to show you and everyone that I can kick ass on my own”

Cloud opened his mouth to reply, but ultimately closed it and heaved a sigh. He averted his gaze and frowned. There was a pause. The muscles of his arm moved under your fingers when he clenched his hands into fists. You watched him intently, wondering what was going through his head. Just when you thought you were starting to figure him out, he hid himself behind that mysterious façade again.

“Fine” Cloud suddenly piped up. “Meet me here in an hour”

You gasped in awe, startling him a little. He opened his eyes wide, staring at you and trying to understand what had shocked you like that.

“Really?!” You exclaimed, shaking him in excitement and bouncing up and down. “Cloud!!”

“What?” He clicked his tongue in annoyance, trying to get away from you as you continued to shake him around. “Y/N, quit it”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” You threw your arms around his neck and hugged him tight. “You’re the best, thank you so much!”

“Stop” Even if he firmly pushed you away from him, his hands on your waist felt gentle as they lingered for a bit longer than they needed to.

“Sorry” You chuckled, unable to contain your enthusiasm.

“Go get ready…” He averted his gaze, even if you caught a hint of a blush in his cheeks. “Before I change my mind”

You knew you were tempting fate, but you still showed him your gratitude with another little gesture. Before running away to avoid the consequences of it, you quickly kissed him in the cheek. You didn’t see the effect it had on him, other than hearing him stuttering and trying to recover.

_

You had been trying to get close to Cloud, but it seemed like an impossible task. The ex-SOLDIER was completely hermetic. When you tried to chatter, he only responded with hums or monosyllabics. When you hinted that you liked him, he was too oblivious to notice. When you touched him, he didn’t reciprocate.

Despite it all, you still had hope. Maybe Cloud wasn’t the best at expressing himself, or dealing with his emotions, but he didn’t reject yours. He might roll his eyes at your senseless chatter, but he never once was rude to you or left you midsentence. Although he didn’t understand the true meaning behind your kind words, he always made an effort to at least give you a small smile or a head nod. Whenever you touched him, he let you do it without pushing you away. It was little things like those that gave you hope.

“Great” His voice brought you out of your thoughts. “Show me again”

Nodding your head, you prepared your position. Your hands went up, hovering before your face. Your fingers were closed forming a fist, with the thumb out just like he had taught you. You punched forward, twisting your hips as you did to infuse your hits with as much power as possible. You slightly bended your knees as he had reminded you before, prepared to back away or dodge any attacks.

“Kay” His hands suddenly fell over yours, squeezing them a little to make sure your fists were firm and stable. “Uh… M-Make sure you don’t cover your eyes”

“Sure” You tried to pretend like his touch didn’t fluster you, instead concentrating on listening to his advice and lowering your fists a little.

“Now” Cloud cleared his throat, taking a step back to put some distance between you. “Wanna learn how to bring someone down?”

“Yeah!” You threw your fists in the air, being excited still and satisfied with your progress. “Show me, teach”

“You can, uh…” Upon seeing your big genuine smile, Cloud averted his eyes in order to concentrate. “One way to do it is sweep the leg”

“Uh-huh” You encouraged him, energetically nodding your head.

“Throw your body forward and use momentum against them” He continued instructing. “Then also sweep their legs forward with your foot to throw them off balance”

“Got it!” You exclaimed, nearly vibrating in the spot. “Can I try?”

He nodded his head, squaring his feet up and preparing for your attempt. You didn’t fail to notice he seemed quite skeptical, almost like he was just humoring you and didn’t expect you to succeed.

“Move forward” He reminded you, gesticulating from you to him. “And sweep the feet”

You nodded your head, throwing your weight as you held on to his shoulders.

“Like this?” As you pushed him backwards, you yanked his legs forward.

“Ah!” Cloud uttered in surprise, finding himself tumbling down with you on top of him. Even as his back thudded against the ground, he kept his eyes glued to you. “Y-Yeah”

You beamed, peering down at him with a big satisfied smirk. He only gawked at you, equally surprised and impressed.

“Did I hurt you?”

“Course not”

“How’d I do?”

“Good…” He managed to say, even though a tight frown of confusion occupied his features. “Good job”

“Thanks” You smiled, out of breath from the exertion of the whole training.

It was then when you realized how close you were. Apart from the fact that you were sitting on top of him, your noses almost touched and you firmly pushed down on him to keep him locked in place. Your hand was pressing down on his chest, which heaved up and down just like yours. His hands were on your hips as he tried to brace himself for the impact. Even as he had recovered from it, they lingered in that spot just like your hand did on his torso.

Following the example you always set, Cloud wrapped his hand around your wrist to communicate. You still didn’t want to leave off, enjoying that closeness far too much. Nonetheless, you lifted your hand and scurried off him.

“I’m impressed” He admitted, standing up and calmly dusting his pants.

“I’m a fast learner” You muttered in response to his astonishment, shrugging a little.

“Sure… Me too” Cloud said in deep thought, facing his back to you.

You frowned, confused about what he meant. There was something off about him all of a sudden. However, he turned held his hand out for you to take. Once you were pulled to your feet, you stared at him.

“Cloud?” Puzzled, you intently watched him. If you didn’t know any better, you would say he was up to something, and it was unlike him. “Everything okay?”

“You… you did it wrong” He said suddenly, moving too quickly for you to react.

“What did I…” You yelped in startle when he threw himself at you, demonstrating how to ‘properly’ tackle someone as he carefully threw you to the ground. “Cloud!!”

As you both returned to the same position as before, albeit reversed, you stared at each other. There was a new gleam in his mako eyes that made you understand. For the first time, you truly realized what was on his mind.

You had quickly learned how to fight, so much so that you had impressed the cool and stoic Cloud Strife. On the other hand, he was a fast learner too. Mimicking your attempts to bond with him, he had established physical contact in a way very much like him. You didn’t expect him to hug you out of nowhere, or hold your hand without a reason. But tackling you to the ground with the excuse of training you was the closest it would get, and you accepted it.

Taken aback by the moment, you erupted into laughter. Playfully hitting him the chest, you guffawed and kicked your legs as he kept you pinned down under him.

“Like that” His falsely stern tone seemed to intend to remind you of what you were doing. But he didn’t fool you any longer.

“Thanks, Cloud” You said when you recovered a little from your laughter.

He nodded and backed away from you. As he did, you caught a glimpse of a smile adorning his lips, a sight that you treasured in your memory forever.

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[olligreen]

No Bad Student | 5 – Enemy of my Enemy

Pairing: Lawrusso (Daniel x Johnny) Genre: Angst(ish) Warnings: None Word count: 1570 Summary: KK2 AU in which Johnny ends up living with Miyagi and Daniel for the summer. Inspired by nadianecromancer’s comic, but I’ll try to avoid making any scenes similar to the ones they already did!  Notes: This was originally posted on Ao3 here.

First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Johnny’s presence in the room never left Daniel’s mind, even as he continued to work on the bedframe. Even moving was troublesome, like he was neck-deep in water. Johnny’s motionless figure stuck to his peripherals. At least he wasn’t facing him, he thought. He wasn’t watching him struggle to function due to nothing other than his own mere existence. He’d get a kick out of that, wouldn’t he? He’d certainly show off that smirk of his; although, maybe that’d be preferable to whatever he was doing now.

He turned his head toward his resting opponent. The only movements he made were slow, rhythmic breaths, and even those were shallow. What did they talk about out there? What topic could make Johnny Lawrence so mopey and quiet?

The mystery would be left unsolved as the bedroom door swung open and Mr. Miyagi appeared. Johnny sprung up from his somber mood, and the rivals awaited his words.

“Well done, Daniel-san.” He said, looking over the barely-touched structure. “But still much work left to do.”

“Yeah, I uh--...” His words got caught in his throat as he followed Miyagi’s gaze, but he pushed through. “I had some trouble.”

He nodded. “Maybe, earlier, you right.”

“Huh?”

“Two-man job.”

Daniel felt a wave of stress leave him in an exhale. Finally, some normalcy. “Alright! I can hold up this side while you put that nail in over there... I think I got all the nails back in the box, so--...”

Daniel’s words trailed off as Miyagi shook his head.

“What? Somethin’ wrong?”

His gaze moved to Johnny’s side of the room. “Two men right here, yes?”

The pair of faces contorted simultaneously, and Johnny looked to his enemy for an explanation. “You expect us to work together?” Johnny finally said as Daniel seemed as void of answers as he was.

“Hai.”

“Why? Why can’t you help him?”

“Busy with tea. You busy with nothing.”

“Wait!” Johnny shouted in vain at a closing door.

And then, with their short-lived buffer gone, they were forced to endure each other’s presence once again.

The unmistakable feeling of Johnny’s eyes hit Daniel immediately, even as he stared at the floor.

“Unbelievable. What is with this guy?”

His question was met with no response, and, after a pause, Daniel continued his work in silence as if nothing had happened. His expression appeared blank of emotion, but Johnny knew that game well -- he was hiding something. He was hiding how he felt about this situation. But, why? It should be obvious, right? He hated him. It seemed cut and dry; though, if that were true, why lie about it?

But he wouldn’t ask him now. Johnny finally pulled his gaze from his rival, then silently took his place opposite him. He dragged the toolbox so it’d be halfway between them, paying no regard for the noise it’d make, or maybe it was a purposeful, passive method of attracting his attention. Regardless of his intent, Daniel’s eyes moved toward the grating sound but avoided Johnny entirely. After his unfruitful interruption, Johnny wouldn’t dare break the vow of silence Daniel had forced him into, but it wasn’t without issue. He wasn’t sure how the boards were supposed to match up at all. He tried to copy some of the things that Daniel was doing, he tried constructing the thing in his head, but found no success in putting together the directionless puzzle. In desperation for some usefulness, he tried sorting them by size, only for Daniel to ignore his efforts entirely, grabbing boards with seemingly no pattern at all. Eventually, Johnny’s frustration grew beyond his respect for their one untold rule.

“Dammit, man, I don’t even know what this thing is supposed to look like.”

Daniel kept his head tilted down toward his work, but his eyes lifted to Johnny for a moment. “It’s a bedframe.” He mumbled.

“Well yeah, smartass. I know that.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“I don’t know where any of these pieces go! I don’t even know what you’re doing.”

“Well, figure it out, I dunno. That’s not my problem.”

Johnny scoffed, throwing aside the pieces he was working on. “Screw this, man. If you don’t want my help, fine.”

Daniel lifted his head at this, watching Johnny as he stood and began to retreat back to his bedroll. He watched him plop down on the thing, defeated, and he couldn’t help but show a little emotion of his own. “You really wanna help?” He said with more compassion in his voice than he expected.

Johnny seemed equally surprised, raising a brow to him. “I--... Yeah, I mean… he said--...” He gestured to the door as his words trailed off.

Daniel nodded to himself, letting a sigh into the silence. “Alright, man. C’mere, I’ll show you.”

The request hung in the air for a moment, but, ultimately, Johnny sat beside him, bright blue eyes wide and attentive.

Daniel’s eyes kept forward as he explained the structure of the thing, how he and Miyagi had planned it. All the while, Johnny followed his instructions much more diligently than expected. Johnny’s attention-to-detail did puzzle Daniel, but he wouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth, at least not while it was working for him. Either way, it seemed, at least for the sake of the task, the barrier between them had fully broken. Their work was efficient, and their progress showed it. Together, they completed the entire top frame, and now all that was left to do were the legs. Easy, right?

“Hey, could you lift this thing? I can’t get the legs on if I’m holdin’ it up too.”

Johnny snorted, already getting in position. “Yeah, I could see it being pretty hard for you, huh?”

“Oh, please. Just hold it, alright?”

“Nah, it’s fine, you need a strong fella’ to lift the heavy stuff.” Johnny mocked through a grin as he pushed the near side of the frame up onto his shoulder.

Daniel rolled his eyes. “Oh yeah? So, you’re strong and I’m a wimp, is that what you’re tryin’ to say?”

“Maybe it is, so what?” He said, catching his breath.

“If you’re so strong, how’d I beat you then, huh?” His hammer sank the nail down into the wood as a smirk climbed up. “Explain that one.”

Johnny scowled, turning to face him as he walked around to the other side. “You fought all weird, that’s how.”

“What does that mean?” Daniel asked, more incredulous than offended, as he worked on the other leg.

