#and so now here i lay - huddled on my bed with a bucket. waiting to see if i hurl or not.

[thegardengrows-infrozenrain]

gamers it's so joever (<- has a tummy ache)

[collecting-stories]

Midnight - JJ Maybank

Request: Hello, I would love to read something when reader gets shot and JJ is worried sick about her. Thank you!

A/N: Thank you for this insanely inspiring request...hopefully I did it justice.

Outer Banks Masterlist

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

The smoke from the bonfire dissipated as it rose, like clouds blending into the darkness of the night. You kept your eyes shut, so tight you could see colors behind your lids as you listened to the sound of Rafe and Barry tearing through the Chateau. If you looked to your right, you knew Sarah would be there, just as scared as you were. On your left side, a branch over, was JJ. He would probably be trying to save face, to look unafraid even though this all felt a little too real for any of you. Just moments earlier, minutes, really, you’d been sitting at the bonfire with JJ, his sweatshirt keeping you warm in the chill of the early autumn night, everyone shouting after Pope and Kiara as they took the HMS out.  

Having John B and Sarah back felt surreal. Like you could do anything you wanted to do. And somehow, even scrambling up the big tree in front of the Chateau while John B threw a bucket of water over the fire, you still truly thought that everything would be okay.  

You hadn’t even felt it at first, as Barry grabbed Rafe and he fired up into tree, you dropped flush against the limb, bark digging into your body. You saw a bullet hit the tree near JJ and all you could remember thinking was how relieved you were that he hadn’t been hit. You waited until you heard Barry and Rafe leave, speeding away from the Chateau, before you tried to move. And then you felt it, a burning in your shoulder worse than the time you’d broken your arm skateboarding. You tired to push yourself back up but your right arm gave out and you fell into the tree, cursing as you lost your balance and slipped, landing on the grass. 

Flat on your back, staring up at the leaves in the tree obscuring the stars and the blurry vision of JJ jumping out of the tree. Sarah reached you first, falling onto her knees beside you and pushing the old sweatshirt out of the way to try and see where the blood that was coating the fabric was coming from.  

“Holy shit!” Sarah shouted, “oh my god…oh my god! John B, she’s bleeding! I think she was shot!”

John B pulled Sarah away from you, covering her mouth with his hand, “be quiet. The last thing we need is for them to turn back around.” Trying to shut her up was in vain, all you could hear was the pounding of JJ’s boots on the ground and John B cursing when he was pushed out of the way as JJ crowded in to see you, “lemme see!” JJ said, dropping to his knees next to you. 

Having him there, so close to you, felt like it reignited something in you and you turned your head to the sound of his voice, obscured stars fading until all you saw in the dark was JJ kneeling over you. “JJ,” you reached your hand across your body to feel your shoulder and he pushed you away, shaking his head. 

“Don’t, I got it…it’s gonna be okay.” He promised, pressing his hand into the blood-soaked sweatshirt. “John B man, we gotta get her to a hospital.”  

“What is it?” You asked, words slurring, they felt heavy on your tongue...like you’d forgotten them. “What happened?”

“No, it’s okay,” JJ repeated. He wiped one of his hands on the front of his shirt before reaching your free hand and squeezing it, “it’s okay, we’re gonna get help.”

“We need to get outta here, if they heard us they might circle back.” John B urged, his train of thought still on Rafe and Barry. He tried to grab Sarah’s arm as she scrambled for the front door of the Chateau, “Sarah!”

“I’m getting the keys to her car, John B! JJ’s right, we need to take her to the hospital!” She called, tearing through the picked over living room. Rafe and Barry had done a number on the inside of the small house but she managed to spot your keys, the Kildare County High School lanyard sticking out amongst couch cushions. 

While she dug through the house, JJ stayed by your side, hand pressed over your shoulder, trying to apply pressure to the wound and stop the bleeding, staining red. John B opened up the back door of your jeep, pushing your backpack off the seat and grabbing a towel from the trunk to throw down. “JJ,” he turned back to his friend to find JJ practically shaking as he sat there, over you, “JJ, we need to get her in the back seat.” 

JJ nodded his head vigorously as he tried to stand up, stumbling back the first time and catching himself on the ground, bloodied hands sticking to grass and dirt. His whole body was shaking and you were lying there, half-conscious but too out of it to respond to anything, eyes flickering shut as JJ and John B lifted you. The movement jostled you and you screamed at the shock of it.  

“Shit! Careful John B!” JJ cursed, unable to do much else for you.

“I’m doing the best I can!” John B snapped.  

Everything felt like it was moving in autopilot for JJ, all his focus was on you and he was completely positive that if he stopped for even a second, he would collapse. Since his feet hit the ground beneath the tree every thought in his mind had been you.  

They were careful of your shoulder as they loaded you in, JJ climbing into the backseat of your jeep and guiding you to lay over his lap. You groaned again as he grabbed your arm, keeping you on your back when you tried to roll over. He leaned down, kissing your forehead and promising, quietly, that everything was going to be okay.  

“I got the keys!” Sarah shouted, holding them up as she ran to the car. “I got the keys!” 

The drive to the hospital felt like a blur. You weren’t even entirely sure that Sarah stopped at any of the stop signs that you knew you were on the road. JJ kept his hand on your shoulder the entire time, though somewhere along the way you stopped feeling it.  

You couldn’t remember it, and when you were finally lucid enough to remember anything at all no one mentioned it, but the minute you were pushed behind the doors, away from the waiting room, JJ lost it. He’d spent the whole ride shaking like a leaf and as they wheeled you away it was everything John B could do to keep his best friend in the waiting room. He had his arms around JJ’s shoulders and he almost lifted him off the ground trying to keep him away.  

“JJ! She’s gonna be okay.” Sarah said, grabbing at his arm as he pulled out of John B’s hold. As he broke away, JJ punched the wall by the door, shouting ‘fuck’ at the top of his lungs and alerting the desk nurse to the three of them. No one told you, later on, that JJ had punched the wall though you noticed his bandaged hand, and no one told you that two security guards had to escort him outside until he could cool down.  

John B stayed in the waiting room while Sarah followed JJ outside. The security guards left him at a bench and Sarah knelt down in front of him, putting a hand on his knee to try and calm him down, or ground him as much as possible. “Hey, the doctors are doing everything they can JJ and it’s going to be okay. They said that the bullet didn’t hit anything major.”  

“I can’t...” he breathed out, covering his face with his hands, “I don’t...what do I do if she isn’t?”

“She will be, Jay.” Sarah replied, “I think though...I think we should call Shoupe and tell him what happened.”

“Fucking Rafe man...it doesn’t even matter. Shoupe didn’t do shit about Gavin and he’s not doing anything about Peterkin...he’s not gonna give a fuck about this either.”  

“You don’t know that.”  

By the time you did wake up, Kiara and Pope had come back from the HMS, huddled in the corner of the waiting room with John B and Sarah, whispering with each other about what had happened and checking every few seconds that JJ, who was pacing back and forth, wearing out a rug near the nurses’ station. He was the first one back to see you when the nurse finally came out to tell them that you were awake. JJ was shaking worse than he had in the car. Kiara had found a clean shirt of his in the back of her SUV, the old one tossed in a trash can in the men’s bathroom when Pope suggested changing so he didn’t totally freak you out.  

And you, JJ felt like his heart was pounding up into his throat when he walked into the hospital room and saw you laying there in bed, hooked up to IVs and only half lucid because of the morphine that they were giving you. But you gave him that sleepy smile you did in the mornings when you slept over at John B’s with him and the shaking in his hands started to subside as he dragged a chair over and sat down next to you.  

“Hey,” you whispered, voice hoarse from being intubated during surgery.  

All the promises that he’d whispered in the car, that Sarah had supplied him with as they sat up and waited all night, they were true. You were awake and you’d be okay and he was gonna nail Rafe to the wall for this...but maybe for now he’d just sit with you and remember how to breath.  

“Hey.”

[quicksilverownsmysoul]

Soft Pretzel

A request by @ittoehurt in which the reader has been feeling sick lately and finds out they are pregnant with Peter’s kid. But she isn't sure if he would even want to have a kid with her. I put my own little twist on it, I hope you enjoy it!

Warnings: None really, mostly pure fluff, a little angst

Word count: 1780

You were currently huddled over a toilet throwing your soft pretzel up. Jubilee was with you holding your hair back. “I’m so sorry Jubilee.” You choked out in between your sickness. You laid your head against the toilet bowl, much to her protests. 

“No honey it’s okay.” She reassured you by moving your head from the public toilet to lay on her shoulder. You wrapped your arms around your stomach as if willing it to keep down your food. 

“You can leave me here, go have fun with Kurt and the gang.” You smiled weakly and she just softly shook her head at you.  You guys were supposed to be having a fun day at the carnival,  when you suddenly felt sick and rushed off to the bathroom. Peter had wanted to go with you but Jubilee insisted that he couldn't just go into a woman’ bathroom like that. 

“I am not leaving you here. You know that.” She brushed your hair away from your face. “I told you not to eat that carnival food, it always makes me sick.” She wrinkled her nose at the thought of even eating anything at the pop up carnival. Especially when she  saw the buckets of grease that everything was marinating in. Peter had eaten something from every stand as you guys had walked around together and he was in no mindset to stop soon. But for once he felt his appetite disappear as he waited for you outside of the bathroom. His foot anxiously tapping against the pavement. 

Truth be told you knew it wasn’t the pretzel was what had made you so sick. You had woken up on many occasions recently hurling into a toilet, you were always careful to never wake Peter up when you slipped out of bed to spill your guts. It had been a while since your last period as well. Your suspicions were confirmed when you took a pregnancy test a couple days ago. You had driven to the store to buy one after your morning classes. Peter wasn't home in your shared apartment when you took it, and when you saw those two lines appear you knew you were screwed. You had sat in the bathroom for god knows how long crying a mix of tears.

You and Peter had been together for a while now. You had met him in high school in your science class, he was your lab partner. He cracked some dumb chemistry joke and you fell in love with him right then and there. You guys started dating and at homecoming he admitted that he was a mutant, he had been so nervous on how you would react. He loved you so much and he hated the idea of ruining it because he was different. But you could care less, you told him that it didn't change the way you felt about him and when you said you thought his superspeed was really cool he was whipped. You guys had been together a couple years now, you had even taken the next step and moved in together, not wanting to spend the rest of your days making out in his mom’s basement. He had become a member of the x-men and you took classes at the local university. Everything seemed so perfect. And now there was a chance of ruining it all. You and Peter were in your early 20’s you two hadn’t even talked about having children, heck you hadn't even thought about it yourself. You didn't even know if he would want a kid with you, he was so young and this was both of yours first relationship. You felt as if you were going to tie him down to something he never even wanted. 

You bit your lip debating on telling Jubilee what had been bugging you for the past few weeks. She saw your brow furrowed and turned to face you. “What’s wrong? Are you feeling sick again.” She got up to leave. “I’ll go get you some water.” You grabbed her hand before she could leave. 

