#tw: survivor's guilt

[muse-gathering]

[starter for @peaceinthelight]

'I'm out, bitches.'

He stared at his own reflection in the darkened window of the subway train, violently oscillating between shoving everything that happened the last several weeks down deep inside his mind or obsessively pouring over every single detail. While the connections he had with the other Sparrows hadn't been incredibly deep, they were the strongest he'd had with anyone. There were no Sparrows now. He had no delusions about Sloane like Luther did. To him, Reginald didn't include her for the same reason he didn't include any of the other Sparrows: he resented them. Ben remained because the Umbrellas saw an echo of their brother in him that didn't exist. He found being left as the sole survivor of his siblings to satiate their need to reincarnate their singular lost one repulsive. Sick, even. He hated them.

He hated them. He hated them.

Why, then, had he so badly wanted them to see him? To understand him? To accept him? Had it been because they seemed happy at the hotel toward the end?

It didn't matter now. He'd decided, firmly, that he would never see them again. He didn't have the Sparrows. He didn't want the Umbrellas. He didn't have his powers. He took a deep breath, gaze locked with his reflection's. Why did he still exist? What was he alive for? Who even was he? Ben sat there staring until after the train reached the end of the line, only standing when an officer asked him to leave.

With his hands shoved in his pockets, Ben walked the streets late into the night without direction, eventually settling on a bench in the park. Now, he supposed, he could be and do whatever he wanted, but what did he want? Money? Power? Fame? What was he even supposed to want?

His gaze lifted suddenly at a strange, almost eerie sensation. He saw a man sat on the bench across the bike path that looked almost just like him, "Oh, fuck off."

[something-tofightfor]

Root Pearl: 6

Pairing: Ezra x female reader - musician AU

Word Count: 12,655

Rating: M. There’s a lot of angst in this one, but it doesn’t ever go explicit.

Summary: As happy as he is to sing for you, the time spent in his studio - and your growing closeness - are enough to give him pause. 

When he decides to tell you more about himself and what happened, he can only prepare for your reaction so much. 

Chapter warnings: Ezra’s not handling the loss of his arm or the changes to his body well, and it spills over a lot here -because he feels very vulnerable. 

Blanket warnings: loss of a parent, character death, survivor’s guilt, learning to deal with the loss of a limb, infidelity (not Reader w/Ezra), blood, bodily injury, heavy angst.

Author’s note:

I’ve been picking away at this for months, and it’s finally here. I initially planned to end this a little later on in the storyline, but when I checked the word count and we were almost at 13k, I figured this was a good stopping point. 

Thank you for your patience - I hope you like this chapter. 

(New banner, and when you read, you’ll see why.)

Catch up on the first five parts of this story here!

He busied himself at the computer while you hung up the jacket, and even though there was no real reason for it, Ezra’s heart raced the entire time. 

He’d practiced a few times with the rest of the band, and that had been nerve wracking, but they’d been patient with him - content to play their instruments and let him join when he felt comfortable. But this is … this is different. He opened the software and clicked through it, choosing a few different songs and adding them into a playlist. There won’t be others to hide behind tonight. 

“Have you decided what you’d like to hear?” He spoke when you settled down onto the stool beside his chair, Ezra turning his head toward you. 

“Is there anything you want to sing?” You pressed your lips together, shaking your head. “Maybe one of the songs you’ll play at the concert? Just to practice it?” You wrinkled your nose, slowly shaking your head back and forth.”I’m happy to listen to whatever you choose to sing, Ezra.” 

“I have something to admit to you.” He focused on the computer screen, selecting the option to turn off his main vocal track on the pre-loaded songs. “I am… anxious to let you hear me tonight.” He froze with his hand on the mouse, waiting. “And I haven’t been that way about singing in a long time.”

“You don’t have to do this.” You reached for him, cautiously setting your hand on his knee. “I’ve seen the studio. We had dinner. You showed me the jacket, and let me touch it. I can wait to hear you until the show.” You meant it - he could hear the sincerity in your tone and feel it in the way you were touching him, your thumb sweeping slowly over the outside of his leg. “We can just go hang out in the other room if you want. I’m not here because you offered to sing, Ezra.” 

The last sentence was quiet, and as it ended, he turned to face you again. “I know very well that you aren’t.” Get it together. “I’ll start with Slingback. That’s one you should know well.” 

“Very well.” After squeezing lightly, you pulled your hand back. “Do you want me to move? Give you some space? I can go stand by the door so it’s like I’m as far away as I would be if you were onstage.” 

He stared at you, thinking, and then Ezra finally smiled - the tension breaking, though it didn’t disappear. Kevva sent you to me herself, didn’t she.

“No. You stay right there. That way if I need you to stop the music, you can.” He stood, swallowing hard as he looped the headset microphone over one ear. “Forgive me if I’m out of practice, hmm?” You rolled your eyes but nodded, and then he reached out, pressing the button to start the music. 

It pumped through the speakers mounted around the room, the volume loud but not overwhelming - and as Ezra began to pace, he closed his eyes, arm hanging down by his side. 

When he opened his mouth and let the first notes free, Ezra’s chest tightened further. 

Slingback was a song he’d sung as an opener countless times before, one that usually got a huge reaction from the crowd. It also usually set him at ease, no matter how stressed he was because it was familiar. But that night, it had the opposite effect; each lyric forcing him to pull from deep within himself, his frame rigid as he moved around the room. 

The words and melody came easily, but he was hyper focused on the way he sounded - both to himself and to you, the grit of his damaged vocal cords loud in his ears. Reaching up with his hand, he pressed his palm to the center of his chest as he got to the first chorus. One of the notes was flat, and he winced at the sound, though he caught himself immediately, getting back on track by the time the next phrase began. 

It was to be expected and he knew it. 

He’d taken months off, resting his voice and doing little more than speaking or humming along to the radio. The few sessions he’d attended with the band had shaken the rust off, but little else, and it was apparent. When he knew he was facing away from you, he opened his eyes, tilting his head back and staring up at one of the mounted speakers. 

He could feel you watching him, your eyes on his back, but the familiar position soothed him, Ezra actually smiling as he started the second verse, fingers curling against the material of his shirt while he held a note. She was right. That’s better. 

He adjusted the volume of his voice as the song continued, eyes remaining locked on the wall, and as it wound down, he was still smiling. This feels good. Ezra’s shoulders relaxed halfway through the final chorus, and when the song ended, he pressed his hand against his belly, nodding in approval. I can do this. “Don’t stop it.” Turning his head to speak to you from over his shoulder, he said your name. “The next one’s Karoclan.”  

— 

For long moments, you were positive that he was going to call the whole thing off - tell you that the night was over and that you needed to leave. And I wouldn’t blame him. You’d watched his unease grow as he prepped the software to sing - had seen his fingers shaking, the man’s posture tight. I don’t want to make him nervous. That’s not right. 

But you’d also seen the determination in his eyes as he selected the songs, noticed the way his gaze flicked down to your hand’s placement before he stood - and you’d known that no matter what out or options you gave him, Ezra wouldn’t take any of them. 

Because that’s not his style. It never has been. 

He began to move around the room slowly, the song’s intro playing as he got comfortable. Even though the first lines had been shaky, you couldn’t stop yourself from lifting one hand and pressing your palm against your mouth at the sound of his amplified voice, eyes locked on him. Oh, Ezra. 

You were used to hearing him through a microphone and speakers onstage. You’d heard him through videos that he’d posted online - no effects or amplification, but still not live. This, though… this is … Ezra’s voice did sound different - you heard the roughness in it at certain points, but that didn’t make it worse. Instead, it made the song sound new, more emotion behind the lyrics and the change in his voice proving that not only was he still there, he was still Ezra, and it was still his song. 

You mouthed the words along with him, careful not to make any noise, and as he held a note, you closed your eyes, lips pressed together. How lucky am I right now? It was a glimpse of him that hundreds of other people would have been desperate for, and that night, it was only for you. 

As the first song ended, Ezra still facing away, you shifted and reached out, ready to pause the program until he told you not to. Oh, alright. 

The second song was one of your favorites from the album, and as Ezra’s footsteps picked up again, you watched as he held his hand out in front of him, fingers splayed. He’s getting into it. That’s great. That means he’s more comfortable. Ezra turned to the side as he sang, and you got a glimpse of his profile - his head tilted back, hand rising again to settle against the top of his opposite shoulder and squeeze. 

His voice rose in volume, too, eyes tightly shut by the time he began to bob his head in time with the music. Without realizing that you were doing it, you bit down on one knuckle to keep from gasping out loud. It was strange to see him singing the song without one hand wrapped around the neck of his guitar, and even though you missed the sight of the instrument, it took nothing away from the performance. 

He’s just as good when the only thing he’s doing is singing. You grinned as he lowered his head, turning away from you entirely again as the tempo changed, the sound of a quick guitar solo filling the room. You wondered how hearing that made him feel, but when he spun in your direction, he was smirking as he started singing again, his hand lifting to run through the messy curls atop his head. He’s alright. He’s… he’s smiling. He’s … holy shit, Ezra. 

Ezra closed the distance, holding his hand out to you without missing a beat. You took it and when he closed his fingers around yours, you rose, not even trying to conceal your grin. No, I want him to see. Mouthing the words back at him, the two of you finished the song out, his grip tight on your hand until his voice trailed off and the music ended. Ezra winked at you and lifted your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss against your knuckles. 

“One second.” He let go and then reached past you, one of your hands rising to his side so that you could steady him. When the third song stopped after only a note or two, you blew out a breath, eyes squeezed shut as you attempted to take a breather. Oh Kevva that was… “Well? How did I do?”

Turning your head, you met Ezra’s gaze, the warmth in the deep brown of his eyes radiating toward you. “Ezra, I …” I don’t know what to say. “That was …”

“You’re speechless? Was it that bad? Hmm.” He laughed, stepping away from you and lowering himself back into his chair. “I’m sorry I got off to a rocky start there, I was just …”

“That wasn’t bad by any means. You have no reason to apologize, you sounded incredible.” Sitting back down, you cocked your head to the right. “I’m sorry if I made you nervous, but if it makes any difference, you were great. You can hear a little bit of a change in your vocals, but it doesn’t… I still think… no one’s going to care.” You winced at how much like a fan you sounded, but when both of his brows rose, you decided it didn’t matter. “Was it the song that made you more confident, or just because you’re more relaxed with stuff of of Karoclan?” 

“Well, when I didn’t hear you groaning in disgust at the sound of my new voice, I figured that you were enjoying yourself. It made me feel… like I was doing something well.” Is he serious? “That song is one of my favorites. And I remember you saying that you also enjoy it, so -” 

“I think it should have been a single.” You shrugged. “It’s really good. And as the title track, it would have made sense. Your voice in the pre-chorus? Ezra it’s -”

“I was against it being a single.” He sighed. “I didn’t want to get sick of hearing it on the radio. I wanted to keep playing it because I wanted to, not because people expected it.” Oh. Oh, that… wow. “The label fought me on that, but I won. Luckily, since it wasn’t our first album, I had much more say in things.” He smiled. “I’m sorry that you were left disappointed by that decision.”

“It makes sense now.” Resting your elbow on the edge of the desk, you leaned your chin against your palm. “I wasn’t disappointed. I can still listen to it on the album, or from one of the videos I took of you playing it.” His smile widened, Ezra’s eyes closing briefly. 

“Was it strange for you to see me without my guitar?” He laid his hand on the desk, too, pointer finger swirling along the grain of the wood. “It’s very odd for me not to have it. I think that’s part of why I…” He glanced down, shaking his head. “Why I’m so nervous.” 

“It was.” You reached for him, covering his hand with yours. “But I can’t imagine how you feel.” Should I ask? I’m going to ask. “Will you have it during the show? Even if you don’t play, will you still wear it just as a comfort thing?” 

“I haven’t decided yet.” He smiled, the expression sad. “I’ve tried to play a few times, using my prosthetic?” You nodded, focused on Ezra’s face as he spoke. “But it’s not the same, and it’s almost worse to have it there and not be able to play like I could before.” He turned his head toward the rack of instruments, sighing. “Will you bring one of them here?” What? What do you - “Any of them. Pick your favorite.” 

“Ezra, I…” He squeezed your hand and then let go, sitting straight up. “What if I drop it, or -”

“They’re insured.” He blinked a few times and then gave you another sad smile. “And they survived the wreck, so I’m sure they’ll survive being carried a few feet across a room in your careful hands..” Wincing, you stood and turned toward the rack, heart pounding. My favorite? How do I … You reached for one of the instruments, running your fingers over the headstock as you looked between them. “I’m very curious to see what you choose.” 

You liked the acoustic he used onstage - the wood dark and well-loved, most of it glossy and polished, though there were dull spots that you recognized as the places that rubbed against his clothing and forearm. Then there was the deep green electric guitar that he’d opened the set with the first time you ever saw The Fringe play - the color swirling over the surface like rippling water, the silver and black hardware shining brightly under the lights. I like those, but … 

Your fingers moved to a new instrument and your smile grew wider as you nodded, carefully dropping them to the neck before curling them around it, lifting the guitar gently. “I know you’re going to ask, so I’ll just tell you.” Using your other hand to support the weight of the guitar’s body, you turned back to face the man. “Every time I’ve seen you, you’ve used this guitar to play my favorite song.” 

“Don’t tell me what it is.” He eyed the instrument, taking and then releasing a deep breath. “It must be something old if you’ve seen me play it every time.” You nodded, carefully sitting down and resting the guitar atop your knees, fingers still protectively around the neck and your other hand pressed to the back end of the body. You watched him closely, Ezra leaning forward and running his fingers along the strings, plucking a few of them with the edges of his already short nails. “Not something on Aurelac Rush. That’s nobody’s favorite album.”

“It’s a good concept album, Ezra, but it’s not my favorite, no.” He laughed quietly, plucking another string. “Sorry.”

“No need to apologize.” He mumbled the words, looking up and meeting your eyes before he wet his lips. “It’s got to be off of …Hello From The Green, but it’s not Fazer.” You shook your head, trying to keep your expression neutral. He won’t guess. There’s eleven other songs on there. “I think I know.” He pulled his hand back, nodding. “Put that guitar on.” What? “Don’t give me that look, put it on. Strap around your neck, hands like you’re going to play.” 

“Ezra, I don’t… I don’t play, I -”

“That guitar is my most prized possession, the least you can do for me is put it on and hold it like you love it.” His tone were serious, but still friendly, and there was a look in his eyes that was so charged it felt as though it might burn you if you let it go for too long. But I… I like seeing it. 

“Ok.” You slung the strap over your shoulder and then situated the guitar, one arm over the body so that you could rest your palm flat against the strings, the fingers of your other hand carefully wrapped around the neck. “Ezra, this is -”

“Now... this is something I’ve never seen before in all my time as a musician.” He smiled at you, the man’s head tilting to the side as he spoke. “Someone else holding that instrument.” You told me to. You asked me to - “May I?” Your confusion was apparent, but Ezra only nodded after you did, reaching forward with his hand and urging you to move the one on the neck. “I’m going to position your fingers. You need to press down on the strings, but do it at an angle, so that you’re only touching certain ones.” 

He scooted closer, the warmth of his touch radiating through your hand and down your arm - and you forced yourself to pay attention, eyes cast down so that you could watch what he was showing you. “That’s uncomfortable.” You wrinkled your nose when he urged your fingers apart. “Ow.” 

“When I first started playing, I practiced for at least two hours a night.” He glanced up at you, smirking. “Sometimes more. My fingers were raw and aching, but it was worth it.” He urged your thumb into position and then used two fingers to press down on yours, increasing the pressure you put on the strings. “Use your other hand and strum downward with your thumb. Keep these just like this.” 

You did as he asked, inhaling sharply when a chord rang out, but Ezra’s murmured very good was enough to keep you focused. The sound was muffled, and when you frowned, adjusting your fingers and trying again, the second attempt was clearer. “Oh, there I -” 

“Keep doing that.” He stood, walking to the rack and grabbing something before sitting back down in front of you. “A pick.” You took it from him and then strummed again, humming as the note became clear. “Ok, now, we’re going to move both of those fingers down - one fret and one string.” 

“Am I really getting a guitar lesson from you right now?” You spoke even as you focused on doing what he was telling you to, repositioning your fingers and wrinkling your nose at the difference in the way the new placement felt. “Because this is really fucking cool.” 

“You are. A short one.” He glanced up, nodding. “Play.” You strummed again, that note right the first time. “Good. Move back and play both of them.” He was patient as you did so, and though it took a few tries, you eventually got it. Ezra’s pleased smile at your success was more meaningful than anything he could have said. “One more, and then you’ll put them together.” 

He reached for your hand a third time, his touch gentle, and when you played that note, you gasped. No, it can’t be. There’s… “Ezra?” Lip trembling, you tightened your hold on the instrument, fingers sliding out of place. “Are you serious?”

“Play the three of them.” He sat back, nodding. “C’mon, I know you can.” He reached into his pocket for his phone, pointing it at your hands. “Just so you can see yourself when you’re done.” He’s recording me? That’s … intimidating. “Go ahead, and after you play them once, play them again.” 

Swallowing hard, you shut your eyes and took a deep breath, relaxing your grip and moving it back into the first position, nodding as you strummed. It was clumsy for the first few times, the squeal of the strings and the pause between chords as you repositioned your fingers making you frown. But when you got it, your lips parted in surprise, the repetitive tune immediately recognizable, even though there was nothing confident about the way you played. “How did you know?”

“I didn’t. It was just a guess.” He said your name, waiting until you met his eyes to speak again. “But it appears that I guessed correctly.” He was still holding the camera, angling it back down so that it was focused on the instrument. “Play it again.” With a nod, you repositioned your hands and took a deep breath, tilting your head to watch as you played. 

It was only three notes, but it repeated - the sound clearer each time that you strummed through them, and you heard Ezra humming along after only a few seconds. This is unbelievable. He let it go for a little while and then cleared his throat, one finger tapping the screen before he set his phone down. “I didn’t realize that the beginning of the song was just -”

“Most of my music isn’t difficult to play.” He sighed as you stopped playing, stretching your fingers out before you flexed them. “Much of my focus is on the lyrics.” You didn’t disagree, and when you looked up, Ezra was staring at you again. “How does it feel to know that you and I are the only ones that have ever played that song on that guitar?” 

“What?” Your eyes widened. “Ezra, what -”

“Adrift might be… no, I think it is the best thing I’ve ever written, beginning to end. It was written on that guitar, and that’s why I always switch to it when I play. No one else touches that instrument, so now it’s just … just the two of us that have played on it.” 

You almost didn’t believe him, but Ezra had no reason to lie to you - especially about a song like the one he’d just had you play - or the guitar you played it on. “I’m honored. I just wish that I could have done better, because -”

“You were fine.” Ezra reached out, running his fingertips over the strings. “More than fine. I wasn’t planning on singing that tonight, but I am amenable to it if you want me to.” 

“I’d like that. I’d like it a lot, actually.” You nodded, clearing your throat. “Let me put this back, but … yes. I’d like to hear that one.” Standing, you headed over to the guitar rack and carefully replaced the instrument before turning to look back at Ezra, the man scrolling through things on the computer. “But only if you tell me a little bit more about -” 

You were interrupted when the room went totally dark, both of your feet freezing in place. What the hell? “Fuck!” You heard a thunk and then a hiss of pain, Ezra’s cry loud in the sudden blackness. “Are you alright? Don’t move, let me get my phone and -” You heard fumbling and then his face was partially illuminated by the flashlight, his lips set into a thin grimace. “You might as well stay there, by the door. If the power’s out, there’s no reason to be in here.” 

“It’s a good thing you had your phone. Mine’s in my bag, and -”

You were interrupted again by the door flying open, the beam from a much larger flashlight shining inward. “Hey, the power’s out. All of the buildings around us are dark, and I didn’t know if you had…” Cee trailed off, sighing. “A light.” She tilted the beam up so that it shined beneath her chin - and then she smiled widely. “Which you do, but mine’s better, so come on. We’ll get to the living room without anyone getting hurt.” 

Stepping past her and into the hallway, you waited for Ezra to follow, the man making his way across the small space before he stood next to you. “Birdie, did you report the outage? I’m sure it’s the storm, but you never know.” 

“Not yet. I wanted to get the two of you before I did anything. There’s another flashlight in the kitchen, so once we get that I’ll look and see if anything’s been updated, and…” She continued to talk as you went down the hall, but all you were focused on was the way Ezra’s hand felt as it pressed against your back, the man close behind you. 

“Thank you, Cee.” You settled onto the edge of the couch as she and Ezra rummaged through a drawer in the kitchen, a second beam joining the first moments later. “Your place gets dark, and the city being dark too is…strange.” 

You eyed the balcony door, sighing at the sight of mostly unilluminated buildings across and around Ezra’s - the blackness punctuated only by dim beams from the phones and flashlights of other residents in their homes. “It’s weird to see, right?” She grinned as she and Ezra reentered the room, taking seats - her on the chair and Ezra beside you. “This doesn’t happen often, but they’re usually pretty good about getting it back up and running pretty fast, so…” She shrugged. “Hopefully it’s not too long until we’ve got power again.” 

The three of you sat in silence while she took her phone out, typing furiously for a few seconds. Ezra’s presence next to you was comforting, the man’s shoulder brushing against yours, but he stiffened when he heard Cee’s groan. “What’s wrong?” 

“They’ve updated it to dispatching a crew, but there are like …” She shook her head, sighing. “A hundred of those little symbols for outages on here.” Cee glanced up, meeting your eyes. “The wind really picked up while you guys were in there, so -” 

“I should go, then.” You stood, stretching. “Get home before -”

“The elevator’s out.” Ezra reached for you, his fingers running over your wrist at Cee’s words. “Do you plan on walking down all those flights of stairs?” I didn’t even think of that. 

“I guess so.” Curling your fingers toward your palms, you glanced at the door. “There’s no other option, right?” 

“You can stay here.” Cee leaned toward you, one eyebrow raised. “We don’t have an extra bedroom, but the couch is really comfortable. And since tomorrow’s Saturday, you don’t have to worry about work in the morning.” She turned her head to look at Ezra, and so did you. I don’t know what to say. 

“Even with the emergency lights, the stairway is probably … treacherous.” He frowned, watching you. “Cee is right. You can stay here if you want. There’s plenty of space.” He arched a brow, reaching up to scratch his head. “But I can take the couch, and you can have my bed, so -”

Cee jumped up, clapping her hands together. “Alright, so it’s settled. You two can figure out where you’re sleeping, I’m going to go back into my room and hope that my headphones are charged long enough to last until the power comes back.” Cee waved at you and then darted down the hallway, leaving you and Ezra alone. 

“She’s not very subtle, is she.” He spoke first, groaning. “Kevva help her I know she means well, but -”

“I’m sure you weren’t much better as a teenager, Ezra. I know I wasn’t.” He laughed, leaning back and stretching his arm over the couch. “But out here is fine. I just need a blanket and a real pillow.” He stayed quiet, eyes on you, and then Ezra’s smile grew, the man leaning forward. “What’s that look for?”

“Can I show you something?” 

— 

He hadn’t planned on showing you how to play the guitar, but once he’d seen it in your hands, he hadn’t been able to stop himself. You choosing that instrument had taken him by surprise, but Ezra was nothing if not adaptable - and that translated into him giving the impromptu lesson. 

You were predictably hesitant, but by the time you figured out what song he was teaching you, Ezra could tell that you were more relaxed. He’d guessed on the song, but was thrilled to be right, because he hadn’t been lying when he told you that it as his favorite, too. And unlike Karoclan, he knew that there was nothing that would ever make him want to stop playing it live - which is why it had been a staple in every set despite never being a single. 

The genuine joy in your eyes was impossible to miss, and when he’d pulled his phone out to record, Ezra made sure to get your face in the frame, too, evidence of the smile that tugged at the corners of your lips permanently preserved in the video. 

He’d needed a few seconds to collect his thoughts, and had just begun to decide how to approach singing the song for you when the lights went out. The sudden darkness of the room startled him, Ezra’s entire body jerking and his elbow making contact with the edge of the desk. It hurt, but he was more frustrated than anything else. 

No electricity meant no more singing in the studio. It meant no ability to entice you to stay longer so that you could put on a movie or the TV. It meant that the night would end in a much different way than he imagined - but unlike Cee, he hadn’t even thought about the elevator being out of commission at first. 

It didn’t surprise him that the girl invited you to spend the night, because if Ezra was adaptable, Cee was cunning, though not in an entirely devious manner. She wanted to the two of you to spend more time together, and wasn’t shy about making it happen. And she knows I wouldn’t let anyone sleep on the couch while I went into my bed. 

He took a deep breath and held it as the two of you walked back down the hallway, Ezra’s grip on the flashlight illuminating the floor in front of you. “I wasn’t planning on bringing you in here.” He turned his upper body toward you, holding out the light and waiting for you to take it. “But this way we’ll still have some privacy to keep talking.” Reaching out, he closed his fingers around the doorknob. “The final room on the tour.” 

You laughed quietly, but Ezra heard the disbelief in the sound as he pushed the door open, taking the first step into his bedroom. “I’m not taking the bed while you sleep on the couch, Ezra. So don’t even try to -”

“Are you tired?” He spun to face you, gesturing with his palm facing upward. “I’m not. It’s early. That’s what I wanted to show you.” You followed again when he stepped through the room, bypassing his unmade bed and walking to the wall of windows. “The balcony wraps around the corner of the building, and it’s one of the reasons that I wanted this apartment.” 

“It does? I had no idea.” He nodded, flipping the light switch and pulling the sliding door open. That did nothing, but it’s habit. “It’s still raining, though. We -”

“This half of it is covered.” He looked back over his shoulder, grinning. “We can sit outside and stay dry. Opening the windows wont be a good idea tonight because of the rain and wind, but the other door?” He hummed, pushing the second door open. “It’s far enough away that a little rain getting in won’t be a problem.” 

He was winging it - Ezra’s plan unfolding by the second, but when you stepped next to him, pointing the light at the open door, he knew that you were more than happy to go along with it. A relief. This could have been very … different. “Do you sit out here a lot?” Spinning slowly in the enclosed space, you eyed the rain-streaked glass before facing him. “I would. It’s too dark to see anything now, but I bet this view is incredible.” 

“It is.” He raised his hand, carefully caressing the end of his amputated arm. “And I do. I used to sit out here and play acoustic guitar. Sometimes I’d sit out there, but … yes. Since I came home, this is where …” Ezra sniffed. You might as well tell her. “This is where I go to be alone with all of my thoughts.” 

“Don’t let me take that from you, Ezra.” You reached out, the hand not holding the flashlight settling against the back of his arm. “You already let me play a guitar that was just yours tonight, I don’t want to intrude on your -”

“You aren’t intruding.” He gestured to the couch that was tucked into the corner of the enclosed space. “Let’s sit.” 

You sunk down first, setting the flashlight onto the table next to the seat and pointing it upward. There was plenty of space left for him, and as he eased down next to you, Ezra took another breath. What happens next? “This will keep your room from getting too warm tonight.” You pointed at the door, chin jerking in that direction, too. “Do all these windows open?” 

“They do. I’ve had to keep them closed more often recently, though.” Softly, you asked him why, and when he answered, the man met your gaze, grinning. “Whoever my downstairs neighbor is has been … enthusiastic with her nighttime activities for the last few months.” He paused, winking. “I’ve heard them on more than one occasion, and as someone that is not currently in the position to experience the same, it’s been easier and less discouraging to keep things closed.”

“Hmm. So even a fancy penthouse apartment isn’t enough to escape the sounds of neighbors going at it.” You laughed, nudging him with your elbow. “That’s one great thing about living in a house. I hear the people next door sometimes when they’re outside, but never anything like sex.” 

“You make a good point.” Ezra sighed. “But the storm will keep things quiet tonight, I think.” Both of you went silent, watching as the raindrops smacked against and then ran down the glass of the enclosure, and without second guessing it, Ezra’s hand found yours, your fingers twining together. “I’m sorry that I didn’t get to sing Adrift tonight. I was looking forward to it.” 