“You just avoided my stuff most of the time. You’re supposed to attack in karate, you know that? Defending over and over doesn’t get you anywhere.”

“Yeah, well most of your attacks got blocked. That doesn’t get you anywhere either.”

Johnny didn’t reply, gently lowering the frame once Daniel finished the leg. 

“Besides, it got me the win, didn’t it?”

“No,” Johnny replied promptly, his head lowered as he moved to the other side. “That illegal kick got you the win.”

“Illegal? What the hell are you talking about?”

“It was a full-force strike to the face. That’s not a point, man.” Johnny elected to keep to one side as he lifted this end of the bedframe, staying as far away from Daniel as possible.

“Oh gimme a break, how can you say that after you practically snapped my leg in half? It still hurts, you know that?”

“Oh, c’mon, Danielle, it wasn’t that bad.” He grimaced as he shifted the thing’s weight. “Besides, I got a warning for that, they gave you the win.”

Daniel scoffed in response -- a placeholder as he looked fruitlessly for a way to refute his claim, but another problem presented itself before he had the chance to accept defeat. He stopped, looking at him with a pensive expression.

As Daniel hovered, Johnny realized his mistake. By trying to avoid him earlier, he was hardly a foot away from the very leg Daniel needed to fasten now. They met eyes for a moment, each certain that the other was having the same thought.

“Hurry up.” Johnny spat out, then leaned back as far as he could.

The situation was inescapable, it seemed. With a huff, hammer and nail at the ready, he slipped in the small space in front of Johnny. Each tried, desperately, to ignore the sensation of the other to varying levels of success. Johnny’s strategy was simple: he’d look in the opposite direction and pretend that nothing was happening at all. Daniel had the worst of it, though. There was something about feeling Johnny’s chest on his back that sent him into an immediate fight-or-flight response. The same gentle rising and falling of his breath that was calming earlier were now bringing up a deep, primal fear within him. His heartbeat increased, his breathing quickened, and the thing he truly feared most was that Johnny would notice the change. Trapped in the small space, Daniel fumbled with the nail quite a bit, making the process take twice as long.

“Come on, man. Just do it.” Johnny tried to lean back further so that they wouldn’t touch, but any space Daniel could take, he took. His priority was getting this done as quickly as possible. 

“Sorry,” he mumbled half-heartedly, and, with a swift motion, sent the final nail into the wood. Then, with the same dexterity, he escaped, finding a spot far from Johnny to recover.

First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

[forever-rogue]

Din gets a badly broken arm in a fight and now begrudgingly needs help in the shower.

Okay but I’m just picturing a little grumpy Mando and it has me just 🥺 So…this was mostly soft, but…includes a lot of unspoken feelings, so there’s a little ~spice~ included…but ~soft spice~

Mandalorian Masterlist

»»————-　♡　————-««

“Are you gonna be okay?” you looked at Din with a raised eyebrow as he gave you a nod, accompanied by a groan. He swung his legs over the small cot, stopping before standing up. You knew he was holding back a sound of pain even if he wouldn’t admit it.

He’d come back to the Razor Crest a few nights before, after a particularly difficult bounty, broken, battered, and bleeding, limping his way onto the ship. You’d run to him immediately, doing your best to help to his bed and attend him. Maybe you weren’t the best warrior or bounty hunter, but you were a good healer.

So you did your job, slowly and meticulously doing your best to heal him, using everything could you find. You had slowly peeled off all his armor, stripping him down to only his underclothes. You thought about removing the helmet, maker knows you did, both to make sure he was okay and partly because you were curious, so, so curious to finally meet the man underneath.

But you could never do that to him; he trusted you and you trusted him. You respected him above all. When you had reached his shoulders and noticed your moment of pause, he had quietly insisted that his head was fine.

Once you had were reassured that he was going to he okay, that he had retained no head injuries, you relaxed a little. Tending to the rest of his injuries was fairly simple, there cuts and gashes, but those were quickly healed with some bacta spray and patches. That was until you got to his arm anyway. His arm was another story.

“It’s broken,” you had told him, trying your best to give him the news. He wouldn’t be happy, you knew it would hinder him until it helped and he was not one to just sick around. There was a lot you could do and fix, but broken bones was not one of them.

“What!?” he had almost shouted as you grimaced and tried to give him a small smile, “I can’t-”

“I’m sorry, Din,” you put a hand on his shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze. You’d set it as best as you could, but you had a feeling the makeshift cast wouldn’t last long, “I did the best I could, but you’ll have to be very careful. It’s the humerus and it’s got a good break, but its clean. You’ll need to leave it so it can heal. And I’m being serious. If you don’t leave it, it won’t heal.”

“How long?” there was already a defeated tone in his voice as he hung his head in defeat. You wished you could take his pain away, to be the one in his position, but all you could do now was to try and help him.

“Five to six weeks,” you said quietly and his head snapped back up in your direction, “listen, I know that sounds like a lot, but it’ll go by fast. And I’ll help you every step of the way.”

“I can’t-”

“Din,” you put your hands in of shoulders, keeping your touch extra gentle, “I know it’s hard for you, but please try and listen to someone else for once…”

“That’s so much time-”

“And it’s gonna be even longer if you don’t listen-”

“What am I supposed to-”

“I will handle it-”

"I can work with it broken-”

“Din Djarin!” the sound of his full name spilling from your lips was even to capture his attention. He’d even heard you say it like that before. He’d never heard someone say it as a wonderfully as you before. It sent a tingle throughout his entire body, “please just listen to me. As soon that truly cares about you, take it easy and rest it.”

“Okay,” he finally said after a few moments of staring back and through at each other. You didn’t need to be able to see his eyes to know that they were focused on you. You didn’t see the warm flush that spread over his cheeks though, how he was practically putty in your hands.

»»————-　♡　————-««

After several days of tending to him, you’d finally gotten a moment for yourself. You were worn down to say the least; taking care of a wounded Mandalorian and your small green companion would do that to someone.

Din was doing better now, much better, so you decided it was time to get some rest yourself. You’d managed to change into some clean night clothes when you heard the sound of crashing, banging, and a slew of crushes from the refresher. Your instincts had you up and running to the noise in just a few moments. You pushed when you came to the conclusion that it was Din, in the mainstream.

You raised your hand and hesitated for a moment before knocking, “D-din? Are you okay?”

“Yes…I…” he trailed off and just before you were about to go back and try and chase some sleep, he added, “I can’t wash my hair properly. My arm.”

“Oh,” your whole body was on fire as you realized what that meant. You cursed yourself for letting mind immediately wondering what he looked like, rather than worry about his arm. The weak human part of you couldn’t help it.

“Could…do you think…” a heavy sigh came from him and you smiled lightly, almost bemused by his slight frustration, “do you think you can help me?”

“Help you,” holy shit.

“Just to wash my hair,” his response was quiet and your mind quickly raced with a million thoughts. He noticed your silence and if he was being honest, he was just as nervous as you, “Y/N?”

“Din-”

“I trust you,” those words were everything. You knew he did, that he was being honest, but hearing it out loud? That was a whole different story, “if you’re okay with it.”

“I can help,” of course you would. You’d have helped him with absolutely anything, “I’m going to come in.”

He mumbled an affirmative response and you slowly, timidly opened the door and stepped inside, enveloped by a could of steam from the hot water. You walked over to him, and he slowly opened the door to the sanistream. It took everything in your power not to immediately look him all over.

But the look on his face, a mixture of many things: nerves, pain, tiredness, angst, said it all. Despite all that, you were sure there was a little smile tugging on the corners of his mouth. How often he’d dreamed of this moment, to get to see you so completely as you now got to see him. It never involved this exact scenario however.

The moment you met his eyes, soft velvety brown even better than you had imagined, you were done for. His face? The thick dark locks? The little of patchy stubble? The pouty lips? You were done, done, done.

You finally managed to recover, hoping you weren’t being too obvious when you stuck out your hand for the shampoo, catching yourself and closing your eyes, “you can look, it’s okay. And a little late to worry now. I trust you.”

“Okay,” you nodded as you took the shampoo he handed you, making quick work of squeezing it into your hand and washing his hair. It was an almost laughable situation, you in your pajamas in the shower with a broken Mandalorian, doing your best to be gentle with him. But despite it all, it was a special moment, intimate. You knew things would be different from now. They had to be.

When you had finished helping him wash his hair, you took a step back, not quite sure what to do. You took a step away from him, keeping your eyes peeled up and clearing your throat. He glanced at you, his gaze thankful, as you smiled back at him, “thank you for your help. I…appreciate all of your help. Always.”

“Don’t even mention it,” you nodded, trying to memorize every little bit of features as you studied him, all the freckles, the small crinkles at the corners of his eyes, “you know I’ll always help you. Are you going to be okay from here?”

“Yes,” he nodded, “take the towel, you’re soaking wet. I didn’t even think about that. I’m sorry…”

“It’s okay,” you nodded, “I needed to shower anyways, I’ll just wait until you’re done, take all the time you need.”

“You can come in,” he blurted out before he could stop himself, and both of you looked at each other in surprise. He had actually said that. But, in reality it wasn’t a surprise to either of you, this had been a long time coming. For both of you; there was a lot of buildup and it had to break eventually. This was it, “I mean, you’re already here. And just save water…and it’s just-”

“Yes,” you agreed as your nervously brought your shaky hands to your top to start pulling it off. You were nervous, but this didn’t feel wrong, this wasn’t scary. This felt right.

He watched you intently, but it didn’t feel like he was prying. It felt natural; normal. 

Before you knew it, you were back in the shower, standing next to him, letting the hot water cascade all over your tired body. After a small bit of silence, when you reached for the shampoo yourself, he reached over and took it in his good hand. You raised an eyebrow at him, “here, let me.”

“Your arm…”

“I’ve got one good arm,” he insisted gently, “please let me.”

“Positive?”

“Positive.”

[justfandomwritings]

She’s Got A Friend (Bucky Barnes)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 9.9k

Warnings: Fluff, Angst and nongraphic “off page” minor character deaths 

Summary: Happy endings are a matter of perspective. At some point in every story, there will always be some glorious, shining moment of hope, love, redemption, success. No good story is complete without it.

And if you end the story then, if you end it on a high, you can almost forget that anything came after that.

Notes: Hospital AU for @captainscanadian​ 1k follower writing challenge! I have taken the “Hospital” in hospital AU rather liberally to mean a field hospital in WW2. I thought I’d try a bit of a different writing style for this. Let me know what you think.

The condolences came in the mail only a few days after the official notification arrived on her doorstep from the mouth of some general or another.

She didn’t bother to remember the man’s name, and why should she? He wouldn’t remember her brother’s, let alone hers.

It was hard to stem the tide of her anger in the face of a man so visibly faking his sympathy for her pain. It was harder still to unleash her anger on him; she pitied him almost as much as he faked pitying her. It was just before sunset, and she was his sixteenth stop of the day, with a further 5 to go before he got off that night.

She imagined that, at some point, months ago, he had cared. He had sympathized and cried with grieving widows and orphaned children. No doubt, he had written them letters and checked on their wellbeing, asked after their emotions and made sure they were well. No more. He’d grown numb to the pain his presence inflicted, and with it less sympathetic to the plight of those around him.

By the time he reached her door, by the time he said “Ma’am, we have received word that your brother’s plane was shot down over Occupied France last week. His body has been recovered from the wreckage and will be on route home at the earliest possible date,” to her, he didn’t mean the “I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this news. Your brother died a hero, and if there is anything I can do to ease your pain, it would be my honor to do so in his memory,” that followed.

The nameless general had never met her brother. He called every soldier a hero when he met their families, whether it was true or not. If they asked him about how their loved one died, or if they began to cry on his shoulder, he had a practiced speech about how their son or brother or husband had died fighting, died bravely, died to save the lives of millions, died to protect them all.

(Y/n) knew all of that because, even though she didn’t remember his name, she remembered his face. They’d met before. It wasn’t the first time he’d knocked on her door. He was the same general who had come to inform her of her father’s tragic end a few months prior. The general hadn’t remembered her father’s name either, nor hers.

She didn’t bother to point out their association to the man. She thanked him for his service and left him standing on her front step as a door closed in his face.

It was easier for both of them that way.

The letter that came from her brother’s commanding officer was more heartfelt, (Y/n) assumed, but she didn’t read it.