“The pretzel isn't what made me sick.” You admitted quietly, curling into yourself even more. She silently urged you to go on, sitting back down and taking your hands in hers. 

“I’m pregnant,” You admitted, staring at your lap, not wanting to meet her eyes, in fear that you would see disappointment in them. 

The bathroom was eerily quiet until Jubilee let out a happy squeal and tackled you in a hug. You nearly fell over onto the floor. 

“Omg (y/n)!!! You and Peter are going to have a kid together!! They’re going to be so cute! Especially if they look like you, I don’t know how they’ll look if they get Peter’s genes.” She rambled happily. You let out a little laugh at her excitement, but your heart was still heavy. 

She calmed herself down and her tone turned serious. “Have you told Peter yet?’

You fiddled with your hands. “No I haven’t.”

“How come?’ It wasn’t a judgmental question that Jubilee asked and you could sense the question was more for your benefit than for his. 

“I just don't know he would even want a kid with me. We’re both so young and I don’t want to trap him into a relationship he never wanted.” You admitted, tears threatening to form.

“Oh Honey.” Jubilee pulled you into a tight hug. “Peter loves you so much, I just know he would want a kid with you. It might be a shock but he’s talked about spending his life with you.”

“Really?” 

“Yes really, that boy is so whipped for you it’s so funny.” She joked as she pulled away. She wiped your tears away gently and helped you off the floor. “You should tell him though, it's only fair.” You nodded your head in agreement and you excited the stall together. 

“Can you give me a minute to fix myself? I look like a mess.” You laughed. 

“Sure.” Jubilee left you alone to tidy yourself in the mirror. The minute she stepped out of the bathroom Peter bombarded her with questions.

“How is she? Is she okay? Does she wanna go home?” 

“Chill out she’s fine.” Jubilee replied, trying her best to hide her smile. She turned to Kurt and the rest of the gang. “Let’s go get a spot to watch the fireworks, (y/n) and Peter will catch up later.” 

They left Peter to his thoughts and he began to wonder why she wanted to leave you two all alone. The longer he sat there the more his thoughts drifted to negative ones. You came out a couple minutes later and Peter was immediately by your side. “Hey I missed you, are you okay?” You smiled at him nervously and took his hand in yours. “We need to talk.” Peter felt his heart stop at those words, but squeezed your hand in response. 

You led him over to an empty bench that was at some distance from the rest of the crowd. “Peter I-”

Before you could even continue Peter interrupted you. “Are you breaking up with me?” He asked in a small voice. 

“What no.” You cupped his face with both your hands. “No, nothing like that I could never break up with you. I love you too much.” You kissed him softly and he returned it. You pulled away running your thumb absentmindedly across his cheek. He moved his hand to cup yours. 

“What is it then?” You felt your heart pounding in your chest, drowning out all the noise around you. 

You wet your lips before meeting his gaze. “I’m pregnant Peter.” You were met with silence and immediately you took it as a rejection and started to ramble. “It’s yours but don't worry I’m not asking for anything and if you don’t want to have the kid I can raise them on my own. I can go back with my parents and I-”

“You're pregnant?” Peter repeated softly a smile starting to form on his lips. “I’m going to be a dad.” You nodded your head silently. “I’m going to be a dad!” He screamed lunging towards you and picking you up. He spun you around in circles, his head buried in the crook of your neck. 

“Peter!” You squealed. He gently set you back down and held your face in his hands. 

“You’re not mad?”

“Mad? (y/n) I couldn't be happier!” Your face broke out in a smile. “I love you so much, we’re going to be amazing parents!” He took you back in his arms, holding you tight and pressing kisses to the top of your head. You felt as if a huge weight had been lifted off of your shoulder. “We have to tell the gang!”

Peter wanted to get there as fast as possible but settled for walking when he realized that the sudden speed might upset your stomach. “Peter I’m not that delicate.” You protested. 

“Not taking any chances babe! You’re carrying very precious cargo!” He rubbed your stomach slightly as if there was a bump there already. You let out a light laugh and he pulled you even closer. When you met up with the rest of the gang the fireworks had already started. Peter scared everybody by shouting at the top of his lunges that he was going to be a dad. He slapped Scott on the back with a hearty laugh nearly knocking his sunglasses off.

 “Watch it, Maximoff.” Jean stifled a laugh next to him. “Good luck spending the rest of your life with that idiot.”

You laughed and and Peter whined. “Babeeee.” 

Jubilee pulled you into a side hug, watching as Peter told random strangers that he was going to be a Dad, they just awkwardly congratulated him and he smiled proudly. “I see he took the news well.” 

“What!” Peter exclaimed as he sped back to your side. “You told Jubilee before me!” He proclaimed with mock hurt. You just rolled our eyes and nudged him playfully. 

“Yeah cause she likes me better!” Jubilee joked pulling you closer to her. 

Peter yanked you back to his side. “Not in a million years Lee.” He kissed the top of your head. You guys settled onto the grass with the rest of the group, you leaned back into Peter’s chest. He rested his head in the cook of your neck inhaling your scent. “Thank you.” He whispered.

You closed your eyes at his soft touch. “For what?”

You felt him smile and hug you closer, hands resting gently on your stomach. “For giving me everything I could have ever wanted.”

[itscominghome]

With mase please : You both watch movies late at night, the silence around you, he whispers quietly in your ear and moves your hair out of you face , and then you fall asleep in his arm and he care you to bed

Summary: You and Mason have a movie night every Saturday and this week you watch a horror film. When you get scared, Mason whispers sweet nothings into your ear.

Notes: Requests are open! x

Warnings: Talks about the plot of 'Hush', mentions of blood, mentions of stabbings,

I'm Right Here - Mason Mount

"So, what's it gonna be tonight Mase?" I ask, settling on the sofa and covering myself with my duvet in the corner of the sofa.

"Well, we agreed it was going to be horror week," I sigh at this, not at all ready to be scared out of my skin. But, I knew how much Mason liked horror and it would make a change from me making all the decisions every week. The familiar sound of Netflix opening rings out through the room, and I'm nervously waiting for the chosen film to be displayed on screen.

"Hush?" I ask, vaguely remembering the name.

"Yeah, it's about a woman, who is deaf, mute and lives in the woods. From there you can kinda guess the plotline,"

"Yup, pretty predictable," I say with a gulp. Even being able to guess what is going to happen doesn't make watching it any less terrifying.

"Are you sure you're okay? I mean, I know you don't really like horror films?"

"I'll be fine, you just might end up with me clinging to you like a koala bear all night,"

"I'm down for that," Mason chuckles, leaning over to pick the massive popcorn bucket over to the couch, and inching closer to me as he gets himself comfy under the duvet.

The film starts off pretty tame, just two friends talking about the main character, Maddie's, new book. But it soon takes a dark turn. With the inability to hear, Maddie doesn't realise that her friend is frantically banging on the door in need of help. All of a sudden a masked figure comes up behind her, ragging a crossbow arrow out of her back and repeatedly stabbing her with it.

"Ew, ew, ew, Mason that's horrible. Mase, I really don't like that," I whine, nuzzling my face into his chest so that I don't have to watch what is happening on the screen.

"Baby, it's over. you can look again," But the masked figure is still on the screen, tapping the glass rather creepily, until he realises that she can't hear him.

"No, no, no. Oh my God, look up!" I shout at the TV. Later on in the film, Maddie is sent a photo by her own phone. When she opens the notification she sees photos of herself that have been taken of her.

"I really don't like this, Mase. Why do you enjoy this?"

"Baby, it's fine, it's just a film. I wouldn't let this happen to you, ever. You know I'd protect you from anything like this. Hell, you know I'd die to protect you," Mason comforts, whispering in my ear, running his fingers through my hair and kissing the top of my head. I look up at him and smile, my eyes filled with love for the boy who's lap I'm now laying on.

Maddie walks slowly over to the front door, which is ajar and upon spotting the masked figure she rushes to shut the door, just as he rushes towards it in an attempt to attack her. I scream loudly and move back into my position of huddling up against Mason's chest.

"Oh, baby... Maybe we should turn this off? You won't sleep tonight otherwise,"

"No, no. It's alright. I always choose the film, I'm not bailing now that you've chosen one."

As the film progresses, I slowly sink down further into Mason's lap, face still covered by his chest.

"I'm right here, baby," he whispers in my ear, "I promise I won't let anyone hurt you," I look up at him, face softening as he moves a piece of hair from in front of my face to behind my ear.

"Thanks," I whisper, almost inaudibly as he replies with a gentle kiss to the tip of my nose. Within another half an hour, I can feel myself drifting off to sleep and Mason clearly notices too.

"Up to bed for you then, baby," he whispers, moving from underneath and picking me up. He carries me upstairs to our shared bedroom bridal style before settling my down on the bed and gently tucking me in. He kisses my forehead lightly before clambering over and getting into bed himself.

"But what about your film?" I ask sleepily.

"We can always watch it another time, or not at all. Just get some sleep Y/n/n, you look exhausted," he replies, snuggling up into me and pulling my body against his chest as he spoons me.

"I love you, baby. Sweet dreams," are the last whispered words I hear before I drift off into a deep and tranquil sleep.

Taglist: @masnmount @masterclassbaby

[embrassemoi]

Surrounded by the Moon and Stars ✷ 34

Pairings: Sirius B, F!Reader, Remus L    Warnings: DARK THEMES, heavily implied domestic abuse (the Black family) A/n: I’m editing this in a restaurant rn. Nobody can say that I’m not committed! Anyway, if there’s more errors than usual, it’s bc I’m on mobile. Sorry!

【 Masterlist | Previous Chapter | ao3 】

Chapter 34: Secrets of Our Souls

━━━━━━━━━༻✩༺━━━━━━━━━

Meet me at our place at midnight. Be careful. Make sure nobody follows you.  R.A.B

Y/N read the letter several times before folding it in half while her eyes glazed the crowd of students in the Great Hall in search of Regulus.

A no-show.

Since the start of the term, she’d been trying to get hold of Regulus but her attempts were futile. He was as finicky as a shadow, never staying still long enough for her to grasp, to spot.

Everything about his inconspicuous disappearance and the peculiar letter left her deeply unnerved. He'd even gone as far as using a different owl to respond to her letters; not the usual Black family owl.

In many ways, Regulus was mysterious; highly unusual — dare she say frightening.

“Oh!” Marlene exclaimed. “A secret admirer?”

“Give it back!” Y/N said indignantly as Marlene pried the letter from her hand, unfolding it. Before she could read the contents, Y/N nearly tackled it out of her grasp, snatching it back while Marlene pouted. “It’s private.”

Continuing to sulk, Dorcas smiled at Marlene. From between the sliver of space from under the wooden table and their bodies, she watched as Dorcas held Marlene’s hand; thumb grazing over her knuckles. Y/N eyed them questioningly.

“What are you not telling us?” Dorcas mused, leaning on the table with a sly smirk.

Marlene snapped her fingers. “Oi! Ginger snaps!”

Lily peered over, smile vanishing, placing her fork down. “Did you just call me a…?”

