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llyncooljones · 3 years ago

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lead me to you - rowaelin.

ao3 || masterlist || rowaelin masterlist

word count: 3939

trigger warnings: language, hospitals, mention of passing out, mention of trauma.

tag list: @live-the-fangirl-life @rowaelinismyotp @rowanaelin @fireheartwhitethorn4ever @themoonthestarsthesuriel @autumnbabylon

her apartment, the early morning.

The early mornings that come with having a dog are the biggest downside of having a dog. Especially a large dog, a big, burly, muscular one with too much energy and a ridiculously high walking speed. Let alone running speed.

Aelin’s eyes have never felt more tired, never seemed crustier or dustier. She had woken up, her eyelids practically fused together with sleepy dust, or eye goo, or whatever the fuck the world called the build-up that ruins her mornings. She isn’t even sure.

Her head droops wildly as she sits on the couch, her hand dangling over the arm, a plate of toast slathered in butter with nothing else on her lap. Her fingers are soft and slippery with the buttery residue, and in all her eco-friendly glory Aelin decides to lick her fingers clean, washing them would be a waste of hard manufactured product and no one wants to do that.

She would be lying if she said her life’s efforts weren’t counterintuitive. Her strict exercise schedule of dog walks every morning and a quick workout at her building’s gym every evening combined with her totally random diet of chocolate, chocolate cake, and chocolate hazelnut cake. Even with all the sugar, she manages to have an ass that pops, a waist that dips, and hips that bounce.

All her life goals: checked off.

With a stretch that fills her apartment with cracking, popping, and frankly worrying, noises from her joints, she stands from the couch and washes her plate with the least amount of effort possible. She slips lazily into her room, exchanging her oversized t-shirt and underwear for skin-tight, performance-enhancing leggings and a sports bra that matches. Tying a lightweight jacket around her waist (twice, she’ll kill herself before risking losing over something this expensive) and grabbing her earphones and phone, she whistles sharply.

Fleetfoot, still asleep like the lucky dog she is, immediately perks up, eyes opening wide, ears lifting slightly. The nimble dog jumps from her bed and barks eagerly, spinning around Aelin. With exhausted, slightly shaking hands, Aelin finally manages to clip the lead to Fleetfoot’s collar and gives a few tugs to ensure that it’s secure.

Locking up her apartment, Aelin takes in the fresh air, the quiet sounds of the wind in the trees, the subtle hum of cars on nearby roads. She feels like her senses are muted like the world has gone a little quieter, a little less busy, a little more subtle today.

Just for her.

Even Fleetfoot isn’t barking up a storm this morning, even her stupidly wild, ridiculously idiotic eight-month-old puppy isn’t causing a racket, and Aelin can’t help but be grateful. Can’t help but send a little ‘thank you to The Lord of the North.

Instead of her usual hyperactive, wickedly annoying and yet still adorably endearing routine of spinning in circles and trapping herself in the lead, and needing to be untangled before shitting a quarter of an inch from Aelin’s trainers, Fleetfoot sits quiet and calm by Aelin’s feet until the key clicks finally, and it’s pulled from the lock and tucked safely and uncomfortably into her sports bra.

Without music in her ears like usual, her only company are her loud thoughts, scratching against the double padlocked boxes she had placed them in all those years ago. Nails digging and etching in the material, whines and groans echoing through her and they try to rip her apart, trip her up, pull her down under, make sure she can never get up.

Her mind flashes with images, of red hair and redder blood, of haunting and healing touches, all about the sharp whispers and the harsh screams. Cracking whips and gunshots firing. She’s lost to it all, feet hitting the pavement, that freakishly straight nose and the red hair—hair that never seemed out of place, her heartbeat speeding up, shaggy brown hair that always fell into those golden eyes.

She tries to focus on the light bending through the leaves in the forest she’s managed to run to, she tries to count her breaths as they come from her, she tries to take note of the different bird calls she hears, she tries to count how many colours she’s seen so far on her run, tries to taste the way forests smell on her tongue, she tries to feel the bark against her fingertips.

She tries.

She tries, and she tries, and she tries. Grasping for every rope she can find, only to have it crumble in her fist. Tries to find footholds on this cliff face, but her feet keep slipping from them.

She’s trying, and she’s failing.

She’s slowing down, she’s finding it hard to breathe, she’s finding that her vision is blank, her ears can only hear television static, her nose can’t smell the wild berries that bloom in all corners of the forest.

She’s stopping entirely, she’s feeling dizzy, a little lightheaded. Her breathing isn’t right, out of time and coming out too harsh. She’s not exercising herself too wildly, if anything she’s been taking it easy this morning. Usually, she’s digging holes into the soles of her shoes with how hard she hits the pavement.

Fleetfoot has stopped, standing still, not tugging on her lead like she usually would if Aelin stopped. Big brown eyes stare up at Aelin, filled with concern in the way only Fleetfoot can. Her dog is visibly concerned for her, and Aelin knows something bad is going to happen.

Fleetfoot had been trained as a therapy dog before failing out of the program because o her constant energy and inability to keep calm at crucial times. She knows that Fleetfoot still understands her training, still had those practice sessions in her mind.

Aelin knows something is wrong with her right now.

Her knees are shaking, her breathing has gone from quick, harsh pants to shallow, barely their inhalations. She is a little woozier than she was before. She carries herself on wobbling feet and shaking, crumbling legs to a tree, scraping her back down the bark as she sits down. Her head hits the tree, her eyes falling closed on the impact.

The last thing she knows, the last thing she can take note of, are Fleetfoot’s panicked barks, the soft, wet nose nudging at her hand, Fleetfoot’s beyond bad breath blowing over her face.

oakwald forest, mid-morning.

Rowan Whitehorn is what one could call a health nut, a fitness freak, really fucking fit because he needed an outlet for his anger and annoyance and there happened to be a gym just down the road from him.

His runs every morning are brutal, hard-hitting and far too long for anyone with a normal level of feeling in them. But Rowan has too much feeling in him, can’t seem to forget the feelings in him either, which makes his runs the perfect solutions. It doesn’t hurt that the ‘emotional support’ dog his cousin, Sellene, bought him two years ago has grown to be the size of a fucking horse.

Introduced to Pixie when she was about the height of a hand and the width of a head, he had no clue the little angel would grow to be fucking massive. On her hind legs, the Doberman Pinscher is nearly six-foot tall. When she’s on all fours, her head is brushing his elbow, even with his six-foot, four-inch height.

Halfway through his run, he and Pixie are both energised, still running faster than anyone else on the trails in the woods. Maybe he’s feeling better because he knows somewhere within him that Lyria and his parents are in a better place, maybe he knows that his friends are happy, and maybe he knows he’s got a dog that’ll take the covers from him and maybe he knows that it’s all he really need for a smile to be on his face.

For the first time in years, he isn’t struggling to get out of bed, he isn’t slow and groggy as he walks, he’s got a clear head. Maybe he is due for a haircut, and maybe cleaning up the edge of his stubble is something he can do, but he feels the second he starts changing shit around him everything going to hell again.

He doesn’t want to think anymore, it’s half the reason he runs.

To clear his head, to let his thoughts fall away, only allow himself to know the trail he’s running, the time of day, and how securely Pixie’s leash is gripped within his hands. He sees the green as the trees rush by, he wonders if his eyes really are pine coloured when compared to actual pine needles. Dips his head slightly as a woman runs by, not wanting to appear to be staring at her. He takes in the rocks underfoot, the grey and brown of the mud and the gravel so boring compared to the blooming scenery to his left, to his right.

He's too deep in his head again, too gone to his thoughts, too gone to every impulse he’s in therapy to stop. His overthinking is what killed his self-esteem, what killed the easy-going smirk, and the loud, obnoxiously so, laugh he used to give out like dentists give out stickers. It’s what killed Rowan Whitehorn, the outgoing guy who’s everywhere, and it’s what created Rowan Whitehorn, the recluse who’s dropped off the face of the earth.

Mind blank, as much as it can be at least, he’s more in tune with Pixie and the way her head can’t quite stop moving around, her hard-to-pique attention, thoroughly piqued. Her nose is going wild, sniffing the air and searching for something, her face switching from facing east, to north, to south to west, stopping at different variations of the compass points before settling on dead ahead.

She lets out a whine, tugging a little on the lead that is still wrapped firmly around Rowan’s hand. He’s strong, but when a one-hundred-and-fifty-pound, seven-foot-tall when on its hind legs, Doberman Pinscher takes off running at full force, full speed there’s little more you can do than hold on tight and stick along for the ride.

Adding some slack to the strong, sturdy lead, Pixie makes headway, continuing. Keeping his feet moving, and taking off his headphones, he keeps his eyes open and his ears interested. They edge forward on the path, Pixie going slow so she can listen out for anything and everything, rowan so he can pull Pixie back at any sort of hint of danger.

It’s a while before Rowan picks up on it, the loud barking, shrieking yips, and worried whines. It’s a dog, and no wonder Pixie is so hot on its trail, she’s weirdly hard-wired as some sort of rescue dog.

Weirdly, because she hasn’t seen a day of search and rescue training, nor any other type of training beyond that of Rowan’s. Her paws hurry along the muddy floor, the light getting thinner as they delve further and further into the thicket of Oakwald Forest.

A flash of fur, blonde and streaked with mud, and Pixie is off, and Rowan Is hurrying to catch up. An aggravated bark escapes pixie lighting up the forest as the birds shift on the trees at the volume and the force behind it. He’s always had to tell people her bark is worse than her bite.

The other dog doesn’t stop, barking and barking. It’s soul-crushing, the desperation in the limited language it speaks, and it tugs on heartstrings that Rowan never knew existed. It plays on every single one of his emotions and trips every single instinct he’s ever had to save someone.

Because… if a dog is barking like that, then someone is guaranteed to be hurt.

It reminds him of the scene in I Am Legend, not that he’s seen the movie any more than once. There were a couple of scenes that had him in tears and a couple of scenes that had him calling his mum. Even thinking of the scene has him close to tears.

The second that pixie’s strangled barks join the blonde dog’s; Rowan is called back to action. He’s standing a little straighter and his legs are a little more steel-strong than weed-weak. He steps forward, further into the trees that the dog runs through, turning his head, left, right, left every few seconds.

It only takes a few steps in the right direction to the sneakers that a peeking out from behind the tree up ahead, and to his right. A couple more and he can see black leggings, covering the legs of the dog’s owner.

Two more and her blonde hair is visible, hanging down one side, arms limp and dangling against her sides.

Three more and he’s facing her. Her head tipped to the side, eyes closed, mouth open, brow furrowed. Her hand is clasped around her phone on one side, a lead for a dog. Her face is covered in a sheen of sweat, a few droplets clinging to her hairline, and her jawline. Her skin is pallid, a little icy just looking at it. Her veins are incredibly blue around her eyelids.

His phone buzzes in his hand, a text message he assumes. The buzzing reminds him of the number already typed into the keypad, eyes hastily tracking to the dimmed screen in order to press the call button. Leaving the phone on speaker, lying next to his feet on the dirt, he presses the back of his hand to her forehead.

To the touch of his hand, her forehead is burning up. He doesn’t care for the way she looks, hates the way it makes her look half dead. His haze of sadness for the young woman is interrupted when a voice crackles through the muffled speakers of his phone, “911, what’s your emergency?”

He doesn’t answer, busy making sure she’s supported by the tree and that she’s safe for the moment: so that he can place his attention on the phone call, not the fact she’s slipping sideways.

“Hello, can you hear me?” says the same voice, still muffled by the grass surrounding his phone.

“Hi, yes. I’m here. Right, I’m in Oakwald Forest at the moment. And I’ve come across this woman, she’s passed out a tree trunk and she doesn’t look injured but she’s sweating, and her veins are blue under her skin and her dog is going mad.” his words rush out of, the concern that has magically bubbled up in him for this literal stranger, takes him by surprise.

He has no time to ponder his sudden bout of compassion and need to care for every suffering soul (canine or human) he comes across.

“Sir, can I ask you to describe your location to me first, so that I can send an ambulance to you. Afterwards, if you could keep describing her situation, that would be appreciated. Now, where exactly are you in the forest.”

Settling opposite the woman with the honey-gold hair and the frantically worried dog, he pats the grass on his left for Pixie to come and lie on and hooks a couple of fingers into the Labrador’s collar before encouraging it to sit on his right side.

“I’m on the east side of the forest, maybe two miles from the entrance,” and so he began the task of describing his location very carefully, pointing out what he could see and where his phone’s GPS placed him within the mass of trees.

It wasn’t long before an ambulance crew were hurrying down the pathway, a stretcher between them and trousers that seemed muddier than they should be. With his fingers still hooked around the dog’s collar, and pixie stood to attention by his side, he recited everything he could think that had happened, and anything he might have seen to them, hoping it would give them the ability to treat her quicker, more efficiently.

He stands there watching as the ambulance crew rushes off, reassuring him that they’ll take care of her. Reassuring him that he’ll be allowed to visit her at the hospital when he’s permitted. Reassuring him that they’ll do everything in their power to help her.

Rowan thinks that if someone were to question him right now, he’d just walk off. If someone asked why he was so connected to this girl, this woman, so quickly; he thinks he might just bail on life.

Because Rowan hasn’t given a single fuck about anyone except himself, his dog, and his friends in far too many years. He hasn’t had the love in his heart to see a woman as more than an outlet for his sexual energy and left up frustration for too many years. Enough years that he’s ashamed to utter the number of years he’s been single for.

the hospital, three days later.

To his utter horror, three days ago, Rowan had thought the most embarrassing thing he’d have to admit to anyone, ever, was that he’d been single for far too long despite the numerous women who were all too happy to take on an emotionally unavailable man and try to love him enough to heal his heart.

He is now aware that it isn’t even that bad. How many other people in the world currently, or throughout history, have been single and have neglected the dating prospects that stand right in fucking front of them?

Many. Several. A chunk of the population.

The better, more important question? That one… is rough.

How many people in the world have come across a girl in the woods who is passed out against a tree, with her dog going mad ad barking up a fucking storm, and then proceeded to call the emergency services, watch as she is carried into an ambulance, kept her dog with them for the past three days, and are now going visit said girl in the hospital, as she has woken up from her in-and-out state of sleep and hallucinations?

Just Rowan? He thought as much.

His hands feel unnaturally empty without the leads gripped between his fingers of both his wily Doberman and this mystery woman’s hyper-energetic Labrador. His arms almost crave the tugging that never ends, and his ears almost miss the barking that was forever loud in his house. Never before has been so glad to have spent his inheritance on a detached house in the countryside of Orynth.

“Hi, I’m here to see Aelin Galathynius, brought in three days ago, passed out. Blonde hair, might be tall, might be short. I’ve only seen her sat up and lying down. It’s difficult to tell. She might have mentioned something about a dog. Because I’ve been looking after her dog. I was the one who found her passed out in the forest—”

“—Excuse me, sir? Miss Galathynius is in room two-one-four. Floor two. Room fourteen. If you head down to left, you’ll the elevators. Take one of those to the second floor, and turn left, continue along that corridor until you reach the door.” The nurse’s voice is soft and lilting, a delicate tune that holds firm and strong in the loud din of the lobby. Her eyes are kind but well-worn. The kindness makes them seem innocent, but their depth tells anyone who pays attention that she’s seen more sitting in this chair than most soldiers have seen at war.

Following her instruction to a fucking t, he finds himself standing just beyond the door to her hospital room. In all his excitement to finally meet this girl, he found in the forest. It hadn’t occurred to him yet, but what if she doesn’t want to see him? What if she wants to forget and he’s just a painful reminder?

Ignoring the roaring doubts that are now flinging themselves around in his head, his brain feeling like it’s ratting in his skull from the force of violent claws trying to scratch holes in his confidence, he places a faintly shaking hand on the doorknob and twists, revealing a sweet-smelling room, and quite frankly the bluest eyes he’s ever had the pleasure of getting lost in.

Great line, his inner flirt comments.

Try cliché, he reminds himself, remembering to reign in the smirk he uses to get a woman in his bed, and the bedroom voice he tends to drift off into when he’s in the presence of someone quite so stunning as Aelin Galathynius.

her hospital room, seconds before.

Waking up in a strange bed, in a strange room, in a strange building is something Aelin is used to. What college graduate isn’t used to it, those were prime one-night-stand years. And gods be damned, Aelin had never wasted the opportunity to get wasted, and get very fucking laid.

Sometimes a little high as well, but no one needs to know that.

Footsteps down the hall draw her attention, it has her heart speeding up a bit, skipping a beat once or twice if she’s being really honest with herself. And she’s trying to be (new year’s resolutions, you know how they go).

She knows who those footsteps belong to, she knows that carry the body of the finest man she’s ever had the distinct pleasure of laying her eyes upon atop them. She wonders if he’s in sneakers and his gym kit today, or whether he’s in his work clothes with the Chelsea boots underneath the hem of his suit trousers.

Or maybe he’s in jeans and a graphic tee, maybe he’s got converse and sweatpants on, maybe he’s wearing a kilt. Aelin is beyond caring what he’s wearing, he could show up in a bikini with thigh highs on and all she’d do is have a party in her brain—just for being in his presence.