“I am too.” Shifting in your seat, you changed positions - and then laid your head down on his shoulder. “That one’s been my favorite since the first time I heard it. I know there’s probably some really deep meaning to it that isn’t what it sounds like it’s about at surface level, but it … it means a lot to me.” 

“It means a lot to me, too.” Angling his head so that he could rest it against the crown of yours, he closed his eyes, smiling. “And no, that song is about exactly what it sounds like. I wrote it when I didn’t know what was going to happen with my life or my career. I had hope it would go the way I wanted it to, but everything was … uncertain.” 

“It’s sad without being depressing.” Squeezing his hand, you paused. “I hope that you’ll play it at the benefit.” 

“For you?” He laughed, inhaling the scent of your hair. “Of course I will.” The rain beat down, far away peals of thunder and the sound of the wind filling his ears. He was content in a way that was rare for him, and as the two of you sat together on the couch, Ezra’s eyes shot open. Not just out here. 

The comfort with you extended beyond the studio. It extended beyond conversation. She walked into my room and I didn’t even flinch, even though … He hadn’t had a woman in his bedroom since before the tour started. And then, it had been with purpose, Ezra leading her down the hallway and straight to the bed, his goal clear. With you, he hadn’t even considered the bed as a stop, and neither had you. 

But it’s not because I don’t want to, it’s … He cleared his throat, beginning to swipe his finger over the back of your hand. It’s because I want this to be more than that. “Even if the power comes back on tonight, you can stay if you want.” 

“Thank you.” Carefully moving, you sat up - though you didn’t let go of his hand. “I really don’t want to walk down the stairs, and the idea of being in that elevator if it goes back off is … scary. An enclosed space in the dark? That sounds like the worst possible thing that could happen.” Raising the hand that wasn’t holding his, you gestured vaguely toward the room around you. “I can even sleep out here, the rain hitting the windows is … soothing.” 

“My bed’s big enough for both of us.” He said your name, hoping that he could keep his voice steady. “Especially if all we’re doing is sleeping.” It had the intended effect and only moments later, the two of you were laughing together, Ezra letting go of your hand and then putting his arm around your shoulders to draw you closer. 

“I don’t know, Ezra. Are you sure you’re going to be able to resist the urge to -”

“No.” You inhaled, and even in the dim lighting, Ezra watched your eyes widen. “But I’ll do my best.”

“You don’t have to.” You spoke slowly, and though your voice was quiet, Ezra heard the vulnerability in it. “I know you’re not sure what would happen if we were to …” You bit your lip, blinking. “But even if we had to stop, or you wanted to stop, I wouldn’t … it wouldn’t change anything.” 

“It would.” He stood, pulling away from you. “Maybe not for you, but for me. I’m not … I’ve never been so unsure of myself when it comes to …” Tilting his head back, he looked at the ceiling. Unconsciously, his hand lifted and came to rest on his abdomen, the skin beneath the material of his shirt stinging with the same sort of pain he’d felt in the weeks following the accident. “It isn’t just my arm.” 

“What?” You leaned forward, both hands resting in your lap. “Ezra, what do you mean?” It was a risk - telling you things that almost no one else knew about what had happened during the accident and exposing himself in such an intimate way. But if this is going to go anywhere, she needs to know before she sees it for herself. 

“Come here.” You stood, too, taking the few steps necessary to reach him. Even though he saw confusion on your face, there was no hesitation when you reached for his hand, once again twining your fingers together. “What I’m going to tell you is … most of it was never made public. The only people that know are the doctors, police, Luke’s family and Cee.” 

“You don’t need to tell me. Ezra, that’s… we don’t know each other well, and I don’t want you to say anything that you might regret later. This sounds like -” He stopped you with a single shake of  his head, and even though he could feel his heart hammering against his ribs, Ezra’s voice was steady when he spoke. It needs to be. 

“I don’t need to. I want to. We wouldn’t be having this conversation if I didn’t want to.” He watched you consider his words for a few seconds - and in those moments, Ezra waited, hoping that the simple explanation was enough. There was another flash of lightning, the low rumble of thunder following a few seconds later … and then you nodded, closing your eyes. 

“Do you want to sit back down?” Frowning, you gestured toward the couch. “Do you want me to sit? Or -”

“Turn around.” He let go of your hand, making a circling motion with one finger. “We can stay here, but it might be easier if …” Wordlessly, you did as he asked, straightening your shoulders. Are you really going to do this? Ezra stared at your back, fingers curling into a loose fist, and then he looked down, glancing at the end of his right arm before his eyes slid over and down further. They landed on his stomach, his fingertips grazing the thin cotton of his shirt. I’d rather tell her now than have it take her by surprise. 

He stepped forward, closing the distance between you - and when he slipped his arm around your waist, urging you to lean back and against him, you did. You didn’t speak, but you settled your hand over his, humming. Gathering his thoughts, Ezra squeezed his eyes shut and dropped his head down, kissing the top of your shoulder. Here goes everything.

“The loss of my arm is the injury that everyone can see, but it’s not the one that almost killed me.” 

— 

The move from the living room to Ezra’s room - and then his balcony - was much more natural than you thought it would be. He’d stumbled slightly when making the joke about the house tour, but when he hadn’t even paused near or mentioned the bed while you passed it, things got a little less tense. 

In any other situation, it would have been easy to assume that he’d taken you to his private space for a reason, but with Ezra, you hadn’t worried. And when the two of you settled onto the couch, side by side and connected via the press of your palms together and your head on his shoulder, it was even clearer to you that while he wanted you close, he wasn’t leading you anywhere.

But the closer you got to him - and the longer you stayed that way, the harder it became to pretend that you weren’t attracted to him in just about every way possible. Especially when he offers his bed while he’s in it. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to sleep next to him - it was that you wanted it and more badly. Since he’d been clear about not being ready to take that step, though, you didn’t want to push. The joke about keeping his distance had slipped before you could stop it, and to your surprise, he’d answered honestly - and with a confirmation that you hadn’t fully considered.. 

That didn’t mean that you were prepared for him to open up to you, or that you’d expected him to tell you something significant about the accident. Because I’m nobody to him. I’m just a woman that’s seen him perform a few times and has kissed him, and … The explanation sounded ridiculous to you, no matter how you tried to spin it, and Ezra’s reaction drove that point home. 

So by the time you were standing in front of the window and looking outward, his body pressed against you from behind, you were entirely off balance and unsure of what came next - or how you were supposed to respond. 

“The loss of my arm is the injury that everyone can see, but it’s not the one that almost killed me.” 

It was a simple statement despite being loaded, and after it hung in the air for long moments, he continued. 

“We kept the crew small on the tour to save on costs and because a lot of people weren’t necessary.  It was the three of us, Cee, one tech and our manager. The manager and our tech always drove together, and then the four of us took the Rock Jumper between shows. We’d take turns driving - usually Damon and Luke and me and Cee, just because that’s what we were used to.” He took a deep breath, his chest expanding. “We got a late start that night out of the last city because … because I was with someone in the dressing room.” 

“Oh.” You stiffened for a few seconds and then relaxed, shrugging. “To be honest, I’m surprised that they didn’t post about it online.” He scoffed, his arm tightening. 

“I am too. But he was … very discreet. Still is. He sent a message through my profile a few days after the accident sending his well wishes, but that’s the only time he reached out.” Ezra took a deep breath while you contemplated his words - and their meaning. “I meant it when I said that I was more careful about the people I choose to spend time with these days.” 

He began to rock back and forth, the motion subtle but steady. You moved with him, chewing on the inside of your cheek as you watched the rain run down the other side of the glass. “I’m sorry I assumed the worst. I -”

“No. It makes sense after what I told you the other night. But that was not the case with him.” He hummed, chest expanding with another deep breath - and then Ezra continued. “Damon volunteered to drive, and so Cee and I settled into the second row of seats. She had her headphones on and fell asleep quickly, like she usually did. Damon and Luke were talking in the front, and I began to doze after a few miles, too.” 

The possibility of Ezra recounting the actual accident hadn’t even registered to you when he started talking, but you forced yourself to remain still, hoping that your measured reaction would encourage him to keep speaking. This has to be painful for him, but he’s telling me, so… 

“Cee and I …” He trailed off and you felt his head shake slightly, his chin dragging against the top of your shoulder. “In some ways I’ve always treated her more like a daughter than a family friend, and that night was no different. She was sleeping with her head against my shoulder, and I put my arm around her before I fell asleep - to keep her upright since neither of us were wearing seatbelts.” 

You could imagine it clearly - the dimly lit interior of the large van, Ezra and Cee in the back seat sleeping next to each other, both of their faces relaxed as they caught up on rest. It was a comforting image, and when you closed your eyes and let yourself sink into the description, you smiled. I’m glad they had each other. 

“I woke up to the sound of Luke yelling Damon’s name, and the van swerving. I… all I could think to do was pull her closer, to keep her in my arms, and then …” He shivered. “And then everything went sideways. The van swerved again, and we began to roll, but through it all, I didn’t let go of her. You can’t possibly imagine the sound that the side of the van made against the pavement, or the way we bounced inside while it moved.” 

Oh, Ezra. Your hand tightened over his, but you stayed quiet, no longer chewing on your lip and instead biting down to keep from reacting verbally. 

“When it flipped again, all I remember is seeing the sky - the stars above, bright in a sea of black. I know now that that was because the door was ripped off, but at the time … I thought it was the end for me. I could still feel Cee in my arms, and she was rigid, clinging to me in a way that I will never forget. I thought …” He trailed off, turning his head so that he could speak quietly, directly into your ear. “I thought that even if I didn’t make it, as long as she did, then it would be worthwhile.” 

“Ezra.” The tears began to leak from your eyes, and even though he chuckled at the sound, you could feel the dampness on his cheeks, too, the man nuzzling against you. 

“We flipped again, and then all I felt was pain - everywhere. My head, my arm, my belly, but before I lost consciousness, I realized that Cee was still with me. When I woke up, she was there, above me. I saw her face and heard her speak, and she tells me that I promised her I wouldn’t die, but…” There was a pause, and you knew what was coming before he even said it. “But I thought that she would be the last thing I saw.” 

“That sounds terrifying, Ezra.” He agreed, the man’s fingers curling and then uncurling beneath yours, the edges of his nails dragging over your covered stomach. “But you saved her.” 

“I did.” He let out a sigh, nodding. “I didn’t wake up again for two and a half days, and by that time, my arm was gone. I woke to the sight of Cee sleeping on an armchair in my hospital room, and fifteen seconds after regaining consciousness, I ruined everything by screaming loud enough to alert the nurses at the end of the hall.” 

“Singer’s lungs, right?” He laughed, that one sounding slightly less anxious, but when Ezra spoke again, there was no humor in the sound of his voice. 

“They took my arm because when Cee and I were ejected through the missing door, not only did we both land on it, our trajectory … dragged our weight on top of it. I protected her, and she only had a few scrapes and bruises, but my arm was …” He swore, going quiet again. “My primary weapon, gone, and there was nothing I could do about it.” 

You hadn’t known so many details, but it wasn’t difficult to piece together the parts of what had happened in the accident based on what had been released. Amputations are usually relatively straightforward, though. Especially if they’re done in a hospital, and … 

“After those days, my arm was already beginning to heal. It felt downright creamy compared to my other injuries.” Your hand tightened against his, lips pressed together - and you waited. “While the van was rolling, everything inside was … loose. Most of our equipment was in the trailer, which thankfully detached, but there was …” Ezra shrugged. “One of Damon’s drumsticks shattered in the crash, and by the virtue of bad luck, I landed right on top of it. Not only did they have to remove my arm, I’m told that they spent hours using surgical equipment to extract wood fragments from that wound site in my abdomen.” He stopped, and then a beat later, continued. “They missed one, barely bigger than a splinter. It became infected, despite the antibiotics I was already taking for my arm, and they didn’t realize it right away, because the bandage didn’t need to be changed until much later.” 

Eyes widening in horror, you lifted your free hand, covering your mouth to keep a sob from escaping. An infection? From a drumstick? Kevva help me, that … You didn’t know what to say, because there was nothing to say - and the fact that the entire accident had happened because Damon was impaired made it even worse. 

“Somehow, it moved, burying itself in the muscle so that it could not be seen on scans, and by the time they found and removed it, they’d… they did a great deal of damage trying to scrape the blackness away. And that is much slower to heal than my arm. It’s the reason it took me so long to return to singing, and why I have been hesitant to become physically involved with you. Not only is there a mangled mass of scar tissue remaining, but I am weak. When the muscle pulls, it … at times, it becomes uncomfortable, and I can’t always hide that.” 

He stopped, urging you to turn and face him, and when you did, you met his eyes, the man’s shining with emotion. “Thank you for telling me.” You spoke quietly, nodding as you settled a hand against his side. “I’m glad they were able to save you, Ezra. Whatever it took, I’m so glad that you’re still here for Cee.” 

“I am too.” He dragged his tongue over his lower lip, nodding. “I wasn’t at the time. But now … now I know that it’s what was meant to happen.” 

You leaned back so that you were pressed against the window, eyes locked with Ezra’s, and for long moments, the two of you stared at each other. There was a question on the tip of your tongue, words that you wanted to say, but couldn’t bring yourself to speak, even though it seemed that he’d opened the door for you to do so. There’s no reason for him to tell me this unless he assumes that I’d see his stomach at some point. And the only reason I’d see that is if we’re … 

“Why me, Ezra?” You hated how small your voice sounded, barely audible over the rain and wind - but the slight widening of his eyes told you that he’d heard, the man’s hand lifting so that he could trace the curve of your cheek with one knuckle. “Why n-”

“Because I trust you.” He swallowed, taking a half step back. “Because I want …” Ezra’s eyes closed for long moments, and when he opened them, they were clear and focused, trained on your face. “Because telling you means that if I show you, it won’t be as much of a shock, and with the lights being out, this is …” Nodding he tilted his chin down. “The best opportunity.” 

“Ok.” There was a momentary pause before you spoke, but your agreement was certain, your fingers closing around a handful of his shirt. “I want to know you, Ezra. All of you. And if this is where we start, then … it works for me.”

You had no idea what that meant, but were willing to follow Ezra’s lead, and hoped that he was more prepared than you were. “I… really?” He frowned, the disbelief on his features evident. “It’s that simple? You’d want to know a broken man like me?”

“You aren’t broken.” Shaking your head back and forth, you shrugged. “You got hurt. You’re alive, and you saved Cee, and that’s all that matters.” Slowly, you reached for his right shoulder, setting your hand down on it and squeezing before you moved your grip to his bicep, hoping that it wasn’t moving too quickly for the man. “I’ll follow your lead, Ezra. As slow as you need to go, and if you decide that you don’t want this or me, or -”

“I’d like you to see.” Dropping his hand between you, he pressed his palm to his belly. “Because I meant it when I said that I want you to spend the night with me.” Ezra closed his eyes. “In my bed.” 

“But you…” Your heart rate sped up, the implication of what he was saying - and how things could escalate in the near future - terrifying but somehow comforting at the same time. Because it means that this whole time, he’s been feeling the same things that I have. “Here? Or -” You pointed with your free hand, gesturing to the doorway that led into his bedroom. “Or in there?” 

“Here, I think.” He frowned, eyes flicking down and then back up. “Definitely here.” You could tell he was nervous, despite the fact that he was sure - and so with one final deep inhale, you took a step closer to Ezra, the hand not on his arm flat against his chest, the thump of his heart steady against your palm. Make him comfortable. This is his decision, and he needs to call the shots. 

“Take the lead, Ezra. Tell me what you want from me.” 

— 

It felt good to tell you the truth. 

The longer Ezra spoke, and the more he recalled, the better he felt about the situation. It wasn’t betraying Cee by telling you unknown things about Damon, or even admitting that there was the possibility that Damon had made his choice based on Ezra and Inumon’s relationship. That will come later. But it was telling you what to prepare for. It was giving you a warning that you would see and feel scars that weren’t immediately apparent, that there was a chance he’d be in too much pain to finish anything that you started. 

It was giving you a chance to know more and to back away, if you chose to. But you hadn’t moved. And your reactions to his words - your intake of breath, the way you stiffened in his arms but then moved closer, as though you were offering the only comfort you could while you stood back to front with him, the shaky way you repeated his name when he paused in the retelling of the story … they were all good signs. Very good signs. 

So was you agreeing to follow his lead, even though he had no idea what that meant. 

As the two of you faced each other, Ezra flashed back to the shower, and the way thoughts of you had occupied his mind while he touched himself. He wondered briefly if you’d ever done the same in the comfort of your bed or shower, if you’d let your mind go there with him, even for brief moments. 

And if you had, he wondered what you’d imagined - him as he was after the accident or before - fueled by the pictures and videos you’d personally taken or that you’d found online, or with the images of him as you’d gotten to know him in person. 

“Ezra?” Your quiet voice interrupted his thoughts, the man shaking his head to clear it before he hummed in acknowledgement. “If you need me to stop touching you, please tell me.” That was the last thing he wanted, and when he said as much, you nodded. “OK. Then just tell me … what you want.” 

Anxiety flared in his chest, everything going tight before he cleared his throat. It’s going to be fine. “Put your hand over mine.” You didn’t let go of his arm, and instead slowly dragged the other hand down the center of his chest until it settled over the back of his. “You won’t hurt me by touching me. A lot of the pain is muscle pain, and the other pain is … in my head. I -”

“That doesn’t mean it’s not real.” You leaned in, pressing your lips to his stubbled cheek. “And if I do hurt you, I need to know, because it’s the last thing I want.” Closing his eyes, Ezra nodded, steadying himself. 

“I’m going to move my hand.” It was more for himself than for you, but you nodded, eyes locked with his. “Ok. Alright. Ok, here we…” Haltingly, he slipped his fingers out from under yours, allowing you to touch his stomach. The pressure of your hand was a welcome difference from what he was used to, and even though it scared him, he took a small breath, readying himself to speak. “Can you -”

“I feel it.” You didn’t look away, but even with only a little light, he saw the emotion in your eyes, surprise and concern along with a subtle widening of them. “It’s big, Ezra. I can understand how painful it must have been.” 

“No, I don’t think you can.” He didn’t mean it to be unkind, but it was the truth - because even with the pain of losing his arm, of having multiple broken bones and a concussion, of all of the injuries he’d experienced throughout his life, nothing had prepared him for the way the stomach injury felt. “And I hope you never do.” 

You pressed your lips together, wincing. Ezra took the opportunity to lift his sleeve-wrapped residual limb upward, reaching across his body and grasping the hem of his t-shirt. Closing your eyes briefly, you nodded, retracting your hand enough so that he could pull the material from his body before dropping it to the ground. It was the first time he’d been shirtless in the presence of anyone that wasn’t Cee or his medical team since the accident, and Ezra’s entire body shook at the prospect of being so vulnerable.  

“I’m going to touch you now.” You spoke quietly, waiting until he nodded to say anything else. “I won’t look. Just … I’ll just touch.” 

He expected you to replace your hand over the wound site, but instead, you moved your palm to his side, hand sliding up and down slowly over the bare skin of his ribs. Ezra nearly moaned at the contact, his eyes snapping shut before he forced them open again, his hand moving to settle on your hip. “That feels incredible. It’s been… months. It’s been…” He groaned, shaking his head back and forth. “Kevva, your skin is…” 

He caught your smile, even though it was brief, and when your hand moved inward, closing the distance to the site of the scarring, Ezra saw another nod, your free hand rising to cradle his cheek. He made no effort to stop himself from leaning into it, and when your other hand came to rest against his belly, your eyes were locked with his, the gentle look still present within them. “Is this alright?” 

“Yes.” The pressure of your hand increased, followed shortly after by a careful stroke of your fingertips against his cheek - and then you nodded. 

“Come here, Ezra.” He watched your lips move more than he heard you speak, the sound of the rain and wind still raging behind the two of you. But Ezra didn’t hesitate, lowering his mouth to meet yours and giving you what you were asking for. 

It was a distraction technique, and he knew it - the kiss meant to soothe him, even as your touch shifted so that you could press your palm firmly against his skin, the fingers of your other hand sliding through the hair at the back of his neck and tugging. His hand was at your waist, clutching at the material of your shirt, but it was Ezra that deepened the kiss, parting his lips to lick at your lower one before easing his tongue between them, meeting yours. 

You groaned, pulling harder on his hair, and when he pulled you closer, you let him. The night wasn’t going how he’d thought it would - instead, it was better, your reaction to what he’d told you and what he was offering more than he’d expected. You broke the kiss first, backing off and taking a long breath, your hands still in place. “Has anyone ever told you that he way you kiss is …” Biting down on your lower lip, you wrinkled your nose. “It’s unbelievable, Ezra.  I never want to stop, and I’ve only done it a few times.”

That got a genuine smile out of him, much of his apprehension melting away as you ran the edges of your nails against his scalp. “You’re welcome to do it more.” 

“Yeah?” He nodded, opening his mouth to say something else - and then you were bathed in light, a quiet yelp leaving your lips as you turned your attention to the overhead bulbs. Of course. “Shit. I guess the lights are back.” When you looked back at him, he caught the way your gaze dropped to his chest before it rose again, following the line of his neck until you were looking at each other. “I’m impressed, because the storm seems…” You looked past him at the windows, dragging one corner of your lower lip between your teeth. “It’s still coming down out there.”

“You can still stay.” He spoke quietly, stepping backwards and urging you to follow him. “It might go out again, and I wouldn’t want you to risk that elevator until we know for sure it’s going to stay on.” 

It was a gamble, and he knew it. There was no real reason for you to spend the night, but he wanted you to - wanted to lead you back into the comfort of his bedroom and lay down next to you, wanted to talk to you until both of you fell asleep, wanted to wake up to the sight of your cheek pressed to his pillow. And more. And so much more, but I still don’t … 

“If you want me to stay, I will.” Narrowing your eyes in contemplation, you glanced over at where he’d tossed his shirt. “If you need to get dressed, I’ll get your shirt, and look away, so -” 

You were yet again giving him an option to end the show and tell session, but he didn’t want to take it. Not when I’ve come this far. “I want to show you.” He paused. “If you want to see.” 

“Ezra, I would have been perfectly fine if you told me that you weren’t ready to show me anything aside from what I can see when you’re dressed.” Your smile grew, and so did the confidence in your voice. “I told you that this was on you to tell me what you’re comfortable with, and I meant it. I realize that demanding that you kiss me goes against that, but -”

“That was nowhere near a demand, and you know it.” He shifted on his feet, tilting his chin up. “But I look forward to hearing a real one from you sometime soon.” That got the desired reaction, your eyes catching the light as they widened - and then Ezra surprised himself and winked at you, letting go of you to step back. “They tell me that with time, it won’t look as fresh. That the scars might smooth out and fade. I’ll believe it when I see it, but …”

You dropped your gaze as he spoke, Ezra watching with tension thrumming through his veins again as your eye line followed a path down his chest and toward his abdomen. She’s going to recoil. She’s going to be disgusted. She’s going to - “Did the one on your cheek do the same?” He watched as you wet your lips, the tips of your fingers skating down and over his bare skin, coming to rest just to the right of the wound. “Was that one worse when it was healing than it is now?” 

Glancing back up, he saw only concern in your expression - no fear or disgust, no revulsion, no sign of you getting ready to bolt away from the sight of his mangled skin. “What? The one…” He frowned. “No. It’s been …” You reached up, tracing over the curved scar on his cheek. “That one hasn’t changed much since it happened.” 

“Is that story real?” Arching a brow, you smiled. “Getting hit with a bottle as a teenager?” 

“It is not. But it sounded much better than telling everyone that a tree branch snapped back and nearly took my eye when I was twelve.” You laughed at that, closing your eyes as you stepped back, covering your face with both hands. “You’re laughing at me. You have no idea how embarrassing it was to have to go to the hospital because of -”

You surprised him by lifting the bottom hem of your shirt and pointing to your side. What is she … He leaned closer, humming when he saw the marks on your body - two circular scars with a thin line between them. “I was nine, and racing my neighbor on our bikes. I ran over a piece of metal, and the tire popped.” He reached out as you spoke, the man approaching your skin cautiously without straightening up. “I went fl… oh.” You stopped when he made contact, Ezra unable to conceal his smile at the way you shivered at his touch, even though you quickly recovered. “I went flying and landed on one of those little garden divider fences.” 

“Did you go to the hospital?” He swiped a thumb over your skin before he stood back up, arm going back to his side. “It looks like it was deep.” 

“I did. It was metal, and it hurt like a son of a Jaccola. But after, I tried to come up with a better story, because telling people I got impaled on a six inch tall fence just … it didn’t make me feel cool. So I know all about embarrassing injures and trying to make them sound more interesting.” You paused and then closed the distance between you again, eyes back on his abdomen. “I understand wanting to keep this secret, Ezra. It’s huge. And it looks painful, and I’m sure that knowing it’s there is a constant reminder of how much everything’s changed for you.You don’t want sympathy, and I get it.” Reaching up, you gently touched the sleeve on his arm with your other hand, taking and releasing a deep breath. “But you survived something that most people wouldn’t have. You’re right. I don’t know what it feels like to be in your position, and I hope that I never do.” 

By the time you were done speaking, you were touching both new injuries - one hand on his arm, the fingers of the other resting against his belly. Your honesty shocked him, Ezra freezing in place as his fingers curled at his side. “I hope no one does.” You nodded slowly, waiting, and your next words were hesitant, even though they were relevant. 

“Can you feel anything?” Looking up, your frown deepened. “I don’t mean pain, I mean…”

“Can I feel you touching me?” You gave him a quick nod, the uncertainty on your face becoming more apparent. “I feel pressure. The area around that one,” he continued, gesturing to his stomach. “It’s very tender. But the scarring itself, no. It’s mostly numb. My arm … there are days when I feel like I still have the whole thing. There are times when it just hurts, and there are others when it’s just nothing.” He hung his head and then brought it back up, deciding to be completely honest with you. “I look forward to those days, because everything else is a constant reminder of what I lost.” 

Without warning, you pulled your hands away and then wrapped your arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. It took him by surprise, but Ezra hugged you back, his bare chest pressed to yours, fingers splayed wide over the center of your back. “You didn’t lose Cee.” You spoke directly into his ear. “You didn’t lose your life.” Backing off enough so that you could look at him, you forced a smile, though he saw the tears welling in your eyes again. “And you didn’t lose that big, beautiful mind or your personality, Ezra. You have every right to mourn the things that you’re going through, and what’s changed for you, but you can’t forget the good parts while you do.” 

He didn’t know what to say - your sentiments were nothing that Cee and the medical team hadn’t said before, but seeing and hearing you repeat them while standing in front of him and seeing him at his most vulnerable hit differently. She’s not being paid to say this. She’s not saying it out of guilt. She means it. 

“I still don’t understand, though.” You were blinking back unshed tears, voice thin. “You didn’t need to show me any of this. Even if things had gotten physical, you didn’t need to … we could have done just about everything with you wearing your shirt, so there was no… You said you wanted me to know what to expect. But this is a lot, Ezra, and I just want to understand, I -”

Your words were interrupted when the room was plunged into darkness again, both of you looking up and then out the windows as you watched the city block slowly blink out. “Well, that’s not good.” You chuckled from next to him, lifting a hand to rub at the space between your brows. “Guess you’re staying after all.” 

The darkness gave him more time to collect his thoughts, and Ezra was thankful for that. But he was even more thankful for the way you squeezed his hand before you stepped all the way up to the window, wrapping your arms around yourself. “I guess so.” You watched the rain and Ezra watched you, the man’s eyes on the set of your shoulders and your silhouette against the rain-streaked window glass. Unconsciously, he dragged his fingers over the scar on his belly, lower lip pushed out into a pout. Why you? Why after all this time? 