“Would you prefer traffic cone then?” Mary teased.

“I like Carrots more.” Dorcas added, shyly.

“Anyway, you two are pretty much attached,” Marlene said. Had she known better, she would have recognized Marlene’s tone for jealousy. "Who sent that letter?”

Lily shrugged but her face turned downwards at her uncomfortable body language. “She said it’s private. Leave it.”

The conversation ended at that.

Y/N felt a little nudge under the table and as she looked up, Lily’s head was tilted, conveying the silent question, ‘are you okay?’ She didn’t answer as a couple of first years bounced up to Marlene, tugging down on her sleeve. She turned to them, flicking her blond hair out of her face with a wide smile.

One first year was close to tears, another one standing on their tippy-toes to whisper something in her ear.

“Please can you come to the common room? It’s scary and I-I miss my dad!” One of the first years cried out.

Marlene cooed, hugging them lovingly. With a nod, she stood and pressed a kiss to the side of Dorcas’ cheek. She managed to make it seem like she was whispering in her ear before turning back to the group. “See you tossers later!”

Dorcas watched Marlene walk away. First years jumping, hanging off of her while Dorcas’ fingers grazed the spot on her face where she kissed her. She dazzled radiantly.

Before midnight, Y/N left her dorm, heading to the Marauder’s room and knocked on their door. She vaguely heard footsteps approaching before it opened.

She smiled before she could even register it. “Moony.”

He grinned widely. “Whiskers,” Remus said pleasantly, leaning against the door frame, his hair falling slightly over his eyes. “How may I help you?”

“Seeing you has already helped a lot.” She joked while Remus blushed madly. She laughed at his reaction. “I need to talk to Bambi.”

Remus had his eyebrows raised but opened the door wide and beckoned her in.

She noticed a bed pushed far to the left, isolated from the other beds. The curtains were almost nearly closed aside from the sliver that was still open. Black was there, book in hand with a few pieces of parchment laid surrounding him. He was already looking up at her.

They truly isolated Black from them in every way possible.

“Oh hey, Y/N.” Peter smiled before throwing her a small wrapped sweet her way. “Greetings!”

“Thanks, Pete!” She caught it. And dropped onto James’ bed. His glasses were strewn, laying on his bedside table as he flicked through his book.

“To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“Do you mind if I borrow your invisibility cloak tonight?”

James surprisingly didn’t push further as he simply went through his trunk and threw her the cloak, only asking that she would be careful with it.

She hopped out of the room, rushing out to the cold corridors and threw the cloak over her head. As she passed through various hallways, she finally opened the door to her and Regulus’ small hideout. A couple of candles were lit and the familiar Slytherin and Gryffindor blankets clashed together.

Huddled in the corner of the room on the couch, small and curled with his legs pressed against his chest and chin perched on his knees, Regulus was there, shaking.

She rushed up to him, keeping her hand visible and only touching him when he realized it was her. Consoling people was always a challenge in itself.

“What happened?”

Regulus’ voice was strained and tired. “C-can you hug me? Please?”

Her heart could have shattered as she roped him into a large, crushing hug. His aching sobs crashed through her chest. Y/N’s arms were tight around Regulus, his head face pressed against her shoulder and she could feel his tears seep through her shirt. Doing the best she could, she soothed him, petting his hair.

She couldn’t tell just how much time had passed until Regulus’ snuffles calmed down as he harshly wiped his tears. It was the first time she was able to truly get a close-up of how he looked.

To put it lightly, Regulus looked like shit.

Any of that regal, youthful glow of his diminished. And she realized it only faded whenever he went home. His skin was dull and grey, eyes sunken. Even his long hair was cut lopsidedly.

“Do you want to talk about it?” She asked.

“I… It’s…” Regulus trailed off, face full of worry and trouble. “It’s…”

“It’s okay,” she rubbed her hand up and down his shoulder. “You don’t have to tell me.”

But something caught her eye. Regulus’ trousers rode up in his shaking state. A large bandage was wrapped messily on his leg. The skin around the bandage was red and a few scars peaked out. But as soon as she realized, he had too and quickly pulled the fabric down.

“... What is that?” She asked softly. She didn’t know what it was, but something heavy sunk in her chest — the feeling of sickening, frightening dread.

He refused to answer.

“You have to get that checked out —”

“No!” Regulus shouted, complete panic filtering through his face.

“Whatever that is, it isn’t going to heal properly if we don’t.”

Regulus debated for a while and she saw the conflict on his face before relenting. “I’m embarrassed by it…”

She mustered up any kind of energy left and smiled. “I won’t judge you.” She managed to catch his eye and held it. She went over her options quickly.

1. Leave Regulus?

Option one was already tossed out the window. The weight of the situation was far too grave to continue to let it slide by again and again.

2. Press further?

But how?

3. Make him feel comfortable?

Bingo.

If he was ashamed by his scars, then maybe if she showed hers…

She turned to Regulus, lifting her sleeve. A scar ran across her forearm from Snape’s attack during the Quidditch match.

“I got this a couple of months ago in a nasty fight.” Then she pointed to the small scar on her leg from when she was dragged by Moony. "I got this from an accident."

But then, she sucked in a deep breath, mustering up all her bravery and courage, pushing down every bit of insecurity. She tugged down the collar of her shirt a bit, just enough to reveal the top of a much more faded scar that travelled down to her sternum. “And I got this from a heart surgery.”

She fixed her shirt to sit properly again. “I was born with a heart defect. It went undetected until my mom found me, hardly breathing and had to perform open-heart surgery on me. I was supposed to die but here I am. Healthy and alive and I haven’t had a problem since.”

Regulus looked up at her wide-eyed and his body became less stiff.

“I used to be so… ashamed of it. Maybe I still am, I never talk about it… Only you, my mom and someone at Ilvermorny knows. But my point is, I am more than my scars, and you are too.”

She swallowed her fear, now cursing herself and resolved to shut up. Waiting, she wondered that since she showed him the scars that perhaps he would too.

Regulus considered her, almost astonished, finally moving to pull up his trousers and peeling off his bandage, wincing while doing so.

It felt like a cold bucket of water was splashed all over her body. She desperately tried to keep her face blank as the overwhelming urge to cry while combating the wave of nausea hit her.

His skin was butchered — fiery red. They weren’t neat, like what a surgeon's scalpel would be like, but messy, crisscrossed and viciously deep. It had hardly healed and they were old enough to be a little over a week or two old. And undoubtedly painful.

Whoever did that to him was enraged, furious.

“Shit… Regulus… who did this?” She asked quietly, more to herself than him as he remained silent. She stood, commanding, “We need to get you fixed up.”

“It’s not that b —”

“Stop lying.”

“Just don’t take me to the hospital wing.”

Wanting to know more, she was too afraid that any more prying would result in Regulus completely shutting down and withholding more information. Instead, she picked up the invisibility cloak, threw it over him and wrapped an arm underneath Regulus' arms to help him walk out of the room.

She went to the only other place she knew she would be able to offer any resemblance of help.

Once reaching the Potions classroom, muttering Alohomora, Y/N helped Regulus sit down comfortably at one of the extra tables and immediately got to work. All sorts of magic went around as she grabbed an extra textbook and flipped to the Essence of Dittany page.

Shelves, jars and cabinets opened and closed on their own accord, all taking ingredients as they fell into a boiling cauldron.

“What are you doing?” Regulus questioned, nervously drumming his fingers on the table.

“Making you something.”

It was still between them. She didn’t know what to say, only what to do. Everything went through her mind like a step-by-step process, like a robot categorizing its own emotions.

Because what was the right response to something like this?

She stared at the bubbling cauldron, slowly stirring to avoid eye contact. “You don’t have to tell me but… you didn’t do this to yourself —”

“No,” Regulus said, calmly and steadily.

“Then… to the person — people who did… will they bother you again?”

“Probably not… I’ll be okay.”

It wasn’t the answer she was hoping for.

Once the potion was completed, she poured it inside an applicator and made sure to cast a quick cleaning spell. A soft blue glow emitted around his leg until disappearing. She looked up to him, fisting his shirt and shoved it inside his mouth. “I’m sorry, this is going to hurt.”

She took the applicator, pouring a couple drops onto his wound. A greenish smoke billowed around them as it bubbled on his skin. The skin was stitching itself back together and over his wound. Regulus moaned in pain, fist banging on the wooden table.

She finally pulled the cloth from his mouth once down and ran across the room to find more clean clothes to dab off the sweat from his face. Y/N thought for a second he was going to faint.

“I’m so sorry Reg… Sorry…”

He didn’t say anything for a while, only nodding in response meanwhile she monitored his condition. She gave him the wrapped candy that Peter gave her, hoping that it would help him regain some energy. She was beginning to grow worried that she might’ve brewed it incorrectly as her mind mulled over possible counter potions.

“I know… you said... you don’t talk to my brother much…” Regulus croaked out. She closed the book, rushing up to him. “But... you are in the same friend group… right?”

She chewed the inside of her cheek. A white lie wouldn’t hurt.

“Things changed. We’re friends. Why?”

There was a long pause. “Is he okay?”

A million questions went through her. Even if they were estranged, wouldn’t he know?

“He’s okay.” Lie. “He’s just been… stressed as of late.” True.

“Is he still staying with the Potter’s?”

“Yes.”

He smiled, eyelids drooping but everything about it told her something wasn’t right. “I’m glad.”

Regulus refused to let her help him walk back to the dungeons and left with his wound almost fully healed. And she was left with more questions than any answers as she slithered into bed.

What was he not telling her?

But then she thought about the summer with Matthew. Why had he been so surprised that she had been with a member of the Black family? Or how did he even know them? What was it about them that commanded so much respect and international recognition?

A couple of footsteps padded her way and Y/N felt her bed dip, a weight sliding beside her.

“Are you okay?” Lily whispered. “Been worried about you these past couple of days.”

“Yeah,” Y/N said, turning to the side to look at Lily through the night. “Jolly.”

“You sure? It can be our secret?”

She remained quiet and it gave Lily her answer. She turned onto her side before mumbling. “Feel free to stay tonight.” When she didn’t feel Lily leave, but she wiggled around to become comfortable, she sighed, forcing herself to sleep.

There was certainly far too much happening in her life at the moment for her to fully care about Lily’s bizarre and avoidant behaviour. She just wanted the next day to come.

━━━━━━━━━༻✩༺━━━━━━━━━

The next few days were uncomfortable and Y/N was beyond exhausted.

Breakfast was nothing more than her sipping on a glass of water, studying the Slytherin table, worried for Regulus.

Was he being bullied? Was he… no… the wound was a bit too old for it to have taken place at Hogwarts.

She spent most of the day in the library, simply reviewing her Herbology and Advanced Potions textbook.

Much to James’ dismay, all the free periods they had in sixth year were due to the overwhelming work and increased difficulty in lessons. Fortunately for Y/N, Potions was partially a free class and she never had to worry about it aside from the essays. It was far too easy.