The door creaks open, revealing a strong, veined hand gripping the doorknob, and as the door opens wide: the body of the man who’s been staring in all her daydreams and all her fantasies for the last few days.

Crooking a finger in his direction, creating a come-hither motion by doing so, she urges the new object of her affection and obsession towards her. His smile widens infinitesimally when he catches sight of her fully lucid, changed, and sat up in bed looking more alive than dead for the first time since he’d picked her up off the forest floor.

“Aelin, I’m glad to see you looking alive. I cannot express my joy at being able to see those turquoise irises in full clarity.” His voice is smooth, deep, and very slightly accented in a way that tells her his dirty has to be perfect and filthier and filthy.

“Oh yeah? And why is that, Rowan?” her voice shouldn’t have that seductive note to it, shouldn’t be verging on teasing, but it is. And she can see the second that Rowan registers her flirty tone, the suggestions that her words make for her.

“I can’t very well drown in those turquoise waters if your eyes are shut, can I?” Aelin knows the line is old and used up, a little on the cringe side of things as well, but that doesn't stop her heart from beating out of her chest when he says it.

She can’t help the way her future seems to brighten up in the split second since he’s uttered those words, she can’t help that she’s lying down in this bed, while all she wants to do is jump in this man’s—ridiculous, tattooed, muscled, and veined—arms and have him hold onto her forever.

#rowaelin #throne of glass #my fic #tog #tog fic #my writing #rowan whitethorn #aelin galathynius #llyncooljones' writing

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shblackeagle · 4 years ago

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BBRAE Week 2021

Day one: Unconventional Kiss

Garfield Logan was known to have the silliest jokes and pranks at the most stupid and unpredictable times. He was practically famous for it.

Raven knew that, actually everyone did. That's why she often didn't care if he pulled up a prank or cracked a childish joke when everyone least expected. None of those silly jokes got the team into trouble, at least most of the times, so she basically never invested so much into them. He'd always been like this ever since she knew him. It didn't even change when he became an adult. Gar's silly jokes never changed.

But his feelings somehow did.

As an empath Raven could easily feel the slightest changes in everyone. She always knew if something had changed in someone before anyone, even before the person themselves. Such power was really helpful to the team in many ways. She could feel if someone was being dishonest or too afraid for a mission, maybe even expose a villain's lies. She basically knew things about Titans other titans didn't even have a clue.

She knew about Dick's inner fears, Kory's homesickness no matter how much she tried to hide it, Victor's sadness about his humanity, Donna's insecurities and many more that they didn't dare to share. Despite that, she never pried more than she was allowed to. But being a very powerful empath she was, she often found herself knowing some private secrets she was not supposed to know. It was hard at first but then she learnt to keep this power more under control, not to expose what she knew and maybe even forget them.

But Gar's sudden change of feelings was not something she could easily overlook.

She knew it wasn't as sudden as she wanted to think. She had been feeling it for months now and at first thought it would disappear like many changes of feelings others went through. But not only didn't it stop but it grew stronger each time she felt it.

She knew exactly when it happened. It was long ago in the medical room. She could picture it in her head easily.

She felt his first slight change of feelings when he was badly injured in a mission and she had to spend a long time healing him. It was an ugly fight and if she wasn't quick enough, he might have died. It was a very painful process for her. Absorbing such pain wasn't as easy as she talked about it. The pain would stay with her forever, but it was worth it. Gar was worthy of it. She would always do she could to save him. Whether he knew it or not, he was important to her; more important than she wanted to admit.

When she was done, he opened his eyes and met hers, he smiled at her.

Appreciation

Hurt

Confused

Proud

"None of Vic's medical treatments will ever be as good as your healing touch. Thanks" He said weakly. Raven just nodded at him despite the pain she was feeling at that moment. She didn't want him to feel guilty.

He got up from the bed and sighed.

"But as much as I appreciate it Rae, do me a favor next time will you?" He said pulling away the cover.

"What is it?"

He hesitated for a moment, "Don't heal me next time." She looked at him confused.

Hurt

Scared

Ashamed…?

"Why?"

That was the first time she felt it. A sudden strong feeling coming suddenly and almost overwhelmed her but before she could totally embrace it, it stopped. It only lasted for a very short moment and she wondered if it was from him in the first place. She had just absorbed his pain so she was probably messing up her head due to the pain?

"I can heal myself quickly and Vic's treatments also come in handy. You should use your healing powers for something more important than me."

It wasn't the first time they had this conversation. Gar always asked Raven to never use her healing powers on him and whenever she asked why he always said the same answer.

Something more important? What could possibly be more important than his life?

But before she could ask, the door opened with a bang as Kory came to the room.

"Garfield!" The Princess flew towards the weak man and lifted him up from the ground, hugging him tightly. "I was worried!"

Gar laughed, "No need to be Kory. I'm fine." He looked down at Raven, "All thanks to Raven."

***

Raven tried to forget that strange feeling from that day and she would have been successful if it didn't come to her out of nowhere consistently when she wasn't ready.

Next time she felt it, even stronger than before, was when the Titans decided to have a movie night. They were superheros but even superheros needed some time to be themselves, even if it was just for one night.

It was not unusual for Gar to arrange the whole thing, definitely with Victor's help but mostly himself. He even forced everyone to be in their rooms when he was preparing the movie night in the main room. Dick found it a little extra but who could stop the Changeling? He was always unstoppable when it came to their short gatherings.

Raven was sitting on her bed that night while reading her new book when she heard someone knocking on her door. She knew it was Gar of course. She easily felt him coming to her door excited a minute ago.

Without even looking away from her book, she called. "Yes?"

"Rae it's Gar!" He was definitely too excited for it. It wasn't like they've never done this before but something obviously never changes.

"I'm done preparing the main room for movie night. Everyone is now in the main room. Please join us! The movie I picked is amazing!"

She'd rather not think about the last time he picked a movie to watch. She was so scared that she had to meditate for hours to keep her emotions under control the next day. It was even harder when she could feel others were also scared.

"What genre?" She asked. There was no way she was going to watch another scary movie and absorb others' fear of it for a week.

"Comedy! I promise you'll laugh."

She shook her head. Was he really still into that? She was really impressed by his commitment to take any chance of making her laugh. She appreciated it of course, but found it unnecessary.

She opened her door and found Gar in his pajamas with a grape soda in one hand, offering it to her. She took it, thanking him by a nod.

Happy

Excited

Impatient

He was just so easy to read. He always wore his heart on his sleeve, letting her feel anything he was feeling and since he was usually in a good happy mood, Raven always welcomed his presence.

Not that she would ever tell him that!

"Let's hope this one won't come out as silly as the last time you showed us a comedy movie. It was basically a kid show."

Gar gasped, "How dare Rae! No one is too old for cartoons!"

Raven grinned, "So you agree it was a kid show."

Gar opened his mouth to retort but nothing came. Raven just shrugged and started walking toward the main room with a grin on her face. Gar quickly caught up with her from behind.

"It still made you laugh! I remember that."

"It didn't. It was just a silly cartoon."

"Do you want me to go and get the security cameras to prove my point?" He winked at her as she tried to hide her smile and the door opened to the main room.

That was the moment she felt it again. That powerful strange feeling. It hit her in every way possible as she tried to find the source. She looked at Gar but his face remained straight.

"Hey Rae! Join us. The movie is about to start." Cyborg said with bags of chips in his hands.

"Where's Wally? He said he would come." Donna asked looking around.

Suddenly Wally appeared on the couch with many bags of snacks and drinks in his arms.

"What are you talking about? I've been here for the last three seconds!" He obviously bought them from the supermarket downtown. It didn't take long for him to come and go.

"Okay then. Now that we're all here. Let's watch it." Dick said.

But Raven couldn't understand what they were saying because that was the moment the feeling faded away as quickly as it came. Was it from Gar? Roy? Donna? She wasn't sure. Gar was always so easy to read. She doubted he could feel something so strong and hide so quickly...but could he? If the feeling didn't belong to him then who was it? Who was the one that possessed this powerful confusing feeling?

She immediately looked down at Kory who was cuddling with Dick on the ground. Kory was indeed capable of that. She was also there when the first time it happened. But what was it? Kory's emotions were always loud to read for her and she usually never hid them. Raven knew it.

Raven sat on her favorite part of the couch which was now filled with pillows and blankets and some of her favorite snacks. Thanks to a certain shapeshifter who outdid it. Despite her curiosity, when the movie started, she tried to forget about that powerful feeling. She only felt it twice and it was probably no big deal. For now maybe she would just enjoy being with her friends rather than investing in something she probably had no role in.

Raven was sitting at the end of the couch with Gar beside her. Vic and Wally were also sitting on the couch while Dick and Kory were on the ground, sharing the same blanket. Donna and Roy were on the ground as well but not as touchy as them. All the Titans knew they were a thing but apparently, they were the only ones who weren't convinced.

This time the movie was actually very funny and she found herself chuckling at some of the parts. The main room was filled with Titans laughter as they enjoyed themselves after a long busy week.

That was all she needed. The whole room was filled with happiness. Everyone had forgotten about missions, stress and plans even if it was for just two hours. Even Boy Wonder wasn't feeling uneasy as he was laughing loudly with Kory by his side whose laughter was so beautiful to hear.

Raven closed her eyes and took a deep breath, letting in all the happy emotions around her,. Even two days of meditation would not give her such peace as this did.

Azar! How much she missed it!

She didn't even care if she missed some parts of the movie as the Titans kept laughing. Them being happy made her happy. She was so deep in herself and in her own world as she didn't even notice she wasn't even watching the movie.

That was the moment that once again, that feeling came to her.

She opened her eyes quickly, looking at all Titans faces to find a clue yet she found nothing strange. Everyone was busy laughing, eating and drinking exactly like how they were before she closed her eyes.

"You okay Rae?" Gar asked as noticed her curious face, "You seem worried."

Raven looked at him, "I thought I felt something."

"Felt something?"

"Yeah." She said looking at everyone again but she didn't spot anything unusual or something she would worry about.

"Anything dangerous?" Gar asked as he stretched his hand to get another soda from behind.

"I don't think so…" She pressed her back to the couch again, trying to let it go. She didn't want to worry Gar for nothing. "It was probably nothing."

"Well I trust your emotions detector more than anything. It saved us more than we can count." He offered her the grape soda he grabbed, "but for now, let's just not overthink things and enjoy the movie. I'm sure if it was anything alarming, you'd know it by now."

Raven took the soda from his hand, "Yeah...Yeah you're probably right."

Gar grinned, "when wasn't I?"

"Do you want a list?"

He laughed. "Maybe I'll ask you to show me later."

Raven smiled at him as he turned his head to the TV and continued watching. He had a point. If it was anything dangerous, she'd have felt it, but it was so powerful to let it go. During the rest of the movie, she felt it come and go very quickly many times, especially the times she was laughing or chuckling. It was weird how the person could switch it on and off whenever they wanted it. Was it a sort of a red alarm? Was it really dangerous? She doubted it because whoever possessed it was in the room and there were only Titans.

But one thing was certain, as much as the feeling didn't feel harmful, it was very powerful that she could detect it among all those happy emotions surrounding her. What could it possibly be? How could such emotion be that strong? It even beat Kory's loud emotions.

But she'd lie to herself if she said it didn't feel so good. Everytime she felt it, she was overwhelmed by it in a very good way. Whatever that was, it put her in peace and gave her warmth. She would be a big liar if she said she wouldn't welcome it the next time she felt it.

***

Even if Raven wanted to let go of that feeling, that feeling didn't seem to let her go.

It came to her in the most unexpected places, rushing through her whole body and leaving before she knew it. She noticed that each time it came, it lasted longer than before but it was still all over the place and Raven couldn't exactly point her finger to anyone; especially because it came to her randomly.

During battles, her daily training routines, her meditations, sometimes even when she was eating lunch or just walking, even when she was reading her book on the couch and minding her own business! Each time it came, there were many of her friends around and it was hard to figure out who it was.

Mostly because a big part of her didn't want to know who it was either.

It was the truth. Raven never went deep in her investigation to realize it. Probably, if she really wanted to she would have realized it long ago, but she feared that if she knew, she wouldn't feel it again. That powerful feeling, whatever it was, put her in peace and gave her strength. She was fed from emotions and one of her friends was giving her something she didn't know how desperately she desired.

A feeling of home, comfort and warmth. She didn't want to lose that! Raven figured if it was from one of her friends, she didn't need to worry about it. It wasn't like she suspected anything bad about it.

Azar! How selfish of her!

She closed her book and sighed, lying on her back on her bed. She was being selfish. What if one of her friends was in trouble and it was their way of giving her a heads-up, or asking for her help? But such an act required a serious knowledge of how her powers worked and she knew none of them had something like that.

Dick and Victor were the only ones who knew how her empathic powers worked better than others but giving her a strange yet amazing feeling to ask for her help didn't match any of them. Dick would have directly said it and Vic was more into technical ways.

She shook her head and tried to let it go. She shouldn't be using her strength over something ridiculous. No one asks for help by filling her soul with a particular strong feeling. No one even knew she was capable of feeling their deepest emotions as much as she let it show and they most of the time forgot it as well.

She heard a gentle knock on her door when she was struggling with herself. It was Gar. She never mistake his aura.

"Hey Rae...are you there?"

It was a stupid question. Everyone knew that Beast Boy could easily pick up anyone's scent even from far away or hear their heart beats if he wanted to. His heightened powers gave him advantages that most of the time they forgot he had even; just like her.

Pulling her hood down, she walked to the door and it opened as she stood in the doorway.

"Yes?"

Gar was in his casual clothes. A dark jacket with a T-shirt underneath, his dark jeans and a cap. She would never tell him, but he looked very handsome in them. She quickly put that weird thought away before it got somewhere she didn't want it to get.

He was standing with one hand behind his back and his usual smile on his face.

Joyful

Delighted

Self-conscious?

Nervous?

Shy?

"Great!" He looked around making sure no one was near. Yeah he was definitely nervous but why?

"Is everything okay?"

"Oh everything is great! I was just…" He scratched the back of his head with his other hand nervously.

"Well…?"

He sighed, "Well I was in the city to get some fresh air and I passed by your favorite bookstore...thought of something you might like to read but then I saw this." He took out a book from his back with his hand and Raven's eyes widened in surprise. "I know you've been reading the first novel of this series...I thought you want the second novel soon." He stretched his hand and gave it to her. Raven was flattered if she was honest. Gar knew what book series she was reading and bought her the second part of it! She never even thought someone like Gar, who couldn't really focus on reading books, actually cared about her hobbies so much that he knew what she wanted; even before she told him anything.

He suddenly looked scared, "Please tell me you haven't bought it already!"

Raven shook his head. "No, I haven't."

Gar sighed in relief a bit dramatically, "Thank God that would have been awkward."

Pressing the book on her chest, Raven said, "Thanks Gar."

He smiled, "No problem Rae."

That was the moment it hit her again; that familiar feeling. Raven looked around. No one was there except them. There was her chance. This time she had to put her selfishness aside and for once make everything clear.

She closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. With just Gar around her, she was now able to figure out who it was.

"You okay Rae? You seem...paler than usual." Gar asked worriedly.

All of the sudden, Raven opened her eyes.

"Where are the others?" She knew the answer but had to make sure.

"Oh? Well Dick and Kory are out, thinking it's a great time to have some alone time. Vic is in his room, coming up with a new technology which I still didn't understand. Don't tell him that though. Donna is on her secret date but let's be honest we all know it's Roy." He laughed and continued, "Wally is off to meet his family and said he would be back…" He took a glance at his watch, "in 45 seconds top."

Raven looked uneasy and pulled the cloak tighter around herself, looking down.

"So...it's just you and me here?"

Gar shrugged casually, "Yeah pretty much but don't worry. If anything happens, we can handle it. It's not the first time we might face a threat alone." He gave her a reassuring smile, "and others are probably heading back as well. So yeah no need to worry."

She wanted to tell him she was not worried at all. She was shocked! But she couldn't bring herself to tell him that right now because she wasn't sure about it.

"Well I'm headed to the kitchen. Do you want me to make something for you? You haven't gotten out of your room since morning. You must be hungry."

Raven tried not to look suspicious so she looked at him with a forced smile, "No thanks."

"You sure? I wouldn't make it too vegetarian for you."

"No no thanks…"

Gar simply shrugged, "Okay."

He turned around and started walking away. Raven looked down at the book then at him for a second and before she knew it she was speaking.

"Thanks again Gar...I appreciate what you did for me."

He turned his head back to her with a smile, "Anytime Rae. If you ever feel hungry, you know where I am."

The door opened and closed and he disappeared from her sight as he went to the kitchen.

Raven stood there for a couple of moments, not believing what she just found out. It was him! That strange feeling came from Gar himself. She just couldn't believe how easy it was to figure it out. It was so obvious. He was there anytime she felt it. It made sense it was coming from him.

But it wasn't Gar who surprised her, what he was feeling shocked her more than anything.

She suspected that she had felt that feeling before and it turned out she was right. She felt it from all titans before; especially from Kory on great levels.

