#when you go 'wait who made my OC so broken' then remember it was you

[goodlucktai]

raised on little light (1/3)

rise of the tmnt word count: 2k pairing: leo & oc i've had this idea rattling around since the rise farewell comic earlier this year made it canon that the turtles had another brother and a sister floating around somewhere. we know who their sister is, so this is my take on that 5th brother. i hope you enjoy meeting him <3 big thank you to @soldrawss and @mykimouser for enabling my insane behavior (and thank you again to sol for drawing the art i included in this chapter!!!) title borrowed from northern attitude by noah kahan read on ao3

x

2020

Leo regretted his last words as soon as they left his mouth.

“Hero moves are totally your style”? As if Raph doesn’t have enough issues already.

But what he meant—what he would have tried to explain if there was time—was that Raph is his hero. He’s always been Leo’s hero. And if Leo could be anything like him, even for a second, even if it was the last thing he ever did, then he could be satisfied with that. 

It’s a silly thing to be stuck thinking about, laying on a torn up chunk of earth with a monster ominously lumbering somewhere below, looking for where it threw its toy. Laying there, feeling every bruise and broken bone, and hope that he didn’t hurt his big brother’s feelings.

They’ll be okay, Leo thinks, trying to make it be the thing that gives him courage instead of just more homesickness. They’ll miss me, maybe for a long time, but they’ll be okay.

Leo’s supposed to be fighting for his life, but it’s all he can do to keep a grip on the photo in his hand, the only thing in this entire dimension worth holding onto. It’s all he can do to keep his eyes open when every blink is longer than the last. 

It feels like enough of a rebellion. The Krang looked annoyed that he was still breathing the last time it batted him through the void like a fly, which gives Leo the idea that he should probably be dead by now. He feels a detached sort of pride at how grown-up he’s being about all this. Better late than never

Leo waits for the Krang to come for him, dripping his blood and sneering his daddy’s nickname for him hatefully as it does, and hopes he made his family proud. 

Leo hopes he’ll go wherever Gram-gram is. It would be nice to know someone when he gets there. 

Movement in his periphery snags Leo’s attention. His brain starts throwing up warning flags, signaling danger—anything moving around in here is another parasite, or a Krang hound, nothing he’ll want to be sprawled out on a silver platter for—but he can’t summon any urgency. 

He turns his head and finds himself looking up at another turtle. 

It’s the very last thing he expected to see. They both just stare at each other for a moment. 

The newcomer appears to be a few years older than Leo, based on the broadness of his shoulders, and half a head taller. Their skin is more gray than green and their plastron is so pale it’s closer to white than yellow. Their carapace, what Leo can see of it, is a deep blue-black and they’re covered, skin and shell both, in white spots. Two of the spots on their face give the impression of eyebrows lowered in a glare, but they don’t seem angry at him.

The turtle is completely unfamiliar to Leo, which is saying something. He thought he and his family had the monopoly on��� this whole situation. 

Disquieted, Leo remembers that he’s supposed to be the only turtle here. That was a very significant part of the decision he’d made. 

It must be a hallucination, he decides, instantly comforted by his own reasoning. That makes sense. He just wished that if his mind was going to conjure him some dying company it could at least be someone he knows. An imaginary Mikey or Donnie or Raphie for one last hug. One last affectionate forehead bonk. An “I still love you,” if that wasn’t asking too much. 

Don’t you cry now, he scolds himself sternly when his eyes start to blur and burn. It’s not about you. 

With a resounding crash of metal against stone, the Krang finds them at last. He’s snarling something that Leo is too slow to piece together before he cuts himself off—surprising the hell out of Leonardo by acknowledging the hallucination. That’s not how that works. 

“Another pest ,” the Krang hisses. His serrated teeth glint when he draws his gummy lips back in an ugly smile. His tone is oily and unpleasant when he adds, “You’re less colorful than those other ones. I would have remembered seeing you. Where were you when your accomplices were fumbling about in my Technodrome like the stupid creatures they are?”

“We won,” Leo reminds the alien, even though it makes him cough. His lips are warm and wet now but he won’t think about why. “Blew up your ugly ship. Who looks stupid now?” 

“Shut your mouth!” the Krang roars, going from slimy to homicidal in about three seconds. Leo cringes, every ounce of animal instinct in his body urging him to hide in his shell and ride the rest of this nightmare out. 

The spotted turtle snaps, “Don’t talk to him.” 

It would have made sense if he was looking at Leo when he said it. Don’t engage, don’t bait the big monster that could kill you with as much effort as it takes you to blink, et cetera ad nauseum. If only he’d had a nickel for every time he heard that. 

But instead the turtle is looking at the Krang, and he’s radiating the kind of cold-blooded murder that you mostly only see in movies. He has one arm flung out in front of Leo like he actually means to use it to stop the Krang from getting any closer. 

“Don’t even look at him,” he goes on, sounding seconds away from baring his teeth. 

This guy is significantly unaware of the danger he’s facing, and Leo ought to warn him about what enormous clusterfuck he’d just wandered into. Leo ought to say he appreciates the reptile solidarity, but you should definitely run, new guy. 

But this probably isn’t actually happening outside of his own head. And besides, Leo has to focus really hard on his numb fingers so he doesn’t drop his photo. 

“I’ll look where I please,” the Krang says, as unbothered by the hallucination as he was by Leo’s entire family. “Starting with that fool head of yours. I’m interested in whatever backdoor led you here. If it’s my way out, well —”

Adrenaline surges through Leo, and he’s hardly aware of moving before he’s lurching up and shouting out, “No!” 

He can’t get out, he can’t. Leonardo won’t be able to trick him again. He won’t be there to help this time. 

“I do have one thing for you,” the spotted turtle interrupts to say, reaching over his shoulder for what turns out to be a compound crossbow strapped to his back. 

Leo doesn’t know a lot about archery so it’s weird his fictional turtle does, crank-cocking the weapon like it’s an extension of his arm. He watches cluelessly as the turtle slides something very purple out of his jacket pocket and notches it into the groove where the bolts are supposed to go. It’s definitely not a bolt, but it’s a piercing-type projectile of some kind, and it fits in the crossbow like it was designed with crossbows in mind. 

The turtle aims the bow at the Krang, who clicks the claws of his metal suit on the ground the way Splinter would drum his fingers on the kitchen counter when he was waiting on the microwave. The Krang looks condescending and mildly curious, like he’s watching dumb little animals do something they’re not trained to do. 

“He told me to tell you he’s sorry he couldn’t be here to see this part,” the spotted turtle says, and then shoots without a second of hesitation or unnecessary dramatics. 

The Krang bats the projectile away, or tries to, but it explodes on contact with his armor, and suddenly all Leo can smell is burning metal. Then burning meat. 

The Krang begins to scream, clawing at something defiantly purple with a mind of its own that eats straight through him the effortless, immediate way corrosive acid chews through soft tissue. It moves like nanotech, covering as much of the Krang as possible in a manner of seconds and clearly designed to consume whatever it touches like a school of cartoon piranhas. 

Donnie would love it, color scheme and all. 

The Krang stumbles drunkenly, howling like a creature possessed, and Leo and his turtle companion both watch silently until he tips over the edge of the hunk of torn earth they’re on. Gravity is nonexistent in this dimension, so he doesn’t so much fall as sort of drift in another direction while he’s distracted with the purple stuff that’s doing its best to eat him alive. 

The last handful of minutes have been so bizarre that it’s actually going pretty far in convincing Leo that none of it happened for real. The Krang hasn’t actually found him yet. This is clearly a dream. Or a pre-death electrical storm as the neurons in his brain fire up to fizzle out.  

He tips his head to the side again to stare up at the archer, who is putting his bow away with perfect confidence that whatever that purple thing was, it will do the job. 

“Who are you?” Leo asks stupidly. 

“Gio,” the probably imaginary turtle replies.

Leo’s mouth runs off before he can stop it. “Just Gio? Like Cher?”

God, he thinks. That was stupid, Leo. Not the time or place, Leo. You’re in the prison dimension. You’re dying here and you can’t even cut the jokes now? Raph was so right about you.

But the imaginary turtle surprises him by smiling slightly, the corners of his mouth pulling just barely upwards in a way that somehow completely transforms him. Not the time or place for jokes or smiling at them but here they are. Like company.

“Giorgio Hamato,” ‘Gio’ says. That lands in Leo’s ears as something remarkably worth making a lot of noise over, but he can’t begin to unpack it. And after a second, he forgets what the remarkable part was. His mind is a deck of cards that got shuffled too enthusiastically and ended up scattered all over the floor. Gio doesn’t seem to mind when Leo just blinks at him, adding, “I’m here to take you home.”  

“Pretty sure Uber doesn’t come out this far,” Leo mumbles, the words a paint smear, all thick and wet and muddy. One of his teeth feels broken and it’s keeping him awake, a blistering ache that cracks through the back of his mouth like lightning. “And I’ve got, like, zero bars.”

This is how I cope, he thinks, watching the bigger turtle absorb the second bad joke in as many minutes. Leo’s blinking fast so he doesn’t cry. He’s trying to focus on anything but the pain radiating through his whole body, and the swallowing darkness all around him, and the ruins of ancient metal ships looming where they float unrestricted by gravity, and the ballistic howls of a pissed-off pink alien still dealing with whatever the heck this Gio guy did to him.

He can’t focus on any of that because all of that is scary and he’s already terrified. He needs to not be terrified because he doesn’t want to be that kind of ghost when he haunts his family. He wants to be the friendly, funny kind, the kind that gets to stay at the end of the movie, the kind that will make silly faces at Mikey so he doesn’t get scared, and leave sticky notes for Donnie to remember to charge his phone and drink enough water, and cover Raphie with an extra blanket while he’s asleep because it gets cold at night but he always leaves his bedroom door open for them.

If Leo’s friendly and funny, if he helps, he’ll get to stay. He didn’t get to stay the first time, so this time he has to make it stick.

Larger hands wrap around his. It doesn’t register for a second, and then it does in a big way.

Leo jerks his head up. Moving just that much hurts like his ribs are broken all the way down and the bones in his leg have all melted into liquid agony, but it clears some of the fog away.

Someone is holding his hands in the prison dimension.

An alien like the Krang wouldn’t know the first thing about the human gesture, the togetherness of it, so it’s not some mean trick that’s being played. And it can’t be an imaginary turtle that Leo dreamed up, after all, because kindness would be the last thing he’d give himself.

Possibly very real Gio says, “Fuck Uber. Whatever that is. And don’t repeat that word.”

The punchy breath Leo chokes in is going to punch out again as a laugh or a sob. Leo squeezes the bigger turtle’s hands, photo crinkling between them, suddenly tethered to something in this void and hysterically certain that he’ll die for real if Gio lets go.

“I’m sixteen.” Leo’s voice wobbles. He doesn’t know what to react to first. He doesn’t understand how this is happening. He holds on. “I can say the fuck word if I want to, I’m practically an adult.”

Gio’s face does something it hurts to look at. His eyes are dark and sincere, the shape of them entirely familiar. There’s a warmth inside him that permeates the gloom. A star belonging to a much larger galaxy, but more significantly, belonging to the same crooked constellation Leo belongs to.

I know you, he thinks, surprised by the truth of it. I do. Where have you been?

“We’re going home,” Gio says, the certainty in his voice like one of those huge stones a river parts around, unmoved by the currents and crashing water. “I know the way out. Don’t worry about it. Close your eyes.”   

The worst thing that could happen has already happened, Leo thinks. There’s no reason not to trust him. There’s nothing left to lose. He closes his eyes.

He feels himself drawn in, tucked against the built-in armor of a turtle chest, head resting on a broad shoulder. He’s been carried like this a million times before. He didn’t think it would happen again. Somewhere along the line, he’d been picked up for the last time and put down for the last time, and now he’s here, where no one who loves him can reach him, to scoop him up when he falls asleep on the sofa and take him to bed.

But Gio lifts him up like he’s still a kid. The Krang is bellowing hateful promises in between the grating shrieks of pain, promises of what he’ll do when he gets his hands on Leo, but all of that is far away. 

Leo isn’t afraid anymore. He isn’t going to be a ghost.

He’s pretty sure he’s going home.   

[seascrapes]

[ What Does Your Heart Look Like: Tal Brook ]

-> Broken, Missing Pieces That Were Once There

Your heart has been torn before, chipped and maybe even shattered. Some pieces will never be recovered, and you are shaped by the loss. But it can still be shaped into something tangible, something good, even with its flaws and imperfections. You don’t have to do all the work of rebuilding by yourself. Allow other hands to leave their fingerprints on the new heart you create from the remnants.

[ Quiz Be Here ]

Tagged by: @houserosaire​

Tagging: @noscean-scholar​ | @voidwife​ | @locke-rinannis​ | @vythanis​ | @shroudandsands​ | @solaire-and-magia​ | @ivyffxiv​ | @nabaath-areng​ | @talion-graves​ | Anyone else who wishes <3

[nicoline1998enilocin]

Night Night, Nugget!

PAIRING || Husband!Bucky Barnes x Wife!Fem!Reader x Toddler!OC

WORDCOUNT || 2.3K

SUMMARY || Your nighttime routine may not always be the most conventional when married to an Avenger, but you two have found a way to make it work for your little family. Bucky is often away for missions, which makes the evenings he is home with you and your toddler even more special, and the three of you make them unforgettable each time.

RATING || Explicit (E)

TAGS || Established relationship. Dad!Bucky Barnes. Kid fic. Use of nicknames. Referenced pregnancy.

SMUT || Grinding. Spooning. Light dirty talk. Praise. Fingering. Sleepy sex. Unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it!). Orgasm delay. Multiple orgasms. Cream pie. Cockwarming.

A/N || This one-shot is written based on the request I received from the lovely @pipsqueakkitten! As soon as I saw the request come in, I had a plan for it, and I hope it is everything you've wanted! I want to give my endless thanks to @ccbsrmsf1 for proofreading this fic, even though you have a hectic schedule! I'm so proud of you for everything you're doing, bestie, I love you! 💙

EVENTS Masterlist || @fandombingo || Dinosaur cookies Masterlist || @fandom-free-bingo Book Night || Broken silence Masterlist || @fandom-free-bingo Frosty || Sleepy sex

Masterlist || @mcukinkbingo || Spooning Masterlist || @multifandom-flash || Glasses are sexy Masterlist || @seasonaldelightsbingo || Buck Bean

GIF: Source || All graphics are made by @nicoline1998enilocin

Main Masterlist || Bucky Barnes Masterlist

Sunday has been your favorite day of the week for as long as you can remember, but they have become extraordinary since the birth of your now two-and-a-half-year-old son, Onyx. Your happy-go-lucky toddler brightens every room with his excited laughter and endless talking. The fact that he looks exactly like your husband, Bucky, is the cherry on top for you.

Today has been a fun day for all three of you, as you and Bucky have taken Onyx to the large playground Tony has built on the grounds of the Avengers Compound as soon as you told him you're pregnant, and now you're preparing dinner for the three of you.

"Mama is back!" Onyx cheers as you enter the dining room. Bucky is sitting at the table beside his son, waiting for their dinner to be plated.

"Yes, Mama's here! Are you excited for dinner, Nugget?" Bucky asks, and your toddler nods happily, his dark brown curls bouncing with every move of his head. You bend down to kiss him on his head before moving to Bucky, who tips up his face to kiss your lips softly.

As soon as the food is plated for all three of you, Onyx dives in while you and Bucky talk about your husband's day at work, which was surprisingly uneventful for once. Being an Avenger has downsides, especially when he can be called away without a warning.

"Dada?" your son asks after practically smearing half his dinner onto his face and hair.

"Yes, Nugget?" Bucky answers, trying not to burst into laughter as he looks at the macaroni smeared across his forehead and curls.

"I love you," he says shyly, and your heart melts slightly at the sight as your son's cheeks turn a bright shade of red as he says it. It's not unusual for the three of you to show affection towards one another, but his sudden shyness is charming either way.

"I love you too, little Nugget. More than you'll ever know," Bucky tells Onyx with a smile before kissing him on the head, expertly avoiding the cheesy pasta sticking to his curls. A small giggle leaves your son's lips, instantly making you and Bucky smile.

"Mama?" Onyx then asks in a soft tone.

"Yes, little Nugget?" you answer with an arched brow, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you already know what's about to come.

"I love you!" Onyx exclaims, bouncing up and down in his high chair. His baby teeth show in a broad, goofy smile, and his eyes shimmer with happiness. Your heart fills with pure joy as you look at him and then at your husband.

"I love you too, Nugget," you say before planting a giant kiss on his cheek, exaggerating the kissing noise as you do. Bucky looks at the both of you with a soft, love-filled expression. The rest of dinner is finished quickly, and then you take Onyx upstairs for a much-needed bath while Bucky clears the table and does the dishes so you two can relax after your son is asleep.

"Are you ready for your bath, Nugget? I put your favorite duckies in there!" you say, and he quickly rushes to the bathroom to watch his colorful array of rubber ducks floating in the bathtub.

"Duckies are swimming," he says excitedly as he points at them. It doesn't take long for Onyx to be between them as you're washing the pasta out of his hair, and he's happily babbling away.

You consider yourself very lucky to be the Mom of such a happy-go-lucky toddler, and being married to the man you fell in love with a little over a decade ago is everything you could ask for, and more.

As you wash the shampoo out of Onyx's hair, your mind drifts to the news you want to tell Bucky later tonight. It's something you had to keep secret for a little while. Today is officially the day you can tell him, and you can't wait to tell your husband the amazing news that you're expecting baby number 2 later this year.

"Do you want me or Daddy to read your bedtime story today?" you ask Onyx as you're drying him off. He doesn't like to stay in the bath for too long, so you pull him out and wrap him in a big, fluffy towel as soon as he's done.

"Daddy tells a story!" he answers, and you nod. Seeing how Bucky isn't always home due to his meetings, he wants his Dad to read to him, and you do it on the nights he's not there. And sometimes he asks for you both to do it, making it a family activity.

"Okay, but first, we must put a diaper on and get you into some jammies. After that, we will cuddle with Dada, and you can get one or two of the dinosaur cookies you love so much," you tell him, and he agrees. Onyx will do practically anything for his dinosaur cookies, and you always have a stock of them on hand, just to be sure.

Soon after, Onyx changed into a clean diaper and his favorite pajamas before you sent him off to Bucky, who made the couch comfortable for the three of you with your toddler's favorite blanket and cookies.

"I'm ready, Dada!" he says as he walks into the living room. Bucky spreads his arms, ready to grab Onyx for a much-needed cuddle. Onyx gets comfortable on Bucky's lap, and Bucky wraps him in his favorite blanket as the cartoons he loves so much play on the TV.

While your son is cuddling with Bucky on the couch, you take a quick shower before changing into one of Bucky's henleys and some sleep shorts combined with your glasses, which is Bucky's favorite thing to see on you. In all fairness, he'd rather see you without clothing, but if he has to choose, he prefers it to be his.

As you walk into the living room, you see Onyx nibbling on his cookie while his gaze is fixed on the TV, but you cross Bucky's gaze as he takes in your appearance. He's having an absolute field day right now, from the wet hair to the glasses, his henley, and your bare legs.

"What's going on in that brain of yours, Barnes?" you ask as you sit next to him on the couch, your brow raised as a smirk tugs on the corner of your mouth.

"You," he says with a fond smile, and you immediately smile at him.

"What do you mean, Buck Bean?" you ask, and he can't stop laughing at the nickname.

"I just think your glasses are sexy. They make you look like a sexy librarian or something," he whispers before capturing your lips in a longing kiss. But you don't get to enjoy it for long because Onyx is wiggling his way between you two.

"She's my Mama!" he says before pushing Bucky away, making you both laugh.

"Well, that may be true, but I was here first," Bucky challenges his son, to no avail. He crawls closer to you before cuddling in your lap, his head against your collarbone as he gets comfortable.

"My Mama," he says with a slight pout, and Bucky gives in.

"Okay, you win. You can have her until your bedtime, but after that, she's mine again. How about that?" he asks, and Onyx nods, now smiling again, before grabbing another cookie, which he happily munches on until his eyelids are getting heavy and he's almost asleep in your arms.

"Let's get you to bed, Nugget," Bucky tells his son, who is quickly scooped up before being carried to his bedroom. As always, he gets to pick a story, but before Bucky can get through the entire thing, Onyx is fast asleep. Your husband tugs him in carefully before turning on the nightlight and monitor, and then he joins you on the couch again.

"Welcome back," you say as you kiss Bucky again after he sits down, this time without interruptions. His Vibranium hand is cold against your cheek, and the metal digits softly rub against it, but you don't mind.