He wondered what you were thinking, and if you’d ask again - but then decided that he didn’t want you to ask again. I want to tell her. “I didn’t need to tell you, you’re right about that.” He moved to stand behind you again, mirroring the position that you’d been in when he’d started to explain what happened the night of the accident. Instead of sliding a hand around your waist, he wound his arm around the front of your chest, arm crossing over your collar and his fingers closing around your shoulder. You leaned into him, tipping your head back to rest it against his shoulder, and then reached up, gripping his wrist loosely. “Like I said before, I wanted to tell you.” 

Cee’s words to him echoed in his mind; the need to tell you and make you believe that you weren’t just another person that he wanted in his life for a short time, that what he felt with you wasn’t purely physical - that you were different on every level. But for once in his life, he was speechless, nothing else coming out when he opened his mouth. Damn.

“I won’t say a word about this to everyone. Not even Cee. I promise, Ezra, your story is safe with me.”

“I know.” He cleared his throat, sighing. “And the answer to why?” You waited silently for him to continue, your breathing steady. “I find myself opening up to you much more than I have to anyone in a long time. You’re … easy to talk to. Easy to trust. You took that video and kept it. You didn’t … throw yourself at me once you had an in with Cee, even though based on the state of your relationship, I almost wouldn’t have blamed you for doing so. You’ve never tried to push me further than I was willing to go, and you’re kind to both Cee and myself.” He tightened his grip on you and you matched the hold, your fingers curving around his wrist tightly enough that he was certain you could feel his pulse pounding against the pads. “Come to bed. Just to sleep, I give you my word.” 

You turned slowly in his arms, sliding both of yours around his body so that you could press your hands against his bare back. “OK.” A grin slid across your face, your head moving up and down as you agreed. “Do you have something I can sleep in, though? If I’m going to have to wear this out of here tomorrow, I’d rather it not be a wrinkled mess. 

He smiled in return, the man watching the way your eyes jumped over to where the dimple appeared on his cheek before you met his stare again, one brow raised in question. She’s going to love this. “Indeed I do.” Using his arm to gesture toward the open doorway leading into his bedroom, Ezra continued. “There are boxes of unsold merchandise from the shows we never got to perform … and in a fortuitous turn of events for you… you’re welcome to anything in them.” 

Barely hiding your laugh, you broke away from him and reached for the flashlight on the table, picking it up before you replied. “Anything? I had my eye on a couple of the shirts at the merch table, but ended up buying the sweatshirt instead … my long con for a free shirt has finally paid off.” 

He couldn’t help it - and joined your laughter as the two of you headed into the darkened bedroom, the beam of light leading the way. 

—

tag list coming soon! 

[acollectionofcuriousreblogs]

Its Sad Theory Time

I’m thinking about Captain Lovelace. Thinking about all the crew members she lost. Thinking about how much she blames herself for their death. Thinking about how severe the survivor’s guilt most be.

And now I’m thinking about her ‘death’ during the mutiny. I’m thinking about how, when Kepler was deciding which one of them to kill, she spoke up right before the end of his ‘Eeny, meeny miny, moe’ bit was over. That timing…I believe it’s significant. Let me explain

Because it’s a podcast, we can never really know who he was going to pick. But Lovelace and Eiffel were there. They would know. And I would bet you, Kepler was going to pick Eiffel. Lovelace realized it, at the end there.

So she speaks up. She tells Kepler to fuck off. She spits in his face and says she pities him and, in Doug’s words, she does everything to poke the bear. And it works. Kepler shoots her.

Now, this could be interpreted several other ways. Maybe Kepler was going to pick Lovelace and she realized that, so instead of just letting it happen, she brought it on herself. She took her last stand, robbing him of the satisfaction he would’ve got from killing her. And I think that’s very plausible.

But what if…

Im thinking about Captain Lovelace, still carrying that survivors guilt. I’m thinking about Captain Lovelace realizing that she’s about to lose another one of her crew members. I’m thinking about her deciding that she will not, cannot, let another one of her friends die, how she cannot be the sole survivor again. 

So she pokes the bear. She does everything she can to divert Kepler’s attention away from Eiffel and onto her. She metaphorically throws herself in front of the bullet meant for him. That was a meditated, conscious decision.

Right before she dies, Lovelace tells Eiffel that she had to do this. She had to save him, because she failed to save so many others. Maybe Captain Lovelace really just couldn’t hold her tongue. But I think it’s a lot more plausible that the Captain knew exactly what she was doing.

[cdragons]

Like the Wave, She Broke; But Like the Sea, She Persevered

Chapter 2: You are my Best Friend, the Family I Chose, the Home I Found

Previous Chapter, Next Chapter

A Robb Stark X Yi Tish Reader/OC Story

Author's Note: The Reader/OC will be mentioned but not written in this chapter, but she will make an appearance in the next one. I do not own Game of Thrones or ASOIAF or any of GRRM works. But please no hate, but please comment, like, or reblog if you liked reading this story and want me to continue! Also the OC's name and her pet's name are not in Mandarin but in Romanization because the characters in this chapter are thinking in English.

Also many thanks and love to @valeskafics as my beta! Check out her work if you don't follow her already, she's amazing!

Warnings: sexual content, sexual abuse, mentions of SA and r*pe but no descriptions, violence and violent themes, depression, suicidal actions, mentions of PTSD & survivor's guilt, offensive and racist terms, GOT canonical misogyny & sexism, angst (so much angst), and dark/yandere attitudes.

Previously in “Like the Wave, She Broke; But Like the Sea, She Persevered”:

“A place where she would meet another Greyjoy, but a different Greyjoy, a better one. A Greyjoy whose blood was Ironborn, but his heart would be northern. A northern boy whose blood carried the salt of the sea, but whose heart and soul were strengthened and bathed by the snow, the trees, and the winds of northern land. A boy who she distrusted before slowly and surely becoming her found brother, and she becoming his found sister.”

Theon’s POV:

Theon Greyjoy was somewhat of an enigma to most people, and to himself if he dared to be honest. He was known as Robb Stark’s best friend and brother, but Gods Old and New help him if he forgot that he was young Lord’s, no sorry, the young King’s inferior. He was the rakish and obnoxious ward graciously taken in by the honorable Eddard Stark, late Lord of Winterfell and House Stark, Warden of the North. But the term “ward” doesn’t hide the fact that he was their captive, their hostage. A hostage who at the age of ten, was robbed from his family, his culture, his home, after witnessing hundreds of Iron Island sailors and civilians being completely annihilated, just to be plopped down in the middle of a frozen mainland where no one likes him. Ned Stark may never have beaten him, but that didn’t mean the fact that he could with full jurisdiction send Theon to the gallows with a single word, and no one would bat an eye. He was supposed to an Ironborn, except he wasn’t, not since he lived amongst mainlanders for the past decade. He wasn’t a Northerner and couldn’t be a Stark, and he certainly wasn’t an Ironborn and he despised being a Greyjoy. He wished he wasn’t one the moment he stepped foot on the mainland, since he was brought to Winterfell, since he felt the gaze Lady Catelyn Stark’s cold and righteous eyes. But by the Drowned Man, he never hated his family name so much until he knew you.

Oh gods, you. He couldn’t help the sheer pride and love in his smile thinking about you, even in his sorry state. Because despite how his body still healing from the wounds brought by the ambushed arrows, the pure elation and shock from you storming the shit-stained Frey keep with five-thousand men (if he wasn’t so fucking plastered, he would’ve cried) and saving Robb and most of their asses, with minimal losses of only 157 men 158 if you include Talisa. You had even managed to subdue both Roose Bolton and Walder Frey before dragging their asses to the prison cells, along with the rest of their traitorous kin. However, there wasn’t time to celebrate their (really your) victory as you immediately put everyone to work. For someone who worked in the shadows, you looked so natural in organizing the camp to sections reserved for healing those who survived, and preparing the burials for those whose lives were lost. After that, you rushed every lord whose mind was just lucid enough in the largest empty tent. You insisted that finding whoever assisted the Frey’s in this ordeal, as Walder Frey may have been a vile greedy cunt, he wasn’t a tactical mastermind. And while Roose Bolton was an apathetic amoral sociopath, he could never possess the imagination for something so grand scale. After countless sleepless hours, the pieces were all put together, and ice that froze every lord’s blood in learning that this was a premeditated trap engineered by one fucking Lord Tywin Lannister of Casterly Rock. The chaos and fury that followed was a sight to be memorized and passed on for years to come, any lost morale before that moment came back by a thousandfold strong. The southern snakes had really done it now, even if the plan had worked, the North would only drawback until they could strike once more. If there was one thing about the North that would always remain true, it was the fact that the North and its men never forget, especially an act as sacrilegious as what they now call the “Red Wedding”.

Every lord was shouting and screaming out blame, whether it be the execution of Lord Karstark, the release of the Kingslayer, the broken oath to the Frey’s, and on and on did they go. They didn’t stop until Lord Umber blamed on Theon for his father’s invasion to the North (despite that 1) he didn’t even know about the bloody invasion, and 2) he never left the fucking camp), and the usually mild-tempered Daiyu leapt on the table and knocked the Greatjon Umber on his great ass in retaliation. The sight of you in command will never leave him, not even when he had forgotten his own name and was too feeble to wipe his own ass. Even in your most irritable state, you dared not publicly showcase your emotions. But everything from the cold fury in your eyes to the raw determination in your spine, was enough to freeze a dragon’s fire. By reminding everyone while nothing can change the past, this event only further proves how there is no limit to the Lannister’s teachery, and that it was imperative to secure the North’s independence from the Southern leeches. You then told them of how you learned of the plan through a deal with a stranger wearing a red tunic and grey cloak, and that if they managed to survive the treachery, they were to immediately send word to Dragonstone.

“Dragonstone,” shouted out Lord after Daiyu grew bored of him and was now contently purring against Theon’s legs as he stood by you, “why in the seven hells would we send word to Dragonstone? So that we can get pissed over by Stannis Baratheon? How do we know you didn’t just make up the deal so that we could bend the knee to Stannis, or perhaps you’ve been working for the Lannister’s with the Boltons and Frey’s? Well? Answer me you chink-”.

Theon drew out his sword the second before he could finish, “You take those words back and beg for my sister’s forgiveness right now before I cut your tongue out and feed it to my falcon, you rancid shit.” Theon could allow disrespect against him, he grown used to it after all; but he would be flayed, eaten by hounds, and broken to a shell of a man before he allowed anyone to utter a word of disrespect to you, let alone that word. Each of the bannerman’s eyes shifted between the men, as most knew better than insult the mysterious spy from the far orient in the presence of the young Kraken. If Theon was not with their king, he was by his sister’s side, arm over her shoulders and her head on his, more often in silence as words were never needed in order to take comfort in one another.

And the girl was no different in her devotion to her brother, as her protection over him was as ruthless as it was creative. More than once had there been instances of soldiers throughout the camp making claims ranging from mad visions in their sleep to horses stampeding them throughout the woods to those who spoke ill of the Stark’s ward. The bannerman would have demanded their king to call for her head hadn’t her punishments been more amusing than irritating. Not that it would have worked, if there was only one thing the two young men had in common, it was the devout protection they showered the stoic spy. Even when the young king broke his oath to the Frey’s to marry his pretty foreign healer, did he remain true in his defense if anything it only grew. Such was the case with his own direwolf, who although remains steadfast in guarding his currently comatose companion, adored the Yi Tish girl far more than the now late queen if they were honest, as he was often seen being petted and fed scraps by her and even playing with her shadowcat. However, they just reasoned it was due to being acquainted with one another since the pup’s arrival at Winterfell shows what they know.

You placed a hand on your brother’s wrist, stopping any further action on his part towards Lord Umber. Theon’s eyes immediately darted down to your hand, and then looked at you. To an outsider, the act would look no different than a scolding to a child; however, those who had watched the two grow together, like one Lady Catelyn Stark, recognized the interaction to be one of the many of silent conversations between the two of you. Her eyes darting down to her late husband’s ward’s wrist, eyeing the rather poorly made charm bracelet you had gifted him for his name day so many years ago. Being a ward to one of the seven great houses, Theon was gifted many precious things, from expertly made blades to fine cloaks; but that little…thing was the item he treasured more than life itself, that and his loyal falcon, Ari. A falcon abandoned by its mother, was found by Theon and was assisted in healing the poor creature by none other than you.

A moment passed, and another had gone by, followed by a few more before Theon reluctantly lowered his arm and sheathed his sword. You turned your gaze to Greatjon once more, hand still holding on your brother’s wrist, before speaking in a loud and clear manner, “I will graciously ignore you accusing that I would ever betray House Stark, even going so far to suggest that I would ever switch loyalties to a southern house I had never cared, but may I first ask you what is the purpose of the North’s campaign to the South?”

“Pah! Aye, I can tell you, to march down to King’s Landing and swing our steel at enough of their piss-haired inbred to free the North-,” Greatjon was interrupted by the slamming of your fist to the table.

“WRONG!” You exclaimed, “Our goal from the beginning, our true purpose was to free our Lord Eddard Stark and his daughters from King’s Landing, and upon his death, we swore to avenge him and rescue his children! Have you forgotten my lords, forgotten Ned Stark, late Lord of Winterfell, the man you swore fealty to when you bent the knee to his house? Now we stand, fighting in a war, leagues from our North, miles from King’s Landing, from his daughter who he loved and cherished so dearly that he confessed to crimes he did not commit in attempt to save her from the lion’s den? Does Ned Stark stand here, does his daughter Lady Sansa? In fighting for the North’s freedom, we had forgotten our first goal, our true purpose! To avenge the blood of House Stark, to fight and protect their children! And as a result, the Gods have punished us for forgetting that purpose to the state we see ourselves in now. We have lost our greatest bargaining chip, half our men in taking Lord Karstark’s head, and now with greater losses in numbers with the betrayal from both House Frey and House Bolton. We may have regained one wolf, but such a miracle cannot be claimed by us as it had been Ser Sandor who brought her home.” Your words brought the attention of Sandor Clegane, who was standing in a corner. He was observing the scene unraveling before, in both shock that you thanked him for his act, and cursing you for bringing any attention at him at all.

“And do not ignore that another young wolf still remains at the lions’ mercy. And if Sandor’s words of her treatment hold truth, then I fear that her livelihood is at more risk than ever when word reaches the Red Keep that Tywin Lannister’s plan had failed.” Your voice grew more somber and quieter as you finished your speech. It seemed as if time had stopped, shame overtook every lord’s and lady’s face at your words, and Lady Catelyn knelt on the ground, sobs overtaking her body. The relief and joy in being reunited with her Arya, was overshadowed by the realization that still had one daughter far from her arms. Greater grief struck her in learning that her sweet Sansa had been routinely beaten and ridiculed at court by Joffery’s orders.

Ever so carefully, you knelt beside her, and gently placed your hand on her shoulder before grasping her to stand while allowing her to take comfort in your strong but gentle grip. You quickly called for a squire to fetch some cool water before handing Lady Stark a simple but clean handkerchief to wipe her tears. Such an act of familiarity to a highborn from a lowly spy would never be tolerated in normal circumstances, but no one dared to point this out, fearing that their Lady would fall apart had it not been for your support. After what seemed to have been an eternity to pass, Lady Maege Mormont of Bear Island stepped forward.

“The girl is right.” Her voice left no room for argument, “In fighting for our freedom, we had forgotten our people, our past leader, and his own blood. We lost sight of our true goal, and in doing so we allowed ourselves to be vulnerable to our enemies. Right now, Stannis Baratheon is our best hope in retrieving Ned Stark’s daughter. And we need all of the hope we can get, be it in numbers or supplies.” The next words coming out the fierce Mother Bear of House Mormont shook everyone to their core, “I can sacrifice our independence, I can bend the knee to another Southerner, but I cannot call myself a northerner if I forget my oath in avenging the Quiet Wolf, along with Jory Cassel, and the rest of the northern men that died in that rotten keep.”

“But how can expect Stannis to hope true in his word, is he even aware such a deal took place?” Lord Rysell rose from his seat, his voice filled with trepidation. “After all, was it not Stannis who killed Renly, his own brother, his very own blood? How can we expect a Southerner, nay, a KINSLAYER to hold even a weight of honor after witnessing the mutiny we all had barely escaped with our lives? And what of the cost? What was traded for such information?”

“Stannis Baratheon along with Jon Arryn had been running King Robert’s kingdom throughout his entire reign. While Jon Arryn tried to reign in Robert, Stannis was the one who had actually proposed new laws in attempt to benefit the kingdom. This was a man who at age of 17, held his brother’s castle at Storm’s End and ate shoes and rats rather than surrendering to a hopelessly superior army from both land and sea. He, who ensured that his men, smallfolk, and his little brother were fed before him. And more importantly, Stannis has ships, ships that can lay siege to King’s Landing by targeting Blackwater Bay, should he want for an alliance.” Theon couldn’t keep the pride out of his eyes, here you stood, recounting the accomplishment of one man, stunning every lord by your extensive knowledge of military history in perfect clarity. Those hours spent in the Winterfell library and extensive lessons with Maester Luwin seemed to have paid off.

“As for the matter of honor, this war will not be won through honor, no this is war that will be done on the matter of duty.” Tears threatened to spill from your eyes as you braced your body in continuing, “Ned Stark’s duty as Hand of the King was to the kingdom. In choosing his honor, he lost his head. Robb Stark chose love over duty, and it cost him the lives of his wife, his child, and nearly 3000 of our men. Our duty to the North was to avenge Ned Stark’s death and protect his children, and in that we have failed miserably. Whether Stannis Baratheon is honorable remains to be seen, but it was his devotion to his duty had made his men so loyal to him and his enemies call him a man ‘truly just.’ As for the matter of proof, I would hope that this message that bears his seal to provide some comfort.” You hand a creased letter to Catelyn Stark for confirmation. After vigilant investigation, she confirmed that it was indeed written in his hand and that seal bore House Baratheon’s sigil, along with the seal of Dragonstone.

“And I can assure you my lords that the price was more than fair,” your confidence was slowly diminishing as you chose your next words carefully, “all that was asked from the stranger was that I sail from Seagard to a locate an individual and escort them to somewhere Beyond the Wall, afterwards I would be told more details of my mission from there.”

“What comes after you get those details and finish escorting them?” Theon didn’t recognize his own voice. “Do they send you somewhere else, who’s this person, where are you going?” Seven hells, is that panic in his voice? “When do you come back?”

You looked towards your precious brother, eyes trying to convey a hidden message you don’t dare to speak aloud. You take a deep and shaky breath before clearing your throat in an attempt to keep your voice steady and clear, “I don’t.”

And just like that, chaos erupts once more.

Theon doesn’t realize he was asleep before being so rudely pulled out of his dream…memory?

“Well, memory it may have been, but a nightmare to relive it once more.” Theon thought as he tried to focus on his surroundings, before seeing the reason he was awoken in the first place. On his chest, stood a majestic falcon gazing into the eyes of his owner. Despite being a first-class hunter, one would think this bird of prey that feeds on both fish and birds alike by swooping at tremendous speed with little to no sound, was really a smaller parrot if others knew how spoiled Ari was for attention and treats. “Forget Robb, the real challenge will be in keeping this little fellow from going mad from losing his main benefactor,” thought Theon as he lovingly stroked a finger on Ari’s head, the falcon sweetly preening from attention from his beloved savior.

“THEON!” A familiar voice bellowed as the footsteps whom Theon was sure belonged to one auburn-curled king grew louder as they stride closer to his tent.

“Speak of the devil, and he shall appear. Knowing what will soon come, I only hope to find a barrel of ale to drown my sorrows in afterwards.” And with that being his final thought before rising from his cot and just finished dressing himself before his tent’s flap flew open, and in came the Young Wolf with a fury so terrible it would bring down the Wall.

Robb’s POV

After arriving at the camp, Robb immediately jumped down his horse and demanded a steward to take care of his steed before he marched forward with only one person in mind, Theon Greyjoy. His father’s ward, his best mate, his brother without blood and in-arms, and the brother to one particular Yi Tish girl that was sailing further and further from where she belonged. If there was one person who knew where she was going, it was Theon. He had to know, Li and Theon had a bond between them. A bond that Robb loathed to admit many times, as it was that bond that could not be easily shattered or poisoned as such with the bonds of mere companions or even lovers. For companions, some periods of time apart would often do the trick, but even on the most drawn-out operations his father sent you out on, time only proved to strengthen the bond as you would return with tales of the people you were sent out to watch, and even come back with small gifts as tokens of fond remembrance. Every single one of those gifts, no matter how often Theon would act as if he were given something burdensome, were treasured and placed inside a wooden box that he secretly commissioned one of keep’s craftsmen to create in order to store them. Even if you two were lovers, however painful that would be for him, it would be of great comfort to Robb knowing that it such affections would one day pass. No matter how great the flames of passion arose, they would usually die out, especially in one’s youth. In your case, hopefully in a way so spectacularly horrendous that it would kill any hope of rekindling those flames ever again. But no, instead you two stubbornly remained siblings, and your bond was that of great platonic love and adoration. It baffled Robb to no end as to why the two of you remained so insistently loyal to one another, but it was the same answer every time Robb brought out his frustrations.

“He is my brother,” you would say without fail. “He is the family I chose to love and cherish, and so I will choose him. I will choose him every time.” You would look directly at him, with your big brown almond-shaped eyes, so warm and frank, as if you were stating so completely plain and obvious to a tempering child.

“Can’t you choose me? I would choose you. I could be your family.” Robb exclaimed in great exasperation at your persistence. After all, why couldn’t he be your family? He who saw how well you played and calmed his younger siblings when he, his mother, his father, and even the septas were too busy; who would always help you whenever you stumbled upon a difficult word that you couldn’t spell or pronounce; who would show you the secrets of the Winterfell Keep that he would not even show to Jon or Theon; he who saw your secret smiles and hidden protection you bestowed upon the many strays and smallfolk children in the village town. By the Seven’s sake, he was to be the Lord of Winterfell and of the North after his father, who better than him to take care of you?

“No,” you stressed out, “No Robb, you couldn’t. You and I could never be each other’s family, not the way that he and I are, not in the way you want us to be.” You looked at him with your eyes, your big, brown, warm, cruel eyes; eyes that looked so genuinely apologetic that it almost made him forget his anger, almost. “I’m sorry.”

“Why not?” Robb was sure that he sounded pathetic, but he needed to know, to understand, why he couldn’t be the one for you. Was it the differing status between you both, did his mother speak ill to you when he and his father were unable to witness it, or was it because you had feelings of love for someone else, someone not him? Oh gods, he could feel his young heart breaking at that final thought.

“Theon and I…”, you tried to find the words that could capture the meanings you didn’t know the words to, words that were not in any of the languages you had learned and spoken, “he and I are bonded. In a way that goes beyond words, beyond simply moments and memories. It is built on an understanding that only the two of us know of, something you have never and I pray that you never will understand, because it is a pain that very few our age knows about, and that is really all I can say of the matter.” With that being the final word, you turned and walked away, leaving the young heir more lost and aggravated than ever.

“Oh Li, my sweet, darling Li.” Robb thought as he admonished your words with tender childing. “How could you be so blind to your so-called brother’s selfish and arrogant ways? Do you not see how he would ruin you, how he would twist your naïve and tender heart with his cunning words and leering eyes?” After all, brother or not, Robb was not as stupid as many would like to him to be. Yes, he would admit that marrying Talisa was in poor taste, especially in letting her believe that she meant far greater to him than her original purpose. A purpose to strictly bring physical comfort and to destress after hard-fought battles, as well as to help him forget that he was to marry one of Walder Frey’s daughters and to forget about you. While he had never meant in their affair to go so far, he will admit that he got carried away with her. He got lost in their conversations and banter, in her altruistic warmth and kindness, he allowed himself to give into the idea of championing love and how it would conquer any obstacle set before him. But most of all, he longed for the idea of sharing a love with someone new, someone who didn’t know him from his youth. He wanted to love someone who didn’t know of the many insecurities that plague his mind whenever he planned for his next battle. He pined at the idea of someone who didn’t see the vulnerable boy he hid away to project the undefeated wolf marching towards the lion’s den. He was desperate for the warmth and frankness that would be rewarded to him from a woman whose love was sweet and generous and easy.

Talisa had been all of that, and more, so much more. She was opposite to you in every way, physical and emotional. The only similarity that could be shared between the two of you would be that your hair was dark, but even in that there were too many differences. You had routinely cut your hair to your armpit, whereas Talisa’s hair flowed past her midback. And upon further inspection, one could see very things streaks of silver and grey as a result of stress, meanwhile there were no such signs in his late wife’s dark locks. Both of your faces were beautiful and similar in some features but your beauty differed in hers not only in the regions of birth, but in evidence of treatment. Both of your faces had a straight nose, downward turned lips, and almond-shaped eyes. But Talisa’s elegant and angular visage contained no markings or blemishes of any kind. There were no crow’s feet, or scars. Even after witnessing her most laborious treatments and amputations, did she contain an angelic maturity that would envy the wealthiest of highborn women. Everything about her… her willowy and pliant frame… unblemished reddish hue complexion…angelic lips…legs that stretched for miles and were connected by full hips…all of it in the form of one truly mythic beauty.  

Whereas you…if Talisa’s beauty could be compared to an angel that glowed compassion and wisdom, yours was that of a survivor that radiated the hardships from years of regimented training for an enduring body and great mental fortitude. Your shoulders and rib cage were broad, but your stomach was slim with a taut core. Your arms were a bit trim, but years in learning how to properly shoot a bow and arrow, along with varying combat made them toned and fine. Your calves were strong and thick and they stretched your trouser legs, and while many insisted you looked more man than woman, you relished in their power in action. Your waist was sinched in a way that showed off the fullness in your hips, and perfectly gave way to your marvelous ass that he stared at more times than he likes to admit, especially with Theon’s overly protective gaze following him no matter the time or place. But he had remained respectful in his gaze if you don’t count the number of times, he spied you while swimming in the springs with the sheer small clothes as your only barrier, or when he watched you bathe in your quarters in the secret compartments or whenever he stroked his cock with an unwavering gaze as you rubbed your clit calling out his name.

While Talisa’s skin bared no markings, there seemed not to be a single patch of skin on your outer framework that didn’t contain a fading mark or scar. Even your proportional facial features: with downward lips that usually remained stoic, and straight framed nose that rarely crinkled even when it was red in the harshest of winters, and eyes that seemed unemotional until one paid close attention in order to see the carefully guarded mirth and gentleness that brightly shone in your peace; were littered with marking brought by you whenever you spied a pimple and removed it, letting it bleed and fester before it healed and scarred. This aggravated his mother and sister Sansa to great lengths, especially Sansa as she would insist that you were spoiling your own beauty and that no man would ever want to marry a woman with such awful scars on her face. You would turn to her stating that you would likely never marry in the first place, nor did you want to leave. Marriage would mean leaving Winterfell, the Stark family, and your new friends, including her who gave you your first gift. This shocked and flustered Sansa, as that “first gift” was a poorly embroidered handkerchief she just wanted to throw away, but instead gave it to you. Not long after, Sansa gifted you a much prettier embroidered handkerchief, one that had little blue flowers sewn across the borders. She insisted that you throw out the first, but you told her that she made both, so both were too important. So, you bought a small wooden box from your meager savings, and tucked both away neatly and lovingly. She still chided you something fierce whenever she caught you picking and scratching your own face. But sometimes Robb would pass by Sansa’s chambers, and double back in shock seeing the two of you conversing (well, more akin to Sansa gossiping and fantasizing about the South while you gave monosyllabic responses) on her bed while she practiced braiding your hair.

This brought up the most glaring difference between you and Talisa, although neither of you were born in Westeros, let alone in the North. But Talisa would never, could never be a Northerner, not in the way he and his family were Northerners as they were Starks, not in the way you grew to be a Northerner. She would never be able to adapt to the bitter cold and snow, could never love the harsh and biting winds, take comfort in the fresh air and scent of smoke wood burning in a hearth the way you had when you were brought to Winterfell by his father. There was no doubt that she would be respected, admired even, but the North and its people would never take to her in the way they took to you. You, who after weeks of careful interrogation and healing, took off running in the Godswoods, climbing its trees, breathing in its holy air, sitting before the weirwood tree with no fear as if you knew it your whole life. While it took a good while for you to gain the castle’s staff trust, it hadn’t taken much time for the village folk to look after you, despite being a foreigner who barely spoke the language. Granted there was the occasional drunk and youthful miscreant who still called after you in offensive terms, but they were quickly taken care of by Theon (who was the third in the keep to take you under his wing, after his father and Maester Luwin).