It was love.

Of course it was love! Only love was so powerful that could give her such warm feelings from inside and put her in such a peace no meditation could ever do. Love was a powerful emotion, she knew it better than anyone.

She held the book harder as she looked down. The realisation hit her harder than she expected. She didn't know why she regretted knowing the truth or why she wasn't happy about it.

Gar was in love...it was a truth she wished she never knew.

***

"Have you noticed Garfield has been acting...weird recently?"

Raven asked Victor days later at the gym as he was lifting up weights and she was done meditating. After knowing the secret behind the strange feeling, Raven started to avoid Gar in a subtle way. She was ashamed of prying too much into his emotions when it was obvious he was trying to hide it; so the farther she was from him, the better.

That didn't stop her curiosity though.

"No, why?" Vic asked casually, "Did that green ass do something stupid again?"

"No…" she lowered her voice.

It was hard talking about it. She already knew something she believed she shouldn't have and now she was trying to know more. It was wrong, yet she really wanted to know.

"Then what is it?" Vic's question brought her back to the gym, "You seem worried."

"No, not worried. It's just...he seems different. He...feels different." She said the last part in more of a whisper but Victor heard her.

Shocked

Uneasy

Surprised

Scared?

Yet his face didn't show anything. He just gave her a blank look. Victor was good at not showing his emotions but not as good at not feeling them.

"What I mean is…" she felt stupid in asking, "Is he seeing someone?" Her question tasted bitter on her tongue and she felt she didn't want to know the answer.

This time Victor stopped his exercise and turned his head to her, giving her a questioning look. Raven kept her face straight, not letting him see more than she allowed it but she knew her question wasn't something to just ignore. Victor was curious to know why she would ask such things, especially about the Changling of all people.

After some intense moments, Victor turned back on exercising. "No."

His answer was way firmer than she expected. Raven was taken back on how he seemed upset about her question.

"No, he's not seeing anyone. At least not someone I know." His words sounded angry and Raven wasn't sure why.

"Why are you angry Victor? I just asked a question." He scoffed.

"It's not you Rae…" he lowered his voice, "Stupid green bean!"

"What?"

He looked at her with an angry face. "You're the empath here. You should know it by now."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Before she could get any answer from him, the gym's door opened with a bang.

"The Animal Man is here!" Gar shouted excitedly, "Please cheer for the new gym captain!"

He was in his sports clothes with his towel on his shoulder and a big speaker in his hand. He almost seemed to be at a party rather than at the gym.

"There's no such thing, Animal Man." Dick said following Gar from behind.

Gar put the speaker on a table and turned to the Boy Wonder with a grin, "well I guess I just invented it." His eyes landed on Raven and Victor. "Oh hi Cy! Rae!"

Victor stood up suddenly and walked towards his best friend. Raven could feel how his anger leaving his body the moment he saw Gar. His sudden change of mood surprised her, especially because it was Victor.

"Looks like someone is here to get his ass kicked." He patted Gar's shoulder.

"Oh you wish! I beat Richard, you're easy."

"Only once." Dick said in defense, "and only because you were lucky."

"Two out of three isn't once and it sure as hell wasn't luck."

"Well I guess there's one way to find out." Victor said.

Raven felt her presence was not welcomed anymore. She wanted to leave the gym as soon as she could. Seeing Gar was hard especially when she knew his little secret when she was not allowed. However, the moment he stepped in the gym, his love poured over her like a waterfall. It was hard to stay and harder to leave.

If only she didn't dig in too much! She regretted it more than anything. If she let it be the way it was, maybe she wouldn't feel uncomfortable around him anymore. So what if Gar was in love with someone? It wasn't her business. She shouldn't care! He could be in love with anyone he wanted. It wasn't like it mattered to her. It didn't matter!

She wished she could sound more convincing in her head.

"What do you say Rae?" Gar's voice interrupted her thoughts.

"Hmm?"

"I asked if you wanna judge the game, to see who's better?"

He was close, too close and he was letting her feel everything! She wasn't sure if it was his doing or was it because she already knew his deepest emotion; as in she couldn't turn back.

Up close, Gar looked way better than from far. When did he start to look so attractive to her? Did she always find him attractive? She knew he was good looking but now it felt different from the last times. It had changed! Something had changed about him, or maybe about her?

She should leave. She should leave as soon as she can.

"Sorry I can't." She said quickly flying over him to the exit door.

"W-what? Raven you okay?"

She didn't even look back, "I'm fine." And left the room with no other words, leaving the boys there confused.

Except that she wasn't. She wasn't fine at all. Something was happening with her and she knew it was all because of her nosiness from that day. Love was a powerful emotion. Something she shouldn't just mess with especially when Gar initially had kept it hidden within himself. There must have been a reason why he didn't let her feel it in the first place.

But it didn't matter how many times she told herself otherwise, she couldn't help but wonder about Gar's secret lover.

Was she a superhero too? Was she blonde? Azar was it Cassie? No! Gar would never go after girls way younger than him. Then who? A normal citizen no Titan knew of? Someone he met online? He could do that. He just needed to take a picture of himself in those sports clothes and everyone would be all over him.

"Raven? What's with the rush?" She heard Donna's voice as she and Kory were headed to the gym as well. They were both in their sports outfits as well.

She stopped flying and landed on the ground before them. Kory got a worried face as soon as she looked up.

"Raven, are you okay?"

"Yeah...just finished meditating at the gym." She tries to sound normal, "the guys are already there."

"Yeah we know." Donna said, "but are you okay?"

Raven raised an eyebrow, "I am. Why do you both keep asking?"

Donna and Kory exchanged some confused looks and Raven just wished she knew what it was about. She didn't want to get into another intense conversation or an awkward one like the ones she had back at the gym with them. She needed to be alone right now more than anything.

Kory stepped closer to her, "Raven... you're blushing!"

***

Life always put people in the most unexpected situations, kind of like Gar's jokes; you basically couldn't predict them.

But Raven was used to find herself in situations she didn't expect, being Trigon's child gave her that. She was herself unexpected.

It wasn't that Raven was unfamiliar with love. Maybe the time she just left Azarath she could say she was, but it was years ago. She gained more control over her powers and emotions ever since. If she could recall correctly, she always felt love from others, especially when they were younger with more unbalanced emotions.

She felt Kory and Dick's love throughout the years and the alien princess could overwhelm anyone with her emotions, let alone a powerful empath like Raven herself. She felt Donna and Roy's thing with each other, Victor and Sarah's and Gar's.

Azar! Even her own!

So why did it feel so different this time? Why was it so powerful? Raven knew Gar's love before. She'd witnessed many of his crushes before her own eyes. But this time? This love? It was so different on considerable levels.

"Raven! Cover Flash!" Kory shouted as she tried to block the attacks from this demonic creature who seemed to just get out of hell. A gift from her father? Raven decided not think about it.

As Wally was running fast towards the creature, Raven used her soul-self to block the fires. The monster was indeed strong and possessed dark magic as she felt it.

A green flying eagle flew above her fast and went straight to the monster. Raven saw how Gar shifted into a gorilla and attacked it with his power hands. A smile appeared on her face. His presence alone always made her smile.

She still didn't get the time she wanted to talk with him. After her awkward conversation with him at the gym, Raven couldn't get the courage to ask about his feelings; mostly because she was afraid if he was actually in love with someone.

She didn't know how to approach the subject either. For all that matter, Raven wasn't the titan with the best social skills. How was she supposed to start the conversation even? And tell him she basically invaded his mind and his privacy by accident? When she knew it wasn't an accident at all? That she knew he was in love? That she was jealous? To the point she couldn't stop thinking about him?

As if she would ever do that.

So Raven waited for the right moment. A moment she was brave enough to talk about it. It was frustrating how this right moment she was waiting for didn't come for weeks. The universe hated her. She had to endure months to finally find out about the truth and now weeks to talk about it? She knew what he felt, she knew what she felt and that was the biggest problem.

A familiar yell caught her attention as she saw Gar being thrown in the air.

"Beast Boy!"

He tried shifting to something to reduce the pain of landing hard but he was too weak for that. Gar crashed on the ground hard with a hand on his side, trying to stop the cut from bleeding.

Letting go of what she was asked to do, Raven quickly teleported herself on the ground where Gar was lying on the ground groaning in pain.

"Oh Azar…" she whispered as she kneeled down above his head. There was a big cut on his side which he was covering. Raven put her hand on his and tried to remove it so she would heal her but Gar didn't stopped her.

He groaned. "Don't Rae… it's not that important." His voice was weak, "Go help the others. I'm fine."

Raven frowned. "You're bleeding. If it doesn't stop soon it will get dangerous. You might even die."

And it scared her. She couldn't just leave him because of his stubbornness. She had to heal him before it caused him his death. Raven made a move with her hand and made a magical force bubble around them to prevent any attacks or interruptions.

Gar opened his eyes slightly.

"I heal quickly...you know that." He hissed for a second and continued, "Don't waste your power on me...Go!"

It all started with a similar moment didn't it? Him asking her not to heal him. It was months ago by now and Raven remembered all of his words. It all started that day, maybe she would finish it today.

She put his head on her thighs and looked at him upsidedown. Putting her hands on his cheeks, she started to caress them gently.

Stubborn or not, Raven couldn't leave him.

Gar smiled through his pain. Weakly he put his free hand on her and leaned to her touch.

"Raven…" he whispered.

And then it hit her. Raven's heart froze as she realized how stupid she was the whole time. Gar was in love with her!

It all made sense now. How could she be so blind over something so obvious? Anyone even without her powers would have figured it out already. It was right before her eyes. There was a reason Gar's feeling was more powerful than others, that she felt it stronger than others, why he tried to hide it from her, why such a powerful feeling never left her head...and her heart.

She just looked down at him. He was so lost into his world that he didn't feel she had already started the healing process; she knew it because he would have stopped her. It was painful and she tried hard not to make any sound so he wouldn't notice what she was doing.

"God It feels...it feels like heaven…" his words got her attention from his wound to his face. Even wounded, Gar was smiling and making her smile as well. It was what he excelled. He always managed to make her happy even though she didn't admit it.

She was done heading him yet she didn't let go and he didn't seem to be willing to leave the situation either. He looked so in peace and it was heartwarming.

She looked down at his lips. They were slightly apart and hot breath was coming out of his mouth. Raven bent down a bit, still staring at his lips. His smile never left them and Raven realized she couldn't stop herself either.

Still caressing his cheeks, Raven closed her eyes and kissed his lips upsidedown.

Azar she was kissing him! And how much it felt amazing! His lips were soft on hers and she felt him kissing her back shortly after. A smile appeared on her lips as she kept kissing him gently. That's what she wanted. Him with her. How much of a fool she was not to realize it sooner. It felt as if her lips were meant to be on his at that particular moment; and she figured she didn't mind if these moments become more often.

"Guys! Really?!" It was Roy, "in the middle of a battle?

Neither of them cared as they kept kissing. A battle, a mission or even an apocalypse, none of them could take away this moment from her. She had waited long for this to finally happen.

They broke the kiss slowly. She didn't open her eyes and knew Gar didn't either. She could feel his breaths on her face and his hand on hers. He was rubbing his tomb on her hand. She heard him chuckle.

"You knew it all the time, didn't you?"

Love...

For that moment, that was all he was feeling. She smiled.

"Well, you're always easy to read Gar."

@bbraeweek21

#bbrae #beast boy #rachel roth #garfield logan #raven #gar logan #raven roth #well it is a bit late but better late than never #hope you guys enjoyed it #bbraeweek2021 #day one

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chordwrites · 4 years ago

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The Healer

Prologue (not necessary to read first but provides some context)

Healer hid, watching Hero approach the beaten and unmoving Villain. If they were dead, all of Healer’s efforts would be meaningless.

Usually, Healer would wait until the battle was over to attend to the injured, or would find a moment when the fighting parties were separated to offer a quick heal. But Hero and Villain had never separated long enough for Healer to intervene, and Healer doubted that this hero would grant Villain any respite.

Healer pulled a few fireworks out of their satchel. They snuck a few building away—close enough for Hero to hear it but far enough to give Healer a few moments with Villain while Hero investigated. Healer muttered a small prayer, to who, they did not know. If this didn’t work, they’d be all out of ideas for helping Villain.

Quickly, they lit the fireworks, aiming them low, but away from any buildings that might hold occupants. The dumpsters should work nicely, and if a fire started, Hero would be able to put it out before it affected any citizens.

If their plan was successful, that is.

Healer raced towards the site of the battle, the explosion of fireworks sounding a few paces behind them and the impact against the dumpster augmenting the noise. They stuck to the shadows, and sighed in relief when they found Villain alone.

Healer crept forward, dread building as they searched for any sign that Villain was still breathing. They rested their hands on Villain’s chest, smiling a little when Villain’s chest rose and fell against their palms.

Healer concentrated, focusing warm energy out of their hands and into Villain, willing their body to be whole again.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Hero asked from behind them.

Healer jumped, but maintained the energy coursing into Villain.

“Healing them,” they said weakly.

“Why?”

“Because I can, and they needed it.” Their motivation had never been complex. If you have the ability to help others, you do it.

Hero scoffed. “Don’t you know the things they’ve done? You’re healing a monster.”

“I... not the specifics.” Healer had tried to stay away from the news and media after they’d realized that the heroes could be just as cruel as the villains.

“You’re young, so I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt. They’ve murdered hundreds, and the total casualty tally is even larger. Is that kind of person worth saving?” Hero paused, either waiting for a response or allowing Healer to soak in their question. Regardless, Healer chose not to respond, instead staring intently at their hands and the warm glow that emanated from them. “We always need new heroes, and your drive to help others is admirable. But what you’re doing now isn’t justice.” Hero pointed at Villain. “Helping someone like them isn’t justice.”

Healer’s hands shook. “I don’t care about justice. I don’t think I have the right to decide who deserves to be saved and who doesn’t.” God, healing was draining enough without debating personal morals with another super.

“Then listen to me, I’m saying this one doesn’t.”

The arrogance. “I don’t think you should be able to make that decision either,” Healer said.

The following silence sent a shiver down Healer’s spine. Dammit, why couldn’t they heal any faster? “If you save them, all the death they wrought from here on out will be your responsibility to bear.”

Healer's power continued to pour into Villain. That was a responsibility that Healer accepted, though they did not bear it well. It kept them up at night, and the accompanying depression had worried their mother to no end for the year or so they’d been doing this. They didn’t want Villain to hurt anyone, but they didn’t want to see them killed either. Healer didn’t know what was right, but they knew Hero’s way wasn’t it. It couldn’t be. They'd decided it was easier to forget about right and wrong, and just focus on healing anyone they could. Healer wouldn’t discriminate between the injured and dying.

Maybe it was too idealistic. Or maybe the adults weren’t idealistic enough.

Hero laughed quietly—a dark, intimidating sound. “If you’re helping the likes of a villain, you might as well be one yourself.”

The sudden rustle of movement startled Healer out of their concentration. They spun around, and Hero was in front of them, fist swinging. Healer braced themself.

Arms wrapped around Healer from behind pulling them back just before Hero’s fist connected. The arms grasped Healer’s waist and lifted them into a firefighter’s carry over Villain’s shoulder. Villain dodged a few more swings, keeping Healer secure despite the fast pace of the encounter.

Then, Villain ran, weaving between buildings and through alleyways as Hero kept on their trail. Not knowing what else to do, Healer clutched the back of Villain’s super suit.

Though Hero was fast, Villain seemed to know exactly where to go to confuse them, slinking into the shadows and maneuvering through the most obstructed areas. A few minutes into the chase, Villain halted, causing Healer’s face to slam into Villain’s back. The two ducked into a crevice between two buildings that Healer wouldn’t have noticed if Villain hadn’t been directing them into it.

The two sat in loud, breathy silence for a long time. Villain had an arm wrapped around Healer, and Healer clung to that arm like a lifeline. They didn’t understand what just happened. They were just helping people, weren’t they? How could that warrant a death sentence from a hero who was sworn to protect them?

And with Hero’s strength, that strike would have been one.

Healer didn’t know how long they waited, but at last, Villain let go of them and stepped out of their hiding spot, Healer not far behind.

Finally getting a good look at Villain, Healer scanned them for injuries. Though they’d managed to close up the vital ones, Villain still looked worse for wear, bruises covering almost every inch of visible skin, and blood soaking through most of their suit.

Villain stared at Healer, and Healer thought they saw a stern expression buried beneath the mask and mountain of bruises.

“I... I can heal up the rest of your wounds for you,” Healer said.

Villain shook their head. Healer wanted to protest, but as they stepped forward, their legs shook and their head spun. Even if Villain had accepted their offer, it was doubtful that Healer would have been able to follow through.

Villain tapped their throat, drawing Healer’s attention, then mouthed something. Thank you.

“No problem,” Healer said, their voice cracking a little. “Thank you, too, for getting me out of there.” For saving my life, Healer thought.

Villain nodded and mouthed something else, but as much as Healer concentrated, they couldn’t decipher the meaning. Villain shook their head again, this time more so at themself than at Healer, and pulled out a small pocket notebook and a pen. They scribbled something down.