You moan softly in his mouth as you fist his shirt, pulling yourself closer to him, and without a second thought, he pulls you onto his lap, where you can already feel his growing erection pressing against your slowly dampening core.

"God, I can never get enough of you, Doll," Bucky whispers against your lips, and you smile into the kiss as you slowly grind your hips over the bulge in his dark jeans. His hands grip your hips as he guides you, and the fabric of your shirt gives you precisely the friction you need to reach your high not long after.

"Hmm, have I told you how sexy you are with these glasses on?" Bucky asks after you've come down from your peak.

"Maybe once or twice," you say with a whisper, and you capture his lips in a soft kiss that leaves him wanting more as he follows your lips when you pull away.

Bucky looks at you with fondness in his eyes, and you can't help but smile as he takes in your features. You're the best thing that has happened to him since he was released from his past in Wakanda, and to this day, he's thanking his lucky stars every day for you.

"I have to tell you something," you tell Bucky, breaking the silence between you. His steel blue eyes are focused on you as his hands lie loose on your hips, his thumbs rubbing the skin under the henley you're wearing.

"You do?" he asks, and you nod.

"I'm pregnant," you blurt out, despite the ''speech'' you had prepared. Now that the moment is here, you couldn't care less about that; instead, you want your husband to know about the baby growing inside you as a token of your shared love.

"Are you serious? I'm going to be a Dad again?!" Bucky asks in disbelief, and you nod as the tears gather in the corners of your eyes.

"You're going to be a Dad again, Bucky! And Onyx is going to be a big brother!" you tell him proudly, and Bucky quickly lifts the fabric of the henley to touch your belly. The contrast between his Vibranium and flesh hand feels comforting, as it reminds you of your husband.

"I-I don't know what to say," he whispers, tears trailing down his cheeks. He already thought his world was complete with you and your son, but this proves how wrong he was about that because his universe could only get better with the addition of your baby.

"I love you so much, Doll," Bucky says before pulling you into a hug. That evening, you two share a whole lot more tears and laughter, thinking back to your first pregnancy and everything you've gone through since giving birth to your son.

Now, you find yourself in bed with your husband, both completely bare and his chest pressed against your back. His Vibranium hand is splayed over your belly as he presses many soft kisses on your shoulder and neck while whispering the sweetest things to you.

"I can't wait until you're showing again, Doll. When your belly is nice and round with my baby," he whispers as he ruts his hips against your butt, his erection trapped between your bodies. You're already starting to get sleepy, but Bucky can't stop lovin' on you since you've told him about your pregnancy.

"B-Bucky," you say in a breathy voice, and his hand trails lower until his cold, metal fingers make contact with your heated, dripping core, and you let out a soft whimper at the feeling of the metal digits playing with your sensitive clit.

"You're doing so well for me, Doll," he whispers as he keeps peppering your neck and shoulder in soft kisses, your breathing getting heavier as he lets his fingers glide through your folds before teasing your entrance.

"Please," you beg softly, and Bucky won't deny you anything when you beg this sweetly for him. Two of his fingers disappear into your entrance, and you bite your lip to supress the loud moan that threatened to escape.

His fingers keep working their magic as he brings you to your high again, but just before you fall over the edge, he pulls out your fingers, leaving you clenching around nothing - however, he's quick to soothe you and your longing pussy.

"Don't worry, Doll, I wanted to be buried inside you as you cum for me; I want to fall over the edge together," he whispers before lifting your leg and hooking it over his, giving him enough space to work his magic between your legs.

"Good girl," he says as he lines up with your entrance. It doesn't take long for him to be buried to the hilt, fitting together like two puzzle pieces. His pace is slow, but it has you feeling every inch of him in this position, feeling him deeper than you thought possible.

"Oh god, you fill me so well, Bucky," you groan as you work your hips in tandem with his, and he keeps up the slow pace as you're both still lingering between wake and sleep, making the fuzziness in your head even more enjoyable.

"Hmm, and you feel so good when you're wrapped around me, Doll," he responds, his thrusts slowly picking up as he gets closer to his high, yours being built up right alongside his own.

"I'm so close, Bucky, please make me cum," you beg again, and his Vibranium fingers move from your hip to your clit, and with a few quick, tight circles on your sensitive bud, you're clenching and milking him for all he's worth, his cum spilling deep inside you.

"I love you so much, Doll, and I can't wait to meet our baby," Bucky whispers after working you both through your highs, and you sigh contently. Not long after, you fall asleep with Bucky buried inside you, and you both have some of the best night's sleep you've had in a long time.

[jonesyjonesyjonesy]

Wildflowers (pt. xxii.ii)

a john paul jones x fem!oc fic (in progress)

summary: Julia Morgan knew nannying for three girls who had recently lost their mother would come with many challenges. But she never thought their father, the enigmatic musician John Paul Jones, would be causing her the most trouble. And while Julia is not in the business of saving broken men, her tenderness might be meant for more than little girls and wildflowers.

table of contents │ previous chapter

masterlist│ko-fi

notes: discussion of drug use, discussion of sa, general angst

a/n: it's going to get worse before it gets better 💔

pt. xxii.ii, jack-go-to-bed-at-noon

“I don't want to hurt you. But I can’t lose you, Julia, I can’t.”

I did not sleep. Why would I with a feral beast in the house?

I had no idea if John would wake again. Whether he would be stronger and more demonic than before. So I remained posted up outside the primary bedroom, almost unblinking.

That is until it was time for the girls to rouse for school. It was a miracle none of them questioned the thunderous snore of Peter Grant in the guest bedroom and even more remarkable they believed my fib that the strange car parked out front belonged to the new gardener. However, Tamara barely looked at me. At first I wondered if I had hurt her feelings by being short with her in the night, but then I overheard her whispering to Jacinda while they stood by the car waiting for me to come around.

“The ghost is back.”

It was urgent enough to cut right through the still air.

I wished I could believe in the ghost too. That the bumps in the night were angered spirits rather than their father, fecund with liquor and pills, a man they would not have recognized should they have met him.  

I should not have been driving in my sleepless state. I almost jumped the curb and nearly clipped a mailbox.

I barely remembered the drive. Just realized I left Warren House only to end up there again. It wasn’t enough that my body sagged with the hours of sleep lost. There was a hundred some pounds of weight on me too. Pinned to my hips. Gripping my thighs.

I sat in the car far longer than I would have on a normal day. Trying to keep my stomach from flipping at the memory of the night. Mere hours before.

With a final breath, a final push, I forced myself out of the car. And upstairs. To the master bedroom. To see if the monster had returned to man again.

The door was cracked when I got there. Just an inch. Caused by one of those ghostly drafts.

I ticked the door open a few inches more and peered inside.

John had made it to the bed, curled into a lump under the bountiful bedclothes. Red and cream floral. I hadn’t noticed it the night before. His hair was draped over his face, obscuring the evidence of my defense.

I watched him breathing for far too long and wished to feel what I had in the past. To fawn over him, adore him as I once had. Instead, I just felt sad, watching the covers rise and fall with his deep breaths.

I wished to crawl in with him, forget it all, laugh when he woke to gritty dried blood spattered across his face.

But I couldn’t. It might have killed me.

I pulled myself away from the door, closed it as far as I could without the latch clicking shut, and continued down the hallway. The doors to the guest rooms were now opened. And when I peeked inside, the beds were mussed. I sighed, knowing Annie would give me guff for it. Add it onto the pile. I could hack it after the night I had had.

I checked myself in the mirror once more (fatigued, but resplendently so) before heading downstairs to meet my “guests”.

“They wanted fresh air,” Annie grumbled when I entered the kitchen to grab another cup of coffee. “They requested breakfast on the terrace.” She dropped a plate of toast points onto a tray.

I whisked the tray away from her before she could pick it up. “You needn’t bother with them.”

“You needn’t either,” she said, though she made no effort to stop me.

We exchanged a resigned smile. I had given her the barest of details before the girls had come down for breakfast. That the men had shown up in the middle of the night, an emergency. Warned her John was not himself. That was all. Nothing about his outburst, the confusion, the belligerence.

I stowed the bite mark away too. There wasn’t anything gleeful about this mark as opposed to the ones Jimmy gave me. Nothing giddily perverse about it.

With the tray and my coffee, I headed out onto the terrace.

Peter spotted me first through a cloud of cigarette smoke. He looked surprisingly well-rested for a man wearing the same clothes he’d had on the night before. “Julia! Morning, love.”

“Morning, gentlemen.” I placed the tray on the table beside the tea service, glimpsing Richard and BP who were both a little worse for wear, no doubt having been forced to bunk up together.

“Oh, thank you. It’s a perfect day for a meal on the terrace, don’t you think? Fresh air and all that…” Peter went on jovially.

I hesitated to agree when the cigarette negated the fresh air.

Luckily, he didn’t bother for my answer. “Sleep well?” Peter asked with a raised eyebrow.

I snagged my coffee off the tray before saying dryly, “Like a baby.”

“Aren’t you lucky, then?” Richard grumbled.

Peter leered at Richard briefly. “We’re…uh, what he means is, thanks for handling him.”

“Handling him,” I repeated. So that’s what I had been doing.

“He just needed a feminine touch, you know? A reminder,” Peter said, snagging a piece of toast off the tray and dipping a corner straight into a glob of jam. “Of what is rather than…”

I stared hard at him, causing him to lose his train of thought.

“Sit, Julia,” Richard said. “You’re making me nervous.”

“No, I’ve duties to get to, I just wanted to make sure you were taken care of –”

“No, Julia, sit, please let’s chat,” Peter said, waving his fingers toward me.

The truth was, if I sat, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to stay awake. However, a chat with Peter Grant never seemed negotiable. I took the free chair, pulling it out a foot from the table so as not to be too close to them. “I’d hate to make you feel antsy,” I echoed without affectation, though my blood was boiling.

BP stuck his tongue into the side of his cheek, keeping his mouth pressed tight together.

“I know I’ve thanked you before Julia, but really, really our boy was in a bad way before you showed up. You keep him in good spirits.”

My stomach turned. I keep him in good spirits. I couldn’t have been more foolish. Thinking any of it was love. I was something to do. A hobby. A woman’s body has been currency since the beginning of time. It was an exchange from the start. “I do what I can,” I said softly.

“And more, apparently,” Richard muttered.

I didn’t have the energy to glare. My humanity was seeping out.

“We’re hoping this will be a one time thing,” Peter went on. “We’ll keep an eye on him and what he’s…consuming. And when he’s back home, you know, you just keep doing what you’re doing.”

“I ought to be on the Zeppelin payroll at this point,” I said, watching the steam from my coffee.

“That could be arranged.”

That caught my attention. My eyes zipped to Peter.

He grinned wolfishly. “A joke, of course.”

“Of course,” I replied, unconvinced. I suddenly wondered if they kept a roster of vessels.

Peter jammed his inch of a cigarette into the ashtray and reached for another. “Between the two of us, I know we can make sure he’s in good shape for tour in January.”

The words rolled over me like storm clouds closing in. Slowly and then all at once. “Tour in January.”

“Yes, it’s not much time, but we can keep him on the straight and narrow.”

I did not have the energy to convey what I felt. Hell, I didn’t even know what I felt. Surprise. Dismay. Fury. Ache. A collision of all sorts of a terrible feelings. I glanced at BP who seemed to be the only one who could tell I didn’t know of a tour starting in January. He dipped his chin lower and looked away.

Hadn’t they just started recording the album? Surely it wasn’t enough time for them to set out in tour in a handful of months.

“Of course, we’ll have to make sure his spirits are up until then so he doesn’t get cold feet, but you do an excellent job of keeping him warm, Ms. Morgan.”

 I opened my mouth, unsure what vitriol would emerge, only to be cut off by a low and gravelly, “The hell is going on?”

John was awake and he was standing barefoot on the terrace. The lower part of his face was streaked with dried blood and there was a splotch of a stain on the collar of his nightshirt. I couldn’t look directly at him more than a moment.

“Christ what happened to your face?” Richard asked with his lips contorted in bemusement.

“What are you talking about?” John trailed off, words mushy.

Peter glanced at me, then back at John. “You’ve got blood all over your face, mate.”

John smothered his face with his hand, his coordination massively strained by his hangover. “The hell…”

BP and Richard looked at me for explanation. I shook my head. “He wasn’t like that when I left him.”

A pitiful lie.

Peter reached for his napkin and dipped it in his water glass. “C’mere, I’ll take care of it,” Peter said, almost like a mother.

My knuckles whitened as I gripped my cup of coffee.

“How did I get here?” John asked in a small voice, stepping closer to us.

Every nerve in my body stood on end, my body sensing danger. The weight returned to my middle.

Now that he was within swiping distance, Peter got up, grabbed John by the arm, and swung him down into his own chair. “Just relax and I’ll explain.”

John, still dazed, looked at me, his eyes calling for some sort of help I couldn’t give him. Peter smeared his cloth napkin across John’s face to clear off the blood. John bristled, raising his hands to bat Peter away. “I can do it.”

“You got into a state last night. A really bad one,” Peter explained. I was shocked by his softness with John. I’d seen him threatening and I’d seen him trying to charm, but I’d never seen him quite like this. Cleaning up the messes.

“It’s sore, why’s it sore?” John complained softly.

“Had to bring you home so that you’d settle down,” Peter went on. Then, satisfied with his cleaning, gave John a pat on the back. “Felt better when you saw Julia, didn’t ya? Perked right up when you saw her.��

John’s blue eyes rolled toward me again and, this time, they caught.

And I remembered

Tour in January.

As if the chasm between us wasn’t already wide enough. It made sense why he would want the girls to know about us then. He could go away for tour, leaving behind his girls with not a nanny but…something more. I wondered how long he knew, how long he had been wondering how to tell me, how long he would have waited it Peter hadn’t sloughed the information on me.

It was too much for a Tuesday morning.

Though John’s forehead was pinched still with confusion, he managed a small smile. My stomach turned at the sight of it. I looked away before I could try and determine what memories lay behind that expression. Which pieces he still had to give him a picture of the night before.

“She took right good care of you,” Peter went on, unknowingly stabbing more daggers into my chest. “Didn’t she?”

“Other than whatever scrap you got into,” Richard said, his lip turned up in disgust.

Peter shot him a glare, as per usual. “Yes, you’re feeling better now. And looking better too. Right boys?”

“Much better,” BP offered quickly.

Richard sighed and shuffled a hand through his wispish hair. “I mean, it’s a start.” 

I pressed myself up from my seat. “Peter, please sit. I ought to get on with things and you all can…talk.”

I didn’t wait for any replies. I needed to get inside, finish my coffee, and try and make myself serviceable for the day.

Though several voices called out after me, John’s stood apart. “Julia? Julia, wait –”

How dare he say my name like that? The lilting emphasis I’d come to love. Whether amidst bantering or the needy twirls between the sheets, it was his call to me.

And I would not let it soften me.

I stalked back into the house, into the kitchen, letting the door swing shut behind me. Annie was gone, off to another one of her tasks for today, which was less than ideal for me. Being alone meant the rip cord could be pulled on my emotions.

I grabbed the counter to steady myself and prepared to let out a sob.

But the kitchen door opened behind me, the sound of bare feet on the floor. Damn it all, I knew it was him just from the way he walked now. The softness of his breaths. That’s what Annie told me would happen all those months ago. I would learn the sounds of the house. It would become a part of me.

He would become a part of me.

“Julia, please, let me talk to you.”

I tipped my head back, resisting a curse as I steady the tears that so desperately wanted to escape. “What is it?” I said, placing my fist on my hip and pressing my fingernails into my palm to take my mind off the need to weep.

John didn’t respond.

I took a deep breath and turned to face him. Being alone together put me on edge immediately. I ran my hand around my neck, the phantom feeling of my collar tightening suffocating me. “What is it, John?”

“You’re upset with me,” he said plainly.

I pressed my hand to my chest and shook my head. “I’m not.”

I watched him take a step forward. My stomach dipped with nausea. “You don’t have to lie.”

Under the fabric of my dress, I could feel the wound his teeth made in my skin. At least that was easier to hide than the tears in my eyes. “You were in a bad way. That’s all.”

John’s skin was like paste. He needed a shower. And he needed a meal. Some more sleep probably. His jaw was prickling with stubble that needed to be shaved. His hair was more like a nest or a mop than the silky tresses I knew he cared for so well.

I didn’t look much better.

He took another step forward, pinching his fingers together at his sternum. “What happened, Julia?”

I moved back, hoping he didn’t notice. “Peter told you, it was just –”

“They’re appealing to my ego, they won’t tell me the truth.”

It saddened me that his want for the truth surprised me. The vision I had of John had slowly been replaced. From confident to cocksure, from humble to petulant.

The good parts were still there, weren’t they? My vision was simply clouded. Perhaps.

John strode forward quickly, quicker than I knew what to do with. His hand landed against my elbow, “Darling, please –”

Without thinking, I ripped myself away from him. My heart lodged itself in my throat and my whole body screamed for me to run from him. Danger. Destruciton. Ruination.

John’s hand lifted into the air, wide palmed and open. A surrender, though his eyes betrayed his confusion.

Every return of his was marked by the need to touch. More touching. More, more, more. Again, again, again. To him, the denial sent him down a different path at the forking of the road. Little did he know I was already miles ahead of him. Running. Away, so far away.

“Sorry,” I apologized meekly. “I don’t know why I did that.”

I did. Of course I did.

John moved the open hand to his nightshirt, fisting the fabric anxiously. “Tell me what happened,” he insisted, his voice low and clipped.

“It’s not –”

“Julia. Tell me.”

I glimpsed a flake of dried blood under his nose. I ran my hand back and forth along the benchtop nervously. “You had something. I have no idea what. But they brought you here in the middle of the night so I could help calm you down.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” he said more to himself than to me.

“Well, they all seem very aware of what’s been going on between the two of us. I suppose they thought you needed a woman’s touch.” I added the last bit through gritted teeth.  

John sucked his lower lip into his mouth for a few moments of contemplation. “I don’t speak about it outright, but I suppose the phone calls aren’t necessarily…secretive.”

I clamped my hand around the bicep of my opposite arm. I was shrinking as we spoke, bit by bit. An open secret. Like mistresses and whores. “You wanted her,” I said softly. When John canted his head, I clarified, “Maureen. You were…distraught.”

His mouth fell open. “I wanted her?”

“You got it in your head she was…” I shook my head. “I don’t know, I only saw the tail end. Because when you realized it was me you were coming home to, you came back to your senses.”

John’s brow furrowed and his mouth grew very small as he considered the facts. “I’m sorry, I don’t know where that came from.”

His quiet apology reinvigorated his pull on me. The inexplicable connection between us had not ceased to exist, but it was fraying, dangerously close to a single thread. “Do you remember talking to me on the phone last night?”

“I…don’t.”

Another thread snapped. “So you don’t remember what you said to me?”

“Did I say something hurtful? If I did, I’m so –“

I shook my head. “No, no. It’s not important.” I looked out the window at the expansive yard. It was turning gray out. Rain was imminent. Then, I smiled. Trying to smooth everything over. Except the tears I’d been holding back decided to betray me and fall. I swiped at them. “Fuck me.”

John clicked his tongue. “Julia, please, don’t be upset, I didn’t know I –”

“We shouldn’t keep doing this. It was too soon, too rash,” I say hurriedly.

“Please don’t say that.”

“You still think of her. It isn’t fair to any of us.” Any of us. Because whether he remembers or not he had implicated his children.

John’s forehead pinched. “I’ll always think of her.”

I winced. Stupid thing to say.

“That’s not something that will ever go away, Julia.”

“That’s not what I meant, I…” I swallowed, tears rolling down my cheeks. “I don’t think I’m strong enough for any of this.”  

I turned away from him to try and cry with some kind of privacy. Because it was true. I wasn’t strong enough to be everything for him, always anticipating each and every feeling or worry he might have, trying to be good, oh so good because that’s what he needed.

And if I failed?

It was not just a human thing for me to fail.

I was paid to be here. Where did my job end and I begin?

I don’t see you being able to resist that kind of trouble. And we know how that turned out the first time, Nick’s voice played loudly in my head.

Oh, if he could see me now, he’d be laughing. I just knew it.

Again, a hand. This time to my shoulder. My body bristled even harder this time, an angry scrawl gurgling from the back of my throat. “Nnndon’t touch me,” I snapped, clutching at the place he touched me as if it burnt

I was a cornered animal. Teeth bared, tears streaming down my face. And this time instead of confusion, something else appeared on John’s face. An amalgam of disgust and fear. Good. That would make everything easier. “What happened?” he asked, his voice harsh.