In return for their kindness, you became somewhat of a silent guardian. You made sure that no wild animals harmed anyone, even those who lived outside the village and in the deep forests; ensured that no child was lost after dark, often returning with bitemarks and long bleeding scratches; and fought off cruel men to the women working in the brothels and the barmaids in the Smoking Log. You even went so far as to “educate” the men who crossed your ire with you... somewhat disturbed skillset from the streets of Qarth. These particular teachings brought you much favor with the town’s women, none more so than Ros (who just so happened to your brother’s favorite whore). So much so that she liked to refer to herself as your “best friend,” a sentiment you returned wholeheartedly, as she was one of the few who heard you laugh, not just a giggle, but a full-bellied laugh, and seen you genuinely smile more times than anyone (besides your brother of course and him). And animals, gods. Don’t even mention to Robb about the animals, he could go on and on about how you seemed determined to take in every stray that wondered around aimlessly, hoping for some scraps of food or a place with walls to keep out the cold. In the first year you were brought, Robb could name over a dozen separate occasions you brought in a stray to care for before being found out. His father had hoped that by letting you keep your beloved shadowcat, you would stop this habit. This caused the very opposite of his hopes to happen, as you had no intention to stop taking in every stray that looked you with sad eyes. You only made sure to hide them in more…discreet locations, mostly in Jon’s and Theon’s rooms, as they shared a fondness for a singular cute creature with sad eyes (you).

But even that was not the limit of your protection. You even provided help to the wives whose husbands abuse them in cruelties beyond imagination, to where these men’s cruelties extend to their own children. These circumstances were tricky to say the least, as there was little to be done as the wife and children belonged to her husband and father, as he was usually the main provider of the family. Very few women dared not indicate any signs of abuse to anyone, much less towards his lord father. Robb was in his father’s solar at the time, learning about his future duties when in you barged in, holding a thick stack of evidence and documentation of not only the alleged offenses, but also proof in showing that these women willingly came to you to bring forth justice, knowing that their Lord Eddard Stark could only do so much. Not only that, but you also found evidence of reports of similar offenses being thrown out, meaning that you took the time and energy to fish out the documents from every trash heap in order to properly present your case.

This is where your true talents laid, in your relentless empathy and your perseverance for change. You may hide your heart in guarded walls made of heavily forged iron, but that didn’t take away the fact that you cared, you cared so deeply. You would use the skills you tirelessly trained for the purpose to protect those who cannot demand protection from those in power and cannot afford to bring attention upon themselves. In presenting the evidence, you asked whether this would be enough to request a change in policy regarding the protection of women and children in not only Winterfell, but across the North. Your body in steeled posture, expecting refusal and rejection, froze in shock in hearing that he would immediately establish a new policy regarding the treatment of familial relations, and punishment in violating that policy would result in amputation or beheading. Immediately, you raced across his desk and hugged him so tightly that Ned Stark was sure you had been possessed by a strange benevolent goblin. Noticing your precarious position, you straightened yourself out and apologized profusely before thanking him and swiftly exiting his solar. When brought up to House Stark’s vassal houses, many protested, though none more so than Lord Roose Bolton, as rumors of him leeching and torturing his wife and smallfolk were legendary in infamy. He questioned why such Lord Stark felt it necessary for such a policy to be implemented, but Robb’s father remained firm in keeping your anonymity, knowing you would be targeted for serious punishment if the lords knew of your identity.

“Being a Lord is like being a father, except you have thousands of children and you worry about all of them. The farmers plowing the fields are yours to protect. The charwomen scrubbing the floors, yours to protect. The soldiers you order into battle.” He paused before continuing, “But it seems, I have forgotten what it means to be a father to many others. I have evidence, of hundreds, if not thousands of reports stating the mistreatment by a family head’s hands. Reports that were never brought to me by men I thought I could trust. As Warden of the North, it is my duty to care for these women and their children, but I have failed in my duty. That is why I have created this law, and any violations of this law will be brought to my attention by the official guards of each house’s town. However, any knowledge of these violations going unpunished will be informed to someone else, someone personally placed and hidden that not even your best spies will find. They will be my eyes and ears; they will be my messengers. Should you bring your own twisted sense of justice upon them, I will know, and as you all know, I’ve never been one to use a headsman to do my beheading.” With that being the final word of the matter, Robb’s father dismissed his men, and called for the ravens to carry out the new law across his land. Robb would never forget those words for as long as he lived.

True to his father’s words, reports of these violations were kept in the known, and the Northern houses were expected to carry out the law’s sentences. Wicked men who violently struck their wives and children without proper justification had their hands chopped off. Those who starved their families were thrown into the dungeons without food or comfort for varying periods of time. And vile rapists had public castrations, and were also faced with beheadings. The lords ceaselessly hired the best spies and sellswords to find Ned Stark’s eyes and ears, but nothing came out of it. Soon enough, crimes of not only this offense, but other unrelated offences started to cease. Time continued forward, and the number of reports continuously dwindled until women felt it safe to walk at night without the need of a dagger, children felt it safe to play with outside after dark, and those with wickedness in their hearts learned what it meant to act properly without needing intervention of a higher power.

Smallfolk across the North sung praises to Ned Stark, for his kind and noble heart, for his true sense of justice, for being a man with true honor and knew the meaning of a lord’s duty of his people. But the women and children of Winterfell knew the truth, and it was you they silently revered. After all, only you listened to their cries, to their pain and anguish. You who searched for proof and evidence until the amount grew so great that you knew it could no longer be ignored. Things were not perfect, no far from it, but they were better. They were so much better, and they had you to thank for that. You were their paragon of justice and truth, someone who pushed for action in their lord’s idleness. One young man came up to you in privacy, and cried his thanks. He revealed to you that he and his brother were raped by their mother since their father’s death, but he could not tell anyone the truth, he could not bear the shame. But thanks to you, that wretched cunt was beheaded, and he could finally take his siblings far down south, where they would hopefully find better work and start a better life. You were silent until you carefully asked the young man if you could have his permission to hug him. When he granted it, you carefully and slowly placed your arms around him before both of you were sobbing and wishing good fortune to one another.

“No,” Robb thought as he almost reached Theon’s tent, “Talisa would never be accepted as his queen, not when you had taken the hearts of Winterfell’s inhabitants.” And as much as he felt guilty for her death and how he wouldn’t truly love her, he knew that this was for the best in the long run. Talisa was intelligent, and kind; but the coming winter would be ruthless, and her warmth would be swept out long before spring would arrive. He did mourn for his child, but he knew that with you by his side, there would be plenty of opportunities to create new heirs, and soon enough Winterfell will be run amok by little wolf pups and laughter once more. “Even if you do not understand it now, you cannot hide your feelings from your mate, little dragon.” As furious as Robb still was by you running from him, he knew that sooner or later that the two of you would find each other once more, and in finding each other, you would rule by his side as his queen and the North would only prosper in your reign together. A reign that would come a lot sooner than later, if he knew where in the seven hells you were off to.

“THEON!” Robb shouted before he stormed into Theon’s tent, he watched with furious eyes at his oldest friend and greatest enemy when it comes to you as Ari off his shoulder and perched on top of Grey Wind’s head. His chest was heaving, his nostrils flared in barely veiled anger, as he vented out the words, “Where is she?”

“With all due respect, your grace,” Theon quipped out as he began to pour himself some water, inhaling it in a few gulps before continuing, “you’ll have to be more specific. I don’t have the faintest idea of who this ‘she’ would be?”

“Oh, so that’s how he wants to play this out,” Robb thought out as he took a deep breath. He should have known better than to expect Theon Greyjoy of all people to give a straightforward answer. He quickly sent Grey Wind out to guard the tent, and not anyone in before curtly replying, “Don’t act dull. You know exactly whom I am referring to.”

Theon sat at his desk before pretended to ponder with his chin in one hand, and elbow in another, before continuing, “No, no, I’m afraid not, your grace. ‘She’ could really be anyone, would ‘she’ happen to be your mother? No, no, no…how about Arya, or perhaps Sansa? No, Arya just got here, and Sansa’s still not here, no thanks to you…Oh! Might ‘she’ be your late wife? The one who you fucked, then married and got killed- “Robb grabbed his throat before he could continue on, fury finally getting the better of him, and slammed the back of Theon’s head on top of the desk.

“Don’t you start with me Greyjoy,” Robb could barely contain himself, but he knew he had to, if only to get the information of where you were heading. He swallowed his pride before loosening his grip, and spoke his next words through clenched teeth, “Where is Long Li going? Don’t even think of lying to me!”

Theon’s eyes softened at the mention of your name, before whispering out, “Are you demanding an answer as my king?” His eyes and voice hardened to prepare saying the next words without spitting at the man above him, “Or as my brother?”

“Aye, I am your brother, now and always, but right now, I come to demand you answer me,” Robb’s voice grew stronger as he stated his next words, “as the man who intends to take her as my future wife and mother of my children and future heirs.” As he finished speaking, Theon felt anger surge throughout his body, and he gripped Robb’s doublet with both hands and flipped him onto his back.

“What makes you think I know?” Theon venomously spat out with a bit of condescension, “And for that matter, what makes you think that I would ever tell you? The boy who threw duty for love, that’s what everyone’s calling you. And for good reason too. Robb Stark, King in the North, the Young Wolf that never lost a battle, almost got 3000 men killed for love, and did get his wife gutted for it.” Theon let out a mocking laugh Robb, who struggled to get out of his grip, only to remain pinned on the desk. “If it weren’t for Li, we’d all be dead, bodies thrown into the river, rotting at the bottom. And because of you, she’s gone, gone with some mad man who could do anything to her.” Theon could feel his throat constricting, but didn’t bother to restrain his worst fears. He wanted Robb to bleed out more than when Roose Bolton shoved an arrow to his chest, “She could be gutted, maimed, or raped by now, and it’d be all your fault.” Theon released his grip and quickly turned away as he wiped the tears running down his cheeks at the thought of you getting hurt, and him not being there to protect you. Recalling your tearful goodbye, filled with gripping hugs and sweet words, and refusal to acknowledge the fear of never seeing each other again. The thought of you, the only person he truly, completely, and unconditionally loved, gone forever killed him. He tried to not completely fall apart as he remembered the final look you gave him before urging your horse into a gallop to put as much distance between you and the camp on your way to Seagard.

“I begged her to not go. I told her that no duty was worth her, that she’s done enough for others and that she should just stay here, where she could be safe.” He let out a bitter laugh before persisting while pacing around his tent, “But she wouldn’t hear of it, said that she had to go, and worst of all, I couldn’t go with her. She said that she needed me here, to make sure that you had your head an’ wits still with you after you wake up. She told me, ‘Robb’s lost too much already, and you’re his best friend. He just lost the woman he loves and their child, he’s going to need you to keep him grounded more than ever now.’” He poured more water, and swung it back before continuing, “‘Keep you grounded’, yea’ fat load of grounding I did before, eh? No matter what me, your mother, or Li told you…you still married your pretty healer queen, because you thought you were entitled to more happiness than the rest of us. Some king you are, you fuckin’ piece of shit.”

Theon finally stopped before sitting on his bed, elbows on his knees and head in his hands, sounding so tired and small that Robb wouldn’t have believe it was him if he weren’t right in front of him, “My sister is gone and might turn up dead and it’s all your fault, Robb Stark. And even if she’s alive, she can’t come back. You’re a shit king for making her doing this, for everything she did so that you’d and your family be safe.” Theon looked up, tears still streaming down his eyes, and stared directly at Robb as he scoffed out the next words, “She left feeling guilty, for so many things, all out of her control. First, for being too weak and injured to outfight the Tarth bitch; second, for not guarding those Lannister boys well enough, and the final part? The last’s the worst ten times over, because she thinks it’s her fault that Talisa and your child got murdered, that if she were just a little quicker and a little smarter and a little better, she’d get there earlier and both of them would make it out breathing. She almost went mad over it you know. I almost had to talk her out of throwing herself off the fucking Frey bridge, as if she hadn’t lost enough of her sanity already.” Both of them went silent after that, only until Robb walked over and sat by Theon and broke the tense silence.

“I didn’t love Talisa,” he rasped out, “I thought I did, I wanted to, but I couldn’t.” He looked at his feet, shame overtaking him as he only just realizes what Theon had lost as a result of his selfishness. “I cared for her, I loved our child, but I didn’t love her. I couldn’t, not when I already love Li, not how I will always love Li.”

“I know,” Theon responded, “I know.” Because while he was still angry, he knew Robb was genuinely sorry, even if he was an entitled prick.

“So,” Robb looked over to ask his old friend, “what happens now?”

Theon took in a deep breath, eyes closed in careful thought before answering, “We get out of this tent, execute some Bolton’s and Frey’s, meet with the bannermen, and make the preparations to Maidenpool to meet with Stannis to bend the knee or some shit.” He then turned his head to look at Robb with his trademark smirk and quipped out, “But before that last part, we’re going to find the biggest barrel of ale we got, and then drain the whole damned thing.”

Robb barks out a quick laugh, and tries to grip himself together in saying, “Perfect, what comes after the ale and before Maidenpool?”

“After the ale, we fight some more, drink some more, and then probably piss ourselves in our sleep.” Theon lists off before the two young men erupt in laughter, both tired of being mad at their best friend. “And before you ask, we’re meeting Stannis at Maidenpool because we got no bloody ships, and it’s going to be you, me, Arya, and Blackfish.” He saw the confused look in Robb’s eyes before going on, “The note asked for me specifically, probably to call me out for treason in being a Greyjoy or something. You’re coming because you’re the King in the North, Arya because two Starks are better than one in this case and your mother is in no state to continue on, my guess is that the bannermen probably want to send her back to Winterfell. And Blackfish is going because he’s a Tully of Riverrun, but he’s not your fuckup Uncle Edmure Tully of Riverrun.”

Robb chuckled out, “Aye, at least he’s not Edmure. And it’d be good for my mother to return to Winterfell, she likely wants to see Bran and Rickon more than she wants to see Sansa.” Satisfied with everything out in the open, the two men got up and called for their animal companions who guarded the tent from onlookers as they had their squabble.

“Come on now,” Theon slapped his king’s back as Ari flew to his right shoulder, “let’s spill some traitor blood and finish this meeting quick. Ale waits for no one.” And Robb laughed and smiled, remembering how good it felt to be laughing with Theon like he had in Winterfell. When everything was alright, his father alive and well, his sisters bickering but together, his mother with all her children, him with Jon and Theon in the training yard teaching Bran and Rickon how to shoot. No war to fight, no battles to be won, and most importantly, you were still by his side.

Please like, reblog, or comment your opinions if you want to, but please remain respectful. If I missed any warnings, let me know.

[black-eco-sage]

TNT - Cosmic Bonds + Horizons

(Don’t mind me, just over here making my own content for a non-existent / un-popular ship like some common rube >.>)

“Horizons”

In Torn's eyes were dreams of the distant sea; in hers, a memory of the sky.

The sun-warmed shores of Dover with its brilliant, blue-green shoals lapping at the golden sands; of the sweet summer breezes whirling in their hair and dancing in the dune grass.

Once, children flew kites and dug for Precursian beads on the beach.

Once, couples laughed and shoved each other into the surf, while the elders smoked their pipes and swapped stories in the cool shade of the jungle palms and passing clouds.

Once, their sleepy dream-world had a name...but no more. Instead, they remember and mourn a world that no longer exists.

All that remained of home stared back at them, held misty and distant in their own reflections, held safely in the other’s eyes.

Torn told himself that he could live in her memories forever, just as she had somehow moved quietly and sweetly into his dreams. Beyond their pain and grief was somewhere warm, somewhere safe, somewhere beautiful - a place beyond fear, that existed beyond the monsters and the soldiers and the toxic smog. A place both ancient and new, near yet far, in the path of the sun, where the sea met the sky.

Sometimes they would lay like that for what felt like forever, laughing and reminiscing until they both fell silent, just watching, re-living, yearning, their fingers barely brushing in the dark…

Tess closed her cloudy eyes, and the dream was gone. Torn kept watching as she slept, unable to forget a thing.

Content to stay awake, he eventually turned his gaze to the grimy ceiling, and his mind drifted beyond the stained concrete and empty, war-torn streets above them.

Together, they would keep dreaming of the long, lost shores of Dover, with its clear blue waters and vast, open skies that stretched into the horizon.

Forever almost touching…but not quite.

[theonepunkasshole]

Jennika vs Theodore Part 2

The two combatants waited for Big Mama’s cue, one hot with battle-lust and the other cold with anticipation. Their heads perked up at the sound of Big Mama’s voice booming outside the doors.

“Welcome ladies, gentlemen, and all Yokai alike, to the Battle Nexus! I sincerely hope that you have enjoyed our fights so far. If not, then I’ll have to feed you to my champion.” She paused for a moment to give a jovial laugh, “I’m just kidding…sort of. Anywho, I have a special event scheduled for you tonight! Two very capable warriors having a little tussle-lump in my arena for your enjoyment.”

Theodore wondered for a moment if it would hurt Jennika that her mom was treating this as just another fight. On the other hand, Jennika most likely didn’t want the entire stadium to know about her emotional struggles right now. So, he concluded that treating this as a normal battle was best for Jenny. He didn’t have time to deliberate too much on it as Big Mama continued on with her introduction.

“Our challenger for the evening is still fresh to the Battle Nexus,” she began her announcement with a sort of hushed excited voice, and she steadily built it with each sentence. “He has only made a few appearances so far, but each one has left us all–myself included–breathless with his quick reflexes, amazing improv, and awesome brutality. Please, my gracious audience, make some noise and energy for the amateur contender: Cain!”

The audience’s cheers rushed Theodore’s ears as the doors opened dramatically. “Cain” was the project name given to him when he was created, it was an allusion to the first murderer in the christian texts. So, Theodore thought it was a fitting champion name for the Battle Nexus. It also helped separate the person he was supposed to be from the person he wanted to be. As he stepped through the entrance, he was greeted with thousands of yokai, all shouting and applauding for him. 

He would be lying if he said the attention didn’t make him feel good. As much as he wanted to resist the energy of the crowd, he wasn’t here to entertain them, he couldn’t help but give a gentle wave. He did, however, give a playful wink to a cute lizard yokai. To which they immediately responded by turning a scarlet red and nearly melting over the railing; luckily, they were caught by their two friends standing beside them. They both laughed and gave a thumbs up to Theo, which made him chuckle sheepishly.

As soon as the spectators quieted down to a degree, Big Mama’s voice erupted again but in a more teasing tone, “Yes, yes, we are all ecstatic to see you return; however, I do hope you take no offense when I tell you this: I’m still rooting for my favorite.” Theo rolled his eyes in amusement, enjoying her love for the theatrics, but the massive crowd all began to whisper amongst each other about the Battle Nexus owner’s ominous statement.

She laughed wildly, “Yes, that’s right, my scrumptastic viewers! Our courageous contender has decided to test his skills and challenge the one woman army herself! He has abandoned all self preservation in favor of a thrilling show, featuring the clawed-boxing machine you all know and adore! The aspiring champion did the unthinkable, and pulled a beloved seasoned pro out from retirement for a one night show only! Please, my faithful blood-lustful spoogily wumps, give a warm yet loud welcome back to your Battle Nexus champion–and my lovely daughter–JENNIKA!” 

With each invigorating statement, the crowd grew in intensity to the point where Theo would have been concerned about the walls crashing down–if he didn’t know better. His head was on a swivel, identifying every piece of sensory information possible, and was concerned that this fight was becoming something much bigger than he wanted it to be. Son of a bitch, all he wanted to do was get Jennika into an environment/state of mind where she could really unleash on him without hurting anyone else. In his haste, he had forgotten that, at the heart of it, the Battle Nexus was a business first. A performance of fighters hashing it out. Agitated, Theodore snapped his head to glare at Big Mama–who was on her spectator platform–and was met with a chilling sight. Her face displayed her normal charming bravado with a confident grin to top it off, but her eyes revealed her true emotions:

Uncertainty

Sheena stood next to her, except she wasn’t hiding just how anxious she was. Yet, his instincts told him that they weren’t scared about her losing. Big Mama knew that Theo wasn’t planning on winning and Sheena hadn’t seen him fight enough to instill any doubts in Jennika’s abilities. No, they were afraid of what this fight would do to Jenny mentally and emotionally. So, Theo thought to himself, that means it’s up to me to make sure she comes out of this alright. It also meant that, despite her habit of being an entertainer, Big Mama still cared about her daughter. He turned back towards Jenny’s door to see she had already started walking out–damn, she was taller than he remembered. 

…He couldn’t quite place it, but she seemed off. Like, everything that had been bothering was just bubbling beneath the surface. As if just a single flick in the right place would set her off. He could see it in her eyes, even through her yellow bandana. He wanted to understand her more, not give her a mental breakdown.

He looked up towards Big Mama, “Hey! I don’t think this is a good idea anymore. I think we should–”

“Fight!”

Jenny launched herself at Theo and closed the distance within a second. Theo had only just turned back to her when he received a flying punch straight to his jaw. The force was strong enough to send him rolling across the dusty arena floor. The crowd uproared in a mixture of excited cheers and sympathetic groans. Theo didn’t stay down for long, once his momentum eased up, he seamlessly returned to his feet and brought his fists up in a guard.

Jennika didn’t waste time. She was back on him the moment he recovered, and unleashed numerous blows to his arms and stomach. She uses a lot of arm attacks, he thought, but he was then promptly corrected when she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pulled him down to knee him in the chest. He shot back up from her knee which opened his neck up for her to grab. She grasped his neck firmly, spun him around once to build inertia, and chucked him back across the other side of the arena. He skidded face down across the dirt, his head pounding with ache. Theo couldn’t tell what was louder, the cheering of the crowd or the heartbeat in his ears.

Big Mama’s voice erupted again, “Looks like we’re getting a more aggressive side of my little fiddle-wumps tonight!”

No shit.

He pushed himself off the ground enough to spit some dirt out of his mouth. His eyes widened as a shadow formed over him, and it was rapidly expanding. Theo rolled to the side just in time to avoid Jenny trying to crush him with her shell. They both got back on their feet, and she dashed towards him with a furious growl. She landed a solid jab to his stomach and resumed her merciless assault on his guard.

“I thought you wanted to fight!” she roared in his face. She then backed up slightly to make room to throw a kick to the side of his head. Luckily, his arms helped mitigate the damage to his skull, but the power still sent him tumbling back to the ground. She didn’t give him any time to think as she reached down and yanked on his leg and pulled him in close. She clasped both hands around his throat again and Theo got a decent look into her eyes.

He swore to god he could see actual flames in her eyes. 

He looked a bit harder…was it guilt?

She erased any train of thought he had by pulling him up and slamming him against the wall of the arena. Audience members above eagerly gripped onto the bar and gazed down excitedly at the two brawlers. Theo could make out some of the comments they were saying.

“C’mon, I got quite a bit of money riding on this!”

Don’t care.

“That’s right, cave his fucking face in!”

Please don’t.

“Don’t let her pin ya!”

Trying.

“Kick him in the dick!”

Don’t have that.

“I can’t believe she’s this close, she’s even hotter than I thought!”

Theodore stared at Jenny, who had both of her hands enveloped around his neck and was slightly bent down to glare intimidatingly into his eyes. His eyes looked down at the hands that grasped his neck and slowly scanned her flexed biceps and broad shoulders. He finished his gaze up at the face of violence incarnate scowling at him…and he felt a tingle snake down his spine. 

Damn it, they’re right.

“I thought you wanted to see my anger,” she snarled fiercely, it was less of a question and more of a jab. “What’s the matter? You talked a big game earlier, now you’re quieter than a guilty politician.”

Ow, that hurt. He grinned cheekily, “I have to ask: is Sheena into this rough play as well, or is it just me?” Jenny doesn’t respond, but Theo felt her heartbeat quicken slightly and saw her face blush subtly. His smile grew, “Oh, no fucking waAAY-”

Jenny, once again, threw him across the arena like he was a ragdoll and screamed at him, “You think this is some kind of fucking joke, right?” He regained his footing just to be met with another bruising blow in the chest. 

“Well, it’s not!”

Another punch to the ribs.

“This is fucking real and no one fucking cares!”

Another shot to his shoulder.

“No one understands how much I try!”

Her right hook forced him to look towards the viewing platform. He had noticed Big Mama’s reduction in commentating, but now he could tell from her cracking composure that she was becoming more uncertain by the minute. Meanwhile, Sheena was full on sobbing at Jennika’s pain. She clearly hated watching her wife be in so much misery. This isn’t what I wanted! I should stop the fi–Theodore was sent rolling backwards by a kick to his gut.

“But that’s ok, because it’s never good enough anyways.”

Theo slowly stood back up to see Jenny’s furious, tearful face, “Jen, wait, let’s stop.” That tripped something in her brain and she screamed so loud her voice cracked

“IT CERTAINLY WASN’T GOOD ENOUGH FOR HER!”

The audience began to go quiet as Jenny ripped the bandana off her face, “I was completely fucking useless. She died and I couldn’t do anything.” She dropped to her knees and began breathing heavily. Theo could only watch. “She was my only friend in that fucking shit hole. She always had my back and I let her down when she needed me the most. I…can’t do that again.” Theo heard sobs coming from the platform. Sheena was hysterical and Big Mama did her best to control herself while comforting the metal vocalist. He saw her open her mouth and he quickly put his hand up to silence her. 

Hold on, is what his gesture meant, which seemed to work as she closed it again. Another heartbreaking sob rattled Jenny’s body, “You don’t understand, I can’t fucking do that again! If someone dies because I wasn’t good enough again, I will never be the same again!” She clenched her fists and bashed them against her skull, which made Theo flinch. “And I fucking despise that I can only talk to you like this when I’m beating you into the god damn dirt! I don’t want to be the angry sister, but I don’t really have a choice, do I?”

I’m not alone, was all Theodore thought, as he lowered his hands to his sides and tears pricked the corners of his eyes, This is the guilt I saw in her. The same kind I feel. Jenny’s self loathing monologue sparked memories of his mother. How many nights had he spent wondering what he did wrong? How many different ways did he calculate his fault? Just how much did he hate himself for being so fucking useless? After years of being alone, he finally felt like he met someone who knew his pain. The pain of being so close to someone and having them slip right through your fingers. Theo felt the coldness of isolation melt away by Jenny’s burning rage. He clenched his fists, and made a promise right then and there.

I won’t leave you behind.

“So, fuck it! I’ll be the angry bitch! But you asked for it, and I won’t stop until one of us can’t FUCKING MOVE!” She leaped forward, fist ready to strike his face.

Theo stepped aside, only inches away from her fist, and let her zip right past him. The crowd gasped in shock at his sudden shift in behavior. She landed on her feet and spun around to face him. Even in her anger, she couldn’t hide the confusion from her face. Theo smirked as he removed his dirt covered, sweat stained tank top (which earned some whistles from the crowd), and tossed it to the ground. His slightly scarred body, mostly his surgery scars, were on full display for the stadium.

“I’m not hiding anymore,” he explained to Jen, “I wanted to understand you, and now I do–”

“You don’t know shit!” Jenny hissed venomously.

Theo ignored her warning, “Now that I got what I wanted, I’ll leave this choice to you: I’ll walk away right now and throw the fight, or–”

“You already know my answer,” she interrupted, cracking her neck for added effect.

God, that’s hot but bitch needs to stop interrupting me. He shrugged and made a ‘come and get it’ gesture with his hand. She charged at him and started with a right hook. He effortlessly ducked underneath and threw three quick jabs into her side, right between her shell and plastron. She grunted with pain and stumbled back, but then flew back when he kicked her square in the chest. She had an inkling that he would have yelled, ‘THIS IS SPARTA!’ if he wasn’t so focused.