Where do you need to go? I’ll make sure you get there.

“Oh, that’s alright. You don’t have to do that.” As much as they wanted to help heroes, villains, and civilians alike, they didn’t really need anyone to know where they lived.

Villain stared at them.

“You can go back to your home or base. I can make it back on my own.”

Villain’s eyes didn’t waver.

“It... it’s in walking distance if you want to walk with me, but I can’t have anyone in full super gear near my home.”

Villain nodded and pulled off their mask, right in front of Healer. Healer blanched at the utter disregard for secret identities. But they didn’t sense any ill will or ulterior motive, so they went behind a trash can and began changing into their own civilian clothes as Villain did the same. When they stepped back out, Villain made a point of not looking at Healer. Maybe they were trying to respect their identity, not that it would help much if Villain knew where they lived.

Healer walked home and Villain trailed behind them like some sort of underworld bodyguard. Every time Healer glanced back, Villain was scanning their surroundings with an intense alertness. Healer couldn’t blame them, they were keeping an eye out for any sign of Hero, themself. The thought of them sent their stomach into somersaults. Yet, there was something comforting about Villain trailing behind them.

Their anxiety mixed with guilt as they remembered Hero’s words. What did it say about them that a mass murderer trailing behind them was comforting. Wait, were they putting their mom in danger by letting Villain come with them?

But it was too late to do anything about it, now. They were already on Healer’s block. “This is it,” they said, and Villain nodded. Healer noted that Villain still wasn’t looking at their face, their eyes instead pointed at the ground with occasional flickers towards the adjacent streets. “Thank you,” Healer said, with an awkward laugh. “I was really scared back there.”

Villain nodded again, and Healer started closing the distance to their apartment. The next time they turned around, Villain was gone.

#writing #heroes and villains #kind villain #evil hero #snippet #flash fiction #healer #the healer #young hero

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realtacuardach · 4 years ago

Text

Anger and Release

Here's my entry for Match 2 of Obiyuki Madness 2021 @snowwhite-andtheknight : Roaring Rampage of Rescue. Many thanks to @jhalya for her beta reading. I hope y'all enjoy!

...

Steam curled out from Shirayuki's mouth as she peered through the frigid dimness of the morning towards the fortress. In her current frame of mind, she could almost imagine that the steam was actually smoke pouring from the maw of an enraged dragon who had had treasure stolen from her.

She didn't like being angry. Anger clouded the mind, affected the senses, and she liked to be in control and sensible at all times, especially in times where a cool head was needed.

On the other hand, though, the anger that was not at all going away was fuelling the adrenaline coursing through her blood, and she would need that adrenaline for what she was about to do.

So, she let herself be angry.

Angry at the renegade soldiers for capturing her and Obi in the middle of the night without provocation. Angry at how they savagely beat Obi after they'd already mobbed him and restrained him when he tried to rescue her. Angry at how they had been thrown into the back of the wagon like sacks of potatoes, the pain of his fresh, brutal wounds showing through his bruised eyes and stabbing her in the heart. Angry at how he managed to undo only his hands before removing her bonds instead of untying himself totally. Angry that, instead of saving himself, he'd given her an apologetic look before pushing her out of the cart and then collapsing himself.

The apology frustrated her almost more than anything else, because she was certain he was not apologetic for the right reasons.

"When we get back," she muttered to herself in the lessening gloom, "we're going to have a long talk about not sacrificing yourself for me. Again."

Truthfully, she didn't have much faith that this talk would stick any better than any of their previous similar ones, but that wouldn't prevent her from trying.

You idiot, she choked back a sob, don't you know how much it hurts when you do this?

She forced the tears away. There would be time for tears later, when he was home and safe and so bound up by her healing that he would have to stop and listen to her.

And he'll smile up at me and shrug and say he couldn't make any promises...

She shook her head. Focus.

Squinting, Shirayuki looked around the fortress and saw only one sentinel standing guard at the entrance. That seemed a little lackluster as far as security went, but she wasn't complaining.

A murmur like Obi's echoed through her brain. Miss, you can never be too careful. The ground's not the only place the enemy can be.

As though on cue, she heard a slight crackling of tinder above her as though a squirrel was making its way through the limbs. She craned her head upwards to see a man in the tree besides the one where she was hiding, well camouflaged against the gnarled bark.

That wouldn't do.

Looking around surreptitiously, Shirayuki saw a jagged stone on the ground. She reached out and took it, its roughness grounding her and steeling her resolve. After a quick glance towards the sentinel at the door, Shirayuki crept a few trees away from her hiding place and looked up towards her target.

Practice with both Kiki and Obi had served her well; the rock slammed into the back of the tree dwelling soldier's knee as she'd planned, forcing his knee to bend and for him to lose his balance. He fell to the ground with a heavy thud amidst all the dead leaves.

Even in her haze of adrenaline, she could see his chest rise and fall, and felt a traitorous sense of relief.

The sentinel ran over to check his fallen comrade, his face showing first alarm, then irritation. He nudged the fallen man none too gently in the ribs and cursed. Shirayuki reached into her satchel, the glass jar solid in her hand.

"Fool," the guard grumbled, "falling asleep in a -"

The glass jar cracked across the back of his head, the potent herbs smearing across his skin and hair ensuring that the blow would knock him out. There were a few beads of blood where the glass scratched him, but she recognized him as one of Obi's attackers and couldn't bring herself to care much.

She stalked across the grass quietly and quickly, her ears attuned for any small sound, but heard and saw no one as she made her way to the door. Despite herself, her hand trembled a moment as she grabbed the door handle but she swallowed it down. She couldn't hesitate.

Obi needed her.

…

Years of having to deaden old soldier's wounds and to temporarily incapacitate stubborn, hardy patients who would not listen to her and stay in bed were serving her well. It meant that she knew just the right herbs to use, even if she had to grab them on the fly from the surrounding forest and unattended cupboards. It also meant she knew just where to dig and press her fingers to weaken muscles and render others unconscious.

She moved through the halls with almost clinical efficiency. Guard in west wing, herbs. Guard in east wing, pinch at the neck. Guard on the staircase, jar of herbs to the back of the head.

For once, she was grateful for her small size, it allowed her to creep and duck around the shadows. Because she had to take everyone out on the way to Obi, otherwise she knew their chances of escape were slim.

Especially with Obi as injured as he is.

Shirayuki gritted her teeth, forcing her feelings to fuel her rage. This was not the time to falter.

It was best to be quiet, the element of surprise was key. But she noted with alarm that her attacks were getting more reckless the deeper she went into the fortress, whether that was due to her desperation and anger, she didn't know.

She didn't care.

As she crept past the guard who had been watching the dungeon door, she heard voices and scowled.

A dull slap of something against flesh. "Where is the girl?"

A hollow chuckle. "What girl?"

Wind whistled as something was swung through the air, ending with a muffled thud and a deep groan. "You know what girl we're talking about!"

"Can't say I do," Obi groaned in response.

There was a sound that sounded sickeningly like a blade being drawn from a scabbard. "I won't ask again."

"Good, because I won't answer again." Obi clicked his tongue, the sound strangely garbled. "Not good at taking no for an answer, no wonder you can't get a girl-"

Don't provoke them, Obi!

Usually, if Obi was still being snarky and insolent, things were okay; it was only when he reverted to death glares that things were serious. However, that was when others, especially Shirayuku and Ryuu, were at stake. He was annoyingly flippant when it came to his well-being, so Shirayuki had no way of telling how bad it was without seeing him. She pushed up on her toes and stared through the bars.

Her blood ran cold, then hot, then boiling.

Her knight was shackled to the wall, looking even more bruised and battered then she had seen him before. Blood ran in a stream from the corner of his mouth, his limbs were contorted where they were shackled with blood plastering the material to his skin, and his glare was lessening to a slit of golden, blood-shot eyes as his face swelled from all the bruising.

And there was a blade held to his neck.

Rage filled Shirayuki like a beaker overflowing with viscous, corrosive liquid and she felt herself grabbing a rusty bar that had fallen in days past from the door. There were two people with him, the element of surprise would be almost useless here.

And it was overrated anyway.

She only made one sound before she dropped her cover entirely, just enough to surprise the brute holding the blade to Obi's neck and have him facing her.

With that, she cast aside all secrecy, let out an unholy shriek that she hadn't known herself capable of, and pounced.

…

"That," Obi huffed besides her as they struggled into the clearing, him leaning heavily on her shoulder, "was something, Miss."

Shirayuki gave something like a nod in response, but kept going. Her adrenaline was just about running out, and she could feel all the aches in her body starting to emerge. Just a little further.

"Miss?"

Along with the aches, the reality of what she had just done was beginning to sink into her thoughts as well. All those guards slumped unconscious, their wheezing both reassuring and terrifying. The bruises and scabs forming on the backs of heads and necks. The pained groans of Obi's tormentors as they faded into delirium, clutching most likely broken legs or arms. It looked terrible and daunting in her mind.

And she couldn't really bring herself to regret it.

"Miss, are you okay?"

It wasn't until she felt his fingers brush the dampness of her cheek that she realized she'd been crying. "I'll be fine."

"Miss."

He had no right to sound admonishing right now. None at all.

"Miss." He sounded gentler, although the admonishing tone still lingered in the back of his voice. "You're bleeding."

"Sure it's mine and not yours?" She shot back, and immediately regretted it at his wince.

"Miss, we're far enough. You need to rest a minute."

Acquiescing, Shirayuki maneuvered them to a small cave. She lay him down and sat beside him, hugging her knees to her chest, the fear and fatigue and anger and anxiety all curdling at once in her gut. She was doing a poor job of hiding it, given that Obi reached up to brush his fingers against her face again. "Miss, please…"

Something about the touch and tone undid her, and she began weeping. "Don't," she choked, "don't ever do that again."

Obi frowned. "You know I can't promise that."

"Why?" She demanded, "Why can't you? Don't you realize how much you matter? Don't you realize how much it would kill me if something happened to you?"

He swallowed hard. "Not as much as you-"

Shirayuki glared down at him. "Don't. Just, don't."

Obi sighed and forced himself into a seated position. With a slight noise of distaste at his bloodied clothes, he wrapped his arms around her and held her close. She hugged him back fiercely and cried into his shoulder. He rubbed her back soothingly. "Thank you, Miss. I'm so sorry."

"Not as half as you'll be if you scare me like that again," she sniffled.

"Yes, Miss," she could feel his smile in the breath against her neck, warm and close and reassuringly alive.

She would need to talk with him more about this later, they were both well aware. But for now, they were both alive and safe.

And for now, that would have to be enough.

#obiyukimadness21 #obiyuki #akagami no shirayukihime #Roaring Rampage of Revenge #Spitfire!Shirayuki #Obi's self-sacrificial nature is still going strong #much to Shirayuki's frustration

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remmushound · 4 years ago

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Curse of the Clan part 47! @selfindulgenz @scentedcandlecryptid

Raphael woke up. Concerned family and friends were all around him, and when they noticed that he was awake, they immediately swarmed him with questions.

“What happened?!” Said more than one.

“Did you see how they trapped Krang?”

“What happened to the last kappa?”

“Did you see?”

Raphael's head spun with the rapid-fire questions, even more still flooding in and adding to the chaos inside his mind. Too many questions, too many words without meaning. Too many noises that he just wanted to stop. The mutant snarled a warning and swung out his arms to push his family aside as gently as he could in his state so he could finally get a breath of air that wasn’t suffocating.

“Just give me a minute!” He grunted, and was glad when his clan listened and left him to catch his breath. “I… I saw what happened.”

“What did you see?” Michelangelo asked with a soft squeak.

“I saw how they trapped Krang.” Raphael said; he was still breathless, but it was better now, “There was like this… magnet thing that they attached to him and it dragged him into the cave. Then he was sealed with the mystic weapons…”

Draxum hummed curiously.

“Did the red kappa… you know?” Michelangelo asked slowly, wringing his hands.

Raphael shook his head. “No— not that I seen. He was still alive when the vision ended.”

Upon seeing Draxum confused stare, eyebrow raised, Leonardo was quick to explain the carnage that they had witnessed.

“And that’s not it!” Leonardo said. “I— the way that Krang uh… did that… I could’ve sworn it looked like our markings…”

Raphael nodded. “Yeah. I wasn’t gonna bring it up, but…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “It kinda did…”

“Remarkable.” Draxum sucked in a breath.

“What? Vicious slaughter?” Splinter scoffed, his muzzle wrinkling.

“They are not only reincarnations, they are kintsugi…”

“What’s kintsugi?” Sunita frowned, tilting her head.

“It sounds familiar…” Splinter rubbed his chin.

“It should.” Draxum nodded, “In ancient Japan, when a pot was broken, it wasn’t just thrown away. The cracks were resealed with gold…” Draxum traced a finger across Michelangelo’s patchy patterns, “To honor the wabi-sabi.”

“The wasabi?”

Draxum growled. “The wabi-sabi is a Japanese philosophy that calls for us to see the beauty in the flawed and imperfect. It seeks to highlight the faults of the previous life and make it something beautiful in the next.”

“Then how come Raphie doesn’t have any?” Cassandra frowned as she started to climb over Raphael like a spider monkey, poking and prodding at every part of him looking for markings. Raphael tried to follow her movements, but it was difficult.

“Aww, that’s the first time you’ve called me Raphie!” Raphael cooed.

“You best stay in your lane, little missy.” Michelangelo narrowed his eyes as he jumped on Raphael’s shoulders, hugging his brother's head stingily.

“Nicknames aside.” Draxum moved past the situation with a wave of his hand. “The only reason I can see Raphael being spared is because his former life didn't experience such trauma upon his death. He may have died a natural death, and if that’s the case, then it would also explain why there was such a delay in your reincarnation. The three souls…” He motioned to Leonardo, Donatello, and Michelangelo, “Were waiting for the fourth to join them.” He motioned to Raphael.

“Donnie, do you think you could make the magnet thing that Raph saw?” Leonardo asked, addressing the twin that clung to his arm like it was a lifeboat.

Donatello nodded numbly, though Leonardo suspected that the softshell hadn't really heard what he said.

“Guys, you’re forgetting what Karai said!” April argued, ��She said that Krang had to follow the same pattern as Shredder— that he had to be destroyed!”

“And we’re still no closer to figuring out how to do that.” Cassandra groaned, tossing her head back to scream.

“Actually, I may have a theory...?” Draxum tapped his fingers together thoughtfully.

“And you were going to share this with us… when?” Leonardo asked, fixing Draxum with a particular stare.

“When I was sure the theory was correct, which I am still not, but I do have a hunch. And our little… vision quest has given me more evidence.” Draxum said, and then cleared his throat, “The mystic weapons used to trap Krang in his prison in the Sea of Trees were red, blue, purple, and orange. The same colors, and the same chakras, possessed by you four turtles.”

“So?”

“So…” Draxum went on, “It took four chakras to trap Krang. There are seven chakras in total, and the missing elements are green, yellow, and indigo. Green is the color of the heart chakra…”

All eyes were turned to April, and to the lotus scar on her chest. April felt extremely vulnerable under the piercing stares, but they were quick to look away from her and back to Baron. Still, she shifted her shirt up a little higher.

“That still leaves two chakras to be desired.” Draxum said, “If four chakras were enough to trap them, then seven might be enough to destroy him.”

“But who would the other two chakras be?” Michelangelo asked.

“You’re an idiot.” Draxum said sharply, then added, “Shredder couldn’t be defeated, so he was trapped, and five hundred years later, he was destroyed by seven strong warriors.” He motioned widely to the turtles, then to the two humans, and then to Splinter. “Krang couldn’t be defeated, so he was trapped, and five hundred years later…” He let the others complete the thought on their own.

The clan all looked around at each other, their brows and eyeridges creased in deep thought. Draxum grabbed the colored paints he had put aside and dipped his fingers in the green, yanking April to him and starting to trace the green over the scars on her chest. April winced, tears brimming at the burning touch, but she stayed still.

“Anahata. Empathic and compassionate, possessing good fortune. Harmony, balance, and healing. Hope. Too much green and we become critical, demanding, and possessive. Angry and miserable and green with envy. Too little green, and we come to fear rejection. We become placid; lethargic and lazy and slow. You are the heart chakra.”

He shoved April aside and pulled Cassandra to him, tracing a ten-petaled yellow lotus just below her ribs; Cassandra was fighting to hold still while the entirety of her frame vibrated with excited energy.

“Manipura. Adaptive, enthusiastic, and courageous. A color of laughter and confidence! Too much yellow and you lack the ability to focus. You can even become critical and over demanding! A strong work ethic can quickly turn to a workaholic attitude! Too little yellow and you can feel isolated, lacking courage and security. You become rigid and blame others when things don’t go your way. You are solar plexus chakra.”

Cassandra was carefully moved aside, and Draxum finally came to Splinter with indigo paint. Right between Splinter’s eyes, Draxum painted a lotus with only two petals.

“Ajna. Knowledge, spirituality, and intuition. You carry yourself with a strong dignity and balance, and a mental clarity few can achieve. Too much indigo and your ego can get the better of you. Too little indigo and you can become fearful, withdrawn, and undisciplined. You are the third eye chakra.”