“John –”

He stepped closer. “What happened last night?”

“I don’t want to do this, I don’t.” I gulped at every word, trying to steady myself.

“You won’t even look at me and I can’t –”

“I can’t.”

“I can’t even touch you without –”

“Fine! You want to know?” If I let him close in any further, I would suffocate. I grabbed the collar of my dress and pulled down, revealing the wound he’d made with his teeth the night before. “Here.”

John’s eyes landed on the purple impressions of his teeth on my chest. He had the gall to look confused.

“You bit me,” I said through clenched teeth. “You bit me and then you tried to fuck me.”

The words landed in his face, his expression flinching. The universe must have been laughing at the recurrence of these marks on me. Once from pleasure, once from pain. The pain inflicted by the wrong man.

“And I told you no and you wouldn’t stop.” My voice broke at the end because up until the night before, on the phone I loved him. And now here, in the kitchen I…still did.

But I knew I couldn’t.

John pinched his lips together. “Is that why…” He gestured toward his face. “The blood?”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you, but if I didn’t –“I stopped. Why couldn’t I just say the words? Say them aloud. He deserved to hear them. If I hadn’t hurt him, he would have hurt me. Raped me. And this conversation would be much different. Or would it? Is it any different if the intention was there? If he wasn’t in his right mind? “You wouldn’t stop,” I said once more, ashamed how meek I sounded.

John put both his hands over his face for a moment, then scrubbed them back through his hair, pulling his chin up with them. “Fuck.” Then he laughed, raw and humorless. It was a harrowing kind of laugh. One you acquire as an adult when you realize how richly awful the world can be. “Fuck,” he repeated. Quieter. More bruised. “I don’t remember doing that.”

“I know.”

“I don’t know why I –“

“I know.”

“I would never, ever –”

I blinked, releasing one more tear. “I know, John, I know.” But he nearly had.

His fingers of one hand ticked nervously and his breath was heavier than usual. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

I didn’t have to say the truth aloud for us both to hear it.

Too late.

“But I can’t lose you, Julia, I can’t.”

I found myself smiling despite myself, wicking away more tears. In the haze of love I had for him, I would cling to the meekest admission so I didn’t have to let him go.

“Give me a chance to…make it up to you. If I can.”

“I boxed you in the nose, perhaps we’re even,” I said in an effort to lighten the moment, looking at the tears glistening on my fingers.

The corner of his lips tipped up out of necessity and nothing more.

I dried my hands on the bodice of my dress. “I suppose you’ll be going back, then.”

John scratched the back of his head, eyes falling to the ground. “I’d rather not seeing as how we’re –”

I interrupted swiftly. “No, it’s good, I need to get used to it. What with your tour coming up.”

His reaction was delayed, but once it registered, his pallid cheeks lit up with embarrassment.

“Peter told me,” I said with a limp smile.

John sighed. “I was going to tell you when I came home.”

“Right, of course, I’m just a little surprised, is all.”

“Everything’s being rushed, once we’re done. We had stuff in the catalog anyway that we never –” he stopped short. “None of that matters really. You know. In the scheme…of things.”

I had no more fight in me. No more willingness to open my heart up and show the hurt. The want. If I was going to continue to love him, I’d have to lock it tightly away until the timing was more appropriate. A silly thought when it comes to such a quivering, untenable feeling.

Before either of us could say anything, I heard noise from the hall, the terrace door opening and heavy footsteps.

“Enough,” I said softly. “No more of this.”

John started to step forward and then remembered that his advancements were now threats. He glanced down at his hands as the door to the kitchen opened.

“Hate to interrupt –“ It was Peter. “But we really ought to get back to it.”

“Just a minute,” John said, barely tilting his head over his shoulder toward Peter.

Peter’s eyes found mine and where there had been a semblance of softness earlier, there was now edge.

Until I was notified further or until I changed the circumstances myself, I was under an obligation to make everyone’s lives easier. Every single life but my own.

Under Peter’s watchfulness, I did what last night I thought I’d never do again. I stepped closer to John. His eyes lit up, but kept himself at bay. I could hear my blood rushing in my ears as I took John’s hand. At first it burned and then my body seemed to remember every other moment before last night at once. I inhaled sharply and lifted my gaze into his. Blue I had been dreaming about for far longer than we had known each other’s mouths and bodies.

“You won’t lose me,” I whispered. A promise to him and to myself. Time apart would be good. For me to weight out all the good, remember him the way I had fallen in love with him, not the feral monster from the night before.

John left me with a touch to my cheek. Nothing more.

When I finally was able to sleep after almost forty hours of waking, he came to me in a nightmare.

tag list: @jimmys-zeppelin, @kari-12-10, @grxtsch, @ritacaroline, @kyunisixx, @salixfragilis , @jimmypages , @dollyvandal , @cassiana-on-dark-side, @faisonsunreve , @sastrugie , @seventieswhore , @mayspringcome , @barrettavenue , @foreverandadaydarling , @glimmerofsanity , @montereypopgroupie , @lzep , @jimmysdragonsuit13 , @n0quart3r , @larsgoingtomars , @paginate54 , @leveeisbreaking , @callmethehunter (let me know if you’d like to be added 💋)

[sun2flower6]

Mending Hearts

Rick Grimes x Platonic!OC

Warnings: None

summary: rick grimes wakes up from a coma and is met with a nurse who stayed to care for him.

In the eerie silence of a hospital ravaged by the zombie apocalypse, Nurse Bellatrix Stokes still clung to her position. Tending to the only patient in her ward, Rick Grimes, the only name she can think of. The deserted corridor echoed as she made her daily rounds, administering fluids, whispering words of hope into the man ear before she's off to have lunch.

As Bellatrix laid in her "room" she began to feel lonely even with the motionless man next door. Constant buzzing of the life support machine started to drive her to the edge of insanity, but she refused to give up on the only person in her life.

The next morning, as Bella changes Rick's I.V., his eyes pop open and faintly whispers 'Family.'

➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰

Bella's heart skipped a beat. Rick Grimes is awake! Though he was disoriented and confused, the only thing he could think about was his family.

"Where am I? Where's my family?" Rick questions, trying to sit up when his eyes landed on Bella. Instantly Bella jumps into action trying to calm him.

"It's okay. You're okay. Just calm down, please!" Bella says. "You were shot on duty and put into a coma. Once your calm, I'll answer any questions you may have and fill you in. Okay?"

"Y-yeah, yeah." Rick stutter out.

Bella went next door to grab clothes for Rick to change into. She stopped for a moment realizing that the man she had been taking care of for months, the only person she had left in this broken world had finally woken up.

"AHHH!" Bellatrix hears coming from down the hall.

"RICK!" Bella yelled, running out of the room down the hall. She finds Rick on the floor in front of the door she marked 'DON'T OPEN, DEAD INSIDE'.

"What is this?" Rick questions. "What's that noise coming from there?"

"Nothing" Bella responds, trying to get Rick from that door. "That's why I need to catch you up. The dead started walking. I don't know how or why but it's happening."

"What? I don't-"

"Look, it's true. A couple of weeks ago, I went home after my shift and found my roommate getting her face eaten by her boyfriend. The next thing I knew, I was here trying to see what was going on. Walked in on this-" Bella says pointing at the door, hinting at the dead ones. "I was running from some dead ones and found you in your, lose in a coma. I didn't have no where else to go so I stayed, made sure you were okay."

"I just- I don't know what's going on. I have to find my family." Rick says.

"Well that makes two of us. Here." Bella says handing Rick some clothes. "Why don't you change into these and we can see what we can do." Nodding his head, Rick went back to his room to change.

➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰

After Rick is dressed, he sees Bella at the nursing station packing some supplies.

"Where you goin'?" Rick questions Bella.

"Thought you said you had a family to find?" Bella said teasingly. "I thought I'd hitch a ride. . . See if I could be of use."

Rick chuckles to himself. "Yeah, that would nice."

"Alright then, let's hit the road!" Bella says, walking down the hall to the exit.

"Wait, I never got your name. I'm Rick Grimes."

"Bellatrix Stokes, but my friends call me Bella."

"Bellatrix? That name sounds familiar." Rick says, trying to remember where he heard the name.

"Surprised to hear that. I just moved to King County not too long ago and don't go out much. Not many names like it around here." She says as they walked out the hospital.

"Let me guess parents were hippies?" He laughs.

"Not at all." Bella laughed, "My parents had a difficult pregnancy, so I was a preemie. They said I was a 'warrior'. So, they looked for names that meant warrior and landed on Bellatrix, but they called me Trixi."

"Well, Bellatrix Stokes, it's nice to formally meet you." Rick stuck his hand out for her to shake.

Taking his hand, "It's nice to meet you too, Rick Grimes."

[practically-an-x-man]

You've been answering a lot of these and I can't remember anything much on a good day, so I'll leave the who open to you, soas to hopefully avoid duplication.

3, 5, 10

M, R, W

💀 🌍 📝

Thank you so much!

OC/Ship Ask Game: Firsts

I think I'll go with Ophelia for these!

3. First opinion of school as a kid

School was an interesting thing for her: she loved learning and took in information very easily, she was always very smart and academically-minded, but that made traditional schooling honestly quite boring for her. She took to things a lot faster than many of her classmates, even when she began moving into higher-level and advanced courses, and more often than not found herself bored or annoyed as she waited for her classmates to retain a concept she'd already picked up.

She didn't hate school by any means, and she had a few teachers she genuinely liked (usually the ones that would make an effort to keep her engaged, find new projects or activities to start her own so she wouldn't be quite as bored), but as a whole it really felt like a chore to her.

5. First time breaking a bone

She was maybe 8 or so, hanging out at Harry's house while her parents were out of town for an academic conference. Harry dared her to slide all the way down the banister on the staircase ("I've done it loads of times, it's fun! You'll be fine!"), she lost her balance near the bottom and broke her wrist on landing. That was a fun phone call...

10. First time adopting/taking care of a pet

She had tropical fish (and an aquatic snail!) as a kid, but no other pets until she became an adult. It was just too busy of a household to justify a pet with a lot of extended care and upkeep, but she did take very good care of her fish.

____

Hm... I think I'll go with both of my Suicide Squad ships for this one, just for fun

M. First time they introduced the other as their partner

Eris/Rick: In terms of just using the word, it really didn't take long. They were partners-in-arms (hey look it's the ship name!) well before they were romantically entwined, and for a long time "partner" just meant "person who guards my six" to them. Romantically-speaking, though... I don't know when exactly it began to shift for them, it just started to have more meaning as time went on. I think Eris honestly likes the ambiguous meaning of it, especially because Rick to them is a lot more than just a romantic interest or battle buddy.

Nikoletta/Abner: I think it took a while, mainly since they were both a little hesitant and inexperienced when it came to having a partner in general. I feel like Abner would've.... I don't know, "tested it out" in front of one of the other Squad members before he had the courage to say it in front of a stranger (or even in front of Nik, honestly), but once one of them mentioned it the first time, I think that would have broken down the wall and gotten them both comfortable with the word.

R. First time cooking for the other

Eris/Rick: I'm actually writing a fic about this particular event/stage in their relationship, but Eris got very injured (read: got both legs blown off) on the battlefield after a few months of knowing Rick, and he brought them back to his place to heal - which included learning about Eris' nutrient needs to regrow tissues and cooking for them while they healed.

Nikoletta/Abner: I think they did a lot more cooking together than they did cooking for one another at first, unless you count making sandwiches or heating up canned soup for the other when they were sick. Cooking was a skill they both had to relearn after spending so much of their lives in Belle Reve, and they tried to learn it together.

W. First time they realized their relationship is endgame... or isn't

Eris/Rick: I think Eris kind of sensed it from the beginning, but it was really after the events of Vestalia that they both really locked onto the idea - for Eris, it was the fact that they wanted to wait for him instead of finding someone else (I've mentioned before that Eris' love life has always been fairly inconsistent, ranging from diehard devotion to commitment-free flings just for the hell of it); for Rick, it was realizing that Eris was more than just a hurricane on the battlefield, and seeing candidly how much they really did care about him in how they comforted him after his fallout with June.

Nikoletta/Abner: I mean, the events of No Longer Alone are a pretty good indication - not necessarily that they were romantically endgame (their relationship is a bit nebulous, like a QPR), but that they cared about each other and wanted to support each other no matter what.

____

💀 - First time writing character death, and how you felt about it

Answered previously!

🌍 - First attempt at worldbuilding, or a notable piece of worldbuilding you're proud of

Also answered previously!

📝 - Pick a character: first draft of that character + the final version of that character

I feel like I've talked about the background/creation process of most of my OCs before, particularly the notable ones (like Rae and Mira coming from the same first OC, Nikoletta's dramatic changes over time, Eris' becoming much darker and more morally questionable, etc.)

And honestly... for the most part, I don't really have particular "drafts" of characters. Some characters, particularly my more recent ones, I create very quickly and tend to lock in that design once it's made. Others I'll have held onto for a while, and I'll do a revamp of the older ones before I begin writing them (this is the case for Eris and Nikoletta, among others), so I'll have an old version and a revised version but that's about it for the "drafts". And of course, all of my characters end up evolving a bit over the course of their stories, both as they grow and develop from their experiences and as I get better at writing them.

[coolcattime]

for the ask could you do your jojo villain oc?

Logan Charles (in the JoJo's AU):

I did not expect an ask about Logan, the minor villain/major pain in the ass that keeps appearing in mine and my friend's aus but I'm so glad that I did because it got my friend to do a massive backstory dump under the cut.

Also here is my friend's @theiratlas take on this, since they're my co-creator for the AU and also Logan is originally from a story they wrote in high school so I got them to also do the bingo for him in the JoJo's AU and they sent this very different bingo because they actually knew his backstory before doing the bingo 😅

And they also sent this backstory description (under the read more) so like I hope you enjoy!

Logan had two friends. Darien, who we'll meet later in the story, and Lissa who we won't.

The three grew up together on and off for as long as Logan can remember, never quite growing as close as he wanted but proximity counts for a lot when you're young.

Logan was the oldest of three by a year or two and despite what you may think, he came from a pretty loving home. Parents with plenty of time for him and two friends who, when they were around, made Logan feel cool, rebellious, and most importantly important. He'd pick up Lissa's lunches and be around at whatever time of night Darien decided to answer his phone and offer to swing over.

Now, to jump ahead a little:

Darien and Lissa join up with the local college and Logan goes to med school just out of town and that is where everything went to shit. Logan a few hours into his first shift, gets a call from a payphone with Lissa's voice on it.

It took him 15 minutes to travel 30.

Lissa had taken the life of a childhood bully turned roommate. Logan had never even heard her name until today but there's broken glass in her throat so probably it's time to go, questions can wait. But for some reason Lissa won't let go of some dumb arrow. Says they need to pick up Darien first, says he'll know something.

He's only on campus and it's less than 2 minutes. Logan doesn't want to argue. It makes his head hurt to think about, but he just likes being in the loop for once.

Darien arrives with two bags, duffels filled with things from clothes and toiletries to a six pack of cider and a crowbar he found.

They drive for an hour before Darien finally breaks up the arguing. They're being followed. Lissa says she already knew. Logan has never been so angry in his life. He demands to know what the problem is. He demands to know why she won't let go of the arrow. He demands to be fucking told any damn thing in the form of a full sentence.

He shouts so loudly he ends up stalling his mum's car. It is then silent. Including their tail, finally having arrived, headlights beaming.

Darien takes a moment away from pulling the threads from his coat and calls out. It sounds like a name, but it is more like a command.

"Apocalypse Please!"

Darien, as quick as that, gets out of the car, awkwardly pulling a hat over his face with his hands up. Logan is utterly baffled, his rage only growing with each moment of ignorance. Lissa on the other hand is stuck in her seat belt. Trying to get out with a panic only matched by her grip on the arrow.

Instead of helping, Logan, in his biggest moment of weakness, pulls the arrow out from Lissa's grip, demanding to know what's so important about it.

He's not realised how badly he's cut her hand in the process. He's too busy being distracted by Darien sprinting at full speed away from what is first a rubber bullets and then a hoard of real zombies. Logan begins to panic.

Lissa, now unconscious, begins leaking smoke from her wound, and what starts as a small leak continues into a horror show of smog.

Logan tries his best to get her out of the car but in the dark of the smoke and the panic of what’s to come – Lissa ends up dying where she sat.

After interrogation, Logan would join the Speedwagon Foundation before realizing they had just as little interest in explaining what had happened to him as Darien and Lissa would have if they were here today.

That's when he started making his own phone calls. Afterall, he did keep that arrow.

[poppitron360]

PART TWO!!!!

Okay, so I’ve already posted Pt 1 of this fanfic I’m gonna keep posting it bc fuck it I’m enjoying myself.

I’m posting this all under the tag #​PJO- THE NEXT GENERATION: OLYMPIA JACKSON-CHASE CHRONICLES so if you need to find the rest, that’s where to look. Not sure how many chapters there will be, as I’m still figuring out the story, but it will probably be for as long as I’m having fun writing it.

Tagging my mutuals who might be interested/ppl who seemed to like pt 1 (I’m trying to get better at tagging ppl):

@green-tea217 @123letsgobestie @fadas-are-important @imasimpdealwithit @coraldeermoon

Summary: Kind of an OC/FanChild fic about my hcs for Percabeth’s kids. VERY Leo/Nico heavy bc they’re my two favourite characters, particularly Leo. If you missed Pt 1, pls read it, but we’ve just ended on the line “I think I have news about your brother,” so ooooh chills cliffhanger scary.

TWs: Swearing, lack of smut (she is a teenager)

Disclaimers: I was between SoN and MoA when I wrote this chapter, and I am currently on HoH, so if I’ve missed anything that gets revealed later, that’s why. Also I listened to the audiobooks, so if I spell a name wrong, that’s also why, either that or I’ve spelt something the British way.

Chapter 2:

Olympia never talked about her brother. That was one thing the kids at camp didn’t know about her family. She had been five years old when he had been taken, on that stormy autumn night. She didn’t remember much, just yelling from the other room and a sound like an eagle screeching. She remembered her mom running in and scooping her up in her arms. More sounds. Her dad screaming. A sword being drawn. A baby crying. A window smashing. Her parents calling his name. She was sobbing. Her mom was holding her dad as he wept on the floor, glass shattered at his feet. Her baby brother, Tyler, was not in his cot.

They started going out every night, searching for a sign he was alive. Leo, Nico, Tyson, Grover, Rachel, Frank, Hazel- all of them helped. Olympia had begged them to take her with them too, but she was still too young. Six months passed. Nothing. A year. Two years. She didn’t know when exactly, but eventually they gave up looking. They assumed he was gone forever.

Her parents had seemed different after that. Her mother buried herself in her job, working day and night at the architecture firm so she wouldn’t have to come home to the gaping hole in their family. Her dad had tried carrying on as normal, but he’d become a broken man. The legendary Percy Jackson failed to save his own son from a monster, now his son was dead.

That’s what they had told Olympia. That was the story. But she refused to believe it. She always thought that with enough training and fighting, she could find him and bring him home. And then, they’d tell the story of the brave demigod who rescued her brother, maybe, just maybe, she’d no longer have to live as just “the daughter of Percy Jackson”, but could become her own legend.

Of course, that was only part of it. First and foremost, she wanted her brother back.

“Do you really think he’s dead?” She’d asked Leo one night, when she was about eight, while her Mom was at work and her Dad was off doing something at camp (he was often brought in as a Special Guest Speaker because he lived close to camp and was cheap, not for any other reason).

“No. Tyler’s not dead,” He replied.

She looked up, “Really?”

He nodded. “Remember that story I told you about Festus the Dragon?”

Leo was the only person she liked to hear stories from. He told them in such a funny way, she didn’t care if it was made up or exaggerated.

“Everyone thought he was super dangerous, but you fixed him and made him better, and he sacrificed himself to save you,” she recited.

“Yup. I didn’t give up on him, even though they told me it was hopeless. I’d waited ‘til I’d looked him in the eyes myself to realise it was hopeless, and then I still tried anyway,” he looked at Olympia, “I believe your brother isn’t dead until we’ve tried every possible way of proving me wrong, and then some. Your parents believe it too, but they can’t risk giving up everything they have, i.e, you, on what is most likely a hopeless case. Besides, Nico said his vision of his soul had been clouded by something- if he was just dead, why hide it?”

“I’m gonna find him someday,” Olympia said, determined.

“And I’m gonna help,” He replied.

She looked at him now, sitting on her bunk in Cabin 3.

“Wha- What news? What do you mean?”