“Ms. (Y/n), By now you have no doubt received word of your brother’s tragic end. Selfishly, I am glad that I was not the one who had to inform you. Your brother was a flying ace in my squadron and a good friend. Retrieving his body brought me to tears for far longer than my commanding officers would like me to admit…”

That was as far as she read. Her brother was dead. They had his body. She was numb to everything else, as numb as the general who showed up at her door, as numb as her brother’s corpse in the grave.

She couldn’t feel, couldn’t think, couldn’t speak.

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(Y/n) walked into the hospital the next day and handed in her resignation. She was just the next in a long line.

Dorothy had resigned the week before. Her husband had been killed in North Africa. She could no longer afford to live in New York, not that cost of living was at the front of her mind. She was moving back South with her two children, both under 5 years old, to live with her aging parents.

Vera had gotten married to a hotshot factory owner and resigned to plan her wedding. The rest of the ward had scorned her as she trotted out with her chin held high and a smirk on her face. She’d never done the work because she loved it like the rest of them, and she had no qualms about letting them all know it.

Ruth was on her way out the door in a week. She was following her husband to England where he’d be training pilots at an RAF airfield. Normally, that sort of thing wouldn’t be allowed, wives being stationed with their husbands. Ruth, however, was a pretty good mechanic and often worked on her husbands planes in her free time, and without any children to worry about, the Army was really getting two for the price of one.

Juanita’s departure had no doubt hit the hardest. With so many men dying overseas, crime on the home front had been virtually forgotten. Juanita’s son brought it back to life. Too weak to be enlisted in the army, her son had taken up work at the docks that he never would’ve been physically qualified for if not for all the men being drafted. Three weeks on the job, he was mugged by a group of drunken sailors out for their last night of freedom. He died in the hospital with his mother only a few doors down in a different wing.

The most senior nurse on staff, Juanita used to run the ward, but after her son died in the building, she couldn’t even look at the hospital anymore.

“(Y/n),” Mary sighed and scrubbed the heel of her palm into her eyes to try to wipe away the sleep. “We’re short staffed already.”

There was a begging to her tone, and any other day the pain etched across her face would’ve been enough to convince (Y/n) to stay. Mary was her friend, by some accounts her best friend.

“I know Mary, and I’m sorry. I just can’t stay here anymore. I can’t walk past my brother’s room. I can’t ride down the streets my brother and I used to play in. I can’t go in the shop he used to own. I just can’t.”

Mary swallowed hard; when she spoke the lump in her throat became more apparent with each word. “I understand that you’re in pain, but this hospital…”

“That’s just it,” (Y/n) cut her off, slipping into the seat across the desk from her friend. She’d refused to sit when she first came to see Mary, hoping to be in and out quickly, but not now. “I don’t feel anything, Mary. I can’t look at his room because I know I should be heartbroken. I can’t travel down the street because I know I should be in pain. I can’t go in his shop because I know I should be crying. But I’m not. I don’t feel hurt or worried or upset. I don’t feel anything; I’m just numb.”

“Numb?” Mary furrowed her brow. “You’re leaving because you think you should be in more pain?”

“I’m leaving because I loved my brother, because I should be feeling something, but I’m not. I feel nothing, and that scares me even more.”

“Where will you go?”

“I don’t know yet. Somewhere I will feel something.”

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Her brother had been Air Force, but her father had been Army.

She couldn’t bring herself to go to one of the Air Force’s recruiting offices. Part of her was worried she would have an emotional breakdown speaking to the men in charge. A larger part of her was worried she would feel nothing at all, a sign she was heading in the wrong direction.

The Army felt safer. She hadn’t been numb to her father’s death. She’d cried and mourned, and though the thought still overwhelmed her with sadness, she knew she would one day move on. About her brother, (Y/n) didn’t know what to think.

“What experience do you have?”

(Y/n) found herself sat in front of some captain or another responsible for organizing the Army Nursing Corps. He looked bored with her; she doubted managing a bunch of women was what he’d had in mind when he joined the war.

“I’ve worked at Wyckoff Heights Hospital on St. Nicholas in Brooklyn for eight years. I have copies of all of my reviews that show exemplary performance and no reprimands on record.”

The man took the stack of papers from her hand and began flipping through them. He stared at each of them for a long time, occasionally giving a ‘hm’ or ‘huh’ to show that he was thinking.

(Y/n) noticed after two pages that he wasn’t actually reading. His eyes weren’t moving from where they looked thoughtfully at the center of the page, and the noises of contemplation came randomly, even on pages that wouldn’t require much consideration.

(Y/n) turned away from the show to glance around the room. To the left was a door to the waiting rooms. Occasionally, when it swung open she could see the rows of shirtless men waiting for their number to be called up for evaluation. There didn’t appear to be many seats open.

She wondered, to herself, how many of them would be accepted, how many of those would make it back alive.

There were family members milling around the hall. A young woman was already weeping near the exit, and she hadn’t even been rejoined by the man she was waiting for. One of the doctors, (Y/n) assumed the portly, greying man was not one of the recruits, was trying his best to comfort her, but he didn’t seem to be having much success.

For the overwhelming number of men waiting to be evaluated and find a place in this war, there were a surprisingly few number of nurses. (Y/n) hadn’t been shown to any waiting room. There was a bench in the half she’d first entered with half a dozen or so women occupying it when she arrived. By the time her name was finally called only two more had come in behind her. The recruiters desk was in a notch in the hallway, not even its own room. The women were forced to state their credentials and make their case with no privacy to his judgments.

At least a dozen of the people milling around, including the old man and young woman by the door, could hear what was being said to her.

The man snapped her file closed with sharp flip of his wrist. “On your application, you’ve marked that you’d like to be assigned to a field hospital. I’m assuming you know nothing about the war. Field Hospitals are on the frontlines, girl.”

“I’m aware.” (Y/n) smoothly replied.

He raised an eyebrow, but none of his other features changed. (Y/n) couldn’t tell if it was condescension or confusion. “Are you now? The nurses in Field Hospitals are shot at almost as much as the soldiers. You think the Germans will spare you because you have a pretty face?”

“I don’t expect to be spared by anyone.”

His grilling was catching eyes from those milling around.

“And why would a girl like you want to find herself on the front lines?”

“I just want this war to end with as little bloodshed as possible. Helping where the men need it most seems like a good start.”

“Excuse me, ma’am.”

German.

(Y/n)’s eyes whipped around, as did many others in the hallway. There was a German here.

“My name is Dr. Erskine,” He proclaimed, more quietly this time, “I may have a job for you.”

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Erskine didn’t try to replace her father.

He offered a guiding hand out of the goodness of his heart. He offered a shoulder to cry on because he could see she hadn’t yet grieved. He offered insight, advice, from the wisdom of his own experience.

Erskine wasn’t trying to replace her father, and yet he did so many things she wished her father was there to do.

He offered her a job because he could see she wanted to find her purpose. He put her up in the barracks because he knew she needed space from her past. He accompanied her on walks at night to keep her nightmares at bay. He filled her waking hours with work when she needed distraction and took the load away when it became too much.

Erskine didn’t try to replace her father. No one could ever replace her father. He was a good substitute though. In times as dark as those, family was what she needed.

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He reminded her of her brother.

That was the first thought that came to (Y/n)’s mind when she met Steve Rogers.

Her brother was younger than her by two years, and as a child he’d always been the smaller of the pair. For most of their childhood, her brother could barely reach her shoulder. Stretching his arms as wide as he could, he’d be lucky if his reach went from (Y/n)’s wrist to wrist. Short and scrawny, he’d not caught up to his sister’s size until he was a teen, but once he’d caught up, there was no looking back.

Steve reminded her of him. The size, for one thing, was an unmistakable similarity, but there was an air to Steve, an air of familiarity that made her feel at home. Every time she looked at him, she saw her baby brother. Not the strong, handsome man he was when he died, but the fearless, young boy she wished he would’ve stayed forever.

She monitored the health of all of Erskine’s candidates in the Strategic Scientific Reserve, but she couldn’t deny she paid special attention to Steve.

They all paid special attention to Steve.

Erskine liked his sense of justice. His conscience oozed out of his every pore. No one had ever argued with Steve and been right about it. They were talking about making a superhero here, and yet there was a very real sense amongst them that Steve already had a superpower: always doing the right thing.

Peggy had an immediate fondness for him. He was determined, beyond belief, and she admired that spark in him that refused to be snuffed out. He knew, in his heart, what he believed, and he was more than willing to die for it. Peggy was too.

Only the Colonel, Chester Phillips, doubted Erskine’s decision. He paid special attention to Steve, but he did so only as a foil. He liked to compare Steve to other men in the camp, men he’d chosen for the project, rather than the one Erskine had brought on. “Brown is stronger,” or  “Donalds is faster,” were common phrases in his office.

In truth, they were all stronger. They were all faster. On paper, any one of them would’ve made a better super soldier than Stever Rogers.

“That’s what Phillps does not understand,” Erskine told her one day while they worked in his lab. “It isn’t about what’s on paper. It’s about what’s in his heart.”

“So it’s going to be Steve?” (Y/n) asked.

Erskine nodded. “Do you agree?”

(Y/n) hesitated. She didn’t want to blindly agree with the accolade simply because he reminded her of her brother. She also didn’t want to naively dismiss it to save him the risk because he reminded her of her brother.

She knew Steve Rogers; she would like to think she knew him well. They were friends. Yet the more she got to know him the more she saw her brother in him. That chest cold that wouldn’t go away when her brother was eight, the fight he lost with a boy who’d made a lewd joke about her skirt, the way he’d adamantly stood up for their father’s memory as a soldier; their kind hearted mother teaching him to temper his words.

She knew Steve Rogers well, and the more she knew him the more she saw him as her brother. The more she saw him as her brother, the more she knew he had to do this. He needed to do this.

“I agree.”

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“Steve, you may as well ask her out. If you’re going to spend this much time ogling her, she at least deserves dinner out of it.”

Steve’s face turned as red as the apple she was chewing, and (Y/n) couldn’t hold in her smirk.

“I-I wasn’t…” Steve glanced over his shoulder, checking that Peggy wasn’t within earshot of (Y/n)’s ribbing.

“It’s all right, Steve. I won’t tell her, but you really should.”

Steve shook his head, definitively turning his back to Peggy. “Please, my entire life girls like that have passed me by.”

(Y/n) rested a hand on Steve’ shoulder. “Your entire life girls who look like that have passed you by, but Peggy isn’t like those girls. If you don’t ask her out, you’ll never give her a chance to prove it.”

Steve chuckled and looked off into the sky. “My friend said something like that to me about this girl, Maria, not long before he left for the front.”

“And did you listen to him?”

“No,” Steve admitted. “He was the one the girls always passed me by for.”

“Well, did he ask them out?” (Y/n) chuckled.

Steve hesitated a second before saying, “Yes.”

“Then that’s why they passed you by. Your friend sounds like he has a good head on his shoulders. You should listen to him.”

Steve gave (Y/n) a fond smile. “You remind me a lot of him. It’s easier, having you here.”

“It’s easier having you here too.”

(Y/n) didn’t know if that was true, but she was starting to think it might be. She was starting to feel something. Steve was helping her remember the good times with her brother, before the Army and the War. Back when they were just two kids in Brooklyn.

She missed him.

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Erskine. Gone.

Would this war take everyone from her?

(Y/n) kneeled in a pool of his blood, his body splayed out in front of her.

She’d dedicated years of her life to Erskine’s work. She’d dedicated time, money, opportunities. She’d dedicated everything she had and more. Gone.

His work was gone. Erskine was gone.

He was her friend, her family; and he was gone.

She summoned a tear, more than one.

They came slowly at first and then spiralled uncontrollably. Sobs racked her body as she gripped at his hand.

Someone tried to help her up, but she didn’t want up.

Vaguely, she recognized Stark’s voice. He was calling out to her.

“(Y/n), he’s gone.”

Yes, she already knew he was gone. What good was all of his genius when he could only state the obvious.

What good was all of her years in a hospital, all of her years of training, if she couldn’t save a life when it mattered, the one life that mattered.

It felt like hearing her father was gone again.

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They were taking Steve too, as if she had anything left to give.

“Phillips would just as soon send me home. I’m just a lab rat to him.” Steve spat the word out in disgust. “That’s all I am, an experiment, Erskine’s experiment. They wanted an army, but they got me.”