Splinter was guided to take a place beside his pupils. Draxum quickly started to arrange them in a particular pattern; Raphael, Michelangelo, Cassandra, April, Leonardo, Splinter, Donatello.

“Red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, purple. The order of the chakras.” Draxum explained to them. “And our greatest chance at saving your world…”

#they are #kintsugi

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clarkblogger01-blog · 6 years ago

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#quick heal total security lifetime crack

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 5 years ago

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Eccentricity [Chapter 9: Now I Love Your Shadow And I Love Your Curls]

Series Summary: Joe Mazzello is a nice guy with a weird family. A VERY weird family. They have a secret, and you have a choice to make. Potentially a better love story than Twilight.

Chapter Title Is A Lyric From: “Til I Die” by Parsonsfield.

Chapter Warnings: Language, references to sex, violence, and drug use.

Word Count: 7.6k.

Other Chapters (And All My Writing) Available: HERE

Taglist: @queen-turtle-boiii @bramblesforbreakfast @maggieroseevans @culturefiendtrashqueen @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark @escabell @im-an-adult-ish @queenlover05 @someforeigntragedy @imtheinvisiblequeen @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhyee @deacyblues @tensecondvacation @brianssixpence @some-major-ishues @haileymorelikestupid @youngpastafanmug @simonedk

Field Trip

“You want to go to Chicago with me?”

I coughed, having almost inhaled a chunk of pineapple off my slice of GrubHubbed pizza. We were sitting on the grass outside Forks And Spoons under the shade of the maple trees, which were turning from jade to ruby to amber to fool’s gold, rejoining the earth they once rose from one fallen leaf at a time. It hadn’t rained in almost four days—was that some kind of record?!—and the leaves littering the ground crunched when I stepped on them, which I did purposefully and often. The breeze was soft and whispery and temperate. I could get used to this whole having actual seasons thing. “What, in like a hypothetical, at some point in my life kind of way?”

Joe smiled. His U Chicago hoodie of the day was black. “No, as in this weekend.”

“Really?”

“The Cubs have a game on Saturday, and it’s supposed to be rainy and overcast the whole time, and I just thought...” He shrugged, toying with a piece of pizza crust before tossing it to the squirrels. He’s nervous, I realized. How the hell do I have the ability to make the sexy undead Italian man nervous? “It might be nice for us to be able to get away for a few days. Away from my family. Away from Charlie. Not that I don’t appreciate the ambient noise of his snoring from the living room couch, it’s super endearing, I seriously consider dating him instead of you at least twice a week.”

“Go for it. Charlie could use a rich husband. His pension is pathetic.”

“You wouldn’t miss me?”

“I am not necessarily opposed to clandestinely seducing my sugar daddy stepdad should the occasion arise.”

Joe crossed himself like a nun passing tattooed, cursing, lip-pierced teenagers on the sidewalk. “Lord, protect me from this harlot.”

A weekend away. No Charlie, no constant and chaotic whirlwind of Lees, no Ben. I hadn’t spoken to Ben since our misadventure in the Lee kitchen; if he wasn’t avoiding me of his own volition, he was following orders to stay away. Joe claimed that they’d talked it out. I wasn’t sure if I believed him. “I accept your invitation. Although, truthfully, I’d rather get hit by a bus than watch an entire real-life, no-commercial-breaks baseball game.”

“I accept your acceptance. And I’ll throw in a visit to the Shedd Aquarium, just for you. They have baby sea otters.”

“Sweet.” I checked my iPhone. “I’m gonna be late for Chemistry.”

“Anything fun planned?”

“We’re doing a lab involving hydrochloric acid. I’m highly concerned that Ben will accidentally spill some on himself. The miraculous instantaneous healing thing might raise a few questions.”

“Hm,” Joe replied. But he wasn’t looking at me; he was looking at my bandaged hand. And he wasn’t smiling anymore.

“Joe, I’m fine.”

“Yeah.” He took a preoccupied swig of his Dr. Pepper. Solemnity never seemed right on him; it was like he was wearing somebody else’s skin. “You’ve mentioned that.”

“Hey. Mob guy.”

Now his eyes flicked to mine.

“No more sad spaghetti.”

“Okay.” He surrendered, took my face in his hands, gave me a kiss on each cheek and then one quick parting peck on the forehead. “You win. I’m not sad. I’m ecstatic, actually. I’m gonna be eating my weight in hotdogs and mustard-slathered pretzels on Saturday. What’s there not to be ecstatic about?”

“The fact that your license says you’re only twenty and consequently can’t get a beer?”

Joe blinked, remembering. “Fuck.”

I drained my Diet Coke, flung my pizza crust to the skittering grey squirrels—no eerie albino forest friends today—and pulled on my backpack. “See ya. Have an awesome time in Game Theory.”

“Thanks, I probably won’t!” he chimed, waving, grinning compliantly; and yet did I still sense some lingering menace of disquiet, of fear? I suspected I did. Chicago would cure everything.

Ben tensed when I walked into Professor Belvin’s classroom, ran his fingers through his unruly blond hair, peered fixedly down at his notebook and feigned obliviousness. There was already a metal tray of Erlenmeyer flasks, labeled bottles of solutions, burettes, goggles, gloves, and an unassembled ring stand crowding our small table by the open window. Autumn air poured in like seawater through cracks in the hull of a ship.

“Guess who’s gonna see the Cubs play up close and personal this Saturday?” I announced.

He pretended to have just noticed me. “...You...? But that doesn’t sound like you.”

“It was Joe’s idea. I’m acting like I’m not totally thrilled and freaking out about it, but I am. Don’t tell him.”

Now Ben was the one staring at my bandaged hand. His green eyes were large and unfocused.

“I’m fine,” I insisted.

“Sure,” Ben returned noncommittally.

I started skimming through the packet of lab instructions and setting up our titration experiment as Professor Belvin circulated through the classroom, observing, commenting, offering suggestions and critiques. My wounded hand—still sore in the lull between Advil doses and relatively useless—was quite the embarrassing hinderance; I fumbled with a large glass flask and almost dropped it.

Ben shook his head and reached out to stop me. “Here, oh my god, this is so pitiful, sit down. Please sit down. I’ll set it up. It’s the least I can do.”

“Thanks.” I peeked at his notebook. “Your handwriting is atrocious. Haven’t you had like a century to work on that?”

“Penmanship was never at the top of my to-do list, tragically.”

“What language is that, anyway?” The phrases scrawled in black ink in Ben’s notebook definitely weren’t English. Or Italian. “Elvish? Are you a lowkey Lord Of The Rings fan? Magic and self-sacrifice and nearly insurmountable evil, I could see that being your thing.”

He smirked, struggling with the ring stand. “It’s Welsh.”

“Welsh,” I repeated, perplexed. “Welsh...like how Gwil is Welsh?”

“Precisely.”

Professor Belvin checked in on us, nodded in approval, reminded me that I was always welcome to stop by at bowling league activities, and resumed his wandering.

“Gwil still speaks it,” Ben continued. “The rest of them speak it too. At least enough for basic communication.”

“I didn’t know,” I said, fascinated, examining the long, unfamiliar words riddled with Ls and Ws and Cs. “But that must be very useful.”

“It is. Welsh is nearly a dead language at this point. It’s like talking in code. I always refused to learn it on principle...or maybe I was just being difficult. I would study other languages, Arabic, Japanese...but not Welsh. That was always Gwil’s language. Their language. It was a Lee thing. But now...”

“Now you’re sort of a Lee too,” I finished for him, smiling.

“Whatever,” Ben said, hiding behind his bangs.

I watched him as he at last tamed the ring stand, secured the burette, placed the Erlenmeyer flask. Then he began reading the labels on the solution bottles. “Guess what else.”

“What, Baby Swan?”

I grinned, showing off my unremarkable, entirely benign human teeth. “I’ll bring you back your very own U Chicago hoodie.”

That night, after a pleasantly prosaic dinner with Charlie—burgers, one veggie and one of the conventional variety, and milkshakes at Danny’s Diner—I started packing a small, Arizona-sky-blue suitcase as sparse raindrops pattered against the roof and moonlight streamed in through the open window. Then I ticked off my mental inventory.

“Jeans, sweaters, pajamas, socks...”

I pawed through the top drawer of my old, scratched dresser—the same one that had once upon a time been Renee’s—and contemplated the bra and panty options. Would my theme be comfort and practicality, or feral impenitent seductress? Friday and Saturday in Chicago would be our first nights alone together. That had to be significant, right? After some deliberation, I gathered a handful of lacy, transparent, and/or exceptionally skimpy lingerie from Victoria’s Secret that Jessica had more or less forced upon me during a shopping trip in Port Angeles last month. As I dropped them into the open suitcase, I glanced up to see the albino owl outside my open bedroom window.

“You never know,” I told the owl, shrugging.

It leered judgmentally back at me with those gory red eyes.

“Oh shut up. How many eggs have you laid in your lifetime, Casper The Unfriendly Ghost? Probably like a bazillion. Freaking feathery trollop.”

The owl had nothing to offer in its own defense.

“Why don’t you ever come around when Joe’s here? I’m sure he’d love to meet you. He’s pale and weird too. Although I like his eyes a little better than yours. No offense, Snowflake.”

The owl blinked, tilted its gaze at me, ruffled its feathers and sent the raindrops that had gathered there flying in every direction.

I slid my iPhone out of my back pocket, spun around, and snapped a quick selfie with the owl in the background. “Say cheese, Marshmallow!”

The owl immediately unfurled its wings and flapped off into the trees, vanishing.

“Huh. I guess homegirl is camera shy.” I texted my selfie to Archer, typing out with my thumbs: I am the Steve Irwin of Forks. Behold, one of my many forest friends.

Archer replied a few minutes later: WOW! Pasty and mildly disturbing. Exactly your type. :)

“Yours too, apparently,” I murmured, smiling in my empty room.

I went to my full-length mirror with the plastic, teal-colored border, briefly appraised my reflection, felt a dull swell of approval for what I saw there. The version of myself that had once been so consumed by fears of inadequacy seemed impossibly far away, maybe even fictitious, a dream so vivid I could mistake it for truth. Three things were taped across the top of the mirror: Joe’s Official Citation!! No More Sad Spaghetti!! post-it, his Official Whatever You Want Pass, and a photo of us dressed up together and standing in front of the limo in the Lees’ driveway just before the Calawah University Homecoming dance. I peeled off the Official Whatever You Want Pass, carefully folded it into a neat little square, and tucked it into my wallet.

When the rain began to pour and thunder rolled in off the Pacific Ocean, I closed my bedroom window; but I remembered to leave it unlocked for Joe.

Departure

“Got your license?”

“Yes, Dad,” Joe sighed.

“Got your airport snacks?”

Joe held up the gallon-sized Ziploc bag filled with pumpkin and white chocolate chip cookies. “We’re ready to rock.”

“Call me when you get there safe,” Mercy fretted, hugging me and then Joe. “And Joseph, sweetheart, you make sure you keep an eye on her. She’s never been to Chicago before, it’s a big city, and O’Hare is an absolute nightmare, it’s so easy to get lost...”

“I don’t think he needs any reminders, love.” Dr. Lee laid a hand on her shoulder, stroked his neatly-trimmed beard with the other, watched us with a vague and wistful smile.

Mercy went back to trimming the flowers she had spread out across the kitchen countertop, white calla lilies that she threaded one by one into a translucent sapphire blue vase. “Now don’t forget to say goodbye to your brother. He’s out back feeding the new ducks. And I expect these ones to stick around for a while, thank you very much.”

“Mom, I don’t need to say goodbye to Rami. I’ll just think it. Really loudly.” Joe rubbed his temples with his fingertips and squeezed his eyes shut. “Peace out, you nosy bastard.”

“Joseph,” Mercy pleaded.

“Okay, okay, I’ll go say goodbye. Don’t get all aggressive. Don’t take it out on the flowers.” Aggressive...what a joke. I doubted that Mercy Eleanor Lee, formerly Martin, had a single aggressive bone in her immortal body; not even the infinitesimal stapes of her inner ears or the sesamoids of her feet.

“They’re calla lilies,” she replied dreamily, tending them like children. “And they symbolize love, and beauty, and fidelity...”

My nostrils itched and burned faintly in dissent. “I think I’m allergic to them.”

“You’re allergic to fidelity?” Joe asked, raising his eyebrows. “That’s it, now you’re definitely not getting my reclaimed virginity. No ma’am. I am not hit-it-and-quit-it material.”

“Oh sweet baby Jesus,” Mercy murmured.

“I’m going,” Joe said, showing his palms in capitulation and disappearing out the back door. I dragged my suitcase to the front one, politely declining Mercy and Gwil’s offers to help.

Lucy—her bleached hair in a high half-ponytail and wearing polka-dotted black tights, combat boots, a plaid miniskirt, and an extremely Octoberish orange sweater—was sitting cross-legged on the roof of Gwil’s Volvo. God, he’s such a dad. “Have a nice time,” she chirped artfully.

I opened the hatch of Joe’s Subaru and threw my suitcase inside. “Why do you sound like you already know I will?”

“I might have some relevant clairvoyant insight.”

“No way.” I stared up at her, stunned, my hands on my waist. “But you can’t see me, right...?”

“True. But this vision wasn’t of you. It was of Joe. You just happened to be there.”

Interesting. Very interesting. “And what transpired in this vision?” A night full of hot, steamy, blissful vampire sex? A girl could dream.

Lucy closed her eyes, recalling it fondly, maybe even cherishing it. “You were sitting in the stands of a professional baseball game. I could hear the crowd roaring, the umpire’s trumpeting interruptions. Blue and white...everyone was wearing blue and white. And you were there together—Joe a vampire, you human, side by side, almost entwined—shouting to each other over the thunderous noise and laughing and pushing nuggets of soft pretzels into each other’s mouths. So happy. I’d never seen Joe so happy.” Her striking pale eyes came open. “And he’s someone who’s already rather prone to happiness, as I’m sure you’ve noticed.”

“I have,” I agreed.

“He’s never been serious about anybody else. I hope you know that.”

“I know that’s what he tells me.”

“It’s the truth,” Lucy insisted. “I would know if it wasn’t. Rami would know, Ben would know. Joe...he’s kind of the opposite of you. He’s always been the easiest to read. He’s the one Rami hears most loudly, the one who shows up most often in my visions. He’s clear, you know? Uncomplicated. Authentic. And what you mean to him...it’s something everybody sees. It’s a contagious sort of lightness, of joy. So thank you for that.”

And if whatever mysterious genetic switch that renders me immune to your talents wasn’t flipped, I’m pretty sure I’d look the same way. “I should definitely be thanking you,” I said. “You guys have a pretty cool existence going on here. And I’m so grateful to be invited into it.” For however long this lasts, anyway.

“None of us really invited you,” Lucy demurred. “We just let it happen.”

“So everyone knew I was coming? Because you saw it?”

“Everyone but Joe.”

“You never told him?”

“No. Not even now.” Lucy turned sharply towards the trees, as if she heard something in the soaring western hemlocks that swayed drunkenly in the wind. After a moment, she continued. “I’m not sure if I can even explain why. It wasn’t that I feared changing the timeline or something...my visions always come true regardless. Always. But I guess...” She tugged on her short half-ponytail, pondering. “I guess I didn’t want to cloud any of his decision-making, any of his emotions with the specter of the inevitable. I wanted whatever he felt for you to be completely organic. And it is.”

I considered her. “You are extremely thoughtful for someone who spends as much time shopping as you do.”

Lucy laughed in a high-pitched, almost juvenile trill, netting her fingers beneath her chin, her elbows resting on her bent knees. “I do like to shop. I didn’t always though.” She peered off into the trees again, this time pensively. “Did Joe tell you anything about my life before Gwil saved me?”

“Aside from the copious hippie jokes, not really.”

She nodded, her eyes far-away and still lost in the forest. “Gwil and Mercy are inordinately wonderful people. My biological father and mother, unfortunately, were not. And maybe they couldn’t help it, because from what I understand their parents were monsters too. I don’t think of them very often now, not even to resent them. But when I was alive I burned with it, with all that hatred, with all that bitterness. Every bruise was another log on the fire. Every screaming match or hurled plate was a splash of gasoline. So I ran away and found what I fancied to be a new family, and I lived on basement couches and out of vans and in abandoned buildings, and I explored increasingly inventive ways of putting that fire out.”

The October breeze cascaded through the trees, carrying echoes of birdsong and disembodied distant voices and the scent of pine. It reminded me of Joe.

“Chemically speaking,” Lucy said, “that first hit of heroin, that first high...it’s the best you’ll ever feel in your entire life. Nothing else will ever compare. Not skydiving, not backpacking through Southeast Asia on some Pulitzer-prize-winning journey of self-discovery, not winning the lottery, not the births of your children, not falling in love. And once you accept that, what’s the point in stopping? Everything you ever experience will live in the shadow of that needle. You’re twenty-five and you’ve already seen the endgame. You’re born, you suffer, you catch a glimpse of paradise, you pay bills and push shopping carts down the aisles of grocery stores and insipidly smile your way through your husband’s work parties until you die. What’s the fucking point? So I didn’t stop shooting heroin. And the whole time, I knew it was killing me. That’s what they don’t tell kids when they force them to make those idiotic classroom promises to never do drugs. You know it’s killing you, but you don’t care. Because it feels so goddamn good. Because it becomes the only sliver of your existence that doesn’t cut like glass beneath your skin. Sometimes you love things so much you let them kill you, isn’t that ridiculous?”