“It’s not… it’s nothing concrete… just a rumour about an 11-year-old boy with dark hair fighting monsters with power over water,” he looked up at her, his eyes solemn, “Camp has a network of automatons looking out for potential demigods, we get alerts like this all the time, but this was different, Oly- I think… I think it might be him.”

She was speechless. All this time, she’d been telling herself she’d find him, but she’d never actually had a lead before.

“Well then, what’re you waiting for, little man?” She said, sliding on her shoes and shoving clothes into her backpack, “Let’s go find him!”

“Oly, not so fast,” he warned, jumping down from the bunk, “this kid- the message said he was pretty hardcore, the way he attacked. If he’s been running from monsters since he was a baby… I can’t think what that’s done to him.”

He put a hand on her shoulder.

“What if… what if he doesn’t want to come home?”

Olympia looked at Leo. Despite his jovial presence and cheery manner, he was dark and twisted just like the rest of them. He knew a thing or two about running away, he’d spent most of his childhood running from schools and foster homes. She knew with a sinking feeling that he might be right. She shook her head.

“We can’t let “What if’s” stop us now, you taught me that,” she said, and shouldered her backpack.

“I guess you’re right,” Leo flashed her his trademark playful grin, “Let’s go.”

The kid was apparently in Nashville, and had caused quite a scene when he’d fought off two wild dogs in the middle of a busy high street by pouring a bucket of water over them. At least, that’s what the mortals were saying online. When Olympia saw the video they’d posted, she noticed how the boy had no bucket, the wild dogs were actually wolves, and when he attacked them they hadn’t just ran away like the internet said, but had completely disintegrated.

She stared at her phone. Demigods weren’t supposed to have cellular devices, especially at camp- they acted as a beacon for monsters to find them- but Leo had found a way to scramble the signal. It wasn’t flawless, and it became more and more risky the longer you used it, but it gave Olympia an hour or so of doom-scrolling on Tumblr every day.

She replayed the video again.

“He doesn’t look anything like I’d expected him to,” she concluded.

“I dunno… he has dark hair, like you. And water powers, like you. And grey eyes, like your mom, and I guess like you as well,” Leo studied her mismatched eyes, “And the way he fights… That’s Jackson blood in his veins if I ever saw it.”

“But he’s… he’s older.”

“Yes. That’s what happens when time passes. Did you expect him to still look 10 months old?”

Leo grinned, the way he always did when he was being sarcastic. Olympia poked him, playfully, and then turned back to the paused image on the screen.

“And he’s so… thin.”

Leo nodded in agreement, “Though, somehow I doubt he’ll be showing up on the front page of Cosmo any time soon.”

She looked at Leo. He tried to hide it with baggy clothes, but she knew that his scrawny look and vertically-challenged appearance weren’t all traits he’d been born with, that the long months spent on the run with little-to-no food had definitely played a factor. He was probably a lot healthier now, but those hard years had scarred him in ways she couldn’t imagine- and had left him looking permanently emaciated. She couldn’t bear the thought of that happening to her brother when she had grown up healthy and strong.

“Come on,” she said, putting away the phone, “Let’s get Nico, and leave.”

“A quest must be undertaken by three,” he recited.

“Yes, but also he can shadow-travel so we won’t have to pay for transport.”

“And that.”

Leo’d managed to intercept the demigod alert from his automaton, and direct all other alerts straight to him so that they could track where the kid was, and so Chiron- or, gods forbid, Olympia’s dad- didn’t see them. He was smart like that, but it only delayed the inevitable. Leo reckoned it was only a matter of time before the Camp Satyrs caught up to the boy. They had to act quickly.

Nico Di Angelo was never the easiest person to find. Luckily for them, he had a soft spot for Olympia, and always made sure she was able to call on him when she needed to. Whenever she wanted help with homework, or a ride to a dangerous incognito solo monster-fighting death quest, all she had to do was knock.

She pressed her body against the floor of Cabin 3, and rapped hard on the wooden floorboards.

“Uncle Nico!!” She called, “I know you’re down there!! We need your help.”

“Boo!” Came a voice from behind them.

Leo yelped, “Holy Hephaestus, Death Boy, don’t do that!”

Nico gave him a skeletal grin. Leo took a deep breath and patted his own hair, which was smoking.

Olympia stood up, and pulled him into a tight hug. She was taller than him now, but he looked good for an 102-year-old.

“My gods, you’ve grown,” he remarked, breathing in her warm smell. His skin was icy cold and pale.

“You’ve been spending too much time in the underworld,” she said, “get some sun in you, man.”

“Oh I think he is getting some Sun in him, if you know what I mean,” Leo winked and turned to Nico, “Hey, Nico, how’s Will?”

Nico ignored the question, “Whatever it is you want me to do, I hope I don’t have to put up with hotshot over here the whole time.” He jabbed a thumb in Leo’s direction.

“Hey!” Leo cried, offended.

Olympia rolled her eyes.

“I need you to take us to Nashville,” she said, “Leo thinks my brother might be there.”

An anguished expression played across Nico’s face.

“T-Tyler?” He asked, “You really think-“

“Yes. We do,” Leo said, confidently. They proceeded to fill him in on everything, even showing him the video on Olympia’s phone.

Nico’s face hardened.

“Right then. I will absolutely do anything I can to help. Nashville, you say? Peace of cake.”

He cracked his knuckles and rolled his head, like he was warming up for something. He then held out both hands, expecting them to take them. Olympia obliged.

“Do I have to?” Leo moaned.

“Don’t worry, Fire Guy, this won’t get gay,” Nico assured him.

“It’s not that,” Leo replied, “Your hands are just weird and cold. And small.”

“You’re one to talk,” he retorted, “I’d much rather just take Olympia, so if you want to be left behind, I’m sure-“

“Fine,” Leo groaned, and took Nico’s hand.

And then the world caved in.

[risen-from-stardust]

A taste of blood

CW: Violence / Blood / Torture

3317 words

Toyhouse

Note: HELLO UHHH HA i wanted to post this here cuz why not? I really wanted to do something a bit dark for a while soooo... Remember that english is not my first language and I have no beta reader, enjoy, or not, idc. Vix and Sushi are the OCs of @whereisxyro, the rest are mine.

Note 2: I'm probably going to do more mini stories to tell the lore of some of my OCs, i have a lot in mind and even if "Risen from Stardust" is slowly being published on Wattpad (Still a WIP and is in spanish and i'm not updating soon cof cof), i preffer to use this way

Note 3: Writing is so complicated, i admire people who do this omfg

Vix was walking with Dan'dchei and Tai'ytu in this new, or at least unknown for him, space station. There were plenty of interesting things around, almost forgetting why they had come here initially. Things for their ship? He doesn't remember, and neither cares right now. He was happily listening to them talk as he was included time to me in the conversation.

— Too much tech stuff for me, go and do whatever you two need. I'll be fine, I want to explore

Dan'dchei clicked his tusks a bit.

— Don't you want one of us to come with you? Security, I mean

— I can take care of myself! See you in a while

Without waiting for an answer, Vix just moved away to explore by himself, ignoring how Tai'yu loudly huffed. Why did they even care about him? He's not lying, the past days had been... Nice. He supossed. Dan'dchei and Tai'yu were gentle with him, ignoring again how their relationship started. It was pretty much probably due to the fact he was like some kind of trophy. Another pretty thing in a stupid collection of ego-filled creatures... But... He had expected to at least be called to come back, and here he was, almost screaming to be stolen again. These two actually cared? Then why was he here?

His head turned at the glance of something shiny in one of the stores. One of the first things he noticed when he arrived here. Ah, now he remembers.

He didn't knew what it was, nor did he care. Shiny was shiny, and distracting enough to keep him out of his thoughts. Yeah, that was a good plan.

After a while a scent made him wipe his head around. What is that? He asked himself. Too familiar, but too faint in his memories. Decided to investigate, Vix started to walk around the shops until he saw a little brown Yautja? With a peculiar look. It was adorable, like an oversized axolotl. Curious, and lured by the scent, Vix decided to get closer and started to follow. Why was he alone in this place? Poor thing. Maybe he could help to find his parents or whatever took care of him.

— Hey little thing, — Vix said, walking closer to the slimy yautja. — You look lost, may I help?

The creature chirped happily, he was about to take Vix's hand until he decided to suddenly stop, his expression changing to instant worry.

— What's wrong? I'm not going to hurt you don't worry

Vix tried to use his most calm voice possible, seeming to be useless as the yautja darted away, tripping on things and chirping broken apologies.

— Wait!

Vix darted too to follow him, being easy to catch the thing in his arms due how much he was bumping on things. He started to wiggle on Vix arms, surprisingly loud screams coming from him.

— Calm down! I said I'm not-

That smell...

Unwittingly, Vix used his poisonous spikes to prick the soft skin and release a paralyzing venom. At the feeling of the sharp things, the yautja stopped moving. Whatever the reason was, fear, his poison, that didn't matter. He sunk his fangs on the squishy meat, savoring the addicting taste of his warm blood as it started to coat his mouth.

Loud stomping started to come close to them, before Vix could even look, he was trashed violently against a wall, whining due the sudden pain of all his body.

Dizzyingly, Vix looked up to see a massive creature... Yautja too? Holding in his arms the much smaller one, who was now curled on himself and whimpering in pain. Oh no, no, no, what he had done?

— Sushi... Sushi... I'm here — His deep voice sounded worried, those webbed hands petting the recently discovered to be called Sushi and pulling him into an embrace. Mumbles being said to the little one.

Vix tried to get up and noticed how the yautja tensed. He wasn't even looking at him, so in little hope he had to escape, he tried to slowly, carefully, to get up. Again, in a blurry movement everything was agony. The yautja used his weight to crush one of Vix's legs. A nasty crack echoing in the silence. The few people that were around decided to leave. Being near an angry yautja was dangerous, being the reason why they were angry was far, far worse.

His scream was stopped when he held his throat in a deadly grip. The feeling being something Vix already got used to, so his body slightly tensed and instinctively got lax again. All of this while he was being pushed against a wall.

— You, — The yautja snarled, his only dark eye looking straight into his very soul. — are going to feel something far worse than regret.

After that, he found himself being half-dragged around the station. Having to forcefully walk due how high he was hanging. Vix tried to take out at least one of his spines to stab the stranger with these, however, every time he moved, the hand on his throat choked him until he was almost unconscious and repeating over and over again. This little game actually excited Vix in some twisted way, having your life hanging off a cliff like this was dangerous, and it was exactly what he liked... Even if it wasn't a good situation for those thoughts, he just couldn't help it.

He was tossed again once the yautja entered a building, leaving the slimy one in a table and calling for O'Twei.

Once this said yautja with blue hide was with them, the much bigger one picked Vix up and chained his arms behind his back, picking carefully some of his spikes and pulling away, making Vix hiss.

— I'll go to see what this thing does, — The bigger one, O'Steaab, as O'Twei called him, looked back at Vix. — Pray this doesn't kill Sushi.

And with that he was gone, leaving him with O'Twei and an agonizing Sushi.

— What are you going to do with me...? — Vix asked, for some reason his voice sounded a bit scared. Was he scared? This wasn't the first time someone chained him.

— Not me. He — Replied calmly the blue yautja as he started to work in the bite Vix caused, trying to calm down Sushi and reassuring him with being back at home.

— I didn't mean it! I swear I don't know why I bit him! It just.... Happened

— Unfortunate. Try to explain that to O'Steaab and he may not be so cruel with you

Curiosity pricked him a bit. Some part of Vix wanted to know what he was actually able to do. The other... Wasn't happy at all about this whole situation. Dan'dchei and Tai'yu will be worried if something happens to him, and he really didn't wanted to worry them this way.

— What you say is true...? — Vix lowered his voice a bit, tilting his head down to don't look threatening in any way. He also used his best tragic eyes, concern and a slight hint of fear in them.

O'Twei looked at him for some long seconds and sighed, slowly petting the trembling brown ball in the table.

— No — He finally replied, not even paying attention to Vix anymore — But accident, as you call it, or not, you're going to be dead. — A soft purr started to sound in the depths of O'Twei's chest, picking Sushi up and nuzzling his mandibles on the little one's head — Eventually. Start begging for it.

Groaning, a burst of blood came out of Vix as he puked on the floor. A little pool of neon magenta blood creating in front of him. This was bad, really bad. He was probably bleeding internally due the crude handling from earlier. Cursing internally he was picked up again, this time by O'Twei, left in another room and locked there. Like if he was able to scape with a broken leg.

Some time passed since they left him alone here. Barely catching some noises from the outside. Some things were hanging from the ceiling, probably useless whires and some steel boxes scattered around. Nothing useful here.

He was starting to feel dizzy due to the lack of blood. The floor around him being a mess of magenta and pink. His mind wandered back to situations like this in the past. It was all he had right now to distract himself. For how long they are going to keep him here? 

The sudden slam of the pad outside was his answer, O'Steaab entered the room and darted his tongue to taste the air. The way he looked at him had Vix shivering. A faint feeling that he was going to die right here and then started to make him nervous.

He was about to explain what happened, but his words ended up in a squeak when O'Steaab picked him up and shoved him hardly on the steel table near a wall, forcing him to cough some remains of blood still in his throat. Vix was about to try again and excuse his pathetic self when a hand pressed his head against the table, the other pulling out the poisonous spikes of his body. They sometimes fell, so it only made him feel a slight discomfort.

— You have to try harder to make me not enjoy this

Vix teased. He knew he was digging his own grave. Whatever.

— Make yourself comfortable then

O'Steaab growled, leaving the spikes aside and pressing Vix's back. He seemed to take a second to calculate before ripping open his back, five long trails made by his claws started to bleed and coat Vix, a pained hiss coming from him, but just as a natural instinct. He actually enjoyed that a damn lot, melting as the warmth of himself leaked out. Vix tail slammed O'Steaab on his side, just as a reflex, in response, he just took it and ripped it apart from his body. Again, this sometimes happens, but it hurt a lot due to the sudden move, making him roar this time in surprise.

O'Steaab carelessly turned Vix around and let him rest on his exposed flesh, making him squirm uncomfortably against the table. Then he left. Leaving Vix alone in his misery for who knows how long.

•  •  •

Vix lost sense of time after some hours. Gods, he was starting to get hungry, and dehydrated due all the bleeding and puking. Where were Dan'dchei and Tai'yu? They said they'll be with him if he had any issues. Well, now, he was stuck in one.

From time to time O'Steaab came back to just do more damage on his back, it was weird how his claws teased his spine, but in a good manner... At the beginning. It was starting to get seriously uncomfortable due how long he took his time, searching for sensitive spots and abusing them until Vix was whimpering in discomfort.

He tried to not care and somehow enjoy it. If he's going to be stuck here for a while, he really had to search for ways to not make this unbearable, convincing himself that it could be worse. How long since he has been here? He tried to count and already lost track after half an hour.

— Where are they...

Whispered Vix under his dry voice, shifting time to time with the chains still in his arms pressing against his abused back. He could swear that he was torn enough to have his bones slightly touching the surface under him.

— Who?

— Like if you cared, asshole

A pitch yelp came from him when O'Steaab buried deep a dagger he was sharpening near him in the internal part of his tight near the beginning of his leg, jerking aggressively due how sensitive and also damaged that zone was.

— FUCK! — Vix cursed, baring his inner fangs — If you're going to kill me, do it already!!

— Cool off, — O'Steaab snarled, twisting the dagger — It's been only three days

— Three days?! — How was he even alive? His body couldn't produce that amount of blood. Well, he also time to time fell unconscious, giving him enough time to heal at least a bit.

— And half — O'Steaab mumbled, his free hand exploring with curiosity Vix's gills. This sent a pleasant shiver throughout his body, even if he knew they were being considered his next zone to damage.

Gods above. Where are they?? He was having enough of this.

— They... They are going to come and find me, they care about me... — Vix was disrupted when a claw hooked in the inside of one of his gills, at the verge of feeling so damn good and painful.

— If they really care, then where are they?

There was a momentary pause. He just used what Vix just said but in a way that had him doubting the insecurities Dan'dchei and Tai'yu tried to take away, clawing back at him and holding Vix like a vendetta. He really wanted to ignore O'Steaab, but he was right, they already gave up on him? Just like that?! He shouldn't be surprised. They were all the same after all.

Looking how the thing seemed to crash in a wall of realization, O'Steaab took the opportunity to rip open the gill he was hooking, an actual painful, hoarse cry coming from Vix.

— Take a break — O'Steaab pulled the dagger out of his leg, licking the blood as he walked away. — I'll give you time to think.

Think... That was the last thing he wanted to do right now.

•  •  •

O'Steaab actually left Vix alone, first making sure to have he forcefully hydrated again, which meant coughing water out of his lungs. Trough these three days O'Steaab noticed the two yautjas asking for their companion. What a shame he was having some fun with him, the magenta blood looking interesting on his claws.

Sushi in his own way insisted to don't kill the thing. He didn't knew why even if Sushi was noticeably more quiet since the attack. Miraculously the spikes weren't deadly, only paralyzing, but still he's not forgiving him soon for scaring like that the little one.

He was surprised at himself at how protective and attached he had become to the pup, trying to teach him how to hunt small things so he could learn the basics, even if Sushi was basically blind. That feeling of pride striking O'Steaab unexpectedly hard when Sushi managed to get something, a little fish, it was all he needed.

He couldn't help the curl in his upper mandibles, smiling at the memory. Doing a last check to see if Sushi, and Kiloun apparently, were comfortable in their nest, he made his way to the other nest of furs in the room, nuzzling against a sleepy O'Twei and occupying most of his little personal space due O'Steaab's size.

Maybe he could let the creature go for tomorrow's morning. But not before giving him a reminder to never, fucking never get close to them or this station ever again. One that he was sure the masochist thing couldn't enjoy. Yeah, that sounded good. Yawning and stretching O'Steaab curled around O'Twei, letting his faint purr drift him to slumber.

•  •  •

— Wake up

A kick near his injured gill made Vix realize he was on the floor, his arms free. Or at least not chained, O'Steaab was holding one of them behind his back. Wait, he was going to...? A hard shake made him slightly hiss in protest.

— I'm awake, I'm awake... Going rough today, big one? I still can sing for you~

O'Steaab kicked him again, harder this time, and growled, obviously pissed by that.

— Don't. Congratulations, you're getting out of here

— Ha. Didn't know you where funny

— I'm being serious. Tai'yu and... Dan'dchei are your owners, right? Well, I can give them the important piece of you — He then used one of his feet to press Vix head against the warm ground, slightly curling his back to be closer. — But I'll take something first

— You already have my tail, what else... — He stopped when his arm was pulled further backwards, reaching his stretching limit.

— Let me show you... — He growled, a slight popping coming from Vix sore muscles.

— No... Wait, WAIT, WAIT!!

With a grunt, O'Steaab used his strength to rip off the arm out of his body, tossing it to the table. Vix was unable to scream due how hard he was hit in his head with something, falling unconscious once more.

The next thing he knew was muffled voices, bright lights... Why was it so bright?! His eyes hurt, so he decided to fall into oblivion once more. When he woke up, his body was heavy as stone, none of his limbs cooperating. A faint shadow made Vix open his eyes, looking at the blurry figure hovering over him. Glass? Where am I... His back wasn't in pain anymore, in fact, he didn't felt anything at the moment.

Groaning, he moved to touch the glass, his left arm didn't respond, so he used the other to catch the attention of the shadow. Slightly glowy eyes stared at him. First in surprise, then confusion, and finally moved away in a sudden motion. Okay, it was gone, what else did he had around him? He was floating in some kind of liquid? Strange.

Wanting to go back to sleep the liquid was drained and now he was resting against a soft surface. When the glass moved away Vix took the opportunity to sit and look around, feeling a bit dizzy. He noticed the other beings in the room, three of them being particularly close.

— Vix... — Whispered the one with a familiar glowing pattern all over his body, it seemed to be fearful to speak any louder, which Vix appreciated due a faint hint of a headache. Wait a second.

— Dan'dchei...? — Vix mumbled, leaning closer to look at him.

A purr was his answer, a warm hand coming to cup his cheek. He couldn't help but lean on the touch, he was craving for this since...

— For how long I've been out?

— A week and a bit more — Tai'yu — Lost too much blood. Need time to recover, Thakiar decided to finally take you out of your slumber. Also need to recover your strength

— How am I even here? — Vix darted his only hand to the sticky and cold bandages in his supposed to be right arm place. He was going to be okay, if he could grow back his tail, why not limbs? Right?

— We received a message of your location, when we reached the zone, this... Yautja... — Dan'dchei hissed in disgust, seeming to despise sharing species with O'Steaab — Tossed you to us and left, not without warning us to never come back again or he's going to actually kill you.