“That’s all you are to him.” (Y/n) quietly corrected.

“And what am I to everyone else?” Steve turned on her, his eyes as red as hers were. “What am I to you?”

“His legacy,” she answered immediately.

She’d been thinking about it a lot. Erskine had been dead for two days, and all she’d been thinking about was him and Steve and the little family she’d made for herself at Lehigh. Erskine the father, Steve her brother, Peggy her sister, even Phillips, the grumpy uncle who didn’t want to be in the picture.

What did it all mean?

“You are his legacy. If you were any other soldier you’d be just another experiment, but you’re not. You’re Steve Rogers. Erskine chose you. You carry on his legacy; you carry on his work.”

“And how am I supposed to do that?” Steve asked in a desperate tone. He slumped onto the bench and let his head fall into his hands.

“I don’t know Steve,” (Y/n) sat down next to him and put a hand on his shoulder. “That’s for you to figure out. You don’t have to know now. No one’s expecting you to know now, but when you do piece it together, I’ll be waiting.”

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“Stark says you’re going to have your pick.”

Steve was lying on his back next to (Y/n), tossing a ball in the air and catching it repeatedly with a satisfying thunk as it hit his palm.

A few weeks ago, he wouldn’t have been able to catch it once. He had all of the coordination of a newborn foal and would’ve whacked himself, or her, in the face the first time he tried to throw it.

It reminded her, again, of her brother. After his growth spurt, when he finally caught up to her, passed her, when he got tall and filled out. The girls started to notice him; the guys started to respect him.

“That’s what they tell me.”

“Any Allied hospital in Europe…” Steve stopped tossing the ball and glanced over at her, “Know where you’re going to go?”

(Y/n) didn’t meet his gaze. She kept her eyes on a cloud floating by overhead. “I hadn’t really thought about it,” She confessed. “When I applied, when Erskine took me in, I was planning on going to the frontlines.”

“You don’t have to now.” Steve rolled onto his stomach and watched her expressions carefully. “You could go to the evacuation hospitals or England…”

“Would you?”

“What?”

“Would you go to the frontlines? If they let you?” (Y/n) asked. She already knew the answer, but she needed to ask.

“You know I would,” Steve admitted.

“Then that’s where I’ll go.” She’d joked, when Erskine was still alive, that Steve’s real superpower was always doing the right thing. If he’d go to the front, then that’s where she’d be, waiting for him to find his way.

(Y/n) met Steve’s eye finally. “You said your friend was in the 107th?”

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It was only about a month before (Y/n) was running the field hospital attached to the 107th.

They sent mostly inexperienced girls out to the frontline. Supposedly, it was an easy job. They didn’t have time for complex treatment or procedures, so in theory, it was all triage and wound treatment. They claimed anyone with a little bit of training could handle it.

Early on when the fighting had just begun she imagined there might have been some truth to that claim, but as the war slogged on, it wasn’t so simple anymore. Every soldier had some kind of injury. The Army couldn’t afford to send everyone with more than a bump or bruise back from the frontline to an evacuation hospital. There wasn’t the time, manpower, money.

The field hospitals were overflowing with infected wounds, illness, bullet holes, broken bones, and there weren’t enough experienced nurses to go around. Not only did they lack the know-how, many of the inexperienced nurses were just young woman, some girls even, who didn’t properly know what they’d signed up for. They were shaken by the crack of every bullet, the boom of every grenade, the scream of every dying man.

(Y/n) had a sneaking suspicion that the real reason the Nurses Corps didn’t send out any of their trained nurses was that they want to risk their better nurses dying on the frontlines.

(Y/n) had watched a stray bullet tear through the chest of a young girl named Lydia only a week into her time with the 107th. She’d been reliably told by another nurse that Lydia was the fifth to die so far that year.

The second most experienced girl in (Y/n)’s unit had been a midwife for a few years before she shipped out, not exactly a skill that was necessary in an army full of men, but it came with some transferable knowledge. Her name was Maria, and it only took a few weeks before she was happily handing over the reins.

“They’re bringing in a batch of men from the front,” Maria reported to (Y/n). “Nothing serious, a couple broken bones. They took a fall to avoid a grenade; I’m told.”

(Y/n) motioned for Beverly and Viola at the other end of the tent. “We need to clean down some beds.” (Y/n) turned to Maria, “Did they say how many?”

“Not exactly, but I think it was only a few.”

(Y/n) only had a few beds to spare anyhow. There were a dozen cots set up in the field hospital, and six of them were currently occupied by men waiting for transport to the nearest evacuation hospital back West, another two by men with leg fractures. When she’d arrived, the beds were first come first serve, but (Y/n) had quickly started a process of dismissing anyone who could walk back to their own tents to come in to the hospital for regular checks on whatever ailed them.

“They’ve already reached camp; they’ll be here any moment.”

“If the bones aren’t through skin, then I don’t want them hanging around here. We’ll set them and send them on their way. We haven’t had free beds in a week, and I don’t want to take them up with something trivial.”

“Trivial? Glad to know you care about my leg, nurse.”

The tent flap was being held open by two soldiers, a sergeant and a private, around the girth of a much larger man propped up between them.

(Y/n) ignored the jab, “Get him on the bed.”

The two men helped their friend onto the nearest cot, and (Y/n), Beverly, and Maria quickly descended on him.

(Y/n) was the most experienced one there, but she’d made a point of having Beverly watch every bone she set. When things got busy, she might be needed elsewhere, and it was good to know that Beverly knew her way around things well enough to take a few bones off her plate.

“What happened?”

“Bit of an ambush, ma’am.” She recognized Gabe Jones immediately. She’d treated a broken finger of his on the first day she’d got here, followed by a number of bumps and bruises that probably wouldn’t have required her attention if Gabe weren’t such a flirt. “We had to jump into a ravine. Sergeant, here, did a number on his knee, and I got grazed by a bullet.”

“Maria, will you clean Private Jones’ wound?” (Y/n) began inspected the Sergeant’s knee.

“Of course,” Maria motioned Jones away to another open bed.

The third man took a step back towards the tent flap, but before he could get more than a few paces, he crumbled.

“Barnes!” The sergeant in the bed bolted upright. Beverly held him still, as (Y/n) rushed to his side.

“Are you alright, Sergeant?” (Y/n) slipped her arm around the man’s back and helped him stumble back to the nearest bed.

“I guess I’m not,” The man winced as he slumped back against the metal bed frame. “My side is killing me.”

(Y/n) nodded at the other sergeant, “Relocate his knee, while I do this, Bev. Maria can help when she’s done cleaning Jones’s wound.”

With deft fingers, (Y/n) unhooked the buttons down his uniform to check his complaint.

“I’d normally take you to dinner first, Doll.” These men hadn’t seen a woman in a long time, and usually they acted like it. She’d heard every bad joke in the book from the soldiers around camp and a couple from Jones in the bed next to them, but his tone was far more lighthearted, less learing than the others. He was teasing, trying to lighten the mood of how much pain was written across his face.

“Well, the rations around here aren’t very appealing, so you’ll have to settle for…” She found what she was looking for. A bruise spanning his entire right side. “You carried him back like this?” Her fingers probed gently at the edges of the dark blue stain.

“Someone had to; not like Dugan carries his own weight around here.” He winced as she touched a particularly sensitive spot.

“Broken ribs,” (Y/n) told the other girls over her shoulder, “three from the looks of it. He’s not going anywhere anytime soon.”

“That’s alright, Doll. I’ll just get to see more of your smiling face.”

(Y/n) wasn’t smiling. She hadn’t smiled in quite a while.

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“You’re healing well,” (Y/n) observed Barnes’s side, peeking out of the sheets, a few days later. “Right on schedule. You won’t need to be on the next train to the evacuation hospital.”

“Of course not,” Barnes scoffed, “How could I ever leave your lovely company?”

(Y/n) cocked an eyebrow. “That work on the girls back home?”

“Depends on the girl really,” Barnes confessed. “Most of the time a smile and a dance does the trick, but I like the ones that make me work for it.”

(Y/n) rolled her eyes and went back to inventorying the supplies she’d spread out on the cot next to his.

“Where is home for you, (Y/n)?”

It was the first time he’d called her by her name, also the first time he’d asked her a genuine question. “Brooklyn.”

“Brooklyn!” He exclaimed, “I knew there was a reason I liked you. I’m from Brooklyn myself.”

“Really?” She glanced back at him, pausing cataloging the rolls of gauze. She had to remember to put in for that. They desperately needed more gauze.

“Born and raised,” With a wince, he adjusted pushed himself higher in the bed. “My whole family and my best friend still live there. I’ll go back there too, if I make it out of your care in one piece.”

(Y/n) snorted; she couldn’t help it. Her care? They were in a war, and he wanted to joke that he wouldn’t make it out of her hospital. “I’ll have you know my care is perfectly fine. I served 8 years in ambulatory at Wyckoff.”

Barnes’s brow furrowed. “Can’t say I’ve ever been to Wyckoff, but I was a frequent guest at Beth Moses Hospital.”

“You break ribs running from Nazis often in New York?” She jabbed.

“No, but my friend may as well have. He picked a lot of fights. Didn’t win many, but that never stopped Steve.”

(Y/n)’s head jerked around and she dropped the papers in her hands. “Steve? Steve Rogers?”

“Yeah,” Barnes had her attention now, and she had his, “you know him?”

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“I swear, Bucky, next time you come in here you better be losing an arm. You’re wasting my time with these little scrapes.”

Bucky rose to his feet in front of her.

She came face to chest with his shirtless torso, and her ego absolutely refused to allow her to turn her head away or take a step back. Even as she felt her cheeks coloring from his state of undress, she adamantly met his smirking eyes.

“It’s okay to admit you’d miss me, Doll. Around here, I’m like a little slice of home, a breath of fresh air, a…”

“The smell of maneur wafting out of the stables,” She cut off.

Bucky chuckled and began buttoning back his uniform. “One day, Doll, one day.”

Bucky always said things like that. ‘One day, when we’re both back in Brooklyn’, ‘When I finally get the chance to take you dancing’, ‘Me, you, Steve, and a friend’.

(Y/n) never took any of it to heart. Bucky had popped in and out of the medical tent on many occasions since he’d broken his ribs, and he flirted with all of the girls who treated him. She never let it get to her heart, and she tried not to let it go to her head that his flirtations were infinitely more personal with her. He’d teasingly compliment the other girls’ uniforms, make observations about how nice they looked that day, wink suggestively as he ducked out of the tent. She was the only one he made plans for: Brooklyn, Steve, Coney Island, dinner, dancing.

The thought was nice, but she left it all there, just a thought.

“Don’t be a stranger, Doll,” Bucky called as he made his way to the door. “I’m sick of faking injury just to see you.”

He gave her his signature wink before he turned and left the tent.

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The SSR had moved in. She saw Phillips riding in from a mile away.

She stood side by side with the commanding officers; everyone over the rank of Sergeant filled in a pseudo welcome party for the reinforcements as they rode in.

None of the men could figure out why she was there, at the front, out ranking them. She wasn’t even properly in the Army. She was just a nurse, a field medic, nothing more or less.(Y/n) couldn’t say she was expecting any sort of comraderie from the Colonel. She’d expected a firm handshake, an acknowledgement of their acquaintance, and a swift dismissal back to her duties.

When Colonel Phillips jumped out, the men behind her became painfully aware of who she was, and she became painfully aware how things had changed.

“(Y/n),” Phillips ignored the officers in charge and marched straight for her. “Good, you’re here. I need someone with a head on their shoulders.” He clapped her on the back and led her towards the truck.

From the back, they came filing out, the men she and Erskine had rejected for the supersoldier program. Each of them a hand picked reminder of her lost companion. All of them could’ve been the poster boy for a ‘join the army’ campaign if things had gone a different way.

She had to remind herself that these men were Phillips choosing, that, even if Erskine lived, none of them would have ever been Steve. These were good soldiers, but that didn’t make them good men. There may well have been a few good ones in the bunch, but being strong, being able, didn’t make them so. She preferred the men behind her, the 107th.

“There’s someone else I know you’ll be happy to see.”

It took a moment more of men filing out of the truck bed before Phillips’ surprise came to face her. She felt her heart building up hope, anticipation, excitement.