I wasn’t sure how to answer her; still, I heard my own voice: “Yes, it is.”

“It took dying for me to see that life is worth living. That there’s magic in the mundane and the frivolous. And that there’s beauty everywhere if you bother to look for it.” Lucy uncrossed her trim legs, leapt gracefully off the Volvo, and—with definite but not unkind scrutiny—pulled at the collar of my thrift shop sweater. “Even in your very, very, very misguided fashion preferences.”

The front door of the Lee house swung open, and Joe jogged out, carrying his suitcase. Gwil, Mercy, Scarlett, Rami, and Ben appeared on the porch to wave us off.

“What’d you do?!” Joe demanded, pointing at Lucy.

“Nothing,” she quipped.

“You guys gotta stop doing this!” Joe exclaimed. “You know what you’re doing, you know exactly what you’re doing, you gotta stop cornering people and forcing them to listen to your creepy tragic backstories! Nobody freaking asked!”

Lucy chuckled patiently and stood on her tiptoes to hug him goodbye. “Have fun.”

“You know it.” Joe tossed his suitcase into the Subaru and opened the driver’s door. “Ready, Baby Swan?”

“Almost.”

I walked to the wrap-around porch, climbed the steps, held my hand out to Ben. My stitches had almost completely dissolved over the past week, and the clunky impediment of bandages was no more. Joe crossed his arms and watched from beside the Subaru with an uneasy frown, but he didn’t try to stop me. He nodded to Rami, so subtly I almost didn’t notice. Rami nodded back.

“I will miss your melodramatic brooding immensely,” I told Ben. “Please do some fun family stuff while we’re gone. I’ll see you soon. Dan eich bendith.”

“Dan eich bendith,” he replied, taken aback. And then, after a moment’s hesitation, he ignored my outstretched hand and embraced me, his grasp so strong and yet so careful. His scent like crisp leaves and salted caramel and autumn sieved into a bottle unfolded in my lungs like an opened book.

“I Googled that especially for you,” I whispered. “You’re welcome.”

“I’m in awe.” His words were characteristically sardonic, but I heard warmth in them as well. When Ben pulled away, I saw that everyone else was smiling. Mercy had tears in her eyes.

I retreated back down the porch steps and met Joe by the Subaru. “Okay, mob guy. I’m good.”

He slid on his sunglasses, shook his head, flashed a proud and toothy grin. “You definitely are.”

All the way down Route 101 to the Seattle-Tacoma International Airport, we listened to Joe’s classic rock mixtapes and my NOAA Ocean Podcast episodes, reviewed the weekend itinerary, ran through the bare essentials for me to understand an MLB game (“Which I am totally not excited about whatsoever,” I informed Joe, who knew enough not to believe me).

When the Boeing 747 ascended above the clouds and unimpeded sunlight poured in from the other passengers’ windows, Joe put on a black sleeping mask over his sunglasses and reclined his seat, tried to nap, passed the time until he would be safe beneath the curtains of the sky again.

Somewhere over the Dakotas, as I leafed through a book about the Great Barrier Reef for my Marine Botany class, Joe’s hand bumped mine. “Hey,” he said drowsily, seriously; and I braced myself for some emotional declaration, some dire warning, some grave realization of the futility of what we agreed—almost always wordlessly, and yet unfailingly—was love.

“Yeah?”

“It’s an emergency.”

“Uh oh,” I replied, smiling now.

“Flag down the flight attendant and get some more of those honey roasted peanut packets,” Joe said. “I’m starving myself back to death over here.”

The Windy City

The bat cracked deafeningly against the baseball pitched at nearly a hundred miles per hour. It was a home run. The crowd erupted into mindless, primal shrieks of conquest; and when Joe jumped to his feet, clapping and cheering and nearly spilling his blue-and-white bucket of popcorn, I found that I did as well. I screamed for the team of a city I’d never lived in, sank back into my seat beside Joe, nestled against his chest as his right arm closed around my waist and hauled me in closer, as his left hand teased me with a soft pretzel nugget hovering just out of reach. And in that moment, I felt like Lucy, snatching Polaroids out of the space-time continuum of the present and the future and the past. There was where Joe and I were right now, of course; the day we had met each other in the nonfiction section of the Calawah University library; the dance floor at Homecoming; the first night he snuck soundlessly into my bedroom window; all those years we still had left to spend together. Not forever, but perhaps long enough.

“I like this baseball thing,” I told him over the roar of the crowd, twirling my fingers around the curling locks of dark hair that stuck out from under his Cubs cap. Or maybe I just like you.

“Whew, thank god.” Joe wiped his forehead with the back of his hand in mock relief. “Now I don’t have to break up with you.”

After the game—a 5-3 Cubs victory, close enough to keep the spectators’ blood pumping throughout—we boarded the L, held onto the metal railings as the packed train car bumped and swerved along, and disembarked in Little Italy. Historic brownstones were interrupted by a freckling of pizzerias, Italian ice stands, and sports bars spilling out shouts of triumph and despair. We were staying in the Four Seasons with a view of Lake Michigan; but we had an hour of daylight—albeit chilled, dreary, and forever threatening rain—left in our Saturday. Tomorrow would be the aquarium, and then dinner before catching our flight back to Seattle, back to the greenery and fog and eternal dampness that I was beginning to think of as my home. Had I really only left Phoenix two months ago? Had I ever really lived there at all?

“So,” Joe said as we walked under shedding green ash and black cherry trees, his arm draped across my shoulders. “Guess what the University of Chicago has. In addition to a killer Economics PhD program, which yours truly will be graduating from in approximately 2027, astonishingly aged not a single day. Maybe he’s born with it, maybe it’s Maybelline.”

“Hideous sweatshirts?” I guessed.

“One of the best Marine Biology departments in the world. And the affiliated Marine Biological Laboratory up in Massachusetts, where they send their PhDs to do research.”

“Wait, seriously?” I stopped abruptly, the heels of my boots squealing against the sidewalk. “You mean...for me?”

He rolled his eyes. “No, for my other girlfriend who is also inexplicably super obsessed with the ocean. I clearly have a type.”

“You want me...to come to Chicago...with you...after graduation? For like...a five to seven year commitment?”

“Sure, why not?”

“Well, that just sounds...serious.”

“Huh. What do you know. I guess we’re serious after all.” He took my hand and pulled me gently forward, leading me down West Taylor Street. He seemed to have a destination in mind.

“How is this going to work for you, anyway?” I asked, beaming uncontrollably now, trotting along beside him. “Living in a place that isn’t Washington or Scotland or Alaska?” Chicago was cold and cloudy for a lot of the year, true, but few cities were Forks-level wet and sunless. Forks-level tyrannically depressing, I would have said two months ago.

He shrugged, unphased. “Night classes. Sunglasses. Faking a chronic illness so I don’t have to leave our house. I’m really good at that one. Plus I can get a doctor’s note any time I want one. I’ve got connections, you know.”

Our house. He said OUR house.

Joe came to halt in front of a stately yet plain brownstone which now operated as a trendy bookstore, the kind that sold six dollar lattes and hosted anarchist poetry slams on Friday nights.

“Is this where we’re going to crack hipsters’ kneecaps as a bonding activity?” I asked.

“This is where I grew up.”

I looked again, studying the earth-colored stone quarried over a century ago, the wrought iron railings that framed the front steps, the rectangular windows revealing the illumination and shadows of other families’ lives. “Joe,” I said softly, leaning into him, searching for my words.

“There were eight Mazzello kids: Joseph, Charles, Mimi, Salvador, Donna, Lucia, Bianca, and Giuliano.” He rattled them off like a jingle from a fast food commercial. “And I was the oldest. So when my dad dropped dead of a heart attack in the middle of his shift at the Zenith Radio factory, it was my job to step up and figure out how to keep everyone fed. I was seventeen and completely hopeless at school back then; Sal was always the smart one, the disciplined one, he ended up as a math professor at Loyola University. I was just some directionless, grieving kid who never shut up. But there was a place for boys like me in Chicago in the 1920s. The mob could get you money. The mob could turn that same incessant chatter that got you bruised at school into something useful. And the mob could give you a family.”

Joe watched the brownstone solemnly, meditatively, his hands in his pockets.

“My mom sobbed for an hour the first time I brought home an envelope full of bills with Hamilton’s face on them. She knew how I got it. But how could she say no, how could she tell me to stop? We’d never seen money like that. All my siblings could finish school. My sisters could have new dresses on days that weren’t Christmas and Easter, my brothers new shoes, Sal the glasses he needed so badly. My mother always had something to put in the offering plate at church. And once you were in the mob, it wasn’t exactly easy to leave. But they took care of their own. After I died, they sent my mother money for years, until her own children were established enough to support her. That’s when I learned that money wasn’t just something that put food on the dinner table or kept the lights on. It’s a way of showing loyalty, of giving people peace and comfort and meaningful choices in their lives. It’s how I’ve been taught to give back to the world. So I guess I shouldn’t have disparaged my fellow vampires back in Forks, because there’s a slice of my tragic backstory, Baby Swan. Now you know. And you should know everything, since we’re in this thing together. Or maybe I just want you to.”

I laid my palm against his cool and flawless face, ran my thumb lightly across his cheek. “You really are serious about me.”

“I am alarmingly serious about you.”

“Even though this thing of ours has an expiration date?” Since I can never become a vampire. Since I will never have the distinction of being a permanent fixture of the Lee coven.

“That’s not a problem for today. That’s a problem for ten or fifteen years from now, whenever you decide you want to settle down and have kids and do the whole Great American Dream bit. You’ll be sick of me by then anyway. You’ll be dying to get away from us. Hahaha, get it? It’s a pun. Dying to get away from the vampires.”

I couldn’t imagine ever being sick of Joseph Francis Mazzello. Still, ten or fifteen years felt almost as good as forever to me. Fifteen autumns, fifteen Christmases, fifteen journeys around the sun that he avoided so deftly. “Why me, Joe?” I asked, incredulous. “You could have anyone. Any human, any vampire. Why me?”

“Because you’re you,” he said simply. And his mystified dark eyes added: What kind of a question is that? “You’re smart and you’re hilarious and you actually care about the world, about where it came from, about where it’s going, about people and places and animals that you’ll never meet. You’re indomitable. You’re fearless almost to the point of recklessness. And yet you’re so kind. You’re even nice to Ben, and humans are never nice to him...they’re either horrified or confused, or they’re too busy fantasizing about him to remember that he’s a real fucking person. But you’ve always tried to see the good in him. Even when he didn’t deserve it.” Joe shook his head, marveling. “And yeah, I’ve...I’ve screwed around, full disclosure. I’ve done the hookup thing. And it was great for what it was. But I never wanted more. I never felt some gnawing, sentimental, Hallmark-channel need for connection, to understand who they were as people. And then I met you, and...I want to know every single goddamn thing about you. I want to know your favorite color, what books you read, what the hell is so appealing about pineapple pizza, what you dream of. I feel like I could never get tired of trying to understand you.”

A refrain circled through my mind like a whirlpool, dragging every other thought down into oblivion: I love him, I love him, I love him. “Blue,” I said at last.

“What?”

“Turquoise blue, like the sky in Arizona. That’s my favorite color.”

The smile, slow and wonderous, rippled across his face. He took my hand again. “Come on.”

Joe led me onwards, down a few blocks and around a corner, as the muted sun receded from the sky and the first stars took its place, pinpricks of celestial light in a blanket of violet, azure, amber, rust. He stopped in front of the Church of Saint Lawrence, established in 1902 according to the sign mounted on the brick wall that faced the street, perhaps the same church that he had once visited with his family as an impatient child, snickering with his brothers and sisters and kicking the back of the pew in front of him with shoes that never fit quite right. There was a fountain bubbling with transparent water, a statue of the Virgin Mary at the center, coins made of copper and nickel and zinc glinting through the water under corridors of silvery luminance cast by the streetlights.

“I lied about not having my own superpower,” Joe informed me mischievously, not at all serious.

“Oh, did you now?”

“Absolutely.” He opened his wallet, rooted around, pulled out a penny and handed it to me. “I can make wishes come true. So go ahead.” He nodded towards the fountain. “Make your wish.”

The penny was worn and nearly indecipherable, but I was just barely able to read that it had been minted in 1928. The same year Joe was turned. “Joe...I can’t just throw this away!”

“You’re not throwing it away. You’re exchanging it for a wish. Now wish.”

I closed my eyes, chose my wish, tossed the penny into the fountain. The plink it made when it hit the water was bright and yet mournful somehow, like windchimes, like flickering candlelight.

“Outstanding job,” Joe complimented.

He was so visibly proud, so content, so faultless. The streetlights threw shadows across the sidewalk, the fountain, the whole world it seemed. I laced my fingers behind his neck, gazing up at him. “What are we doing tonight, mob guy?”

“I’m so glad you asked. You see, we have options.”

“Let’s hear them.”

“Door Number One,” Joe began. “It’s been a long day, and you’re exhausted from the illustrious honor of witnessing a Cubs victory firsthand. So we go back to the hotel, find some shark documentary on tv, order room service, shower, and drift off into a peaceful slumber. Just like last night.”

“Not bad. How about Door Number Two?”

“Door Number Two. You’re tired, but not that tired. We go back to the hotel, find that same aforementioned shark documentary, but totally ignore it and make out instead. Maybe we even round second base, in the spirit of the Cubs. Whatever you’re up for. Then we shower and drift off into a peaceful slumber.”

“Even better,” I said, and I meant it. “And what’s Door Number Three?”

Now Joe became jittery; his eyes darted to the fountain, the church, the cars that rolled lazily by. He was so desperate to conceal his hope, to not impose any undue influence upon me. I felt infinitesimal, almost weightless drops of rain against my cheeks, my collarbones, the downy undersides of my arms. “Well, uh, Door Number Three is...it’s...well...uh...it’s...”

Door Number Three is a home fucking run. “I want Door Number Three.”

“Really? Because you don’t have to say that, you can say no, that’s completely fine, it’s more than fine actually, it’s awesome, it’s totally cool, I’m seriously fine either way, and you can obviously change your mind whenever—”

“Wait.” I broke away from him, yanked my own wallet out of my purse, found the Official Whatever You Want Pass, hastily unfolded it, and presented it to Joe. “I want Door Number Three.”

He barked out a shocked laugh, accepted the pass, studied it in disbelief. “You are full of surprises, ma’am. It took me a hundred years to find a woman like you. And I don’t think I ever will again. Makes one wonder if this whole eternity thing is all it’s cracked up to be.” He tucked the pass into his pocket and kissed me beneath the streetlights, beneath the stars. “So there’s one tiny caveat to my wish-granting superpower.”

“Yeah?”

He smiled impishly, nudging the tip of my nose with his. “You have to tell me what you wished for.” He was joking, as he almost always was; I didn’t have to tell him anything. He wouldn’t press the issue. I doubted that he was really expecting me to answer at all. And yet I wanted to tell Joe; I yearned, for once, to be as clear as Lucy had said he was.

“For you and me,” I replied in little more than a whisper. “And for forever.”

Home

The only thing that startled me was how profoundly unstartling it all was, how wholly uncomplicated, how effortless.

I didn’t feel like a different person afterwards. I didn’t feel that some latent spark of lust, of carnality had been ignited, had singed through me, had left me forever marked like the heights of children ticked off on a doorframe over decades; I felt neither ruined nor awakened, no wiser, no older, no more enlightened as to the incalculable eccentricities of the vast and enigmatic universe. I felt only happiness, and exhausted satisfaction, and a deep, dreamless peace that engulfed me like frothy fingertips of waves dragging pebbles and shells back into the sea. I felt only a homecoming that was measured not in miles but in soul.

We slept in as the morning sun rose over Lake Michigan, bought Ben a hoodie (black, of course, per his usual aesthetic) from the University of Chicago gift shop, strolled unhurriedly through the dimly-lit, relentlessly blue pathways of the Shedd Aquarium. As I stood in the glass tunnel and watched sawfish and blacktip reef sharks soar by overhead, Joe linked his arms around my waist, tucked his chin into the dip of my collarbone, kissed the slope of my jaw.

“What do you think?” he asked, perhaps a touch apprehensively. “Could you get used to the Chicago life for a few years?”

“I would be tempted to kidnap some of these guys and bring them home to live in our bathtub. But yes.”

And Joe murmured, smiling, his lips to my temple: “That’s illegal, ma’am.”

Our flight back to the West Coast took off after dusk, and there was no blinding sunlight for Joe to avoid; only immense glooms of clouds and gleaming distant stars and the unfathomable void of space, cursed with crushing pressure and darkness like the cervices of the ocean floor.