— We are not afraid — Continued Tai'yu, growling — But we are neither risking you, or anyone here

Vix decided to say nothing this time, he just didn't know what to say. Sighing, he let them carry him up to stretch his legs, noticing more bandages and how much they were trembling. This was going to take a long time to heal.

•  •  •

With Vix out of his sight, O'Steaab was back at O'Twei's little home. Gods, he wanted to get out of here for yesterday, a good warm sun and a mud bath screaming for him. He gathered some of his stuff and left them for easy transportation for the next hypothetical morning. That night his tail was pulled hard enough to turn around and see what happened, Sushi being a bit more annoying than usual.

— What? — He growled, his voice rumbling like that due how sleepy he was.

A soft squeak was his only answer. He tried to teach Sushi many times how to communicate in Yautja, the task being slightly impossible because the little thing was stubborn about keeping his squeaking noises. O'Steaab just picked him up and also curled around him, a faint smell of fear coming from Sushi. 

When he was ready to go, Sushi picked his tail again and refused to let go, a bit surprised at how hard Sushi was holding him.

— I'll be back later, you know O'Twei will also take care of you

Still, Sushi refused, so he decided to say his goodbyes to his friend and bring Sushi with him. A slight feeling of compassion and guilt for seeing him like this and lowering his guard to let this happen poking his brain. Probably Sushi also needed some time outside, so this was going to be necessary for both of them.

[itisme-rosie]

-- together again; takes place before the canon events of the show. you left switzerland and by extension, beatrice, but you're back now.

cw: hurt(ish?)-comfort!! written with female!reader in mind; mentions of death / loss (unmentioned character); religious themes; reader with a family like lilith's but less intense

[ if i don't watch the last episode, warrior nun hasn't ended yet 🤩 ]

masterlist | rules

i had always known i loved to live.

it was the little disasters of the outside world - a sudden downpour of rain after a hot summer day, a damned dip in the ground i didn't notice when i was skipping down a sidewalk that had me sprawling to the ground and scraping my knee - now those moments made me feel alive, telling me about the world and beyond more than the 'spiritual journey' going on inside the school haunted by its mundane nature of routines and rules could ever teach me.

i don't think i had meant to leave at first. as much as i didn't love it there, i sort of came to terms with the fact that i'd never ever be allowed to leave - my parents were initially very firm about keeping me in there to train and eventually join the legacy the rest of the women of my family began by stepping into the OCS. until they weren't.

i don't remember much of the day i had left. i had gone to sleep after beatrice knocked on my door to greet me with a happy birthday and the next thing i know, i had been woken up and whisked away, and the OCS - the church in general, as a matter of fact, just wasn't that important to my family anymore. too much sacrifice, too much loss; i didn't need to be another notch on a board of how much we gave up.

all connection, anything that linked back to the church had been severed and i never saw them again, not even during the funeral during the week that followed (i just knew it was them who had knocked on the door, i had never heard my father sound so angry). i may have regained a bond with my family, but in doing so, i left behind the family i made for myself. i left bea. by the time i was old enough to go looking for her, beatrice wasn't where i left her.

which brings me to now.

the littler version of me would be baffled. here i was, standing in front of a convent in spain of all places - the only reason i should be in spain right now should be for a vacation for crying out loud, there wasn't any good reason for me to find myself in a place associated with a time in my life i had been trying to avoid for years.

but here i was, despite how much i vehemently argued with my parents of how 'religion and faith were and have never been my strongest suits', protesting a fate where i could potential lose myself, my identity, my life at such a young age. my mother would lament about how i had come 'round a full circle, right back in the steps of a life i was trying to escape. i would have agreed with her had i not come here on a very specific mission not even vaguely connected to re-joining the ministry.

after thanking and paying the elderly cab driver that, to the best of his abilities, told me stories of the roads and lands we drove past in broken english, i steel myself for what i would find in the old building that loomed over me and i, rightfully, felt very small, the paper that read 'the cat's cradle' with its address and a name in barely comprehensive cursive crumpled in my sweaty palm.

i must have been standing and staring for a long time, because i didn't notice the sister who had appeared seemingly out of nowhere standing beside me with a polite, practiced smile - "what brings you here?

a brillant question with a very simple answer, one that had stayed stuck in the back of my throat and the sister waited patiently for my answer.

i give her a last name first and at the confusion in her eyes (though that might have been because my voice was as quiet as a mouse), i clear my throat, "i was told i could find, erm..." i hesitate for a second, my throat goes dry and i had half a mind to turn and run. spit out excuses of a wrong turn, a wrong address, that i was a nosy, lost tourist that stumbled upon the building on google maps, god - anything!

"miss?" the sister asks softly and i assess her expression for a while - concern with a bit of apprehension behind it.

"beatrice," her name falls effortlessly from my lips, and by effortlessly i mean breathless and like it was forced up my throat and out my mouth - gutteral and rushed, "i'm looking for beatrice? i was told i could find her here?" i give her my name and the lady nods in understanding, perhaps recognizing my surname. there was some surprise she tried to hide, i roll my eyes at the thought.

"sister beatrice is indeed here," the sister smiles, "allow me to take you to her," she gestures towards the building as she takes brisks steps towards the large double doors, gesturing for me to sit on a pew at the very back, "i'll be back with her shortly - we don't get much personal visitors," she explains with a smile, hurriedly walking away to lord knows where.

i sit pin-straight, my eyes scanning the images and statues around the hall and i let out a shaky exhale. as much as i found them beautiful, they terrified me.

the sister was gone a while. my head would snap up at every set of brisk footsteps only to lower after smiling politely at the sisters who were passing by with curious eyes and i opt not to look up when i hear two sets of hurried footsteps - one stops and walks away, growing fainter the further it got and the second set walks closer towards me, until i saw a pair of shoes beside my feet and i felt very conscious of how exposed i was in a place of worship. perhaps the sundress would have been a better suited outfit for my tasks today instead of shorts and a cotton button down shirt. in my defense, the weather felt like i was about to be cooked alive right on the concrete sidewalk.

"never pegged you as the type to pray so earnestly unless you were held at gunpoint,"

i was not as steeled as i wanted to be, my heart felt like it had stopped. as much as i didn't want it to, a familiar warmth washed over me; it was so comforting that the pit of dread clawing at my stomach silenced itself for a while for the quickest moment and i laugh dryly.

"i still think that you pray enough to save the both of us from eternal damnation," i shake my head, only lifting it when she settles down beside me and even then, i keep my eyes on anything that wasn't her, "you...suit the habit better than i ever could have, beatrice," i glance at her, my lip quirking in a small smile, "that color does nothing for your complexion though,"

it was a joke made in an earnest attempt to diffuse the tension between us. she huffed out a laugh and i smile a little wider at the sound, "nice to see i can still make you laugh,"

silence. soft pitter-pattering of shoes on tile as a group of sisters walk past us.

beatrice hums softly when they've left, "it's been a while,"

"did you expect it'd be me when you heard you had a guest?"

"i was definitely hoping for a familiar face, but..." she murmurs with a resigned sigh, "truthfully, i was not expecting it'd be yours," beatrice folds her arms over her chest, "but i will not deny that you've crossed my mind over the years,"

"really?" i pick at my nails, "i honestly didn't think you'd even remember me,"

"why'd you come then?" out of the corner of my eye, i see her face me and i huff softly, rubbing my sweaty palms on the rough material of my shorts.

"...i don't know," i mumble truthfully, or rather an attempt at sounding truthful. of course i knew why i was here, of course i had a purpose in getting on a plane to spain, struggling and travelling alone to get to this place, to see her and talk to her. when i glance at her, she has that look on her face.

her lips are pursed in a straight line, jaw set, most of her face is unreadable, save her eyes - oh, god, her eyes. soft, persistently trained on me and ever-moving to hold my gaze and no matter how much i tried to avoid them, i ended up looking right back at her. there's a look that - i won't lie - i have missed. so much emotion i can't decipher, but i knew that if i looked hard enough, somewhere in that look was the reassurance that she'd always still be there, whether i choose to tell her the truth or not. beatrice sits there, waiting and expectant.

"you are still a terrible liar," she deadpans when it was clear i have no plans on telling her why i was really here.

"it is the truth," i grumble defensively "you're still so suspicious of everything i say when i'm trying to be honest."

"well, your lower lip keeps twitching,"

my eyes narrow in confusion and i huff, suddenly aware of how tense i was, "and?"

"that's your tell," beatrice says as though it is the most obvious thing in the world and she faced forward, hands folded on her lap.

"my tell? my tell could have changed, genius - we haven't spoken in -" i shrug, "5? 6 or 7 years?"

"6 years, 2 months, 11 days," bea's voice quietens.

i glance at her, also silencing myself as the tension and defensiveness ooze out of my body and i slouch against the pew with a scoff of disbelief. she remembered, she counted it down to the day, though wouldn't be surprised if she had it down to the minute, beatrice was good at remembering details like that. it was both endearing and infuriating.

"'course you remember,"

"it was 12:07 am, the morning of your 16th birthday, the day you left switzerland," bea continues to speak only to falter slightly, her voice weakens and she looks down at her lap to fiddle with her thumbs - that, to me, was her tell. her tell that she was about to start a very difficult conversation, or ask a very awkward question.

"they never told us why you left, you know," bea's voice is small, smaller than my fuzzy memories tell me she has ever sounded, even during late nights having the hardest of conversations, when we both had our hearts bared out to each other, during our secret embraces as we cried with each other she has never sounded quiet as small as she is now. i wished for nothing more than the ground to swallow me whole, "and you never came back,"

"i wished i did," i say immediately in a soft voice, "god - sorry - i really wish i did," my heart pounds painfully in my chest, "and i'm sorry i didn't, and i know that isn't enough, and no amount of grovelling and asking for your forgiveness will fix that," i swallow thickly, "we -" i second-guess what i'm about to say, clearing my throat, "- were each other's greatest friend, and regardless of that fact, you don't have to forgive me,"

it's hard to gauge her reactions when beatrice keeps her face turned away from me but i could have sworn there was an almost imperceptible look that shifts her features briefly.

"there are absolutely no excuses, beatrice," i sigh heavily and the speck on the ground by my shoe was suddenly the most interesting thing in the world, "and i've just turned your whole world upside down by showing up unannounced - jesus - sorry again - i'm so sorry, bea,"

"you still haven't told me why you left," she says a little more clearly, her stare stony as she looked right at me.

"does it matter?" i mutter, nails digging into my palms, "does it still matter bea? i'm here right now, isn't that what should be focused on?"

"you left me," bea sounds exasperated, "dare i say, you owe me an explanation? after you disappeared for years - you think i don't have questions? my own versions of why you left? my own doubts? i still don't even know what you're doing here,"

"i wanted to find you! by the time i was allowed to do things on my own, you weren't in switzerland anymore and nobody would tell me where you were - they all thought i would be a terrible influence on you -" i wince at how my voice echoed around the room and i hear her take a deep breath in and out when another trio of nuns walk past us. i shrink back into the pew with crossed arms, tucked against the corner.

"do you hate me for it?" i ask softly, "have you ever regretted being my - my friend?"

"what kind of ridiculous question is that?" is her answer, spat out like the thought was poison, the mere insinuation was a heavy boulder i just hurled at her. or maybe i was reading too much into things and this was just her regular anger, a normal amount of disdain she had for an old friend who left her behind without looking back - overthinking has always been a terrible habit of mine just as repressing how she truly felt about something was hers.

"...you know, i don't think i have it in me to hate you," my head lifts to look at her when she continues and i'm alarmed to see her eyes grow misty, "even when i really, really wanted to,"

beatrice sighs and i echo the sound, a shared sentiment between us. i also think that hating her was an impossible thought, no matter the sin she commits. my fingers drum against the wood of the pew, slowly and hesitantly reaching for her hand.

"i'm here now, bea," i whisper reassuringly, squeezing her hand tightly when she links our fingers together, "this time, i won't leave you hanging, yeah?"

"i'll hold you to that," she says weakly.

i smile softly, holding out my free hand, pinky lifted. beatrice lets out a watery laugh, sniffling before she mimics the action, locking our pinkies in some unbreakable promise and suddenly, we were back in our spot at the school in switzerland, vowing to be friends forever and ever, making plans to join the same convents, or if the Lord willed it, the same university, maybe the same apartment to live the rest and best of our lives together.

"we've got the rest of forever to catch up, and forever is a lot of time,"

[xxbyimm]

A tale as old as time - Bard the bowman x OC - Chapter 3 - Skills of a healer

New to this journey? Here’s chapter 1.

A tale as old as Time - Bard x OC - Chapter 3: Skills of a healer

Summary: Brea is forced to turn to a practice she has abandoned some time ago.

Warnings: this chapter deals with injury and treating injuries. Though it's not described in a gruesome way, take care if you are sensitive to this topic! <3

Author’s note: lovely people, it’s been too long since I’ve updated this fic! Recently my dear friend @fizzyxcustard inspired me to work on this fic again and goodness—I am obsessed now with it. Enjoy this update ❤️❤️

The practice of medicine is an art, not a trade;

a calling, not a business;

a calling in which your heart will be exercised equally with your head.

-William Osler

She did not see Bard for a long time after.

The first few days, Brea told herself that he probably was too busy to enjoy her company–the bargeman had a family to sustain after all... But when the first two weeks had gone by and she still hadn’t seen even a glimpse of the man’s pretty ass, Brea started to consider the fact that the bowman was, in fact, avoiding her. The decision, which only spoke in favor of his character and sense of duty, made the daughter of Brenion ache for his company even more. Even so much that the concept of sleeping eluded her.

Brea heaved a weary sigh and shifted under the covers of her comfortable bed. She knew she should be vastly asleep right now, but her love-stricken brain had lost its interest in the mundane and now she spent most of her nights going back to the precious moment in which Bard had his arms safely wrapped around her. Unfortunately she had discovered that if she completely emerged herself in this past experience, she could still bask in the warmth of his embrace–her skin remembering how the bowman’s rough fingertips had brushed over her cheek.

Oh, and that rueful, adorning smile…

‘You are so young, Brea… And I’m an old man. This is foolery.’

Her heart ached at that and Brea winced. Restlessly, she turned over to her right side once more and pulled her heavy blanket towards her chest. The man certainly knew how to stab her in the heart and ruin a perfect moment in one go. She chewed on her bottom lip. But how could she accept that it was over before it had even begun? How could she forget him when he was all she could ever think about?

The stairs that led to the attic creaked, disturbing her silent musings.

Brea rose to her elbows, listening intently to the light footsteps that made their way to her room. Mîrhel was a heavy sleeper and Catherine usually spent the night with her own family, which meant there was only one person who dared to enter her domain, especially during the night.

‘Jen?’ She inquired, squinting her eyes to peer into the darkness. The door opened and her sister’s pretty face peered through the crevice. Strands of her thick black hair had broken free from her braid, framing her cheeks.

‘Bree…’ Jenessa pleaded softly. ‘I’m sorry to disturb you, but I can’t sleep.’

Brea already knew what was coming and waited patiently for the impending request. Ever since Jen had entered the family as a frightened little two-year old who had just lost her parents, she had singled out her big sister for comfort whenever she felt scared or sad. ‘Me neither,’ she agreed, smiling faintly. ‘My mind is too troubled.’

‘Oh! Can I stay with you for a bit?’ Jen asked as she shuffled on her feet in the doorframe. ‘Father is snoring again.’

‘Ah, that alone is enough to cause insomnia,’ Brea replied while making room in her bed. ‘Though why do I feel you’ve got something on your mind?’

‘Like what?’ Jen said. ‘I’m not a worrier, like you.’

Brea shook her head, eyeing her sister with an accusing glance before proceeding to lift the covers anyway. ‘Fine,’ she decided. ‘You may keep me company. But only if you lay still and won’t kick me out of my own bed, like last time.’

Jen–who knew their routine all too well–didn’t waste a second and practically dove into the old mattress with the grace of a drunken peasant, making the bed creak dangerously and causing her older sister to gasp.

‘Will you watch it?!’

‘Sorry!’ Jenessa giggled. ‘My limbs are practically frozen from the cold in my room.’

‘Let me guess…’ Brea mused. ‘You were too stubborn to get your woolen blanket from your cupboard?’

‘It’s spring, Bree!’ Jen complained, pouting. ‘It shouldn’t be this chilly anymore! In Minas Trith, the people will have gathered around the white tree by now, to see its first blossoms. I wish I was there too.’

Brea, who too wished their family still lived in the Guarded City, settled onto her back. ‘I know,’ she spoke. ‘But we’re not in Minas Tirith. Laketown is different.’

Jen snorted at that. ‘It certainly is. Cold, wet and stupid.’

‘Jen…’ Brea countered, suddenly feeling very worn out. ‘That’s not a nice thing to say…’

Her sister giggled again and pulled her sibling into a hug. ‘I’m just saying it out loud. I know you are thinking it as much as I am, Bree. Don’t be a hypocrite.’

‘It’s not that bad,’ Brea murmured. ‘Though it isn’t as vibrant as- GOOD GODS GET THOSE COLD FEET AWAY FROM ME!’

Jenessa laughed and retreated her icy feet to the other end of the bed. ‘Sorry…’ She eyed her elder sister with amusement as the latter did her best to look as annoyed as humanly possible. ‘You were saying?’ Jen then continued, as if she just hadn’t tried to freeze her sibling to death mere moments ago.

‘I said,’ Brea repeated herself. ‘That Laketown might not be as lively or exciting as Minas Tirith, but that it surely has its’ charm.’

‘In the form of a lovely bargeman with hazelnut colored eyes, you mean?’ Jenessa purred, her hands sneaking to his sister's side and squeezing hard.

‘Absolutely not!’ Brea countered, before grabbing Jen’s hands and keeping them in place. ‘Laketown has a surprisingly diverse market place, lovely sceneries and interesting architecture-’

‘You forget to mention the handsome male population,’ Jen filled in, wriggling herself free. ‘Especially the likes of Bard…’

‘Oh, shut up!’ Brea protested, pulling the coverlet up to her chin. ‘I did not invite you in my own bed to be made fun of! Leave me alone!’

‘Ah, Bree… Don’t be so irritable…’ Jenessa pouted. ‘I’m just teasing you…’

‘The hell you are…’ Brea muttered, her thoughts already returning to the bowman’s handsome face.

‘But I know you like him!’ Jen pressed, unwittingly evaporating her sibling’s pleasant distraction. ‘And I can’t figure out why the two of you suddenly won’t speak to each other anymore,’ she went on. ‘But I do know it makes me sad.’

Brea heaved a weary sigh.

The fact that Jen noticed something was off, meant that quite a few people would be aware of the–how to frame it–delicate friendship between herself and the bargeman. Both sisters could only hope that Mîrhel wasn’t one of them...

‘Fine,’ she then gave in. ‘But you mustn’t tell anyone. The truth is I think he’s a good man and I like him… A lot.’

‘A lot?!’ Jen squealed and excitedly clapped in her hands. ‘Bree! That sounds so promising! Please tell me, what happened between you two? Has he kissed you?’ Her face fell. ‘No, don’t tell me he did. For if he had, he should not give you the cold shoulder!’

‘Have you forgotten what happened with Ru-’ Brea said sharply, but she stopped before saying Ruthron’s name out loud. She still couldn’t let his name roll over her tongue. Because if she did, everything that had happened would become more real. She bit her lip. ‘I didn’t kiss Bard, nor did he kiss me. I couldn’t allow it, not after everything that has happened.’

‘Oh, Brea…’ Jen mumbled softly. ‘I’m sorry I brought it up. But what happened with Ruru wasn’t your fault and you know that.’

‘He should not have had to pay that price alone,’ Brea said bitterly. ‘I was just as much to blame.’

They lay side by side in silence and Brea’s thoughts traveled to her former life.

She knew Jen was right, living in Minas Tirith had been glorious. But for Brea, the never ending guilt weighing her down, made those memories bittersweet. She could never forget what had happened last fall, nor could she ever forgive herself for her incompetence.

‘Sigrid has promised me she’ll teach me how to swim,’ Jen said quietly, breaking the silence. ‘She told me that now I’m a proper Laketown resident, I have to learn.’

‘A resident of Laketown? How does one earn such a lovely title?’

Jenessa snorted. ‘A dive in the Long Lake will suffice.’

‘In that case…’ Brea shivered and moved further under the covers. ‘I think I’ll pass.’

‘Good call,’ Jen murmured. ‘I was lucky Bard was there.’

Though the pain in Brea’s chest was still there, the feeling of gratitude washed over her. ‘You were,’ she agreed. ‘Maybe it’s a good thing Sigrid will teach you how to swim. I don’t want to know what happens if you decide to take a second leap and no one is around to save your sorry ass.’