During class, she would figure out new techniques, tricks, but to her dismay, Slughorn had really enjoyed how both she and Snape performed together and often paired them up during potions. She hated to admit it, but there was a reason why Snape was a favourite student of Slughorn. He had talent. Although, he was in a permanently vindictive mood around her which made him even more unbearable.

The tip of her eagle-feather quill moved across the pages of the textbook and she pulled back momentarily to review her book.

Nightshade… Powdered silver… Stewed Mandrakes… Slughorn had said it helped werewolves… What if Remus —

“Whiskers! There you are!” James said, strutting up. He sat down on the couch beside her, both tucked away in the corner of the library.

She gave a little wave of her fingers before closing her book. James suddenly became slightly dejected at her reaction. She couldn’t force herself to put on a show.

“Something wrong?”

Y/N felt like there were no answers to everything that had been happening recently. Only if Matthew was there.

But James was.

“I need to ask you something.”

His head swivelled around to see if anyone with prying ears was listening in before nodding.

“Could you tell me about the Black family?”

She had never seen James go so rigid. His cheek hallowed as he chewed the inside of his cheek and waited for her to elaborate.

“I know I don’t talk about it but Regulus is a friend of mine.” She didn’t miss the way James stiffened further at that. “And he’s… worrying me. He’s… god, I don’t know what to say.”

James threw up a silencing spell, encircling them. “It’s okay, go on.”

“Regulus’ leg was butchered. I think he’s being bullied or it’s darker than that.”

James’ skin, which was usually a warm, rich look, seemed as if it paled, almost giving him a gray appearance. “Did he say anything about his family?”

“No. But he never talks about them. Is that the reason why Black stays with you?”

“Even with the non-existent respect I have for Black, I feel like I can’t tell you much,” James said and she understood why. “But the Black family — they’re fucking insane. Their Pureblood mania is probably one of the worst I’ve ever seen.” James took a moment to look at her reaction after mentioning blood purity. “He has a reason to be scared of them.”

“So you’re telling me that his family… they hurt him?”

James looked down, the gravity of their conversation finally hitting him. He took off his round glasses, rubbing his temples. “I’m not sure. Maybe? It was probably another Slytherin. His parents… love him — I don’t see them laying a hand on him. He didn’t mention running away? Did he?”

“No.”

She heard James curse under his breath as he grabbed his hair out of habit. “I’ll talk to him.”

“About what? You can’t tell him I told you, he’ll —”

“Relax. I won’t. I’ll ask him to move in with me.”

Y/N felt like she could faint there and then. Everything in her body felt wobbly, weak as she grappled with the idea of Regulus and his home life. Then Black… did he also go through what Regulus has been through? The thought made her sick.

James’ voice tugged her back to reality. “Promise me something.” She waited for him to continue.

“I know Regulus is your friend and that he’s going through a rough time but…” James struggled with his words. “But… be careful around him. He’s not much of a threat but his family is. There’s a reason why Black lives with me; no matter how angry, how much I hate him, I would never let him go back there. To them.

“The war is approaching and they have eyes all on Regulus — watching everything he does.”

Goosebumps covered her entire body. Everything James said sounded more like an underlying threat of sorts. She wondered if that was the reason why he refused to be seen with her publicly. “Are you saying that he’s a Death Eater?”

“No,” James responded briskly. “But it’s not to say his parents won’t force him to. If you knew his family, you would understand —”

Both students snapped their heads up from the figure slowly approaching them as James eased off the silencing charm.

Professor Elway was there, holding a large leather-bound book and a stack of parchment, most likely essays she had to grade. She only gave a small nod to James before smiling widely at Y/N which caused James to mutter something vaguely familiar that sounded like ‘favouritism.’

“Ms. L/N! How wonderful to see you!” Elway was enlivened. “I was just thinking about you.”

“Oh! Erm — thank you?”

Elway laughed, “Your work has been incredible! I’m very impressed.”

She felt James nudge her under the table.

“Oh!” The professor exclaimed. “There’s a Duelling club session tonight I’m supervising. I’d love to see you there?”

“I’m sorry, but we have a paper due in Transfigurations.” James helped, cutting in for her. She felt herself relax into her chair.

In no time, Defence Against the Dark Arts became Y/N’s favourite class and duelling was incredibly fun, but all she wanted to do was sleep. Perhaps another time…

Professor Elway gave a little sigh but nodded her head. “Then I’ll see you next session! Have a good day, Ms. L/N and Mr..?”

“Potter.”

“My apologies, Mr. Potter. Have a fine day!”

While they watched her leave, both students were left with a similar deep, icy trepidation that clawed at their soul and a single question heavy in their hearts.

━━━━━━━━━༻✩༺━━━━━━━━━

【 Next Chapter 】

© gotkindabored 2021. Do not repost, translate or modify

[groundcontrol21]

I Will Care for You (B/lack S/ails migraine!fic)

DO NOT REBLOG IF YOU ARE NOT A KINK/WHUMP BLOG

Since there was some interest in some James and Thomas Together™️ fic, I thought I would give y’all this to munch on while I work on some snz stuff with the two of them. It’s a bit outside my normal in that the whump is migraine this time, but I figure someone might enjoy. If not, there will be snz hopefully soon 😈

I originally tried to post this here when I wrote it a couple months ago, but it almost immediately started getting reblogged to places outside the whump-o-sphere so I panicked and took it down. But I’m going to try again. Enjoy me projecting my own chronic pain onto characters!

It was a beautiful day, bright sun and scarcely a cloud to be seen, when James McGraw arrived at the Hamilton’s home. On account of the weather being so splendid, James had walked from his post at the dockyards, and as such he hoped that he hadn’t kept Thomas waiting for too long past their agreed-upon meeting time. But when he stepped into the grand hall and gave his coat and hat to one of the servants, he saw only Miranda waiting for him.

“Where’s Thomas?”

Miranda went to him and kissed his cheek in greeting. The scent of her perfume, a luscious blend of lavender and honeysuckle, was notably absent. James could detect only the faintest wisp of rose from her soap. “He’s in bed with one of his headaches,” she told him. “He hasn’t been afflicted with one in a great while, so I suppose he was unfortunately due.”

James took a step back, his fingers coming to fidget with the inside edges of his sleeves. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t receive any message that he had cancelled our meeting.”

Miranda shook her head fondly. Her jewelry, too, was simple; two small pearls in her ears and no necklace, such that her movement did not cause the sort of jangle it often did. “That’s because he didn’t.” At this James cocked a brow in confusion, and she went on. “He wants to see you, James. You’ll help him feel better.”

The lieutenant scoffed. “Me? I don’t know the first thing about—“

Miranda stopped him with a gentle hand on his chest. His breath fluttered beneath her touch. “Just your being here is enough. Go see him. Just be as quiet as you can. Loud noises are agony for him.”

James nodded and let his feet lead him to the bedroom, his heart hammering with a trepidation he had not felt since the first time Thomas had taken him to bed. Of course, as it turned out, such trepidation was entirely unfounded then, and James hoped such would be the case again now. But he was less sure. He knew that some were affected by headaches the likes of which he had never experienced, pain so agonizing that the day’s work itself had to be put on hold in order to nurse it. James had sailed under a captain once who had suffered this affliction; there were days when his headache was so terrible he could do naught but lay with his head beneath a pillow, a bucket at his bedside, and spare canvas draped across the windows in his cabin to block out the light. It was days like those when all the work of command and navigation had fallen to James on top of his usual duties as lieutenant, and so James resented the man for it.

But now, James did not resent Thomas. There was not a thing on earth that could make James resent him. Rather, he was worried about what he would find when he entered the bedroom; he recalled how even the gentlest rocking of the ship on the calmest of seas had been too much for the captain when he was in such a state. The movement had caused him to groan and be sick.

James arrived at the bedroom door and eased it open as carefully as he could. The room was dark, the only indication that it was daylight being the sliver of sunlight that snaked in between the curtains and the wall. The light it cast was not much, but just enough for James to make out Thomas’s form, huddled beneath the bedclothes and with an arm thrown over his eyes. James stood stock still in the doorway, watching the controlled rise and fall of the man’s chest, unsure of what he should do. Was Thomas asleep? If so, he should leave and let him rest.

James was startled from his thoughts by a voice, low and raspy and so unlike Thomas’s that he could scarcely believe it came from him. “It’s alright, James, it’s not catching.”

James shook his head vigorously, breaking free of his trance and approaching the bed, piled high with luxurious pillows. Thomas was wedged between them like a cocoon. “That’s not what I was worried about, I—are you alright?”

Thomas groaned softly. “So loud.”

James froze a foot from the bed and lowered his voice, already quiet, to less than a whisper. “What?”

“Your boots.”

Immediately, James pulled them off and set them gingerly against the wall to ensure he made no sound. On stocking feet he padded back to Thomas’s bedside, paying greater care to his footfalls than he ever had. “There, is that better?”

“Mmmm.”

Thomas hadn’t moved an inch since James had entered and still lay just as he did, his hand covering half his face. James waited for a moment, but the man said nothing more, gave no indication of what he needed, and James felt altogether helpless. Even in the darkness, Thomas was pale and drawn with tension, and the man was so clearly in pain and needed something, but James did not know what to give. He had warned Miranda he was useless.

James looked to the nightstand and saw a glass and a pitcher of water. With such care as though the faintest of touches would break it, he poured the water into the glass and held it out to Thomas, who, of course, did not see it.

“You should drink something,” James murmured.

Thomas gave a vaguely affirming hum, but made no motion to take the glass from James, nor indeed to move at all. James set the glass back down, then began gently shifting Thomas upright against the pillows. “Here, I’ll help you.”

Once Thomas was seated enough so as not to choke, James raised the glass to his lips. Thomas had kept his eyes firmly shut through the whole endeavor, but tried to open them to take the glass from James. As soon as he had cracked them open, he squeezed them shut again with a moan, his hand flying back to his temple.

“Let me do all the work,” James told him, and let him drink.

Once Thomas had had his fill, James helped him lie down again, arranging the lush pillows and blankets back in their cocoon around him. “You make an angelic nursemaid,” Thomas whispered. “If only I could keep my eyes open long enough to see you.”

“You can let your vivid imagination do the work for now,” James said, warmth spreading in his chest as Thomas gave a faint smile. He brushed his thumb lightly against the furrow in Thomas’s brow. “Your eyes hurt?”

“Hurt seems too mild a word for it.”

James’s heart split; Thomas was too good and pure for any of the hurts of this world, and he would give up whatever necessary to protect his love from them. “I’ll see what I can do. Wait right here.”

Thomas, of course, made no motion to disobey. James tiptoed over to where he had stowed his boots and carried them to the door to put them on. He poked his head down the hall and saw the valet, Parkland or Peterson or something of the like. James did not know so he did not risk to call the man by name.

“Excuse me,” he said, and the man turned to him. “What has Thom--Lord Hamilton--taken for his pain?”

“Nothing of note, lieutenant,” the man said. “Laudanum only addles him further, and the scent of any of the usual balms and oils is too strong for him when he gets like this. I’m afraid there is not much to be done but wait it out.”