Peggy. It was Peggy.

She hid her disappointment well as she smiled and hugged the Englishwoman.

She loved Peggy, but she was no Steve.

Where was Steve? It had been so long since she heard news. She was worried.

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“So you’re a hotshot then?”

Bucky had swaggered up to her the moment she stepped outside of the hospital tent.

“You must be if you have the Colonel’s ear. Everyone’s been talking about it. My little Brooklyn in league with the bigwigs.”

“Your?” (Y/n) chose to ignore the rest of the sentence. She stopped midstep and crossed her arms over her chest. “I don’t think you’ll find me ‘your’ anything, let alone all of Brooklyn.”

Bucky smiled mischievously and matched her stance. “Of course you’re not mine, but who do you think’s been keeping the rest of these scoundrels off your back?”

“Oh?” Her lips quirked up instictively in response to his smile. She really couldn’t help it. Steve had told her once that Bucky had that affect on women, that they couldn’t help themselves arounf him. “You’re protecting me from the wandering eyes of your fellow soldiers in hopes that someone will kindly cave into your flirtations.”

“No,” Bucky drawled, taking a step closer. “I’m protecting all of our dear nurses from the wandering eyes of my fellow soldiers because you have more important things to do like treat the broken ribs of a cocky sniper trying desperately to keep from crying like a child in front of his men.”

“Well your service is greatly appreciated.” (Y/n) chuckled, turning back to her walk, “If you must know, I’m not a bigwig at all.”

“Really?” Bucky fell into step by her side. “Didn’t look that way to me.”

“My mentor was a bigwig,” She confessed, her smile turning stale on her lips, “I was just in the right place at the right time.”

Bucky looped his arm through hers and dragged her to a stop, rounding her to face him. “That can’t be true.”

“It is.”

“If your mentor was that important, then you must’ve been pretty great to catch their eye.” Bucky gave her an encouraging smile.

She saw it in his eyes then. She hadn’t seen it before, not even when he was making her laugh with his flirting. She could see the kind heart, the trusting nature, all the things she admired about Steve. They were there, just buried deep beneath a layer of bravado and natural charisma.

She finally understood why Steve would be his friend.

“Have you heard of the Strategic Scientific Reserve?” The question slipped her mouth before she could stop it.

“No,” Bucky’s expression furrowed. “Why?”

It was top secret. She really shouldn’t be mentioning it. She’d already lied to him about how she knew Steve. She should just lie about the SSR, forget she said anything. She should…

She didn’t. “It’s a program my mentor and I founded…”

She told him everything. Everything about the SSR, about Steve, about Peggy, about Phillips, about Erskine.

He led her off to the edge of camp, away from stray ears and wandering eyes. He sat with her under a tree.

She told him about signing up for the war, about the general who delivered the news about her brother and before that her father. She told him about her mother leaving. She told him about her childhood.

She couldn’t help it. Once she started, she just couldn’t stop.

She understood why Steve would be his friend. She hadn’t meant to, but she’d inadvertently trusted him with everything.

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“(Y/n),” Maria came running through the tent flap, not even bothering to push it aside as it draped her shoulder. “Come quick. It’s Bucky.”

(Y/n) was in the middle of handing out rations. She dropped the box on the cot in front of her and bolted for the door.

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“What happened?”

She found Peggy first.

“The regiment was ambushed by Schmidt.” Peggy liked to talk as she walked. In that moment, (Y/n) appreciated that about her. “Only a third of them made it back. We’re doing rolls now, but the men in the yard are all that’s left.”

(Y/n) burst into the square field that functioned as the town center of camp.

There were men, dusty, beaten, bloodied men everywhere. Her small staff of nurses would be overwhelmed by the numbers, but that wasn’t what was on her mind now.

“Where is he?” She left the question and Peggy in her wake, running through the clusters of soldiers. Some supported their injured friends, others laid groaning side by side, a few stood in the center, completely fine. They looked the most lost of them all, as if they were asking God why he had chosen to spare them.

Hodge was there, in the center, one of the men surveying the damage around him. He was fine, completely fine.

“Hodge,” She marched up to him with a fury, “Where is Barnes?”

“Barnes? That kid that’s always following you around?”

Hodge had come in with the other Super Soldier Candidates. He hadn’t had the time to learn everyone’s names, not that he ever would have anyway. He was Hodge; Hodge thought he was too good for that sort of thing.

“Where is he?” She demanded again, not intending to repeat herself a third time.

“He was in the flank with his buddies. They’re gone. All of them, gone.”

Hodge had the decency to look sorry that he was giving her the news.

(Y/n) imagined it was the first decent thing he’d done in his life.

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Was she cursed?

She felt like she was. She felt like a ghost walking through life, doomed to haunt everyone she touched.

Her mother left her. Her father was dead. Her brother followed not long after. Erskine died just as she’d come to think of him as family. Steve was forced to tour around the country like some kind of sideshow because of what she’d helped do to him. Lydia was dead almost as soon as (Y/n) arrived. Now, Bucky.

She hadn’t confided in anyone in a long time until she met Bucky. She’d chatted with Lydia, Maria, her fellow nurses, made nice with them. She’d only told Peggy things she was sure the woman had already read in her file; she told Phillips even less. She told Steve bits and pieces, but she tried not to burden his plate more than it already was. She hadn’t needed to tell Erskine anything; the old man could read it for himself in her eyes.

She’d told it all to Bucky.

Whether it was the heat of war, the charm that came to him so effortlessly, that kind smile or those trustworthy eyes, it didn’t matter. She’d told him everything there was to tell, and as quickly as he knew he was gone.

Caring about her. It felt like the kiss of death.

She was a nurse, and her father bled to death on the battlefield. She was a nurse, and her brother died of injuries from a plane crash. She was a nurse, and Erskine died of a gunshot in her arms. She was a nurse. She was supposed to save people; she hadn’t saved them.  And now, she couldn’t save Bucky either.

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Steve. She knew those eyes anywhere. Even behind that stupid mask, she knew it was Steve.

She watched the show with blank eyes and a blanker expression. Steve didn’t look much better.

Back in Brooklyn, (Y/n) had been rather a catch. Boys had taken her out many times, and often times, when they wanted to seem smarter and more cultured than they actually were, they would take her to a show. (Y/n) had watched more plays than she could count, and none of them had been nearly as bad as this.

Steve couldn’t fake excitement if he tried, and he was clearly trying.

(Y/n) didn’t care about the show though, bad acting or not. She cared about Steve, and she cared about what he could do.

“Steve,” She barged into the dressing rooms backstage.

The girls, the dancers, squealed and made to hide or cover themselves, but they quickly regained composure when they saw it was another girl.

“Steve!”

Steve looked up from where he was sat in a corner doodling.

“(Y/n)?” He dropped the paper aside and got to his feet, hesitantly, disbelieving that it could really be her.

“Steve,” (Y/n) threw herself at him, hugging him close. “I’m so sorry, Steve.”

He held her close. “Sorry? What for?”

“Steve, you have to help,” She pulled back and looked him dead in the eye. “It’s Bucky.”

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(Y/n) didn’t join them on the plane. How could she? Every time one buzzed overhead her brother came rushing back to mind.

She still hadn’t buried him; his body was waiting for her back at home. She was going to bury him beside her father, beside an empty plot she’d reserved for herself, just in case something happened on the front.

She wondered, to herself because Bucky was not there to wonder out loud to like last time, if she couldn’t mourn because he had not been laid to rest. She wondered if she needed the confirmation of seeing his body for herself or the resignation of a coffin and a deep grave.

That hadn’t been true of her father. She’d mourned him the moment the general knocked on her door; she’d wept for losing him. Perhaps, she’d been able to weep because she had more to lose. Perhaps, she wept for her father because with her brother alive she still had a reason to feel. Perhaps, she wept for Erskine because, by the time he left her, she’d found other reasons, a new family.

She wondered if she would ever cry for her brother the way she had her father or Erskine. She wondered, if she started crying for him, if she would ever stop.

Maybe she was just full of it.

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“He should’ve radioed by now.”

She was in the hospital tent, pacing nervously in front of the only cot void of soldiers. Peggy and Maria had sat cross-legged on the flimsy mattress and were watching her with anxious expressions.

Howard Stark stood angrily tapping his foot near the bit of canvas at the head of the bed.

He was the only one who seemed to share (Y/n)’s nerves.

How Peggy was holding it together, (Y/n) had no idea. It wasn’t like she didn’t care. A blind man could see how much she cared about Steve. She had a composure to her though.

(Y/n) envied her that; she wasn’t ashamed to admit it. She wished she were as composed.

“That’s no guarantee that anything happened,” Maria’s voice was a calm guiding hand in the storm. She cared about the missing men, about Steve, but no more than every other soldier. She cared deeply for everyone under her care; it was part of her nature. Their absence didn’t sway her.

“No guarantee,” (Y/n) conceded,”but one hell of a coincidence.”

“Well what can we do?” Howard asked. “Ride into Occupied territory and offer our assistance?”

(Y/n) haulted midstep and looked up at Howard.

“No!” He immediately shot out.

“Yes.”

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She packed a bag of all the essentials: bandages, needle and thread, alcohol, small bottles of antibiotics and medicines she could sneak out of the tent.

The bag was heavy, bulky, but it would fit snugly on the back of one of the motorcycles that that night's messenger had left near the edge of camp.

He wasn’t scheduled to make his next delivery run for three days. She had every intention of being back by then. Either she’d be back or dead.

With all hope, and a little help from Maria, she’d be entirely unnoticed until she rode back into camp. Maria had managed well enough on her own before (Y/n) got there. She could handle a few days.

“Do you even know how to ride one of those things?”

(Y/n) froze. She knew the voice, but she didn’t turn. If she didn’t turn, maybe she could pretend he wasn’t there.

Phillips stepped up to her side. “Is this what Erskine would want for you? A suicide mission?”

“It’s not a suicide mission. What Steve did, that was a suicide mission. I’m just trying to help the odds.”

“And how do you plan to do that?”

“He’s trying to free hundreds of your men from a Hydra base where they’re being held prisoner. At best, he succeeded, and they’re headed back this way.”

“Unlikely,” Phillips butted in.

“At worst, he failed.” She continued without acknowledging his interruption. “There are a lot of scenarios in between worst and best that involve your men out there, injured and dying.”

“And you think one nurse is going to help?”

“I’m not going to hurt!”

Phillips snorted, “Is this about that boy?”

“What boy?” (Y/n) turned back to securing her bag to the motorcycle. It was a tell. Phillips wasn’t stupid. He knew that. She knew that.

“The one Rogers is friends with. The one you sent him on this fool’s errand after. I thought it was just because they were friends, but the men told me you two were close.”

(Y/n)’s hands clenched around the strap of her bag.

“Is that why you want to go? You’re chasing after some lowly soldier.”

“I want to help!” (Y/n) spat, turning on Phillips with a vengeance. “Who cares if it’s because I’m feeling guilty or because I care about him! They are my friends, and I want to help them.”

Phillips watched with a cool, calculating eye for a long moment as (Y/n)’s chest heaved with anger. She looked as angry as he’d ever seen her, and he’d seen her angry many times at Lehigh.

She cared about Steve. There was no denying that, but whoever this sergeant was he was something else, something special.

Reluctantly, he sighed out in defeat. “Your bag’s going to go flying off the back if you tie it down like that.” He turned and started knotting the ropes for her.

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She was seven miles out when she heard it. Something big and loud and powerful barrelling down on her.

(Y/n) stopped her motorcycle in the street and went silent, listening.

Tanks.

She rolled the bike off the road, muscling it behind some trees. It was clunky, weighty, and she didn’t have the strength to get it properly hidden back in the woods. Still, she found a patch of dirt flat enough to roll the bike off the road and made due with laying it on its side behind a bush.

Whoever it was was coming closer. She found the thickest tree there was and stood straight and tall behind it, sucking herself in to be as narrow a target as possible.

She could hear shouting now, though she couldn’t make out the voices. There was a melody to their tone even though the words were indistinct. They were singing something.

It went on for a verse or two, judging by the pauses, before whoever they were were finally close enough to make out words.

English words. American accents.

“The Star Spangled Man! With a plan!” Horribly out of tune male voices echoed through the tree tops without a care in the world for who heard.

“Steve!” (Y/n) rushed out of the trees.