Jen shrugged. ‘I wasn’t my decision to go the first time around, if you must know. And I guess if it happens a second time before Sigrid teaches me, I’ll drown.’

‘What?’ Brea gasped before pulling her sister into a hug. ‘Please tell me you’re joking!’

‘I wish I was…’ Her sibling mumbled. ‘It’s just that I…’

‘Jen…’ Brea said sharply. ‘You said you tripped.’

Jen turned her head away, her gaze fixed into the unknown. ‘I don’t want to talk about it, Bree.’

‘I understand,’ Brea replied, brushing a strand of raven black hair from her sister’s face. ‘You can tell me at your own pace. But if someone tried to harm you, I need to know, okay?’

Jen merely nodded and melted into her big sister’s hug.

‘We’ll ask Sigrid to teach you how to swim first thing this morning, alright?’ Brea soothed. ‘And I’ll make sure you won’t have to move through town alone.’

‘Thank you,’ Jenessa whispered barely audible.

There was a short silence, in which Brea listened to her sister’s unsteady breathing. A knot settled into her stomach. Jen usually was such a ray of happiness and positivity, that negativity just bounced off her before it could really do any damage. The fact that someone had succeeded in throwing her out of balance, was scary.

‘You know, I had a moment with Bard.’ Brea told her sister softly in an attempt to cheer her up. ‘I bumped into him in the kitchen after I rushed home to you that day.’

‘Oh?’ Jen commented. ‘What happened?’

‘Nothing,’ Brea shrugged. ‘I was so grateful that he saved your life, I threw myself in the poor man’s arms.’

‘Like he minded…’

‘I don’t think he did mind, no.’ Brea gave in. ‘But after we almost kissed, he told me it wasn’t right and he left.’

‘He didn’t!’ Her little sister hissed. ‘That bastard!’

‘No, he’s a sensible, righteous man!’ Brea corrected. ‘He’s too old for me and even if we would become friends, we’d be the talk of the town. It’s best if I stay as far away as I can.’

‘So that’s why you two are ignoring each other?’ Jen mused.

‘He is avoiding me,’ Brea said. ‘He must be, for I haven’t seen even a glimpse of him for the past few weeks.’

Jen watched her with a strange, knowing smile. ‘He’s not ignoring you, Bree. Far from it, actually.’ She smirked. ‘I know for a fact that he still cares. He keeps asking me how you are and if Alfrid is still bothering you. And I, being the silly, trusting goose I am, kept him informed. He even knows about that awful dress Alfrid dropped off for you yesterday morning. Do you want to know what he had to say about that?’

Brea wasn’t about to let her sister have her beg for information, so she simply shrugged. ‘Well?’

’He laughed and told me he was sure you would look lovely in it. And Sigrid agreed!’

‘A generic response,’ Brea quietly told herself. ‘See?’

Jenessa shook her head and giggled. ‘No, Bree. You weren’t there. His face lights up whenever I talk about you. It’s so obvious he’s crazy about you, but for some reason he tries to fight it.’

‘You are so young, Brea. And I’m an old man. This is foolery.’

Brea’s heart ached at those words that were etched in her brain. She was desperate to believe her little sister, but she couldn’t. Loving another man meant that at some point she'd lose him and that would destroy her. ‘Not a chance,’ she breathed. ‘He’s just trying to be nice.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Jen countered. ‘He’s nice to me too and he treats me entirely different.’

‘You’re a hopeless romantic, Jen.’

‘And you are scared to love again!’

‘I am not!’

‘Yes, you are!’

‘Jenessa…’ Brea murmured. ‘If you won’t hush right away, I will get my thread and needle and sow your mouth shut!’

Jen laughed and prodded a finger between her sister’s ribs. ‘Empty threats, my lovely Bree. That particular kit, stuffed away in the bottom drawer of your closet, is out of reach.’

Despite herself, Brea grinned. ‘Well, either way: you better not tempt me…’

Days flew by and Brea settled into a pleasant, new rhythm.

Because Laketown didn’t provide the usual thrills and gossip of the city, Brea spent much of her time at home and busied herself by reading books from the family’s library and helping Catherine with chores. Though Mîrhel didn’t approve of her daughter doing the servant’s work, Brea had smartly suggested that for future reference, she should learn more about running a household–and what better example than her families’ home?

Of course no mother could not possibly have anything to argue against such solid reasoning and it was no surprise that Mîrhel didn’t.

But while her mother probably was happy that her daughter finally had shown some interest in the concept of marriage and being a wife, Brea’s motives were entirely different. She had found that physical labor helped to put her mind off Bard a bit, and the gods–though she didn’t believe in any–knew she needed that more than ever.

Recently, there had been whispers swirling through town that the bargeman was courting someone and the mere thought made Brea feel sick with dread. She had asked Jen if she knew something about the matter, but her little sister had merely shrugged and said that Sigrid had not mentioned it with her.

And that was it.

Jen still refused to tell her more about what happened that day on the docks, so Brea made sure her sister wasn’t going anywhere on her own. The daily strolls through town provided a welcome break from her mother’s looming presence and she one time she even was rewarded with a glimpse of a certain bargeman, who then suddenly vanished just as quickly as he had appeared.

Her other suitor, that hateful piece of human garbage calling himself Alfrid, managed to find her everywhere and when he did he refused to leave her alone. Brea was sure he had other, more important duties to attend to (and told him as such), but he insisted a ‘fine girl like her’ shouldn’t walk the streets alone.

‘No, miss Brea,’ he had told her. ‘Any guy can see how lovely you are and someone with the wrong intentions could wrong you. We want to avoid that, don’t we?’

Indeed, being harassed by awful men like the deputy himself was something Brea would rather avoid, but the obvious irony was lost to Alfrid. As for herself, the chance of laying her eyes on Bard was enough to endure the unpleasant company.

So that was why on this particular late, windy afternoon Brea was strolling the docks towards the market space. A few hours ago, she had dropped Jen off at Bard’s home and they had agreed she’d pick her sister up near the market. Brea knew she was early, but she enjoyed inspecting the latest wares and catching up on today’s gossip. She was just about to greet her friend Hilda-Bianca, when a loud shriek traveled through the air.

‘BREA!!’

She whirled around and almost got toppled over by her little sister. In fact, if it hadn’t been for the sturdy market stall behind her, she would have lost her balance.

‘What are you-’ she began, but Jen impatiently shook her head and grabbed her sister’s wrist.

‘No time!’ Jen urged while she dragged her elder sister away. ‘We have to go! Bard’s in trouble.’

Several heads turned and the usual bustle and talk died quickly.

Brea’s throat went dry and her pace faltered. ‘What happened?’ She inquired quickly, her voice slightly cracking. ‘Is he alive?’

‘Yes! But he’s bleeding badly,’ Jen cried out. ‘That’s why I went to get you… I know you can help. He needs you.’

Brea’s gaze darted through the marketplace. Most of the people here were merchants, housewives or fishermen, and they all looked equally appalled. There was no real surgeon in these parts, let alone someone with sufficient knowledge about medicine. Though she had sworn never to treat patients again, Brea quickly gathered up her skirts and gave her sister a short nod.

‘Please go get my medical kit,’ she instructed. ‘You know where to find it. Is Bard home?’

‘Yes,’Jenessa told her.

‘Well, then meet me there.’

The news that the bargeman had been badly injured traveled fast. By the time Brea had made it towards his home, a whole crowd had gathered in front of it. The people were speculating loudly what could have happened. Had he been involved in some kind of accident or was this a case of foul play? After all, everyone knew how much Bard was hated by the authorities and no one would be surprised if those said authorities were behind this recent turn of events.

‘Let me through!’ Brea insisted furiously as she shoved her fellow townsmen and women aside. ‘Make way!’ She clambered onto the stairs, elbowing Bard’s neighbor out of the way before knocking on the wooden door.

‘Sigrid! Bain!’ She yelled over the murmuring crowd. ‘It’s me, Brea!’ There was no immediate response and she frantically hammered her fist onto the wooden surface. ‘Let me in!’

Finally, Sigrid’s pale face appeared behind the glass pane. The door creaked open and Brea slipped through the crack.

‘Oh, miss Brea!’ Sigrid cried out as she quickly shut the door behind them. ‘Please… Da’s injured and I don’t know what to do…’ she wrung her hands together. ‘Please help! ’

‘Don’t fret,’ Brea said as she placed her hands on the shoulders of Bard’s eldest. ‘I’ve sent Jen to get my medical kit. I will do anything in my power to save him. Will you tell me what happened?’

‘Brea!’ Tilda wailed, making her way towards her friend. Tears streamed down her young face. Brea pulled the little girl into a hug and gently brushed over her small back.

‘Sshh…’ she cooed. ‘It will be alright. We will save your dad, but in order to do so, you need to be very brave and stay with Sigrid, can you do that for me?’

The little girl nodded vigorously.

Brea then let Tilda go and marched over to the bed. Her patient had been hidden from her view, as the curtains at the foot end were shut to give the poor man some privacy. As she neared the bed, Brea was confronted with an ailment she had seen many times before.

In the blood-ridden bed, Bard was resting against the cushions, an arrow protruding from his left shoulder. The bargeman’s chest heaved up and down mechanically. His eyes were closed and his face was contorted in a pained scowl. Brea stepped closer and carefully inspected the wound. The arrow had gone in deep, which meant there was no way to tell if it was barbed. The blood gushed from the wound and frayed sides of the wound told her that the bowman probably had tried to extract the arrow by himself, which only had made his situation worse.

‘Oh, Bard…’ she said softly. ‘This was no accident… What happened?’

‘We… we don’t know exactly,’ Sigrid stammered, standing just behind her. Her voice trembled. ‘Da hasn’t said a word... We believe he was shot at shore. He somehow managed to get the boat to the dock keeper, who alarmed us. Bain and a few others carried him home. I’ve sent them out to find the town’s barber. Then Jen said you knew a thing or two about treating arrow wounds…’

‘Your father is a brave man,’ Brea replied, still inspecting the wound. ‘It looks like he tried to get the arrow out himself, but that only made it worse. I will do my best to get it out in one piece, but there’s a chance we’ve got a barbed arrow on our hands.’

Sigrid’s breath hitched. ‘I don’t-’ she mumbled, her hands frantically pulling on her skirt. ‘I’m not a-’

‘I will do most of the work, but I need you to help me.’ Brea instructed, while glancing at Bard’s coat that had already been discarded and currently decorated the floor. ‘I need a bowl of clean water, make sure to boil it first,’ she ordered as she got hold of the hem of the bargeman’s tunic, the hairs on his chest tickling her skin. She grinded her teeth, tearing the fabric under her firm grip. ‘Stoke up the fire, because I need to cleanse my pliers before extracting the arrow,’ she went on. ‘And Tilda, sweetheart, bring me some honey if you can.’

The bowman possessed a finely sculpted chest, but since it was not the time nor the place to admire it, Brea reverted her attention to the wound, while vaguely registering the sound of rushing skirts as the sisters set out to their tasks with utmost haste. A pot was filled with fresh water and put on the stove. Sigrid instructed her little sister to get more wood from the basement and continued to retrieve a large jar.

‘Brea!’ Sigrid called. ‘We’re out of honey! I meant to get some from the market last week, but money was tight and…’ she groaned in frustration. ‘Now what?’

At the same time the door was pushed open, bringing Bain and Jenessa inside.

‘I found John the barber,’ Bain said hastily. ‘He will be here as soon as he can.’

‘I brought your medical kit, Bree!’ Jen cried out behind him.

‘A barber?’ Brea echoed, while gesturing at her sister to bring her stuff. ‘Please don’t tell me your barber is the town’s surgeon as well!?!’

Bain shot an uneasy glance at his father and then turned to Brea. ‘It was the best I could do, miss…’ he murmured. ‘I didn’t know…’

Brea sent him a reassuring smile. ‘I know. Luckily I’ve had some practice in treating arrow wounds back home. I’ll see what I can do.’

She then rolled up her sleeves and opened the leather pouch containing her medical instruments on the bench that Jen just put next to the bed. She hoped it would take John a long time to get here. She had dealt with the likes of him too many times and all of those had been unpleasant. People like John seemed to think they knew a thing or two about medicine, but usually their methods of choice made things far worse.

‘How’s that water coming along, Sigrid?’ She inquired, while reaching for her pair of pliers. ‘And Jen, can you find me a clean cloth?’

‘I’ve got the wood!’ Tilda called as she finally hurried up the stairs, her arms crammed with firewood.

Brea locked eyes with Bain. ‘Bain, can you take Tilda with you to fetch some honey for me? She doesn’t need to witness what’s next.’ The boy nodded shortly and after filling the stove with wood, Bain ushered his sister through the front door.

Brea got a small flash of strong liquor from her bag and poured a generous amount on her hands. Ruthron had always deemed it unnecessary, but Brea almost never skipped the first step of healing: cleanse one’s hands.

Jen then provided her sister with a clean, cotton cloth, took the pliers with her to the kitchen and then continued to help Sigrid pour some water in a large bowl. The pliers landed in the pot with the remaining simmering water. Sigrid placed the bowl on the bench and then crouched down next to her dad. Her hand brushed over his tormented forehead and to everyone’s surprise, Bard opened his eyes.

‘Sigrid,’ he murmured and the girl beamed.

‘Da!’ she gushed. ‘We were so worried! But everything will be alright, miss Brea is here.’

‘Miss Brea…’ Bard whispered softly while shifting his gaze. His eyes landed on Brea’s physique and his mouth curved into a faint smile. ‘How lovely to see you. How are you… faring?’

Brea, who had just dipped a piece of the cotton cloth in the hot water and had waited until most of the heat had worn off, bowed forward and began cleaning the wound. ‘That’s what you’re going with?’ she berated the poor bargeman, who was flinching with pain now. ‘I’m rather busy treating you right now, master Bard. Care to tell me what happened?’

Beads of sweat welled on the bowman’s forehead. ‘I had just finished conducting my business with the elves… Then all of a sudden I got shot,’ he rasped hastily, the words tumbling from his mouth. ‘I have no idea where the shooter was- ARGH!’

‘My apologies, I know it hurts…’ Brea said, while submerging another piece of the cloth into the water. ‘But I need to clean the wound in order to see what arrow we’re dealing with.’

She thoroughly cleaned the wound and established that the arrow was flat barbed, which meant she should be able to retract it rather easily. Brea was just about to ask Jen to hand her the pliers, when her sister appeared behind her with the needed set. They shared a glance and without asking further, Jen picked up a small poke and made her way into the kitchen.

‘Brace yourself,’ Brea ordered the bargeman and his daughter. ‘This is going to hurt.’

Moving as efficiently and quickly as possible, Brea managed to extract the arrowhead in one piece. Unfortunately, the disruption of the tissue also caused severe bleeding. Bard passed out.

‘I have to sear the vessels,’ Brea told Sigrid, who was looking as white as a sheet. ‘It’s painful, but he’s already lost much blood.’

‘Do what you must,’ the girl said, her voice shaking with fear. ‘Please Brea, we can’t lose him…’

Brea nodded shortly and waited for Jenessa to bring the poke. ‘It’s better if he’s not conscious during this part.’

The stench of burned flesh was something Brea would never get used to and she could hardly resist the urge to gag. She rather stitched hundreds of cuts or mended the gruesomest of pustules with pleasure, but she hated having to sear people, only doing so when there was no other choice. By the time Brea was done, her eyes were watering and her hands trembling. A soft cry escaped her when Jen gently pried the poke from her hands and brought it into safety. Then, Brea stumbled backwards and lowered herself on the bench.

‘Da!’ Sigrid begged, brushing her hand over his face once more. ‘Please wake up!’

Brea watched Bard’s handsome features, which were thanks to his current unconscious state, rather peaceful. Her stomach churned uncomfortably. She really hoped she had done the best she could…

‘I need a cold compress,’ she told Jen, who made her way into the kitchen to retrieve some. Brea got up and crouched down next to Sigrid.

‘Are we doing enough?’ The girl asked, her cheeks wet from her tears. ‘Is there anything we can do?’

‘Yes. We’ll soothe the burn with cold water until Bain and Tilda come back with honey, then we’ll dress the wound with that.’ Brea explained, gently rubbing Sigrid’s shoulder. ‘Then, we swaddle the area. Jen, have you brought my bindings?’

‘They’re on the table,’ Jen called from the kitchen. ‘I thought you wanted to keep them away from here until you need them. To keep them clean.’

Brea caught her sister’s gaze and smiled. She had taught her well. ‘Thank you, you’re a dime.’

‘I know that,’ Jen smirked as she brought a compress their way. ‘Think of that the next time you want to tell me what an insufferable idiot I am!’

Brea grinned and took the compress from her sister’s hands. ‘Remind me then, will you?’ She then proceeded to lower the wet cloth onto the wound.

‘Aaargh!!!’ Bard cried out, arching his back and pressing his shoulder into the bed. His eyelids flung open, but his wide gaze was faraway and his eyes traveled restlessly through the room.

‘Hey,’ Brea greeted him gently, while pushing his stomach down with her left arm. Her right hand caressed the sharp edge of his jaw. ‘Welcome back. I need you to lay still.’

His eyes landed on her face and sparked with recognition. Bard groaned through gritted teeth and gave her a short nod.

‘Da!’ Sigrid exclaimed, relieved that her father had regained his consciousness. Brea didn’t have the heart to tell the girl he’d probably pass out a few times more.

Sigrid and Jenessa watched as the bowman hissed and strained, while Brea redressed the compress a few times to further cool the wound. Then, a sharp knock on the door informed them that John the barber finally had decided to grace them with his presence.

Unable to sleep anyway, Brea stayed with the Bardlings all night.

It had taken hours to soothe Tilda’s grief, to comfort Sigrid’s worries and to convince Bain he had done everything right, all while regularly checking in on her patient and dabbing his forehead with a cold compress. When everyone finally was asleep and silence reigned over the room, Brea’s own sleep still eluded her.

The gods knew she could use some rest, but as the first dangers had passed, Brea found herself praying to those said gods that the bowman would make it through the night. Bard had lost much blood and now that she watched over his fever stricken body, she started to doubt her own judgment. Had it been the right call to sear the wound and if so, had it been enough? His body could still succumb from the fever that now raged through him and even after surviving the first night, the burn would be vulnerable to infection. Brea eyed Bard’s children as they lay huddled up under their makeshift beddings on the ground. She could not bear to lose another patient, let alone their father.

The one she was losing her heart to.

She heaved a weary sigh and shifted on the hard, wooden bench. The flat surface pressed into her back, turning her bones sore. The small candle she had put on the floor burned steadily, the flame swaying in a gentle manner. Her gaze shifted towards the bed.

Bard was sleeping, his bare chest heaving up and down. Even in the dim light, it was easy to tell his face was flushed and beads of sweat decorated his forehead. Strands of his loose, messy hair had fallen over his face and Brea fought the urge to get up and brush them away. The bowman groaned, his face consorting into a pained scowl. His eyelashes fluttered as he opened his eyes, a glassy expression written in them.

‘Hey,’ Bard rasped, reaching out to her and Brea rose from her place to rush to his side. The bargeman’s fingers clasped around her own. ‘Is this…’ he murmured as his gaze hovered over her physique. ‘Is this a dream?’

Brea smiled faintly and shook her head. ‘I don’t think so, master Bard.’

‘Are you sure?’ He inquired and his fingers caressed hers. ‘The goddess of the lake doesn’t usually visit me.’

‘You’re delirious,’ she told him gently as she caved in and brushed the strands of hairs from his face, scorching her fingers on his burning skin. ‘There is no goddess of the lake.’

‘Sounds like something she’d say,’ he whispered. ‘The whimsical creature of faint whispers and shapeshifting… You took her form, knowing fully well then I’d do anything you’d ask of me…’

‘Whose form?’

Bard’s expression changed as if he was reminded of something painful. The bowman let go of her hand, but found her braid instead and his fingertips continued caressing the soft, blonde locks. ‘You know of whom I speak,’ he then breathed. ‘But we both know she’s at home, where she’s safe. Her folk would never allow her to be here, and they are right to protect her.’

‘She’s of age, you know,’ Brea replied softly as she leaned forward to check the bandages around his shoulder. To her satisfaction, they were still in perfect condition. ‘She can do what she wants,’ she went on. ‘Her parents don’t own her. Besides, you have saved Jenessa’s life some time ago, which forever puts her and her parents in your debt.’

‘No,’ he countered, shaking his head vigorously before wincing in pain as the movement caused strain on his wound. ‘I only did what I had to.’