“Damn it, there is always something to be done!” James snapped. The valet flinched, and James forced himself to take a deep breath in, to reign in his temper lest he make a show of losing it over a nobleman’s headache of all things. He pressed on through his own bumbling helplessness, grasped at the idea of something that had helped him once long ago. “Send for clean pieces of cloth and a bowl of cold water, please, and bring it to his bedroom. I will receive it from you.”

The valet gave him a long look before nodding his assent, and James felt his stomach turn slightly with unease. Thomas assured him his fears of discovery were unfounded, that the servants were faithful and more importantly, paid well, but even so James could not help the chill that slithered down his spine at how must look for a friend of any sort to be so often in Thomas’s bedroom. He did his best to push the thought from his mind now; there were more immediate matters at hand that had to be sorted.

James was waiting in the doorway when the valet returned with a platter containing the items he had asked for. He thanked him and went immediately back inside the dark room, moving as slowly as he dared, both to avoid sloshing the water and to keep his footsteps light as he could.

“Are you awake?” he whispered as he set the platter down gingerly on the bedside table, taking care to move the pitcher aside to make room.

After a long pause, the answer came in the form of a low moan. “Unfortunately.”

James smirked a bit, then took a cloth and dipped it in the bowl. “I’ve brought something that may help you. Lie still.”

He wrung the excess water from the cloth back into the bowl and hesitated. He was so wholly out of his natural element in this moment, a damp rag in his calloused sailor's hands as if he were a nursemaid. But after a moment’s pause, he couldn’t find it in himself to be much bothered by this realization; in fact, he suddenly felt a great deal more comfortable here at his lover’s bedside than he felt in most situations in his life.

James laid the cloth across Thomas’s eyes and, nearly instantly, the man made a noise that, were he not in unimaginable pain, would have been positively sinful. It still was, all things considered, and James ignored the heat that crawled up his neck.

He huffed a silent laugh. “I’ll admit to being a bit jealous that a mere cloth in water can make you groan like that.”

Thomas groaned again, softer and less drawn out than before, but no less flustering. “It’s heavenly, James. Thank you.”

“I thought you might like it. When I took a fever as a boy and had a headache from it, my grandmother did this for me.” He found Thomas’s hand where it was bunched between the bedclothes and ran his thumb across his knuckles. “I suppose heavenly is an appropriate word.”

They stayed like this for a blissful while, James listening to Thomas’s breaths, slow and steady, while he stroked the man’s hand. The cloth seemed to be having some effect; Thomas did not seem like a rope so taut with pain as to snap at any moment anymore. James was reaching for the cloth to wet it once more when his love’s voice took him by surprise.

“I’m sorry.”

The shock of the words caused James’s fingers to pause. His hand fell to his side. “Whatever for?”

Thomas heaved a long, rattling sigh, as though speaking were the greatest exertion for him. “I had planned to take you to Vauxhall Gardens today, after our work was done.”

James rolled his eyes, thankful Thomas could not see him. “Thomas—“

“I’d intended,” he continued, and the disappointment in his voice was raw and shocking enough to make James want to cry, “for it to be a surprise, but…”

“Thomas,” he repeated firmly, guilt blooming in his chest when the man winced at the slight increase in volume. He lowered his voice again. “There is no place I would rather be at this moment.”

“Surely that can’t be true.”

“Well, yes, I would rather we were at Vauxhall if it meant you felt well again. But that’s only because I…” James choked on the unexpected emotion laden in his throat. For a moment, he almost did not continue, the tender sentiments he wanted to express would be so foreign on his sailor’s tongue so used to barking orders. But the words were true and so he had to say them.

“I can hardly bear to see you hurting.”

At this and despite his pain, a smile lit over Thomas’s face, and James felt something deep and warm settle kindly in his own chest. Thomas tossed the cloth aside and squinted up at him.

“James, come lie with me.”

James needed no further invitation to toe off his boots once more and strip down to his shirtsleeves, discarding his clothing on the floor beside the bed. He slipped beneath the blankets from the opposite side of the bed, moving gingerly so as not to jostle Thomas or cause the bed to creak, and pressed himself to his lover’s side. He relished in the softness of the bed, the gentle warmth of Thomas’s body, the blissful quiet and the relaxing dark.

“I think I may prefer this arrangement to Vauxhall at any rate,” James said after a long moment. “It isn’t every day I am able to lie about in the middle of the day with the man I love.”

The words surprised him, but he found he would not have said any others once he had spoken them. Thomas groped in the dark for his hand and brought James fingers to his lips, peppering them with kisses. He gave a contented sigh, which gave way to a grimace when the action caused the pain in his head to flare.

James leaned in close, his lips brushing featherlight against Thomas’s temple as he murmured, “Your poor head. You’ve been thinking too much.” He ghosted his fingers across Thomas’s pinched brow. “Worrying too much.”

“Miranda said exactly the same thing.”

“Well perhaps between the two of us we can set you right again.”

He began messaging Thomas’s head gently. The man gave no indication of protest, so James continued, the rhythmic motion likely soothing him just as much as it soothed his lover, who was melting now beneath his touch. Perhaps Miranda, as was her gift, saw this within him as well, this capacity for tenderness hidden deep down and shackled beneath layers of custom and propriety. Saw that there was usefulness in him yet for caring for his lover.

Even so, at the thought of her, James paused. “Why did you want me here to care for you and not Miranda?”

“The scent of her perfume is strong enough on a good day, lovely as it is. She forwent it today on my account but even so…” Thomas trailed off and was silent for so long a moment James thought he had fallen asleep. “I think she cannot, as a lady, ever not smell of something sweet.”

“So you’ve called me here on account of my smell.” James smiled. “I don’t know whether to be insulted or not.”

“You always smell of blessedly little, my lieutenant.” Thomas’s voice had taken a dreamlike quality to it. “Sometimes the sea, but never overbearing. But that, of course, is not why I want you here.”

James felt his breath falter in his chest. “Oh?”

Thomas opened his eyes fully and flipped on his side so that he was facing James. “I want you here because you are the most tender and loving man I know, James McGraw, and how could I not feel better in your presence?”

Suddenly it was James who was the rope pulled so tight it snapped, a dam broken by a warm rush of water so powerful it consumed him. He didn’t realize he was crying until Thomas’s hand found his cheek, caressing him and stroking away tears with his thumb.

“I hope I will not disappoint you,” he choked out, feeling as though he already had. It was Thomas he was meant to be comforting, not the other way around.

But then Thomas pulled him close, pressed their foreheads together in the way James loved most of all, and things felt right again. “Never, my darling,” he whispered. “Never.”

[mommymooze]

Dreaming of a Different Day

Reader, Fe3h Characters, Modern AU

Blood, gore, fighting, dead bodies, homework, sweating

7986 words

Working night shift at a gas station isn’t the most glorious job, but it helps pay the bills while you are trying to complete your degree at college. Determined to graduate without getting buried under an insurmountable amount of student debt, you work two jobs, sometimes three, even if it means taking 10 years to get a 4 year degree. Scoring a job in building maintenance for the college certainly helps with getting reduced fees on classes and books. Between two current jobs and classes or study time, there isn’t much time to sleep. Sometimes you volunteer your body as a lab rat for some of the studies done at the university, if you can work them in to your hectic schedule. This time they want to study your brain while you sleep. Getting paid to sleep? Sign me up!

Filling your 32oz. thermal bucket with coffee, you head out to catch a bus to campus. You have about an hour to study before you make it to the appointment at the psychology building.

An alarm sounds on your phone, time to pack up to make it to your appointment on time. Stashing your laptop and books into your backpack you head up the stairs to the third floor. Opening the door, you see a sleepy looking green haired student gathering forms together and stapling them into packets, placing them into manila folders.

“I’m here for the 8:00am appointment.” You announce.

He hands you a folder and a pen, telling you to fill out the paperwork and return them to him when complete.

You fill out the forms completely and honestly. Your sleep schedule is hell, you sleep when you can, mostly during daylight hours. You don’t recall any of your dreams or nightmares. No drinking or drugs. No sense in lying on these forms, they’ll find out if you’re trying to say something to please them or force yourself into their study group. Forms complete, you place them on the front desk as the young man nods.

Returning to your table you pull out your laptop and begin working on homework. You notice someone is standing in front of you.

A tall young woman with short blonde hair smiles at you, asking you to follow her. You grab your things, she leads you to a small room with a bed and several different machines, some on tables, some freestanding.

She tells you to change into a hospital gown, tie in the front because they need to attach some wires for monitoring. Most of the wires are attached to your head. She tells you the liquid they use to have it stick to your head is easily washed out of your hair. Once you are fully wired, she leaves and comes back with the fluffiest, warmest blanket you have ever felt and wraps it around you leading you to the bed. She asks if you want a sleep mask to block out the light and you do. The hum of the machines, the darkness and the fluffy warm blanket are enough to get you to fall asleep quite quickly.

A soft alarm goes off and you hear the voice of the green haired man asking you what you remember. You stay still, thinking. You recall walking down a corridor, speaking with other people. They are dressed differently. Maybe wearing a school uniform? You were carrying a book headed to…you can’t remember. It is strange, why suddenly have a dream here of all places? Taking the mask from your eyes you look to see him writing. He finishes his notes and leaves muttering a soft “Thank you.”

The wires are removed, you are told to change back into your regular clothes. They will message you if you will be chosen for further study. Handing you an envelope full of cash you head out the door, just in time to make it to your class.

Classes done for the day. You are mopping the floors of the student housing building 3. Yet another party to clean up after. Sure, you could notify the RA’s and make the other students do it, but they would make more mess and take too long. It is easier to simply clean it up yourself. Giving the floor a final mop, you shriek as someone steps behind you and taps on your shoulder.

“Hey, sorry we made so much mess for you.” A handsome male with dark hair, darker skin and brilliant green eyes smiles at you.

“No prob. No mess, no job, right?” You answer. They always show up when the work is about done.

“Can I interest you in some cake? We have some left.” He gestures with his hand open towards you.

“Nope. Smelled it too long cleaning it from floor vents.” You keep swiping the mop back and forth, then dunking it in your soapy bucket, squeezing it out and slapping it back on the floor.

Claude attempts to introduce himself. “Claude Riegan, Senior, Political Science.”

You answer in a monotone voice, “I am the janitor.“

“Hah.” He forces a laugh. “I’ve seen you in the halls here and there. You’re a student as well.”

You shrug, going to the closet to dump out your bucket. “Gotta run. Bldg 2 calls.”

He smiles and waves, you sort of wave back.

Work complete you head back to the smaller than an efficiency apartment you rent. Hotplate, and microwave for cooking, it has a half bath so you wash in a plastic tub. One small room for everything, no closets. Everything you own is in labeled tubs. No windows, but there is a door that locks.

You work on homework until your brain is fried. Collapsing on your bed you set an alarm, plug in your phone and laptop and sleep for a few hours before you have to get up for work tonight at the gas station.

Making it to class 5 minutes early you haul your bucket of coffee with a straw in it to your seat. Did you see that Claude guy in the halls? He likes yellow shirts. Both times you saw him in that color.