They were at the end of the road, making their way around a bend a few hundred yards ahead, but she’d recognize that God awful costume from a mile away. It stood out plain as day against the swath of brown and green forest and the drab, colorless look of the men at his side.

“Steve!” (Y/n) raced for him.

Steve realized who it was almost instantly. “(Y/n)!” He jogged forward and met her halfway.

“I thought you were dead!” She choked out.

“Come on, little Brooklyn, you have to know we’re made of tougher stuff than that.”

(Y/n) pulled away, positively beaming to hear that drawl of her nickname. “Bucky!”

Bucky tipped a nonexistent cap her direction. “At your service, Doll.”

He dropped the hat charade just in time to catch her as she flung her arms around his neck.

“One day, Doll,” He mumbled into her ear.

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Frenchie was in the bottom of the tank with a seriously mangled stint strapped to his arm.

“I did the best I could,” Bucky was hunched over (Y/n) as she treated his fallen companion. “I’ve watched you enough times, you think I’d have it down by now.”

“Maybe if you were actually watching her hands you would have,” Jones jabbed an elbow into Barnes ribs.

“Hey now,” Barnes chuckled. “I watched her hands.”

“Sure you did.” (Y/n) bit back a grin. “The stint isn’t pretty, but neither is the break. This will take a while to heal.”

Jones prattled off in French, alarming (Y/n) to no end.

Bucky knelt down next to her and explained. “Frenchie doesn’t speak English. We make Jones translate to earn his keep. Only way he’s been useful so far.”

“Oh,” (Y/n) went back to the arm in question.

“I promise I was watching your hands,” He murmured to her with his usual heart-stopping smile.

(Y/n) rolled her eyes, “And I promise you were too busy flirting with my staff to notice what my hands were doing.”

“Not your staff, just you.” He corrected her. They both knew that wasn’t technically true. Bucky Barnes was nothing if not a flirt. That didn’t mean he meant it though. They both knew he meant it with her, and they both knew he didn’t mean it with anyone else.

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“Rogers, I’ve been with these guys on the field for months,” Bucky smacked him on the shoulder and pointed to the table in questions. “They’re all utter morons. Of course they’ll say yes.”

Steve gave his friend a worried look but let Bucky’s smile reassure with enough to take the next step. “Wish my luck,” he patted his friend on the back and marched over to the group of men getting drunker by the moment.

Bucky chuckled to himself and circled around to the far side of the bar to order himself a drink and find a quieter table. He wanted a beer, and he wanted as much distance between himself and that piano as possible. It was giving him such a headache. The beer would help with that.

He wasn’t actually sure that was true. He wasn’t a doctor or a nurse to know, but he was going to tell himself it would. Mostly he just wanted the beer. He’d earned it after the last couple months he’d had, after the last year honestly.

He heard the booming voice of Sergeant Dugan over everything else in the bar and couldn’t help a chuckle. They’d all earned a round.

They’d earn a couple more if they said yes, and as Bucky watched them from over the rim of his glass, he knew they would. They were fighters, like Steve, and like Steve, they wouldn’t back down from that.

Bucky kept his eyes on the men as they all considered Steve’s offer. He could tell the moment the words left Steve’s mouth, the moment they all froze at the proposition. He could tell, one by one, as they all agreed, like he knew they would.

It was written on their faces. It was written on Steve’s face.

He tried not to sound too cocky when Steve came back around to him. “See, told you; they’re all idiots.”

“How ‘bout you?” Steve took up the chair next to Bucky.

Bucky didn’t meet his eye. He knew the question was coming, and he already had his answer.

“You ready to follow Captain America into the jaws of death?”

“Hell no,” Bucky sighed with a smile. “That little guy from Brooklyn who was too dumb not to run away from a fight, I’m following him.”

Steve smiled, relief washing over his features as he took the drink in front of him.

“You’re keeping the outfit right?” Bucky couldn’t help but tease.

“You know what,” Steve looked back at the poster, “It’s kinda growing on me.”

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The singing at the front of the room fell quiet, to almost a murmur.

Bucky and Steve turned to the door, to the woman in the vivid red dress.

“Captain,” she greeted with a formal note to her voice.

She was beautiful. Bucky would’ve been blind not to see it, especially in that shade of red. She looked like one of the girls Bucky used to go dancing with, tight dress hugging her curves, matching lipstick and perfectly styled hair. She was a woman on a mission, and he had a sneaking suspicion that mission was a man, specifically a man named Steve Rogers.

Bucky’s eyes wandered over assessingly. She was way out of Steve’s league, or at least the league he used to be in. He hadn’t been out with Steve since this new transformation; he had no idea what Steve’s league even was anymore. He was taller, stronger; he was famous apparently. But he was still an absolute dork, clueless around women.

It was written all over his darting, nervous eyes.

“I see your top squad is prepping for duty,” she observed.

“You don’t like music?” Bucky smiled.

“I might even, when this is all over, go dancing.” Peggy didn’t bother to look in Bucky’s direction for even a moment.

“Then what are we waiting for?” He asked her.

“The right partner,” Her tone was suggestive; her eyes watching Steve expectantly. For the first time in his life, Bucky wasn’t in on the joke.

“0800 Captain,” She said as she whisked herself away.

“I’m invisible,” Bucky turned back to Steve, “I’m turning into you,” he scoffed, “this is a horrible dream.”

Steve smirked as he turned to walk off, “Don’t take it so hard. I hear she has a friend.” Steve motioned over Bucky’s shoulder towards the doorway Peggy had just left.

Steve took up his old seat as Bucky turned away.

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What had possessed her to come here, (Y/n) couldn’t be sure.

She knew what she’d told herself. That Captain America was assembling a team of his own, that his team was leaving for deployment, that she wanted to be on the ship when it did.

She could’ve asked him all of that before he left for the bar, or when he came back. It’s not like he’d be drunk; she knew that couldn’t happen.

Hell, she could’ve asked him the next morning. Steve would’ve made it happen.

But when Peggy told her she was going down to the bar to check on the men, something had possessed her to follow.

Maybe she wanted a drink. Maybe she too wanted to check on the boys. More likely, it was how clearly Peggy’s excuse was a rouse to get dolled up and see Steve, and there (Y/n) was, right by her side getting dolled up too.

Jones had cornered her the moment she’d walked in. Gabe kissed the back of her hand like an old-school gentleman and asked her to dance. She politely declined.

“That’s all right,” Gabe smiled knowingly and pointed in the direction of the room Peggy was leaving. “Sergeant’s right in there.”

(Y/n) followed, anxiously, in Peggy’s retreating footsteps with only an encouraging nod from her friend to bolster her courage.

She’d chosen the purple dress, a more understated shade than Peggy’s red but a far more modern cut. She wasn’t there to grab the attention of the entire bar like Peggy was, but she hoped at least to keep one pair of eyes on her.

Steve spotted her first and immediately smiled. He waved a hand in her direction and retreated back to the tables.

Bucky’s back was to her, but whatever Steve said made him turn.

His face went slack, and a little space opened between his lips, as if his mind had formed words his tongue couldn’t speak.

“Well, now I know what Peggy meant,” He mumbled as she approached him.

“About what?”

“The Right Partner.” Bucky offered her his arm, “Would you like to dance?”

“I’m not very good,” she confessed smoothly.

Bucky smiled. Not his usual cocky grin that swept girls off their feet, or the warm, reassuring smile she’d come to trust. It was gentle, somewhere between kind and loving. “I’ll teach you.”

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Taglist

Forever Taglist:

@maybe-a-fangurl / @libbymouse /  @geeksareunique / @deathbyarabbit​ / @spilltheearlgrey / @ryanbarnesrogers / @bloodorangemoonlight​

Marvel Taglist:

@the-high-queen / @iamverity / @darktownairspeed / @radicalstars​ / @hermione-is-my-queen 

[knitting-gay-nerd]

I Will Stand in the Dark for You

Turn Week 2021 | Day 2: Favorite Historical Event/Location

The Mutiny of the Pennsylvania Line, starting at about midnight January 1, 1781, Jockey Hollow

The following is a dramatization from the perspective of Temperance Wick, who, according to New Jersey legend, ran into some rebelling Continental soldiers just after midnight during the Mutiny of the Pennsylvania Line, tricked them so that they couldn’t take her horse, and hid him in a bedroom in her house. It is of course not historically accurate, for several reasons that include the presence of my original character Henrietta Wick, the mention of a nonexistent Dr. Kemble, and the fact that Tempe’s midnight ride likely never happened.

This is directly related to my fanfiction, All Done Up in Blue & Gold, although you do not need to have read it to understand this, and it contains the mildest of spoilers, as this will be from Henrietta’s point of view in the story itself.

This is over 3,000 words. Enjoy!

Mother’s labored breathing unnerved me. It was clearly audible even from the doorway, where I stood. Whatever this fever was, it had taken a toll on her. We had gone for the doctor, our brother-in-law William Leddel, when she first fell ill, but he told us that she would eventually recover and simply to take care of her as we normally would. She had become bedridden only days after Father’s funeral.

Her condition was not improving, but remaining stagnant. Father was not yet dead two weeks, and it seemed Mother might follow him into the good Lord’s arms before long.

“Tempe.” Henri’s hand rested, palm up, on Mother’s forehead. She looked at me, concern clear on her face, her brow knit together and fear shining in her widened eyes. My stomach wrenched itself into a knot. “Get Dr. Kemble.”

I straightened bolt upright from my position leaning against the side jamb of the doorway. “What’s wrong?”

“She’s burning up, worse than before, and she seems delirious. Get him now. Hurry!”

“Shouldn’t I get William? He’s been looking after her, and he’s our brother in law—“

“Kemble’s closer. Go!”

“Should you be looking after her? The baby—“

“I’m fine, Tempe! Go! Do you want to lose Mother as well?”

“No, of course I don’t!” I snapped back at her, tears pricking at my eyes. I ran, pulling on my outer clothes as quickly as possible, then running along the path through the snow to the barn to saddle Colonel.

I clicked my tongue, leading him out of the stall. “Come on boy. Ready for a nighttime ride?”

He nickered at me, nuzzling my shoulder. “We’re all business tonight, Colonel. You’ll do me proud, I’m sure.”

I kept up a meaningless chatter as I tacked him up, from his bridle to finally tightening his girth. It was a distraction for me as much as for him. Then, I led him out of the barn to mount.

“Allons-y,” I whispered. I knew he couldn’t gallop all the way to the doctor’s house, and it was dangerous to gallop, especially because Colonel was cold and the ground was frozen. However, it was imperative to reach our destination with as much speed as possible, and the doctor would have a fresh horse ready to visit Mother. We proceeded at a walk, until he was warm enough to trot.

Only the Pennsylvania Line was camped on our land this winter, but their New Year’s Eve festivities were loud and raucous as I traveled through the woods. Thankfully, I was not set upon by any drunken soldiers, but I could hear their singing and see their fires from the road. It was late, almost midnight. Mother is dying, I thought. I urged the Colonel into a canter, pushing the limits of safety given the conditions.

A few moments later, I realized that a canter was too leisurely for the gravity of the situation. Mother was dying. If ever there was a time to throw caution to the wind that streaked past me as I rode, it was now. Fuck caution, I thought. Mother would hate that that word even came to my mind. She would call it “unladylike”. Henri and I both had disappointed her in that regard. It can go to hell and reside with Lucifer himself.

I kicked Colonel’s sides, forcing him into a gallop.

The wind whistled in my ears, only the beating of my heart louder than it. My eyes watered from the cold rush of air. Colonel slowed to a canter as we reached town, only a few men in varying degrees of drunkenness milling on the streets.

“Whoa,” I called as we reached the doctor’s house. I swung down from the saddle, tying Colonel to a post. I scratched under his mane, whispering, “You did so good, boy. Thank you.”

I rapped on the door. No one answered. I knocked louder, then yelled, “I need help! Please!”

“Hold your horses, young lassie, I’m coming!” A female voice called out. After a moment and a bit of fiddling with the latch, the doctor’s maid opened the door. “What do you need, Miss?”

“My mother is severely ill. We’re afraid she might be on death’s threshold. Where’s Dr. Kemble?”

“Oh, Miss, he came home not an hour ago, drunk out of his wits. He’s not in any shape to come, and I doubt he’d be of any help.”