Fifteen years might not be enough, I thought, resting my forehead against the cold airplane window as the city lights died behind us, as Joe’s hand weaved through mine on the armrest. But forever sounds just about right.

Larkin

There once was a boy born in a stone cottage with a dirt floor in a vanishingly inconsequential village just west of Clifden, Ireland. It was February 9th, 1672, bitterly cold, miserably wet, and the sea was murderous with storms. His mother was illiterate, as her mother had been, and as her mother had been as well, all the way back to people who painted mammoths on cave walls with their fingers; she was thirty-three and already exhausted with living, her seven children forever underfoot, her full and ruddy cheeks perpetually smudged with dirt from the field and ashes from the fire. Her husband was a failure and a drunk, but half a day’s worth of work once or twice a week was better than none at all; and as much as she never would have admitted it, he was a tether for her in a world that was often, as she had learned, both lonely and cruel.

She gave the baby boy a name—a strong Irish name, none of that audacious English rubbish—that meant rough or fierce, just like the sea that rose and ruptured against the rocky cliffs outside. He would need to be rough to survive in this world. He would need to be fierce.

He began like all the other children had been: sweet and yet anonymous, yielding, needful, worryingly small. She rocked him absently with one arm as she stirred the stew pot with the other. She sang to him, told him stories long before he could comprehend them, tales of the Lord and the saints and all their malevolent adversaries: serpents, pestilence, demons, dragons. She tossed stray sticks to him so he could carve pictures into the dirt floor and keep out of the way as she labored with the laundry or the sewing. And he grew, and he grew; and there was nothing remarkable about him at all, that boy speckled with mud and soot and the perpetual bruises of children mostly left to their own devices, that boy with pallid skin like his mother’s and black hair like his father’s and eyes so light and vibrant a brown they were nearly gold.

The boy was a baby, and then a child, and then a young man. And his mother realized one day—all at once, as a mother does when their attention is divided among so many other lives, when the children’s analogous faces bleed into each other and even their names sometimes escape her, even those names that she had chosen herself from the stories her own mother once passed to her through threadbare whispers—that people had a habit of following him, of listening to him. That there was an ether of allure that hovered around him like the mists that clung to the precarious, crumbling cliffs that touched the sea; that there was something like what the heathens called magic. And when the war came, that boy who was no longer a boy left his mother’s stone cottage and enlisted in Clifden, lied about his age, signed his name with an X because that was all he knew how to spell. But he was sure to tell the man who handled the ledger that he did have a real name, a good Irish name, a name apt for a soldier, a name that his mother had told him meant rough or fierce: Larkin.

There are men who join wars out of loyalty, principle, love for their homes; and then there are men who join to escape their homes, perhaps to forget them entirely. If you were to consult that ledger signed in a pub in Clifden, Ireland in 1688, you would read that I fought for Ireland, for the Catholics, for Christ the Lord and all his saints. But what I really fought for was my own resurrection: to take that boy stained with dirt and ignorance, drown him in the blood of other mothers’ trivial sons, and dredge up some greater version of myself that I had always known existed, that was hidden somewhere in the netlike darkness of the marrow of my bones.

People follow me, and they always have. I couldn’t tell you why. When I called them to enlist, when I thrusted swords and pikes into their calloused farmers’ fists, when I told them they could fight and live to see their wretched homes again, they believed me. I climbed the ranks like a ladder, like a mountain made of bones. And all those other mothers’ sons laid down for me so I could walk across the bridge of their spines to what I mistakenly assumed was invincibility.

At the Battle Of The Boyne, my horse was shot out from under me. A Williamite caught me beneath the ribs with his dagger. And as I bled out, staring up at the sky and impatiently waiting for the pain to vanish as my consciousness withdrew like low tide, I became aware that someone was lifting me, holding me, spiriting me through the battlefield and then the wilderness; and that my pain, in a disconcerting turn of events, had swelled to a vicious and unrelenting inferno.

Three days later, I woke to find that I was resurrected again, this time as something more than human. The man who turned me was blond-haired, light-eyed, agile and yet gentle, ancient and yet ever-changing.

“I thought you’d survive,” Nikolai said in a thick Slavic accent, standing over me with a kind smile. Then he helped me to my feet. “You have greatness in you. It sweats out of your pores, it’s in every word you speak. What a shame it would be for all of that to go to waste.”

He taught me everything: how to read and write, how to hunt, how to dodge the sunlight, how to survive an existence that was both theoretically endless and yet forever on the precipice of being cut short. He introduced me to the Draghi, to vampires who were remarkable for their ferocity, or their creativity, or their curiosity, or their cleverness, or all those things at once: Victorien, Honora, Elizabeth, Kestrel, Zhang, Sergei, Ana, Gwilym. And most crucially, Nikolai showed me that my human talents were magnified several times over, that his own followers were not immune to them, that there was power in collecting exceptional individuals like pieces of china stacked in a locked cabinet; and that if I could learn to climb immortal bones, the ladder never needed to end.

You never quite get used to the power, to the invincibility, to the promise of eternity. You never take it for granted. It hits you, again and again, in ceaseless and victorious waves. Once I was a barefoot toddler who sketched dragons and Catholic saints from the stories my mother told me into the dirt floor of our drafty stone cottage. Now I live in palaces with marble floors, with spiral staircases and libraries and gold-dripping ballrooms, with unobstructed views of any sea I choose. Now I am the dragon.

My phone rang, and I checked the name on the screen. Then I answered. “Hello, beauty. How’s the other side of the Pacific treating you?”

And Liesl answered, in a soft and astonished voice: “I don’t think Lucy can read her. I don’t think any of them can.”

I could feel it again. Another wave, crashing through me like the ocean, like the unstoppable rolling of time: power and insatiability and exhilaration. I smiled in my twilight-lit study as long-dead stars rose outside and the wind howled like wolves over the East Sea. “You know what to do.”

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alexbllake · 5 years ago

Text

First kiss with Huntress

PAIRING: Helena Bertinelli x Reader

Requested: No.

Warnings: blood, wounds, fluff, my grammar

Disclaimer: Sorry if there's any mistake, i’m too lazy to edit twice

spare tip, ma’am?

Renee introduced you to her because you used to stitch her up when she got hurt on the job

And after an ambush went south, Helena got hurt, Montoya and Dinah dragged her, literally, to your house

No jokes, she didn't want to go

"I'm fine, it's just a scratch"

" stuff the fuck up, Robin hood" said Dinah

Anyways, they took her to your house and you're just in awe with her

She was this tall goddess and when they appeared at your door during the night you had to take a second to breathe

" y/n! We are dying out here" said Montoya

"s-sorry, come in"

Helena was placed in your room while the girls sacked your fridge

You went to your bathroom to retrieve the first aid kit while she was laying in your bed watching every move you made.

" I-I need you to remove your tank top" you tried to sound sure and secure, but it was hard with her staring at you

"Okay" she took her shirt and oh boy, she was ripped.

"It’s not awful but it's going to hurt" you told her

You tried to be the gentlest in her wound but there was only much you could to with that

" I'm sorry" whispered you after she winced when you applied the rubbing alcohol

In her head, she was cursing the hell out of it and she didn’t want you to have a bad impression, you made her feel awkward, she barely knew you but Montoya trusted you enough to bring her to your house, so she felt like she needed to be less feral. But she couldn't hold the swear when you started to stitch her wound.

"It’s okay, you can swear, you earn it" you joked

" Do you want to know how I meet Renee?" You asked trying to make small talk

" Sure" said her

" I did some questionable choices when I was in the school and she helped me when I got busted" explained you

" What kind of choices?"

" eh, just the usual, picking fights and trespassing"

" fights? You don’t look like you could hurt someone"

" Hey, I'm having serious skill okay?" Joked you " I just had anger issues"

" Dinah says I have anger issues" confessed her in a small voice

" you look fine to me"

You felt her ease a little more, even cracking a shy smile eventually, and she had a killer one, so you kept making small talk and jokes trying to make her smile and also to distract her from the wound on her stomach.

" all done, but you have to take easy for the next two weeks," you said

" I don’t think I can’t do that" replied her getting out of the bed

" you have to, and you have to change the dressings at least once a day and check the stitches at the end of the week" lectured you

" can I come to you then?" Inquired her

" y-yeah, sure"

" hey, lovebirds" called Dinah from the door " come eat"

"How long have you been standing there?" Huntress asked after you went to throw the used bandages on the trash

" Long enough to see the heart eyes you were sending to her" she said

" I wasn't sending HEART EYES AT HER " snapped

"Yeah, sure"

" we ordered pizza" said Renee when you reached the kitchen " how is she?" Inquired her referring to the grumpy woman

"She is fine, she just needs to take easy" you explain

" yeah, that would be easy to do" said Dinah sarcastically

" I told her that she can come here, and I will help to keep it in check" you informed

" that's a weird way of asking someone on a date" commented Dinah after taking a bite of her slice

"For fuck's sake" exclaimed Helena trying to hide her blush

" Are you BLUSHING? inquired Dinah

" take it easy, Lance" said Montoya

" and you are blushing too, y/n" teased Renee

"Fuck you, Renee"

The rest of the night was hard to go by; you weren't good at hiding your feelings or your glances at the certain brunette

To be fair, Helena wasn't good either, which for where was unfortunate because Dinah just teased the poor thing during the whole night

" you guys should crash here" you said

" yeah, and she should crash in your bed" teased Dinah

"I'm going to shoot you in your sleep" you said earning a shocked glance from Helena

" Okay, kids, no violence in the house today" said Montoya " I take the couch and you two take the guest room"

"Nonsense, I take the couch and you guys take the beds" you said

" you have work tomorrow" replied Montoya

" yeah but I didn’t fight anyone"

After handing pillows and sheets, you went downstairs to your couch ready to hit the dreamland

"Thank you for helping me " said Helena

"JEsus, you scared me "

"Sorry, I didn’t mean to" apologized her awkwardly

"It's fine, you can reach me if you need more help" you said looking at her

" I don’t want to bother you"

" you are no bother, Helena" you told her" Renee told me your name"

" thank you, Y/n" said her once again

" you should go to bed" You made a mental note to wake up a little early so you could make breakfast for them, especially her

" goodnight/n"

"goodnight, Helena"

Helena did show up at the end of the week so you could have a look at her stitches

Just like she did the countless time before, it became a weekly occurrence.

Helena liked the way you took care of her wounds, you were gentle, always making sure she didn't feel too much pain. You were patient, totally different from Dinah, who always end up getting yelled at because of it

Besides you always feed her too

" you need food, your body will heal faster and better" you said to her after a particularly difficult mission

The girls did know that you helped her, but they didn't know who often she visited your house

And Helena don’t feel like telling, Dinah wouldn't let her live it down and even Montoya was getting on it

" do you like her?" Inquired her " it's okay if you do"

" I don’t know what are you talking about"

" I care about y/n, but I also care about you and I think you should talk to her" she said once

" can you please let this go?" Snapped the brunette

Helena didn’t know what to do, she never felt this kind of thing before, she had this fuzzy and warm feeling in her belly every time you touched her skin, and it wasn't sexual touch or anything, she knew how that stuff felt but this was different and she didn’t know what to do

Especially now that you were cleaning her cuts and she couldn't stop looking at you

The way you pushed your eyebrows together in concentration or how you bit your lip when you're nervous

" you're gorgeous" she blurred out

You were taken by surprise with her statement, but you're pleased with that, very pleased

"Thank you, I think you're gorgeous too" you replied

" you don’t have to say it just because I said"

" I didn’t say that because you told, I said because I think you are breathtaking"

" go out with me” she said

" sure, where you want to go?" You asked her

" I don't know, I never got past that" she said staring at you

" well, I can cook, and you can choose something to watch" you suggested

" sounds good"

You went with something simple, something with meat and vegetables, while you stirred the pot and cut the veggies you could hear Helena in the Livingroom searching thought your movie collection looking for something she liked.

“Can we watch this?” she asked holding a copy of Brave

“Sure” said you holding the giggles.

The dinner passed quick, you both ate in silence, sometimes you could catch her looking at you thought her lashes. You thought it was cute the way she tried to seem like she wasn’t straight up staring at you.

------

"come" you called patting the spot next to you on the couch

" you can lay on me if you want" you told her after pressing the play button.

" Are you sure?" She asked

" come here, Robin hood" you joked

" Dinah told you that didn’t she" she said

" yes" you confessed

Helena sat on the spot you indicate, slowly leaning on your shoulder, you wrapped your arms around her waist pulling her closer to you.

" it's this okay?" You asked

" yes, you smell good" she said

" thanks" replied you trying to hide the blush when you felt her breath tickling your neck.

“She should use a crossbow, it's more practical” said her for the 10th time during the movie.

“She is a kid, love” explain you

“What you called me?” inquired looking at you.

“nothing” you said trying to dodge her gaze

“You called me love” she said

“I did” you confessed.

She stared at you with a confused look on her face, you slowly reached to her with your hand, touching her cheek.

“I like you” you said tracing her jawline with your fingers

She didn’t say anything, just closed her eyes and leaned into your hand, enjoying your touches.

“I’m going to kiss you now” whispered you.

You got closer to her until your nose was touching hers, her lips were soft, and she tasted sweet like the piece chocolate you both shared earlier, you moved your hands to the back of her head pulling her to deepen the kiss, you felt her lips part allowing you to slide your tongue past them, you wanted to taste all of her, and you knew she wanted to do the same by the way her hands gripped your arms.

The kiss was only broken after both of you run out of the air, but that didn’t stop you from pepper her face with small kisses making her giggle and squint her eyes.

“another? “asked her after recovering her breath.

“yeah”

#helena bertinelli x reader #huntress x reader #bop x reader #birds of prey #writes #mary elizabeth winstead

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muhammadirfan4 · 4 years ago

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catcodemon · 5 years ago

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for the prompt thing "Does it hurt? Tell the truth"

fun fact i actually broke a bone as a kid and it hurt TERRIBLY and my mom insisted i put frozen corn on it until i whined enough that she took me in and we found out

He’d heard the crack; he’d felt the pain throttle up his forearm.

As subtle as he could, he hid it.

The Praetor suit was built to prevent such injuries, not heal them. While it held the bones in place, they still scathed against each other jaggedly, making pain lance down his arm in bolts.

He hopes Vega hadn’t noticed.

Still, he continued his raging warpath through anything in his way. Blasts, charged shots, grenade throws, blocking blows. It hurt like Hell, no pun intended, but he continued through it.

Eventually, pain stops. It goes away. It fades into the background to be addressed later.

“Slayer,” Vega interrupts his thoughts. “I am noticing a spike in adrenaline and heart rate that is out of usual parameters. Is everything alright?”

The Slayer nods.

When he finishes his slaying, Vega opens the portal. Stepping through was an unsettling but familiar feeling by now. The surge of energy through the Praetor suit makes him reflexively tense up as he arrives back in the Fortress. In doing so, the bones shift again, and he almost breaks the facade he’s created.

He goes straight to the designated armory room where everything is stored. It’s near the room he inhabits, easily accessible if needed. As he begins to dismantle the suit, he can hear Inky waiting for him at the door. As if he couldn’t notice: Inky is very vocal about what she does, no matter what. Waiting at the door meant she would sit on her hindquarters and meow impatiently until he entered and acknowledged her.

Vega takes to listing off the regular security reports and a summary of what he’s accomplished for the day. “No present security breaches. All functions of the Fortress remain normal. You’ve slain two hundred and thirty nine demons as of time of return. That leads to a total of--” Vega cuts off.

The Slayer is in the process of peeling the armor off his chest, which he does slower than usual, albeit only Vega would really notice. Except as he reached with his left arm, the muscles spasm and he has to grit his teeth to prevent a noise escaping. He doesn’t stop, doesn’t falter, but knowing how closely Vega watches him, he guesses the AI noticed.

“Slayer, are you injured?” Vega queries.

He tries to shrug it off, waving a hand dismissively.

“Allow me to transfer and I will come to ensure you are healthy. I would ‘rather be safe than sorry’.”

He finally wrangles the armor off the arms of his body, and notices just how severe the injury looks. Blood pools under the skin, creating a sickly purple bruise. It hurt to twist his arm in any way; he didn’t dare touch the bruise itself. He may be ignorant about some things like self-care, but he was no fool.

He stomps into the room, bracing himself for a railing. If, rather when, Vega finds out, he’ll fret until it’s taken care of. His irritation immediately fades away when Inky greets him at the door, reaching straight up the wall. He dangles one hand near her, to which she scoops in with her front paws and drags to her head. He pauses to pet her for a moment.

Vega hurries into the room. “Pardon, Slayer, but I noticed you favoring one arm more than the other. Do you mind if I take a look?”

The Slayer nods, forcing his left arm out. His hands are fisted, and he’s tense as a bowstring.

Vega gently sets his hands on the Slayer’s hand and on his upper arm. He immediately hones in on the bloody bruise spanning the majority of his forearm. “What happened here?”

The Slayer mimics blocking a punch with his free arm.

“You blocked an impact with your arm?”

A nod.

“Typically the Praetor suit would absorb the energy created from such a blow, but it seems this one was particularly strong. It may have actually fractured the bone.” He pauses as he thinks. “I can feel for a fracture, but it will likely cause some discomfort. Please, let me know if that happens.”