She rubbed her chest with a smirk, “Finally fighting?” she wheezed.

The rest of the fight was way more entertaining for the audience, with the two highly skilled warriors taking turns blocking attacks, landing blows, and performing impressive maneuvers. There was one moment where their fists collided and they both took a step back and shook out their hands. Jenny was fine, her large hands and thick fingers able to take the hit. The various gasps and groans from the audience drew Jennika’s attention to Theodore, who’s left pinky and ring finger were bent outwards horrifically. Big Mama and Sheena could see Jenny’s face pale (At least pale as much as a mutant turtle could) and watched her step forward to help him.

He stopped her movement by gripping the two fingers and snapping them back into place. This made everyone cringe in disgust (well, not everyone, some enjoyed his nonchalant gruesome behavior). He wiggled his fingers to test his mobility. Satisfied, he turned back to Jennika and brought up his fists again.

He noticed Jennika’s shocked face, “I told you I could take your anger,” he said confidently.

Jennika didn’t stop staring, she glossed over his body and noticed the light bruises on his body along with the small amount of blood dripping from his nose. She glanced down at her own hands and eyed the splotches of red and the faint hints of dark green indicating bruising. But she didn’t care about her own bruised knuckles. She was only concerned about the blood, his blood, the blood of her friend.

Theodore recognized that look and knew what it meant: I did this.

The rest was a blur, he only recalled some of it. He remembered watching her fall to her knees and wail in despair; he remembered sliding onto his knees and hugging her tightly, despite her weak attempts to shove him away; he remembered appreciating the audience members calling to stop the fight; he remembered pinpointing the ones booing the interaction, making sure to find them later. He also vaguely remembered Sheena and Big Mama rushing over to them as well.

But most importantly, he remembered sobbing as well, mumbling to his friend, “It’s ok, it wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t your fault.”

[mymistakewriting]

Eddie Diaz, survivor's guilt & breakdown era thoughts

I have a lot of little posts like this that I plan to make, but Eddie and his breakdown arc in season 5 is one that I've been thinking on a lot the last couple of days, so that's what I'm going to start with.

Trigger & Content warnings: PTSD, Survivor's Guilt, mentions of suicide & drug use & death. I'm sure I'm missing something here, but basically, soldiers don't get taken care of after they leave active duty in the US and we all know it. That's it's warning.

Eddie Diaz and his survivor's guilt is surprisingly layered when you look at it as it's own thing instead of something that was mentioned once or twice and then never again. It's something that's really easy to see in the aftermath of his breakdown, or if you're familiar with survivor's guilt yourself, etc. It's always been there, coloring his actions and words just enough that something was off, but never really bad enough to set off any alarms or raise any red flags. But then again, when Eddie's first introduced, he's a little too casual at the concept of himself being put at risk. The tension only leaks in when it's someone else at risk - originally, Buck and the guy they're trying to pull a live grenade round out of. And then, as soon as the immediate danger is gone, even after the ambulance explodes as the round goes off and sends Buck and Bobby both flinching, he's calm and offering to go for food. He's trained to be unaffected, to shove things into a neat little box, but even when he's first introduced, that box is near to bursting.

There are a lot of habits that speak to his PTSD - he thrives in traumatic situations until it's someone else from the 118 in danger, he's great at coordinating and good under pressure unless that pressure is something mundane like a conversation or a date (remember him having a panic attack so bad that it presented as a heart attack because of Ana? Yeah, hello, PTSD on full display, that wasn't just anxiety about her, she just made that panicked fight or flight harder to ignore until it bubbled over). But his survivor's guilt? It feels so much different.

It shows through in how Buck speaks during the tsunami - unable to meet and hold Eddie's gaze despite Eddie's abnormal searching for it - and how fast Eddie is to try to reassure Buck that he knows, he knows that Buck tried everything he could and then some when Buck is panicking and apologizing to him for losing sight of Christopher. That wasn't the look of a father terrified of his son being dead, that was the look of "oh, another one?" that you see on far too many survivors. And the way he looks back at Buck with Christopher in his arms, terrified as Buck collapses in front of Bobby and Hen. It never felt final, never felt like a closure, a goodbye, a whatever it's meant to be when a parent has to be told that their child is gone. But it did feel raw.

And it's in his anger after Shannon dies. He's angry with her, yes, even with it being irrational. He's angry because she left Chris again. But he's also angry at himself because it was his team on the scene and it was his job to save her and he couldn't. He's an army-trained field medic and a firefighter, logically, he should have been able to save her, so the disconnect in his head just shows through as anger because that's better than grief and better than hopelessness, right? But he doesn't express those thoughts and he only takes what time off Bobby forces on him after her death for Chris' sake, not his own, never for his own. And then it spiraled into the stupid street fighting arc that really never should have happened. But it made sense at the time, I won't say it didn't. He was desperate for an outlet, but that was years of emotion he was trying to let out at that point, so of course it went too far. It was always going to go too far.

But I don't think it hit Eddie that he was dealing with survivor's guilt, well and truly, until after he found out that Mills had died. He'd had it for years - ever since the mission that earned him his silver star, because he did lose someone on that mission - he lost the guy he was giving everything he could to save when they got shot out of the sky. But it never fully sake in, never registered. Just kept growing and growing every time he got news of someone else he'd saved dying.

Shannon. His Chief. Norwhal. Binder. Mills.

And I'd bet about half of it hit him so bad because he felt like he could still have saved them. At the very least, he felt like if he'd stayed in touch, Binder wouldn't have overdosed. Mills wouldn't have killed herself.

And I don't think he ever fully recovers from his topple off the deep end. But I do think he learns to manage it and he lets it turn him into a better firefighter. A better friend.

And I do think that's why he removed himself from active duty for a while with the 118 to work at Metro Dispatch sending out tweets. He didn't trust himself to be someone else's lifeline after all of that guilt hit him. And that's exactly why him jumping right back into the fray with no hesitation during the fire at dispatch was such an important step for him. That was the first sign that he was healing - and maybe he'll never fully recover from the damage that's been done, but learning to live and thrive despite in is still better than a lot of people in Eddie's position get.

[in-love-with-writing-whump]

Credit to kurichancos on TikTok for giving me the idea for this:

 Basically, @kurichancos on TikTok posted an Attack on Titan cosplay skit that was very angsty and involved a ship I really like, so I figured I’d write a little something based on that.

Link to the TikTok that inspired me: https://www.tiktok.com/@kurichancos/video/7208208050073718021?is_from_webapp=1&sender_device=pc&web_id=7153338265391318574

TW: Implied spoilers for Attack on Titan season 3

Whumpee and Caretaker were in love. During a battle, Caretaker and A were both injured, and Whumpee had an opportunity to save one of them, but would have to leave the other to die. Caretaker, whose life had been full of pain, seemed like the obvious person Whumpee would pick because they loved each other. But A was like a child to Caretaker, and Caretaker would never have forgiven Whumpee if they chose them instead. In addition to this, Caretaker’s life had been full of pain and suffering (much like Whumpee), so Whumpee decides to let Caretaker finally rest and saves A instead.

A carries a lot of survivor’s guilt as a result of this, but Whumpee promises them that they have no regrets. One day, while Whumpee is working, A comes in to show them something.

Whumpee, not paying attention to their surroundings, says “Caretaker, I don’t have the time right now.” A stands there, stunned into silence as Whumpee looks up and realizes what they they just said. A, visibly upset, leaves, and Whumpee rushes after them to apologize.

Anyways, thanks again to @kurichancos on TikTok for giving me whump inspiration.

[areadri]

       LAYING BYLETH TO REST UPON HER BED, his gaze lingers over her slumbering features for only a moment... before he drags the blanket up over her shoulders, and turns away. in his haste, he grants her the courtesy of a closed door at the very least, then descends the stairs. once he exits the building, tasting the fresh wooded air, everything unravels. a well of emotion bleeds through the cracks forming in his cold, steeled exterior, splitting him apart at the seams. areadbhar falls to the pavement with a resonant CLATTER, and dimitri follows it, the weight of every memory forcing him to his hands and knees. it felt as though they were old scars, torn open anew, like he had merely forgotten all this time. his trembling fingers claw against the dirt--- his hands are stained red, and he cannot seem to be rid of it. 

       he hangs his head, wracked by silent sobs. 

                                             ... forgive me.

       the ghosts gather around him, and one more, swarming his open wounds like an infection. he cannot bring himself to cry; or perhaps his tears had dried up a long time ago.

                                                          ---but beasts do not weep.

[in-love-with-writing-whump]

Febuwhump 27: Survivor's Guilt

Whumpee held the little scraps of cloth in hand, that signature insignia staring back at them. They could see those bright eyes and smiling faces, could still hear the goofy nicknames and the whispers they used to call one another.

Whumpee looked at their list of names, another scratch through their names. Their throat tightened. Two of them had family, one of whom had praised the commander for training their kid. The third had always been the life of the party, keeping the others on their toes.

Whumpee tucked the sigils in their pocket, moving on to the papers for Second and Third. Third had an ailing father and a brother listed under next of kin. But Second... Second had put Whumpee and A's names down.

"It’s not like I had any family left," Second said, rolling their eyes. Whumpee didn't meet their eyes, the cracked lenses of their sunglasses kissed with blood, their organs hanging out of their abdomen, bits of bone visible. "How is it that you keep outliving the rest of us? With everything's that’s happened, I'm impressed you haven't died yet."

Third, their jaw dislocated, blood seeping through teeth, clutched at their warped rib cage, stumbling about the room. "You're being mean again, love. It's not their fault the Gods seem to like them."

Whumpee clenched their jaw. "I wish they didn't. They're cruel to me. You see, they like to torment the living."

Third laughed, light filtering through their translucent apparition. "You know this isn't real, right, Whumpee?"

They nodded, not meeting their eyes. Tears threatened to spill. "It should've been me," they whispered.

Second rest their cold hand on Whumpee's shoulder, Third crouching down beside them. "Don't say that. Leader picked you as their replacement for a reason. You fix things. You still have to do that."

Third rested their head against their shoulder. "We'll be waiting, Whumpee. Make us proud."

Whumpee wiped away their tears, only to find themself alone again.

No, they'd been alone a long time now. And seeing ghosts wouldn't change the past.

FEBUWHUMP 2023 IS HERE!

the prompts this year were chosen through a suggestion poll and subsequent vote, where over 350 people voted for their favourites. the top 28 make up the core prompts, and a mixture of the next most popular and this blog’s personal favourites have become the alternatives!

i’m so excited to see what you all create with these prompts, and hope they’re inspiring enough to trigger a whole month’s worth of creativity for you! if you have any questions, make sure to check out the blog’s FAQ, or check out the previously asked questions on the blog before sending one of your own!

please note: this year, notifying the blog of completionist status will happen through a google form that will be released closer to the end of febuwhump.

full write-up of prompts and rules under the cut:

Keep reading

[something-tofightfor]

Root Pearl: 5

Pairing: Ezra x female reader - musician AU

Word Count: 11,537

Rating: E. There’s no actual sex, but ... well, you’ll see. 

Summary: Ezra invited you over to see his studio and hear him rehearse, so what’s the delay? You have no idea - especially after the way you left things the last time you saw him.

Blanket warnings: loss of a parent, character death, survivor’s guilt, learning to deal with the loss of a limb, infidelity (not Reader w/Ezra), blood, bodily injury, heavy angst.

Author’s note:

Four and a half months later, we’re back. This is just sort of an ‘ease in’ chapter to get me back into the frame of mind to write this story ... but I didn’t want to leave them alone for much longer. 

Hopefully it won’t take me as long to get back to them for next time. Thank you for your patience!

Catch up on the first four parts of this story here!

Cee wasn’t home when you dropped him off, and Ezra was glad. Not because he didn’t want to see her, but because he needed time. 

You’d helped him carry things up to his apartment - Ezra holding onto the case his prosthetic was in and you handling the leftovers. And he’d kissed you again after you’d put things into the refrigerator, the man following you to the front door and stopping you before you walked out. 

His voice was low when he called out your name but so was yours in reply, the slight droop of your eyelids as you leaned in noticeable even in the dim light of his hallway. And he kissed you hard, the man groaning into your mouth as you fisted his shirt in both hands, Ezra fighting with himself not to let things go too far, or make you think that he expected anything from your presence. 

Because he didn’t. 

He didn’t expect anything from you at all, and that, to him, was the biggest surprise of them all. It was you that pulled away first, gasping for breath and tilting your head to stare at him for long seconds before you’d laughed and then tucked your chin against your chest, mumbling about how you needed to go. 

He didn’t try to stop you or suggest anything different, and after one final kiss - a short one - and a promise that you’d hear from him soon, you were gone and Ezra was alone in the apartment, light spilling into the hallway from the fixture over the kitchen island counter. 

He allowed himself a few minutes to stand still and think and then Ezra broke for the bathroom, shutting and locking the door behind him before he began to remove his clothes piece by piece. His arm was beginning to ache, and he knew that he’d need to take a pain pill or two before bed. But at the moment, that wasn’t important. Not even close. 

What was important was the heat of the water and the feeling of the tile against his forehead when he leaned in to rest against it. 

What was also important was the sight of you that flashed behind his eyelids when he closed them, the memory of the way you’d treated him that night still fresh in his mind. 

And not just tonight, he thought as he let the water cascade over his back and shoulders. Since the first damn time I met her. 

He soaped himself up as quickly as he could, taking care to avoid his abdomen and the end of his arm, and when it came time to wash his hair, he pulled his fingers through the sodden strands, his touch a little rougher than usual. The blunt edges of his nails dragged over his scalp, and when Ezra opened his eyes, tilting his head back to rinse the shampoo out, he focused on the ceiling.  

At least it started that way, the man’s brown eyes honed in on the tiny ridges above him before his gaze moved down and he was staring at the tile on the wall - one of them slightly askew. That’s where his attention stayed as he reached for the conditioner bottle and spread it through his hair, massaging it in as best as he could with one hand. 

Ezra groaned while pulling his hand away, the man hissing out a breath as he stepped back from the spray of the water. Taking a deep breath, he turned around to face the showerhead and closed his eyes, pressing the heel of his hand against his forehead. 

“Shit.” The sound was almost obscured by the noise of the water, but he said it again as his fingertips curled against his scalp, Ezra’s nose wrinkling before he licked his lips.

He was used to many things when it came to women - and even men on occasion. 

What Ezra wasn’t used to were the lingering thoughts toward one specific woman, especially when nothing physical had happened. But I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her. He lowered his hand, pressing his palm to the center of his chest and exhaling, the water hitting his forearm and then dripping down his stomach and thighs. Not since the bar. Not since … not since I met her. 

His hand dropped lower, Ezra’s palm finding and then stopping over the wound on his belly. He took a deep breath and held it, the raised edges of the scar pressed against his palm, everything warm thanks to the heat of the water. 

Both of you had reservations about moving forward, and he’d had no problem with where things ended with you earlier that night. Nothing wrong with slow. He exhaled, eyes closed as he tucked his chin against his chest. And I really don’t know what I’m capable of. 

That was the truth. There was no denying that he was attracted to you, and he’d barely been able to conceal his body’s reaction to your proximity when you were on his lap or in his hallway. But he knew that that didn’t automatically mean what it had meant only months earlier.

Because now I can’t just … everything has to be thought through, and … He groaned as his hand moved lower, the man palming the slight bulge between his legs before he curled his lip, taking himself in hand and beginning to stroke along the length. 

He was only half hard, and it felt wrong - much like it had every time he’d used his left hand to get himself off. But the touch itself was welcome, and so Ezra continued. He closed his eyes and tilted his head back, the glide of his hand made easier by the remnants of conditioner coating his palm. 

His breathing changed after only a few seconds, the sound coming out ragged. Though he could feel himself swelling with every stroke, Ezra tried not to focus on it, instead letting his mind wander. 

The humid air in the shower was comforting, and Ezra’s breathing evened out moments later, the man’s eyes opening halfway. Relax. There’s no reason to … He hummed as he slid the tip of his thumb up, swirling the pad of it slowly in a circle while he squeezed. “Oh, Kevva.” It finally felt good, and when he resumed the gliding motion, Ezra’s lips curved into a small smile, hand moving faster. 

Heavy against his own palm, Ezra inched closer to the water, the bulk of the spray hitting him in the center of his chest and running down. Tucking his chin closer to his chest to watch its path, he licked his lips at the sight of the way his hand looked - the way each tiny thrust of his hips in time with the stroking motions forced the length of him through his curled fingers. 

But moments later, he blinked droplets of water from his eyes and his breath caught at the thought of another hand on him - one smaller and smoother and with a lighter grip, one that was attached to you, your elbow bent as you tucked it close to your body. “Oh, shit.” He hissed the words out, eyes slamming shut, and even though he knew it was wrong, Ezra couldn’t stop himself from continuing the fantasy of having you touch him. 

He changed his grip as he tried to imagine what it would feel like, loosening his fingers and rotating his wrist on every downstroke. When he bit his lower lip, his hand reaching his tip again and squeezing, Ezra groaned out your name, speeding up the movement of his hand and forcing his eyes back open. 

He blinked to clear the water from them again, his gaze falling back to what he was doing, and with each stroke, Ezra panted out a breath, mouth hanging open. 

“Need me to stroke your ego? I’ve wanted to meet you for so long. Is this real life? If you wanted me to come in, you just had to ask. You could have touched me. I wouldn’t have stopped you.” 

He replayed your words, pairing them with the memory of the way you’d kissed him back, of the way it felt to have your weight settle into his lap, of the jolt he’d felt the moment you’d locked eyes and smiled at him the night of the concert. All of it. All of it is …

The muscles in his abdomen contracted as he gripped himself tighter, the speed of his hand picking back up. Ezra said your name again, the sound coming out in an almost pathetic grunt, and then the man’s eyes screwed shut. 

He was close. He could feel the way his entre body was tensing, the curl of his toes against the textured floor of the shower - and with a final gasp, Ezra twisted his wrist quickly to the right and then to the left as he completed another stroke. “Oh, fuck.” 

He came hard, his hips jerking forward as he continued to squeeze himself, the movement of his fingers more of a reflex than anything else. With a low whine, Ezra’s eyes opened again and his gaze drifted down, fixating on the way what hadn’t splattered against the dark-tiled wall was dribbling down and over his fingers. Fuck that felt amazing. 

Swearing one more time, Ezra took as deep a breath as he could - and then smiled, releasing his grip and reaching out, using that hand to swipe the tile clean before letting the water rinse his skin. Once that was done, he paused for a few seconds to steady himself before taking another step forward and letting the water hit the top of his head. 

He stood there for long moments, catching his breath and rinsing his hair, but Ezra didn’t stop smiling. 

It wasn’t the first time that he’d touched himself after the accident. It wasn’t even the first time that he’d done it in the shower. But it was the first time he’d done it thinking of someone that was currently in his life - someone that he could potentially end up trying the real thing with at some point. Soon, maybe.

But what Ezra didn’t know was whether or not it had been a fluke, and if his body would react differently to the two of you actually being together. He didn’t know how you would react to seeing what was left of him - the lost weight and scar tissue, the missing limb much more noticeable in such tight proximity and without anything covering it. “It doesn’t matter right now.” He muttered the words, taking a final, steadying breath before he straightened up. 

He felt good as he finished his shower; rinsing the conditioner from his hair and scrubbing his face before using medicated soap to carefully clean the scars on his arm, abdomen and lower back. By the time he’d turned the water off and wrapped himself in a towel, Ezra was as calm as he’d been at any point following the crash, and it shocked him. 

It shocked him so much that he didn’t even notice that Cee was sitting in the living room with her feet propped up on one of the footstools in front of the couch. “Ezra? I’m home.” 

Swallowing his pills, he turned toward the girl, the glass he’d been holding skittering across the countertop. He spluttered a response out, quickly reaching for a dish towel to clean up the water he’d spilled onto the marble. “Kevva, girl. Warn me next time, I -” 

“I said your name twice, Ezra.” She turned, hanging her elbows over the back of the couch and cocking her head to one side. “You didn’t even notice.” 

“No, I did not.” Tossing the towel next to the sink, he headed for where she sat, lowering himself onto the opposite end of the couch. “I didn’t know you were back.” 

“Yeah, I …” She bit her lip, eyeing him. “I got back a little while ago. Heard your shower running, and wasn’t sure if…” She looked past him, narrowing her eyes at he bedroom door. “If you had company.” For a few seconds, Ezra wondered what she’d heard, and if he’d been too loud. She’s never heard anything before. 

“No company, little bird.” He smiled, shrugging. “She did drop me off, though. Brought up those leftovers that were promised, and then left. She has work tomorrow.” Cee’s eyes flashed in the semi-darkness, but the girl stayed quiet, still watching him. “What?”

“I was waiting for you to call.” Cee leaned forward, arms crossed over her chest. “And when you didn’t, I thought … I thought it must have gone well. Or,” she continued, raising a brow. “Or that it went really bad, and -”

“Not bad.” He grinned, the memory of your time on the couch together fresh in his mind. “Not bad at all, Cee.” He watched her eyes widen, and then as the girl stood, spreading her hands out in front of herself, Ezra leaned back and rested his head against the back of the couch, his smile growing. “Stop looking at me like that.” 

“No, Ezra, I won’t.” She laughed, planting her feet and then putting her hands on her hips. “Tell me what happened. Tell me ev… well, not everything, but…” She paused and he peeked at her, lifting his shoulders in a shrug before he let them drop. “Ezra!”

“I invited her over to listen to me rehearse.” Licking his lips, Ezra raised his head. “I’ve got the studio, and I need to practice.”

“But you never invite …” Cee blew out a breath. “Oh, that…” She lowered herself onto the edge of the coffee table, facing him. “Good.” Good? Is it? “When?”

“I don’t know.” He could feel the pills beginning to work, the pain in his arm subsiding as the medicine made its way through his bloodstream. “We didn’t set a date, I just extended the invitation.” She hummed, leaning forward. “She seemed surprised.” 

“Of course she did.” Cee’s smile widened, the girl’s eyebrows going up. “Think about it from her point of view.” What? “A few weeks ago, you were just …” Cee shrugged, sighing. “Just this guy that she’d only heard on the radio and seen a few times onstage. She’d never even talked to you, but knew things about you.” 

“But that -” He pushed himself upright, opening his mouth to speak again, and Cee cut him off. 

“And now she’s having dinner with you, and seeing where you live and having you over to her house. You’re inviting her to know you, Ezra, and not just the you that everyone knows.” He contemplated her words, letting out a long, slow breath. She’s right .Things are … changing. He thought back to what he’d done in the shower, though he didn’t let his mind stay there for long. “It’s probably a lot for her to handle, especially on top of a breakup.” 

“I’ll … I’ll rescind my invitation, then. I wasn’t thinking. I just wanted her to -”

“No, don’t.” Cee reached out, settling her hand on his flannel-covered knee. “That’s not what I think you should do. I just think you need to remember that this is all new to her, like it was new to you once.” 

“And to you.” He blinked slowly, a drowsy warmth settling through his body. “It was new to you, too.”

“No. When you grow up with someone like Damon, you get used to shit fast.” Using two fingers, the girl rubbed the space between her brows. “This is all I know. But I understand it because I’ve seen it with other people, and not … not just the ones you or he were with.” He frowned, lifting his hand to place it atop hers. “Hey.” She said his name, leaning in. “Make sure she knows she’s not just another one of them.” 

“She does.” He straightened up, fingers curling over hers. “Of course she -”

“Ezra.” Cee pulled her hand free, tucking her hair behind one ear and then standing. “It’s going to take more than two dates and an invitation over to listen to you sing to prove it.” She leaned in, pressing a kiss to the still-damp hair on his head. “Now come on, you’re about to fall asleep on this couch, and that’ll be hell on your arm.” 

She helped him to his feet, but once he was up, Ezra realized that he was much more alert, his gaze snapping down to the girl standing in front of him. “Sometimes I wonder who the real adult in this apartment is, Birdie.” Her answering smile was a grin, and when Cee laughed, Ezra did, too. “I told you earlier that I don’t know what I’m doing, so thank you.” 

“Don’t worry about it.” She stepped away from him and toward the kitchen, Ezra watching as she reached up to pull her hair into a loose ponytail. Wait. 

“Cee.” He closed his hand into a fist, taking a deep breath. When she turned around to face him, Ezra opened and then closed his mouth, biting down on the inside of his cheek. Just say it. “Thank you.” 

“For?” She waited, one hand on her hip. 

“For putting this in motion.” Ezra stepped closer, nodding his head. “For suggesting that she go to that bar. For -”

“I might have suggested it, but I didn’t know she’d actually go.” Cee shrugged, but he could hear the satisfied tone of her voice. “And I didn’t know that you’d see each other, either.” It was the truth, but in that moment - the memory of your kiss fresh in his mind, Ezra didn’t care. 

“Take the damn compliment, girl.” He barely kept a straight face as he sad it, Cee unable to do so either. As they headed down the hallway toward their bedrooms, both of them were still laughing, Ezra stopping only long enough to flip the light switch as he stood in his doorway. “Goodnight, Cee.” 

“Night, Ez.” She turned to look back and over her shoulder at him, her laughter-reddened cheeks visible from the light that spilled out of her bedroom. “See you tomorrow.” 

He closed his door behind him and almost immediately pulled his shirt off, tossing it into the basket in the corner. It wasn’t that late, but Ezra was exhausted - and the lingering warmth from his shower coupled with the medication was making it worse. 

He didn’t have anywhere to be the following morning, and so he didn’t bother setting an alarm, instead heading back to his dresser and grabbing his nighttime compression sleeve. He pulled it on, turning his head to stare down at it, and then let his eyes wander to his abdomen, a slow breath escaping his nose as his fingers traced along the scar there. 

Ezra sat in silence for a few minutes, hand pressed to his belly, and then he leaned back, reaching over to turn his light off before pulling the blanket over his body. The darkness was comforting to him - as it always had been, and when Ezra stretched out, he felt himself relaxing completely, his weight sinking into the mattress. 

I should text her and say goodnight. Keeping his eyes shut, he contemplated doing just that - and then, as sleep began to overtake him, he decided against it. It’s too late. She’s asleep already. Ezra turned his head, cheek resting against the cool pillowcase - but with a smile on his face. I’ll reach out tomorrow.

And only moments later, he too was sleeping - going under much faster than he had at any point in the previous few months.

— 

You hadn’t expected to hear from Ezra right away, but when two days passed without any sort of contact, you started to worry. 

You’d left things on good terms with him - or so you’d thought, the man initiating a borderline desperate kiss with you in front of his door, his body pressed to yours in a way that would have been indecent in public. 

Maybe he’s busy. You tried to convince yourself, the words sounding hollow in your head as you drove home from work on Thursday afternoon. Or maybe something came up. 

It wasn’t that you’d assumed you would see him again right away, but his suggestion had sounded like he wanted you over in the near future, not somewhere far down the road. And I’d love to see him in his studio. You hated admitting it - hated feeling like just another fan, hated the idea that there was even a small part of you that was looking forward to being privy to that part of Ezra’s life instead of just spending time with him doing other things. But he invited me, and he knows … he knows that I…

“Dammit.” You groaned, slapping a hand over your face as you sat at a red light. “Why are you like this?” Whispering the words, you reached over with your other hand and turned the car’s radio on, flipping through channels. 

Almost as if the universe was playing a cruel trick on you, you heard Ezra’s familiar voice coming through the speakers moments later, The Fringe’s most popular single filling the car’s interior. There was nothing you could do but laugh, and as the light changed and you eased off the brake, you shook your head, doing the only logical thing you could think of and started singing along. 

The song ended and went straight into a reminder from the announcer about the benefit concert - and an update that it was completely sold out. 

In spite of the uncertainty about your situation with him, you grinned. Good for you, Ezra. You weren’t surprised that the show was sold out but you were surprised that it had happened so quickly - the venue was a decent size, tickets had only gone on sale a week or so earlier, and they weren’t exactly cheap. 

