#you can’t tell me that dragon didn’t love him okay. HE FOUGHT DEATH FOR HIM. GOD.

[razables]

some godwyns and fortissaxs

[startanewdream]

*Harry looked at his mother."Stay close to me," he said quietly.* Could you write something about Harry having this moment with Lily, but in your world where Jily lives? Perhaps after Dumbledore's death, or at the end of the War, after Voldemort died. I don't know, I feel that Harry would be very attached to his mother in these important moments, and maybe if you want, your world where Jily lives is just perfect <3

Hey! Thank you so much for this prompt @sweeethinny! I love writing Lily and Harry’s moments together and this one is so special in the books!

Now, in the world I imagine, there are actually few moments that Harry needs his mother and she isn’t there. Then I thought about Voldemort’s ressurrection and the duel after, because this version of Priori Incantatem would have no James or Lily appearing. So Harry is alone... and he really needs his mother afterwards.

And then I finally wrote a version of the Third Task through Lily’s eyes, which is pure angst, really, but full of Lily’s mother love.

It’s on AO3 or below:

Their hug is so fleeting that Lily wonders if that moment will haunt her later.

She admonishes herself for ever thinking about that. Nothing will happen; it’s the Third Task and soon, whether Harry wins or not, this damn tournament will be over.

So for now, she hugs Harry but lets him go quickly, knowing he feels embarrassed of being hugged in public, and watches as James slids his hand fondly through Harry’s hair to mess it as much as he can. Harry smiles at them, nervous and a little excited too, and then he leaves them with the other champions.

James squeezes her hand as they sit again at the table, though neither is hungry anymore. In front of them, Hermione gives her a comforting smile, while Ron shakes his head.

‘Wanna bet he will end up winning this thing after all?’, he asks, turning to his brothers. Lily watches as they start betting on how long it will take for Harry to get out of the maze with the Cup in his hand, coins passing through their hands.

Her heart fills with a warm glee. They are betting on Harry. Never against him. 

They walk to the Quidditch Field, James and Ron complaining about the mess they’ve made in the field and discussing how it will be the next season, how much Harry will need to train in the Summer for making up for the year he lost without any match.

‘He caught an egg dragon’, Ginny notes brightly, right next to Hermione. ‘What is a Golden Snitch after that?’

They laugh and Lily lets that sound warm her too; she has been shivering ever since they left the castle, though the summer night is warm. There is just something in the air tonight that makes her feel ill. A calm before the storm, with just the wind announcing the change that will come.

It’s probably just the nervousness. She couldn’t show to Harry, during their free day at Hogwarts, how apprehensive she was, but now her nerves are probably catching on with her. These tasks seemed so dangerous after all, and Harry is still so young…

The air around her is calmer than in the other tasks, however. People are talking excitedly, everyone wondering who will be the champion; now and then, even amongst students of other schools, she hears Harry’s name. He was the underdog, but now he is a favourite - not because of being the Boy-Who-Lived, but because of his achievements so far. First with that dragon, with the way Harry had flown nearly perfect, acting smart and dancing around it, much better than his parents’ original suggestion of attacking it in the eye; and then, during that boring Second Task, when it was announced that Harry had taken longer only because he was worried about all other hostages, not just his.

Lily had been worried with his delay, but she had no heart to chide him later. He was never in danger after all, and Harry was just being his usual selfless; he always had a tendency to defend others. Lily could not complain about her son being a fair player.

‘He will be okay’, James whispers to her as they take their places at the stands, and Lily forces herself to smile. 

The sound of the whistle, marking the beginning of the Third Task, makes her jump, but with all the noise and confusion around her, no one seems to notice it. That’s better. She doesn’t need to infect her worries with others.

There doesn’t seem to be anything for her to worry, though. The first hour passes quickly. They can’t see anything inside the maze, but Bagman provides a few commentaries about what the champions have just faced - a boggart, an acromantula, a hole in the ground, blast-ended skrewts (though Lily is not sure she knows that), a disorientation fog, riddles, giant snakes.

And then it’s announced that the Beauxbatons champion is out. Lily remembers seeing that beautiful girl and wonders what happened to her, feels sorry she had to leave.

Ten minutes later, when Bagman announces the Durmstrang champion has left too, the crowd explodes in glee and noises around her. Now it’s only Harry and the Diggory boy on the run, which means a Hogwarts’ win in any case.

And now, for the first time, so close to the end, Lily really wonders how it would be if Harry really wins the tournament, instead of just surviving it. She can see the way he would beam, surprised and proud, how he would raise the cup and people would cheer around him; how Harry would be really happy because he won on his merits, and not because of something he did when he was one-year-old. That would be Harry’s victory, only his.

James will make sure to keep the cup in the middle of their living room; he will tell everyone how his son just won the Triwizard Tournament (‘and all the other champions were already of age, but Harry did not let that scare him, he fought bravely and won all the tasks! My son! Triwizard Champion!’).

And Lily can’t help but think that it’s her son, the son of a muggleborn witch, who will win the most traditional tournament, and what this means to her and other people like her. Oh, she will not mind gloating about this for once.

But the minutes go on, and there are no more announcements, Bagman’s voice silent and the excitement from the crowd is turning into whispers, questions, worries.

There is something wrong, Lily thinks, and she doesn’t need to say out loud because now not even James is frowning, quiet.

There is a commotion in the field, a bright colourful light that lasts for a second (‘Was that a portkey?’, James asks, confused), then she watches Dumbledore and the Minister rushing forward, but she can’t really see anything else. Then the whispers begin, those same words repeated in a crescendo as more people know about it and pass it on, a deadly song.

‘He is dead. Dead!’

She holds James’ hand as not to fall now. Everything is dark around her, and Lily is in a nightmare she can’t wake up, thinking of that last fleeting hug she gave on Harry; she should have hugged him more, refusing to let him leave the safety of her arms for the unknown. Why did she let him go? She feels the fire of the dragon burning her skin alive, the coldness of the deep of the lake and the still air of the maze that Harry entered to never come out -

‘Cedric Diggory! Dead!’

And it’s the first breath of air as she leaves that horrible nightmare, a relief beyond words, a lightness that comes to her as Lily understands it is not Harry that died…

Then it is guilt, a horrible feeling of being the worst person on the planet, because how can she be happy that someone else is dead? How can she actually smile when another parent will mourn their child today?

But there is no easy answer, no trying to understand what happened, just a primal urge to get to Harry and to make sure her son is safe.

She will worry about everything else later.

________________

‘Now I have work for each of you. Fudge's attitude, though not unexpected, changes everything’. Dumbledore is saying, looking at them all, and Lily knows what he will ask even before he says it.

She glances at Harry instead.

His face is pale, his eyes more troubled than a fourteen-year-old should have the right to be, and yet she can see he is watching everything with attention. He is trying to understand what is happening right now, as if witnessing Voldemort’s return and the crazy lunatics of that fake Mad-Eye Moody was not enough.

He needs to sleep - a dreamless sleep so he can begin to recover, as hard as that it will be.

Dumbledore turns first to Snape, asking him to do something if he is ready, and from the corner of her eyes Lily sees Snape’s eyes flickering briefly in her direction. She pretends not to have noticed it, as she has done every time they happened to meet before - it is easy because most of the time Snape doesn’t even seem to be able to look at her. And tonight she has more pressing things in her mind than an old friendship.

She knows Dumbledore will turn to her and James as soon as Snape leaves the room.

And he does, asking for their help to gather the old gang. The Order of the Phoenix.

Lily thinks of everyone that won’t be there for this second time and tries not to let this crush her heart. She doesn’t have time for old grieves today either. Harry needs her.

And, by God, how he needs. She sees the bandages in his arm, in his head; there are dark spots under his eyes, giving him a spooky look - he slept so little before he was awakened with the cries in the hall. And now the world he knows is falling around him, even if he doesn’t understand the full extension yet…

Everything will change now.

‘I will go’, James says softly, and Lily sees him watching her and Harry. James looks somber, much more than she has seen him in the last thirteen years, with that expression she didn’t really miss: the face of a soldier that was getting in a war he didn’t want to, but he would because he believed in everything he was fighting for.

She doesn’t want him to go, but someone has to, Lily knows. It is very important that people know the truth before it can be muffled, and they need to be ready. They need as much advantage as they can get.

Still, the idea of being away from James right now hurts her almost physically, an old familiar feeling of the unknowns that a war brings.

‘But… Dad…’, Harry’s voice is weak, but it is his tone that scares Lily. Harry sounds afraid for the first time that night - as if he too understands the possibility that James will walk off the door and not return.

She thinks of Cedric Diggory. His parents watched him enter a maze and he never returned. She can’t promise safety for Harry, not anymore; his trust in it has been broken forever.

He has faced death now.

‘I will be back before you awake, Harry’, James says soothingly, patting Harry’s feet over the blanket. ‘Right now I must do what I can, okay?’

Harry doesn’t look like he agrees, but he whispers: ‘Okay’.

James glances back at Lily. In those few seconds, she can read the fear in his eyes, not for himself, but for them; being away from his family at this moment doesn’t feel right for him either. But there is a fierce resolution in his eyes too, a notion of duty that James Potter will do everything he can for them, and Lily answers with a soft kiss on his lips.

Come back for us, is what she says in that kiss. If you want to do something for us, then come back.

‘I love you’, James whispers quietly, only for her, and she hears his promise of return in his voice.

And then he is gone.

She turns to Harry, sitting at the edge of his bed. Dumbledore tells him he will talk to the Diggorys and Lily closes her eyes as he leaves, fighting back a will to cry. It is the easiest thing to imagine what the Diggorys are going through and that scares her a lot.

Oh, God, Lily thinks to herself. Voldemort has returned only for a couple of hours now, the war has not even really begun, and she is fearful of everything already.

But she puts on her brave face. Later, when she is alone (or rather with James, his arms around her, preferably in the bedroom of the house they built together), she will let her feelings flow. Now, she needs to be there for Harry.

Lily opens her eyes, looking around. Ron and Hermione are staring at Harry, biting their lips as if they are on the edge of speech, but Harry’s eyes are fixed on the ceiling and nobody talks for a while.

She grabs the bottle of potion in the bedside cabinet, brushing the sack of gold as she does it. The sack falls in the ground, the sounds of metal coins echoing in the room. Harry winces as if that pains him.

‘You need to take your potion, Harry’, Lily tells him kindly, picking up the sack on the floor.

‘I don’t want it’, Harry murmurs. ‘The gold, I mean, I shouldn’t have won it. Ced… Cedric should have it’.

Lily tries to stop her hand from shaking as she uncorks the bottle of potion. It doesn’t work, but Harry doesn’t seem to notice as he holds the potion she gives him.

His brows are furrowed as if he is trying very hard to control himself. 

‘It wasn’t your fault, Harry’, she tells him, knowing she will have to repeat it a thousand times until he believes it.

‘It is’, he argues emotionless. ‘I told him to come with me. He was… the spare’.

Lily doesn’t know what he means by that, but she can’t ask right now. Harry is breathing through his mouth now, his lips trembling and he absolutely refuses to look at anyone. She knows his expression.

It’s the same on her face when she can’t cry at the moment.

Harry doesn’t want an audience. He was never one to feel comfortable with his emotions in public.

‘Drink your potion’, she orders gently, trying to force him to lie down, though he remains sitted. ‘We will let you rest -’

‘No’, he cuts her off, taking her hand in his. Harry looks around briefly, his head down as if he doesn’t want to meet anyone’s eyes, and then he whispers: ‘Stay... stay close to me’.

It’s the way Harry says it that breaks her. His voice is guilty as if he doesn’t want to be this weak, this dependant, the words seemingly escaping his mouth against his will. He is pleading to her, asking for comfort as he did when he was three-year-old and the thunder scared him and he was ashamed of it; Lily remembers him refusing James’ company, asking specifically for hers instead.

It is a son’s plea for his mother.

‘I’m always with you, Harry’, she promises him, bending down and placing her arms around her. She thinks Harry should hate her, because she feels a liar - she wasn’t there for her son tonight. Harry faced everything alone, as brave as he could, but all by himself, him against Voldemort, no lingering ghost of his parents to support him.

And yet Harry doesn’t yell, doesn’t accuse her of anything. He accepts her, raising his arms to hug her too almost desperately, and Lily hears him sobbing. It is a cry of misery, a cry that speaks how tired her teenage son is and how sorrowful he is for everything that happened, even when it is not his fault.

‘I’m here’, she tells him softly, caressing his hair, urging him to feel he is loved and protected by his mother.

There is a loud noise and they break apart. Harry’s face is drenched with tears and, as Lily blinks hers away, she realizes she was crying too. She dries them away quickly, before quietly wiping Harry’s face too. He is refusing to meet her eyes now, looking embarrassed and so young.

She kisses his forehead tenderly.

'Sleep, Harry', she whispers.

Harry takes the potion, drinking it in one gulp, and then his head is falling heavily on the pillow. Lily arranges his hair, then smoothes his blanket. Now, at least, in a dreamless sleep, Harry looks calmer, more like the fourteen-year-old boy he should be and yet never will.

She sits back on the chair, in a quiet vigil, waiting for James to return so they can be there, together, for when Harry wakes up.

[young-dumb-and-vaccinated]

The Cult Girl (Hannibal x Female!Reader) pt. 10

Cult girl starts feeling the consequences of her actions and Hannibal lets her in on a secret.

Trigger warning: brief discussions of emotional manipulation, violent ideation

You had some trouble getting back to sleep, but eventually, you drifted into a dreamless state of half-consciousness. The sun rose particularly late that morning, even for summer. You didn’t want to open your eyes because the second you left that bed, you’d have to answer for your peculiar behavior the night before. The thought of having to face your psychologist boyfriend after such an objectively strange midnight rendezvous made you want to run for the hills and never return. 

You briefly considered sneaking out. Just, grabbing your shoes and tiptoeing out the back like a teenage runaway. But the more you thought on it, the more you realized it wouldn’t work. You knew deep down that Hannibal would eventually corner you and make you spill the contents of your dark and twisted soul. Might as well save whatever honor you had left. 

“Good morning, love.” Hannibal greeted you with a cup of coffee. He seemed quite pleased. 

You forced a smile. “Hi.” 

“Darling, I must say,” He began, pouring himself a cup. “If I knew killing had that effect on you, I would have slaughtered your cousin sooner.”

You covered your face with your hand. “Any chance we could just forget that happened?” 

“Oh, no, love.” Hannibal shook his head. “I knew you had it in you to take a person’s life, but to enjoy it? That, I’m intrigued by.” 

“It wasn’t a person, it was Theresa.” You groaned and rested your head in your hand. “And, yeah, okay. So I like the fact that you can be my knight in shining armor and slay the dragon.”

“But you were no passive damsel, were you?” Hannibal teased. “I recall you saying you wanted to eat her heart.” 

“I didn’t want to.” You protested. “I said I dreamed that I did.” 

“And aren’t dreams a reflection of subconscious desire?” Hannibal corrected.

“You seem...” You began, feeling confused. “Strangely okay with this?” 

“So there’s a ‘this’, now?” He raised his eyebrows.

“No.” You shook your head. “I mean, shouldn’t it raise some psychological red flags when I start fantasizing about mutilating the corpse of my abuser?”

“You’ve been in school long enough to identify the source of these violent thoughts.” Hannibal said. “You tell me.” 

You dropped your shoulders and looked down into your coffee. “Being orphaned and subsequently blamed for my mother’s violent death, the concept of inflicting violence on others was normalized for me. Growing up the youngest of three, surrounded by emotional abuse, I internalized feelings of powerlessness. I expressed this through a fascination with horror and gore. Violent revenge fantasy was often my only escape from a hostile home environment.” 

“Very good.” He praised, taking a sip of coffee. “And do you remember what you suggested we do with the body last night?” 

You swallowed. “...eat it.” 

“Why did you suggest that, darling?” 

“I mean, just hypothetically speaking,” You took a deep breath in. “It just sounds practical. Like, it gets rid of the body, or at least the biodegradable parts. And you can’t ID a body from just bones, so you could just grind them up into a powder and fling ‘em off a bridge.” 

“You’ve thought about this before, have you?” Hannibal seemed proud. 

“Look, I wasn’t given enough affection as a child.” You laughed uncomfortably. “Sometimes you cope by learning the most efficient ways to get away with murder even if you have no plan to use them. It’s not that weird.” 

“I think it’s just the right amount of weird.” Hannibal took a seat next to you. “However, love, what you know in theory is useless without practice. But practice can be arranged.” 

You considered it for a minute. Then it dawned on you. You briefly shot him a horrified look, realizing that he had the practice but not having the guts to say it out loud. He’d killed before and he’d eaten people before. And you had too. 

No words had to be exchanged because within seconds the understanding was there. If you told anyone, he’d slaughter you without question. You’d be the main course at his next dinner party. 

You broke the silence with a quiet, but nonetheless enthused, “I agree.” 

“Of course, I wouldn’t let my darling just bite into a human heart, no matter how much she wants to.” He said, playing with a stray blade of your hair. “That’s too messy. And it would make her sick.” 

"Right." You agreed, still feeling hesitant to sign on to anything.

"It's only cannibalism if we are equals." Hannibal assured you. "And Theresa has proven time and time again that she is so devastatingly beneath us."

That last word echoed in your ear. 'Us'. He saw you as his equal. He wanted you by his side. You felt a smile grace your lips. "And we could make her into... whatever we want?"

"In due time, love." Hannibal shared your smile. "We haven't gotten away with it quite yet."

Your phone buzzed against the table, your roommate's icon flashing across the screen. You brought the phone to your ear, your hand trembling.

"Stephanie?" You said.

"Shit, [F/N], thank fuck." Stephanie answered, sounding like she was just through running a marathon. "Look, I don't know why, but the police are looking for you."

You felt a pang of terror in your chest and it hit you all at once. You met eyes with Hannibal. "...why?!"

"Said something about a missing person?" Stephanie explained. "I don't know, they came to the apartment looking for you. I didn't want to tell them but goddamn Miranda let it slip that you were at your boyfriend's place."

"God damn it, Randy." You cursed under your breath. "Okay, thanks for the heads-up, Steph."

You ended the call and fought the urge to chuck the phone across the room. Of course, Hannibal was calm as ever.

You started spewing every expletive in your vocabulary in one long string.

"Oh fuck me, I'm going to fucking prison." You said, panic eclipsing the anger.

You were about to throw your hands up when he grabbed you by the shoulders and looked into your eyes.

"You are not going to prison." Hannibal said with seemingly unwarranted certainty. "They have nothing on you."

You nodded along, though you couldn't follow his logic.

"You need to do exactly as I say, got it?" Hannibal's voice dropped to a low whisper. "Then when you get back home, we can make your favorite dinner, okay?"

[demialwrites]

It Will Be Okay - Ch 2 Smut

Female Reader for this chapter. You're perfectly valid if you pretend this second chapter doesn't exist! If you prefer gender neutral reader and no smut! I just really liked the set-up of the last chapter. :)

The familiar dumb lust was gently tugging you down to thoughtlessness but you had to stay present. It had been a while since sleeping with someone. There was a lot of asking "here?" or "like this?" answered by "no, too much!" or "here, I'll show you." Extra sensitive, you had to go slow or finish early. No matter, you had the gaze of this handsome man to bask in. And any time you grew nervous, you took your cue for how to feel from Zhongli. He seemed to be incapable of nervousness. Touching foreheads and gazes locked, you were getting each other off. You gently bucked your hips into the sensation of his two fingers stroking just where you like, just where you had showed him. You glanced down at the cock in you grasp and found yourself licking your lips. You squeezed some precum from the tip, wiped it with your thumb, and used it to further slick your strokes. There were no loud moans to be found in this bed. Zhongli's dazed expressed and pleased hums told you that you were making him feel good. You gladly got lost in his beautiful, unique eyes. He blinked. "Why are you smiling?" You blinked, also. "What? I was?" "Yes. Were you thinking about something?" "No." "Mmm. I'm going to add another finger." Your response was to widen your legs, as if that would help ease the stretch. It did not. He could tell it hurt. "Are you sure I can't talk you out of this?" "No." You gritted your teeth as the knuckles pushed inside. "I told you I wanna know." "...Alright." You couldn't pass up the chance to be speared by his hybrid dragon cock. Nothing wrong with normal, human cock but it was proportionately bigger when he wore the scales and horns. You were almost deterred when he said, staring deep into your eyes, "Hurting you would hurt me." It backfired on him because being sweet just made you want him more. Also, you could always never do it again. "Four is close enough," he announced ten minutes later. Finally. At first, you couldn't wait to feel his fingers inside your pulsing cunt and now you couldn't wait to upgrade to cock. Zhongli sat up and wiped his fingers off with a nearby hankerchief. You smiled; It was just like him to have one on hand. Then horns stretched out of his hair and scales emerged from along his jaw. You took a deep breath, still not used to the transformation. He looked more animal than human when he buried his face between your legs and inhaled. The tip of his tail smacked the floor behind him. When he got his fill, he asked, "Are you ready?" Nervous and excited, you nodded. He parted your knees even wider and settled between them. "Don't forget to relax." You thought you detected a hint of worry in his voice, which actually helped. You fought back the urge to gasp and tense as he guided the head of his large cock in. "Thankfully, you're quite wet," he muttered more to himself than to you. It was true but you still pulled the pillow on top of your head, hiding your deeply flushed face. "We can stop," he said, his low tone a warning. "No!" you shouted from your hiding place. The shallow, beginning thrusts already pushed quiet moans from your lips. After what seemed like forever of him being gentle and slow, the bed started to creak in a steady rhythm. You bit down on the pillowcase; this was what you were after, having as much of Zhongli inside you as you could take. You clung to his waist with weak legs. The dumb lust returned in force and all you could do was hug the pillow tight, enjoy the ride, and hope that the entire of Liyue didn't hear your cries. Something warm skimmed your stomach. His long tail began to snake around your middle. When your back arched, it snuck underneath. He wound it around your chest next, and up, until it reached your face. When the tip of it pressed on your tongue, you closed your lips on reflex. Zhongli hadn't slowed down in the least, so you bit down on the appendage. "Good girl," he growled gently. You were grateful for something to bite because his tail was now helping you slam onto his cock. Zhongli checked once if it hurt. He had done this a few times before in his lifetime but he never felt hurting his partner was worth the pleasure. "You stopped?" was the dazed question he got in reply. He politely apologized and resumed fucking your brains out with another growl. Your orgasm was an afterthought, in that it sounded like just another loud moan. You didn't stop him when he kept going. He was a disciplined man and sex was no different, so he teetered on the edge until your legs couldn't hold him anymore and your drool smeared down his tail. Sweat had long-soaked into the mattress. He fisted the sheets on either side of your body as he spilled into you. For a dragon, that's three times and three what could be called "mini-orgasms." After he withdrew, he closed your legs in a useless effort to hold his seed inside. He knew it, he just did it anyway. Now a full human, he lay down next to you. He pulled the pillow from your face, then tucked it under your head. Zhongli picked at the small holes in the sheets, noting that his claws had come out while he was unawares. Perhaps, he had gone too far. It had been too long and perhaps, he got too excited? Mortals only live so long and he didn't want to miss a second of your life now that he found you. He couldn't go ahead and fuck you to death. He sighed, shooting you a worried glance. You peeked at him through heavily-lidded eyes and smiled liked you just woke up from a great nap. Oh, good. You were fine. His cheeks felt oddly warm. He touched them, confused. Then...he remembered. This was a blush. He hadn't worn one in years. He gathered you in his arms because it felt like the right thing to do and also to hide his burning cheeks. Next was the after-sex rituals. Zhongli loved this part. He gave you a hot bath, wrapped you in a thick robe, and served you all the herbal you could drink. In that order. After you left, or fell asleep, he treated himself to the same. As the immortal one of you two, it was the least he could do to let you go first.