Today you listen to the lecture while looking around the room. Most of the time you take notes but you know this particular subject well. There’s a guy with light green hair and glasses to the right. Why does he look familiar? Have you seen him in a class before? You recognize the emo guy in front with a brown haired girl always huddled together. Oh no. The horrendous heartbreaker is here. Who doesn’t know about him? How many messes of his have you cleaned up because he’s dumped a girl and she resorted to violence and damaged school property? At least 100. You had no idea he was in your class. You lift up a book to block his direct view of your face. Perhaps you can remain nonexistent to him.

The professor ends the lesson. You note the work to be turned in, due date, assigned reading. Just as you’re about to finish tossing everything into your bag, you get a text. The psych guys want you for another sleep study. You tell them you can daytime sleep Tues or Thurs or Fri til 5. Great. They take all 3.

Cool. You may actually have some free cash for a few weeks. Maybe you can splurge on new shoes.

Monday night at the gas station is quiet. They usually are. Coffee keeps you coherent enough to make correct change and clean things properly. You have enough time to get home, clean up and hit the psy lab by 6am. They are to wake you 2 so you can make your class in plenty of time.

Mercie is the girl that wires you up to the machines. She hands you the sleep mask and fluffy blanket. It doesn’t take you long to go to sleep having come off your caffeine high a couple hours ago.

The alarm goes off and you bolt upright to a seated position in the bed, gasping for breath.

“Tell me quickly.” The green haired man encourages you to speak.

“I was fighting for my life. There was a battle. It was primitive. There were swords and long spears and huge axes with blades bigger than your head. A woman had fire coming from her fingers killing a man. I could smell his flesh burning. I stabbed bad people with my spear. I had to help my friends. We were fighting…um…a gang? thieves? They were hurting people nearby. My friend was hit by a spear and I killed the guy that hit him. Then I was…touching my friend’s stab wound. Light came from my fingers and I watched the hole in his side close up.” You sat there, staring at your hands. They were your hands but no longer covered in blood. You were grimacing as hard as you were in the dream, concentrating on your hands. But they did not glow.

“What else? What about the land?” His disinterested voice demands more.

“It was in a wild undeveloped area. No buildings. Just trees and rocks and bushes. We were fighting our way up a hill. Some of us going up one side, some going the other. I could hear them fighting on the other side of the hill. We were going to meet at the top. I couldn’t wait to see the leader, I kept looking for her blue hair. I knew she was the best fighter ever and would do everything to keep us safe.”

“Anything else?” His last follow up question.

“It’s faded a lot now. So much blood everywhere. The smells, they were awful. Metal banging on metal was so loud.”

He stands and stretches. “Thank you.” He says as he closes the door behind him.

You get dressed and grab your stuff heading for your afternoon class. Why are you suddenly dreaming? You don’t remember dreaming much before since you were a kid. This was a nightmare. You didn’t drink anything. You had slept over 7 hours, that’s the longest you’ve slept in…months? If the nightmares keep up, you’re not sure this is worth the extra cash.

After class you head home. You don’t feel as exhausted as you normally do, so you work ahead on a class or two. Most of the time homework can be done while you’re at the gas station counter.

Class in the morning is boring. Only a few more weeks to suffer before you get a break. Heading home you lay in your bed. You want to sleep. You really, really do. But now you’re afraid if you close your eyes, will the dreams continue? You grab your accounting book and start reading. You wake up with your alarm going off so you can get ready to head to work tonight. You do not dream, not even a about spreadsheets.

Work is uneventful. Mostly the same people coming in to buy the same things. Taking deliveries of different foods and replacing the purchased items on the shelves. Completing homework as time allows. Finally, it is time to clock out as the next shift comes in to deal with the daytime crowd.

You hit the bus, get to your room, swap out what you don’t need with what you do, toss your backpack on and head out to the Psych lab. You’re wired up and under the blanket. You feel a bit anxious about sleeping, however it is totally dark and the humming of the machines soon overtakes your thoughts and you fall asleep.

You awaken to hear the same guy as before asking you to talk.

Not opening your eyes you go through what happened.” There was a battle but not a real battle. Everyone is fighting but you aren’t really trying to kill each other. The weapons are fake. The magic is real but not seriously real. It reminds me of watching football practice. Each team wore their colors and are trying to beat up the others. The yellow team wins and everyone goes to a party. The blue haired leader lady said I had done a great job. She asks me to have tea and wants to talk about joining her house. Is she leading a fraternity? I woke up as I was helping clean up the mess after the party.”

“Tell me where this happened.” He asks.

“Well, the battle was on a big open field. There was a hill that someone could pull a lever and fire stuff at others. Scattered clumps of trees here and there, where some people would hide. It was a long walk to get to the field there. When walking I spoke with a grayish haired guy that would talk about stories he read about knights and do gooders. Oh, and on a big hill were three people with bright green hair. A man, woman and a younger shorter girl. They were watching. But they did not go to the party after. The party was in the dining area back at the school.”

You’re dressed, your hair feels sticky, so you put on a baseball cap with the university logo on it and head to your janitorial job. Mind numbing floor sweeping, mopping, and emptying trashcans fills your night. You are glad you had a good sleep at the psych lab, because it’s a short night tonight after getting off at 3am and having a class again at 8am the next day, you make it, like any other college student.

Grabbing something awful to eat after class, you head back to the third floor in the psych building for the last sleep of this week.

You wake up completely and totally freaked out. What a nightmare. Walking forever in the rain until you are soaked through, your skin all cold and wrinkly, and now you go into the creepy tower with the rest of the Blue Lions. You’re on the blue team. An older woman is the teacher, you wish you had the blue haired lady, she was so awesome.

Everyone creeps around and around going up higher in the tower while bad guys are firing arrows and popping out of hidden spaces. You remember using magic. You concentrated and this circle with marks on it appeared in your vision and next thing you know you shot lightning out of your fingers at a monster. A horrifying monster. It used to be a mean ugly guy but he changed and got big and evil looking, like a T-rex heavy on the claws and teeth. Everyone is fighting for their lives.

The worse part is one of them was his brother and had to get something back for his family. There was so much blood. Everyone was freaked out, especially the guy that killed his brother. It was horrible. By the time you finished talking to Linny, you were shaking and holding yourself. He just kept saying it was only a dream and told you that you would be fine.

You head to classes trying to best to concentrate.

Normally the job of polishing floors is nice. The machine does all of the work, you just change out the heads to clean then polish. The hallways here lead to rooms that have been reset for a large Art show presenting the student’s works. Many of the students are in your way, hauling in stands and setting up displays of their work. You keep looking down, studying the polishing machine. You can’t look at most of the artwork it, reminds you of the monsters you’ve dreamed of, or swords, or there is blood everywhere. What happened to fields of flowers? Paint a bowl of fruit or something bland.

You clock out at 3 am, head back to your room and crash burying yourself under a ton of blankets. One class today then you don’t have to be back to the university until 6pm. You need to hide in your bed. You are mentally exhausted. You need to sleep, so you down some cold medicine and it knocks you out.

Sleep is not kind. You aren’t in the lab, you are in the safety of your own bed. The dreams, okay, nightmares continue. Some girl is missing. Everyone is trying to find her. The Blue Lions leave to find some item and fight monsters, when you come back they found her, some other gal that was missing, and a creepy skeleton looking guy on a horse fought them in the basement. Ugh. You remember that head someone had on a stand in the art class, with the red glowing eyes. At least before you woke up you remember having tea with the blue haired professor and you agreed to join her group. She also gives you nice flowers for your birthday. You wake up just after tea was over.

You’ve never dreamed before. What the hell. You aren’t getting paid to dream at home. You don’t want this. What can of worms have they opened on you? You want your regular dreamless close your eyes, sleep, open them and go again. Not running miles and chasing horrible things and stabbing stuff and getting hurt and bleeding.

After class this morning the library is your destination today. Gotta get some references and info for a class. You stop by a quicky mart on the way. Need coffee. You’re not one of those fancy coffee kids, just creamer and go. You could care less what mountain they grew the coffee on as long as it is caffeine and keeping you awake.

Filling your cup with the elixir of consciousness, you see a girl with purple hair having problems with the whipped cream function of the expensive coffee and creamer dispenser.

You walk up to her. “Hey Bernie, want me to help?”

“Sure.” The girl says still punching buttons.

You fiddle with the machine knowing how temperamental they can be and get plenty of whip cream on top of her coffee.

She looks at me to say thank you, drops her books and screams. “Who are you? I don’t even know you!”

You shove a lid on her cup and put it in her hands. “Take your coffee.” Picking up her books, you stuff them in her arms. You head for the checkout. Your brain is confused too. You don’t know her, but she’s in the dreams and it’s her, Bernadetta.

Heading to the library you pull out your laptop and begin working on a project for class. You keep your head down, concentrate you keep telling yourself, but pieces of the dreams creep up on you every time you try to focus. Writing a few sentences, you click on an arrow on your laptop screen. You remember Bernie shooting arrows and she’s an amazing archer along with Ignatz. They love to paint. You wonder what it would look like if they did something together.

Concentrate. Fingers on the keyboard. The page is filling with text, the project is coming along. You need to find another book for reference. Signing into the library website you search for its location. You find the book and take it back to your seat. Flipping through it you find the section you want. Inside there is a postit note:

“Don’t bother with this. It’s wrong. See…” It lists a book you passed on, thinking this would be better. Perhaps the mysterious postit writer has been through this class and is saving everyone else from the same headaches. Nice. You get up and trade out books. This one does have exactly what you are looking for and your project speeds forward. You flip through the book once you’re finished with its contents and surprise! Another postit. “Bonus: Check out…”

You are enraptured, of course you go to find the next book. It is even better than the last one. The section related to your task has a note. “BTW, don’t quote that last book, Prof hates it. Do this instead. The curious get the rewards!” OMG. This is the greatest stuff. But the game is over, no more notes, you even check behind the last one. It did keep you entertained and focused though, a great help or you may have never finished this.

Saving everything and backing it up onto the cloud you have enough time to toss your stuff into the employee lockers and get your janitorial getup on. Baseball cap and earbuds in, it’s time for 8 hours of cleaning up after everyone else.

Building 3 is the party hub of the campus. At least they cleaned up some of the party decor, floor vents contain no cake, but they still leave a mess. You have to wash down the walls.

About 1:30am a dark haired guy with a ponytail comes in all frazzled asking if I’ve seen a red headed guy passed out somewhere. Nope. We both check the balcony and there he is out on a plastic chair. It is heartbreaker Sylvain.

You ask for help picking him up to get him to a standing position. You tell his buddy to hold him still. Throwing your right shoulder into his crotch you grab his left arm and throw it over your opposite shoulder. Sylvain is now up over your shoulder in a fireman’s carry.

His buddy gets the door and elevator for you. When the door opens there is a wheelchair close by and you dump Sylvain into it.

“How’d you know how to do that?” His friend asks.