But it was going to be the first time he took the stage since the accident, and you knew that people were excited to support him and the other members of the band in any way they could. Especially since it could be the last time. It was a sobering thought, and as you parked and got out of your car, you took and held a deep breath. It won’t be the last time. It can’t be. 

While you heated up dinner a few minutes later, you pulled your phone out and started scrolling through your social media feed. It was a lot of the usual - though there was an update on the band’s page thanking everyone for ensuring the sellout so quickly. You liked it and then refreshed the page, sucking in a breath at the newest post. 

It was a video post from Ezra, sitting on what you recognized as his balcony. He’d taken the video himself, the man visible from the shoulders up. You didn’t waste any time in pressing play, eyes trained on the handheld screen. 

“Hello and good evening, everyone. I just wanted to take a few moments to express my unending gratitude to all of you.” He paused, tilting his head to one side and smiling. “When we announced this show, I hoped… well, I hoped that enough people would be interested that we could do some good for the people we care about and now, because of you?” He squinted, the angle of the phone changing enough so that part of his upper chest was visible, a V of skin showing thanks to the fact that he was wearing an unbuttoned undershirt. “We will be able to do that and more. So thank you. Thank all of you for your support.” He took a breath, nodding, and lifting the phone slightly higher. “You have no idea what it means to me.” There was another pause and then Ezra grinned, the smile lifting his cheeks and making your heart thud against your ribs. “We’ll see you very, very soon. I think you’ll like what we’re planning for you.” 

The video ended there, and even though it was only a minute or so old, there were already people interacting with it - hundreds of likes and more than a handful of comments. You double tapped the screen before you could stop yourself and then contemplated unliking it moments later. No, that would be weird. And then despite your better judgment, you looked through the comments. 

There were a few congratulating Ezra on the sellout, and a couple of people that had said that they were happy to see that he was looking healthier and happier. The majority of them were decidedly less PG, though - comments ranging from women offering to help keep Ezra healthy in a variety of ways to ones that were flat out obscene. But before you could get through them all, your screen went dark and then lit up again as a call came through. Ezra. 

Biting down on your lower lip, you answered, lifting your phone to your ear. “Hello?”

“Did you actually watch that video, or just hit the button without seeing what I had to say?” What? “It took me a couple tries to get a good one.” 

“Of course I watched it.” How did he know I liked it? “But -”

“But?” He hummed, the sound audible through the speaker. “But what?” 

“Ezra, you don’t follow me, so how did you even know?” He laughed then, but cut himself off a few seconds later, saying your name. 

“I saw your name pop up. I almost missed it, but I figured that you still might have your phone in your hand, so… I thought I’d call.” How did he see it? There were hundreds of other people. “And I was right.” Turning the stove off, you stepped away from it and then sat at the kitchen table, trying to come up with something to say. 

“You were.” It was a less than impressive reply, but it was the best you could do. “Congratulations on the show, Ezra. That’s got to feel amazing to know how excited people are to see you again.” 

“It does.” Ezra paused and then continued, his voice low. “That’s why I didn’t call sooner.” 

“You don’t need to explain. I wasn’t… I didn’t expect -”

“I know, but it’s the truth. We were trying to decide whether or not we wanted to move the show to a different venue, and I’ve been on the damn phone for hours yesterday and today. By the time I was done, I was exhausted, and I didn’t … I didn’t want to take that out on you.” 

“Hey, you said I’d hear from you soon, not immediately.” You felt a weight lift from your chest, the realization that Ezra wasn’t avoiding you a confirmation that you hadn’t realized that you needed. “You’re busy. I get it.” 

“I am. Or,” he went on, laughing again. “I was. Everything’s taken care of now.” Good. I’m glad to hear it. “Do you have plans tomorrow?” 

“No. Just work.” 

“My invitation stands. Want to come over? We can order dinner and then I can show you the studio.” You had no reason to say no. And I don’t want to. Taking a few seconds, you considered it - thoughts going back to the comments you’d read and the people that had left them before they skipped ahead to the fact that not even five minutes after posting that video - and presumably fulfilling an obligation that he felt he had to the general public, he’d called you. 

“I like the sound of that.” Pressing your lips together, you closed your eyes. “What time?” 

“After work. I’ll be here. Just let me know when you’re on your way.”  Telling him that you would, you stood up from the chair and then headed back for the stove, taking a deep breath. 

“Can I bring anything with me?” 

“Just yourself.” He said your name, the sound of it rolling off of his tongue. “That’s all I need.” 

— 

It was raining the following day, the sky full of gray clouds that showed no sign of clearing up as the hours passed.

You kept yourself busy, but you couldn’t help feeling more than a little nervous the later it got, your anticipation for the night growing along with the deepening dark outside. It’s just Ezra and dinner. We’ve done that before.  

It helped - a little - and as you shut your computer down for the weekend and said goodbye to Jillian, you felt your phone vibrate. It was a message from Cee, the girl’s words straight to the point. 

Ezra’s nervous about tonight. I just wanted to warn you that he might not be able to sing like he planned. 

Part of you was happy that he was nervous, too. But you were also upset that he didn’t feel as at ease as he should have about the night. Pausing in the lobby, you tapped your thumb on the screen, sighing. 

He has no reason to be nervous. I’m just coming over to see you guys and eat some food. Anything else that happens is a bonus. 

The message sent, you tucked your phone into your bag and zipped it, hurrying across the parking lot and to your car. 

Cee hadn’t responded by the time you got home, and the same was true after you’d changed out of your work clothes and into something better suited for hanging out in someone’s apartment for the night. Maybe she won’t. Staring into the mirror in your bathroom, you applied fresh makeup - mascara and eyeliner - before blotting over your nose and under your eyes with a little bit of powder. Not too much, but I just … I have to do something. 

After you brushed your teeth, you put on lip gloss, staring into the mirror for a few final seconds. 

You looked calm and focused - and that was enough for you. Grabbing your phone, you sent a message over to Ezra, asking if it was alright for you to head there. To your surprise, he replied within seconds, the message enough to get your feet moving toward the door. 

Of course. I’ll be waiting. 

Teeth closing around one knuckle, you fought back a smile. He might be nervous about the singing, but at least he’s not worried about seeing me. 

— 

She watches as Ezra paces around the living room, his left hand gripping his right bicep. Cee understands how anxious he is, but doesn’t think that he has any reason to be. What can I even say, though? 

There isn’t much, and she knows it, but she hates seeing him this way, especially when he shouldn’t be anything but excited for the night. Distract him. “Ezra, what are we having for dinner?” 

She stands, walking over to the balcony door and looking out at the rain, which has turned into a full-blown thunderstorm in the previous hour. It’s comforting, and she hopes that she can sleep with her window open later on, something that she could never do when she lived with Damon. 

“I don’t know.” He sighs, pausing in his motion and turns in her direction. “What do you want?” Cee thinks for a few seconds and then turns again, smiling. 

“Well, it’s coming down hard out there, so ordering a delivery is kind of an asshole move.” To her surprise, Ezra’s brows raise, the man’s nerves easing slightly. Good. This is good. “I know we eat there a lot, but the restaurant in the lobby is a good choice.” And it means we won’t have to wait a long time. “We can tell her what we like.” 

“We can.” Ezra steps forward, lowering his arm and shaking his head. “Birdie, you’re a lifesaver.” Cee grins and drops her chin, crossing her arms. 

“No, I’m just hungry.” He laughs at that and she’s glad to hear it, but before she can speak again, the entire room is illuminated by a flash of lightning, Ezra’s eyes darting away from her and toward the glass. 

“I should tell her not to come. It’s too dangerous for anyone to be driving right now.” Cee actually agrees, but hesitates before saying anything. Because I’m sure she’s on her way. And if he calls, she might answer, and it … 

She knows all too well how easy it is to get into an accident while driving, and knows that Ezra does, too. “She’ll be here soon, Ezra. And then by the time she’s ready to leave, the weather will be much better.” He’s torn and she knows it, but Ezra reluctantly nods in agreement, reaching up and running his hand through his hair. 

It’s wild that night, the dark brown locks twisting away from his head like they always do when he’s let them air dry, and for some reason, it makes Cee smile. It means he’s comfortable with her seeing him like this. His outfit says the same - a pair of dark jeans and a short-sleeved shirt, feet covered in only socks - and Cee hopes that whatever this is for the two of you, it’s only the beginning. Because he deserves it. 

There’s a knock on the door, the sound startling both of them, but before she can even move, Ezra’s already heading for it, his stride even. “Got it.” 

She doesn’t object, and even though she doesn’t look away, Cee lowers herself onto the couch, watching. “Hey, Ezra.” She hears your voice only seconds later, though Ezra’s position blocks you from view. “Sorry it took me so long, I… it’s really coming down out there.” 

“Not a problem,” he replies, the man’s reply quiet. “I’m glad you made it.” It’s a side of him that people rarely see, and Cee smiles at the absurdity of it. Ezra’s onstage persona is one thing, but the man at home and with friends is something else entirely, and sometimes it’s hard to remember that they’re both the same man. Wasn’t like that with Damon. She frowns, closing her eyes. He was the same no matter where he was or who he was with. “I thought about telling you not to come.” 

“I’m glad you didn’t.” She hears your voice again - louder, since you’re closer, and when Cee opens her eyes, she watches as you remove your rain-soaked jacket, only looking away from Ezra for long enough to find a place to hang it. “I have nothing in my house to make for dinner tonight, and there’s no way in Kevva’s name I’d make anyone drive food to me.” 

“See!” Cee stands, gesturing with one hand. “That’s exactly what I said!” You meet her eyes and smile, and Cee can see amusement in them, a silent thank you evident in their depths, too. “Luckily, we have a restaurant in the building, and Ezra and I have ordered enough off of the menu to be experts.” 

“Is that so?” You stick both hands on your hips, looking back at the man. “Well then I can’t wait to find out what’s worth trying.” 

— 

It doesn’t take long - the three of you pulling the menu up on your phones and both of them going over the things that they’ve eaten and liked, along with warning you of the few things that  they hadn’t enjoyed. 

But even as she goes through the menu, Cee doesn’t stop looking between you and Ezra and watching the glances that the two of you share. 

He didn’t tell her that anything happened between you after she’d left your house, but Cee knows that something did. She sees it in the way you lean closer to him, pointing at the menu on his screen. It’s clear in the way his eyes linger on your face while you look down, his lips curving upward into a genuine smile while when you bring up the dessert you shared the first time you visited the bar. 

She likes seeing Ezra happy and relaxed, and even though she knows there might be more difficult moments later when the decision about going into the studio needs to be made, she’ll take what she can get now. 

They make one large order, Cee handling the entire thing on her tablet, and once she’s placed it and gotten a delivery window, she darkens the screen. “Alright, it’s going to be an hour or so.” Sighing, Cee, stands. “What should we do until then?” 

“Whatever you guys want.” You shrug, shifting on the couch and meeting her eyes. “We can put the TV on, or I can tell you about the thrilling world of -”

“Ezra.” Cee sighs, flexing her fingers. “You should show her the apartment.” When he meets her eyes she sees apprehension in them, one side of his jaw twitching. “She’s seen out here, but she hasn’t seen the rest of it.” 

“Oh, I don’t -” But Ezra stops you with a shake of his head, the man swallowing hard before he turns away from Cee and looks at you. I either made a big mistake, or … 

“Now, I know that Birdie isn’t suggesting I show you my bedroom so early into the evening, so would you like to see the recording studio?” Cee can’t help it - she laughs at the matter of fact tone of his voice, leaning back against the cushions. 

“I… Ezra, sure.” You’re barely concealing your own laughter, but you nod, reaching out and settling a hand on Ezra’s knee. “Only if you want to, though.” 

She’s giving you an out where Cee didn’t, and even though she knows it might not have been the right thing to do, the girl doesn’t regret pushing Ezra into action. Because someone has to. And if I’m the one to do it, it won’t ruin… them. 

“Whether or not I use the studio tonight remains to be seen.” He stands, holding out his hand, and Cee’s breath catches as you take it, the man’s fingers closing around yours and squeezing. “But there’s no harm in showing it to you.” 

He glances over at her, and even though his expression is serious, Cee can see that Ezra isn’t mad at her. “What?”

“You made this suggestion, little bird, so it is only appropriate that you join us, is it not?” There’s no real way out of it and so Cee agrees, the girl standing, too. She doesn’t know how long she’ll be able to stay in the room, or what hearing Ezra’s voice through a microphone will make her feel, but the least she can do is agree to find out. 

“Lead the way, Ezra.” 

She follows the two of you down the hall and is pleased to see that he doesn’t let go of your hand until he needs to. “This is a small studio. I converted the bedroom so that when inspiration struck, I had the tools to capture anything I came up with.” 

Cee remembers the first time she saw the room - a desk with a computer and large monitor, microphones and headphones, a miniature keyboard, a set of speakers nicer than anything that she’d ever seen before… and Ezra’s guitar setup. It had impressed her - someone that had grown up around musicians, and she wonders what you’ll think of it. 

“I’ve seen pictures of it.” You nod your head and look at him, chewing on your lower lip. “You’ve posted them before.” 

“I have indeed.” His smile is large, the man’s teeth visible. “But I hope you like the real thing, too.” 

He pushes open the door and then gestures for you to enter, Ezra’s eyes moving away from you and landing on her, Cee’s only response a small nod and a frown, her own apprehension growing. 

Damon’s equipment had been in the room immediately following the accident, but once Ezra was released from the hospital, he’d rented out a small storage space, moving that equipment along with the tour gear that hadn’t been ruined into it. That change made it easier for Cee to stay in the apartment, and as she follows the two of you into the small space, she finally lets out a long breath. This is fine. 

It’s not as overwhelming as she imagines it will be, and even though she listens as Ezra points out his equipment, Cee is only halfway paying attention. Instead, she’s focused on the rack of guitars along one wall, her eyes moving between them before they land on his desk, the computer monitor dark. There’s a picture of the band there too, the small frame showing Ezra, Damon and Number Two, and with a quiet gasp, Cee realizes it’s one that she took, early on in the tour. 

It’s not the first time she’s seen Damon’s face since the accident, but for the first time, she feels genuine anger at the sight of him. If you hadn’t been selfish, we wouldn’t be here now. The girl’s jaw clenches, her eyes locked on the way all three men are smiling at the camera - at her - surrounded by their equipment during a load-in. You ruined everything. 

“And this is where all of my earliest recordings go.” Ezra is standing next to her, and with some shock, Cee registers that he’s squeezing her hand, the man’s thumb sweeping over her palm. “Unfinished versions of songs, chord progressions I don’t want to forget, the recitation of lyrics before they’ve found their permanent homes.” He squeezes her hand hard and then lets go, leaning forward to power the device on. “I keep pictures around for inspiration. You can see the one there, of us on the most recent tour.” He reaches up and behind the framed picture, pulling out a small photo album. “This is filled with memories of other tours and album recording sessions.” 

Ezra flips the book open, and Cee’s eyes - along with yours - are drawn to the glossy images contained within the pages, snapshots of things that she was both present and absent for. It’s a journey through Ezra’s career over the years. “You look so young.” You reach out and point at one of the pictures, laughter in your voice. “How old is this one?”

“Recording the first album.” Cee smiles at his reply, glancing over to watch as Ezra sighs. “Almost ten years ago.” She barely remembers him from back then, but there’s photographic proof - her, tiny and blonde, hair twisted into pigtails and peeking in from the corner of the picture. For the first time, Cee wonders how much you know, how deep into Ezra and The Fringe’s past you’ve delved - if you know that Damon helped to write music for the first album, even though he wasn’t part of the band. 

But the computer screen flickering from the lock screen to Ezra’s desktop makes Cee gasp, one hand rising to cover her mouth. “Ezra, when -”

“Right after we got home, Birdie.” He lays his hand on her shoulder then, his fingers tightening. “It was a good one, and there are so few of us recently.” She leans in, eyeing the picture that has been set as his desktop background, and all at once, Cee’s throat tightens before she can swallow and her eyes squeeze shut, her grip on the edge of the desk tight. I remember when this was taken. 

“It’s a good picture.” You speak up, though you’re still quiet. “From the last tour, I take it?” 

“Mmhmm.” Ezra’s answering hum is short, but he continues as Cee fights to catch her breath. “From the final night, actually. Just before we pulled out of the parking lot.” She hears your gasp, fighting to keep one of her own from escaping, and then Cee forces her eyes open. “Number Two… Luke took it with my phone.” 

When Cee looks at the picture again, she’s calmer, her lips even managing a brief smile as he explains the story behind the image to you. She’s standing halfway behind him in it, both hands raised behind his head, her fingers sticking up as though he’s got horns. She’s smiling - Ezra’s eyes partway closed, his mouth open in laughter and her nose wrinkled, some of the band’s gear behind them. Most of it was already loaded into the trailer but there were still a few cases stacked and waiting. 

Cee vividly remembers that night and everything about it - except for the minutes she’d fallen asleep in the backseat. “I didn’t know you made that your background, Ezra.” She stares over at him, her eyes wide. “I didn’t even know you had it. I thought it was on Luke’s phone.” 

“I did, and I do.” He shrugs, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Surprise.” She understands - it’s a reminder of the tour and the happiness they’d all experienced while on it, and yet another example of the relationship that she’d built with the man acting as her surrogate father. Not only does he have pictures of me like I’m important to him, he has one that he sees every time he turns on his computer. 

“Wait.” She turns to him, crossing her arms over her chest. “Ezra, if you set this picture as your wallpaper…” Cee trails off, her heart pounding in her chest. “And you did it after we got home, then…” 

“Yes?” He’s amused - the lift of one brow and the smirk on his face both indications that he knows exactly what she’s about to say. Or that he has an idea. “Little bird?”

“That means you’re using the recording software, which means you aren’t just coming in here and singing into the mic. It means -”

“It does.” Ezra wets his lips, nodding. “A few times, I’ve … I’ve tried. And I’ve recorded some vocals, but it…” She can’t stop herself from moving forward and wrapping her arms around him, the girl burying her face into his chest. “Cee, what are -”

“You’re going to be OK, Ezra.” It’s a relief to know that even though she hasn’t actually seen or heard him using the studio, he’s found time to do so, no matter how short the sessions. “Kevva, that makes me happy.” 

When she pulls away from him, she sees that you’ve taken a few steps backward, eyes scanning the room as you give them their space. No, that’s not how this is supposed to go. Cee nods up at Ezra and then makes a face, tipping her chin subtly in the direction that you’ve moved off in. Pay attention to her, Ezra. “I will be alright. We both will be.” Ezra clears his throat and then moves away from Cee, saying your name as he turns. “What do you think?”

“I think…” You’re leaning against one wall, and Cee focuses on you, her hands stuffed into her pockets. “I think this is impressive. And I think that it’s really strange to see your guitars up close, Ezra, after only seeing them in pictures and onstage for so long.” You glance over at the rack of instruments and then meet Ezra’s eyes again. “There are a lot of them.” 

“Well…” He starts, straightening up and letting his shoulders drop back, his attention entirely on you. “Maybe after we eat, we can come back in here and you can get a closer look.” Your eyes widen at his suggestion and then you smile, agreeing. Good. This is perfect. This is… great. 

He still might not end up singing, but the fact that Ezra wants you back in his space is meaningful - and offering you the opportunity to take a closer look at the guitars is even moreso. I won’t come back in. Not tonight. Cee looks between the two of you, making up her mind. Tonight they can spend time in here by themselves. 

— 

As the three of you waited for the food to be brought up, Ezra attempted to keep himself calm. 

It had nothing to do with you being in the apartment; that wasn’t the issue. It didn’t even have anything to do with the idea of turning on the microphone and booting up the recording software so that he could practice a few songs in front of an audience of two. 

His anxiety was due to the fact that from the moment you’d walked into the converted bedroom studio, he’d been at ease. 

He could count the number of people that weren’t in the business that had been in the studio on his remaining hand, and even then, he wouldn’t have needed all of his available fingers. The studio was his space, somewhere that he knew that he could go to get away from everything and everyone, and despite the fact that he was attracted to you, you were still a stranger. 

It shouldn’t have felt that way. He swiped a hand through his hair, watching as you and Cee talked about something, the girl’s phone held between you so that you could both see the screen. So why did it? 

He’d invited you over - and he’d meant it, but he’d expected a feeling of apprehension from the moment he’d opened the door that would last until you’d exited the room again … and it hadn’t happened. 

Watching your face as you looked around the room had been a revelation to him; the man’s eyes focused on the way you looked but didn’t get too close until he’d encouraged you to, the way your eyes brightened at the sight of the guitars on the wall and on the rack. Despite the fact that he’d trusted you enough to invite you into his space, he’d expected the same type of thing that he’d gotten used to from others that got a closer look at his career. And she didn’t do it. She just … 

“Ezra?” You said his name, leaning in, and he realized that Cee had risen and was heading for the door. “Where do you want to eat?” One corner of your mouth rose in a half smile before you lifted a thumb to your lips, biting down on the nail. “Food’s here, and -”

“Here is fine.” He gestured in front of himself and at the low table. “That way we can share.” You nodded and then stood, too, looking back at him over your shoulder. 

“Cee asked me to get drinks. Is there anything that you want?” Instead of answering, Ezra pushed himself to his feet and gestured that he’d follow you, the man eyeing Cee as she spoke to the employee at the door. He recognized the woman, smiling at the realization that you probably had at least a few minutes before the conversation was concluded, and stepped even closer to you. 

“I may only have one hand, but I can still help.” Humming out a laugh, you stopped in front of the refrigerator and then turned enough to face him. 

“I know you can, Ezra. But you looked like you were lost in thought, so -” I was. “So we didn’t want to interrupt.” 

He didn’t even try and stop himself from reaching for you then, his fingers closing around your wrist and then tugging you closer, your lips parting in surprise as you held a hand out to steady yourself against his chest. “You wouldn’t have interrupted anything.” He spoke quietly, eyes locked with yours. “We didn’t get a chance to say hello earlier, did we?” 

“No.” Your eyes dropped to his mouth briefly, fingers curling against his shirt. “We didn’t.” Pushing his uncertainty about his lack of reaction to your presence in the studio to the side, Ezra leaned in and closed the final distance between you. 

It was a soft kiss - gentle, because both of you knew that it had to be brief. But it lasted long enough for you to settle your free hand on his hip, Ezra releasing your wrist to slide his palm up your arm. He backed off first - slowly - your lower lip trapped between both of his. I could get used to this. 

He had the thought almost instantaneously as he opened his eyes again, the man standing up straight. “Ezra, I …” He barely heard you, the man’s heartbeat thudding in his ears, but he registered that you hadn’t moved either of your hands - and his was still settled on your bicep. “You -

“Uh, guys?” He whipped his head to the side, the sound of Cee’s voice louder than it usually was. “Look, I don’t want to interrupt, but we’ve got a lot of food here, and you’re kind of blocking the refrigerator, so…” Shit. He groaned but you laughed, stepping back and turning so that you could reach for the door handle. “Bring napkins, too. There aren’t many in these bags.” 

“What do you want, Ezra?” You were leaning forward, one hand inside of the fridge. “Beer? There’s a bottle of wine in here, too. Water, and …” You trailed off as he reached past you, his fingers closing around the neck of one of the beer bottles as his chest made contact with your side. “Oh… Beer. Alright. Can I have one of those, too?” 

“Of course you can.” Straightening back up, Ezra cleared his throat. “There’s a bottle opener next to the sink, too.” Murmuring a reply, he turned back toward the living room, where Cee was busily unpacking the bags of food and arranging containers on the table. 

As he approached, she looked up and grinned at him, pausing long enough to give him a double thumbs up and a wink. Yeah, yeah. I deserve that. Cee finished what she was doing and then plopped down onto the chair he’d been sitting on before, ensuring that you’d need to sit next to him. I should have known. He set his bottle down and kept watching the girl, teeth worrying the inside of his lower lip. 

You made it into the room a minute or so later, setting down a stack of napkins before you held out Cee’s drink. She took it from you with a quiet thanks, popping the tab on the can, and Ezra’s attention went back to you. 

“This smells amazing.” Taking a seat, you opened your beer. “Here, Ezra, hold this for me?” You handed him the bottle and then reached for the one he’d left on the table, opening it and then raising the neck to your lips, taking a drink. “Damn, that’s good.” That was … He scoffed, closing his eyes. Smooth. Like something that I’d do. 

It was a small thing, but he felt a wave of affection for you at the simple gesture. Instead of calling attention to the fact that he’d need someone to help him open the bottle, you’d addressed and acted on it in the same motion. And she’s done it before, too. 

“Thank you.” You didn’t need the acknowledgement, and he knew it, but someone being so proactive about his needs without making it big deal was almost a novelty to Ezra. He cleared his throat and picked up his bottle, taking a drink, too. Think about this later. Enjoy dinner. “So.” Setting the beer back down, he gestured to the spread in front of you. “We have a lot of food here, and I can promise you that everything is delicious.” 

“Yeah. You have to try it all.” Cee spoke up, the girl already chewing on one of the breadsticks. “Take as much as you want, OK? We’re never going to finish it all.” Laughing, you agreed, reaching for one of the plates and then immediately going for one of the covered dishes. 

“You don’t need to tell me twice, Cee. I’m really hungry.” 

— 

Dinner went smoothly, the three of you eating more of the food than you’d thought you would. Cee had no inhibitions when it came to enjoying the meal, the girl refilling her plate twice and then reaching for the little bit of pasta that remained in the container and finishing that off, too. 

And Ezra was the same, the man’s plate clearing slower than yours or Cee’s, just due to the way he had to eat with only one hand. But he was animated throughout the meal, telling stories about himself and about places he’d been, Cee chiming in occasionally and reminding him of something that he’d then elaborate on. 

You’d already eaten in front of Ezra twice, and so you had no reason to act shy about it that time, either. You were sure to try almost everything on the table, agreeing with Cee that the one sauce was better than the other, and then with Ezra that you preferred breaded to grilled, but the meal itself was an enjoyable one. 

But even though you had a good meal, the minutes you’d spent in the studio still weighed heavily on your mind, as did the kiss you’d shared with Ezra in front of the refrigerator. 

Walking into the studio had been an experience for you, your eyes finding and immediately settling on equipment that you were very familiar with. The memories of Ezra holding the guitars or singing into the microphones were vivid, and you tried your best to keep from letting it show. Don’t act like an asshole. 

You wanted to reach out and touch the instruments, wanted to step up closer and take in the dings and scratches on the guitar bodies, to see if you could tell which of the acoustics he favored based on how worn the frets were and where the body was smooth from the slide of his arm over the curved edge. 

You didn’t, though, even though you didn’t know if that would be the only opportunity you got to see the instruments up close. By the time he was flipping through the photo album, you were happier with your decision. Ezra seemed much more at ease with you in the room than Cee had made it seem like he’d be, and you didn’t want to ruin that. 

Their interaction in the studio was the tense one, the girl’s surprise at the sight of both main pictures a surprise to her that you’d tried hard to stay out of. It has to be strange for her. You watched them hug, though you focused elsewhere, and when you were back in the main room, you and Cee sitting on the couch while Ezra took the comfortable chair, the tension was gone. 

By the time the food arrived, it felt like the three of you were old friends, and even though Ezra’s attention had drifted, the man’s attention on the rain-streaked glass of the balcony doors, it wasn’t a cold silence. And Cee and I have been just fine. 

You hadn’t expected him to follow you into the kitchen, but you were happy that he had - the man’s presence just behind you almost magnetic in the way you attuned yourself to it without pause. 

The kiss had been a shock, Ezra’s fingers closing around your wrist and urging you closer. When he’d encouraged you to hold onto him, you’d stopped thinking and just let yourself react. It seemed like that was what he’d wanted, and you’d been ready to make a comment on it before Cee’s interruption. That came at the right time, though. 

Ezra was intense, and if the girl hadn’t spoken up, you didn’t know what would have happened. Another kiss at least. He hadn’t seemed embarrassed by getting caught, and that was confirmed when, while you ate, he reached over to touch you occasionally. Ezra’s hand fell to land on your knee between bites, the man’s elbow jabbing gently into your side a few times as you joked with them.