[khadij-al-kubra]

Storytelling, Fate & Happy Endings

I’m still processing last nights episode (CR C2 Ep140), and much like every critter I’m SUPER emotional about it. But something about last night’s events and how they played out really got to me, not just as a fan but also as a storyteller. And even the day after, i was actually crying (still am crying in fact) more than i did last night watching it happen. At first i thought it was because i’m a fairly new critter and this is my first time watching a campaign come to an end. But the more i think about it and process, the more i realize that’s not just it. This effected me as someone who deeply believes in the power of storytelling and how it can not only effect but reflect the world around us. And because I have to get them out of my head, here are my thoughts on why last nights episode was so important, not just for CR fans but also as a an important narrative for right now.

...Yeah that’s a bit vague, isn’t it? Okay, let me explain. If you’re willing to take the time to read fellow Critters, I greatly appreciate it in advance. ^__^

WARNING: Major spoilers for CR Campaign 2 Episode 140 ahead. Also it’s gonna get kind of meta. And long. Because i have a lot of thoughts & feels.

So I think it’s fair to say that, as much as we would’ve been devastated by any of the M9 perma-dying in the last battle, part of us wasn’t expecting them all to make it out of there alive. Not even the players, I think, despite how much they likely didn’t want that to happen. Just look at the half-resigned way Liam talks about Caleb in the last few Talks Machina episodes. Or how, in game, Jester was fully prepare to die trying to stop the city from coming back. And for a while there, it seemed like some of them might not survive.

But then they did. Despite so many crappy rolls throughout the night they stopped Lucien, set free all the souls trapped in Aeor, saved Exandria, and brought each other back from the dead. Not only that, but they also did the impossible: They saved Mollymauk. Their lost friend who had such a deep impact on all of them even after his death. The delightfully charming asshole who was so full of joy and life and who, despite how the world treated him, was happily determined to leave every place better than he found it. Moreover, they almost didn’t succeed! But then they did, all because of teamwork, love and one last minute ditch effort ‘what-the-hell-have-i-got-to-lose’ dice role that none of them saw coming. And now they get to go home together, truly as The Mighty NINE.

Just this once, everybody lived! We got a happy ending!

And that’s HUGE in game...but also think for a second how that reflects outside of game too. Do you realize what a story like that means to people, especially given the year from Hell we’ve all had?

Think about it. This past year the world has suffered. We’ve all been impacted by the pandemic in some way shape or form, either on small levels or large. Our world has been at war with a virus that effected everyone and everything: Our sense of safety. Our health. Our economy. Our families & friends. Our freedom. (in the sense of our ability to travel & just be in close proximity to people without fear, but i digress) Deeply imbedded social and systematic diseases have been brought further to light in the past year and a half largely because of this virus. Some of us have lost people we love. Hell, the pandemic even effected the way that the latter half of Campaign 2 played out because of social distancing protocols. If you further compare this to Campaign 2, the world of Exandria was caught in the middle of a war that started because of social & systematic corruptions that had been rooted in two opposing kingdoms for years. And so many suffered and died because of it.

Then the Mighty Nein comes in. This ragtag group of delightful assholes with nothing to lose; these flawed but inherently good at heart and deeply human adventurers, broken and lost in their own ways, trying to make a home and family for themselves in a world that took advantage of them or left them alone or said they weren’t good enough...and they changed things. 

They grew. They fought back. They found moments of silliness and peace and joy and fun amidst all the strife and sometimes grief. Most of all, they tried. Sometimes out of necessity, sometimes out of spite, sometimes even out of compassion, but mostly just out of love. And in the end, not only did they help people and stop a war for the sake of their loved ones, but they also saved their world from being destroyed by a rotted perversion of life from the past that threatened to consume everything they cared about. AND they STILL managed to bring everyone in their found family back to life. Does it erase the bad and sad things that happened to them? Hell no! But those things don’t negate the fact that in that moment, they made it out okay. That this was a victory and they won!

Think of what a story like that means to people right now.

I’m personally a pretty spiritual person, and much like our favorite clerics, I also believe in a higher power. But whether or not you also believe in a Divine being, the Universe or whatever, every D&D player believes in one thing: Fate. Luck. Call it what you will. But it was fate that made those dice rolls that saved everyone happen. It was fate that not only stopped Cognoza from returning, but also brought Jester and Caleb and Molly back to life, even when it seemed like it wouldn’t work. (and holy shit that gave me emotional whiplash!) 

After everything they went through, both individually and together, the Mighty Nein defied the odd and demanded that Fate let them save their loved ones. They demanded that the world give them back their friend; That they deserved to have their happy ending & get to go home alive together. Just. This. Once.

As a writer, I know firsthand that there are some stories we find and create ourselves, but then there are stories that have a way of finding us. Sometimes a story or world or character from somewhere in the Aether will pop into our minds one day and say, ‘I need your voice to tell my story.’ Maybe this is just me getting carried away with the meta brain again. And like i said, i’m a spiritually inclined person, so I believe in things like Fate and a Divine Higher power writing out the stories of the Multiverse. If you’re reading this (and thank you for taking the time to do so) maybe you do too. Or maybe you don’t. Either way, if you’re a fellow critter, then you’re clearly a fan of good stories and/or playing Dungeons & Dragons. So you know how fate/dice roles have a big impact on the outcome of a story, regardless of how tightly written a setup the dungeon master makes. Given all that and how organically stories tend to play out in D&D, I genuinely believe that Matt Mercer and the whole CR Team were meant to be conduits for a story where the flawed heroes save the world AND all make it home alive.

And I think Fate knew that we needed last nights battle to end like this. After all the crap we’ve been through this past year, we needed this happy ending, deserved it even! Not just us critters, the CR team too. As much as we all like to joke that Campaign 2 was secretly scripted, we all know that’s not true. Yes, the setup storyline and world were brilliantly crafted by Matt, and the character roleplaying is beautifully acted out by the team. But the twists and turns, the direction it goes, and how the game plays out is all up to fated dice rolls just like any other game. And something, some kind of force of luck, some force of fate, some Universal Divine DM out there made the roles happen the way they did last night.

It gave us a happy ending.

I believe that this was meant to happen; now of all times with everything else going on in the world. Amidst all this darkness and rot, both in game and in the real world, in the end of it all there was light and life. A reminder that sometimes people do live. They do get second chances. They do find a new family or reunite with old ones. That sometimes the world can be saved for a time, and happy ending do still exist. Even if it’s not broadcasted on the daily news amidst tragedy reports, or even tragedies that don’t get reported (which sadly are a lot, but again i digress).

Because the thing is, like Beau said, no one else will probably know they were heroes. No one will know what the Mighty Nein sacrificed to save all of Exandria. But they don’t need to know that for it to still be true, for life to happen again, and for a found family of nine broken people who love each other to go home together safe. It doesn’t invalidate that the good things happened. That at least for today everyone was saved. That flawed people were still able to do good because they tried. That they left the world better than they found it and got their own small but satisfying happy ending. Even if only for now, because we don’t know what’s gonna happen next Thursday. We don’t know what the future will hold for the Nein or Exandria when the Campaign ends or even when (hopefully) some loose ends will be tied up in later oneshots. But neither that nor the bad and sad stuff that happened beforehand in the game and in the character’s lives invalidates the fact that tonight they won. They lived.

So why can’t that be true for us in the real world?

I said earlier that, as a writer, I believe in the power stories have to not only reflect but also shape our world. This story is an example of why, but especially this episode, and that’s why i was so euphoric about the outcome. It wasn’t just a game for me, and i’m sure for others too. It was a much needed reminder that happy endings can still happen in real life, just as much as they can in stories. Even when everything seems dark and corrupt and rotten and hopeless, we can still keep fighting. We can keep trying. We can make new families and start over and be heroes in our on little lives in small ways. 

We can leave the world better than we found it. 

And maybe, with hard work, imagination, luck and a little Divine intervention...we can also get the happy endings we deserve.

[whatifxwereyou]

Ashes Chapter 2: Buried Deep

Mortal Kombat 2021: Liu Kang x Reader

Some more angst with this delightful broken version of Liu Kang I've created here Lol. I hope you guys enjoy it as much as I enjoy writing it. They're a fuckin' mess. Obviously, still spoilers from the movie <3 thanks for reading. love u. This one is going to update Wednes/Sun cause I'm goin out of town on wednesday~~

First Chapter Next Chapter >> Chapter Index

The ride to the reservation was about as bad as you expected it to be. Silent and awkward. You wouldn’t even look at each other. You had no idea which reason it was that had brought you to that level of awkwardness. Kung Lao’s death? Your grief? The straight up pornography you’d lived while you were drunk last night? Hell, it could have just been your upset stomachs. Or all of the above. When you got out of the car, you had never been more thankful to breathe fresh air. Even the driver had felt your tension.

The walk around the reservation together hadn’t been great either. Liu Kang had almost nothing to say and when he did, it was in a grumpy low tone that you had barely understood and you didn’t dare ask him to repeat himself in a mood like that. You had started with the shops and had purchased a blanket and incense. Then you’d asked around about Nightwolf and the legend he was known for.

When the shop had yielded no results, you had argued about where to go and how to approach your search. You couldn’t agree on anything. Liu seemed to be interested in taking shortcuts which seemed very unlike him. You tried not to worry about him and now considered that Raiden sent you together because Liu was not himself. You wanted him to find peace. You wanted that for all of them.

At least he didn’t bring up the night before so maybe he was ready to forget it as much as you were. Maybe you’d blacked out and that had been it. Not likely but your brain kept making excuses so you could try to cope with your bad behavior. There was still a chance that he’d forgotten what had happened. That he’d blacked out and woken up sore, naked, and with scratches down his back and couldn’t remember how.

You forced away the mental image of how you’d likely given him those marks in the heat of the moment. Oof. That was not helping your ability to look at Liu Kang. You decided to split up which had helped the tension considerably.

But even alone you’d had little luck. No one would acknowledge what you were talking about. You’d gotten a half-assed response here and there out of a handful of people who had been bad at lying and hadn’t expected you to bring it up. You still refused to talk about Nightwolf or where you might find anyone with a dragon marking. You had even showed the one on you back as an example but got nothing in response.

You met back up in front of the big store where you’d gotten the blanket. “Now what?” Liu Kang approached you as you sipped on a tea that you’d bought. Another pathetic attempt to kill the hangover headache. He leaned against the wall next to him and you offered him a second tea that you’d bought. He turned it down. “Feels like we hit a dead end.”

“They know something. They just won’t tell us. I can’t blame them. We’re strangers.”

“We should…” He began, bite in his voice that you knew would end up in you snapping at each other for the twentieth time that day. Why had you slept with him again? Other than that he was incredibly attractive? You hadn’t had anything nice to say to each other since Kung Lao died. A young woman approached you and so he silenced. The woman took your hand and slipped a folded piece of paper just within.

“You seem very nice but you two should be on your way.” The woman scolded them but looked to your hand with significance before heading into the shop.

“Interesting.” You walked away from the shop and toward the road where you’d been dropped off. Liu took the piece of paper from your hands as you began to unfold it. You resisted the urge to snap at him for doing so and instead waited for him to unfold the secret message. With the way that day had gone you’d half-expected it to be a nasty note.

It wasn’t.

“A map.” He showed it to you, and it was, indeed, a map. Your current location was circled in blue and a path led up a crudely drawn mountain and was marked out for you with the words ‘be careful’ scribbled at the bottom. That was more than you’d gotten from anyone else so it was the best lead you had. Daylight was quickly fading. You walked back to the shop and asked to use the phone which got you looks since everyone there was holding a smartphone. You called a car to come and take you back to the motel.

Liu had pocketed the map and was waiting for you by the side of the road. The sky was overcast, and you stood next to him to wait. “The car should be here in a few minutes. We should find somewhere that I can pick up a phone. Everyone here has them and I’m getting looks for asking to use theirs.”

“That’s fine. We need a map and some supplies for hiking anyway.”

Silence followed and it was more than awkward. It was painful.

You missed Kung Lao. He never would have let the silence be this awkward. Even when you’d fought, he’d filled the silence with noise until either you laughed, or you fought again. You’d take the fighting over silence, gladly. Then again, you were afraid of the kind of fight you’d have with Liu Kang.

The car arrived and you muttered ‘thank god’ under your breath. It took you back to the motel which was within walking distance of a nearby strip mall on the same road. You picked up a prepaid smartphone to make your lives a little bit more convenient while you were in America. The man behind the counter taught you how to use it. You were adaptable enough but had appreciated the head start.

Liu had purchased a map and hiking supplies while you’d been getting the phone. Then you’d gone together to grab takeout from a Mediterranean place in the same strip mall before you returned to the motel. Liu laid the map on the little table by the couch and you setup the food. This was less awkward and more nostalgic. You’d spent most of your time with Liu after coming to Raiden’s Temple. There’d been an attack in your hometown and while protecting your home, you’d killed a man with the dragon mark. Liu Kang had eventually convinced you to come and stay and fight for earthrealm. He’d been a comfort to you back then and you had become fast friends. You’d shared and instant connection and attraction that you hadn’t even bothered trying to resist.

You’d had fun back then.

This was not fun even if it was nostalgic.

Liu used the drawing you’d been given to pinpoint a trail on the map which hadn’t been easy since the drawing wasn’t accurate to the map that you’d bought. You poked around at your food offering insight that he’d rejected time and again. Your stomach was too upset to eat much of what you’d bought.

“That’s quite the hike.” You tried to sound friendly even if he kept arguing with you about the path.

“If we have to hike then we have to hike.”

“I wasn’t trying to argue.” You fought the urge to roll your eyes at him. It didn’t make sense for you to set out tonight. The sun had already set. “In the morning then?”

“Yeah. Rest will be good.” He sounded as tired as you did and avoided your eyes as he folded up the map and tucked it in his bag for tomorrow. You sat silently, poking at your food. Then he sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. “How are you holding up?” You were taken aback. You hadn’t had a civil discussion about even the weather and now he was asking about your feelings? Now to play the game of whether it was about the night before or about Kung Lao. It was most likely about Kung Lao. That was the first thing everyone asked you about these days.

“I’m… okay.” You shrugged, poking at your food again. “Some days are better than others.” That was vague but true. It was what you said to almost everyone who asked. Today had not been your best day. Then you spoke without thinking. “I miss him. All the time.”

“Me too.” He leaned back on the couch, arms folded over his chest. This food had been a complete waste of money. Your stomachs were just too sick from your foray into liquor the night before. You remembered him reluctantly joining you to have a drink now after the other monks had encouraged it.

“Sometimes it doesn’t feel real still.” You stole a glance at him, and he seemed surprised that you kept talking to him. This was the most you had talked, after all. You were surprised too. “I wasn’t there. I didn’t see it happen.”

“I’m glad that you weren’t there. I’m glad you didn’t see it. I still have nightmares about.” Liu adjusted himself onto the edge of the couch and then cleared his throat, as though he were about to begin a difficult conversation. You panicked. He couldn’t possibly be wildly shifting from your grief over Kung Lao and your broken heart to what you’d done the night before. “Y/N, we should probably talk about…”

“What we should do is get some rest.” You shut that down and stood abruptly. “Long day tomorrow.” Your voice was too loud and you were awkward. But you grabbed your bag and rushed into the bathroom without so much as a second glance back at him. He may have been ready to talk about it but you couldn’t handle the hurt. Not on top of all the other hurt. You couldn’t handle more rejection or failure. Not now. The panic was overwhelming, and you were in the bathroom with the door locked just in time.

You sank against the door to the ground and held the bag in your lap and pulled your knees to your chest, breathing shakily and trying to resist the urge to sob. It didn’t occur to you until your heart had stopped pounding in your ears that maybe he hadn’t meant to talk about the night before but now you would never know. You were sure he was mad that you’d interrupted him and ran off but your fight or flight sense had kicked into high gear.

You could have smacked Raiden for sending Liu Kang with you. What was this? Some kind of horrible test? You had been waiting for a break! A distraction! But now all the things that you’d been avoiding were sharing a room with you. Liu Kang was at the center of them all. You whispered apologies to Kung Lao with your face buried against your bag.

When you had collected yourself, you’d then washed up for the night, changed, and finally left the bathroom. Liu Kang was lying on the couch with his back to you, resting. You were grateful not to have to fight over who would sleep where. You had the feeling that he was pretending to be asleep to avoid you and you were okay with that. You’d earned it.

You kicked off your shoes and then curled up in bed. You stared at the wall and hoped that sleep would eventually come for you. The bag was cradled tightly in your arms, fingers brushing over the cool, jade circlet, soothing you.

Your first trip with Kung Lao had led them all across Indonesia in search of ancient texts that Raiden had sought out in reference to a prophecy. You’d had a blast together and had gotten in more scrapes than you had ever been in before that. You’d bonded over martial arts movies and bad jokes. It’d taken nearly a month and he’d become one of your best friends by the end of it.

When you’d returned to the temple, he’d asked you out on a date. A real date, not the kind where you would just go sit in the temple or get laid. You’d been flattered. Kung Lao had been trouble, but he was also sweet and confident in a way that was just plain sexy. You’d been flustered when he’d asked. Not because you weren’t attracted to him but because you’d had a complicated little physical thing going on with Liu Kang over the months prior.

You’d joke around or practice and one thing inevitably led to another and you’d wind up in his bed or he’d be crawling into yours. Your attraction to each other had been sparks from the get go. But you’d also never talked about it directly. Instead, you’d just kept sleeping together which had been dangerous and stupid as you remembered it. Yet, you remembered it fondly and had even missed it over the years.

You’d decided that you’d have to talk to Liu before you could even consider Kung Lao’s proposal. If Liu had wanted to pursue what you’d had then you would have seriously considered it. Your attraction was too intense for you not to give it a shot. It was beyond your control. You were attracted to Kung Lao too, but it had been different. No less important, just different.

You’d met up later that night with Liu Kang to talk about it. He’d had other ideas and you couldn’t blame him considering your track record and that you hadn’t seen him for a month. You’d been very direct- had even rehearsed it in your head a dozen times before saying it.

“What is this… that we’re doing?” You had been nervous and sounded it which had made it immediately awkward.

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean, Liu.”

“Why?” His sigh had been so heavy that you’d instantly been on edge.

“Kung Lao asked me out. I wanted to know what you thought about that and… all of this.” You gestured between you. Liu was immediately distant and different than you had ever known him to be.

“Kung Lao is a good man. Trouble but so are you. He’d be good for you.”

That was not what you had expected him to say. He avoided your eyes, face full of indifference. You hadn’t expected him to encourage you to date Kung Lao, not when you’d spent so many hot and sweaty nights in his arms. You must have looked surprised because he kept talking.

“You two have a lot in common. Both stubborn. Similar interests.”

“But what about… this?” You couldn’t seem to bring yourself to say the actual words.

“You don’t owe me anything, Y/N.” He had said this in a way that made it feel like you sleeping together had been a transaction. A means to an end. Had you misinterpreted everything? You felt, for lack of a better word, dirty.

“Well, if I’m going to date Kung Lao then we have to stop this.” You’d said that with far more venom than you’d meant to, but he had earned it.

“That’s fine. It wasn’t like it meant anything.”

You’d sat silently in awe and trying to hide the slow shattering of your heart. It had crushed you. One short conversation had completely destroyed your relationship. “Well, that made this decision an easy one.”

“Good.”

“Good.” You’d marched off without another word.

Just like you had tonight. Then you’d never talked about it again. It had taken time for your friendship to recover after that. You were still hurt thinking about it. Days later, when you’d thought about it, you’d agreed to go on a date with Kung Lao and it had been the best decision you’d made in a long time. You’d clicked quickly and naturally. He’d been a wonderful boyfriend and you’d gone from cute and flirty to serious and romantic very quickly. You had always struggled with commitment, and you’d had your fair share of fights but for the most part you’d been happy. Liu Kang had eventually come around and you’d been friends again, as if nothing had ever happened.

You hadn’t been one on one with him for more than a few minutes since back then. Not until now. Kung Lao had always made sure that didn’t happen, even if he had never said why. You’d never told him that you’d slept together. Why cause Liu more grief than you needed to? Besides, if he had asked you if you were still attracted to Liu, you would have had to lie. Your fingers brushed along the jade circlet and your eyes blurred with tears.

This was too much. You were emotionally drained.

You fell asleep cradling your bag to your chest.