‘Lie still. I’m going to get you some willow bark to chew on,’ she told him gently. ‘It will help with the fever.’ Her braid slipped from his fingers as she rose to her feet. Her medical kit was within reach and she extracted some of her last willow bark from it.

‘But if it passes,’ Bard rasped, his eyes searching her face as Brea settled on the bed again. ‘Then you will leave.’

‘I thought we had concluded that I was not her,’ Brea said, fumbling with the piece of bark. ‘But I promise you she will be back. Even though you were avoiding her.’

A small, rueful smile crossed his face. ‘So you do know all, goddess of the lake…’

‘It’s either that or I’m Brea myself, which means you’re in trouble,’ she agreed while coaxing him to take the willow bark which the bargeman did with some reluctance. ‘Just chew on it,’ she instructed him, stifling a laugh as he made a face. ‘I know it’s not great, but at least you won’t have to ingest it.’

She watched him as he patiently did what she asked him to.

Bard was right, her parents probably would be livid she hadn’t come home last night, for she was not to mingle with his family or carry out medicinal or healing practices at all. The fact that they hadn’t shown up to the Bardling’s home yet, was a bit surprising and the only sensible reason for that was Jen.

Her sister had done the sane thing and left well before midnight, with the promise to talk to mother and father about what had happened. Perhaps Brenion and Mîrhel’s youngest had convinced them that since Bard had saved her life, it was only natural that Brea tried to save his to pay their debt. If she succeeded, their family would earn some respect from the town and if Bard should die, at least their uncle would be a very happy man.

‘Where is the water, goddess?’ Bard murmured feverishly, causing Brea to press her hand to his forehead. Upon discovering he was burning up again, she heaved a weary sigh. She should not have tired him with their conversation, he needed his rest more than anything.

‘Okay, let me take that from you-’ she whispered, taking the willow bark from him and offering a sip of watered down ale. ‘You should rest, Bard. Your body is fighting the fever.’ Bard murmured something she could not understand and Brea proceeded to tuck him in a few blankets.

‘Please…’ Bard muttered, getting ahold of her hand again. ‘Sweet siren, stay. I need to tell her…’

‘Tell her what?’ Brea inquired, her breath hitching.

But Bard already had succumbed to a feverish, restless sleep, leaving Brea to stay at his side and stroke his hair. He would tell her one day what he had meant, though somehow she already knew.

It had something to do with a kiss.

Thank you so much for reading this chapter! Feedback is always welcome. Did you like my work? Spread the love and reblog! :)

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[staycalmandhugaclone]

I'm counting this as my response to @chopper-base's Last Line Challenge (your fic looks like it's going to break my heart, btw, and I need it), as well as @rosechi (you take all the time you need - those few lines have certainly garnered my interest, and I am happy to wait for what you're creating!) and @ladyzirkonia's (what a taste little teaser that was!!) Wednesday WIP tags.

Given that I'm using this for both challenges, I am shamelessly offering a large chunk. Because. Reasons. Also, this one's both super exciting and super complicated!! One of my Asks was for this group, @clone-force-333, who, apparently, go about "attacking" certain people on here with words of encouragement when they need them most, which is just fucking adorable! It also means the characters they gave me are both OCs, so there's been so, so much chatting to figure out how to portray these guys! This is going to be a painful one, but it's actually super fun to get to play with such wildly new peoples! They both had such heartbreaking stories, and I'm really hoping to do them justice.

K, here's what I have so far:

Despite the wealth of foreign planets he’d been to, the incalculable variety of life forms he’d seen and ecosystems that had proven just as deadly as they were beautiful, still Ghost occasionally found himself stunned by what mysteries awaited him just beyond the metal doors of the transport shuttle. There had been no war here; no endless theft of lives tallied as fiscal loses in the stead of fatalities as fallen brothers left crimson rivers staining soil that ignorantly devoured the nutrients with a gratitude far more potent than the Republic had ever feigned pretense of.

This world was untouched by intelligent life; innocent and brilliant and ultimately doomed as the Empire steadily made their way ever closer that they might strip the wilds of every shred of value until only a barren husk remained. That was why they had come; because the treasured that laid hidden in shimmering sapphire foliage streaked with something far too near silver to appear real held the potential to solve whatever great scientific mystery Dex currently found himself obsessed with.

Dex…

Ghost’s dark grey helmet shifted slightly, attention drawn back to the slim man already treading animatedly toward the distant dance of singing trees and hidden brush. Even from a distance, he could hear the subtle whirr of machinery voicing the scientist’s every step. It had taken months for him to offer the origins of his disability. Ghost wasn’t sure what prompted the reveal, nor why he’d taken so long to open up, but nothing about the injury had changed things between them. The older clone still regarded the nat-born with a deep-seated distrust and disdain despite Dex’s almost obtrusively joyful demeanor.

The change between them had been sudden. Violent. He couldn’t remember exactly what the smaller man had said; just that it had something to do with the chips, and that Ghost had lashed out in a way that finally shattered Dex’s infallible exuberance. They’d shouted. It was the first time he’d heard such betrayed anger in that normally soft voice. They’d roared at each other until both shook with anger, fists clenched, teeth bared. And then something had changed.

Heated words crumbled into broken sobs revealing truths neither expected to ever allow voice. He didn’t remember who’d been the first to reach out for the other, couldn’t remember how they’d fallen into each other in search of a comfort they’d suffered without for far too long, but everything between them was different now. Snide words were laced with a fondness audible to even distant strangers; the silence between them as Ghost merely lingered calmly in Dex’s lab held a gentleness he’d never felt before, and when the scientist got it in his head that he needed some unheard of ingredient found only in the most dangerous of climates, the clone didn’t hesitate in accompanying him.

Which is precisely how he’d found himself on this unnamed, untouched world of sapphire trees and mauve soil, gaze trailing around them for any sign of danger, be it from flora or fauna, that might threaten the brilliant, infuriating man before him.

Taglist: @thrawns-babygirl @echos-girlfriend @starqueensthings @youreababboon @merkitty49 - yall can choose if you want to do the WIP or the Last Line <3

[abysskeeper]

Tagged by the lovely @keldae. Thanks friend! <3

3 ships

The ones always at the top of this list, my Trick and @gothamcityneedsme's Tavon. The ship that started as a high school joke of "what if we put the rebel and the loyalist together?" and has developed into 13 years (and counting) of the most wonderful stories of two, incredibly broken people slowly befriending each other and putting each other back together against all odds. Trick is the OC for me and these two own my heart. If I ever try to say otherwise, I'm lying.

As of late, coming up right behind the ship of ships for me, is--unsurprisingly--Gale/Nox. I'm just really excited to finally be writing my first DnD PC (ok...technically second, but not really. It's complicated) consistently, and I'm finding the outcast wizard/outcast wizard pairing is lending itself really well to my usual brand of drama, angst, and pretentiousness in writing. They should make each other worse, and the only reason they don't is because they're on opposite ends of the 'Do you want to become a god?' spectrum, where Gale is a resounding yes and Nox only moves slightly away from 'would kill a god if given the opportunity' because they do, actually, kill a god. In short, I'm having a blast writing them.

Not OCs, but third place gets to be Rosegarden, or Oscar/Ruby from RWBY. While we're waiting in v10 limbo, these two live in the back of my mind, and every so often come out to demand some attention. Without getting too much into it, something about destined, Chosen One kids and rhetorical/thematic parallels makes my brain go brrr.

First Ship

Hmmm. I think I usually answer Kataang for these but if I'm really thinking about it, I remember being super invested in Leo and Piper from Charmed, when my mom let me watch it. I couldn't really tell you what it was about them because I was about 6-8...but I was in it with them. They were the only ones I really cared about knowing what happened to them when the show ended.

Currently Reading

I currently have @/aevallare's Ao3 page up, and have for weeks because I'm notoriously awful with reading and then even worse about reading fanfic. I don't have the time and energy to start up Kindred right now (soon...vacation...hopefully), but I've been poking at Alex's one-shots. tailwind is delightful for those of you stuck in Gale/Tav hell like I am, and Wisp is jam-packed with character in such a succinct manner that I'm in love.

Last Song

I'm actively listening to Campus by Bastille right now. Great work-vent song for me. Immediately made its way onto Nox's playlist too.

Last Film

Also Argylle! I went in completely blind to it and then it gave me everything I didn't know I wanted. It was a fun romp, and the fact that it was incredibly Trick/Tav coded was an added benefit.

Currently Craving

Sleep, money, time. I'd like to say that once the paper crunch at work is over with the first submission it'll get better...buuuuut I know that's not true. I just want to have enough energy to write again. Also what I'm always craving, strawberry lemonade.

I'll actively tag @dr-demi-bee and...anyone who wants to do this lol (steal from me, please. I know not who wants these and who doesn't).

[lifeisapitch15]

Gara aga, Ugbu a, N'ọdịnihu.(Past, {Present, Future.)

Pairing: M’Baku x OC

Word Count: under 1k

Warnings: None. Yet.

Summary: Kya finds her self at the wrong place at the wrong time. Fortunately, M’Baku finds her before the avengers do.

A/N: My first real fanfic!🎉. I’m so happy to do this but i have a hectic schedule, so I can’t promise the next chapter will be anytime soon. I love all who read my work and give criticism. I am a fairly new writer so don’t judge to harshly. 😅😆

I’m freezing. My skin is engulfed in snow and all I can see is white the blaring sun. Did it work? Where am i? More like when? Before I could move an arrowhead was pointed toward my face.

“Don’t move” a dark skinned woman with brown breastplate, grass-like skirt with what looks like an animal pelt underneath, and hard looking shin armor with fur wrapped around. The long wooden slender stick pointed at my face. I surrendered with my hands up as they grab me. Probably Taking me to their leader. They look like a strong warrior type. They would have to be to survive just cold. They didn’t put cuffs on me seeing as my ass had been too beaten to walk. The lady on the left pushes me forward and the pain shoots it to my side. I may have broken a rib. I could heal it by that would lead to too much suspicion. I continued walking. They talked in Igbo which my mother spoke to my father. I gathered bits and pieces since my father was the king of Wakanda and needed to know all the different languages. As I wondered who was the current King,the woman next to me hit my side, breaking my train of thought. I bent over in pain as the King of Wakanda looked at me with interest in his eyes. “Do not hurt her. She looks bad enough.” M’Baku spoke his deep, rich voice filling the room, shaking the wooden structure above a bit. “Leave the room. I need to talk to our “prisoner”. He commanded the room, chuckling at last word. He gets up and this man doubles in height. 6’5” was an understatement. I’m 5’5” and towers over me. I looked up and it was never ending. He was big and broad. His armor made him look more intimidating. Remember him from either a meeting with the whole council or in my dreams either way I like what I see.

“I come in peace.” I lift up my hands and try to put up my hand with the broken rib. I can't wait to heal myself.

“I can see that.” He stated walking around looking at my injuries. “How did you get inside Wakanda?” He walked in front of me grabbing my face to still inspecting if I was okay. He has a certain gentleness to him I admire.

“I am a Wakandan.” I confirmed. He let go and I grabbed my lip, pulling out so he could see the tattoo on the inside. It glowed white which I forgot and quickly let go before he inspected that too. If my white hair didn’t give me away. Has my mom been here yet? What year is it?

“What year- where am i?” I questioned as what I said out loud and my thoughts had intertwined with themselves.

“It is 2025 and you are in my home of the Jabari. That is all you need to know since you are my prisoner” he was suspicious, but he brushed it off.I stayed quiet trying to remember him and his powers.

“You are no threat to me.” He admitted. “You will stay here and heal and then you will become a servant. Guards!”

“What! No!! I have to get home! Please!” I screamed as the guards flooded the room. He got down to my level, anger written all over his face.

“Do not argue with your King. Take her to the healers” he spoke firmly. They picked me up as I tried to wiggled my way out despite my side hurting like hell. They dropped me in front of five women as I looked up and the man knocked me unconscious. So it begins.

Next chapter

[jonesyjonesyjonesy]

Wildflowers (pt. xviii)

a john paul jones x fem!oc fic

summary: Julia Morgan knew nannying for three girls who had recently lost their mother would come with many challenges. But she never thought their father, the enigmatic musician John Paul Jones, would be causing her the most trouble. And while Julia is not in the business of saving broken men, her tenderness might be meant for more than little girls and wildflowers.

table of contents │ previous chapter

masterlist│ko-fi

notes: general angst, brief allusion to ed, imbibed john paul jones

a/n:  shoutout to the anon who has said wf reminds them of lady chatterly i'm sorry i've never responded to you

pt. xviii, nightshade

“I think I want to. I think I’m ready to get back at it.”

The sound of keys jangling, scraping into the lock. Skkrrt…skrr…thnk…thnk…

Then his cursing. “Bloody hell.”

I made my way from the stairs to the door; the front hall was lit sparely by a candelabra wall sconce, casting eerie shadows on the dark wood paneling.

It was late. And he’d told me not to wait up, but I couldn’t stand to be in bed alone. I’d become so accustomed to his body next to mine, his warmth and weight always just a brush away.

More keys jangling. Mumbling. Another key shoved into the lock, angry and wrong.

Truthfully, I’d been anxious since John told me he’d be going to Plumpton for the evening. It was a last minute thing, a phone call that morning from Peter or Jimmy. Never clear which. The girls and I were already sitting around the breakfast table, his space auspiciously empty.

“Where’s Daddy?” Kiera asked.

“Yes, Julia, where’s John?” Annie followed up, vaguely scathing.

I glared at her. Ever since Annie came back, nighttime was the only time John and me could safely spend together without fear of her critical eye. No more playing house or stolen kisses while the girls’ backs were turned.

For all of John’s attempts at smoothing things over after Annie walked in on us, she remained relatively cool, at least to me. Our conversations always had a tense undercurrent. We could be near to enjoying ourselves when Annie would suddenly remember my indiscretions and freeze up on me.

Or she’d just be plain rude.

“Girls, you start eating. I’ll go check on your father,” I said as I got up from my spot at the table.

“Yes, who knows how long it might take Julia to…do whatever she does,” Annie added.

I turned to her sharply. “Do you mind?”

She didn’t look up from scrubbing a pan in the sink. “Pardon?”

“Do you mind holding back your commentary, Anna?”

Annie smiled at me saccharinely. “No, don’t mind at all.”

I rolled my eyes, but as soon as I turned to go, John swept in through the door, nearly walking right into me. “Oh!”

“Ah!” John exclaimed.

The girls giggled as we slapsticked around each other like the Three Stooges. That was our new default. Being terrified to accidentally touch in front of anyone.

“I was just coming to get you.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” John went to his seat at the table, giving each of the girls an affectionate kiss. “Was caught up with a phone call. Hope you weren’t waiting too long.”

“My eggs are cold and my juice is hot,” Tamara said with a dramatic sigh.

“Good thing today is a topsy-turvy kind of day,” John replied.

I sat back down. “What kind of phone call?”

John’s eyes shot up to mine. “Uhm. Business.”

I pursed my lips. This was a question I would not have asked when I was only his employee. As we’d gotten closer, I felt more entitled to know about his life. Follow-up questions, though, were for a wife. Not a…whatever I was.

It turned out, though, his caginess was not because I asked.

“I have to go out to Plumpton tonight,” John said to Annie and me after sending the girls to the playroom, the three of us sitting around the table over coffee and cigarettes.

“Whatever for?” Annie asked.

He sighed in resignation. “Peter’s insistent it’s just a ‘friendly get-together’. You know the boys, their wives. To which I said I couldn’t possibly be there. But then he pushed and pushed and it became clear quite quickly that this was much more of a…professional engagement.”

Annie poured him another cup of coffee. “You think it’s the same old song and dance, then?” 

“Naturally.” John sipped his cup. “And you know when Peter wants something, he can be very persuasive.”

“That’s a generous description,” I said.

John hid a smile. “Anyway, I won’t be at dinner tonight.”

“Well, we’ll be just fine. As always.” I wanted to reach out and squeeze his wrist, but with Annie’s eyes on us, everything was off-limits.

John sighed. “Not worried about you. Worried about me. They’ll all be their with their wives and they’ll have me cornered into conversation after conversation. Trying to convince me of something we have to do to stay relevant. They convinced me to do the bloody film, they convinced me of the label, and now all that’s left is an album. And that's Pandora's box.”

“You just tell them no as you always have. Simple,” Annie said. Then, she looked between the two of us. “Or you take Julia.”

“What?” I scoffed.

“Well, if he’s worried about being the center of attention, you could completely distract them, couldn’t you?”

Neither John or I spoke.

“Oh. I forgot,” Annie replied drolly. “You’re just friends. ‘Scuse me.” She got up from the table and went to get started on laundry.

John took a long drag on his cigarette. “Well. She’s in fine form isn’t she?”

My mouth was hot. I waited a moment longer, hoping he would ask me to join him. But that’s not what this relationship was. Just friends in the daylight, just lovers in the night. No in between, not since Annie came back. I was getting tired of this light switch flipping off and on. “You’ll be alright tonight?”

John smiled at me. “You worried about me?”

“Hasn’t that been painfully obvious for a while now?”

John eyed me through the smoke of his cigarette. “Aren’t you sweet?”

I blushed.

John stamped out his ciagarette, got up out of his chair, and poured the rest of his coffee into the sink. “It’s nothing I haven’t done before. And besides –” He crossed to the kitchen door and gave me one last look. “I’ve got a trump card over Jimmy if I need to use it.”

“You wouldn’t say anything.” It was a fact. He wouldn’t.

John shrugged. “No. But if anyone’s giving me any guff, I can just imagine you with your knickers ‘round your ankles and that’ll be quite a pleasant distraction.”

My jaw dropped but I had no time to respond before John slipped out of the kitchen to the studio.

We’d been about this affair a little over a month now. And it was honestly getting a bit stale. The flirtatious comments and stolen kisses held less excitement. I was starting to wonder if and when things would change between us, hopefully for the more permanent. However, there wasn’t a lot of time to consider any changes between us when things were so busy. I was preparing the girls for back to school the first week of September and John was attending to business matters more frequently. He was also more “inspired” than he had been in a while. That’s the word he used: inspired. Inspiration often struck at night. Sometimes, he’d let me join him in the studio while he tinkered around. Other times, I’d leave him alone and awaken to him slipping into bed with me. Always in my bed, never in the master.

That night, I hadn’t settled since John had left even though the girls were in good spirits over a dinner of macaroni cheese and a jaunt into town for a sweet treat. I was distracted by thoughts of John at Plumpton. Was anyone asking after me? After everything at Montreux and the way I’d left things with Pat, certainly she’d be inquiring. But men weren’t quite like that. They asked after wives and children, not lovers. Or nannies.

Despite him saying not to wait up for him, I waited with a copy of Lady Chatterly’s Lover in my lap going unread.

Every sound of the creaking house had me going to the door to listen and see if it was his keys or his car.

Hour after hour passed. I felt for sure he would call if he were to stay over. Or maybe he wouldn’t to avoid suspicion.

But then I heard it. The jangling, the cursing, the wrong key in the lock.

I opened the door, revealing John. He fumbled forward and grabbed the doorframe to steady himself. His ring of keys rattled against the door. “Julia! You’re up.”

John’s eyes were wobbly. “Don’t tell me you drove drunk,” I said.

“Not drunk, just a little –” He paused, looking down and swallowing back the slurring cadence of his voice. “Tipsy. Only a little.”

“John…you could have gotten yourself killed.”

John took a step forward and stumbled right into my arms, clinging to my shoulders. “Oh, come now, Julia. It’s just a half hour drive.” He kissed me. I tasted fermented grapes on his lips. “Mm. I’ve missed you.”

I couldn’t help but swoon “It’s only been a few hours.”

“A few is too many hours. Especially when everyone was asking about you.”

Oh, how my heart soared to not be too far from his mind. “Well, I missed you too.”

John smiled, leaning in for another kiss. “Pat wanted to know why you haven’t called.” His breath was hot and stale smelling.

I pulled back. “Your breath is –”

 “Peter wanted to know why you hadn’t come along.”

I dodged his mouth again. “John…”

“And Jimmy asked as innocently as he could how you were doing.”

I laughed. “Cheeky bastard.”

“And I realized I had no idea how to answer that question because I haven’t asked you that in some time.”

I stopped, furrowing my brow in bewilderment. John took advantage of my pause and softly kissed me.

“How are you, Julia?”

“Ehm. Fine.”

John pouted out his lower lip. “Just fine?”

“Is that not a good enough answer?”

John raked his hand through my hair, scratching my scalp. “I want you to be more than fine.”

I leaned my head into his hand. In the night, with him, when nothing was off-limits, I felt more than fine. My questions were starting to outpace my enjoyment.