Gently, Vega’s slender fingers skim down his arm. It almost tickles, were it not sending throbs up and down his arm. He carefully feels around the bruise, focusing in on one spot.

“Ah, here. It feels as if the bone has almost completely broken. However, fortunately, it is not an open fracture and they are still in line. The blood from the bruise will eventually be broken down and reabsorbed, so we need not worry about that.”

The Slayer focuses on Inky’s soft fur under his hand, distracting himself from the dizziness threatening to take over.

“Slayer, does it hurt?” A pause, and Vega cuts off his response. “Tell the truth.”

To test, the Slayer flexes his arm again. Apparently, yes, it hurts still. He nods subtly.

“Hm,” Vega hums. “I apologize if I have unintentionally caused any sort of harm to you. As for the injury… There is not much we can do directly to the bone to help it heal, but there are still some things we can do. Elevation, wrapping, and coolness will help the bruise recceed and provoke healing. If you will let me, I will go to the medbay to fetch necessary supplies.”

The Slayer blinks through another haze of dizziness.

“Also, for my sake as well as your own, do not flex or bend your arm in the meantime. It will only aggravate the injury further.”

As Vega steps out, the Slayer slumps into a chair. Inky is quick to follow. In no time, Vega trots back in, carrying bandages and what looks to be an ice pack.

“Hold your arm vertically, as much as you can,” he begins instructing. “Elevation helps quell swelling, which we will need to do to ensure the bandages fit properly.” The Slayer does so, holding his arm at a right angle upward. Vega starts wrapping carefully, near tenderly, as if he was still afraid of hurting the Slayer.

Should he feel thankful, grateful? Vega is obviously being as careful as he can here. That obviously means he cares. Should he be offended? Does Vega think he cannot handle pain?

He opts for the former.

“Perfect,” Vega chirps mostly to himself. “Now, you should rest, as much as I know you hate sitting idly. These sorts of injuries take weeks to properly heal, but I doubt it’ll be more than a few days with your accelerated healing rate. While you’re sitting, hold this ice pack to it,” he hands it over. “This will slow swelling as well as numbing the area and reducing pain.”

The Slayer grunts as he stands and stumbles towards the bed.

“I will do my best to stay within the room with you for company and engagement; however, I do believe Inky would gladly offer her companionship as well.”

#doomvega #vegadoom #asks #cryindollhouse #mav writes #i did research for this bc it was supposed to only be like....500 words #and quickly got outta control lmao

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talkfastromance4 · 5 years ago

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For Your Eyes Only–bodyguard!ashton [Chapter Six]

Summary: Ashton Irwin is the head of security for Princess Alouette who is a kind, gentle young woman. Secretly pining for one another, those feelings will soon come to light as an occurrence will change Alouette’s life forever, and Ashton’s.

Word count: 3,060

Warnings: slight trauma

Author’s note: So sorry for the long wait and how this is sort of short but I PROMISE next chapter will be longer! Thank you for reading! Any feedback is much appreciated! I also decided on the name of her country, it’s Chadria :)

Masterlist

Chap. 1 || Chap. 2 || Chap. 3 || Chap. 4 || Chap. 5

Three days after Alouette was brought home, she decides to make an address to Chadria about what had happened to her. Ashton had tried to push it off because she’s still not at 100% but she said she’d been away from her people for too long, she needed to explain.

“It will be a short recording,” she tells him softly. Her voice still has cracks like broken glass. She hasn’t fully opened up to Ashton about what really happened but he wasn’t going to push. “I only want to tell them I’m in recovery and that I appreciate all their love and support.”

“I think it’s a great idea, Alou,” Michael agrees next to her bedside.

“You haven’t called me that since we were kids,” she smiles reminiscing the times they would run around the castle grounds together.

Ashton glares at Michael who is still staring fondly at the Princess. This is the most herself she’s been since they brought her home. Her bruises are still dark and looming but the cuts on her face are healing nicely. Dr. Hunt visits once a day and makes sure Rosa is cleaning around the stitches on her back and putting ointment on them.

Her back is in the worst condition according to Dr. Hunt. In total she has fifty-four stitches on her back shared between three deep wounds. Ashton hasn’t seen them but it makes him angry each time he thinks about it; she shouldn’t have had to endure any of this.

“You are my Princess, but you were my friend first,” Michael explains with a shrug.

“Call me that from now on, okay?” She smiles again then winces.

Ashton checks his watch, it’s time for her to take her pain medication. He steps in her bathroom to retrieve the pill bottle, she’s only been taking half of one every six hours. The first day after the sedative was out of her system, she tried a full one but it messed with her head as she said. It made her dizzy.

Half a pill seemed to do the trick.

He pops the top back on then fills a glass with some water then heads back to her bed. Alouette tries to sit up but it’s hard to do with her pain so Michael helps her by holding onto her elbow.

“Thank you,” she thanks him then looks up at Ashton, his eyes are full of concern. He’s had the same look for the last three days and she worries he’ll have that look on his face forever.

“What’s your number at?” Ashton asks softly handing her the pill then the glass.

She pops the pill on her tongue then gulps down some water until she swallows the pill. He came up with a number system to signify her pain level. One is the worst pain imaginable and ten is no pain at all.

“I think a four?” she hands him the glass back and settles into her covers again.

“What was it yesterday?” Michael asks looking between Ashton and Alouette.

“Two,” Ashton sighs setting the glass on her bedside table.

“Four’s better than two,” Michael smiles brightly and Alouette nods.

“Can you tell Victor I’d like to film at four o’clock? And broadcast it at seven,” she tells Ashton.

“Are you sure? You don’t have to do this, we can have Claudette speak on your behalf. I don’t want you to strain yourself, angel,” Ashton’s eyes are sad as he looks at her.

“I’m sure. I’ll be quick, I promise. I need them to know I’m okay.”

She lifts her right hand and Ashton takes it in his own, he frowns at how cold she feels. It’s like she can’t warm up anymore.

“I’ll go find Victor and let him know. You’ll be okay with Michael until I get back?”

“I’ll tell her the funny shit Luke’s been up to,” Michael laughs and Alouette giggles quietly.

Normally none of them would ever swear around her, but Michael has been acting more like her friend than one of her bodyguards and she likes it. It’s a new sense of normal and takes her mind away from the constant thoughts and memories of what happened in that room.

•••••

Alouette needed help moving to the conference room on the first floor where she would record her address. She disregarded her make-up team coming to do her face up. She didn’t want to hide what she looked like.

“Whenever you’re ready, Your Highness,” Victor says from behind the camera.

Ashton is off to the side with Michael next to him. Alouette’s eyes are closed as she takes three deep breaths then opens her eyes slowly. She nods to Victor and he points his thumb up when the camera is rolling.

“Hello, my lovely Chadrians,” she greets delicately. “I would first like to say thank you from the bottom of my heart for all of your love and well wishes. As most of you know, I was kidnapped while I was in Paris and held hostage for five days. And, as you can see I’m still in recovery,” she sighs, her voice shaking slightly. “Until I am fully recovered, I am having my most trusted advisors handle my duties. I am hoping it won’t be too long until I am back speaking with you all. Thank you for your patience and your kindness, and I’m sending all my love to you.”

Alouette kisses her fingers then blows the kiss to the camera and nods to Victor who stops recording. She falls forward, catching her head in her arms on the table in front of her and Ashton is by her side instantly.

He lifts her head carefully, she smiles tiredly at him.

“Are you in pain?” he asks rubbing her cheek with his thumb.

“A little. It’s my back,” she whispers, eyes fluttering.

Ashton peers at her back, his heart jolts at the sight of a red spot on her lower back. Her stitches must have pulled apart. He kneels beside her chair keeping her head up in his palm, her eyes are still struggling to stay open.

“That was great, Alou—what’s wrong?” Michael asks quickly behind Ashton.

“Some of her stitches must have opened up, can you page Dr. Hunt for me? I don’t want to move her and risk pulling others open,” Ashton turns to look at Michael who nods and pulls out his phone. Ashton turns his attention back to Alouette. “Number?”

“Zero,” she whispers and her eyes close.

“No, no, keep your eyes on me, angel. Look at me, come on,” he urges lifting her head a little higher. “Let me see those eyes.”

He faintly hears the film crew bustle out of the room and he pinpoints Rosa’s voice but all his attention is on Alouette. He continues to stroke her cheek and talk softly to her so she stays awake, he captures stray tears as they fall.

“’m so tired, Ash,” she says weakly.

“I know. Dr. Hunt will be here soon and fix your stitches, then we’ll go back to your room so you can rest,” he tells her gently.

Ashton makes eye contact with Dr. Hunt and Rosa as they peel Alouette’s long sleeve shirt up, he glances quickly at her back but looks to her eyes quickly. His stomach rolled at the sight of blood on her blue and purple skin.

Dr. Hunt works quickly with the aid of Rosa who is also speaking quietly to Alouette in Spanish. Dr. Hunt places white bandages on each of her wounds just in case more of her stitches would pull apart.

“She should stay in bed and move as less as she can,” Dr. Hunt informs. “How is she on the pain medication?”

“Doing better now that she’s only taking half, is she all right if I carry her back to her room? Or will the open the stitches again?”

“Just be careful,” Dr. Hunt warns packing up his things.

As soon as Alouette is in Ashton’s arms, her head falls against him and her eyes fall shut. He moves quickly but carefully back up to her room and with Rosa’s help of pulling her blankets back, he sets her down into her bed. He checks his watch, it’s time for her to take her medication.

He has to help her by placing the pill on her tongue and tipping the water into her mouth. She splutters slightly before swallowing water and pill, Ashton wipes her mouth with the sleeve of his shirt.

Rosa dabs at the corners of her eyes as she watches the whole exchange. She’s been with Alouette since she was a young girl and it isn’t hard for Ashton to imagine how difficult this must be for her.

“Thank you, Rosa,” Ashton says as she lays Alouette onto her pillows. “I’ll make sure she’s all right while she sleeps.”

Rosa kisses Alouette’s forehead, brushes back her hair then nods to Ashton. Her lower lip trembles and the door closes with a soft snap.

Ashton collapses into the chair by her bed, he’s pretty sure it has the indents of his body by now. Alouette rolls over facing him, her eyebrows are creased as her hands pat on the bed in front of her. Ashton captures her hands.

“What do you need, angel?” he asks.

“You,” she tugs on his hands and he slips onto the bed next to her. He’s careful where he places his hands, she’s a lot more fragile now.

•••••

He hears her screaming for his name and Ashton runs as fast as he can but it’s like he has cinderblocks for feet. He pushes forward as hard as he can but he can’t reach her. Her screams become louder and shriller and then there’s silence.

He hears whimpering again and feels something shake his shoulder. His name is being called, a distant echo.

Ashton awakes with a start, he’s still hearing his name but he can’t possibly still be dreaming can he? He blinks the cloudy sleep from his eyes then hears Alouette crying next to him. He flicks on the light next to her bed finding Alouette’s face scrunched in a grimace.

He’s on high alert and touches his fingers lightly to her face trying to smooth out the creases calling her name softly until her eyes flash open. She stares in shock at the ceiling.

“I’m right here, angel,” Ashton murmurs tracing his fingers from her forehead down to her chin then back again until her blue eyes zero in on him. Recognition flashes across her features then her fingers find his in between their bodies.

“I couldn’t find you, you weren’t coming,” she cries. Tears fall freely and Ashton wipes each one away while he squeezes her fingers.

“It was just a bad dream. I’ll always come for you, angel. Even if you don’t want me to,” he smiles at a memory. “Remember when I first became your guard?”

He could see her eyes were still tormented with whatever she dreamt of so he continues to stroke her face and comb through her hair as he continues the story.

“It was six months before your twenty-first birthday and I’d heard talk about you, obviously, before I took my post. Michael told me stories. So I was surprised to see how you reacted to me those first few months. I thought you hated me,” he chuckles tracing her chin with the tip of his finger.

“The first time we went to Spain to visit Neva and you went to that club you kept dodging me and getting out of my sight. I thought all I’d heard was a big lie because you were so stubborn with me and wouldn’t listen when I talked. Then, when paparazzi were outside the club and you realized how revealing your dress was, you asked me to lend you my jacket.

“Little did you know that that was why I was chasing you around and you got this pretty blush on your cheeks,” his fingers skim over the apple of her cheek. “Since then, I’ve wanted to see that color on you.”

“I was running because I had a crush on you,” she admits quietly. “Mikey told me about you, too and I was nervous to have a guy so close in age to watch me like a babysitter. It made me feel like a baby.”

Ashton cracks a smile then disappears just as quickly when he remembers her stitches and if she were in any pain.

“Let me check your stitches angel.”

He helps her sit up and doesn’t see blood on her shirt so he lays her back down gently. Alouette places her hand on the scruff of his cheek, his body stills but his heart races. It always races when she touches him.

“Do you need your medication?” he breathes.

She shakes her head, her thumb travels to the spot beneath his eye.

“You were having a bad dream, too. What happened?”

With his eyes on her he turns his mouth to her palm and kisses it lightly three times.

“I couldn’t get to you,” he answers sadly.

“How strange we’d dream the same thing.”

•••••

Alouette has been gaining her strength back slowly. She’s getting restless being cooped up in her room but Ashton has been with her so she can’t really complain too much.

“Can we go outside and sit on the swing?” she asks hopeful, her eyes doe-like as she looks up at Ashton while she finishes her orange juice. “I need to see my fish.”

Ashton wipes the corners of his mouth with a napkin from his own breakfast. “What’s your number today?”

“Seven. Please, Ashton, I need to be outside. My bed is beginning to get an imprint of me on it permanently.”

He chuckles gathering their plates on the tray and sets it on her dresser. “We’ll go outside. I’ll call Rosa to help you change.”

“I can do it,” she shakes her head and throws the blankets off her.

She swings her legs to the side and off the bed, Ashton is by her side immediately because she almost falls to the floor. Their arms latch onto each other tightly, they’ve become even more accustomed to each other these last couple days.

“I’m okay, I got a head rush,” she says quickly. “I can still go outside, I promise.”

“I know,” he smiles adoringly at her. “Are you sure you can get dressed?”

“Yep, just a sweatshirt and leggings.”

He waited outside her door while she changed, it took a little longer than normal but he knew she’d be stubborn and wouldn’t let anyone help her. When the door opens she smiles at him reaching for his hand then leans into him as they head down the hallway.

The workers in the palace smile and greet her warmly, some of them hug her with tears in their eyes. She’s loved by so many and her kidnapping affected everyone in Chadria. Ashton helps her continue to walk and decides to use the elevator so she won’t have to use the stairs.

“Alouette, where are your shoes?” he asks exasperatedly when they exit the French doors to the grounds. The lake isn’t too far away.

“I need to feel the grass, Ashton,” she says simply and that’s that on that.

He steers her to the swing but she pulls on his hand slightly, her eyes fixed on the water. He knows what she wants so he lets her hand go as she continues her way to the water’s edge, her feet curling into the sand.

Ashton watches her in amazement, she still looks too thin for his liking but he can see the strength in her. The mid-June breeze ruffles her hair and she stands still as a statue, the water lapping onto her toes. He sees her inhale deeply then her shoulders hunch forward and he can hear her sobs from his spot carry through the breeze.

He rushes forward collecting her in his arms, cradling her head against his chest letting her cry and release the emotions she’s been burying. She’s been keeping it together because that’s what she was taught to do--that’s what royalty does--hide their emotions. But he knows Alouette feels things so deeply because she’s an emotional person and that’s what makes her loved by so many.

“Shh, shh,” he hushes rubbing her back and kisses her hair. “It’s okay, let it out, you’re safe.”

They stand there for moments longer until her breathing becomes more even, he cradles her face in his hands, his thumbs wipe her tears away.

“I’ve been waiting for you to break through,” he smiles lightly.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that—“

“No, you needed to. You went through so much, Alouette and no amount of royal training can keep this at bay. You’re human, you’re experiencing a trauma. I hate how it happened on my watch, I made a rookie mistake and it almost cost your life.”

“Don’t blame yourself,” she shakes her head holding onto his wrists. “Please?”

“Easier said than done, sweetheart,” he smiles wistfully then kisses her forehead. “Want to head inside or stay out here?”

“Let’s stay out here. Bring the dogs out, I want to play with them,” she sniffs.

“All right.” He releases her face then takes out his phone to text Calum to bring her dogs out.

Benvolio, Duchess and Daisy run as fast as they can to where the Princess is, their tongues lolling out and they’re whining with how happy they are to see her. She kneels in the grass kissing and hugging each one as best she can, her voice is soft and loving.

“Come sit with me,” she tells Ashton and he sits beside her and the bench. He leans against it while Alouette leans against him.

Benvolio licks Ashton’s face causing him to giggle before patting his ears.

“Hey buddy, good to see you.”

The pair sits outside for who knows how long, her dogs are also laying on top of her and his legs while they converse quietly. When Alouette yawns Ashton says it’s time for her to take a nap and get some more rest.

The dogs trot around them as they head inside with Ashton helping her go upstairs.

______

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