Next Chapter >>

[zmediaoutlet]

in support of Texas relief, @wincest-endgame donated $25, and requested Sam & the amulet through the years. Thank you for donating!

to get your own personalized fic, please see this post. (no longer taking prompts)

(read on AO3)

Dean pushes Sam into the bathroom, after what feels like a day of questioning and caution and Dean being withholding—he's so bad at it, Sam doesn't know why he even tries—and Bobby avoiding Sam's eyes—and Sam'll figure that out, eventually—but it's really only four in the afternoon, and he's got food in his belly for the first time in what feels like a week but he's assured is a year, and he's had a beer and a cup of coffee and Dean's squeezed his arm, on his bicep just above the bend of his elbow, and looked into his eyes for a full heart-rich moment when Bobby was on the phone in the kitchen and couldn't see—and they didn't do anything, of course they didn't, not in Bobby's house, but Sam closed the door behind himself with that look thick in his head, the knowing that Dean was safe and okay and that Lucifer didn't hurt him—that everyone was okay, that what he'd done by jumping into the cage had worked when he hadn't been sure, not at all, that it would—and he still doesn't really know how he got out but he'll get that out of Dean eventually—and he turns on the shower and smiles at the rickety jump of the hot water because, holy shit, he's alive to suffer Bobby's godawful shower—and he pulls the shirt off over his head, and unbuttons his jeans, and fishes in his pocket for his phone and his wallet like he always does—and finds a new phone that he doesn't recognize, which makes him frown, a wallet that he does, and—the amulet.

The air goes out of him. The shower's guttering down, getting warm at last. He hears Dean's voice through the door, saying something to Bobby although Sam doesn't know what. Sam twines the leather cord around his fingers and crushes the little metal head in his palm, standing there in his socks and boxers. He didn't lose it. Somehow he—hadn't thought about it, until now, but now that he has he just—assumed it'd be gone. He's not in the same clothes he was wearing before he fell, so—did Dean—? He doesn't know and in this second doesn't care. He brings his closed fist up to his mouth, the cord thin and worn against his lips. He breathes in, slow.

The last time he held it in his hand was—Detroit. Milkjugs of blood sitting in the trunk. Dean—somewhere, talking to Cas maybe, and Sam alone, and Sam was alone a lot then. It feels like yesterday. He'd felt distant somehow. Even if Dean had forgiven him, or at least had been willing to try to forgive him. Ever since the second he'd made the decision to say yes, and decided to make Dean agree, it was like he'd been one step outside his life, looking in. Watching Dean try to accept it and knowing Dean never would. Watching Dean, with his hands in his pockets, and his hand curled so hard around the amulet that the horned edge had actually cut into his palm and he'd bled, inside his jeans. Not minding that and squeezing it tighter. Reminding himself why what he was doing mattered so he wouldn't falter. He wasn't going to falter.

Lucifer had healed that little wound without even acknowledging it. Sam remembers that if nothing else. He opens his hand and he's made sore white marks where the edges of the demon-head have cut into his palm. The shower hisses, next to him, and there's a thump of the side of a fist against the door—"Hey, princess, don't take forever on the primping," Dean says, muffled, the idiot—christ, Sam loves him.

He looks up at the door, startled. Creak of floorboards outside, like Dean's just standing there. Sam blinks at the peeled paint, and calls back, "Dude, it's my first shower in a year, hold your horses," and Dean says, "Yeah, yeah," and Sam closes his hand around the amulet again, his chest—thick. He can't take a full breath. He stoops, and loops the amulet cord around itself three times, four, and tucks it back down into the deepest corner of the pocket of his jeans. He crouches there for a second, feeling—feeling. The steam in the air curls against his skin. He has to stand up. Take the shower, get into fresh clothes, get back out into the house, figure things out. Figure where the world is, after a year without him in it. He crouches there, instead, taking in air. There's a little spot on his jeans, he realizes. Worn, nearly white, where something's made a space for itself. You wouldn't notice the difference, if you saw it every day, but with a jump of time between the last time he wore these jeans and now—it's obvious.

*

Of course it was longer than a year. Of course there were things Dean didn't tell him. Soulless, Sam thinks, trying the word out by himself, when Castiel's left and Sam's waiting for Dean to get back with the sword. Soulless. Not—a good thing to be. He's pretty sure.

Things that are described as soulless: corporations, governments. His comparative philosophy professor in junior year. Soulless due to lack of consideration, due to lacking character, due to—what? Indifference. Cruelty.

When they got to Portland, Dean picked the motel by turning into a random parking lot off the highway, and Sam hauled most of their bags in because he could tell Dean was tired after all the driving, and he'd barely made it through blinking at the one king bed before the door slammed behind Dean and Dean hauled him around by the jacket and gripped his shirt and said low and fervent, Sammy, if you don't want to you're gonna have to knock me out, and Sam dropped the bags right there in the entrance and got his hand on Dean's face and dragged his thumb soft over Dean's pretty lower lip and felt how Dean tensed, and then how the tension spilled out of him like water.

He doesn't get it. He walked around, he was told, without a soul, for a year. More than a year. Castiel was very precise about it. He'd left Dean with Lisa and found his grandfather, instead—his grandfather!—and he'd hunted. When they came to Dean it was by accident, Castiel said, and then when Dean had started hunting with Sam it had seemed to be for convenience, rather than something that meant—anything. Shifters, alphas. Vampires. Castiel knew all of it and told Sam earnestly, not judging. Sam had tried to kill Bobby but it was all right, Castiel said, because Dean had gotten so fearful and sick that he'd let himself die, to speak to Death, to make Sam right. He would have died, if Sam hadn't gotten right. It had been worth that. It had been that bad.

There's a text, from Dean. Sorta got the sword. Back in 8 hrs. Want any sourdough?

Sorta? Sam chews his lip. Just the dragon-killing magic weapon, thanks, he texts back, and Dean texts him a :) and Sam puts down his phone and stands up from the table and wants to vomit. Jesus christ. Soulless, he thinks, again, and pulls the amulet out of his pocket, winding the cord around his knuckles, staring at it.

He kept it. Somehow, some way. A year and more. From however he got spit out of the cage, from looking at Dean and choosing to turn away from him, to having Dean back and treating him like—he shudders. His indifferent callous body, carving an efficient line through the world. Sam wants to remember and doesn't. He does want to know what the exact moment was like, when he stuck his hand in his pocket standing on a street under a flickering lamp, watching Dean through a window like a damn pervert, and felt the amulet skin-warmed and heavy against his skin, and thought—what?

He puts it back in his pocket. Eight hours, until Dean gets back. Sam drags his hand over his mouth. When he shifts he can feel it—a little, nagging weight, pressed against his thigh. A year and a half of that with no reason to keep it. With all the reason in the fucking world to keep it. He blows out air until his chest is empty. Eight hours. He'd better have something to show for it. He gets to work.

*

He remembers, of course, later. Fractured, incomplete. Three selves' memories colliding and sleepless nights with a monster whispering in his ear. He curls on his side in a too-warm bed and watches Dean, curled beside him, sleeping. Frowning in his sleep. Lucifer says, though Sam ignores him, "Imagine how much easier he'd have had it at Lisa's, right? Bet she wore sweet little nightgowns, too. Where's yours, Sammy?"

In the cage he hadn't worn the amulet around his neck, not like he had in the year of Dean's absence. Lucifer didn't allow that. Sometimes he would crouch alone in the dark while Lucifer and Michael fought and he'd get space to breathe although breathing there always felt like the coldest depth of a North Dakota January. Shards of ice in his throat. The air thin. The air, of course, not real, but no matter how much Sam's conscious brain tries to rationalize when he has a moment to think, the cage isn't a place for rationality. Lucifer throttles him and Sam knows distantly that his lungs aren't real but he chokes anyway. He chokes. The air whittled thin in his throat and the edges of his vision vignetting to black, to sparkle-shot oxygenless, uncertain—

He turns his head, gasps deep. "Aw, thought I had you there," he hears, and turns fully onto his back, and they didn't bother undressing tonight before Dean crashed miserably into the mattress so he's still got his jeans on, and he shoves his hand into his pocket and wraps his hand around the amulet and squeezes so hard the horned heavy edges tear into his thin unhealed skin and the pain—god, the pain, piercing, cleansing.

It hurts. The room's quiet, except for the rattle of the heater under the window. Dean's breath, at his side. Not quite a snore. Sam's bleeding. He can feel the bandage getting wet. He curls his hand tighter and fumbles in the dark. A hitch—Dean's baby snore, interrupted—and Sam goes shh, as soft as he physically can, and Dean huffs and turns over and puts his face on Sam's shoulder, and Sam squeezes his hip through his jeans very gently, settling down. Lucifer will be back, he knows. When it's worst. When he thinks he's nearly fallen asleep. When Dean wakes up, in the pre-dawn because he has to piss, and he leans in first and kisses Sam's jaw, rough and sleepy with his breath rank, when Sam loves him just—the absolute most—Lucifer will ruin it. Even if Sam knows it isn't real it's as predictable as it is gutting.

He pulls his fist out of his pocket, amulet included. Dean won't wake for—what time is it?—hours. He turns his head toward Dean's, presses his lips against the warmth of his hair. He settles his fist on his chest. If the blood spills—well, it won't be the first time Sam's lost a shirt to blood.

*

Taking the amulet out of the trash wasn't a decision, when he did it. When animals are cornered their lashing out is survival, nothing else. He kept it because—he had to keep it. It wasn't possible that it be left where it was. An indifferent housekeeper dumping it into the mixed refuse of a half-dozen rooms; a trip to a dumpster, and then a dump, to be lost. No.

They had—

Sam knew it didn't matter in the face of what came later but he still felt it. That day. Vermont, autumn. The leaves dark red in the setting sun, or red just because they were. Immaterial, with Dean's back against the tree and his face tipped up to Sam's. Shocked. Sam's fingers on his jaw and then trailing down his throat, hooking into the cord of the amulet and pulling, down, to the demon-head, and Dean letting that tiny insignificant weight tip him forward so he met Sam's mouth when Sam offered it. The bodywarm of it against Sam's thumb when Dean's lips touched his, and how his hand closed into a fist on instinct, shocked too.

Whatever betrayals had come later. Whatever misunderstandings and miseries. There was still that day, and all the days before. This solid thing that had marked Dean as Sam's brother, for all the months and years marching all the way back to that stupid, shitty Christmas morning, five a.m. cold and disappointing, and Sam making the first decision that was really his own that he'd ever made. Handing over the shitty little packet of a gift he hadn't picked, and Dean looking at him with this—rare, uncertain happiness. Not willing to take it, in case it'd be snatched away like everything else had been.

Maybe that hadn't been a decision either, in retrospect. It was Sam's first day, in a hunted life that wasn't one he'd chosen, and maybe that was just instinct. Looping something around Dean's throat and saying, please. Dean had taken it. Said yes. Tossing it in the trash, later—well, Sam didn't blame him, but and he understood if the yes was retracted, but—Sam couldn't let it go. Even if he was the only one who remembered. Even if, ever after, even if they hurt each other and found each other again and circled each other like twin stars in an uncertain orbit—even if they met, in a dark room, and Dean said to him soft and sorry, Sammy, I swear, and Sam dragged Dean's body over the top of his and took the weight and feel of him like a payment, due—even then. He kept the damn thing, quiet, and his.

It didn't even register, after a while. It transferred from jeans to duffle to backpack to jacket. Part of the morning pat-check, unthinking unless something was missing: phone wallet amulet keys. Amelia never asked about it. Gadreel never interfered with it. When Dean was a demon Sam got up every morning in an empty bed and took a shower and carefully lifted his sling over his head and being ready for the day meant sling wallet keys amulet phone list of contacts he hadn't burned through yet and it just—felt like part of him. He thought about it as much as he thought about his lung.

On the day that Dean almost killed him Sam got dressed without thinking because there were more important things than thinking, and he put on jeans and he put on his boots and he put on shirt, shirt, jacket, and he dragged his hand through his hair instead of combing it, and he put in his pockets keys phone amulet wallet and he stood there, then, in the total quiet of the bunker, and took the amulet back out of his pocket. He looked at it in his palm. Small, heavy. The cord looping back over his knuckles. Dean had had to get new ones, he remembered. The leather ones kept wearing through, because Dean wore it every second: sleeping, waking, in the shower. When they were in bed, and Sam folded Dean in close against his chest, and Dean's lips brushed his jaw, and Sam slipped careful fingers under the cord, worrying at it. If only he'd known, then, the things he had to worry about.

He put the amulet back in his pocket. He went to Dean's room, in the bunker, and found the pictures Dean didn't keep very well hidden, and flicked past the ones of them together until he found the one of their mother. That, maybe. That would work. It wasn't fair, that day, to try to pretend anything else would, and as far as what mattered more to Sam—that was his problem, he thought, and nothing that needed to bother Dean. It was important, he thought, to be realistic.

*

"Give us a minute," Dean says.

"Dean," Sam says, appalled.

Chuck—Chuck? Jesus christ—jesus christ! Sam thinks. Chuck looks entertained, standing there in his sneakers—his Chucks! Jesus christ!—and his jeans and his simple short body and how he's—he's—

"Dude, seriously," Dean says, impatient, and Chuck raises his hands like surrender and says, "Hey, no, I get it! You've got stuff to talk about! Just say my name when you're ready, we've got all the time in the world, I'm sure my sister isn't planning the imminent destruction of all creation," and he winks, and then—disappears, jesus christ because Chuck is GOD—

"Sammy," Dean says, firm.

"Dean," Sam says back, immediately, "what are you doing—holy shit, do you realize—"

"Sam," Dean says, in a different tone, and Sam's gut jolts, hooked. Diverted.

The bunker, quiet around them. They're in the map room and the lights are all on full, bright and warm. Dean's looking at him and Sam—they've been good, it's been good, for months and months—the best it's ever been, even better than those first heady days when they were learning each other, young and reckless—and even with all that, Sam's nervous, somehow.

"How you doing, Sammy," Dean says, eyes narrow.

Sam lets out a sharp breath.

Dean seems surprised at the lack of answer and his chin tips up. He looks at Sam steadily. Sam doesn't know what he's supposed to say and so stays silent, and Dean keeps looking at him and then slides his hand into his pocket, and pulls out—of course.

He holds it low, in front of himself, dangling from two fingers. The heavy pendulum sway. Dean's eyes are low, fixed on it, but Sam's watching Dean's face.

There are obvious things to say that Dean doesn't say and Sam's grateful for it. "You took the other one," is what Dean says, and he doesn't look up to see Sam frown confusion but he must sense it, somehow, because he continues: "From that—jesus, Sam. From that play, that the girls put on. When I came out to the car the next morning it was gone. Doesn't seem fair. You got the prop and the real thing, both."

"Sorry," Sam says, and Dean says, "Christ," and takes the three long steps across the room to where Sam's got his back to a pillar and kisses him. Sam takes it, breathing in. Not soft, not that giving sweet that Dean can be, but it's Dean's mouth and therefore it's a miracle, every time.

Dean pulls back. His brow rolls against Sam's, brief, and then he sets down from where he lifted up on his toes, and he looks at Sam from six inches, their hips pressed together. The amulet swings against Sam's stomach, from where Dean's hands are fisted on his sternum.

"Sammy," Dean says, and Sam takes a deep breath and says, "I didn't mean to keep it—secret."

It's a lie and a bad one. He doesn't know why he said it that way but he doesn't know a truer one. He didn't—make a decision about it. It was just that…

Dean doesn't call him on it. "You said," he starts, and then his cheek sucks in on one side. Sam notices for the first time how tired his eyes are. It was a long day. The fog and the people they couldn't save. He folds one hand over one of Dean's, pressed against his chest, and Dean's eyes dip, and maybe that makes it easy enough because Dean says, "Sam, I wouldn't choose her."

Sam takes a deep breath. Their hands rise, all knotted together. Dean says, "It kills me, Sammy. That you think I'd—but I wouldn't. If it were any choice, if I could—make it how I wanted it to be. I wouldn't, not fuckin' once," and Sam says, "I know," just to stop Dean from talking, with his voice thickening up that way.

God's somewhere, waiting in the wings. Sam doesn't give a shit, anymore. Dean's mouth turns up at one corner but it's not happy, and Sam slides his free hand up Dean's side, gripping through his jacket, trying. However he knows how to try. "I know," he says, again, because—christ, he does. That nasty awful fog doesn't get to take this from him. "Dean, I told you before. Whatever she makes you—think, or do. I got it. I can handle it."

Dean bites his lips between his teeth and he looks down. His thumb catches the swinging cord of the amulet. "You know," Dean says, echoing. A question, buried down in it.

He hasn’t said it, specifically, out loud or internally or even when he prayed, back when he thought that praying was something that mattered, but: Sam hates Amara. Hates every aspect of her, baby to adult to imagined vision to physical manifestation to the haunted look, in Dean's eye, when he thinks Sam isn't looking. Hates how she makes Dean doubt. Hates how she makes Dean afraid. Hates every fragment of her that draws Dean's attention away, makes him look into the shadows of the room, makes him weak and afraid of his own weakness. In their bed at night Dean lays awake and Sam is awake with him and he thinks—how can he prove it? How can he show Dean how much he wants to take this burden away—to make it so the darkness is nothing that could come between them?

"Sam," Dean says. "You're…"

Nothing goes there. What could? Sam slides his hand from Dean's side up to the back of Dean's neck, cupping his skull, holding. He ducks his head. His temple against Dean's temple, Dean's breath against his throat. He closes his eyes and reaches and finds the amulet, dangling, on his first try. Luck. He gathers it into his palm and knocks Dean's fist open and closes their hands together, fisted around the sharp little weight of it. Any other day Dean would make a crack about holding hands.

Sam says, "I kept it because I wanted you. It wasn't your fault that things went bad. Or, I don't know. Half yours and half mine. Or maybe it was destiny's fault—fate, or something. It doesn't matter. What mattered was—how you stuck with me. How we—figured it out, every time. No matter how crappy it got, or how much we didn't trust each other, or… Because it's us, right? Every time. It's us, no matter what. I knew that on days I didn't know anything else. Nothing's going to take that away. Not the Darkness. Not God."

True. Dean's temple tips, against his. Their stubble drags together. "Not even the big guy, huh?" he says. Frail. "Seem pretty sure of yourself, there."

"I am," Sam says, not joking, and hears the breath Dean takes in. He squeezes their hands together, squeezes the back of Dean's neck.

"Shit," Dean says, and lets out a fraction of a laugh. "I wish I..."

He shakes his head, tipping away from Sam. Sam looks at his profile. The sweep of his eyelashes. His nose, with the little broken tilt. His jaw, squared. Sam bites the inside of his cheek and then lets go of Dean's neck, and folds their hands together all in a square—Dean's hand over Sam's over Dean's over Sam's—and when he unfolds them the amulet's caught in Dean's palm, and Sam folds his fingers over Dean's fist and pushes it, down, tucking it neat into Dean's jacket pocket. Dean blinks at him.

"I don't need a reminder," Sam says. Echo of something that feels like forever ago, surprisingly—now—true. "I'll be right here. No matter what. I swear."

He lets go of Dean's fist and slides up his arm, holding his shoulder instead. Dean looks back and forth between his eyes. "Thank you, Sam," he says, serious.

Sam nods. Dean looks up into his eyes, and then at his mouth, and when he leans for the kiss Sam responds simply, holding him and trying to say—everything there is to say. There could never be enough time, to say all there is to say.

Dean pulls back, after a few seconds. Not nearly enough. Their noses brush together and Dean's hands are on his chest, heavy. The amulet in his pocket. Where it belongs, Sam thinks, but it doesn't—matter, the same way it did before. It's not tying Dean to him; it's not a relic of a promise, broken and then kept. He touches Dean's jaw, with his thumb, and Dean sighs against him.

"Guess we should call him back," Dean says. "You think he knows we totally made out just now?"

Sam groans, and pushes Dean away, and catches him smiling. "You're totally going to hell," he says, and Dean winks at him, and turns away, and calls out, "Yo, Chuck!" like he's calling the literal creator for a dinner of hot wings, and Sam would despair but Dean's hand is in his pocket, and—well, they're okay, so. It's okay.

[tirednerd2012]

How about this idea: Ian is walking home from school one day and he gets kidnapped by one of barley's rivals wanting to take revenge on him or something and barley goes on a quest to save his little brother.

Bonus scene: while barley is struggling with the rivals, Ian manages to reach his staff and casts a spell at them and it saves barley, but Ian blacks out and he later wakes up in the hospital with barley and his mom beside him and Barley starts comforting him and have a brotherly moment.

Get ready for some angst with this one! Here you go! This will be the last one for the night. More to come tomorrow!

Barley was a lot of things. His mother and brother would call him loyal, annoying, exciting and overly protective. His friends would call him chill and a great dungeons master. His enemies, however, would call him a jackass or something of the sort. Just depends on the perspective.

The person who probably hated him most was his ex, Drew. He managed to avoid him. While Barley knew damn well he would never forget everything that man put him through, but he tried to move past it.

Especially after he crashed into the van, knocking Ian and Barley out and kidnapping them. He was going to kill Barley, but Ian insisted on taking his place. There was no changing Drew’s mind. He knew how much Ian meant to Barley and he knew that Barley would want nothing more than to protect Ian from him.

Barley still couldn’t sleep at night without hearing Ian’s screams and Drew’s laugh. He stabbed him, but apparently he survived. The wound wasn’t fatal and he was able to get to the hospital in time. Meaning someone was helping him, but Barley had no idea who.

Ian Lightfoot was walking home from school. Barley was working on his online classes and it was a nice day, so he decided against the bus. He texted his brother that he was on his way home and continued to make his way. He was about halfway there, on an older street that not many people lived in, when a car came speeding by.

Drew stepped out of the car. With a gun. Ian reached for his staff, but remembered he didn’t have it. He never took it to school.

“Well, well, if it isn’t little Ian. It’s been awhile, man,” he said. Ian went to run, but it seemed that Drew was reading his mind. “I wouldn’t do that. No one really lives in this neighborhood. I can shoot you.”

“Why can’t you just leave us alone?” Ian snapped. Drew walked over to him and yanked his bag and jacket off, revealing the scars from Ian’s last encounter with him.

“I’ll admit, that was pretty brave, what you did for your brother back there,” he said. Ian froze as Drew smiled at him. He hated this guy. He wanted him dead. Ian cursed his name more times than he could remember for what he did to Barley. He remembered checking in on them after Barley didn’t come home to see him choking the life out of his best friend.

“What do you want?” Ian asked, but his throat felt tight. Drew paused, looked at him with cold eyes before quickly grabbing a fistful of his hair and then slamming his head hard against the car. He collapsed and Ian felt the gravel on his cheek and his head spin. He couldn’t process a single thought, except his wrists being tied behind his back, a gag in his mouth and then his ankles tied.

Drew lifted him up without much effort and tossed him in the trunk of his card like he was nothing.

Barley looked at the clock. Ian texted him three hours ago saying he was on his way home, now he wasn’t answering his phone at all. He drove around everywhere looking, but there was no sign of him.