John went in for another kiss.

“Easy,” I giggled, catching his kiss on my cheek. “I wish you would have stayed the night there than risk driving in this state, John.”

“Even if you had to sleep alone?”

“Even if I had to sleep alone. Yes. Now, let’s get this coat off, hm?”

John wriggled his arms, the sleeves sloughing down his arms. “Goddammit.” He started spinning around, trying to get them off.

“Hold still, I’ll get it,” I giggled.

I followed him around in a circle like he was a toddler until I managed to snag the collar and yank the coat off. “Ough, thank you. Thought I was trapped. Like one of those, uh…” He pointed his fingers together in front of him. “Those finger traps, you know?”

“Goodness, how much have you had? Or what have you had?”

John put his hands on my shoulders, intense concentration folding his brow.

“What is it?”

He took a breath as if to say something important. “I’m very hungry.”

I patted his stomach. “Poor thing. Didn’t you all have anything to eat there?”

“No, Jimmy never has anything. I’m not sure he even has any food in the house let alone for guests.”

“So that’s why you’re so tipsy.”

John rolled his eyes in thought. “Mmmwell, I did have a couple of mints from Pat’s purse.” 

I laughed. “Alright. I’ll make you something. Let’s get your shoes off first.”

John tripped past me to the hall bench, landing with a thud on his backside. “Oof.”

I finagled his keys out of the lock and shut the door quietly. The girls had been asleep for several hours and I didn’t want them waking up and asking questions.

“I’ve only had some wine and grass, by the way,” John sighed, leaning forward to undo the laces on his loafers.

“Really? That’s it? I’d hate to see what literally anything else does to you.”

“Out of practice.”

I scoffed at the idea of drugs and alcohol being considered a practice. “Here, let me help.” I knelt to the ground.

“I can undo my shoes, Julia.”

“You can, but you’re being awfully slow about it.” I waved his hands away. “Let me.”

I liked to make myself useful to him in any small way. It was the best way I knew how to show my affection and perhaps lead him to be unable to picture a life without me. I was a woman so perfect, I’d get on my knees just to take off his shoes.

Clearly, I was getting desperate.

“So tell me. How was it?”

John didn’t reply. His breath was heavy, thick with drink. I could feel his eyes watching me. Waiting for something.

I tapped his calf. “Off.”

He pulled his foot out of the shoe and twiddled his toes in the sock.

“Was it what you thought it was?” I asked.

“Hm?”

“Were they trying to get you to start back on the album?”

“Oh, yes, yes. Yes, they were.”

I undid his other shoe and started to pull at it.

“I think I want to.”

I froze. Certainly I must have misheard him. But when our eyes met, I knew I hadn’t.

“I think I’m ready to get back at it.”

I opened my mouth to respond. All that came out was a sound of hesitation.

“It all sounds rather exciting again. I haven't felt that in a while. But knowing you’re here with the girls, I didn't feel quite as worried. And I’m feeling more –”

“Inspired, yes.”

John smiled in such a way that broke my heart. Like a young boy asking his mother if she was proud of him. He wanted my approval.

If I had been more to him, I might have felt compelled to tell him what I really thought. That the girls weren’t ready. That I wasn’t ready.

But I was only the nanny. What he said was gospel. 

“What do you think?”

I swallowed back my concerns and placed my hands on his thighs, getting up on my knees. “It’s wonderful.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes. I’m thrilled for you. I’m sure everyone is…just so thrilled.”

John wrapped my face in his hands and kissed me. “You’re my angel. I would never have felt ready without you.”

“Nonsense.”

“No, really, Julia. Really, really. I…” John was losing cogency by the moment, brain saddled with drink. “I never thought I’d be ready again, but...I just think it’s time. I really do.” The more he spoke, the more assured he was.

“When will you leave?” The word leave stuck in my throat.

“I’ll stick around for the girl’s first day of school and then be off.”

That was barely a week away. “How long?”

“Well, as long as we need. Probably the month. But it’s a short drive. I can visit.”

A month. When the girls were just starting school, Kiera her very first year.

And we…

I had no right to “we”. That was clear now.

I took his hand and squeezed it. “You said you’re hungry. I’ll make you something. What do you want?”

“I’ll eat anything. I’m ravenous.”

I got to my feet, but John did not let go of me. He pulled me down into his lap and buried his face in my neck.

“I’ll have you if you like,” he murmured.

My stomach turned. There was nothing I wanted less at that moment than for him to whisper lewd things in my ear. I squirmed in his arms. “I’m on the rag, John.”

“Mmwhat’s that matter?”

“I’m tired.”

“You won’t have to do anything.”

“I’ve got cramps.”

“It’ll help.”

I finally made it out of his arms and started down toward the kitchen. “Come on and be quiet about it.”

John laid off once we made it into the kitchen and he remembered his empty stomach. He was indeed ravenous, scarfing down a sandwich and babbling on about various events of the night with no regard to chronology or clarity. It didn’t matter. I wasn’t listening. Everything was about to change even more than it already had. And that was all I could focus on.

The next morning, after a fitful night of sleep made even worse by John’s liquor laden snoring, with the girls gathered around the breakfast table and Annie listening as she cleaned, John delivered the news.

“It will only be a few weeks. And I’ll come home as often as I can. And Julia and Annie will be here, of course.”

The girls all looked to me. Their eyes pleaded with me to say something, anything that would validate the way their stomachs had just dropped.

I have regrets in life. For a person to say they haven’t got them is a lie. And sitting at that table with a smile plastered on my face instead of speaking to their fear is one of many regrets I have.

“How does that sound?” John finished with an eager smile.

Tamara spoke, holding her head high, “Good.” She would lead in her appeasing, eldest child way.

“We’ll have a lot of fun,” I said and reached for Jacinda’s hand that was clenching her fork. She looked at me warily. I squeezed harder. “And we’ll talk to your father every day on the phone.”

“Yes, absolutely,” John added. “We’ll have lots of chats and you can tell me everything.”

The girls were silent. They’d been here before. Old hat. Better at this than me.

“And there’s plenty of time before I leave to spend time together. We can do whatever you’d like. Whatever at all.”

“Anything?” Kiera asked. She did not have the skill of conceptualizing the true feeling of John's absence. She would be the hardest to care for.

“Sky is the limit,” John replied. “We’ll start today. Tell me, what would you like to do?”

I couldn’t sit there any longer with my irritated grin. I excused myself from the conversation, saying I needed to use the bathroom. But the moment I left the kitchen, tears filled my eyes.

He couldn’t leave. He shouldn’t. Not when things were so unsure.  

I stumbled to sit at the bottom of the stairs and tried to steady my breathing. A tear rolled down my cheek. I smacked at it like it was a fly. One tear became two, became a deluge. I buried my face in my lap to muffle any sound of my sobs.

Then, I felt a hand on my shoulder. Familiar, yet nowadays so rare. Annie.

She guided me into her arms and held me against her bosom. I wrapped myself around her as if she was my very own mother as she stroked my hair.

“Oh, poor heart…” she murmured. “He’ll be back for you. I promise you that.”

I lifted my head from her lap, finding her foggy gray eyes. Annie cupped my cheek in her hand.

The next thing she said, I’ll never forget.

“But you have to be careful, Julia. This is his life. This will always be his life. The coming and the going. Do you think you can handle that?”

My head knew the answer was “no”. However, my heart was not willing to let him go. Not when we had just begun.

“I can. I can.”

Annie's brow pinched together only momentarily, but enough to let me know she didn't believe me. But instead of carrying on another moment, she kissed my forehead. “Of course, you can.”

tag list: @jimmys-zeppelin, @kari-12-10, @grxtsch, @edal-weis, @ritacaroline, @kyunisixx, @salixfragilis, @rebel-without-a-zeppelin, @jimmypages, @dollyvandal, @cassiana-on-dark-side, @thepinklovewitch, @babyl222, @faisonsunreve, @sastrugie, @seventieswhore, @t4ngerinedr3am, @mayspringcome, @barrettavenue, @foreverandadaydarling, @glimmerofsanity, @matty-heally, @lzep, @jimmysdragonsuit13, @n0quart3r, @larsgoingtomars, @paginate54 (let me know if you’d like to be added 💋)

[highwaytothedangerzone502]

Ghost Story - Chapter 43

Pairing: Rooster x Female OC

Word Count: 2413

Warnings: Mention of death, swearing

Summary: No one will miss a ghost. It'd been a running joke for as long as anyone could remember, something Ghost herself started, and she always said it with a smile on her face or with mirth in her voice. The untouchable stealth pilot in every sense of the word, no one could've predicted the depth of her turmoil over recent events, nor the extremes she would go to in order to protect the man she loved, not even those closest to her. Now, all that was left of the young aviator for Maverick, Hangman, and Rooster were the memories of the past, which would slowly fade with time. She'd come into their lives and made an unforgettable impression, and then, like a ghost, she was gone... Then again, ghosts can't die a second time.

Notes: None

Chapter Songs: Broken Halos Let It Hurt Humble and Kind

****

Ghost

The last thing Ghost remembered was telling Rooster how she got her callsign because she knew those moments in the waves were her last. The words had been challenging to get out with her labored breathing, but Ghost managed to tell the story. Then, the moment the rescue team lifted her out of the water, Ghost blacked out, 

When she woke, Ghost found herself in a strangely small room, bright white and nearly empty. She attempted to sit up, but her body refused to move. Only her head could turn from side to side. She glanced to her left: nothing. She glanced to her right and felt the relief course through her. Maverick sat there, staring blankly into space. Ghost had so many questions, but one immediately rose to the top: "Where's Rooster?"

Her voice sounded strange and far away, almost like it wasn't her speaking, but it still captured Maverick's attention. His green eyes dazedly met hers, but rather than having their usual warmth and paternal care in them, Ghost saw nothing but grief. "He's dead."

Her brain, her heart, her entire being failed to comprehend his words. "He- what? No, no, Rooster was alive when we- he can't-"

"He's gone, Ghost. Dead on arrival."

"H-how is that possible? It's not possible-" Ghost struggled to sit up, desperate to get off the bed and grab onto Maverick, to tell him to stop with the sick joke and tell her where Rooster really was, but her body continued to be paralyzed. "How did it happen?"

"I don't know. No one will tell me." Tears filled Maverick's eyes and trickled down his cheeks. "You promised me you'd get him home."

Ghost broke down into sobs. "I know I did, and I'm so sorry, Mav. I'm so sorry."

"Saying 'sorry' won't bring my son back," Maverick snapped, standing up and towering over her. "What the hell were you thinking taking him up there? Why didn't you take me? It should've been me! You should've tried harder!"

"Mav, please, I tried to get him home," Ghost wept, hating the look of betrayal and rage on his face. "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sor-"

"But you didn't try your hardest because he's dead! I've lost my son, the last piece of Goose I had left, all thanks to you. It should've been you and only you who crashed."

"I kno-"

"It should've been you who died, Ghost, not Rooster. He had someone waiting for him to return. You didn't. Your whole family is dead. You didn't even have any friends waiting for you because you pushed all of them away."

"Mav, stop," Ghost pleaded, each word striking her heart with unwavering accuracy, causing the emotional pain to build on top of the grief over losing Rooster. "You're hurt, and it's my fault, but please stop saying-"

"What? The truth?"

"Harsh words, Pops," Hangman said from the pitch-black doorway, leaning against the frame. Mav whirled around, and Hangman held up his hands. "Don't stop on my account. There's no love lost for me."

"Jake," Ghost breathed, stunned by his statement. "You don't- we've had our problems-"

"Problems? We've had them?" he scoffed, stepping forward and replacing Maverick, who eerily disappeared within the blink of an eye. "We still have them! You will always be a problem to me, Ghost, because you were my first love and my first heartbreak. You didn't simply break my heart, you fucking shattered it into a billion pieces that I'm still picking up to this day. You tell me you're not interested in starting things again, but then you sleep with me and give me hope, but then I find out it's just because you can't get Rooster! So cue the re-shattering of the few pieces of my heart that I was able to put back together."

"We agreed it meant nothing more-"

"Just because I agreed doesn't mean I didn't hope! I loved you, Ghost, and for whatever reason, I still do. I wanted to marry you. I wanted to have kids with you, have a family, and you- you threw it all away for a guy you can never have. He's dated your best friend, and your moral code won't allow you to be with him, not fully. And before you even bring it up, I don't give a shit if Bryn said she was okay with it. Deep down-" Hangman bent over her, their faces mere inches apart- "you know she's not. She loved Rooster for years, and you broke them up. That's all you do, Ghost. You break things. You broke our relationship, your friendships with Rooster and Bryn, your relationship with your mom. Hell, you were even fighting with your dad and Ghoul before they died. Guess it was only a matter of time before Rooster died, seeing as how you two have been at odds for so long. Mav and I are probably next."

"Who says you aren't already?" Rooster's calm voice sounded from Ghost's left. She whipped her head around, unable to believe her eyes. 

"Bradley? I thought you were dead," Ghost whispered, the knot in her throat making it near impossible to speak. "Mav told me you're dead."

"I am." Rooster sat in the chair previously occupied by Maverick, and Hangman backed up into the black void of the doorway, disappearing into thin air.

"I'm sorry, Bradley. It's my fault," Ghost sobbed, straining to reach for his hand. Much to her frustration, her body stayed paralyzed. 

Rooster turned to face her, disgust evident in his brown eyes. "For what, exactly? You're going to need to be more specific."

Despite the bizarreness of the situation, let alone the fact she was talking to Rooster's ghost, she continued, "For getting you killed. I promised Maverick and myself I'd get you home safely, and I failed. I'm sorry for making you think I didn't return your feelings after all these years, and for pushing you away when all I wanted to do was pull you close and never let you go."

"Yeah, well, it's not like it ever would've worked between us," Rooster said distastefully. "Hangman still has you wrapped around his finger, and I can't be with a woman who I'm constantly going to worry about whether or not she's being faithful."

His words were a slap in the face. "I would never-"

"But you did. You don't form attachments, Ghost. If you did, you would've spent more time mourning your breakup with him rather than sleeping with me a couple of weeks later."

"We were drunk and-"

"Don't blame the alcohol."

"It's the only time things ever happened between us, though-"

"Affairs aren't only physical. They're emotional too, and you can't tell me you didn't have one with me. I saw you lie to him about who you were hanging out with when you were alone with me. I saw you-"

"I never did that! Jake trusted me-"

"That was his mistake. Does he know how soon you slept with me after you two broke up? Does he know you slept with me before you two got together again? Does he know you only slept with him on New Year's because you couldn't have me?"

"Stop," Ghost demanded weakly, squeezing her eyes shut in an attempt to block out the words, truth or not. She prayed for someone- anyone- to take her far, far away from the hospital, to get her away from the harsh words, the true and the false. Ghost beat herself enough for all the problems and pain she caused. She didn't need Maverick, Hangman, and Rooster chiming in. 

Bradley's criticisms slowly faded away, replaced by a steady beeping. Hesitantly, Ghost opened her eyes, hoping the malicious words wouldn't return. To her surprise, Hangman's face greeted her, but rather than the hate-filled stare from moments ago, she saw nothing but love and relief. 

What in the ever-living fuck is going on? Ghost thought, scanning the room. A dim light illuminated the area, and people passed by the well-lit doorway. The familiar hum and shuddering of the carrier rumbled beneath her, of all things, convinced her this was reality. Whatever hell she'd just endured had been only a nightmare. If that was the case, perhaps her biggest fear had not come to pass. She had to find out. Mustering up her strength, she asked, "Where's Rooster?"

"Told you that'd be her first question," Maverick joked despite sounding exhausted. Ghost turned her head to look at him, eyes wide with fear. "Mav-"

"He's in his bunk sleeping. Pain medicine finally kicked in, and he's taking advantage of it."

Ghost blinked back tears, the relief nearly overwhelming. "How badly is he injured?"

"Broken leg, compressed spine, and some cuts and bruises, but nothing life-threatening. Only the leg required surgery."

"Oh, thank God..."

"You, on the other hand-" Hangman started, sitting on the edge of her bed- "have a broken wrist, concussion, compressed spine, punctured lung, and broken ribs. You flatlined on the doctors during surgery too."

"How-how am I not dead?" Ghost asked, unable to help herself.

"Don't know, but you certainly gave it your best shot." Jake rested his hand on her knee and squeezed it gently. "Thankfully, you had shit aim."

Ghost started laughing but stopped immediately when the pain in her abdomen flared up. "Don't make me laugh. It hurts."

"Sorry. So, how are you feeling?"

"Like shit," Ghost admitted, a flood of memories returning to her. The urge to break down suddenly reared its ugly head. The epiphany of how close she came to dying, of how close Rooster came to dying, hit her hard and fast. 

"Hangman, why don't you go get Bradley? He'll want to see her," Maverick suggested. Jake agreed, bent down and kissed Ghost on the forehead, then strutted out of the room.

The moment she was left alone with Maverick, Ghost's walls crumbled, and she broke down into tears. She clutched her head, which throbbed from her concussion and the emotions coursing through her. The body-wracking sobs pained her broken ribs, but she couldn't stop crying. The memories of her nightmare didn't help, and while she knew that everything Maverick said in it had been a lie, Ghost still felt horrendously guilty for what she put him through. One look at his haggard expression told her as such. 

"I'm so sorry, Mav," Ghost said through her tears. 

Confusion etched itself onto his face. "What for?"

"I failed you. I promised I'd get Rooster back to you, but instead, I nearly got him killed and-"

"Hey, hey, hey, listen to me: you didn't fail me," Maverick interrupted softly yet firmly. "Rooster is alive, thanks to you, okay? Even if he had died, you wouldn't have failed me because I know you would've done everything in your power to try and get him back to me. I am so proud of you, Ghost. What you did to get you both back to this carrier is no small feat. I'm not sure I could've pulled it off."

"Yeah, you could've," Ghost replied, sniffling as her tears abated as quickly as they'd come. "After all, my thought process was WWMD: what would Maverick do?"

He grinned. "And sneak onto an enemy base and steal a plane was what popped into your head?" 

"I know, I know, you would never do something like that."

"Might've done it once." Maverick took ahold of her good hand and squeezed it, green eyes glistening with unshed tears. "It's good to see you up and talking, Ghost. It was pretty touch-and-go there for a while. We weren't sure you were going to make it."

"Guess the saying is true: ghosts can't die a second time."

"Maybe, but I'd appreciate it if you don't test that theory again."

"We'd all appreciate that," Hangman added, walking back into the room with Rooster on his heels. "For the record, I've never seen a man move so fast on crutches on a ship, although people were moving out of our way to avoid getting whacked by his crutches. Pretty sure Cyclone was a victim of it."

Had it been any other time, Rooster most likely would've hit Hangman with his crutches, but not now. Instead, his focus remained solely on Ghost, a myriad of emotions flashing in his brown eyes. His shoulders as he asked, "How are you feeling?"

"I'm alive, thanks to you," Ghost said, thinking back to him holding her in the waves.

"I didn't-"

"You kept my head above the water. I might've been out of it, but I remember you grabbing me before I went under."

"I thought you were dead."

Ghost tilted her head in bewilderment. "But I was talking to you. I was telling you how I got my callsign."

Rooster blanched. "No, you were unconscious. You were barely breathing. If you were telling me you callsign-"

Although Ghost knew how he intended to finish that sentence, she cut him off with a different answer. "Then I must've been dreaming it."

"Yeah..."

An uncomfortable silence settled over the four of them, and Ghost wished Rooster would come within touching distance, so she could grab onto his hand as a reassurance that she wasn't dreaming again. However, he stayed out of reach, physically and emotionally.

Rooster cleared his throat. "I'm, uh, I'm glad to see you up. I'm going to head back to my bunk. Pain meds are making me a little wobbly, and I don't want to overcrowd the room-"

Maverick raised a suspicious eyebrow at his son. "If you want us to leave, we c-"

"No, no, it's fine. She and I both need rest. I'll, uh, see you later."

Rooster hobbled out of the room, leaving Maverick and Hangman more than a little perplexed and Ghost hurt.

"Bradshaw's always been weird," Hangman drawled, turning his attention from the doorway to his two companions, "but what the hell was that?"

"It's probably the pain medicine," Ghost lied, playing nonchalant despite the rapid beating of her heart monitor, most likely giving away her attempted deception. "Let him rest."

"Speaking of which, I know you just woke up, but you should be getting some, too," Maverick insisted, brushing a piece of hair out of her face. 

Ghost wanted to argue, but seeing Rooster, narrowly escaping death, and the emotional turmoil of the past twenty-four hours caught up with her. Ghost could only nod in response before her eyelids became too heavy to keep open.

****

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