It was still raining hard as you and Cee started to clean up the remnants of your dinner, the girl insisting that Ezra stay where he was. “You’re paying, Ezra. The least we can do is put away the leftovers.” You snorted at that but only shrugged your shoulders in response as he rolled his eyes, the man watching as you stacked up empty containers. 

When you met Cee in the kitchen, she thanked you, pointing to the cupboard where the trash can was. “Do you want another beer, Ezra? I’m in here, and I can bring it to you before -”

“Sure.” He leaned forward, nodding. “But I can come get it myself.”

“She’ll bring it to you, Ezra.” Cee spoke up from behind you, sighing. “There’s not much left to put away. I’ve got it.” Wait, no. That’s … 

“Cee, I can help.” She shook her head though, jutting her chin out and toward the other room. 

“Just go.” She dropped her voice, turning the water on a little higher to muffle the sound further. “He’s in a good mood. Go spend time with him.” I… You wanted to, but also felt horrible leaving her with the cleanup. “Go. This is nothing, it’ll take five minutes.” She smiled at you, using the back of one hand to swipe at her cheek. “I’m serious.” 

You didn’t argue, instead returning to the refrigerator and grabbing two more bottles before heading back to where Ezra still sat. Repeating the opening process without speaking, you held a bottle out to him, a flash of lightning illuminating his features as he took it from you. “Did you still want to hear me sing?” 

You settled back onto the couch cushions, turning your head to stare at him. “That’s not why I came over here, Ezra, but …” You sipped your beer, giving yourself a few extra seconds. “But yeah. I’d like that.” He blinked slowly, studying your face. “Only if you want to, though.” 

He took a few seconds to think but then Ezra nodded, the expression on his face changing to one of determination. “I do. I want to sing for you.” For me? That’s… that’s a different … Your heart pounding, you nodded back and then averted your eyes, taking a long drink of your beer. “Cee?” Ezra stood, lowering the hand holding his bottle to one side. “We’re going to go into the studio and get things set up. When you’re done, come in and -”

“Not tonight, Ezra.” You followed him to the hallway, pausing next to the man as he turned back toward the kitchen. Cee was still by the sink, the water running - but she was looking back over her shoulder at where you stood. “I don’t… think I’m ready.” 

Part of you expected him to push back, but Ezra didn’t, only humming in quiet agreement and saying your name under his breath. He reached for you, the tips of his fingers brushing your elbow, and then headed for the open doorway of he studio room, you following only a few steps behind.

“Close the door behind you.” He spoke when you were both inside, the man setting his bottle down onto the desktop before he turned to face you. “The soundproofing only works when it’s shut.” 

You did as he asked, and when you heard the click, you sucked in a breath. It’s just us. We’re… oh, shit. You didn’t know what to say - or what Ezra would say, and so you chewed on your lower lip for a few seconds, waiting. Say something. Don’t make this weird. It’s… it shouldn’t feel weird. “Did you do all this yourself, or did someone come in and do it for you?” 

“That’s a good question.” He smiled, tilting his head to one side. “I hired someone to soundproof it, because I wanted to be sure it was done right.” He paused, eyes on your face. “I thought my neighbors would appreciate it.” 

“I’m sure they do.” He laughed, finally looking away from you and turning to face the computer. 

“There’s a stool in the closet behind you, if you want to grab that.” You did as he told you, opening the door and gasping at what was hanging inside. That’s the jacket he … You couldn’t help it - reaching forward and letting your fingers trail over the weathered material. It was softer than you thought, the wrinkled material hanging limply before your eyes. “You can take that out and look at it if you want.” 

Freezing, you swore under your breath and then winced, pulling your hand away as though it had been burned. “Ezra, I didn’t mean to -”

“No, I mean it.” He sighed. “I haven’t looked at that in months. I need to, though. Because I’ll need to put it back on very soon.” He told me to take it out, so… 

With trembling fingers, you reached for the hanger and pulled the jacket out and into the light of the room, your eyes never leaving the fabric you held. “You’ve worn this to start every show, right?” Glancing up to see his response, you smiled at his nod. “It’s crazy that it’s just … here. I didn’t…” 

“I’ve had that since before I started writing music. Was wearing it the first time I ever played live.” He stepped closer to you, the man’s hand reaching out so that he too could run his fingers over the surface of the jacket - one thumb swiping along the seam in front of the shoulder where the light quilted material joined the fawn-colored leather. “I figured that if it brought me good fortune once, it would do it again.” 

And it had - the jacket had become just as popular as the man himself, one of the best-selling pieces of merchandise a replica hooded sweatshirt that you’d contemplated buying more times than you cared to admit. “I love this jacket, Ezra. But…” Frowning, you twisted the hanger in your hand. “I didn’t know there was a hood.” 

“It’s detachable.” He grinned, stepping even closer and reaching past you - much like he had in the kitchen. “It makes no sense to wear it onstage because if I had it up, I wouldn’t be able to see a damn thing.” He laughed. “Let me have it.” 

You unzipped the jacket and then handed it to him, the man surprising you by slipping it on and then flipping the hood up in one smooth motion. And you had to laugh, too, as the material settled low over his eyes. “Yeah, that would make playing guitar pretty hard.” 

“It would.” Ezra took a deep breath, the man’s chin dropping as he looked down at where his right arm would have been. “Feels a little different to have it on now.” 

“Still looks just a good on you, though.” Reaching forward, you brushed your fingers over the tattered patch on the sleeve. “And you know it.” His gaze rose then, the man eyeing you from beneath the hood, and without even giving yourself a second to overthink, you reached for him, sliding one hand beneath the coat and against his side. 

He reached up with his hand, pushing the hood back, and then Ezra kissed you again - and there was nothing timid about that one. You tightened your hold on him, sighing against his lips and then Ezra’s hand was on the back of your neck, stroking slowly over the warm skin there. 

There was no interruption, and when he parted his lips, urging yours to do the same, you let it happen, inhaling through your nose and placing the hand still holding onto the hanger against his lower back. The tip of his tongue teased the fullest part of your lower lip and at that, you let out a quiet whimper, your fingers curling against his side. 

That was all he needed, the man pulling back long enough to inhale, and then his mouth was on yours again, the kiss deep from the very beginning. And I want it. I want this. I want… Ezra’s grip on your neck changed, the man urging your head to a slight angle, and once that was done, it was his turn to groan, the man’s tongue stroking along yours with fervor. 

It was the most physical things had gotten between you, and you could feel the desire pouring off of him as he shifted even closer, Ezra not even trying to hide how much he was enjoying himself. But I am, too. Pressing your body against his, you hummed when Ezra backed off enough to drag his teeth over your kiss-swollen lower lip, his grip going lax. “Ezra…” 

Your voice was quiet and vaguely needy, and at the sound of it, Ezra sighed, smiling. “I’m not going to apologize for that because I’m not at all sorry.” He pressed his lips to yours again - briefly - and then stepped backwards, taking another deep breath. “But you didn’t come in here so that I could have my way with you. You’re here to hear me -”

“I’m not complaining.” At all. That was … Kevva that was … Laughing nervously, you covered your mouth with one hand, head shaking from side to side. “Ezra, that -”

“Later.” He licked his lips, nodding. “For now…” He shrugged the jacket off and then held it back out to you. “Put this away for me and let me get my microphone set up.” Taking a deep breath, Ezra glanced over at the computer. “And think about what you’d like to hear me sing.” 

—

Tag list reblog coming soon! 

[martyr-inthedark]

Make your Whumpee tired.

Whumpees that have been deprived of sleep by Whumper, so much so that they don't remember how to walk in a straight line and can't figure out whether the recent appearance of little black bugs in their cell are real or a hallucination.

Whumpees that can't get a full night's rest. They doze off, only to be jolted awake by their own anxiety of not knowing when Whumper would come back. Perhaps they are awakened by phlegm-coated coughs induced by their illness. They are awakened by nightmares, or by Caregiver who is worried they may succumb to hypothermia, or by a thunderstorm, or the rough blanket scratching their open wounds, or so on.

Whumpees who pull all nighters to protect their friends or lovers.

Whumpees whose eyes burn when they finally can close their eyes. Whumpees whose muscles twitch, who can't stop yawning no matter how hard they try to stifle it. Whumpees with dark, glassy eyes. Whumpees who are slow to react or have a hard time keeping up with the conversation. Whumpees with throbbing headaches. Whumpees with brain fog and memory loss.

Whumpees who have been on the run and have over exhausted their bodies. Their muscles and joints continue to scream long after its over. Whumpees with extensive blood loss. Whumpees who are malnourished.

Whumpees whose survivor's guilt keeps them awake, wondering what they might have done differently, whether it was all their fault, or why they were the ones to live.

Whumpees whose bodies are in chronic pain or illness and who have to hide it, causing muscle and mental fatigue. They keep going with a smile until they collapse or pass out.

Whumpees who break down in tears, begging to be left alone so they can rest. Whumpees who sob when they are told that the bed in front of them is theirs to use whenever they want.

[cdragons]

Like the Wave, She Broke; But Like the Sea, She Persevered

Chapter 3: And So, It Begins

Previous Chapter

A Robb Stark X Yi Tish Reader/OC Story

Author's Note: I do not own Game of Thrones or ASOIAF or any of GRRM works. But please no hate, but feel free to comment, like, or reblog if you liked reading this story and want me to continue! There are some phrases written in Mandarin and some are in Romanization, but the translations are at the bottom of the post, along with pinyin for pronunciation. Ship terms and language is written by someone who has never been on a medieval ship in a storm. Also a surprise character is introduced into the story!

Also, I am so sorry for how long this story took to be updated. Finals and internships have been busting my butt for the past 2 months. But hopefully I'll be more consistent with my updates. I really appreciate everyone who has been following with this story, and I am especially grateful for my beta writer @valeskafics for her very helpful comments and her tips! Please check out her works, she's an insanely brilliant writer!

Warning(s): sexual content, past trauma & abuse, violence and violent themes, depression, symptoms of PTSD & survivor's guilt, asshole bosses, mention of offensive and racist terms, GOT canonical misogyny & sexism, angst (so much angst), references to abusers, and dark/yandere attitudes.

Previously in “Like the Wave, She Broke; But Like the Sea, She Persevered”:

“You’re coming because you’re the King in the North, Arya because two Starks are better than one in this case and your mother is in no state to continue on, my guess is that the bannermen probably want to send her back to Winterfell. And Blackfish is going because he’s a Tully of Riverrun, but he’s not your fuckup Uncle Edmure Tully of Riverrun.”

Robb’s POV:

For Robb to say that the meeting with the bannermen was tedious would be an understatement. Theon was right that the meeting was mostly about sending his mother back to Winterfell in order to reunite with Bran and Rickon. His Lady Mother was more than pleased with the decision, although she tried in her best efforts to remain strong for her son, she was at her wits’ end with worry for her two youngest boys. She called for a steward to prepare the trip for her and Arya, when the atmosphere immediately became tense. It seems that his mother was unaware that she would be the only Stark returning to the North. Furthermore, the only one amongst Robb’s council uninformed of the apparent unanimous decision to send Arya to Maidenpool with Robb her Uncle Brydyen as a way to show good will, but still presenting a unified front from both the North and the Riverlands to Stannis and his men. In hearing of this decision, she demanded a moment alone with their king and princess her son and daughter, along with Lord Brydyen.

“You expect me to return to Winterfell,” gritted out his mother, “only to leave my daughter here?” Her crystalline blue eyes were nearly bulging out of their sockets, her signature red strands escaped her braid, giving the illusion of fire surrounding her in the tent’s candlelight. A fire that was slowly rising with her increasing anger. “So she can meet with Stannis? And then what? Would she train to be a soldier, to fight, in King’s Landing, just after escaping? Of all the things you have expected from me to allow in you becoming King, this is your truest sign of madness from power.”

“Mother, please- “, Robb started to explain his reasoning, by which he wanted to explain that Arya practically ambushed him after his brawl tiff with Theon, and outright told him that she was going with him to Maidenpool. There was nothing to ask, no permission to grant, she was coming if it meant tailing behind him on foot for weeks in order to meet Stannis Baratheon and plan siege on King’s Landing and rescuing Sansa. She even shoved a dagger near his balls and told him that she’d cut them off if he sent her back home with their mother. She followed by pointing out that he might be better without it, considering he married the first girl it pointed at in this war. He tried his best to ignore Theon’s squawking laughter behind him as he visibly paled.

“NO! No, I won’t hear it,” Lady Catelyn shook her head furiously before pointing a finger at him like she was scolding a small child, rather than a king in war, “I have swayed by you too many times. All of which because I had been thinking of your rights as a king, and your happiness as my son. But in doing so, I have allowed you too much freedom. As a mother, it was my duty to allow you as much happiness afforded to you in this war. But in doing so, I have let you forgotten your duty to your family. No more, I could not stop you from marrying Talisa, from executing Lord Karstark, but I will not let you turn my daughter into a killer-”.

“I already am a killer!” Arya yelled over her, interrupting their mother’s fury-fueled lecture, and bringing both their mother’s and Robb’s eyes on her for the first time since the bannermen left the tent. “I already killed four men! I trained under a killer, a faceless man, I’m not leaving!” Robb was blown away by what he heard, from his youngest sister of all people. Arya turned to him, and he knew that she would not relent. “I’m going with you, I’m going to meet Stannis, and then I’m going to march into King’s Landing and get our sister back.”

This was not his little sister that snuck out of her lessons with her Setpa, the one that would always beg him or Jon to teach her how to fight, the one who would fling food at Sansa and he would send her to her room. That Arya longed for freedom, for glory, but was still green to the world and its cruelty. No, this Arya understood what it meant to take a life, felt the stopping of a man’s heart, saw the light bleed out a man’s eyes before being replaced by dull nothingness. This Arya was a killer.

“I’m the only one out of all of us who knows their way around the Red Keep. Joffery may be stupid enough to not hide, but Cersei will. And where Cersei hides, that’s where I’ll find Sansa. I’m going to make Cersei see a Stark staring down at her before I stick Needle in her head and her children.”

Gods, they turned his baby sister into a killer.

Brother stared at Sister, Tully Blue gazed into Stark Grey, Duty challenging Vengeance, each side daring the other to make a move, to take the bait, to give leeway. The world around them stopped until time finally decided to move forward. Robb looked at his mother, and then at his siter once more, and after a few minutes of extremely careful consideration, he finally relented. To which he heard his mother scream.

“NO! I forbid it!” Lady Stark shoved a finger to her eldest son’s chest, as if her mind imagined it as a blade that could pierce his armor for his insanity. She immediately grabbed Arya’s hand and to make her way out the tent to pack their things, “Come now Arya, we are leaving now. I will no longer pretend to humor your brother’s madness any longer- “

“NO!” Arya pulls her arm away from her mother and immediately stands by her brother’s side. “Look at me, look at ME!” Arya stood her ground, refusing to move away, refusing to let her mother to force her into a role that no longer fit, a role that had never fit in the first place not since she first saw Jon and Robb spar one another with wooden swords, dreaming to hold one in her hands. “I’m not a lady! I’ve never been a lady! I never wanted nor will ever BE a lady!”

Robb glanced between his mother and sister with frantic worry, unsure of where he should intervene. But it seems that his mother did that favor for him.

“Arya, I don’t want to fight with you-”, she started, her eyes filled with stubborn anger and her voice laced with absolute exhaustion. She had hoped that if she pleaded, her youngest daughter would begin to relent. Robb’s mother always seemed to underestimate her northern blood.

“I WANT to fight!” Arya interrupted, her impulsiveness continually shining over her patience. “I want to fight with you! Shout, scream, yell horrible things we both will regret!” Her voice refused to tremble as the pale grey eyes she inherited from their father shimmered with angry tears. “Because it seems only you hating me will make you see me! To HEAR me! To cause you to finally wake up from the fantasy of the fake daughter you made up in your mind over your real one that stands before you!”

For the first time since their reunion, for the first time since she could toddle, Robb saw tears brimming his chaotic sister’s eyes. Not for the first time since war broke out, he wished for his brother Jon’s company, not just only for his comfort, but also to handle Arya. Thick as thieves those two, as Arya always considered Jon to be her favorite brother, never once thinking less of him for his bastard status, or blaming his existence as proof for his father’s infidelity not like his mother, Sansa, or almost everyone did in Winterfell. No, Arya was always proud in knowing the Jon Snow was a Stark, whether he carried the name or not (another trait that he saw in you, his beloved), he was her brother.

Even Robb couldn’t claim that he never used his status as their father’s heir and first true-born son to his advantage at times, whenever he was jealous of how quickly Jon picked up hunting and fighting while he sometimes struggled, or whenever he was reminded that it was his duty as heir that he had to marry a highborn noblewoman and not you, or whenever he saw the two of you sparring together (Jon had the muscle, but you had the speed and agility) with that rare gleam in your eye that could only come from a skilled partner, or whenever he spied saw the two of you walking together in the keep’s town in comfortable silence, or whenever he saw you sitting together at meals at the far end at his mother’s insistence when Theon was making his presence known at the brothels and he heard your laughter oh, how his fists clenched in fury at the sight of your smile not directed at him. But Jon wasn’t here, and Robb wasn’t a boy in Winterfell, not anymore. Now he was the King of the North, and if he could not be king of an independent North, then he was still the Lord of Winterfell and the North’s Warden. That meant that he was head of the Starks, including his own mother should she continue to carry the name “Stark.”

“Mother,” Robb started, the two women in the tent quickly turning their gaze to him, “you are to return to Winterfell to watch over the keep and watch over Bran and Rickon. I’ll send 10 men with you in case of an ambush. The North needs the Starks to watch over her.” His mother’s eyes softened in relief, mistaking his decision as agreement.

“Thank you, my son-”, she started before being cut off.

“But you will be the only Stark returning to the North,” he stated as he saw Arya’s back straighten in shock. “Princess Arya will remain by my side to assist me in negotiating with Stannis. As I am sure that you are the last Stark he wishes to see.” He saw the eyes of his mother widen in fear and desperation.

“Robb, my son, please-”, she pleaded, “listen to reason.”

“No,” he could not risk being soft anymore, not with the North on the line, “Stannis is our only hope in surviving this war. When you came to Renly’s side, you declared the North his enemy. Now it is up to me to fix it, to beg if necessary.” He lowered his eyes to stare his mother down with as much authority his father drilled into him as a youth, “I am your son. But even if I have to give away my crown, I am still Warden of the North and Winterfell’s lord. I am YOUR lord. And as your lord, I proclaim that this decision is final.” He turned to his sister, and clasped his gloved hand on her shoulder, “Get some rest, tomorrow we must prepare. The following day, we leave at first light.”

“Yes,” Arya stared at her brother with determination and gratitude, “my king.” With that being the final word, he left the tent to make way to his own. He quickly removed his outerwear until he was only in his small clothes and didn’t bother to wash himself before collapsing on top of the furs on his cot. Fatigue washed over him as he closed his eyes and slept without any dreams.

Now resting in an inn, Maidenpool being only a few more days away, his ass still sore from the weeks of riding and rising anxiety of meeting Stannis Baratheon, the King and Lord of Dragonstone. He dared not to admit to himself of his worry in fear that his nerves will get the best of him when he finally meets Stannis Baratheon. While he may have been a southerner, born and raised, Robb had only tremendous respect for the man. Moreso, Robb was grateful to have never crossed swords with in the field.

Prince Stannis was hailed a “military genius,” his victory against the Victarion Greyjoy at the Fair Isle during the Greyjoy Rebellion was mythic, even Theon couldn’t help but be in awe whenever Maester Luwin recounted it in their lessons. Stannis, despite having no particular skillset of either sailor or admiral, was set up as Master of Ships against seasoned naval commander who fought in naval battles at the end of Robert’s Rebellion. It was the first naval battle Stannis fought in his life, entering the battle an inexperienced commander and left as the man who gave Victarion Greyjoy his most crushing defeat.

“Truly,” Robb thought, “if the North must bend the knee to another Southerner, by the Gods let it be him.” As he was resolute in his belief that only Stannis Baratheon could manage to rule over the Seven Kingdoms, and lead them into peace and prosperity. His disadvantage in his claim would be that he had no heir, only a sickly daughter who survived a case of Greyscale as a babe, and had to continue to grow with horrifying scars left from the disease on her face. From what he heard; her mother became cold and cruel to the young girl and grew mad under some god named “R'hllor.” Stannis himself converted to the same faith, even allowing a High Red Priestess referred to as “Lady Melissandre” to sit within his council. Robb couldn’t help but pity the poor girl; knowing how cold her father was - not to mention her deranged mother - hardly made for a warm upbringing. Lost in his thoughts, he did not even hear Arya come into the room and sit on the room’s other bed.

“What do think will happen when Stannis sees us?” She asks, her face completely blank as her mind races through the worst scenario. “Do you think he’ll kill us? Like he killed Renly?”

“We don’t know that to be true,” he answers back carefully, “and even if it was, it’s because Renly declared claim to the Iron Throne over him. When you think it like that, he only killed a usurper.”

“Like Joffery?”

“Aye, like Joffery.” After waiting for a few moments for her reply, Robb thought that he settled her nerves, and closed his eyes to begin to sleep. But what Arya asked next was so soft that he almost missed it, but it chilled his blood when his ears caught it.

“…Aren’t we usurpers?” She asked him. “Won’t he see us the same as Joffery?”

“Arya, we aren’t- it’s not-” Robb struggled to find the words to ease his little sister “Stannis wouldn’t-”

“Wouldn’t he?” Arya interrupted with a dead gaze and flat voice. “If he killed his own brother, what makes you think he won’t kill you?”

“Stannis wouldn’t make the same mistake Tywin Lannister made,” Robb shook his head as he tried to sound as calm and patient to fight off the migraine blooming in his head, “he’s a better man than him.”

“Like how you thought Walder Frey would just let you marry your dead wife? Or like how you thought that you wouldn’t die at a wedding.”

Robb flinched at her biting tone. When he looked to her once more, he first saw how her fists clenching the bed spread so hard he thought it would be torn. He then looked at her face, it was no longer impassive. Her mouth was pursed in anger, her eyes were mad with fury, and he saw her chest falling and rising with her nostril flaring as if she was preparing for a fight.

“Father died because he thought that a Lannister wasn’t as bad as he made her to be. Mother thought that Littlefinger was still someone worth trusting even after betraying father. And then she let go another Lannister, and then you killed Lord Karstark.”

It was hard for Robb to be forced to listen to every horrible decision that his family made that led them to this point, but he was too tired to retort back. So, he just let her continue on with her little rant. He figured that she needed to get it off of her chest.

“You, Theon, Mother, and thousands of men are alive now because of one person; Li.”

Hearing your name hurt more than the arrows to the chest, but he remained quiet as he heard the slight tremble creep through his sister’s voice.

“But Li’s gone now. She’s gone, and she can’t protect us anymore. She saved the North, the Vale, and you repaid her by marrying some pretty little healer who batted her sweet little eyes at you.”

“What does the Vale-”

“I know Mother went to King’s Landing.” This made Robb freeze.

“How the fuck-” but his couldn’t finish his thought as she pressed on.

“I found her while she was packing, she told me that she had to go. She couldn’t let you ruin everything.

“I tried telling her to not to go, that we needed her. I told her that when we get Sansa back and go back to Winterfell – that she’d be welcomed back as a hero of the North, be given a title and land– but it didn’t matter. She wouldn’t listen to me. She kept talking about no one would listen to her. Then she started crying, I never ever saw Li cry – not even when Bran fell. Then she told me everything. ‘Bout how she tried to warn everyone: Father, Mother, and even you. She told father to leave, but he wouldn’t listen then either. She said that all of this was her fault, because she didn’t warn them earlier.

“She told Father, ‘Take the girls and go. Go back to Winterfell. Make up any excuse: say you’re sick, say your wife and youngest boys miss you, say that the raids increased and the lords are in need of your command. Say anything and just LEAVE. Don’t tell anyone. Not the Queen, not Varys, not Littlefinger. Not even the King. They will act the friend, smile prettily, look you in the eye and whisper comforting words. Only to stab you in the back unblinkingly with that same pleasing smile as you bleed out at their feet.’

“She even did the same with Mother. She told her that Lord Baelish couldn’t be trusted; that he was lying to her like he did at King’s Landing, but Mother wouldn’t listen. So, when he was far enough from the camp, she ambushed him with a cloth doused with Essence of Nightshade to knock him out, and made sure that she was far enough so that no one would hear killing the knights Tyrion sent him with. She then climbed a tree to tie and gag there for a few days, and left Daiyu there to make sure that he wouldn’t escape.”

This was news to Robb; he was sure he would have heard something from his Aunt Lysa at the news of her missing husband. The woman was deranged with infatuation for him. Fully awake now, he gave Arya his full attention.

“What happened next?”

“She told me that she wanted him weakened before questioning him. She wasn’t worried when he first escaped, it was only when she heard about the Ironborn attacks that she knew she had to make sure Mother wouldn’t do something stupid. If nothing but to knock her out with the nightshade long enough to move him to a secret location. But Mother was already at the cage, along with someone else. Another woman I think – Lady… Lady… Brianna of-” Arya grew perplexed at her memory failing her in a time like this.

“Lady Brienne of Tarth.” Robb remembered for her. “But wait - why would Mother worry about the Ironborn fleet? Even now they made no attempt to seize Winterfell. Plus, we still have his only son.”

“Balon Greyjoy doesn’t give a shit about Theon, only himself and power. What better way to get it than with two little Stark boys? Li noticed Mother was getting scared, making her susceptible to impulsiveness. And she was right. When she heard that Jaime Lannister was brought back, she knew that he would make another attempt, she just didn’t think she would be beaten in getting there.

Anyway, she said that couldn’t allow Her Lady to release Ser Jaime, as doing so would be an act of treason against you. Mother told her that Li had no right to interfere as she couldn’t begin to understand the pain and stress she had been since the war began. She asked Li how could an orphaned whore understand the pain she felt as a mother whose children were all scattered across Westeros. She then ordered Brienne to take her down. It was a close fight for the both of them; the Tarth woman was strong, but Li was quick. She would have won, but she was still injured from fighting the knights. It was ten against one; and while she was fighting one of them, another stabbed her back while another kicked her knee. Before long, she got overpowered and knocked out, and was carried to the healers’ tent.”

Robb couldn’t believe what he was hearing, he had wondered why you blamed yourself for the Kingslayer’s escape, and the deaths of those two Lannister boys. He only assumed that it was your empathy getting the best of you. He intended to question Theon but completely forgotten with Maidenpool as his first priority. He remembered seeing you in the tent; he was shocked at the blood and bruises that bloomed in shades of black, blue, and purple across your body. Already angered by his mother’s betrayal, he demanded to know the men in his camp who had done this so that he could swiftly punish them. You croaked out that it was spar with some of the men at the camp that went too far. When he asked you why Theon and your shadowcat weren’t at your side, you quickly responded that Theon was with him, and that Daiyu was hunting. Scolding you for being so reckless, he insisted that he carry you to your tent.

But you only swatted his hand away as you stood up from the cot while stating that you dealt worse at sea as a child. You must have noticed his temper rising, since it was only then that you lifted your eyes to meet his. And with a single look at your tempestuous gaze, he was both silenced and enraptured. Knowing you had won this battle, you walked wobbled back to your tent.

All while Robb was left standing there like an idiot; his cock already hardening at the thought of your stubborn eyes melted from bliss with each fervid thrust of his hips meeting yours in overwhelming euphoria. The only bruises on your body would be those from his lips and teeth. He didn’t even register Talisa walking up to him as he strode to his tent to quickly give release. He remembered ordering Greywind to stand guard as he closed his eyes and let his imagination run rampant. He thought of punishing you for your impertinence, forcing you to kneel between his legs. He would have ordered you to take out his hardened member as he scolds you for making him so hard in public. He would have ordered you to lightly lick his tip, before carefully taking his thick head into your mouth. He audibly groaned at the thought of your unrelenting gaze being broken as he pushed your head to fully take him. He could see slightly wincing as you gagged at the struggle of taking his length and girth. And when he released his load, your eyes widened in shock at the volume of his cum, knowing it was all for you. He remembered imagining you to swallow it all, and that there would be consequences if you spilled anything. After swallowing his load, you opened your mouth to show nothing was left. He praised you for being such a good girl for him, and he remembered finally spilling into his hand at the thought of you smiling warmly at his praise.