Worry and anger were building up in the oldest Lightfoot brother when Ian’s picture popped open on his phone. He grabbed it and answered within the first ring.

“Ian, where are you?”

“Sorry, babe, Ian can’t really come to the phone right now,” Barley fell over and landed on the chair when he heard that voice. His heart skipped a beat and he grabbed at his chest.

“Drew.”

“Who else?”

“Where’s Ian?” he demanded. Don’t be afraid. Don’t let him see you afraid. The video turned on and Barley saw Ian in a large dragon cage with a dead bolt lock on it. He tried to look at the background for clues, but couldn’t find any. He had no idea where Ian was. He felt his hands shake and he had trouble keeping the phone steady.

“Alive, but that’s about all I can give him,” Drew responded, indifferently. The camera focuses on Ian, desperately trying to get out of the cage. His forehead was bleeding and several of his scars had been reopened. “Say hi to Barley, Ian.”

“Barley, I’m okay. Whatever he wants, don’t give him!” Ian said, but Drew laughed and kicked the cage, causing Ian to fall in it. He grabbed a key, unlocked it and then dragged Ian out of the cage. Barley could tell from the position of the phone that Drew climbed on top of Ian.

“Hey, babe, does this look familiar?” he asked as he brought his hands around Ian’s neck. He began choking him.

“Stop! Stop. Drew you got me, where are you? I give up! You win!” Barley cried. He didn’t stop. He choked Ian out until his brother fell unconscious. Then he checked.

“He’s still breathing,” Drew informed him. “You have about, I dunno, it took us 3 hours to get here, you have 4 to get him before I kill him.”

“He has nothing to do with this, Drew. Please, if you’re going to kill anyone, kill me,” Barley offered. This was his mess, not Ian’s. His brother got involved because he loved him and wanted to protect Barley from this bastard.

“I could, but we both know this is much more painful to you. If you fail, his blood, your little brother’s blood, will be on your hands, Barley. If you get anyone else involved, I’ll kill him on the spot. I have nothing to lose, but you sure as hell do.”

With that, the phone call ended. Barley stood there for a second, stunned. Three hours to get wherever they were. That meant he had an hour to figure out exactly where that was, or he would be too late. There would be no room for error.

“I’m coming, Ian, I promise. Just hang in there.”

Barley, not proud of this part of the rescue mission, first threw up. He darted to the bathroom and felt all the stress turn to nausea. Then he panicked. One wrong move and Ian could be killed. His brother's life was in his hands.

He thought about Ian, alone, knocked out somewhere with someone who wanted to hurt him, and Barley is at least 3 hours away from him. He couldn't protect Ian and it hurt every fiber in his being.

Wait. Ian's laptop. He had it connected to his phone. Maybe he could find the phone's location on it. He ran up the stairs and went to Ian's desk. He looked up at the picture Ian took of the two of them at the park on day, hanging up on his wall. Then he shook his head. Focus, Barley.

He opened the computer, no password, and looked up the Find My Phone App. Sure enough, he found a location. Three hours away, north. He would have to pass the Manticore's Tavern (Maybe Corey would blow some shit up after he got Ian out?)

No, Drew said not to get anyone else involved. He had to listen, otherwise Ian would pay for his mistakes more.

He looked over and saw Ian's staff. It would be nice for Ian to have something to protect himself with. He grabbed it and his keys, left a note for his mom saying he'd be home soon, and then left. His phone buzzed in his pocket and he opened up a message.

Drew sent him a picture of Ian's back now covered in fresh cuts. Barley had to wipe his tears away to prevent from going off the road. He was going to kill Drew. Nothing would stop him this time. He would make sure the bastard was dead.

Was Ian awake? He must be scared out of his mind. He was just walking home from school and suddenly snatched away with the underline promise of death?

Barley drove as fast as he could. He gave it all he had in his van. According to Maps, Ian was in the middle of the woods. Barley could park the van a little bit away and take the rest on foot. That would give him the advantage of surprise. The only thing that truly mattered was getting Ian out of there as fast as possible.

He would need a hospital. If Barley parked far away, he would have to carry him, but that shouldn't be too hard. Ian was light and Barley had been able to carry him since the day he was born.

Barley had memories of Ian since the day he had been born. Who else could he say that about?

No, no, keep it together, Barley told himself. He made the three hour drive in two hours and thirty minutes. He pulled into the woods, grabbed his sword and Ian's staff and took off. He found a cabin and he crept close to it, listening through the backdoor.

"Barley's going to make you sorry!" he heard Ian's voice. While it was clearly pained, he managed to sound strong and determined. Barley tried to pinpoint the location.

"Your brother isn't here to save you, Ian. You're going to die for his mistakes."

"This isn't his fault! It's yours. My brother is the most amazing guy and you're the one who doesn't deserve him. I'm glad you two broke up. He is worth more than you ever could be."

Even when facing certain death, Ian defended his brother.

"You little shit."

Barley tried the backdoor and opened it quietly. He peaked in and saw in the living room, Ian was in the cage glaring at Drew. His back was pouring out with blood and his eyes showed how much pain he was in. He tried to stand strong, but his legs shook and he had to hold on to the bars to keep from collapsing. Drew was too busy enjoying Ian's suffering to see Barley coming out from behind.

He grabbed the guy and threw him away from Ian. He laid the staff down by the cage and went to look for the key when he felt something slice his back.

"Barley!" Ian cried out. Barley spun around and ducked just in time to avoid Drew's aim to his head. The two began fighting. Barley was terrified, yes, but his adrenaline and anger took over.

No one hurt his brother and got away with it.

Ian watched with horror as Barley and Drew fought. Drew was planning for this. He knew Barley would find them within no time. He knew everything to do to piss Barley off enough to get his mind so blinded by anger, Drew could kill him.

Drew managed to kick Barley in the stomach and his sword fell out of his hand. Ian saw his staff and reached for it. He didn't have much energy, and honestly, he had never felt so exhausted before in his life, let alone tried to use magic when it was like this. He didn't know what would happen.

But as he got the staff in his hands, Drew went in for the kill. Barley glanced over just in time to watch Ian's eyes fill with horror and his brother screamed bloody murder.

"No!" Ian remembered an explosion throwing him back, then nothing.

He woke up in a hospital. Most of his body was covered in bandages and he heard soft crying beside him. His mom was there, sobbing, her hands covering her face.

"Mom?" he asked. His throat burned and tightened and for a moment he wondered if she even heard him, but she looked up at him and cried with relief.

"Ian! Oh my God, my baby," she said and hugged him. It hurt, but he would never tell her that.

"What happened?"

His mom recounted the whole story of his kidnapping, Barley rescuing him, only for Drew to try and kill him, but Ian used magic that Barley had never seen before, It took everything he had, but he caused a throwback spell that was powerful enough to break the cage and get Drew away from Barley.

That's when he lost consciousness. Barley stopped the bleeding for all of his wounds before getting his brother to the hospital. He called his mom crying.

"Where is he?" Ian asked. His mom smiled sadly.

"He went outside to get some air. You've been out for hours now and it's- it's been a scary time. You had us so worried," she said, her voice thick with new tears. Ian managed to squeeze her hand just as Barley walked back in. Their eyes locked immediately.

"Ian," he said and ran over to him and hugged him tightly. Ian managed through the pain and found comfort leaning on his brother's shoulder.

"Barley, you're okay," he said, trying not to cry himself. Their mom stood up.

"I'm going to give you boys some time to talk. I need to check in with the doctors."

With that, it was just them. Barley sat down beside Ian and put his hand on top of the one without the IV. He didn't look Ian in the eyes anymore.

"Thank God you're okay," he said. "I'm so sorry, Ian. I didn't think Drew would go after you like that, but I promise I took care of it."

"What did you do?" Ian asked, but then the moment he asked it, he realized. Barley killed him.

"I made sure I took care of it this time," he answered. Then he shook his head. "But that doesn't matter. What matters is the fact you're here, you're going to be okay and you're safe."

Now that he was out of harm's way, Ian allowed himself to go through everything that happened. He was kidnapped and tortured. He was at the mercy of someone who hated his brother more than anything else in the world and the fact he was alive was a miracle.

But Barley saved him. He faced the man Ian knew he was secretly afraid of to save him. And he killed him. Barley, his sweet, lovable, teddy bear of a big brother, ended his life. Of course, he probably would have done the same thing in his position.

"I missed you," Ian said.

"I missed you, too. I'm glad you're okay," Barley said. Ian allowed his head to fall on to Barley's shoulder and in return, felt his brother's arms wrap around him carefully this time. They both cried. "I love you so much, Ian."

"I love you, too, Barley. I knew you were coming, even if I didn't want you to."

"Well, I can't let someone take you from us, now can I?" Barley responded, with a humorless chuckle. For the first time since this happened, Ian truly felt safe. Barley was here. Everything was going to be fine. "I'll never let anyone take you from me like that. Never."

[jaskiersbeloved]

the (not so) calm before the storm

summary: He was the Prince! But was he really?

authors note: This is my first fic for the Sanders Sides fandom so I am acyually pretty nervous about how this one went. But I hope you liked it!

Come and yell at me, if you want!

spoilers from “putting others first”!

Read on AO3

The wind was blowing hard outside the window. The rain was pouring even harder, almost muffling the sound of the soft piano melody that was filling the room.

In the middle of it there was a bed. A bed, that could easily fit in two grown men. It was a bed, that would certainly be worthy of a ...

"Prince" scoffed Roman.

He was sitting just at the very edge of it. In his hands was the red sash that he would so proudly wore everyday. But not today. Not after everything that has happened.

Patton... Could be wrong. De... JANUS was a person who was worthy of trust, of all things sacred! The literal embodiment of lies!

Careful Roman. If it weren't for the moustache I wouldn't know who the evil twin is.

Roman squeezed his eyes tighter, feeling the tears that began to once again fall down from his face.

Let's move on to something we're both familiar with, Roman. Mistakes.

He has made a mistake. A huge mistake that had cost Thomas his happiness...

... and mental health points.

Roman groaned, falling back on the bed. Since he has sunk out, the snake's voice couldn't leave his head.

He hated Dec... Janus. Hated him so much. For manipulating him from the get go, for bringing up his confidence just to crush it down, but most of all...

For sounding so RIGHT.

Roman wiped his face angrily with his sleeve and looked at his sash.

To most people it was just a simple accessory. A decoration, a pop of colour that would stand out from his white robes. Not so quite for Roman. He always thought of it as a clear sign of his prince-like status. And what are the main principles of being a prince?

To be just. Kind. Approachable. Morally good. Selfless. Brave. Strong. Noble. Loved by everyone.

Am I worthy to still be the Prince that Thomas wants me to be? Roman wondered, nervously ruffing his hair.

He tried to be just during the trail. He tried so much. But it looked like it wasn't enough. He hated to admit that, but Janus was right. The decision he made that day served literally no-one. Especially not Thomas.

Kind? No, definitely no. He laughed at Janus' name. Roman mentally cringed at the memory of it. That wasn't kind, but cruel. And it was the same mistake that he did with... Right, next.

Approachable. Yes, that he still was. If Thomas or the others needed him he would still appear, no matter how he would feel.

He couldn't help but scoff. The ugly feeling inside of him, that appeared during the video grew stronger, making him feel cold.

Wasn't the whole point of the video to also take care of one's mental health before helping others? And what was his advice worth anyway? It's not like anyone would listen to him...

Morally good. No. They did talk about it a LOT today. If he'd spared it one more thought he would explode.

Selfless. He tried to be. He tried to be so hard that he actually hurt everyone.

Roman jumped at the realization.

He has hurt Thomas. The very person he has sworn to protect. He did that. His actions did that.

The feeling grew stronger.

The creative side clutched the sash tighter, looking at it, as it would hold the explanations, reassurances he needed. He started to breathe quicker, as he continued down the list.

Brave and strong. Yeah, in the Imagination he was. But that's all it was. Imagination. It was relatively easy to fight with the dragon witch, because he knew he was ought to win. There was simply no other option. But in the real life? During the confrontation with any other of the sides? He would lash out out of fear of being mistaken. That isn't real strength. The imaginary battles served absolutely no one if they didn't pay off in real life. They were purposeless.

The tears fell again, staining the sash. The only sound that was coming to Roman has been his own frantic breathing. He couldn't stop thinking.

Noble.

I was actually impressed with you. You made such a NOBLE sacrifice.

Frustrated he covered his ears.

"Get out of my head!" he yelled, choking on his tears.

Loved by everyone.

We love you.

No.

No they don't.

And that's when the tame broke. Roman curled inside himself, crying. He dropped the sash and clutched his hair in a death grip.

What is right? What is good? What is kind? What is just?

He's the prince, for god's sake! He should know!

But he didn't. He didn't. And that terrified him.

Suddenly he felt like he couldn't breathe. Absolutely no air was entering his lungs. He started to choke.

Instinctively he brought a hand over his chest, as he fought, he fought for one gulp of air to enter, so he could stop choking, but he couldn't, he couldn't, he...

Suddenly a hand landed on his shoulder. Startled he tore his eyes from his knees and looked up... Right into Virgil's worried glance.

"Ro," he said gently "calm down. Everything's okay."

It's not! Can't he see?!

Seeing as he started to choke again, Virgil swiftly tore Roman's hand from his clammy chest to his warm one.

"Roman" he said, without breaking the eye contact. "Breathe. Just like I do now. In." Under his fingers, Roman could feel how Virgil's chest rose and heard how the anxious side slowly drew his breath through his nose. He tried to mimic that, but the movement caused him only to cough.

Vigil sent him a weak smile.

"Try again" he prompted, with a still gentle voice.

Seeing his earnest glance Roman tried again. This time no coughing. The precious, precious air, finally filled his lungs. He closed his eyes.

"Out" he heard Virgil saying. He did just that.

They sat there, just breathing, until Roman felt calmer. But then the shame came. Suddenly he felt very stupid. Some prince he was, to break down just like that!

He tried to scoot himself back, but Virgil's hand on his shoulder stopped him.

"Ro?"

That damn tone again.

Virgil was never THAT gentle. What has Roman even done to deserve that?! He has hurt Virgil in the past, so what on Cinderella's glass slipper has he done to deserve that?!

"W- what..." he managed to croak and then coughed. His throat was dry. Probably because of all of that needless panicking. "What are you doing here?" he finally said, avoiding Virgil's eyes.

He heard a sigh.

"Well... I kinda heard what has happened and sensed that you're anxious so..."

Roman shook his head in a silent disbelief. So Virgil knew what happened. Why was he with him? Shouldn't he... Take care of Patton? He was much more important than him.

"I don't need pity" he muttered. The hand on his shoulder gripped him a bit tighter.

"I don't pity you, Princey" He couldn't help but flinch at the familiar nickname. Princey. Yeah. Sure.

If Virgil noticed the flinch he didn't mention it. He seemingly decided to just continue.

"I actually wanted to tell you something."

Roman completely froze. He felt his anxiety spike. He clutched helplessly at the cover of the bed, waiting.

"There is but one essential justice which cements society, and one law which enables justice. This law is the right reason, which is the true rule of all commandments and prohibitions. Whoever neglects this law, whether written or unwritten, is necessarily unjust and wicked."

Roman blinked and dared to look at Virgil. He anxiously run his hand through his hair.

"I don't understand" he whispered, looking at the other side with glassy eyes. Virgil looked like he wanted to chuckle, but thought the better of it.

"What I mean is, Sir Singalot" he began, scooting closer to Roman. The creative side felt himself relax, a little bit. "Is that you had a right reason when you chose to decide to go to the wedding. You heard us all, and..." he chewed on his lip. "...and even though we all... Pressured you, you did what you thought was best for Thomas. You did that, because you felt it was okay. You didn't do that just to spite someone. You couldn't have predicted what would happen. No-one could. Beating yourself over that won't do you any good, trust me."

Roman sighed. Deeply.

"You see, I kinda know that" he said, again avoiding looking at Virgil. "But also... It's not why I am so upset."

"Is it because of Deceit?" he heard Virgil say. He scoffed, staring at the wall in front of him.

"Of course it is" he muttered angrily.

Because Roman would make ya sick.

His brother's voice rang in his head. Roman pressed his lips, trying to stop his tears from falling.

Silence fell over the two of them.

I wouldn't know who the evil twin is.

If Patton can be wrong... Then whose to say that Roman actually is the good twin? He had listed all of the principles of the prince and... And he couldn't fit in almost any of them! Whose to say that Remus of all people didn't have all of those in him? Maybe he should take the wheel? Maybe Roman should simply...

"Virgil?" he whispered.

"Hm?"

"How did you duck out?"

Virgil immediately sat up.

"What?" he asked. Roman winced, hearing how terrified his voice sounded. Great. He's on a good way to hurt yet another person.

"How did you duck out?" he repeated, quietly this time.

He felt as Virgil hands turned his head, so that he could face him. And he immediately wished he didn't.

Virgil looked... Worried. Terrified out of his mind. And above all of that he looked...

Great Roman. You did it. You managed to hurt the last person in this fucking household!

"Roman" Virgil said, his voice actually wavering, full of emotions. What emotions, Roman couldn't say.

"You... You don't actually..." Roman hung his head, feeling the tears welling in his eyes yet again.

"Roman" Virgil repeated with a panicky note in his voice. "Promise me, promise you don't..."

"I DON'T KNOW!" he snapped, breaking from Virgil's hold. Angry tears started to fall down from his face. "I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO! Patton can be wrong Virgil! And it was HIM that said I'm the good one! But if he's wrong then whose to say I am not bad?! If Deciet's a good guy now, then everything's... Everyone can be bad! I can be bad!" he yelled.

Virgil just started blankly at him, clearly at loss as to what to do. Roman laughed hysterically. At that moment, what he said hit him with a full force of it.

I can be the bad one.

He slumped down on the bed.

"I can be the bad one" he repeated with an empty voice. And then he covered his eyes and started to openly weep.

Just a moment later he felt a pair of arms pulling him in. His head fell on a chest and be couldn't do anything other than just clutch to the fabric of the black hoodie and cry his eyes out. He felt as Virgil started to gently rock them, trying to calm him down.

He didn't know how long they stayed like that. It honestly didn't matter to him. But at the end of it he just felt... Numb. Numb and so, so tired, mostly because of the crying. Virgil was still holding him, gently stroking his back, which made Roman kind of sleepy. He closed his eyes. Just for a second, he thought to himself. They've just established that it's actually good to be selfish anyway and...

He drifted off.

Virgil sighed, as he felt Roman relaxing.

Logan actually filled him in earlier, and what the logical side didn't tell him, a very worried Patton did. And Virgil. Was. Furious.

Not only Janus was accepted. But he also made Roman and Patton feel like absolute shit. So he went to Roman's room. Patton told him, that he actually wanted to do it, but Virgil just gritted through his teeth, that maybe it's best he'd do it.

As it turned out, it was the right thing to do. Virgil honestly didn't want to think how the conversation would have gone if Patton were the one who would tried to comfort Roman. Fuck, he himself wasn't sure if he actually did a better job, but at least Roman was resting.

He carefully untangled himself from the Prince and as quietly as he could tucked him in.

Leaving the bed he noticed a red cloth lying on the floor. He took it and covered his mouth to muffle to gasp that escaped him when he noticed it was actually Roman's sash. How bad did Roman feel to just abandon one of his favourite accessories like that?

Virgil didn't know. But that was a conversation for another day. Roman needed to rest.

So he folded the sash and laid it on the nightstand, feeling absolutely tired. They had to fix that. Fast.

As he was about to leave when a realization struck him. He turned around and looked at Roman's sleeping form.

How did you duck out?

Promise me...

Roman didn't promise.

[omgrachwrites]

Falling Stars (Sequel to Tell A Tale of You and Me) - Prologue

Pairing: Dean Thomas x Reader

Summary: In the midst of a brewing war you fall for one of your classmates, a boy that you used to know. When you have the chance to fight against evil, you fight for what you believe in.

Chapter Summary: Chapter Summary: In your third year you finally meet your father and discover he’s as wonderful as your mother has always told you. Unfortunately, it leads you to have an awkward conversation with your friend and crush.

Warnings: fluff, angst, dialogue heavy, kind of ooc Draco

Words: 2703

Disclaimer: This gif doesn’t belong to me!

A/N: Here we are, the prologue of the sequel! This part is set in the third year but the rest of the fic will be set in fifth year! Also, I’ll be writing chapter summaries for this fic! You guys will get to see Dean’s POV in the next part! This is still a reader insert fic, the reader just has a name! Hope you guys enjoy and please let me know what you think and let me know if you would like to be added to the taglist! I love you all!

next part   masterlist   prequel

Prologue - Stormy Eyes and Dimpled Smiles

As a little girl your mother had always told you stories about your father, she told you what a great man he was and how much she loved him. But, as you got older she had told you that he’d been betrayed by someone who he called a friend and he’d been carted off to Azkaban. But he was innocent, your mum had always insisted upon that and she wouldn’t lie to you.

When you were accepted into Hogwarts your mum had begged for you to use her maiden name as your surname, she didn’t want you to get bullied when people discovered who your dad was. However, changing your name would have been an insult to your dad and nobody had really bullied you for it.

Your heart was beating wildly as adrenaline coursed through your veins as you grabbed your broomstick, pulled on the dragon hide jacket that used to belong to your dad and you left your dormitory.

“Cassie,” your second cousin sighed as you wandered into the common room with a determined look on your face, “please don’t do this, don’t go to him.”

You groaned at his words, “Draco, you told me that my father is in the top cell of The Dark Tower. Do you really expect me not to go to him? You don’t understand, you have your father here, I know he might not be the best dad but you still have him. I’m not asking for your permission.”

Draco sighed and finally relented, “fine, just be careful Cass.”

You laughed as you quirked an eyebrow, “you’re not going soft on me, are you Malfoy?” you teased and he scoffed as he looked away with the hint of a smirk on his face. You smiled as you leaned forwards and hugged him, “see you later,” before he could reply you were out of the common room.

You knew what was going to happen to your dad if you didn’t get to him in time, he would have to endure getting his soul sucked out by the Dementors and you couldn’t let that happen. You hardly remembered your dad but you loved him fiercely. You had never run so fast in your life, thankfully you didn’t meet anyone as you sprinted through the castle corridors. You didn’t see anyone until you passed the portrait hole outside of the Gryffindor common room and you saw one of your friends – and your secret crush – Dean standing outside.