I sighed. “Alright. I’ll go the other way and get Dr. Leddel, then.”

“Before you go, what’s wrong with her? I might be able to offer some advice.”

“She’s in a right fever, burning to the touch and seeing things that aren’t there.”

“If you’ve any dogwood or tulip poplar bark, make a tea and get her to drink it, if you can. It will bring her fever down some. She might have to sweat it out.”

“Thank you.”

“Your mother is in my prayers.”

“Keep my sister in them as well. She’s with child, and we’re the only ones left to take care of Mother.”

“I will. God be with you!”

“Thank you.”

I mounted Colonel and urged him into a trot. He was tired, but we still had a distance to travel to reach the house Phebe and Dr. Leddel lived in. It was in the opposite direction of Morristown, on the way to Mendham. Dr. Leddel was my brother-in-law, but Mendham was farther than the doctor’s house in Morristown.

With any hope, however, we would get back home in time and the remedies Kemble’s maid had given me would be unnecessary.

We proceeded through the woods at a trot. An uneasiness came over me as I approached the point where I could hear the soldiers when I was going in the opposite direction. It was much quieter than it had been then, although not enough time had passed for their celebration to die down so completely. Just then, a shot rang out, with shouting following it. Colonel shied. He wasn’t used to gunshots, as he had never been trained to ignore such sounds. Once he recovered, I urged him on into a canter, a bleak attempt to escape whatever was happening in the camp.

I relaxed once I could no longer hear the commotion. We slowed to a trot. Despite my relative calm, Colonel remained alert, his ears pricked in the direction of the woods to our left. Rustling came from that direction, but I ignored it, assuming it was an animal. Even a few minutes later, Colonel was nervous, strange behavior because he was usually a sure horse in the woods.

Colonel’s ears swiveled, facing behind me.

“You! Stop!”

“We’re taking your horse.”

I urged Colonel on faster.

A man called out, “Continental Army. We’re commandeering your horse.”

I stopped. The man who spoke last came up to Colonel’s head and took hold of his bridle. “Get down.”

“What is the meaning of this, gentlemen?”

The brown eyes of the man who held my horse’s bridle met mine, and I was shocked by how young he looked. He was at least five years younger than me, to be certain. His dirty blond hair was in a rough queue, with strands falling out near his face. His face was thin, and he looked hungry. Yet, he had somewhat of a commanding air about him, and the two men who followed him to my side seemed subservient to him. “We’re marching on Congress to get the money we’re owed. Our bounty’s up, and we’re done. We’re barely fed and never paid for three years now.”

“Then you’re not Continental Army and cannot commandeer my horse.”

“That was only to get you to stop. Now, dismount, and we’ll be taking him. Don’t forget, we have muskets.”

“You don’t want Colonel. He’s just been at a hard gallop over to Dr. Kemble’s house. He’s too tired to make it far enough to be worth your while.”

“You think you can trick us with that? He looks fresh to me!” One of the other men said.

“Shut it, Kip, this lady probably knows more about horses than you. Please dismount, ma’am.”

“Alright, sir. Would you please help me down?”

He smiled at me. “Of course.” As he moved his hand from Colonel’s bridle, I felt a pang of regret for what he’d gone through. He was just a boy, and, if he’d been in the army for three years, he had spent most of his teenage years starving in winter camps, fighting in battles, and marching along the road. No one deserves that life, especially not someone so young. What I did not regret, however, was what I was about to do.

I turned Colonel’s head towards home and kicked his sides. Shouting erupted behind me, but we were already at a run, and far ahead of where they could catch up to us on foot.

We kept up the gallop until we reached the house. They wanted Colonel, they wanted to take him and march with him to Congress to demand their pay. No. Colonel was mine, and if they wanted him, they’d have to go through me. I couldn’t get William now, but we had to have some dogwood or tulip poplar bark that could be brewed into a tea. Now, how to hide Colonel…

They recognized me, they must have. I didn’t tell them who I was, but they would follow me home and put two and two together quickly enough. Where could I hide a horse that they wouldn’t find him? The barn would be the natural place to look; I couldn’t put him there. Not only would he be found right away outside, he would have no protection from the weather, should it start to storm. He needed somewhere with a roof, at least, preferably walls…

That’s it. The house.

I led him inside, where his shoes clopped against the wood floor. Henri ran from Mother’s bedroom.

“Temperance Wick! What is that horse doing inside? And where is Dr. Kemble?”

“Dr. Kemble is drunk in his bed at home, and Colonel is inside because the soldiers are rebelling and tried to take him. I can’t very well hide a horse in a barn where they will look first!”

“You will be the death of me! What shall we do about Mother now? We can’t ride out to Phebe’s with the soldiers in mutiny!”

“Dr. Kemble’s maid told me to brew her tea with dogwood or tulip poplar bark. She said it should help with the fever.”

“Of course! That’s what Mother used to do for us. There should be some in the cellar. Daisy!”

Daisy hurried from the kitchen. “Yes, Miss—why is Colonel inside?”

“The soldiers are mutinying, and it’s the only way to keep him from being commandeered,” I answered.

“Yes. Boil some water. We need to make dogwood tea for Mother. It should help her fever. Prepare more wet cloths as well. Tempe, find the dogwood bark in the cellar.”

“What about the soldiers?”

“I’ll take care of them. While Daisy brews the tea, you can keep watch. I’ll load a shotgun and stand guard at the door. Daisy, you can take care of Mother?”

“Yes, Miss.”

“Good. Get the field hands first. They can use the other shotguns and stand guard at the north and south. Tempe and I will stay inside and watch from the house. Go.”

Daisy went off to find the few male servants we kept around during the winter to haul wood and perform miscellaneous outdoor tasks. “Tempe, after you get the bark, you can use Father’s pistol. I’ll get it and the shot.”

“All right.” Colonel snorted. “What should we do about him?”

“I don’t know; you’re the one who brought him inside! Find a place for him. You’re right, we can’t keep him in any of the outbuildings, that’s where they’ll look first. I’ll get the bark while you hide him, then I’ll get the shot. Father’s pistol is in his study; get it after you hide Colonel.”

I nodded, and Henri went into the cellar. I took Colonel’s reins and led him through the house, thinking of a good place to put him. Eventually, I led him into a bedroom, pulled the feather mattress off the bed frame, and led him onto it to soften the sounds of his hooves.

“Alright, boy. Stay here.” He nuzzled me and nickered. I scratched underneath his mane. “And try to stay quiet.”

I left him in there, closing the door behind me. This was a most strange night, even among years of strange days and nights. I entered Father’s study, a room that hadn’t changed much since his death.

The books he and Henrietta loved so much sat on the shelves, exactly where they had been before. I too had read some of them, but their reverence far surpassed mine. Though there were not many in retrospect, they were plenty to entertain and teach us.

I walked to the desk, where his pistol lay. I was much faster at loading and a much better shot with the pistol than the shotgun, so it was better for me to wield it and for Henri to have control of the shotgun. I picked it up and returned to the parlor, where Henrietta was commanding our defense, a veritable general, though one pregnant and clad in skirts and petticoats.

At this point, Isaac and Jeremiah, the two men we had sent Daisy for, had been brought to Henri. Daisy herself was presumably brewing the tea for Mother, after which she would tend to her. Henri was giving the men instructions.

“Jeremiah, you go to the north, and Isaac, you go to the south. The men could be here any minute. Do not confront them, but if they attack you, do not hesitate. If one of you hears a gunshot, run to help the other. Tempe, there are three men, correct?”

“Yes.”

“So you’ll likely be slightly outnumbered, but we trust you. Go, and may God be with you.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Thank you. Good, you’ve got the pistol. Go by the window and watch, and keep a keen ear. It’s dark outside, so we’ll likely hear them before seeing them is feasible.”

“God willing, they won’t come, or if they do, they won’t see Isaac or Jeremiah.”

“They threatened you, a lady, so we can’t expect that they’ll leave them alone.”

“I’ll be ready.”

“That’s all we can be.” She nodded at me, and I left for the back of the house. She took her stance, her shotgun pointed at the door. I stood by a window, my pistol cocked, trying to breathe as quietly as possible and listening intently.

I stood there for what felt like hours. It was surely only a few minutes, but they dragged on as I listened and waited. The candles lighting the hallway flickered as the silence continued.

Henri broke the silence, saying in a low voice that carried through the mostly silent house, “I hear them.”

“Aye,” I responded.

A moment later, their voices were audible on my side of the house.

“Where could she have gone with that horse?”

“Why do we need it? Can’t we just march with everyone else?”

“Shut your gobs, we’ll check the barn and outbuildings and get going. Whoever’s in the house, it’s not worth messing with them, they’re probably armed.”

I waited a moment, then peered out the window, cupping my hands around my face so I could see. The mutineers were walking through the snow towards the barn.

“Henri. Henri, come here.”

“No, we need to maintain our positions.”

“Fine, they’re going to check the barn and other buildings, then leave. I think we’re safe. They said it’s too dangerous to try the house.”

“Alright. We’ll stay here until they’re surely gone.”

Silence fell again. I tried to keep my focus on the task at hand: defending my home from traitors, but my thoughts wandered. I thought about how these men were driven to this point by neglect and hunger. I thought about how my mother was on her deathbed as I stood by the window with my late father’s pistol. I thought about how my sister, pregnant with my brother-in-law’s child, was left responsible for taking care of my ill mother and defending our home, as I, feeling as helpless as I did as a child, tried not to get in her way. I thought about how Father was gone. I thought about how broken I felt inside, and wondered if Henri felt the same. I thought about how and why the thought of being left alone scared me, even though I didn’t want to fall in love or marry anyone. I thought about how desperately I longed to be happy with someone, though not in love with them. I thought about how I didn’t want to be in love, and didn’t know if I could. I thought about how I was expected to marry, expected to have children, expected to be happy with only that. I thought about how little I wanted, and how much I wanted at the same time. I thought about how much I could have, and how little I could have. I thought about how broken and divided I was, and how broken and divided the world was.

“They’re gone.”

I relaxed, not even realizing how tensely I had been holding my breath until I released it. I unloaded the pistol and placed it on a table, next to Henri’s shotgun, and together we hastened to Mother’s bedroom. Daisy stood from the chair beside the bed as we entered.

“She drank the tea, and her skin is cooler to the touch. I’ve been applying cool compresses to her forehead as well. She’s sleeping now.”

Henri placed her hand on Mother’s forehead. “You’re right, of course. Thank you, Daisy. You can tell Isaac and Jeremiah they can come back inside now.”

Daisy curtsied slightly, then hurried off.

I staggered to the chair and collapsed into it. I closed my eyes.

“Tempe, are you alright?”

“Tired.”

“You should go to bed.”

“You’ve been taking care of her all day. You should sleep first.” I opened my eyes, and hers, wide, blue, and sincere met mine.

“Mother’s better. We don’t need to stay up with her anymore.”

Suddenly, tears welled in my eyes, and I started sobbing. “Thank God. Thank God!”

She came around the bed, wrapping me in her embrace. “All is well. All is well. Come, let’s get you to bed.”

Still crying, I muttered, “Thank God we're safe. Thank God Mother is improving. Thank God, thank God, thank God.”

As we walked, she asked me, seemingly as an afterthought, “What did you do with Colonel?”

“He’s in the bedroom James used to have.”

“He’ll be safe there, so we shall leave him until morning. It’s been a long night, for him and us.”

Henri led me to our room, where she helped me undress and get into bed.

As she tucked the covers around me, I whispered to her, “You’ll be a great mother.”

The last thing I saw before I fell asleep was her smiling, and the last thing I felt was her kiss on my forehead. The last thing I heard was her telling me, “Goodnight,” then sighing. A wave of love, for her, for Mother, for Father, for everyone I had ever loved, washed over me, and I fell asleep, surrounded and covered by a feeling of safety and love.

[stillbandofbrothersthirsty]

Girl Crush

Chuck Grant x OC (not exactly a happy ending, Floyd Talbert & Luz fluff tho)

She was absolutely beautiful. She drew the attention of everyone in the room, and rightfully so. She was radiant with confidence and charm. Her long, blonde hair quite literally looked like a halo and those perfect cupid bow lips were painted a sumptuous red. She was even wearing real, silky stockings. Where in the hell did she get those, Virginia thought. And of out of all the guys in the room why was she sitting with Chuck?