All for his momentary peace to be interrupted by the sound of Greywind’s warning, and for Lord Karstark’s squire to inform Robb that his presence was demanded at the Kingslayer’s cage. Knowing it wouldn’t be good, Robb quickly rid of any evidence of his release and tucked in his flaccid cock into his breeches before making way to the cages that held any enemy prisoners. Only to discover that the Kingslayer had been released by the aid of his mother in attempt to exchange him for Sansa and Arya. That was the morning everything went to hell.

“What happened next?” He was almost terrified to know the answer.

“She told me then that she decided enough was enough. That night, she called Daiyu to let their prisoner down. When she saw him asleep, she stomped on his balls. She said that as a youth, she caught the eye of a certain One-Eyed Crow. He would teach her many things, one of them was how to make men talk. But he was stubborn, even in his current position. Every time he demanded to be released, Daiyu snarled. Every time he mentioned his position as an emissary of King Joffery, Li punched his gut. Every time he called himself Lord of the Vale, she put a hand to his mouth before stabbing his arm. It didn’t take long for him to temper him.”

Robb paled and grew a little green at Arya’s impassioned retelling of Lord Baelish’s “interrogation.” What unnerved him even more was the slight admiration in her eyes toward your actions. Although it shouldn’t have surprised him, Arya had always worshipped the ground you walked on. Next to Jon and Father, you were probably her most favorite person in the world.

While you had a special bond with all of the Stark children, you held the two girls close to your heart. Sansa adored you, as you saw more to her than a pretty face and delicate stitching; reminding her that it was her kind soul and generous heart that you loved the most. Although, Sansa always beamed whenever you asked for her input on stitching and clothes. She stating that it comforted her that she was better than you in at SOMETHING.

Meanwhile, whenever Arya wasn’t sneaking off her lessons to join her brothers, it was to find you. You fascinated her, always begging you to tell her stories of the life you lived before Winterfell. Whenever she was in trouble with Mother, you would tell her that she had a spark within her that was growing rarer in the world around them, and that you hoped it never went out. You would even teach her a few words from the many languages you spoke, telling her that everyone should be fluent in one other language than their Common Tongue.

“She told him that he betrayed our father. He denied it of course, even reminded her of how she witnessed him offering his aid with the dagger. That got him a broken knee. She already knew that Tyrion would never bet against his brother Jaime, Ros told her that they acted close. And that Jaime Lannister had already revealed that it was King Robert that won the dagger from him. King Robert would never make an assassination attempt against Ned’s family, but he was stupid enough to leave it lying around the keep. Making it more than easy for him to get it back.”

Robb was completely dumbfounded, his mind racing as he tried to piece together every new piece of information.

“Wait – so that means-”

“Littlefinger sent the assassin to kill Bran, not the Lannister’s.” Arya started with a somber nod. “The Kingslayer pushed him off the tower, and Bran did almost die. But no one knew that his legs worked. Who’d believe that he’d survive a fall like that?”

“Another advisement from you to Father,” thought Robb, “you really were too smart for your own damn good.”

“She told me how scared he got. How he started to get nervous and stutter. He tried telling her how he tried help Father by telling him to bend the knee to Joffery, saying that he would still remain Hand and run the kingdom in peace with our family safe. But all that earned him was her removing a finger. Li told him that he must have known that Father would never bend the knee to a bastard born of incest and that she cared little for more of his excuses and that he needed to shut up. All she wanted to know, was how he managed to kill Lord Jon Arryn.”

If Robb wasn’t in shock before, he certainly was now.

“She told him how strange she thought it was that she never responded to any of the ravens you and Mother sent to her. Why wouldn’t she send aid to her sister and nephew? After all, they’re fighting against the same people who murdered her husband. She said that while she never personally met Lady Arryn, she remembered Mother talking about how her sister claims that family means everything to her. Meaning that-”

“It wasn’t the Lannister’s that killed Jon Arryn” finished Robb; horror filling him as he realizes that his father, this war, the feud between Lannister and Stark, were all pulled at the strings maneuvered by someone who his mother treasured as a friend. Arya nodded with sober eyes, telling him that her reaction was like his in realizing the truth.

“Li told him that she noticed how similar brothel was that of the brothels in Lys, from the silken textiles to the Lysene women that served as pleasure slaves; even the way he ordered them was identical to that of a brothel’s master. He must have spent a lot of time at Lys to be familiar with their language and mannerisms.”

“Arya, what does any of this have to do with Jon Arryn’s death?” Robb snapped as he was growing impatient, “Southern nobles travel there all the time, not exactly strange behavior.”

“That’s what I said to Li, but do you know what she told me?” Arya smiled as she recounted what you told her next, “She said, ‘Why did Littlefinger survive this long? It wasn’t because he was strong, or rich, or even because he had friends. It’s because he watches everything, he takes in everything. Nothing was unimportant, everything had the potential to serve him in some way. I wanted him to know that no matter how smart he thought he was, I was better.’ She said that isolating and starving him were to just weaken his body, torturing him was to weaken his mind. But to break him, she needed to beat him in his own game, knowledge.”

The silence that followed was deafening to Robb. The only thing he could hear was the increased fervor of his heart pounding against his chest. He waited for his sister to continue, to hear the mastery of your inquisitiveness, to maybe gain your insight. Maybe he will finally begin to see a glimpse of the demonic ingenuity that hid behind your solid gaze; maybe, just maybe, in hearing this from someone else, he would understand you, if only just a little bit more.

But Arya didn’t say anything…her face was blank as the soft hacked tendrils of her hair covered her eyes.

“What next?” Robb whispered, his voice desperately pleading for more.

“…”

“Arya,” he pleaded once more; his voice growing more distraught with each passing second, “please tell me. What else did she say?” He could see his sister’s lips moving, but her voice was so quiet that he had to strain his ears to hear her next words.

“…That was it…,” she conceded, “she said that she had to go, that she stayed for too long already.” Arya kicked off her boots before bringing her knees to her chest, clutching them with her spindly arms. Her face remained blank, but Robb swore he heard her voice cracking.

“That can’t be it…” Robb protested in disbelief. “Arya there had to have been more. Tell me there’s more!” Robb was no longer lying on his bed. Now he stood over his sister, towering her small frame the same as their father once had when he scolded them as children. His voice growing more inflamed in misery. His anger erupted when Arya remained in her silence by lowering her head to her knee tops. If he paid attention, he would have noticed the slight quiver of her bottom lip.

“Arya!” He bellowed, guilt flooding his body as he saw the slight flinch of his baby sister’s body, but he was too blinded in his anger to care about anything other than you in that moment. “Arya, Gods help me if you don’t tell me-”

“I’m not lying!” She wailed; her face finally free of her impassive façade. Tears streamed down her cheeks as her pale eyes were beginning to grow red and puffy, and her face grew pink and splotchy. “I begged her to tell me, but she wouldn’t! I asked her why she didn’t tell all of this to you, to Mother, or even Theon!”

Her chest was heaving with every sharp intake of breath, her entire body was shaking uncontrollably with every gasp. After everything that happened: from Bran falling to Robb almost dying; it took you leaving without the promise of returning that caused the weary dam to be demolished by the overdue flood of her grief and sorrow.

“I tried to make her! But she wouldn’t tell me! All she did was look at me! Looking at me with that stupid smile!” With her flood of sorrow, came the rage that followed; as she roared out her final moments with you before your departure, “The one she makes when she’s in trouble, or scared, or hurt; but she never lets anyone know about it! She just hides it! Hoping it’ll go away and everything will be fine and we’ll be none the wiser! But I knew something was wrong! I knew that she did something important, and I tried to make her tell me!”

She paused to wipe the little dribble of snot running down her nose with her sleeve as little hiccups escaped as a result from her crying.

“But all she did was give me a stupid hug! It was so tight and warm a-a-an-and- it smelled like her and-,” she paused once more to catch her breath, only to begin crying again as she wailed out her next words, “and she said she was sorry ‘cause I needed to stay strong for just a little longer, but everything would be alright! She told me she loved me and kissed my head! And then she grabbed her travel pack, called her shadowcat, and then she LEFT!” She stopped to wipe her tears with her sleeves while also hiding her face from her brother.

Robb could no longer be angry. He couldn’t even pretend to be strong anymore. He collapsed on his bed, its loud creak accompanying Arya’s loud sniffles. It was only when the candle was beginning to flicker out that he noticed enough time passed for Arya to steady her breathing. He let out a weary sigh, before whispering out the question that plagued his mind since Arya began to speak.

“Why didn’t she tell me this from the start?” He croaked out. “Did she think I wouldn’t believe her, or that I wouldn’t trust her? I- I just- I don’t understand-”

“It wasn’t that she couldn’t trust you,” she breathed out, “it was that she couldn’t trust herself.” Seeing how this only muddled her brother even further, she pressed on, “She did say one more thing about Littlefinger though-that she and him…they were alike, just a bit.”

“What? How could they possibly be remotely alike?” Robb questioned, completely baffled by the thought of comparing you to that traitor.

“Before she killed him, he told her that there was no justice in the world. Not unless they made it. Him, the small son of a small house, knew that the only way to rise in the world, was through only himself. Came from nothing, rose to power, and she was exactly the same. He saw it when he first met her in King’s Landing. But he could tell she changed; this war changed her. Because of you, because she followed you. She said that hated his words; but what she hated more was the fact that everything he said was the truth. She became weak; no longer trusted herself to take action, because of you.”

“…Because she followed me into war?” He asked as a bitter laugh escaped his lips, not wanting to feel the guilt growing in his chest at Arya’s recount of your confession.

“Because she fell in love with you.” She stated, praying for your forgiveness for revealing your most shameful truth.

It was as if Robb’s world had crashed down all over again.

“I never knew,” were all that he could choke out.

“It’s ok,” his sister reasoned in attempt to comfort her brother, “I don’t think she knew either.”

And with that being the final word, the candle’s flame died down, and darkness cloaked the two siblings in awkward comfort. Arya laid on her side, wanting to gain at least a few hours of sleep before their continued travels. But no matter how much he tossed and turned, sleep evaded the young king. Anger and bitterness were his constant companions since your departure, he reasoned them with you breaking both his heart and his trust.

Only for shame and self-loathing to overflow within him in learning that he had done the same to you for much longer.

“And I can assure you my lords that the price was more than fair,” your confidence was slowly diminishing as you chose your next words carefully, “all that was asked from the stranger was that I sail from Seagard to a locate an individual and escort them to somewhere Beyond the Wall, afterwards I would be told more details of my mission from there.”

龙力 (Lóng lì) POV:

It’s been several weeks since the ship provided by House Mallister had departed from the port of Seagard, but there had been no peace for me to grieve.

“’OY Boy! Get a move on! She’s starting to blow!” “Who is-” “The WIND! Can’t you smell?” “Ser, I-” “THAT’S CAPTAIN TO YOU!”

“哦，仁慈的观音 (oh, merciful Guan Yin),” I thought pleadingly, “我求你饶了我这种折磨.” I should have known better than to hope that Lord Mallister would provide me a ship handled by a proper crew. I leaned back to bear witness at the horror unfolding before my eyes. Tried as I might, I could not hide the grimace etched on my mouth as bitter disappointment roared in my expression.

黛玉 (Dài yù) was faring no better, as the bored expression in her gaze was any indication. She, like me, was not impressed by the pathetic display before her.

I doubt that more than half these “men” had ever been on a ship for longer than a few hours to catch a meal, let alone to make a journey with no promise of definite return.

“WHAT IN THE SEVEN HELLS DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING BOY!” The “captain” shouted, his spit flying through the air, and landing on the poor deckhand he was currently torturing.

My grimace morphed to a scowl; this man was no ship “captain,” he was not even a man meant for the sea. Even before stolen from my home and family, I lived on market near the port. Hundreds of ships would dock at the port, and thousands of men would flock at the market.

Some were handsome and rich; some were ugly and poor.

Maybe they were heroes returning home; maybe they were cowards running from one.

If one’s face was green to the breeze, then another’s soul was battered from the storms.

But each and every one of them had a look in their eye: a look a resolution to witness the sea and all of her horrible glory, let them live or die if she wanted.

As a little girl who dared not dream of a life outside her family, these men fascinated me.

This man disgusted me. His voice boomed with slurred speech, and his face glowed red and his breath smelled putrid from all the ale he ingested. His beard was bushy and untrimmed, flecks of rotting meat made permanent residence there. When he wasn’t sitting on his ominously large ass, his rotund gut sloshed with every step he took to yell at someone else. I’ve seen and met many men who voyaged the sea like him, but he was no sea man. There was no resolution in his eyes, only greed and arrogance. Lord Mallister could not have sent me on a more terrible ship with a worse crew. I wished more than ever to be by my brother’s side.

Ironborn…Mainland… one fact remained: the sea roared within him. Salt ran through his veins, while the wind called his spirit. A kracken, a wolf, it never mattered in the end.

Theon Greyjoy was a man who would have thrived at sea. It called to him, as it did to me. He was the very image of the pirates I made up to tell to Lady Arya and Lady Sansa when they still very small. From the rakish glint in his eyes, to that boyish smirk he flashed to any pretty girl who glanced his way– even the way he spoke just screamed arrogance.

But that merely a mask – a façade to hide his hurt, his insecurities, every vulnerability from the world who decided his place in it since he had no say in that matter.

They saw neither his kindness, nor his empathy. They would not believe the truly caring young man that hid behind years of carefully manufactured egotism.

They didn’t see the boy that would carry his late lord’s eldest daughter after she fell and scraped her knee; ruining her stockings and dress with blood and muddy snow. They never saw how he would gather her in his arms, and whisper words of promises how she was still the prettiest girl in all of the Seven Kingdoms. They failed to see the slight blush on her cheeks that came whenever she saw him alone at the archery range in her family’s keep.

They turned their sights away when he would find an abandoned hawk chick on a morning ride, and raced back to his room to nurture it back to health. They refused to bear witness the determination in his eyes to aid a creature into living rather than to accept pathetic comfort in death. They never saw the sickly little chick grow into the swiftest predator to every fly through the Northern skies.

They didn’t see a young boy flush in shame in learning the meaning to a slur he called a foreign former sex slave. They never saw the change in his behavior when the child awoken, immediately begging for forgiveness. They were blind to the beginning of a family, built on a foundation of both mutual respect and acceptance.

Furthermore, they refused to acknowledge that an ignorant boy could grow into a confident and capable man; if they are given the time and care they are deserved from the beginning.

I was hit by a wave of sorrow in remembering him. Gods, how I missed him.

“I’m so sorry Ser-CAPTAIN! I-I just-um-I just thought-” the unfortunate deckhand sputtered out. His face growing more flustered as he continued to try to sort out his words. He looked not a day past his twelfth name day. He was only a bit older than Bran.

The sight was so pitiful it almost made me want to help…almost. But I couldn’t afford to draw more attention to myself…no matter how much the boy reminded me of Bran.

Gods above, it’s been so long. Did he grow? Was he taller than me? And what of Rickon? Have they been paying attention in their lessons? Have they been eating their greens? They had better not have fed them to Summer and Shaggydog. Were they good to Maester Luwin?

By the Seven, has Maester Luwin been neglectful in taking his medicine since I’ve been gone? Is he still making sure to get proper rest in acting as advising hand while Bran is the Acting Lord of Winterfell? Has he been overworking himself?

…Has Jon been informed since he trekked to Castle Black to take his vows?

My mind began to spiral, and with it so did my heart begin to race. Bran, Rickon, Jon, Maester Luwin…would I ever see them again? Had they been informed of the Frey’s betrayal and the Lannister’s mutiny? Do they know of the deal I needed to take? ... Had they thought I betrayed them?

“别再折磨自己了,” I angrily berated at no one but myself, “你不是这里的受害者."

I needed to snap out of my misery. I made a deal, and I would see it to the end. If never returning was the price to way for the benefit of House Stark, then it was a price more than fair to me. Wallowing in defeatism would do me no good, my childhood was a testament to that truth.

It would not win the war.

It would not bring back my late Lord, Lord Eddard Stark.

And it would not revive Queen Talisa Stark nee Maegyr, and that of her and Robb’s child who bled out on the cold tile floor of the Frey’s Keep as a result of my incompetence.

Thankfully, the bulging pimple of the man opened his mouth, and thus my spiral of self-pity soon distorted to righteous fury.

“SPARE ME THE BLUBBERING AND STARTING CLEANING DAMN IT!” The foul captain turned his foot, and strode back to his quarters. He walked as if he was only doing his job, but I could see his face. The moment he turned; his rotten scowl turned to a repulsive grin that showed his rotten yellow teeth.

Oh, I despised this man. My fingers inched toward for my knifes, and my soul was calling out for his blood. And how I longed to fulfill its wish. 黛玉 (Dài yù) could sense my agitation, and in response her tail started to twitch, indicating her aggression. If she decided to attack, I do not think I would have it in me to stop her.

A gust of wind broke me from my blood lusted trance as a chill ran down my spine. Quickly I turn to face the ocean, gripping the railing as I stare at the horizon. The breeze continued to whip my hair, tangling my raven locks with her invisible grazes; I could tell something was wrong. When the wind blew stronger, I looked up at the sky, forgetting that the stars had not been seen in the night sky for days. But the sun had long set, and so far, there was still no rain so the chances of trouble was likely – a drop of water landed on the back of my hand.

Another on the top of my head.

A third landed on my cheek.

“台风,” I whispered out, fear flooding my body.

“What's that miss?”

I turned around and saw that it was the pitiful deckhand. I look at him with furrowed brows, and was about to repeat what I had just said to warn him – when I realized that I had switched to thinking in my native tongue without realization. I recompose myself in haste and grip the young boy’s shoulders to tell him.

“Typhoon,” I whisper carefully, noting how his eyes soon became wide with fear, “It’s been cloudy for days, the wind is picking up and now there is rain.” Oh gods, I could feel the wind growing. Raising my voice, I tell him, “Warn the crew, secure all the loose gear, make sure all the windows and openings are batten down and latched tight. Are you with me so far?”

He quickly nods, his eyes never leaving mine.

“Good,” I nod in attempt to reassure him before continuing, “Now-what I am going to tell you next is the most important. I want you to tell the men in charge of the masts – that’s the pole that holds the sails – see it?” I quickly point to them, making sure that his eyes follow my finger. “I want you to tell them to strike the royals first – not the mainsail – the smaller ones, got it?”

“But my lady, the-the winds-should we not-” the young man tried to question, before a powerful rumble rolled across the downpour. Followed by a horrifying crack, along with a blinding flash of light. Its shape resembling the dragon of my pendent, a Yi Ti dragon.

“HURRY!” I yell to him before running and pounded on every cabin door “All hands-on deck! TYPHOON COMING!”

The drizzle that came as a warning became a shower; and the shower soon transformed into a downpour. And the downpour went on until it was a fucking monsoon.

The men were scrambling to prepare for the worst; all of them trying to play a part that none were expecting. The damned “ship captain” was nowhere to be found. Probably tucked in poster bed, a fire roaring, sheltered away in his cabin’s warmth– ignorant to his men’s suffering – away from this madness. A truly disgusting man. I sneered under my breath, but I had no time to waste on him.

A few hours have passed, and the men had grown desperate. After the boy relayed my orders, they scoffed at the idea of grown men receiving orders from a woman whose only defense was a few blades and an irritated shadowcat. But as they realized how much danger they were in; they gradually began to accept me as the officer in command. At the very least, they saw that I was a more competent sailor than that of their captain. But in spite of our best efforts, we could not stabilize the ship to escape the storm.

We needed to get to land…fast. There was no chance of this ship, nor the people of this ship surviving if we attempt to drop anchor to ride this storm out.

“REEF THE MAINSAIL! AND ABANDON COURSE!” It was a desperate attempt, but I cannot risk to strike the mainsail. To do so would lose all forward power and abandon all control in the ship direction through the steering wheel. We’d be floating straight downward like floating corpses.

“HELMSMAN!” I called out.

“YES, MY LADY!” He dutifully responded.

“ABANDON COURSE AND POINT! WE NEED TO GET TO LAND AS QUICKLY AS POSSIBLE!” I directed as clearly as I could in my state. Fatigue would soon get the best of me, but I could not lose my concentration.

“AYE’ MY LADY!” He replied, to which he relayed his message to the men controlling the mast. “REEF THE MAINSAIL!”

A series of “AYE’s” rang through my ears. If I was not so terrified of our current placement, they’re unified front in receiving my order would have brought a great sense of pride to me.

Almost an hour had passed, and the waves were getting less turbulent.

There…LAND! We were saved!

When the navigator spotted the stretch of grey, the ship’s men practically cried in relief. I almost did the same…but something still felt off. It was too early for celebration.

Why did those spots of rocks and sand unsettle me? Twenty lives were saved, we managed to ride out the storm, the Gods had not claimed anyone tonight…so why can’t I feel myself relax?

We were getting closer to the shore; the rocks were becoming larger…my heart was racing.

What am I feeling? It’s as if…my body was warning me about something…something my mind is failing to remember.

The body…the mind…my body…my mind…

It’s one thing if both your mind and body fail to recall something…but for the body to remember what the mind had forgotten…oh Gods, where am I?

I could feel my body growing stiff, but my hands were trembling? Why? What am I forgetting? What is it about this place that is bringing these…reactions? I felt a hand on my shoulder, I took out one of my daggers to find…the young deckhand?

“My lady!” His smile was so wide, his shoulders were sagging in relief, he felt…safe, “WE made it to land! We survived the storm!”

I felt a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding to escape, trying to convince myself to relax.

“Yes,” I smiled, “thank you for relaying my instructions. You were a tremendous help.”

“Oh no, my lady! It was because of your orders that we survived another day! And not a single man was lost!”

His smile was so genuine and sweet…he really did remind me of Bran. I felt myself calm down a bit.

“Even so, I am grateful that you trusted in me. The part you played in our survival should not be ignored. You have my thanks…um…” I tried to recall his name. If I was to thank this brave young man, then I want to do it properly.

“OH! Yes! I never gave my name!”

…Why was the air growing colder? Was it getting darker?

“My name is Eoghan Wright my-”

Blood spattered across my face as his head was bashed in with a club.

Blood…red…iron…oh Gods…are we-

Screams of pain filled my ears, 黛玉 (Dài yù) leapt in front of me. I felt nauseous, I wanted to keel over and never stand again.

I looked behind me…and saw the sight of a massive sigil on a sail.

…Black…gold…Kracken…iron

I knew that smell…HE reeked of it – I would have choked to death on the smell alone when I was with him if I hadn’t felt so dead so young.

A memory is coming to me…from my brother…Theon.

“The ground so full of metal that nothing grows there,” he once told me, “All that iron ore in the ground poisoned it I suppose.”

Iron ore…the Iron Islands…I doomed us all.

A terrifying grin with putrid breath was all I sensed from the world before a cloth was pressed against my face…and my world went dark.

Meanwhile in King’s Landing:

A lone figure stood before a window, facing one of the finest views of the Red Keep. Her figure eluding the serenity of a worldly temptress. Her face and frame emitting only lust and peace, that only meant she was a talented actress. A few weeks ago, she had sent out a piece of a puzzle that would either aid her dearest friend’s latest conspiracy, or send both the Lannister’s and the Eyrie for her head.

Littlefinger’s death caused an uproar within the Red Keep. That…along with the failure of the Red Wedding…the Gods couldn’t save the Stark girl from King Joffery’s wrath.

Never before had she wanted to wring a man by his balls more than that of Robb Stark, Young Wolf and King of the North.

King or not, only the most stupid of boys would lead thousands of men to their death for the company of a plucky foreign chit with a passable smile and round ass.

She prayed that a more worthy suitor caught your eye.

…Maybe she could find a way for you to meet that young Payne squire…at least he’d be a considerably better match in terms of loyalty for someone as preciously deadly as you.

…Not to mention he was surprisingly well-endowed.

She recalled the time you and your brother caught her on the turnip cart for her escape to King’s Landing. Following her everywhere whenever you came to the village town. You would always be more duckling than dragon in her eyes.

“Will I ever see you again?” You looked so heartbroken asking her this question. It broke her own heart to see such round eyes being filled with tears from worry and fear.

“Promise me you’ll be careful,” you pleaded. A cruel request from someone such as yourself. You would bleed yourself dry to feed every starving child you came across.

“I love you-”

“My dear Ros,” spoke a bald figure with a slight Lysian accent as he entered the room, “How do you fare on this fine day?”

Banishing her troubled thoughts, she lightly curled the ends of her lips to give one of her famous smiles. As she turned, the sun’s rays danced across her flowing red hair, giving the imagery of a glorious flame. The fine silks from Lys hugged her figure magnificently. She was the very image of temptation.

“Fear not Lord Varys.” She told in a calm tone, giving none of her worried away. “I am well as always.”

“Stay strong little duck,” she pleaded to you, wherever you may be. “You pleaded for my safety, now it is time for me to plead for your’s.”

Translations:

“哦，仁慈的观音...我求你饶了我这种折磨” (Ó, réncí de guānyīn……wǒ qiú nǐ ráole wǒ zhè zhǒng zhémó): Oh merciful Guanyin…I beg you to spare me this torture.

龙力 (Lóng lì): Dragon Strength

黛玉 (Dài yù): Black Jade

“别再折磨自己了...你不是这里的受害者" (Bié zài zhémó zìjǐle... Nǐ bùshì zhèlǐ de shòuhài zhě) : Stop torturing yourself ... you are not the victim here."

台风 (Táifēng): Typhoon

Taglist: @valeskafics, @dreaming-for-an-escape, @its-actually-minicika, @arcielee, @axelsagewrites

[aithusarosekiller]

AU Jegulus who are so deeply in love that it feels like nothing can come between them until regulus chooses to visit his parents and in an instant, all the religious trauma and guilt floods back in until he just can't do it anymore. He ends up leaving James alone, stranded, wondering if there was anything he could have done to help him before his parents got in his head again. Before a man James didn't even believe in tore his happiness away from him.

He never blames Regulus, of course, but he spends his nights lying there in silence thinking about how it could have been different

[lxvenderhxzehv]

Teddy shifted when he heard movement from the room. Letting a sigh escape him and he stepped back a little to give her room for when she opened the door. He understood why it took her so long, it felt like walking through mud to get here. His heart was so heavy and Empty all at the same time. The guilt he felt over still being alive and letting Morgan and everyone else down. He hadn't normal night of sleep since the whole ordeal. Therapy was helping but there was only so much Hayden could do.

"Not good" he huffed. Stepping in he put the food down on the counter before turning back around to her "hey come here..." He opened his arms and pulled her into a hug "I am so sorry about Andrew...." he huffed a little. His eyes watering trying not to let his own emotions get in the way. He felt her pain, in his own. "I know its hard, but well get through this...You're not alone. I'm here and I'm not going to judge you" he huffed a laugh right now "Hell I broke my own hand I was so upset....I am the last person to judge how someone mourns"

hearing the door knock, harlow made no effort to move. if someone was dropping something off then they would leave it by the door. then she heard the voice, it was teddy. she knew he was going through a loss of his own and that was what prompted her to move from her chair - even if it was at a snails pace.

standing at her front door, harlow wiped the tears from her eyes and made an attempt to compose herself before she opened the door. "hi..." she managed to choke out when she came face to face with teddy "ted- how are you? come in" her voice wobbling as she opened up the door to usher him in.

[in-love-with-writing-whump]

Prompt:

Whumpee, A, and B used to be best friends, but after Whumpee failed to save B's surrogate sibling, D, from their traitorous friend C, B hated them. One day, B decides to start a fight, pummeling them, not realizing that Whumpee won't fight back.

Because deep down, even though they know they couldn't have saved D or stopped C's betrayal, they still blame themself, despite A trying to protect them.