“Cass, where are you going?” he called after you and you stupidly flushed at the sound of his voice.

“I’ll explain later Dean,” you shouted over your shoulder, and you carried on running like the wind.

Once you got out onto the grounds you mounted your broom and soared up through the velvet night sky on the way to meet your dad, you felt sick with nerves. When you got to the top of the tower you saw your dad through the bars, he was sitting there with his head in his hands. You were too scared to speak out loud so instead you cleared your throat.

Sirius’ head shot up and he stared at you with wild haunted eyes, he was still as handsome as the man you had seen in photographs but he was so thin and gaunt. His hair was matted and the gleam in his eyes had died. He truly looked like a man on the run.

“Who are you?” he mumbled, frowning at you from behind the bars.

“I uh, well,” you stammered, feeling tears well up in your eyes.

Sirius regarded you closely before he gasped and you saw his dull grey eyes fill up with tears, it made his eyes sparkle in the moonlight, “Cassie, is that you? You look beautiful, just like your mother did at your age,” he smiled.

You nodded as the tears trickled down your cheeks and you gave him a watery smile, “it’s me dad,” you sniffled.

The gap between the bars was big enough that he could get his hand through and he cupped your cheek, wiping away your tears, “let’s get you out of here,” you felt around for your wand and that was when you realised that you had left it on your bed, “I don’t have it,” you sighed, you felt like such an idiot, you had forgotten your wand when your dad’s life was in jeopardy, “I’m so sorry,” you sniffled.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay sweetheart. I’m just so happy to see you,” he grinned, “how is your mother?”

“She’s fine, she misses you so much,” it was hard to see that your mum wasn’t truly happy. How could she be when the love of her life was behind bars?

A crease formed in the middle of his forehead and it looked like he was seconds away from bursting into tears, “Merlin, I miss her more and more as each day goes by.”

You bit your lip and decided to address the pressing issue, “I know that you’re innocent, you were betrayed by one of your best friends. Mum always used to tell me and Uncle Remus that you were innocent, I’m sure whether Uncle Remus believed it.”

“Uncle Remus?” Sirius raised an eyebrow and burst out laughing. His laugh was a warm, rich sound, it made you feel protected and you almost remembered it from your childhood, “I’m sure Remus loves that,” there was a sparkling gleam to his warm eyes and you smiled sheepishly.

“Mum didn’t want him to be alone.”

Sirius nodded, “I heard that Morgana, Remus’ wife died. They were together in school, she was nice.”

“She was killed by a Death Eater a few years after Harry’s parents died.”

“Your mum has always been like that Cass, she’s always been exceedingly kind, she’s never wanted anyone to feel alone,” you could see that he was still plainly in love with your mum, after twelve years. But you knew that she was still in love with him too. You wished that one day you would meet somebody who desperately loved you.

Your dad cleared his throat as he looked at you with a cheeky grin, “so, Cass, tell me about yourself. I can’t believe I don’t really know anything about my daughter, I take it you play Quidditch? You look very much at ease up there.”

You giggled as you nodded, Quidditch was your pride and joy, you loved playing it so much, “yes I do, and I’m a Chaser. Though, I’m the only girl on my team,” you fiddled with the ends of your hair, suddenly feeling nervous, “I’m in Slytherin, I know you would rather have me be sorted into Gryffindor but I wasn’t.”

“Woah, sweetheart,” he chuckled, holding up his hands, “I don’t care what house you’re sorted into; the only thing I care about is if you’re happy. Besides, your Uncle Regulus was a Slytherin and even though we had our differences, he was my brother and I loved him. One of the best teachers that I’d ever had was a Slytherin too, Horace Slughorn, it’s not a weakness to be a Slytherin. I love you Cass.”

You grinned as you felt your tears well up and you felt an overwhelming amount of love for your dad. He was just as you had always hoped, “I love you too dad.”

Sirius smiled as he raised an eyebrow and nodded at your jacket, “is that my jacket?” he laughed.

“Yeah,” you smiled bashfully, “mum gave it to me at the start of the school term and I’ve hardly taken it off.”

“It was my first dragon hide jacket, my first of many. It suits you Cass.”

You spent about ten minutes talking to your dad about your experience at Hogwarts – you even told him about Dean – before you were interrupted by Harry Potter. Harry and Hermione were on Buckbeak’s back and you were momentarily speechless as Harry smiled at you kindly, “hi Cass.”

“Hey Harry,” you smiled; you knew that Harry was here to rescue Sirius because your dad was his godfather.

You moved out of the way as Hermione pointed her wand at the bars, “Bombarda!” she shouted and the bars exploded right off the cell and Sirius hopped onto Buckbeak. You felt a twinge of jealousy at the fact that Hermione had been the one to release your dad. Sirius must have seen the look on your face because he chuckled and kissed your forehead.

When the four of you reached the courtyard, you stood back to let Harry have his time with your dad, Sirius was his godfather after all. You sighed as you breathed in the warm night air as you leaned against the stone wall. It was hard not to feel jealous but your dad didn’t just belong to you.

“Are you alright Cass?” Hermione asked you sweetly, her hair was bushier than usual due to her flying through the sky on the Hippogriff’s back, “tonight must have been a weird one for you.”

“I just found him, after twelve years. I hardly remember anything about him before he was sent off to Azkaban, I don’t want to lose him again,” you sniffed, blinking the tears out of your eyes.

“Oh, Cass,” Hermione sighed and pulled you into a warm hug, you hadn’t always been friendly with Hermione but right now, you needed a hug. You hugged her back tightly as you rested your head against her shoulder.

“I have to go now Cass,” your dad’s voice caused you to pull away from Hermione and you ran into his open arms.

You felt a great pain in your heart as Sirius wrapped his arms around you, “when will I see you again? I have to know,” you asked thickly as you fought back tears.

“Soon, I promise, just keep an eye on the horizon,” he chuckled as he pulled away and cupped your cheeks, “I love you Cass,” he kissed your forehead.

“I love you too dad,” you sniffled.

As Sirius mounted Buckbeak, he turned to Hermione, “you really are the brightest witch of your age.”

Hermione smiled in response and then he was gone, flying deeper and deeper into the night sky. You hoped that he would go and see your mum; you lived for the day when you could see him again.

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

On the last day of the school term you said goodbye to Remus and wandered down to the carriages that would take you into Hogsmeade Station. You sighed, leaning your head against the side of the carriage as it travelled towards the village. You wondered where your dad was now and you hoped that he was safe. Now that he was free from Azkaban you supposed that you could write to him over the summer. You were sure that he would appreciate it.

“So, what’s your father like?” Draco prompted as you got out of the carriage and walked onto the platform.

You smiled, you couldn’t believe that after twelve years you had seen him again, he was just as your mum had always said, “he’s wonderful.”

Draco nodded at you as you boarded the train, “you are sitting with us right?” he asked, gesturing to your Slytherin classmates, “lately, we’ve been a little concerned about where your loyalty lies,” he smirked and you scowled as someone in the crowd laughed.

“No, there’s something I need to do, I’ll just see you next term,” you hissed as you grimaced at him before you pushed past him and began to search the compartments.

You had to find Dean; now that your dad had escaped Hogwarts – and certain death – you guessed that your family would be pulled into drama. Dean didn’t deserve to be a part of it, he didn’t need the trouble. Your heart twisted as you rehearsed what you were going to say to him. Finally, you found the compartment he was sharing with Seamus and Neville, you really didn’t want to do this but you really had no other choice.

Taking a deep breath you pulled open the glass door and poked your head in, “Dean, can I talk to you for a second?”

Dean looked up and gave you a dimpled smile, the edges of his deep brown eyes crinkling as he did so. Merlin, you were going to miss that beautiful smile, especially with those dimples, “Hi Cass, of course,” he got up and followed you into the corridor.

You bit your lip nervously as you fiddled with the ends of your hair, “okay, I’m just going to come out and say it, Sirius Black is my dad.”

Dean raised an eyebrow as he let out a surprised laugh, “Cass, I know.”

“You do?” you frowned up at him, “why didn’t you say anything?”

Dean shrugged casually, “I dunno, I thought it might be something that you were insecure about, I didn’t want to pry so I figured that if you wanted to talk about it, you would have told me already. It must have been hard for you,” he offered you another one of those brilliant smiles.

You felt the warmth gather in your chest, you wished that you could have told him that your dad was innocent but he would never believe you. He was so sweet and kind, there was no way that you could tell him that you didn’t want to be friends with him anymore, “Merlin, that is so nice,” you smiled and Dean let out a nervous little chuckle, “with my dad being on the run and everything, things will be crazy with my family and I don’t think that I’ll be able to hang out this summer,” you weren’t exactly lying.

“Hey,” Dean smiled and pulled you into a warm hug, resting his chin on the top of your head, “that’s completely fine, just let me know if you ever want an escape from it.”

You bit your lip to keep the goofy grin at bay, “I will,” you pulled back slightly to smile up at him, “thanks Dean.”

The sound of the door being wrenched open caused you to jump away from each other and Seamus poked his head out with a mischievous smile on his face, “wanna come and sit with us Cass?” he smirked over at Dean.

You and Dean exchanged amused glances and you shrugged, “sure, I’d love to,” you beamed and sat opposite Neville.

Neville gave you a wary look and you couldn’t exactly blame him, most of your Slytherin classmates had been horrible to him and you couldn’t understand why. There was no need for people to be mean to him, it was uncalled for, “hi Neville, what book have you got there?”

“Hi Cass,” he stuttered, “um, it’s a book about Herbology,” he gestured to the heavy tome on his lap.

You nodded with a grin, “I’ve heard that you’re really good at it.”

Neville shrugged as he flushed bright red, “I guess, I’m okay at it,” he smiled. You caught Dean’s eye and he gave you a warm smile.

“So Cass,” Seamus started, “will you still be playing Quidditch next year?”

You laughed and nodded, there was no way that you would ever stop playing Quidditch, “of course, maybe Slytherin will have more of a chance next year because Oliver won’t be the Keeper.”

Seamus burst out laughing as he shook his head, “no chance.”

“I agree,” Dean smirked, “Gryffindor will be even more unstoppable next year because I’m trying out for the team.”

You felt a competitive thrill course through your body and you narrowed your eyes at your crush, “I’ll kick your arse into next week, Thomas.”

Neville and Seamus watched your interaction intently with amused looks on their faces, “promises, promises,” Dean smirked, causing you to laugh.

The rest of the journey consisted of the four of you laughing and joking – even Neville warmed up to you – as you played Exploding Snap. You could hardly keep your eyes off of Dean and you were looking forward to the next term. You had no idea that there would be no Quidditch matches and you had no idea that the wizarding world was about to be plunged into darkness.

---------------------------- 

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[fratboyivy]

How You Get the Girl Hiccstrid one-shot

A loud crash woke him up in a panic as he frantically looked around the room to find the source of the noise. “Toothless, what are you doing half out the window?” The dragon turned back to him with an excited look on his face as he looked back and forth between outside the window and Hiccup, obviously wanting Hiccup to look outside. He rolled his eyes and slowly stood up from his chair, trying to stretch the cramps out of his leg. “I really gotta stop falling asleep at my desk,” he mumbled to himself as he walked over towards the window. He peered outside but saw nothing. “What am I supposed to be looking at here, bud?” he asked the dragon who was still looking overly excited. He looked around outside a bit more, and was about to go back to sleep when he saw a figure not far from where he was. He squinted his eyes in an attempt to make out who it was, when he finally recognized who it was, “Astrid!”

He landed quietly near her, trying not to startle her, but Toothless had other plans. He bounded over to Stormfly, causing Astrid to gasp and whip out her knives, though she almost immediately recognized him. “Toothless? What are you doing out here,” she then realized that wherever Toothless is, most likely Hiccup is there too. She turned around and saw him nervously standing there. “Hiccup? what are you doing?” 

“Well,- I uh- I- I mean not me I didn’t like- go looking for you or something uh- Toothless got all excited cause he saw Stormfly and ended up knocking a candle off the windowsill, which woke me up and brought me over to the window where I saw you and uh now here I am,” he smiled that awkward sideways smile he always did when he was nervous, which seemed to be frequent around Astrid. She loved it, but fought back a smile and said, “so you came out here to...?” 

“Oh I just uh I guess I just wanted to make sure you were okay. I mean I saw you standing in front of your destroyed childhood house and I just wanted to see if you needed a friend…” he trailed off. She stared at him for a few moments, and fearing he’d done something wrong, he started to say, “I mean I can go back, when I say it out loud it sounds stupid, you probably just want to be alone right now.” He started to motion for Toothless to come, but she grabbed his hands and stopped him. “It’s fine. You don’t have to go. A friend wouldn’t be so bad right now,” she let go of his hands and he brought them back down to his side. They both turned to face the house, and figuring she just wanted company, not a therapist, Hiccup kept quiet and just let her do what she needed to. 

“Why wasn’t I here?” Astrid mumbled after a few minutes. Hiccup turned to her. “What?” he asked softly. She looked up at him and spoke a little louder, “why wasn’t I here? I could’ve helped them. I could’ve prevented their home from getting completely destroyed,” she wrapped her arms around her stomach and turned away from him. 

“Astrid, you can’t possibly blame yourself for this. We were at the Edge! How could you have possibly known an attack was coming?”

“Exactly, Hiccup. I wasn’t here. I couldn’t have known there was going to be an attack. But maybe I could’ve, had I actually been here with them.” Hiccup started to speak but before he could get a word out she started again.

“I mean I know the dangers Berk faces. I know the enemies we have. I know that at any moment, we could be attacked. So why did I leave? I should’ve stayed here and helped protect Berk-”

“Astrid, Astrid, slow down, this is not your fault,” Hiccup said as he gently grabbed her hands to calm her down. “There is no way you could’ve prevented this. Whether you were here or not, no one saw this attack coming, which means you wouldn't have either. It wouldn’t have been any different if you were here.” He let go of her hands as she looked up at him. He couldn’t tell if she was angry at him or not, but he braced himself for a punch that never came. Instead, she wrapped her arms around him and hugged him tightly. This was the last thing he’d expected to happen, but regardless, he knew she needed him. He hugged her back and held her head against his chest as she cried. He wasn’t that much taller than her, but he was tall enough that the top of her head fit right under his chin. He didn’t know what to say, or if he should even say anything at all, so he just held her and did his best to comfort her. They stayed like that for a while, until he heard Astrid whisper, “what if they’d died, Hiccup?” He pulled away and without thinking, put his hand on her cheek. She froze at the gesture, but he didn’t seem to notice.

“But they didn’t. I know it’s scary to think about what might have happened, but you can’t think about that. What matters now is they’re okay. Nothing happened to them. They weren’t home when the attack happened, and the worst thing that happened was your house getting destroyed.” They fell silent for a moment, and Astrid looked up at him, but didn’t say anything. Their eyes remained locked, and Astrid moved closer to him. They were nearly face to face, and Astrid leaned in a bit, clearly wanting Hiccup to meet her halfway. 

“I- uh- um- you- you know, Astrid,” Hiccup stuttered as he walked over to Toothless, “whenever I feel upset or- or something like that, I usually take a relaxing flight on Toothless. Would you maybe wanna…?” He gestured to the open spot behind him on the dragon. She wanted to be upset with him, but she told herself it wasn’t worth it, so she walked over to him and climbed onto the spot behind him.

 “At least I’m not dangling from a tree this time,” she teased. He laughed, remembering that night he’d gained her trust, and motioned for Toothless to fly up. Once they were in the air, she wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her head on his shoulder. Hiccup knew it was probably just comfortable for her, and it didn’t mean anything, but it still made him smile like crazy. He had strong feelings for her, this he knew. But he promised himself he’d never let her know, for fear that it would ruin the friendship they’d built over the past 3 years. He told himself that no matter what way it was, romantic or platonic, as long as she were in his life, he was happy. He did, of course, think about what it would be like if they were together. Hell, he was thinking about it now. He thought about waking up next to her every morning, and being able to hold her close to him at night. He thought a lot more than he’d like to admit about kissing her. Sure, they’d kissed two times before, but the first was in a “thanks for risking your life to save the entirety of the village” type way and the second was at Thawfest, when he’d purposefully failed a competition so that Snotlout could win, so that was more of a “that was a nice thing you did out there today” type of kiss. He didn’t think either of them were romantic, at least not on her end. He thought of them as mere “thank you’s”. But that’s not how he wanted it. He wanted to be able to run his fingers through her hair, and kiss her goodnight, and in the mornings. 

He snapped himself out of his thoughts, and told himself it wouldn’t be fair to put her in an awkward situation, and unless she made it clear she felt the same way for him, they had to stay platonic. He realized he hadn’t heard from her in a while, so he peered back at her. Her arms were still around his waist, but she’d moved her head so her cheek was resting on his shoulder, and her eyes were closed. She’d fallen asleep. He whispered her name a couple of times, just to confirm, and when she didn’t respond, he told Toothless to drop them by her Aunt’s house where she and her parents were staying while their house was repaired. However, no one was home. Multiple ships had been sent out to collect new resources to replace what was lost in the attack, and aboard those ships were Astrid’s parents and their siblings. He knew he wouldn’t be able to carry her all the way to her bed, and he didn’t want to wake her up, so he carefully led Toothless inside. He figured no one would mind, as long as they didn’t break anything. They made their way to the room she was staying in, and he carefully got off Toothless and carried her to the bed. He pulled some blankets over her and hesitated before placing a soft kiss on the top of her head. He began walking towards the door when he heard Astrid say, “um, Hiccup? Could you possibly stay? There’s no one here and I don’t want to be alone right now.” He turned towards her and nervously sputtered out, “I- yeah- are you- uh- are you sure?” He could barely see her but he knew she was looking at him with a serious expression, so he told Toothless to head to the arena and stay there for the night. Once Toothless was gone and Hiccup knew he’d made it safely, he lit a candle, detached his prosthetic, laid down next to her, and blew out the candle. His thoughts were racing, and he knew he wouldn’t sleep much, but he wanted to be here for Astrid, so he stayed. A few moments passed and Astrid spoke.

“I can’t close my eyes without imagining what would’ve happened if my parents would’ve been in the house,” she admitted. Hiccup turned to face her and said, “I know what that’s like. Sometimes I close my eyes and imagine what would’ve happened if Toothless hadn’t caught me during the Battle of the Green Death. It scares me. I imagine the people I would’ve hurt if I would’ve… you know…” they both knew what he was going to say, but neither of them said it, “look the point is,” he continued as he began to move her bangs to the side. He quickly froze and pulled his hand away, “Oh Gods uh- I’m so sorry I dont kno-”

He didn’t get to finish his sentence. Everything happened so fast, and all he knew was that one moment her lips were on his and the next moment she was pulling away, babbling an apology, “Sorry, I don’t know what- I mean if you don’t feel the sam-” but it was his turn to cut her off. 

He leaned forward and kissed her. She hesitated for a moment before kissing him back. This was nothing like any of the kisses they’d previously shared. He was bolder this time, taking most of the control, which, to Astrid’s surprise, she didn’t mind. His lips were soft and he was gentle as he ran his fingers through her hair. She realized that this- he- was all she wanted. And it was all Hiccup ever wanted too. He remained calm on the outside but his mind was spinning with a million thoughts- but the only one he could pay attention to was the one saying he loved her. He loved her, he loved this. The quick pauses to take a breath, and the reconnecting of their lips, which sent a fire throughout his body each time, the feeling of her hair in his hands, all of it. He didn’t want it to end, and neither did she. Neither knew how long they stayed like that, but eventually they pulled apart, the feeling of each other still on their lips. 

“Um lips okay wow that just…” she had no idea what to say.

“Did you just seriously just say ‘um lips’ to me?” he joked. She laughed and lightly punched him on the arm, “I just never expected you to initiate something like that, Haddock,” she teased back, though she meant it. Astrid had always been the one to initiate any intimate moments they shared, and she hadn’t expected Hiccup, the boy who got flustered whenever they made eye contact for more than 3 seconds, to do something that bold. Not that she was complaining though. Hiccup faked a smug smile and voice saying, “yeah I just did that.”

“Do I need to humble you Dragon Boy?” and with that, she pushed him off the bed. He landed with a thud but quickly got up in a play fighting stance. “So this is how it is huh?” he lunged at her on the bed, attempting to grab her around the waist to tickle her, but she quickly dodged. 

“You can’t win against me,” she said with a smirk

“Oh yeah, Hofferson? Let’s see,” he said as he went for her again, but to neither of their surprise, she was just that much quicker than him. She maneuvered by him so that she was behind him, grabbed his arm, and pinned it against his back, “what was that you were saying, ‘let’s see’?” 

“I’m not giving up yet, I’ve- I’ve got something coming you’ll never expect,” he said attempting to sound confident, but it really just came across as struggling. 

“Oh yeah? That’s okay, I can wait like this. Take your time,” she said in a sly tone. She knew she had him beat, but she didn’t mind letting him pretend he’d thought of something. After a few minutes, he caved in, “alright fine, fine I give up! You win,” he said, and Astrid dropped his arm, laughing hysterically.

“I almost had you!”

“I’m sure you did,” she said, her laughter slowly subsiding. They were both exhausted and laid down on the bed, this time, Hiccup’s arm wrapped around Astrid, and Astrid’s head on his chest, feeling the slow rise and fall of each breath he took. This was the most comfortable she’d ever felt in her entire life, and she wanted to stay like this forever. 

“Astrid, I promise you none of this is your fault. You can’t blame yourself for what happened here while you were gone.” She didn’t say anything for a moment, and Hiccup figured she was asleep. 

“Thank you, Hiccup. For everything tonight. Taking me on Toothless, getting me back home, staying with me, everything. It really means a lot to me.” He smiled and held her tighter, gently brushing his hands through her hair. 

“Astrid I will always be here for you, no matter what. I know you think you have to deal with things alone, but you don’t. You have me, the dragon riders, your parents, so many people that care about you and wouldn’t hesitate to help you with something. You don’t have to go through everything alone.” He was right, but he also wasn’t. No one would be there for her the way he is. 