Sure, Chuck was handsome in that sturdy all-American way. But Virginia had a realistic view of her best friend; he wasn’t the most charming, nor the most outgoing or flirtatious. He was quiet, polite, and thoughtful. Those were some of the many wonderful things about him and reasons why Virginia knew she was falling in love with him. However, they weren’t traits that she thought a bombshell like Adrienne would have picked out of a crowd of dashing young soldiers.

Adrienne was the type of girl that George Luz or Skinny Sisk drooled over, the type of girl Floyd Talbert would sneak away to a corner of the bar.

Of course any guy would have love to have her on his arm, she was perfect. But Chuck was not the obvious choice.

Adrienne was like all the girls Virginia and Chuck had grown up around; California beauties that had never seemed to tempt Chuck before. Chuck wasn’t one to ogle girls on the beach or take them out in his car every weekend. Whenever he had had free time between school or work, he just hung out with Virginia and their other friends.

Their friend Mary got engaged the same month Chuck and the other guys enlisted. There was nothing in California for Virginia once all her friends left so she decided to join the Women’s Army Corp. as a switchboard operator.

Chuck had been so proud of her when she finally qualified. She had walked over to his house only days before he was due to ship out to show him her letter of certification. Right there in his yard, he had picked her up and spun her around.

“I’m so proud of you, Ginny! And now you’ll be able to come with me!”

Butterflies fluttered around her stomach, he wanted her to be with him. “We don’t know where I’ll be stationed or where you’ll be!”

“They have to put us together, I just know they will. I have a feeling.”

He had been wrong, then he had been right. Virginia worked her way up the eastern seaboard while Chuck trained in Georgia. Their letters were constant exchanges between good friends sharing the stresses and challenges of their burgeoning military careers.

Where do you think they’ll send you next?

North Carolina.

I’ve been in New York for a while now.

Big city girl.

Definitely not California.

Where will you go after the war?

California.

Me too.

What will you do after the war?

Wouldn’t it be nice to have a house by the beach?

Very.

We could get houses by each other.

Maybe.

I’ll get a good job, a nice wife, and you’ll find a nice guy.

I’ve already met lots of nice guys.

Not a husband though.

Virginia and Chuck had always been especially close, but Virginia had fallen in love with him through those letters. He was her home and her adventure all in one.

Eventually, he had been right. They were reunited on a troopship destined for England. They had been on the ship for a week before they realized.

I’m on a boat destined for England.

So am I!

The moment she received the letter with his shipment details she had run into the soldiers bunk room to whoops and hollers and shouts of “nurse!”.

“Charles Grant? Officer Grant?” she asked as she forced her way past men throwing baseballs and stretching. They all pointed her in the same direction until she reached his bunk.

“Ginny?” he dropped his cards in shock as she threw herself on his bunk.

“I can’t believe we’re on the same ship!” she squealed. He wrapped his arms around her in a warm hug.

A voice cleared above where they lay unceremoniously embracing, “who’s your friend there Grant?”

A handsome young man with dark brown eyes propped his arm against the steel pole of the bunk.

Virginia quickly got up from Chuck’s cot, smoothing her skirt. Chuck swung his legs around so he sat to face the new arrival.

“Floyd Talbert, meet Virginia Wilson.”

Floyd offered his hand, “nice to meet you.”

Floyd Talbert was a flirt and everyone knew it. But Virginia liked him a lot, they clicked from the very start, which made sense since he was a good friend of Chuck’s. Just like Chuck, Floyd was very polite, and always made a point of introducing his girlfriends to Virginia - at least the girls he would see more than once.

He would sneak down to the switchboard room to say hi or to the officers building where they would rendezvous for a cup of coffee. So would Chuck, and Virginia always looked forward to those surprise chats. Occasionally, Chuck and Virginia would find themselves on breaks at the same time and would go for walks around the base. The rolling English hills made them both homesick and it was nice to have each other to reminisce with.

Adrienne worked as an officers secretary and they would pass her every time they left the officers building. It didn’t occur to Virginia until later that every time Chuck came to see her, he would have passed Adrienne too.

On one autumn evening out, Chuck invited Virginia out to get drinks with him and some of his friends. She knew it wasn’t a date but she let herself get more excited than she should have. She gave herself extra time to bathe, to pin up her hair, and even took the time to apply red lipstick and to draw thin brown lines down the back of her legs. She had the army regulation stockings but the dark line down the back of her calves gave them a more alluring look.

“So who you dressing up for?” Floyd asked over his beer. He and Virginia were the only ones remaining at their table after Chuck got pulled into a game of darts.

Virginia flushed, “who say’s I’m dressing up for anyone?”

Floyd just looked at her, waiting for her to cave.

“I just wanted to look nice, I haven’t been out in a while.”

Floyd just nodded, his eyes searching hers before she broke eye contact.

“Ya know,” Floyd cleared his throat, “he’s been seeing Adrienne.”

The blood ran cold in Virginia’s veins. She knew exactly who he was talking about, but technically he hadn’t said who so maybe it wasn’t Chuck. She did her best to sound nonchalant, “who’s seeing Adrienne?”

“Your boy,” Floyd nodded his head at Chuck, “Chuckie.”

Virginia swallowed hard to keep the lump from growing in her throat, “that’s exciting!” and she did her best to sound excited.

Floyd shrugged, “sure.” He paused, “exciting for him I guess,” Floyd sighed.

If Virginia said anything else she would’ve broke, so she stayed silent. She took a sip of her beer to keep her eyes from welling up with tears.

Suddenly, Adrienne was thrust into her life. Adrienne was sweet and said hi to her every time they passed at work. She was out with them every time that Virginia joined the soldiers for drinks. All the guys loved her because there was nothing not to love! Adrienne was like their own personal movie star; a kind and busty blonde always dressed in a neat suit working for the officers.

At the bars it took all of Virginia’s power not to stare at Adrienne. Her fingers were long and thin, like a porcelain dolls. Somehow, her finger nails were always perfectly manicured with cherry red paint. Was that even regulation? Maybe the secretaries didn’t have to follow WAC standards. Virginia hadn’t painted her nails any color since she left California. The red looked so beautiful curled around the olive drab of Chuck’s arm. Every now and then Virginia would catch Chuck and Adrienne leaving the bar alone together. It was a punch to the stomach just imaging what they might be doing or where they might be going alone like that.

“I don’t know how I got so lucky,” Chuck confessed to her once on one of their walks. He wasn’t one to talk about his feelings too much, he was always so mellow. Virginia knew that this confession was the rawest, most surface level expression of what he may actually be feeling.

“How long have you known her though, Chuck?” she asked gently.

“I know, not very long, I’m not rushing into anything,” he smiled his little half smile at her, “trust me.”

For the first time ever she didn’t trust him, not regarding Adrienne.

“Hey, drink,” Floyd placed a full beer in front of Virginia, breaking her out of her trance. He took a long drink of his own beer, surveying the room. He had yet to date any of the women in the bar at the moment, which was huge for him. This was his night to find someone new without breaking any hearts.

“Where’s Lucy?” Floyd asked.

“She’s up at the bar.” Virginia gestured to where her friend and co-worker was chatting with Buck Compton.

“Will you be good on your own here? If I socialize?” Floyd asked right as George Luz sat down. 

“All good with George here!” Virginia reassured him.

“Good, ol’ dependable George,” George slurred slightly. However, things were not all good with George Luz, depending on who you asked, because the night quickly took another turn. While the company was divided between the dart board and flocking around Adrienne, George Luz bought Virginia shots of gin.

“Fuckin’ disgusting,” George shuddered as he threw down his third shot.

“I don’t know how they drink it,” Virginia added, recovering from her second.

“Okay, something to wash it down,” George gestured to the bartender.

They drank their beers at the bar and Virginia felt the warm, creeping feeling of the liquor start to take hold on her body.

George finished his beer, leaving only the froth at the bottom, “another?” he asked, his eyes only slightly crossed. Virginia nodded solemnly.

“No more of that gin shit. Two whiskeys neat barkeep!” The bartender raised a suspicious eyebrow at Luz but served them anyways.

“Much better,” Luz smacked his lips. Virginia’s head was spinning now.

“How we feelin’?” Luz asked her. Virginia allowed a wide grin to spread across her face. 

“Feelin’ good, George.” 


She linked arms with George and they traipsed around the bar sloppily greeting friends. They interrupted a game of darts before slumping into a corner booth with Joe Liebgott, Popeye, and Lucy. But George and Virginia were in their own world. They sat cozied up chatting, dumb to the jovial world around them. That’s when Virginia found herself revealing everything to a very sympathetic George.

“I gotta girl like that too,” George sighed.

“Like what? Like Adrienne?”

“I wish,” George slumped in the booth, resting his cheek on Virginia’s shoulder, “nah I gotta girl who doesn’t notice me.”

“Chuck notices me,” Virginia pouted.

“Does he know you like him? Like love him like him?” George slurred.

Virginia considered this, “I don’t think I told him.” 
“Ever?”
 Virginia shook her head. That was a mistake, the world began to spin slightly. She sat up abruptly, trying to steady herself, and consequentially knocked George off her shoulder. Joe and Lucy eyed them cautiously.

The world settled again and Virginia leaned back into the worn leather of the booth. George shifted so that his legs were up on her lap and his head knocked against the corner of the booth.

“I think you should tell him.”

“I don’t know…”

“Just in case,” George encouraged her.

Virginia glanced over to where Adrienne sat next to Chuck, her hand on his thigh. The alcohol had made her weak. Virginia felt the tears begin to prick at her eyes.

“No, no no,” George caught her face in his hands, “no crying! Don’t cry, not unless you’re alone with the guy!”

Virginia sniffed and blinked her eyes rapidly, “okay, yeah, maybe I will say something to him.”

“Okay, yeah, I’ll come with you.” George swung his legs off of her lap and they scooted out of the booth.

“Where are you guys goin’?” Joe called after them. George just waived his hand dismissively as he followed Virginia into the crowd towards Chuck.

Virginia reached Chuck with her heart thumping in her ears, this was it. She was going to tell him. But maybe she should do it in private? Would he come with her if she asked him for a private word? Or would he leave her standing there? Panic rose up in her just as Chuck noticed her presence.

“Hey, Ginny,” he smiled sweetly up at her. Virginia tried to focus on him but she was distracted by the redness of Adrienne’s full lips. The woman’s face swam in perfect lines of red and black and blonde in Virginia’s intoxicated vision.

“Chuck - I, could I -“ she stammered. She lost all focus at the sight of Adrienne.

“Are you drunk, Ginny?” Chuck chuckled good naturedly.

“No, kinda, maybe- but actually I wanted-“

“Hey Virginia, I need ya over here.” Virginia hadn’t even noticed Floyd arrive at her side until suddenly he had an arm wrapped around her waist. “Sorry Chuck, just gonna steal her real quick.” Floyd whisked her away, and Chuck didn’t even seem to notice that anything was off. He turned right back to talking to Adrienne.

“Hey sweetheart,” Floyd murmured, “come over here with me.” Floyd sat her down at the back of the bar next to a disgruntled looking young woman. He reappeared in seconds with a large glass of water which he made Virginia drink.

“Let’s get you home,” Floyd said. He helped Virginia into her coat and led her outdoors. The cool air and water helped to sober her up.

“Shouldn’t have left ya alone with Luz should I?” Floyd teased half-heartedly.

Virginia smiled, but the tears were coming again, “I’m sorry for ruining your night, Floyd.”

“Hey, don’t apologize,” he put a comforting arm around her shoulders, “you don’t need to be sorry.”

“I just- with Chuck -“

“I know.”

“I don’t know what to do.”

Floyd was quiet, the sound of gravel crunching beneath their feet filled their silence.

“I think you’re going to have to get over him, Virginia.”

Virginia let one tear drop down her cheek. It ran all the way down her face to the edge of her jaw, where it hung for a moment, before she wiped it away with a gloved hand. She nodded.

“You’re right.”

“I know it won’t be easy, but you’re tough. And you’ve got friends, including Chuck. He’ll always be your friend, and so will I. You’ve got me here until, and when, things are normal between you and Chuck again.”

Virginia smiled and the tears flowed hot down her cheeks. The tears were no longer sad, they were bittersweet. She slung her arm around Floyd’s waist and they continued down the quiet, dark English road back to base.