“I’ve carried him before.” You answer as you help wheel Sylvain to the car. You help pour him into the front seat and reach over the seatbelt to his friend.

“Good luck. He’s your problem now.” You mutter as you turn around and head back to work.

At least this time he wasn’t bleeding you think. Wait. You’ve carried Sylvain before, during a fight. To get him to safety. That was Felix who came to get him. When you carried him, you were in leather gear and had more muscles. It reminds you of highschool wrestling. You did that for a few years. It felt so right doing that, but this college doesn’t have women’s wrestling, so you left it behind. It was how you got the job in janitorial because you are a female that can lift and move heavy weights, doing it the right way and not getting hurt.

Finishing your shift it is early Sunday morning. You go home, sleep, and dream.

You’re playing chess with Hubert. You’re beating him and he is pissed. He threatens you with cheating, distracting him, etc. You laugh at him. He’s always threatening someone or something.

Byleth comes in and ends the game. You head to a war meeting with the rest of the Black Eagles Strike force. Now that Byleth has returned Edelgard wants to recapture the great bridge at Myrddin.

After the meeting you head out to the training area for magic users. Warming up with a few Thunder spells, you work through Thoron then Bolting. The magic flowing through you feels amazing, you are one with the forces of nature.

You can feel the cold flowing from your fingertips as you cast blizzard at a target. Casting Fimbulvetr you watch as a solid ice grows around and surrounds the target.

Taking a few cleansing breaths, you then cast sagittae, the arrows breaking chunks of ice off of the target. Agnea’s Arrow finally strikes the ice, causing bright flames releasing steam into the area. The ice and target are obliterated.

You feel a good exhaustion come over you. Practice complete, you head to your quarters to complete additional research for some spells you have been working on.

The next moment you are on the bridge, fighting Alliance fighters and a few former classmates. Byleth has you stationed further away from the students, your goal is to take out a number of heavily armored ground troops and clear the way to Judith, leader of the enemy forces. Your fingers spark with electricity as your favorite spells are prepared. You remind yourself to keep your jubilant shrieks to yourself, in the last battle Hubert chastised you for frightening Bernadetta.

You wake up in your bed. This time you are not revulsed by the fighting. It felt thrilling. That scares you more than when you were upset and afraid. Things are so different in this dream. Byleth is a woman. But you’ve seen them before as a man. You know Edelgard was your enemy before, but this time you practically worship the ground she walks on. You remembered the singular focus you had in the dream. Nothing to distract you from your goal. You would forgo sleep, train well into the night.

Why were you playing chess with Hubert? Oh. He had tricked you, saying that chess is training of the mind to think more strategically. You thought he was trying to keep you out of the training grounds for a while. He’s always playing mother hen over everyone, sticking his nose in where it doesn’t belong.

Sitting up in your bed you shake your head. That was not part of the dream. It felt more like a memory. Are these dreams making you delusional now? You would like to get off this mental merry-go-round.

The next two weeks are filled with working nights, classes or sleeping during the day. Your bank account is getting fat. Your brain is not doing so well. Things from your dreams hit you during the day. Stopping at the cafeteria of the college, you look down at your tray of obviously poor choices. Mercedes voice is in your ear, suggesting that you eat more vegetables. You swear you can hear Manuela tell you to put the pie back on the shelf and get brussels sprouts, dark greens are much healthier for you.

You wear hoodies to class now that the weather is getting a bit colder. Tying the hood around your face to block your peripheral vision helps you concentrate on where you are going. Otherwise you feel like you recognize so many people.

Yesterday, while in the cafeteria you ate your oatmeal with extra raisins and apples, less sugar, thank you Marianne, when you heard a male voice over the rest of the throng. You knew it was Ferdinand. He was being boastful and incredibly proud of his stance on the subject, as a noble should be. It had to be him. Gulping down your food you grab your carton of 2% milk and head out the door to take the long way around to class.

Being a lab rat for the psy group seems to be getting easier. It is like you slip into an alternate universe in the past. Everyone there has the right names and faces, while here in the future, most of them don’t know themselves as you do.

Linny gets lazy about writing down everything. He simply records everything on a laptop and someone else can transcribe it. He sits in his chair, folds his arms and drifts off to sleep to the sound of your voice telling of your dreams.

It is getting harder to keep your accounts of what happens in the dreams simple. You know everyone’s names, the weapons, the enemies, the spells. You feel the need to translate them into something that relates to modern equivalents. You are also trying to be careful about revealing just how deep you are into these…are they just dreams? Memories? Recollections?

Finishing your recitation of the dream, Linhardt is asleep again. Linny!! It’s Linny now. You poke him in the ribs where you know he is ticklish, he quickly wakes and demands that you stop. You ask him to unhook the wires so you can head out. Taking your envelope, you head out to the ATM, deposit the cash then get ready for work.

Noting the amount of posters on the walls for the party in Student housing building 3, Claude is going to have a huge mess for you to clean up. Finishing work on the admin building you head over to whatever disaster awaits you after the party.

The common area and meeting room used for the event are not the worst you have seen. They even bagged up most of their trash. Hauling in a huge plastic dumpster on wheels, you load up the bags to make room to maneuver. Wiping down the tables and chairs you stack and move them to make mopping easier.

“Hey, hope things are better this time, Janitor.” Claude announces as he walks into the room.

“It’s nice. Thanks.” You mumble, surprised that he is here.

“I know we left a huge mess before, so I put Hilda in charge of cleanup.” He has that smirky grin on his face. It’s funny how some things never change. He’s still handsome too.

“I bet she was pissed that you’re making her work.” You say without thinking.

“She was.” Claude nods. “You know her?”

“I..uh..know some people in common.” You answer, wiping a table harder. Claude has always been intensely curious and you are now on his radar. Great.

“You look familiar. I can’t recall where I know you from.” Claude’s voice trails off as he puts his hand to his chin and thinks.

“I have pretty common looks. One head, two eyes with bags under them from lack of sleep. Same as most students.”

Claude sits cross-legged on one of the not too dirty tables, making himself at home. He is staring at you, his chin resting on his fist.

You finish the tables and chairs, except for the table that is occupied and sweep the largest chunks from the floor.

“Please tell me you are not majoring in sanitation or building maintenance.” Claude finally speaks.

“I thought you fell asleep.” You shake the broom onto the building pile of crumbs and debris. You answer him, “No.”

“Too simply dressed to be arts. Rocket scientist?” Claude asks, raising an eyebrow. “You hang out in the science and mathematics buildings.”

“Allergic to RP-1.” You answer, sweeping the crud into a dustpan and heading to the janitorial closet for a mop and bucket. As you emerge with your tools, Claude is in the hallway waiting for you.

“Thank you for an engrossing and in depth conversation.” He yawns and stretches his arms. “Next time don’t talk my ear off.”

Giving a happy sigh of relief you finish cleaning and reassembling the room into its standard configuration. Finishing for the night you grab a shower and head home for a nap and a homework filled day.

Sunday night at the gas station starts off with the normal routine. Delivery trucks unloading overpriced snacks, little old ladies holding up the line while they dig out exact change from their purse, kids dumping sodas on the floor. Past midnight the customers are few and far between. The door sounds and you look up from your bookwork. Some guy with messy red hair starts to come in, turns around and yells at whoever is in the car parked outside in the handicapped spot.

He turns around and faces you. First, you see the gun in his hands. Second, you look at his face and see Miklan.

“Hands up, Bitch. Listen or you are fucking dead.” He snarls, waving the gun.

You put your hands in the air alongside your head. A gunshot rings out, you hear the bullet hit the wall behind you, just over your head.

Miklan snickers, “Yup, loaded. Open the fucking cash register then get back.” He orders.

You open the till then push your back into the cigarettes displayed behind you. He climbs on the counter, reaching in the drawer, looking to grab the cash, but still pointing the gun at you. You keep your hands up, moving them in familiar positions as you softly mouth the words.

An incredibly bright flash of light goes off in front of you combined with a near deafening boom. Miklan’s body flies in the air, landing on his back on the floor. The entire store goes dark. The car outside flashes its lights, then backs up, crashing into a gas pump and speeds off.

You grab your cell phone out of your bag, thrilled when the screen lights up. Calling 911, they say they are on the way. In minutes police, a fire truck and ambulance arrive. They let you grab your belongings and take you outside away from the building under a nearby streetlight. You see camera flashes coming from the building as the ambulance hauls a stretcher inside. An officer speaks with you for a while, telling you to relax and saying a lot of nothing. They frequently ask if you are okay. Your voice shakes and you are visibly trembling from the experience.

After almost an hour they make you lock up the building (minus one Miklan) and take you to the station for questioning. You call your employer while riding in the car. They will handle the store, they are happy you are alive. Take off the rest of the week with full pay.

At the police station you tell them what happened. He came in, shot the gun, you opened the drawer and while he was taking the money something electrical must have happened because there was an electric flash and the whole building went dark. You try to describe the car that was parked outside. You never got a look at the driver.

The police thank you for your cooperation, giving you a cup of coffee, a Danish, and a ride home. You head up the stairs to your apartment and unlock the door. Turning on the light you notice an unmarked envelope on the floor. Nervously you open it. Inside is a slip of paper that says:

“We need to talk. -B.”

You fall onto your bed. You know the handwriting. Its them. Byleth is here, now. There is nothing else on the paper. No phone number. You have no idea what to do next. The only thing you can think of doing is wait. Since it is 3am, you may as well try to sleep. For seeing a dead body for the first time in this life, you are more relaxed about it than you feel you should be.

You wake up to your phone announcing a text message. You sit up and see you have 3 unread messages from an unknown number. You take a deep breath.

[8:00] Hey

[8:05] Wake up

[8:07] Wakey, wakey

I’m up. [8:07]

[8:08] Blue Prius outside, get in and take a ride

Every alarm in your head is going off telling you that this is a bad idea.

Give me a couple minutes to get ready. [8:08]

Stepping outside there is the Prius. As you arrive you open the door to see a huge man hunched over the wheel. He is so large part of him is in your seat. You close the door as you wonder how he got into the car in the first place. You move his elbow away to put on your seatbelt.

“Heya pal.” He says.

“Balthus?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

“The one and only.” He smirks and hits the gas so hard you fly back in your seat.

He takes you downtown. You are glued to the seast, white knuckled, hanging on to the door handle as he drives like a maniac. You can’t say anything because your heart is in your throat. He suddenly stops in front of a large, unmarked brick building with a 16 above the door.

“Go on ahead, it’s going to take me a while to get out of here. Elevator is through the doors, fourth floor.” Balthus grunts as he opens the door and begins to unfold himself to get out of the tiny car.

As you step up to the door you hear it unlock. Going inside there is no doorman, no security, simply a hallway that leads to the elevator. Punching the up button, you wait. Checking your phone there are no new texts. The doors open and you go inside, hitting the 4thfloor button. You are shaking with excitement, nervousness, dread and who knows what else. As the doors open, they reveal an elegant and very tasteful office setting. Behind a high counter you can’t recognize the person sitting there until they stand up and smile widely at you, holding out his hand.