“The truth is, Hiccup- you’re the person I trust the most. I know that sounds crazy because it should be my parents, but they’re traditional vikings, they think the best way to handle emotions is with axes and sharp things. And I love the dragon riders, don’t get me wrong, but I probably wouldn’t trust them with too many things. Fishlegs is nice, but he’d probably just try and get me to meditate, the twins, well that’s pretty self explanatory,” Hiccup laughed and agreed with that one, “Snotlout is the last person I’d trust with anything, and Heather isn’t around enough for me to talk to her frequently. Hiccup, you’re the only one that let’s me deal with things the way I need to. You make me feel… safe. You always have. That night you took me on the first flight on Toothless, I remember me yelling at you ‘I am not listening to anything you have to say’, and instead of getting angry, you worked with me and said, ‘then I won’t speak, just let me show you.’ You never try and argue and you don't get upset, you just let me be myself,” she confessed. 

“Well I guess you didn’t really have a choice to trust me when you were stuck up in that tree,” he joked, “but I never knew I made you feel that way. I mean, I’m glad I do, I just never knew. And it doesn’t sound crazy, I don’t trust my dad with a whole lot, and obviously I don’t know my mom. And the dragon riders can be a bit much sometimes, that is true. I guess the same goes for me, you’re the person I trust the most too.” She gave a content smile and lifted her head up and kissed him gently. She placed her head back on his chest and closed her eyes, feeling happier than she ever had.

Once Hiccup thought she was asleep, he whispered, “I love you, Astrid Hofferson,” and closed his eyes, which were almost immediately reopened when he heard a quiet, “I love you too, Haddock.” He wanted to stay awake, just for a little bit longer. He wanted to live in this moment forever. Astrid curled up against him, peacefully sleeping, her hair cascading down her back and across his chest, her head perfectly placed in the crook of his neck. But sooner than he cared for, sleep overtook him and they were both fast asleep, still holding onto each other as tightly as they could. 

[legobiwan]

Alright people, I am finally caught up with the Mandalorian Season 2. My reaction thus far:

(spoilers ahoy)

So far, this season doesn’t seem to have a strong direction. It’s mostly Din getting sent from sidequest to sidequest featuring “this week’s special guest stars(s).” I realize that this is all supposed to be building up to something, but I hope the payoff is worth it. 

I love Cobb Vanth. This is probably because I love Timothy Olyphant. I dearly hope he returns and gets a bit more material to work with before the end of the season. Kind of annoying that we had to go back to Tatooine again, but Star Wars just can’t seem to kick its legacy characters (which is something I’ll get into later).

Speaking of Tatooine...while I loved the introduction of the idea of the moisture farmers and the Sandpeople working together, we never really...saw any of it happening? Show, don’t tell, as the old adage goes. While there wasn’t time for a treatment of Tatooine’s complicated social issues as was done in the Kenobi novel, the whole concept seemed pretty perfunctory as a way for Mando to blow up a krayt dragon.

(and I had to laugh, whatever “prize” organ the Sandperson found was 100% one of those bouncy balls you’d find in Ralph’s or Von’s or something at the beach sale bucket for $4.99. Along those lines, the effects - both practical and VFX - have not been anywhere near as high quality this season.)

Frog episode. Fun! It was one of my favorite episodes even though it accomplished very little in terms of pushing the narrative forward. Funny characterization of baby Yoda (I kept expecting him to go full-on Yoshi with those spiders), great introduction of the Frog species, and the spiders were pretty cool.

Bo-Katan episode. A PORT CITY! Something DIFFERENT! Finally!

Mando seems to suffer from power creep and relapse which is a persistent issue in Star Wars in general (see the Ahsoka episode for more discussion revolving around that). He blew up the krayt dragon almost single-handedly, fought off all those spiders, and yet was pretty taken down by the Mon Calamari pirate gang. 

I had no issue with Bo-Katan showing up, and I think her reference to Mando being in a religious cult is fascinating and I would like to know a lot more about that. (Also interesting in how it can also be an oblique reference to the Jedi who were considered, by some, to also be an esoteric religious cult.)

So because of this, does Mando seriously not know who Bo-Katan is? I’m guessing all that history was erased, even something as simple as the fact that Bo-Katan was the sister of a Mandalorian ruler.

And funny enough, I feel kind of bad for her. She wants that Darksaber, wants to rule Mandalore and it feels like she has been fighting the same fight with the same words since we were introduced to her in TCW. I don’t know if that was the intended effect (likely not), but she strikes me as a character almost stuck in her own narrative, unable to move on. Although I do appreciate that she still seems rather morally grey here, which is a nice change of pace from characters who masquerade as morally grey (read: Mando and clan) but who are really coded as the “good guys” (fighting - again - against the “bad guys”.)

(Which gets me into a whole other discussion in that I find that only the Prequels and TCW really delve into that uncertain area where the good guys - even the Jedi - are not 100% good. And that the Legends material really dug at the fracture while the new material - books, movies, shows - tends to shy away from moral complexity. It’s frustrating, as the ambiguity is what is so appealing about the whole damn thing.)

So if the Frog Couple’s children were the last of their kind, was Baby Yoda about to perpetuate a genocide because he was hungry? Because, that’s honestly pretty damn funny.

Oh, the New Republic isn’t learning from the Old Republic. Much like Russia, you never try to invade and control the Outer Rim. It just ends up in tears.

Okay, the macaron scene was pretty damn funny and wholly superfluous and petty use of the Force that I could see...wait for it...Obi-wan perpetuating in his youth. 

So. Clones. M-blood. Shadows of Jen Zanna Arbor and Plageius’s experiments. Plus Gideon looking on at his Death Trooper clones who look a bit like Vader. Is Gideon trying to create a Force-sensitive army that can be controlled via these suits in TIE Fighters that look A LOT like Thrawn’s defenders? Does Gideon know about the Chiss Navigators and is this how he got the idea? Because that would tie some things together. 

Alright. Ahsoka’s episode. Sigh...

Dave Filoni needs to let go. I love Ahsoka, she’s a fantastic character, but at this point, she sucks the oxygen out the room for any other storyline. I never liked the way she was brought back in Rebels, I thought her existence on that other plane after the battle of Malachor was a perfect ending for her. 

(I’m not going to get into the costuming too much. It didn’t work. Disney has enough money to do effects, I don’t why they couldn’t have touched this up just a hair while keeping with the “gritty realism” aesthetic of this show. The whole thing was rather jarring.)

And the thing is, she’s taken on Vader, has come back from the dead twice, has defeated Maul and then suddenly this weird Magistrate Lady is giving her issues? Like, I get getting older and not being as on top of your game but if Ben Kenobi of the desert could take down Maul in three slashes, you would thing Ahsoka wouldn’t be having these issues.

Along those lines, that fight sequence was painful to watch. I’m 1000% certain Filoni was referencing either some Western or Kurosawa flick which I am too film-illiterate to know offhand, but it just...didn’t work. Especially seeing as the VFX wasn’t strong enough to support the questionable choreography/blocking. 

I have no issue with Ahsoka coming to terms with the Jedi at an older age, that’s what happens. You have to drop at least some of your grudges. And I don’t even mind Mando and Grogu meeting up with a Jedi like this. But I wish it had been a different Jedi or maybe one we hadn’t even known before. 

And that’s the thing. Star Wars gets so bogged down in its legacy characters (see: the Sequels) that it gets in its own narrative way. (And ironically enough, most of these “legacy” characters are from the much-maligned Prequel-era). Look at the popularity of Rebels, of Fallen Order, of the Thrawn books (and ELI VANTO, ahem). There’s so much room to expand and play with new themes, new ideas rather than fall back on this “good rebels” vs. “evil empire” with the “very good Jedi” helping mystically along the way. Give me more religious cults, more conspiracy theories, more politics and taxation and trade routes. That’s what made the Prequels so great. I’m hoping this Moff Gideon storyline will go off in an interesting direction as will Mando’s culty background but we’ll see.

So...five episodes into the season I give it a 6/10 so far. We’ll see how it all goes. 

[whydoyouwantmyname]

Imagine not telling the boys some important information

This was supposed to be an easy case, after everything you and the boys had been through you three needed an easy case.

You had known the boys for years, having met at the roadhouse, Ellen told the boys they would be fools to not ask you to help with a case, and you had been stuck with them ever since.

Since then you three had been through the ringer, John Winchester was dead, Yellow Eyes was dead, Sam had died, come back, and died again, before coming back again with no soul. Dean had sold his soul, been ripped apart in front of you, just to turn up on your doorstep four months later, living and breathing. You had befriended an angel, befriended a crossroad demon, and witnessed the apocalypse. You learned that your boys were vessels of Lucifer, and Micheal, learned they had a bastard brother, Jo, and Ellen were dead. And to top it all off you witnessed Dean look you in the eyes, pull you into a hug and whisper, “Be good.”, before he climbed into the impala, and drove back to Lisa and Ben’s doorstep. After a month of no word from him or Cas, you asked Bobby if you could move in permanently, and drank more whiskey than either Winchester ever could. However within a year’s time, Bobby called you down stairs, your hair a mess, an oversized Led Zeppelin shirt was draped over your frame, and in your hand was an empty vodka bottle. As you wandered down the stairs you let out a yawn, and when you opened your eyes, there they were.

Since reuniting with the boys, you learned Sam had returned with no soul, and had been racing around with Samuel, the elder he was named after. Bobby also revealed that he had made a deal with Crowley, and that he had discovered Crowley’s true weakness, his child, Gavin. Gavin’s spirit was extremely willing to reveal where Crowley was buried. Both you and the Winchester’s went to dig up the bones, and upon Crowley collecting them, you all flew back, comforted that Bobby had reclaimed his soul from the new King of Hell. Meg had returned, Death had made an appearance with Sam’s soul, Dean became a vampire, and you fought fairies. Which led you to your current situation, where you were sitting on the hood of the impala, cold beer in hand as Dean, Cas, and Bobby assessed Sam’s current state. The sun reflecting off of your dark sunglasses as you looked towards the back porch door, which shut with a bit of force and revealed the eldest Winchester walking towards you with Bobby.

“Did our precious sleeping beauty fall back asleep?” You called as the men looked away from one another, and found your eyes. Dean scowling as he states, “Why my car? You have a perfectly good car…”

“My car is in the front yard though, and covered by shade, at least your precious baby is in the sun, meaning I can tan.”

“You are wearing jeans and a flannel, what are you tanning?”

“Don’t worry, I won’t scratch her, now what do we do?”

“Well Cas says we can’t let him know, or else the whole wall protecting his mentality.” Bobby replied, as you looked over to him.

“So we just pretend this last year didn’t happen, awesome.” You smiled

“Well for you that will be easy, since you probably drank yourself to unconsciousness for most of it.” Dean joked as you smiled and replied, “So we got a new case yet?”

“Yeah, seems like a pilot was trying to impress a girl, took her flying and his body ended up torn to shreds by god knows what, and the girl is missing.”

“When are we leaving?”

“I expect your shit in the trunk in 30, and I swear if she has any scratches or dents on her hood…”

“I know, you will send me on a one way trip to Hell.” You smiled before finishing your beer, and hopping off the Impala, turning to look at the hood, “Oh look, not even an ass print.”

While sitting in the back seat, you all discussed the case at hand, and discovered the case was larger than just one missing woman. You also quickly learned that Sam had no recollection of the events that occurred since he went into the hole, and innocently asked, “So while I was gone, did you two finally admit you are in love with each other.”

Now it was a common fact among your group that you and Dean loved each other, you said it on multiple occasions, if you ever needed to pose as a couple, you and Dean were always the bait, you shared beds in countless hotels, you were the only one allowed to steal his fries, and you were the only one allowed to touch Baby, as proved earlier. You knew if anyone else even attempted to sit on the Impala, Dean would have their heads, but with you, you just got light harassment. However you both knew it could never happen, due to the life you led, and the baggage you carried with you.

“No, I actually moved in with Lisa and Ben, however we… uhhh… didn’t work out.” Dean answered, looking in the rearview as you added, “She was tired of competing with a car from 1967.”

Sam chuckled, as Dean smiled slightly, his lips corner lifting in an unseen smirk, neifre Sam asked, “So what did you do [Y/N]?”

“You know all the normal stuff, moved in with Bobby, became a functioning alcoholic, researched a bunch.”

“Don’t forget to add, slept with a bunch of dudes.” Dean joked, as your eyes grew slightly, the truth was, you hadn’t slept with anyone, ever. With the life you lead, and the baggage you carried, it was just easier to not get involved with anyone, seriously or causally, most times you never even had a crush, but Dean Winchester was an exception.

“Oh I am sure Sam didn’t need to know about that.” You joked, in an attempt to hide the secret.

“I agree.” Sam added, “Besides, we all know that there is only one person…”

“So are we going straight to Penny’s house when we get to the hotel?” You cut Sam off

“That’s the plan.” Dean answered, pulling into a motel parking lot, “I call first dibs on the bathroom.”

As you opened the door to the motel room, you looked behind you to the two boys in suits, your flannel, boots and jeans replaced with a pencil skirt, black pumps, and white button down, as fake glasses sat on your nose, “I call dibs on the bathroom, unless you want me to just take off the skirt right here.”

“All yours.” Sam replied as Dean lifted an eyebrow, “You need some help with that skirt darling?”

“I think I have it handled Stud, but thank you for the offer.” You replied, before discarding your pumps, and jogging towards the bathroom.

As the door shut behind you, Sam looked to his brother, “Dude, why did you ever leave her for Lisa?”

“What do you mean?”

“Dean, you clearly love her, we all know you both do. Why not try to make it wor….”

“Dude, we have talked about this, she doesn’t want to date because she doesn’t want to burden her next relationship with her baggage.”

“She said that four years ago Dean.”

“And if she wanted to move forward she would tell me, so I nominate you drop it, before she comes out of that door, and kills you with her pumps.”

When you re-emerged, your hair was soaked, and the FBI outfit was replaced with your black leggings, jean jacket, and a tank top, your hand ruffled your wet strands of hair as Dean looked towards you and smiled, “So I think I figured something out.”

“Did you finally learn that Boston Cream pie isn’t pie, but cake?” You questioned, both you and Sam looking to see if he would react, however he just held up a small black book with a silver lock, “No, but we are looking for virgins.”

“Dude is that a diary?” Sam inquired as Dean just nodded, “You stole Penny’s diary?”

“I mean at this point are you really surprised? I have stolen much worse.”

“Honestly Dean, this might be a new low, even for you.” You replied, sitting on your shared bed as you opened Dean’s bag and removed your bourbon lotion, which Dean had stolen from you two months ago. However it was a common tradition for Dean to use your lotion, the origin of the tradition was unknown to either of you, “Besides we have no proof that either of these victims are..”

“Tonight I have decided to give Stan my most precious gift.” The statement sounded extremely creepy as he read Penny’s handwriting, both you and Sam looking towards Dean as you whispered, “Well that wasn’t creepy.”

“It might have been, but you can’t tell me that doesn’t scream Virgin excited to get fucked into next week by Stan.” Dean answered as you returned the lotion to Dean’s bag and chuckled, “Definitely.”

“Okay, so why would this creep be after virgins?”

“No idea, I mean I prefer a woman with experience, someone who probably has daddy issues, lots of baggage and her drink of choice is whiskey. Also she has to smell like bourbon.”

“Sounds like you are looking for a bartender.” You smiled, as Sam cleared his throat, causing you to glance over to him, a blush in both your and Dean’s face, “So what do we think it could be?”

“Easy, dragon.” You shrugged, as they both met your eyes,”I mean they are attracted to virgins, they are like a fine delicacy to them.”

“Yeah, but they are extinct.” Sam replied as you pulled out your phone

“At least that’s what everyone says, but what if they aren’t, they are just underground.” You answered, your fingers pressing a familiar number sequence on your number pad before you brought your phone to your ear.

“Yeah?”

“Hey Bobby, I got an odd request for ya.”

“I’m all ears.”

“What do you know about dragons?”

“You mean other than the fact that they are extinct?” He replied as you smiled, “And what if I said I think we stumbled upon a case that proves they aren’t.”

“Well I can look into it, but how do you know…”

“Dean stole one of the vic’s diaries, and there is a line in it that screams virgin.”

“I’ll see what I can find, but while I do that, I got a friend who might be able to help. If you and Dean wanted to take a ride over, her name is Dr. Visyak. It is kinda her specialty,”

“Thanks Bobby. I’ll tell the guys.” You replied, before hanging up, your eyes casting to the eldest, “Bobby said he would do some digging, however he might have a friend who can help, said Dean and I should take a ride over.”

“Sure sweetheart, whatever you say.” He smiled, alarm in his eyes as you both threw on your shoes and started towards the impala. Before opening the passenger door, you said to the air, “Cas, I need you to babysit Sam, just for an hour or two.”

Once in the car, you turned the music up, and screamed along with the mixtape you made Dean once for Christmas, both of you rocking out to the songs before the song You’re My Best Friend by Queens started playing, and you both looked at each other. This was the song that you both defined your relationship by, and as the lyrics blared through the speakers, you couldn’t help but lean your head back against the headrest, and look at the dirty blonde, green eyes man seated beside you as he took his callused, dry, enormous hand into yours, smiles on both of your faces as you sang every word. Once it was over however, Dean let go of your hand, and turned the radio off.

“Awww come on, Air Supply is next.” You groaned as Dean looked at you quickly, before he asked, “What are we doing [Y/N]?”

“What do you mean Dean?”

“Listen, I know we talked about this once, but then…”

“You messed it up by selling your soul.”

“And you told me you didn’t want to date because you had a lot of baggage that you didn’t want me to have to deal with, nor were you willing to tell me.”

“Guess we are both at fault.” You replied as he breathed out.

“Listen I know what we said, and that this is by far the dumbest decision we could make as hunters, but what if we try?”

“And risk losing my best friend?”

“You really think we won’t be best friends even if we break up, I mean it will be awkward knowing what my best friend looks like completely naked, but other then that nothing else has to change.”

“You offer a very valid point.” You exhaled, as he pulled into the address Bobby had sent you, “How about this, we get this son of a bitch, and go home to Bobby’s. After unloading the impala we drive over to that bakery on the corner by the grocery store, get a pecan pie, two forks, and a case of beer. Then we talk about it.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.” You replied, before holding your pinky out and watching him link his own to yours, as you pulled apart you both threw the impala doors open, and started towards the doors of Dr. Visyak’s office.

Upon reaching the door, Dean reached out and knocked, a few moments passing before the door creaked open revealing Dr. Visyak, “ Can I help you?”

“Hi, I’m Dean Winchester, and this is [Y/N] [Y/L/N], we are friends of Bobby Singer, and he said you might be able to help us out.”

“How about you just go kick him in the family jewels, it would be more poetic.”she replied, Dean’s face taking an O appearance as you replied, “That bad? Doesn’t surprise me honestly.”

“I am glad you understand, I would share, but that’s his story to tell. However if he sent you here, he must be desperate.”

“What can you tell us about dragons?” You asked, as her eyes increased in size, “Dragons? Really?”

“What, no 12 sided dice jokes?” Dean asked as you looked at him, “How do you get a DND player to go out with you?”

“Do I want to know?”

“You ask them on a D8.” Dr. Visyak smiled at you after delivering the punch line, your eyes fixated on the confused face of Dean before she opened the door wider, allowing you both to enter the house. As you entered you leaned over slightly and whispered, “You asked.”

As she guided you to the parlor you inquired, “So what can you tell us about them?”

“Well if they are active then you should be extremely concerned.”

“Can we kill them?” Dean followed up, as she looked at the artifacts on the wall, “Of course you can, however you need a blade forged in a dragon's blood.”

“Of course you would need a dead dragon to kill a dragon.” You breathed out

“No dear, you just need one of the blades, they are quite rare, only 5, maybe 6 in the whole world.”

“Of course there is.” Dean sighed

“One of which is in my basement.”

“What?” You both asked, eyes on her as she smiled.

“I can show you, if you like.”

“Yes please.” You replied before following her down the steps and into the room with a large rock, a sword hilt sticking out of it as you looked towards Dean.

“Thank goodness I have the macho man with me.”you smiled as he raised an eyebrow.

“So what’s with the rock?”

“Dean, have you never heard the story of Excalibur?”

“Who?”

“More of a what actually, it was a sword that was trapped in a rock during 5th century Britain, King Arthur pulled it out at the age of 15, and from there vowed to pursue a life of justice in the name of God. However some claim it was a test from Merlin to prove he was truly the king. However both stories kinda have the same message, if you wanna pull the sword out, you must be worthy.”

“I mean I think I am pretty worthy.”

“Sure you are my shining knight in tin foil.” You stated as he threw up his middle finger and advanced towards the rock. You folded your arms and leaned back against the doorframe and smiled, as he gripped the hilt and breathed out, “Alrighty Dean, time to impress the lady.”

Soon the room was filled with your laughter as you watched Dean struggle and after several minutes of struggling he finally slipped from the rock and landed on his back a groan filling the room as you wandered over to him and looked down over him, arms crossed as he groaned, “You okay Dean?”

“I would be if you were wearing a skirt.” He groaned, his green eyes looking up at you as you smiled, “Smooth one.”

“Wanna give it a go my fair maiden?”

“Of course I do, but first I need to get something out of the impala.” You extended a hand for the keys, which Dean happily surrendered, as he did he stated, “If you need me, I’ll be here, on the ground, just waiting.”

When you returned you were holding a small cylinder of TNT, Dean’s head lollied towards you as he groaned, “We had that the whole time?”

“Yeah, however I figured before we blew it up, you might want to attempt proving your worth.”

“I mean yeah, but the boom sticks would be way funnier.” He sighed as you extended a hand to help him up,once vertical you extended the TNT and stated, “Either way Dr. Visyak is going to be pissed.”

“So let me get this straight, you both found out that to kill a dragon, we need a dragon blade, which is extremely rare, and you two decided to blow it up and break it?” Sam asked, as you both looked at the towel on the table, which you used to wrap the severed blade.

“Now when you say it like that Sammy it sounds like we knew it was going to break in half.” You replied

“What did you think was going to happen [Y\N]!”

“I don’t know, something amazing.” You replied as Sam looked to the blade

“It could be worse, it could have been completely destroyed. I mean at this point we can still kill the son of a bitch, we just have to get a bit closer.” Dean defended you as you looked at him.

“So, Sam, you figure out where we can find it?”

“Yeah, it looks like he is using the sewers, my best bet is he is somewhere in this region.” Sam answered, his finger landing within a hand drawn red circle he made to symbolize the likely hideout.

“Well, what are we waiting for?” Dean asked, “Let’s go get the son of a bitch.”

After wandering for hours you were starting to think it was hopeless, until you saw the slight glimmer of the pile of treasure.

As soon as you pointed it out, Dean walked over to it and knelt before it, reaching out to start shoving it in his pocket.

“Really Dean?” Sam stated as you held up a hand, “No let him have this, who knows when it will happen again.”

“You two are unbelievable sometimes.” Sam sighed as Dean stood up and tossed a ruby towards you, “That is for your unconditional support.”

That’s when you heard the bang, and you and Sam turned your attention from Dean, and down the tunnel before you. Both of you started towards the noise as Dean quickly followed, and soon you found yourselves in a large space, and could see the girls crying through the grates, none of them noticing you were standing there. However before any of you could get to them, you heard a bang above you, and looked up to see two men on a runway above you. Quickly you were bonding up the stairs to the runway, and upon getting up there one snarled, “I never thought our job would be so easy that virgins would start coming to us.”

“Shut the fuck up.” You retorted as Dean arrived behind you, sword in hand as he quickly advanced, slashing at the beast before noticing one behind me, “[Y/N]!” He hollered, tossing the blade before slugging the younger dragon he was fighting, catching the blade, you quickly turned, and sliced a small incision into the arm of the older one, who quickly exclaimed, “You will regret that Virgin.”

Ducking his own swing, you quickly tossed the blade back to Dean, who caught it as you both backed up closer to one another, ducking again before swinging Dean decided to ask you, “Anything you want to tell me Darling?”

“I really wish we didn’t use TNT.” You replied, looking out of the corner of your eye to see Dean take another swing.

“Anything else? Like why these assholes keep calling you…”

“I’m a virgin, no big deal.”

“Umm it is kind of a big deal right now.”

“Nah I think we got this.” You replied, Sam finally joining you all on the runway as you reached around and took the sword, which you once again swung at the older dragon, before Sam hit him from behind, distracting him for a second as you turned, and landed the blade into the younger dragon as Dean punched him, a speech of pain filling the space as you felt something wrap around your middle before the rapid feeling of acceleration overtook you, a scream exiting your lips as you dropped the sword, neither Sam or Dean were able to even process what was happening until they heard the crash from above, the man hole that was above them wide open as Dean screamed, “Son of a bitch!”

Dean’s POV

My foot was to the floor, knuckles gripped tightly on the steering wheel as her words echoed over and over, “I’m a virgin, no big deal.”

“I don’t get it, why would the dragons take her?” Sam asked as I pulled into the parking lot of the motel, releasing a breath I didn’t even know I was holding I whispered, “She was a virgin.”

“What?”

“We basically served them a victim on a silver platter.” He huffed as Sam looked at him, before muttering something about getting the bags, however all I heard was the shutting off the impala doors, which triggered me to begin beating the steering wheel. How could I be so blind.

The ride to Bobby’s was silent, I didn’t even have the desire to put on the radio. Upon arriving I noticed Cas was standing on the porch, his eyes directed right at the impala as I turned the key, and the purr of Baby died down, leaving her silent as I sat there, my head leaned back against the headrest as Sam looked towards me, “We have to go in Dean.”

“We weren’t supposed to be here.” I stated, Sam’s eyes filled with concern as the tears gathered, I could feel the sob in my chest as I continued, fighting the urge to let the sob loose, “We agreed that we would go get pie as soon as we dropped you off, along with a case of beer and two fork, and finally figure out this whole sexual tension thing. If I had just suggested it sooner, if I had the fucking balls to tell her I don’t give a damn about the relationship rule…..” my voice grew silent, and then turned into a growl, “ he might be here.”

“Dean none of us knew…”

“I should have! I was her best friend, we told each other everything.” I stated, before I took the door handle into my hand, and gripped the cool metal, pulling with force to trigger the door to open. As I advanced towards the angel he grimly stated, “Dean, I’m sorry…”

“Where is she Cas?” I asked, not looking for small talk

“I have lost track of her, either she is being possessed and whatever is holding her prisoner is blocking her from angels' sight, or she has..”

“Don’t you dare fucking say it.” I growled, before pushing through the peeling paint door, and advancing straight to the kitchen, grabbing her bottle of Jack before pushing out the back door, the smooth glass lips of the bottle on mine as I grabbed the bat Bobby had sitting on the porch, and wandered into the pile of junk cars. Once I was in front of a mostly complete car, I set the bottle down and took a swing.

Back to [Y/N] POV

Upon waking up you could feel you body jostling around, you were sitting up, feet and wrist bond with thick rope, your eyes covered with a bandanna as you opened them, your nose filled with the stench of BO and sewer.

“Ever heard of Axe body spray?” You snapped as you heard a foreign laugh, “It’s alright sweetheart, you won’t be around long enough to even be bothered by the smell.”

“So tell me, what was the point of all this, to drive all of the virgins out into the woods, a feast upon their pure flesh?”

“Nope, I have a bigger plan for you, you are the only one who seems worthy enough for Eve.”

“What is she your girlfriend or something?”

“No, she is my mother, and you will soon be her vessel.”

“When they find you…”

“Oh your two little boyfriends that killed my brother? They don’t scare me.”

“It isn’t them I would be scared of.” As you growled that, you felt the vehicle stop, and a door open and shut. Soon you felt your own door open, your feet cut loose, as you went to kick, yet he was too quick, and soon you were dragged out and felt the cool breeze against your face. As you inhaled the fresh, crisp night air, he removed the bandanna, and revealed the gully to you, causing you to respond, “Ahh I take it I am a sacrifice?”

“Now you’ve caught on.”

“Oh now you are definitely fucked when he finds you.”

“ Ego coniuro vos, insolubiliter ad mei potenciam aligati! Ad me...Sine prestolacione venire... Debeatis aperiat!” With the last part he took all his force and shoved you as hard as he could, your body flying over the ledge and towards the bottom of the large ravine, which was quite warm. That is when it all went dark.

When you opened your eyes, you were in a hotel room, the tv screen covered in static as you looked around, hoping it was a dream, “Sam, Dean!” You called, but the voice that replied was neither.

“Hello [Y/N]. Or should I call you Ailsa?” A female voice asked, as you spun around, looking for the source

“Only my father can call me that.” You snapped

“ Feisty, I like it, tell me do you really think your dear old daddy is going to find you.”

“Do you have any idea who you are…”

“Ailsa MacLeod, you were born in 1803, your mother was a mortal,she died from you ripping your way out of her womb. Your father… well your father is a bastard. You were raised in the depths of hell, your beauty preserved among the paperwork, and your father constantly looking over your shoulder. You left in 1981, and became a hunter, drifting motel to motel, bar hopping, until you met the legendary Winchesters, who became your family. Tell me what do you think Sam and Dean would think if they saw those bright ruby eyes you hid behind your [Y/E/C] ones?”

“How do you…”

“How foolish of me, I haven’t even properly introduced myself, I am Eve, mother of purgatory, and the one who is going to tear your father’s heart from his chest for what him and his partner have done to my children.”

Part 2

—————————————

A/N: hey, so this is basically a revision of a piece I wrote when I first started this page, I was recently reading it, and I was cringing the whole time. (Which if you cringed during this rewrite I am sorry, I believe that your writing always improves during time, so who knows maybe if I rewrite this in another 5 years it will be even better) plus this is a nice break from the two major stories I have been focusing on for the past three months I have been in quarantine.

Today I have to go to my rehiring meeting with my place of employment, so hopefully life will be normal soon, but I promise I will keep posting 🖤

[theshrubbery]

Here’s my new snowbaz fic!!

Summary: Back at Watford I was always on the ball with these things. I spent years suspecting he was a vampire and yet here I am, completely oblivious. Sometimes I feel as though I left all of that at Watford, like Baz took on a new identity when we left, like that’s an old life that I’m not a part of anymore.

Sometimes I forget that I’m not the only one with scars. My tail flicks pointedly.

Or; 5 times Simon forgot that Baz was a vampire, and 1 time he didn't.

________________________________________________________________

Baz has been gone for far too long. He’s never out this long. Especially not when he has uni the next day. It’s way past midnight, probably past one now. I haven’t checked in a while because that would mean I have to stop pacing long enough to look.

He should be back by now. Where is he?

He said he’d be back over an hour ago and he’s not answering his phone. It’s just ringing straight through to voicemail - he doesn’t even have the excuse that it’s died. Unless he’s lost it? But that’s unlikely. Baz never loses anything, Merlin knows how.  

I can’t take much more of this. I stop pacing, growl in frustration, run my hands through my hair and then slide my phone out of my pocket.

he’s still not back pen I type out quickly, sending it to Penny. She’s at home visiting her parents for the weekend, it’s her mum’s birthday. I’d give anything to have her here now, she always knows what to do. Unlike me. So much for being the chosen one, Merlin and Morgana I can’t do anything on my own.

Give him a little longer. Penny texts back in reply. I rush to unlock my phone so I can read it in full. Don’t go looking for him. Not with your tail and wings out.

Frustration bubbles up from my stomach to my chest. I hate this. I hate that I can’t just go out like a normal person. I hate that I can’t even open the door for a bloody delivery driver anymore without someone spelling all my extra parts invisible first. It’s demeaning and ridiculous and I feel like a ninny.

I clench my teeth and walk stiffly over to the table, finishing off the dregs of a bottle of cider - my third one of the night. So far. I shake the bottle a few times over my open mouth and then slam it down and continue to pace. At least it’s gotten me off the sofa, I suppose.

My stomach is in absolute knots. I’m so worried over this it’s making it ache. It doesn’t matter that we’re living safely amongst Normals, anything could have happened. It’s not like the underbelly of the Magickal world pays any attention to the rules.

Then, just as I really am about to go insane with worry, there’s a dull thump at the door. It rattles on its hinges, like someone’s thrown themselves against it and all I can think is I swear Baz took his keys when he left.

I rush to look through the keyhole, just in case. It’s a habit Baz and Penny absolutely drilled into me so that I didn’t swing the door open to anyone with my wings out.

It’s Baz. Oh, great snakes. Thank Merlin. Though the relief is short lived.

I yank the door open and my heart instantly drops to somewhere near my intestines.

Baz is heaving for breath, one arm clutching his bloodied shirt and the other hanging limply at his side, his wand in his hand. His clothes are dirty and torn, blood is puddling slowly at the floor by his feet. I’m having trouble breathing. It’s like the fight with the Mage all over again, it’s Ebb’s dead body.

Baz mutters a spell under his breath, I don’t catch what it is but it magicks the floor clean. Has he been doing that the entire way up here? Surely that’s draining way more magic than it’s worth! Energy that Baz could be better using to just concentrate on getting to the flat and not dying in the process.

“You goin’ to… You going to let me in or what?” Baz slurs, catching himself halfway through and fighting to get the words out. He’s gritting his teeth, his perfect mouth is stained red. I don’t think I’ve ever heard Baz slur, it’s disconcerting. I’ve known him most of my life and in all that time his enunciation was always near perfect at the worst of times, impeccable at the best. It’s part of what makes him so talented with magick.

“Oh fuck. Baz? Baz, what happened?” I rush out, distantly noticing I’m swearing like a Normal from the stress. My hands flutter around Baz, I don’t know where I should touch him, I don’t know if I can touch him. What if I make it worse? What if I hurt him?

“I got jumped,” Baz tells me, starting to shoulder his way past me and into the flat. “I got stabbed. Quite a few times, actually.”

I block the way, glad that Baz doesn’t seem to have the strength to boulder his way past me.

“Oh, god. We need to go to the hospital.” I dart to the dish on the hallway side, my vision tilting in panic as I grab my keys and wallet. I can’t believe this is happening. I can’t believe what we’ve fought together and he’s been so badly maimed by muggers. This might even beat the Numpties incident. I can’t believe I’m thinking something like that at a time like this - this isn’t the time for jokes. Oh, god.

“I’m not going,” Baz says, pushing past me. I grab his shoulders to stop him, and then let go with a sickened jolt when he winces.

“Stop being stupid, Baz. Hospital. Now.” Baz leans his forearm on the door-frame and begins to bow over himself, groaning. My heart is hammering a mile a minute. “Look at you, you’re bleeding to death!”

Baz snorts. “If only.”

“What?”

“Merlin and Morgana, just let me in.” Baz spells the floor clean again. “Hurry up, before someone sees you.”

“But the-”

“Simon.” Baz lifts his bowed head to look at me, his forehead is crinkled. “Trust me. Don’t-” he breaks off with a load moan of pain, turning to rest his forehead on the arm holding him up against the frame.

“Baz!” My voice is shaking so hard it’s difficult to imagine I ever stood up to dragons, if this is all it takes to bring me down. To be fair, I think I’d go down with a lot less, too, these days.

“I need to lay down,” Baz says faintly. I really don’t like this. I mean, who would? But this is terrifying. It’s always Baz cleaning up after me, Baz patching me up, Baz is never the one as vulnerable as this. I don’t like it, I hate it, and I hate that I don’t have a single clue what to fucking do.

“Fine. Fuck. Okay, come on,” I stutter out. I take Baz’s wand, ignoring the pang in my chest at holding it, and sling his arm over my shoulders. I lead him into the flat, kicking the front door closed behind us, and walk us slowly to the sofa.

Baz staggers his way over, holding out his other arm and grabbing at things as we pass them. He grabs the back of a chair, the sideboard, the back of the sofa. He’s leaving blood stains but I don’t care.

“Easy, Snow,” Baz says as I lower him down, as gently as I possibly can. Baz’s eyes look a little glazed and I feel sick.

“I got you,” I tell him quietly. I put his wand on the coffee table.

“Your hands’re shaking,” Baz mumbles, his words stringing together, like that’s the most important fucking thing to be realising right now. Maybe he’s going into shock? I really doesn’t know what to do. I needs Penny. Penny would know what to do.

Once he can feel the sofa beneath him, Baz lays himself down and I lift both his legs up onto the sofa for him. I try to make him as comfortable as possible despite the way they hang, lanky, over the arm. Or as comfortable as one can be when he’s fucking bleeding out and refusing to get any medical attention .

“Do you need anything?” I ask quickly, already pulling my phone out to scroll for Penny’s number.

“Towel or something, please. Just to soak the blood.”

“Okay, love. Okay. I got it. I’ll be right back.” I kiss his forehead and rush off, holding the phone to my ear with my shoulder as I crash my way into the bathroom and start rummaging around for towels and anything that might possibly help.

“Simon? What is it?” Penny's tinny voice asks. Not even a hello, that’s so typical, straight to the point. Right now I’m extremely thankful for it. I pull a plastic bowl out of the sink and throw some towels in it as I reply.

“Baz’s hurt. He got jumped. I think he’s been stabbed.”

“Merlin, stabbed? How is that possible? Is he alright?”  

“He’s bleeding bad and refusing to go to hospital.” I throw a half empty packet of plasters in my bowl as though they’ll help anything. “I don’t know what to do, Pen.”

“I mean… He can’t go to hospital anyways, Simon. He should be fine unless it was some special sort of weapon. I mean, I can’t think of many ways that a knife can actually kill a vampire.” And then the other shoe drops.

“Oh, shit,” I swear, realisation washing over me in a great big wave of Simon you complete buffoon.

“What is it?”  

“A vampire. Great snakes, Pen, I forgot he was a bloody vampire!”

“Oh, Simon,” Penny says with a sigh. Though there’s still a worried edge to her voice. “No wonder you were worrying so much.”

“Now it makes sense why he wouldn’t go to hospital.”

“Go and look after him, Simon. He’ll be alright. Just keep him comfortable and he’ll be healed up in no time. If he’s still not healed by the time I come back home I’ll sort him out.”

“I will. Sorry, Pen. For disturbing you so late. But- thank you.”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s what I’m here for.” There’s a muted beep as she hangs up the phone, and I shove it back in my pocket. I feel like a complete idiot. Vampire. How on earth could I possibly forget that? I’m going to blame it on my panic. I’m going to blame it on the fact Baz doesn’t hang from walls and kidnap virgin maidens to drain their blood, the fact he doesn’t turn into a bat.

Or at least not that I’m aware of.

I take the towels and box of plasters out of the empty bowl and fill it with warm water out the bathroom tap instead, then carry all of it back to the sofa and set it out on the floor next to Baz.

He’s still lying exactly how I left him, though with one arm draped over his eyes, the other clutching in a white-knuckled grip at his torso.

“Took you long enough,” Baz says in a low voice. It almost sounds like a groan.

“Sorry, Baz.” I kneel down, my legs tucked under me. “I completely forgot about the whole… Vampire thing.”

“Vampire thing,” he parrots back. “Right. So I heard. That would explain things.” Guilt rushes through my system, heats my cheeks. Of course he heard me on the phone. Back at Watford I was always on the ball with these things. I spent years suspecting he was a vampire and yet here I am, completely oblivious. Sometimes I feel as though I left all of that at Watford, like Baz took on a new identity when we left, like that’s an old life that I’m not a part of anymore.

Sometimes I forget that I’m not the only one with scars. My tail flicks pointedly.

“Does it hurt?” I ask him, dunking a towel in the water. “How did it even happen?”

Baz nods and makes a small noise deep in his throat. “Yeah. It hurts. It probably will for a few hours, then it’ll mostly just be itchy. I’ll heal in no time. The only reason I’m even bleeding like this is because I’d just fed - I’ll have to go again once this is sorted.”

“But how did it happen? Was it another vampire?” Surely there has to be more to the story than this. Baz looks uncomfortable, if a little sheepish.

“Just your average alleyway muggers, really.” I raise my eyebrows.

“Crowley.” I curse. “How’d you manage that?”

“I didn’t want to hurt them,” Baz admits with a wince, lowering his arm and staring up at the ceiling. “It would, of course, been fairly easy to tear them to shreds with my bare hands. But that isn’t something I was willing to do.”

“Christ, Baz. There’s going easy on people and then there’s this.” I let go of the towel and gesture sweepingly across Baz’s abdomen and chest. “They shouldn’t have been able to leave this much damage on you.”

Baz looks distant, like he’s weighing things up in his head. I hate that look. It means he’s deciding how much I need to know.

We haven’t really been getting along as well as we used to, recently. Or maybe, it’s just hard to transition from sworn enemies to boyfriends in the matter of a few days. We’ve only been out of Watford a couple of months, but it’s been difficult for us. At first we couldn’t stop kissing and groping for long enough to watch a full episode of the Bake Off but recently it’s like there’s some invisible wedge growing between us.

I still love him, I’m sure of it. I think he loves me, too. But I don’t know what I’m doing. What we’re doing. We need to talk, communicate, but I’m terrified that if we do he’ll leave me. So I just let the divide deepen, and hate myself for it the entire time.

Looking at Baz now, though, I’m scared that I’m looking at the same Baz that tried to set himself alight in the woods. He has issues too, he just hides them better than I do. I feel like such a shit boyfriend, I can’t help him. One day he’ll realise he’s better than me, that I’m not good enough. But I don't want him to go, and that's selfish.

“I didn’t want to hurt them,” Baz repeats after a long silence. “Either way, they were pretty scared by the fact I stayed on my feet for so long.”

“Of course they were, if you were normal you’d be dead.”

Baz immediately flinches, his smirk drops along with my stomach.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean it like that,” I say quickly, but the words catch in my throat and sound like an insincere stutter. “You are normal. For you, I mean.”

Baz sighs. For a second I think he’s going to punch me, but then I realise it’s the opposite. He deflates; his pinched brow and glazed eyes are the fight leaving him.

“Help me out of this shirt,” he says, letting it go.

“I’m sorry, I-”

“But I’m not normal, am I? Not for me. I wasn’t born this way, I was made. It was forced on me,” he quips. Sharp and fast and unfaltering. His eyes are blazing again.

“I-”

“It’s fine.” As quickly as the sparks catch they return to ash again. I really am sorry though. He won’t let me say it, not out loud, so I carry it like a mantra through my thoughts; I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I love you, I’m sorry. “Help me with the shirt. Please, love.”

I bite my lip, but the endearment melts me a little. I know that it’s genuine, even if there is a whole void of unsaid things drifting between us. I reach for the buttons, undoing them as best I can with how my hands are shaking. I have to fight to keep my wings still, my tail, but it’s a losing battle. It’s written all over my body how agitated and nervous I am.

The shirt (the white shirt, why Baz hunts in a white shirt is beyond me) is torn across the chest and stomach, and as I undo the buttons and push the sides apart, my hand accidentally slides through the slash. Baz flinches, though he tries to control it.

“Watch the gaping bloody holes,” he says bluntly. I wince. There’s two glistening puncture wounds, I do my best not to look at them.

I pull the shirt away from him, bracing a hand on his back to help him sit up so I can pull it from under him even though I’m fairly sure he doesn’t really need the help. Looking at him, I can already see where the skin is healing. It doesn’t scab and clot, like flesh wounds normally do, the skin just seems to stitch itself smoothly back together.

I ball his shirt up and throw it to the side, then gently begin wiping the blood away with a damp towel.

“Careful, Snow,” Baz warns with a quiet hiss.

“Does it still hurt?” I have no idea how vampire pain receptors work.

“Crowely, Snow. Of course it hurts. I got stabbed .” Baz doesn’t really sound mad, but his voice has an edge to it.

“I’m sorry,” I say again. I don’t really know what else to say.

Baz doesn’t reply straight away. I can’t tell what he’s thinking. I carry on wiping at the blood, vaguely recognising that, really, this isn’t even Baz’s.

“Why do you keep apologising so much?” He asks softly.

“I just- I don’t know.” I really don’t. “I just keep making you feel bad, and what sort of boyfriend forgets his boyfriend is a vampire? I’m sorry, Baz. Really.”

“It’s alright, Simon.” My stomach flutters at the use of my first name. “I’m glad I have you.” Baz always does this. He puts affection over everything like a salve. Lately he won’t let me be in the wrong, not him or Penny. The both of them walking on eggshells with me. It’s why nothing ever gets properly sorted out. Now isn’t the time for a fight, though.

“I bet you could do a better job with magic,” I mutter bitterly anyways.

“I don’t want to use magic. I’ve used enough magic. I don’t think I’d have enough left in me if I wanted to regardless.”

“Are you sure this is okay?”

“Absolutely, Simon. Absolutely.”

I carry on patching him up in silence. Even though it’s pointless. He’ll heal anyways, but he doesn’t stop me from wrapping the towels around him like a bandage and applying pressure with my hand. I look at where my hands are pressing over the wounds, trying to focus on the solid pressure of Baz beneath them.

The pain is mostly gone out of his face now, he just looks uncomfortable.

I wonder how indestructible Baz is. I wonder how long he’ll live. I wonder- no. I swallow. It’s no good thinking about all of this, not now, at least.

“I’m going to nap,” Baz says.

“Here? Or…?”

“I’ll be alright here, don’t worry.” I stare down at him until he looks back up at me. My heart squeezes as our eyes make contact and I reach up to press my hand against the side of his his grey face. His eyes seem to melt a little, he smiles and turns his head to kiss my hand.

“Come to bed. With me,” I whisper. I don’t want to be away from him right now. I need him near me, I need to feel that un-dead chest breathing.

It’s a struggle, but I help him up, and keep an arm around his waist as I lead him to the bedroom. He gets into bed first, lifting the covers and sliding in with a low hum. He’s falling asleep almost as soon as his head hits the pillow. I notice how he pushes the covers away so that they don’t get stained.

I don’t care, I climb in and pull them over the both of us.

Baz lays still for a moment, tense. Then he shuffles closer to me, rests his head on my shoulder. I press my cheek to the top of it, hoping to smell bergamot. All I can smell is the tangy copper of blood. He’ll be wanting to shower once he’s awake, Baz hates being a mess.

He’s cold where he presses against me, but I don’t mind. He’s a vampire. It’s part of the deal. I want him as he is, not as he wishes he should be. I wonder if he thinks the same of me.

[shera-dnd]

Mourn Me Not

Oh one last thing before that comic! I can’t forget to post the sole winner of this month’s raffle, and just one of my favorite topics to write about

MORE TROLLS!

This time we follow the priest Torem as he teaches young trolls about what life and death means to their people, through the tale of the first troll funeral

Here is the AO3 link for those who prefer to read it there and let’s get this shit going

A fire burned in the small town on the border of the Giant Lands. This one wasn’t a torch carried in by some small folk who didn’t know not to, nor was it a spark created by a child of fiendish blood. This was a proper pyre, purposefully made to burn from sundown to sunrise.

But inside that pyre burned more than wood. Inside it burned the body of an old troll woman by the name of Salka. She was a stonemason who had worked tirelessly to help this town grow to what it is now. And this was her funeral.

To many young children this was the first time they saw fire, the first time they were introduced to the one thing that could ever truly harm them. It was an important lesson, a way of teaching them that they’re still mortal.

But that wasn’t what the funeral was about. At least not to Torem, the priest in charge of the ceremony. To him a troll’s funeral should always be about celebrating their memory, about retelling their stories and adding them to the great tapestry of their people’s history.

So he sat with the townsfolk and, as the pyre burned, began weaving the tale of Salka, of her works, of her family, of her loved ones. Many who knew her added to the story, many who missed her cried as it was told, many who never met her now wish they did.

The night went on and with time the fire died down. By then the stories of Salka were over and different tales were being told. Of ancestors long gone, of great heroes of their people, of the honored dead who Torem dedicated his life to remembering. By that point most of the adults had left to go spread her ashes, leaving Torem in charge of their little trollings.

“Tell Kol’s story,” called a young green skinned girl, “did he really fight all those fire giants on his own?”

“No no,” interrupted a little boy with a pair of horns on his head, “I wanna hear about Cora. I heard she took down a whole fortress with a pickaxe.”

“What about Lyral?” Asked a different girl, raising a clawed hand, “she was the first troll to rule the Giant Lands, right?”

Like that more and more kids jumped up with their suggestions and requests. Torem knew all these stories by heart, of course, and was happy to retell them all again and again, but he felt they didn’t quite suit what the day was about.

“Great warriors and queens are all well and good,” Torem declared, silencing the commotion around him, “but I believe you kids haven’t heard many stories of the people who stay behind while they’re off on their great adventures.”

Many of the kids groaned, one of them even pretended to snore. He couldn’t exactly claim he didn’t expect that response.

“Now now, this may not be your usual tale of heroism and daring, but I assure you there’s plenty here to interest you,” he said, calmly. The kids didn’t exactly look any more interested, but he knew this next part would catch their attention, “for this is the last tale of Vaprak.”

The mention of their creator deity seemed to quiet them down. Surely they expected their final story to be one of grand mythological scale. They weren’t wrong, but they weren’t quite right either.

“Vaprak had travelled the planes, tricked gods and fiends, fought dragons and giants, and befriended people of every walk of life. They were invincible,” he began, and the kids were already enthralled, “so it came as a surprise to all, when what finally brought him down was not a mighty beast, but terrible sickness.”

“Can gods get sick?” Asked a younger boy.

“Not frequently,” Torem answered, always happy when people asked about his stories. It meant they wanted to know more, “but when they do it’s very serious. Enough to threaten the life of even someone as mighty as Vaprak and no cure in the mortal world could save them.”

Some of the kids seemed disappointed, probably wanting more than just a story of how their favorite hero got sick and died. Thankfully that wasn’t quite what happened in this story.

“Now Vaprak was a good parent who raised seven wonderful daughters, and they would not let him fall ill so easily,” he continued, “so the seven sisters decided that it was up to them to save their parent.”

“One by one they set out to scour the planes for a cure,” Torem paused and then began listing, “first was the eldest daughter who climbed up the steps to Mount Celestia to beseech the angels for help.”

“Then was the second eldest, who cast upon herself a spell of flight, and rode the wind to the planes of air.”

“Afterwards left the third, who donned a magical cloak, and swam deep into the planes of water.”

“Then left the middle daughter, who risked her life most of all by venturing forth into the planes of fire.”

“Together they left the third and second youngest, digging together into the bowels of the world, one to end in the plane of earth, and one to end in Baator itself.”

“Finally was the youngest of the seven sisters. The one about which we’ll tell this tale. The one who stayed home.”

And so the kids began groaning again.

“What about the sister who went to hell?”

“But I wanna hear about the angels!”

“Can you actually swim to the plane of water?”

“Slow down, slow down,” called Torem, “I’ll tell you all about those stories after I’m done. Just stick with this one until it’s over, okay?”

“Fine,” sighed a few, willing to power through ‘the boring one’ to get to the actual fun stories.

“So the youngest daughter stayed, and while her sisters were gone on their adventures she cared for Vaprak alone,” he continued, “she kept them company, she protected them, she made sure they didn’t miss their beloved daughters.”

“And every day she worried that Vaprak would die before the others could return, with only her to keep them company,” as he narrated the children fell quiet again, “one by one her sisters came back, each changed by their journey and each bringing with them a cure.”

Torem took a pause here, this part was always rough for thim.

“But not one could save poor Vaprak,” he declared, “and as each of them arrived, and failed, the youngest sister welcomed them with open arms, and offered them the same love and comfort that she had offered Vaprak while they were gone. And with each returning sister she worried less, and less about her parent’s death.”

“Was she just okay with losing them?”

“Of course not,” Torem answered, “but she had accepted that death would come, and feared only that Vaprak wouldn’t get to see their daughters one last time before leaving them forever.”

“Eventually they had all returned home, and one by one said their goodbyes,” he paused and braced once more, “then one morning they woke up and Vaprak was gone. The six cried and cried, cursing themselves for their failure, but the youngest assured them that there was nothing to be done. She had already mourned their parent and was simply happy to have her sisters with her once more.”

“So she lit a great pyre for their parent and asked her sisters to come close as she retold their stories, of all the happy moments they shared, of all the sweet memories, of all that Vaprak had given them,” another pause as he let the kids realize what this story was actually about, “and once the pyre had died down, she spread Vaprak’s ashes over their garden and declared that from their ashes life would grow, and so their parent would always live on around them.”

The children fell silent, this was a hard story to hear and even harder to tell. Torem's eyes stung with tears.

“She was like you,” one of the kids said.

“I’d say I try to be like her,” Torem corrected, “she was our first priest. She held our first funeral. She taught us the importance of staying behind, so we may protect one another and keep alive the memories of those who left, so that they may live on through us.”

“But Vaprak still died, and so did auntie Salka,” one of them argued, hurt weighing heavy in their voice.

“Child,” Torem replied, his voice full of the certainty that came only with the decades he spent doing his job, “as long as there’s someone to remember them, no troll ever truly dies.”

[bedbellyandbeyond]

Doves

(Story Post)

“How do I convince you to go to APID with me today?” “I won't. I'm not giving birth there. They'll cut me open. I absolutes will not be cut open ever again. I'd have to be on my death bed.” It was early February and Dari had been having cramps since the night before. Fay wanted him to go to APID to be properly looked after as he worried about the risks of a twin birth. Fay himself had never had twins but Dari had birthed many multiples before and was very confident he could handle himself.

“Dari, my love. Mon amour. Mon coeur. A c-section would be nothing like any of the surgeries you had in space. In fact with your experience, I bet it'd be the most stress free birth you ever had.” “Don't lie to my face.” Dari was watching Fay dress Katia for the day since he couldn't bend down to help her himself. “And I'm not even in labour. It's Braxton Hicks.” “Don't lie to my face, either,” Fay insisted. “I'm not leaving you here unattended.” “Rheni's still here,” Dari said. “God knows why… But I can do this myself. I always do it myself. If I do go into labour, I'll call you. Worst thing that could happen is you get home and there's two more babies here.” “That is not the worst thing that could happen and you don't always do it yourself,” Fay corrected. “Syd was here for both Siv and Zoe, but Syd can't come because they're sick today so I want you to be at APID so another doctor can watch you.” “How does a dragon get sick, anyway?” Dari asked. “Wasn't that the whole point of them coming back from their vacation, to cover for a sick doctor? Is there something going around targeting doctors?” “No, Reid and Syd's conditions are completely unrelated. Also this conversation is unrelated,” Fay stated. “I'm not forcing you to get a C-section. I just want a medical professional to be within reach of you today because you can't hide the fact that you've been having contractions since last night because every time you did, you kicked me in bed.” “The twins kicked you.” “No, the twins don't have size seven feet.” Dari groaned in frustration. “...I don't want to go.” “What if Camilo's there?” “He won't be. He has class...” “I forgot you keep track of his schedule like a helicopter parent.” “My only goal in life is to be a parent. You keep adding people to my life, I’m going to parent them.” “And yet you won’t act like a parent long enough to just go to my work with me so that we can lower the birth risks of this pregnancy and make sure our children are safe.” Dari crossed his arms, which wasn’t the easiest thing for him to do over his overburdened stomach. He huffed. “You know I don’t like APID. Especially since the name change. Companies only change names when they’ve done something wrong.” “Well, APID is why we can afford this house you want to stay in all day and night and I fought for that name change because the old name was exclusive to aliens and I wanted other nonhumans, myself and my children included, to be represented and not be compared to extra-terrestrial immigrants all the time, because we were born on this planet just like humans and so we shouldn’t be treated like outsiders.” Dari looked down, clenching his teeth as tears welled up in his eyes. “…I’m sorry… I get it, I’m the bad guy here…” “No, Dari…” Fay sighed rubbing his forehead. “…I understand your anxiety around this. But it’s just a matter of coming to APID where there are good facilities and great doctors, and getting through this labour together. You go all the time for the group.” “If you just want to go through this together why can’t you just stay home today with me then?” “Because we don’t have doctors at home. Maybe Milo will become a doctor one day because he loves biology, but at the moment, he’s not, I’m not, you’re not, Rheni’s not, and definitely none of the other children are.” “I know…” “So will you please come to APID with me?” “Can we bring the kids?” Fay let out a long sigh. “…Okay, we’ll bring the kids.”

It took an extra hour to get everyone ready to go. Rheni insisted on coming along to help watch the kids, so he wouldn't be bored at home alone, so calls had to be made to allow him permission. Fay never thought he'd ever be driving a ten-seat van, but when you have five kids in car seats, two more on the way, and a seven-foot red boy, transportation options were very limited. He felt like a bus driver with everyone packed in so tightly. Milo was too big even to sit in the back with his siblings, so he had to sit up front while Dari sat in the back. Fay had been insisting for years that Dari should get his driver’s license so the fish wasn't the only one who could chauffeur everyone around, but it was another one of Dari's fears and it had been dismissed many times. Thankfully, Rheni took up virtually no space. When they did finally arrive, Dari still didn't want to go to the hospital ward. After clearing it with the director, Fay arranged an unused room for them all to hang out in for the time being as he didn't have the energy to argue with him. The kids were more enthusiastic about it than their parents. The first thing Otter proposed was Hide-n-Seek, but Fay shut that down really quickly. Milo had been smart enough to bring some board games along, so they had a family game day for a bit. Halfway through a game of scrabble with Milo and Rheni, Dari asked for help standing up. “Fay, where's the bathroom?” “Oh, I can show you.” Fay was playing Snakes and Ladders with the others while feeding Zoe. “Would you like some help?” “No, no. Just tell me where,” Dari said while Milo got him upright. “You finish with Zoe.” “Okay, it's down the hall on the right,” Fay said. “I really could just bring Zoe with us.” “I don't need—” Dari froze as a sudden rush of fluid soaked his pants. “Fuck.” Fay got up immediately. “It's time, my love.” “…No.” “Dari.” Fay took the babe off his chest and handed her to Rheni. “Your water just broke.” “I peed myself.” “Do you really want to make that the narrative you tell in front of your children?” Fay asked, putting his hands on Dari's shoulders. "You're water broke. We're going to go down to the hospital ward. I have a wheelchair right outside for you.” Dari just went silent and held his stomach stubbornly. Fay picked him up. “Milo, Rheni. Please stay here with the kids for now.” “I wanna go too!” Ariane whined. “We can go down later when your Dad's settled in, okay?” Rheni said. “Fay, we've got this. Go on.” “Thank you,” Fay said before heading out the door. He found the wheelchair he'd prepared and set Dari down in it. “My sweet thing, aren't you excited?” Dari still didn't say anything, just silently grimacing down at the ground. Fay pushed him out to the elevators and set it to the medical ward. He didn't understand why Dari was being so stubborn, but he knew from experience that Dari's births typically proceeded very quickly so he couldn't take any chances and they needed to get him ready as quickly as possible. “My love, what's going on?” Fay asked. “Why are you resisting this?” Dari scrunched up his nose and sniffled, not saying a word. “Mon dieu, are you okay? How bad is the pain? One to ten.” “It's not the contractions…” Dari let out. “…I don't want this to end…” The doors opened and Fay sighed, pushing him out. “Everything ends, my love…” They got to the reception area where Köbi was at the front desk taking patients. He saw them come in and immediately got up to help. “Oh, hello! Babies coming, yes?” Fay hadn't yet had the chance to meet Köbi before but he looked capable enough. “Yes, we're having twins and his births traditionally go very very quickly.” “Right, I'll get a stretcher and—” “No, just push me,” Dari emitted. Köbi paused, not really sure what to say. “Um…” “Just show us where to go,” Fay said. “I called down earlier for a birthing pool?” “Yes, it's ready!” Köbi said. “This way, please. And congratulations!” He took them to the prepared room and finished getting things ready for them. By the time he himself was prepared, Fay already had Dari stripped and in the water of the little pool, rubbing his back and belly. “Come on, my love,” Fay said. “You can do this.” “I know…” Dari stated, holding his stomach through a contraction. “Don't let him touch me…” “Dari, he's a professional.” “I've never met that man in my life… He's not allowed to touch me.” Fay sighed but addressed Köbi. “Hey, I know this is a little unorthodox, but we're very used to unassisted births with just a professional on standby to help, so if you could just wait in case we need you, that would be really great.” Köbi quickly. “That's fine! I have everything you need set up and, um, I'm Köbi by the way.” “Right. Uh, I'm Fay and this is my husband Dari,” Fay said. “He looks like you,” Dari muttered. “Dari, you can't say that… We don't look that alike.” “I don't mean it like that. You actually do look a lot alike. Big fucking hair and all…” “Are you ready to push? I'm going to check your progress…” Köbi just stood awkwardly to the side and watched. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to do. He figured he could rearrange the baby blankets some more… “You're completely dilated already,” Fay said. “Push, my love.” Dari scrunched up his face and gave out a loud groan. Fay paused and looked at him. “…Did you…did you just fake a push?” “What? Of course not! Are you stupid?” “Dari, you have to give birth! You can't hold them in!” “I’m pushing!” “Is something wrong?” Köbi asked. “Do you need help?” “No!” Dari said immediately, before letting a contraction rake through his body. He gasped in pain, curling over his stomach. “Please, sweet thing. Why are you resisting this? It's not good!” Fay insisted. “You need to push…” “I am…” On his next contraction, Dari actually bore down. The head of the first baby immediately popped free. Fay sighed in relief. “Yes! Amazing! That's the first head! You can do it!” “Incredible…” Köbi murmured to himself in awe. “Come on, Dari. A big push and the first is here,” Fay said. “They're already part of the way.” Dari sniffled and sobbed, pushing again with less enthusiasm. It was enough however for the shoulders to come out and Fay pulled the newborn out the rest of the way. He brought her up and onto Dari's chest, her little tail beginning to stir and flap like a fish out of water. Dari's hands shook as he put his hands over her back. “That's one, Dari. She's beautiful,” Fay said. “Only one more to go. Köbi, could you bring over a towel, please?” As the angel did as instructed, Dari's face scrunched up in despair. “Fay... I hate this...” Fay paused, looking to his husband. “What are you saying? Is it the pain? Does it hurt more?” He wasn't used to Dari complaining during birth. He usually didn't cry, in fact he mostly just concentrated on the task. But now he was an emotional mess and he wasn't trying as hard as he usually did. “No... I just... I don't want to...” Dari blubbered. “I don't want to stop being pregnant...” Fay couldn't wrap his head around it. He was literally cutting the umbilical cord of the first babe and Dari was saying this. “Babe, you need to push. Come on, it shouldn't be more than three more. I know you can do it.” “I know I need to...” Dari sobbed. His chest trembled as he let out more tears. “I just hate it...” Fay could only try to ignore this for now to get them through this. He checked to see if the next twin was right behind. He thanked the deepest trenches of the sea when he felt a head on the way and not a little tail. “Dari, big push. Next contraction. Let's do this.” Dari handed over the newborn to Köbi who was waiting with a towel and then grabbed Fay's arms before bearing down. The head moved further down and started to crown. He hissed in pain, his toes curling. “Perfect. Beautiful! She's nearly there, mon coeur entier...” Fay awaited another push until the head came free. He got the umbilical out from around the baby's head and got a grip on the head. “Last one, Dari! Push hard!” Dari cried out as he bore down one last time, digging his fingers into Fay's shoulders while his partner guided their baby out of him. Fay brought the infant up and onto Dari's chest again, patting her back gently until she too gave a flurry of flaps from her tail. He cut her umbilical cord and rubbed Dari’s stomach. “Sweet thing, I need your help pushing out the after birth.” Dari did as told, passing the placenta his twins had shared with little effort. Once his husband was cleaned up, Fay leaned back on his knees and sighed in relief. “Absolutely beautiful... Every one...” Dari fell into gross sobbing. He couldn't contain any of it, just crying like he'd lost a loved one. He wad hardly paying attention to the infant at his chest so Fay just scooped her up quickly and handed her off to Köbi to look after and clean up. With his hands free, Dari covered his face and completely let everything out. He couldn't stop crying and nearly choked himself on his own tears in the process. Fay had no intention of getting wet today because running and getting supplies wasn't easy with a tail. But now that the dust had settled, he stripped down and slid in, pulling his partner into his lap. He gently rubbed his shoulders. “Love… Is this because I said I don't want to have any more children after the twins?” Dari sniffled but calm down a bit to speak. “Yes…” “Dari, I understand you enjoy producing offspring and you've practically saved my species doing so, but we have to be reasonable,” Fay said. “You can't be pregnant forever. We don't have any more space for any more children. We have a ten passenger vehicle and a five bedroom house. Literally everyone has to share a room and guests have to sleep on the couch.” “I get all that… I just don't like it… I know we have to stop but I don't want to stop…” Dari mumbled. “We have eight absolutely gorgeous children. We are going to be busy for a very long time with all these children. You've felt it.” “I know…” Köbi came over with the twins in his arms, swaddled gently in blankets. “Um, they're all cleaned up and weighed and everything.” “Thank you, doctor,” Fay said taking a bundle from him. “Oh, I'm not a doctor,” Köbi said as he handed off the second twin to Dari. “Not a doctor?” Dari said, hesitantly, hoping he hadn't heard right. “A nurse, then?” Fay figured. “Sorry, I assumed…” “The doctor's a couple rooms over with another patient,” Köbi said. “I was going to call her, but then this all happened…really fast.” “Hmph, told you we didn't need a doctor…” Dari said. “Better safe than sorry,” Fay said. “Look at our children though, they're absolutely perfect. Two identical little girls.” “Yeah…” Dari held the one in his arms close to his chest. “…I didn't prepare names…” “Hm, that's nothing new,” Fay said. “We named all the others after their birth. Even Milo.” “…I really can't think of any right now though…” Dari said. “Say some French ones…” “Hm… Dominique, Adele, Fleur, uh...Francine, Margot, Annabelle, Isabelle, Solange, Célia, Celeste, Claudette, Lynette, Bette, Eloise—” “I like Annabelle and Isabelle… Or Célia and Celeste,” Dari said. “Ooh, les Belles, for sure,” Fay said. “But then I couldn't just use that as a nickname because all our children sont belles…” “Doves,” Dari said. “They’ll be doves.” “Oh! I like that!” Fay said. “Red, Little Fish, Pup, Duck, Kitten, Bunny and the Doves.��� “And Leg Fish himself,” Dari said, leaning against Fay. “Sweet thing, we don't have a nickname for you,” Fay realised. “Well, it's not like I can give it to myself…” “Right. How about…” Fay thought for a minute. “Well, I would've said ‘bunny' but we already have one… Ah. Lamb.” “Lamb?” Dari raised an eyebrow. “Yes. My little lamb,” Fay decided. “What's that in French though?” “Agneau.” “…Huh. Funky…” “Rouge, Petit Poisson, Chiot, Canard, Chaton, Lapin, les Colombes.” Dari smiled. “I guess it all works…” Fay grinned, seeing his partner smile. He handed over the other twin. “Shall we have them down then?” “Right… They should meet them.” Fay kissed Dari's head and propped himself up out of the pool, grabbing a nearby towel to start drying off his tail. Once his legs split out, he got up and dressed. “Dari, I know this feels like an end but I swear to you, it'll all be better. This is just the beginning of a beautiful life.” Dari nodded slightly. “…I hope so. Go get my kids.” “I'm going, lamb.”