“Hi. Just call me Gavin. I’m sure you know me as-“

“Gatekeeper!” You gasp and laugh, shaking his hand warmly.

He hits a button on the desk and a voice on the intercom responds, “Okay.”

The door on the other side of the room clicks and opens.

“You can head on in now.” Gavin gestures to the slightly open door.

You walk to the other side of the reception desk and the door is open to a richly wood paneled hallway. The door on the other end of this hall opens as you approach. You pull the door the rest of the way open, stepping in to see Byleth sitting in a large comfortable office chair and Yuri partially seated on the top of the desk on the opposite side.

“Welcome to the fold.” Yuri holds his arms out wide.

You rush over to give him a huge hug, like you would any dear friend. Because he was? Is? You’re not sure, but you hug him anyway.

“I’m sure you have many questions.” Byleth folds his hands on his desk and looks at you, waiting for your response.

“I don’t get a hug?” You ask, holding your arms out.

Byleth stands and steps around the desk and hugs you, then looks down at you. “I apologize. I am not certain what you know and what you remember.”

“A lot. This is going to take a while.” You answer. “Can we drop the formal setting and sit somewhere comfy? With you behind the desk it’s like we’re back in school.”

“I’ll get us some coffee.” Yuri offers. “Cream only, right?”

“Yup.” You chime as Byleth leads you to an overstuffed corner couch in front of large windows that offer a great view of the city. You take a seat at one end and take your coffee, placing it on the end table next to you. Yuri and Byleth sit beside each other on the other end.

“So you two are together this time?” You ask.

“Yeah.” Yuri smiles as he takes Byleth’s hand in his own.

“Awesome. My favorite.” You nod.

“Just how much do you remember?” Yuri asks, tilting his head.

“I remember fighting alongside each of the houses. If I was not in the house when Byleth led them, they recruited me. Byleth was a male once, a female twice. Three times altogether.” You begin, then frown. “Strange. None of them are like the history books.

Yuri and Byleth look at each other for what seemed like a long time. Yuri bends over and hits a button on the telephone on the table.

“Gavin, order lunch to be brought in and make reservations for dinner. Cancel any remaining appointments for today. Thanks”

“Okay. Start from the beginning. Let’s say Blue Lions. What is your first memory with them?”

“I was staying at an inn, Remire Village. I just made it to the dining area and was stuffing my face full of food when Jeralt comes in all pissed off because these kids show up and they’re in trouble.” You begin. They let you keep talking. Yuri tents his fingers at times, mostly sits back sipping his coffee.

Byleth is spellbound as you begin. He stares into your face like he is reliving your memories with you. Well, they did live them with you. They were your best friend.

You tell them of the battle with Miklan, finding Flayn, Remire, the fall of Jeralt, the defeat of Solon, the battle of Garreg Mach, the five years of being without Byleth, reuniting for the Millennium festival, Dimitri’s madness, the battle at the bridge and Dedue’s return, the nightmare that was Gronder, Merceus and Enbarr.

You then go silent. You look at Yuri and Byleth. You grimace for a moment.

“BylethmarriedDimitri.” You cough into your hand. “I don’t remember much after that.”

Byleth sits back on the couch. “Fascinating.”

“You never told me that-“ Yuri begins to say until Byleth gives him a look that obviously says now is not the time for this.

A beep sounds from the telephone.

“Time for lunch.” Byleth says as he stands up.

You leave through a different door and are led to a dining room. The food smells delicious.

Over lunch you begin your questioning. “Okay, so was this all real? I know you merged with Sothis and everything, convenient to leave that out of the history books, but this actually happened? It’s not just dreams. I began to remember while dreaming, then it moved on to remembering while I was awake. The memories flooded my brain like a tidal wave.”

“Yes. It was real. It did happen. Several times.” Byleth answers you without hesitation.

“You kept reliving that part of your life over and over until you arrived at the best solution? That is fucking amazing. Hawking would've loved it.” You shake your head in near disbelief. “You were the archbishop, but the church isn’t around any more. I guess you just let that go away on its own. What are you doing now?”

Yuri comments about how well the meat is spiced and that they should order this dish again. You interpret this as new subject time.

“There was no mention of dragons or Agarthans in the history books. Did that happen?” You ask quietly.

Byleth nods, “Yes. It did. It was a fantastic combined effort to take them down. We agreed it was best left unwritten.”

The food is quite delicious. You try to think of more pleasant things to talk or ask about, your head spinning with this revelation before you.

“Who else remembers?”

“Just you.” Yuri answers.

“You gotta be shitting me.” Your jaw drops nearly to the table.

“Only you.” Byleth nods.

“Is anyone else supposed to remember?” You’re happy about these two, but you also hoped to speak to a few others. Reminisce about old times? Something like that.

Yuri explains, “Well, in the past we tried a few times, reincarnation is a thing actually. Most of you appear close to the same time. We had tried different ways of bringing through their memories. The problem was that when some remembered they mentally crashed. Now with counseling and medications being as advanced as they are we thought we would try again.”

“So then I volunteer to be a lab rat and something clicked…” Your voice drifts off as you recall the early dreams. .

Yuri continues, “When we read the reports of your dreams we were very excited. What we weren’t’ prepared for is how quickly it awoke the memories in you. We had no idea how you would respond.”

“You are a secretive creature, keeping mostly to yourself.” Byleth nods.

“We’ve been spying on you here and there.” Yuri grins. “You are so damn boring. Anyway, hiring you at the university made it easier to eavesdrop on your conversations.”

“What about the gas station incident.” You have a puzzled look on your face.

“That was all you.” Byleth shakes his head. “We had no idea that you could retain so much knowledge that you could actually cast spells. Crests have pretty much faded from existence. There are probably a few flickers here and there but nothing manifesting.”

You head back to the comfy couch, a fresh cup of coffee in hand. “So what now?”

“Well you can go on with your best life. You can work with us. What do you want to do?” Byleth shrugs. “We want to give your soul some closure. Maybe to be able to move on? Not like some creepy ghost or anything.”

Yuri winks, “Hey what about your love life? Do you remember much about it?”

You scrunch your face remembering what a mess it was. “Yes, I do. Ugh. I fell for Claude but had no chance because of supersexy female Byleth. I chased after Felix who was a good friend, but he was in love with Sylvain for forever. Then omg, can’t believe I am saying this, Hubert, and well, he was all over Ferdinand.”

They both look at you with a slight frown.

“I don’t know what order Byleth went through the different houses. I never remembered from one experience to the next. Now that I remember them all, I can certainly see what I didn’t before. A whole lot of ‘love is blind’ going on. Wanting something so much you can’t see the signs blocking your way.”

“How about now?” Yuri has that sly look about him. What a gossip.

“Working two jobs trying to pay for college and not be buried in debt, I have not dated. Ever.” You shrug. “It isn’t fair to someone else, we would have almost no time together. I work nights 7 days a week then school and homework. There is no time to breathe or eat, much less look for love.”

“Well, Byleth is unavailable.” Yuri moves a bit closer to him to assert his ownership. “You know Claude is quite curious about you, ‘Janitor’.” He taunts.

You roll your eyes. “What part of my life don’t you spy on?”

The three of you talk about fond memories, precious victories, even recalling a few of the tragic events.

“So you’ve poked a hole in my brain and all of my memories are out. What would you like to see me do? Wow. I feel like I just dropped a card into the Advice Box.” You laugh.

Byleth, who loved to answer these, sits up. “You should finish your degree and get your Masters.”

“Masters?” You groan, “I am dying right now, you want more? Degree, Masters, required internships and I’m already behind not being able to take things on full boat. I’ll be graduating when I’m 40.”

“Well, there’s a scholarship you may be interested in.” Yuri has his sneaky sneak face on. “You qualify of course. Pays for your schooling, housing, and monthly stipend. Funded by the Eisner foundation. Very private lot they are. More of a don’t call us, we’ll call you kind of group.”

You fall back onto the couch in shock. “W-why are you doing this?” trying to choke back tears.

“The usual.” He drawls. “Finally being able to catch up with old friends. Thank them for everything they’ve done. We would not be here without you. Hoping maybe you want to hang out with us. Maybe awaken a few others?”

“This is all beyond belief.” You shake your head. “If you asked me six months ago that I would be here with you two, talking over past lives. Wow. Do Seteth and Flayn come and visit?”

“They’re around.” Yuri gestures just vaguely enough to let you know yes, but that is not readily available information at this time.

“You are not planning on forming a vigilante superhero group or something weird like that are you?” You frown.

Yuri pouts. “You don’t want to be Lightning Lady or the silver bolt?”

“No.” you answer resolutely. “Masks freak me out these days. You should’ve seen some of the stuff in the art show. Made the Death Knight look like a fairy princess.”

Byleth stands. “We deserve a great dinner, care to join us at Dedue’s?”

“He’s here? Cooking? You bet!” You realize this is the beginning of something amazing.

[sellyoursoulforagoodfic]

Shelbys at Somme Chapter 15

Thomas X Reader

Word Count: 1950

Summary: Evidence. A little stab in the heart. Two idiots missing the point.

by @adventuresintooblivion

Thomas huffed into the cold night air. The family meeting that Aunt Pol had called ran late. As time ticked on his mind had begun to wander, it wasn’t until Arthur had smacked him with a newspaper that he’d realized he was shaking the table by bouncing his leg.

“So anxious to get out of here are ya?” Aunt Pol raised her eyebrow.

Arthur playfully elbowed him, “He’s just excited to get to that nice warm bed at the Garrison with what’s her face.”

Aunt Pol let her gaze bore through the younger Shelby brother, “Would that be Grace or Y/N?”

“While it’s not any of your business, I’m not sleeping with either of them,” Thomas growled as he shoved Arthur aside. “Why do you have that sour look on your face, Pol?”

She folded her arms, the matter at hand forgotten, “That Grace girl, I don’t trust her.”

John peeked up from a ledger, “You don’t like any girl that comes and tries to take your boys away.”

“That’s not true,” Aunt Pol sniffed. 

Thomas rolled his eyes, “So if I asked Y/N to marry me tomorrow you’d be fine with it?”

“As a matter of fact, I won’t be opposed to it.”

Silence fell over the room. It hung heavy in the air as future possibilities began to unfold in the minds of various Shelbys. But Thomas didn’t let himself dream, he wouldn’t. 

“Speaking of Y/N, I hope she doesn’t mind if we steal you for a night.” Arthur stood to slap Thomas on the shoulder.

He raised his eyebrow, “What on earth for?” 

“Well, John over there has been planning a heist for a long while, and he’s too nervous to bring it up himself.”

“Hey!”

“And we figured you should give it a quick looking over.”

Thomas glanced over at John curiously, “Alright, I’m all ears.”

〜

Grace and Y/N lay against the cold stone for hours. The clock ticked by in that warped way brought along by discomfort. Hours passed in moments, but, more often than not, it slowed to a crawl. Each shift brought a new source of cold waiting eagerly to seep into their bones. Each breath conjured small puffs of steam before their lips.

It wasn’t until morning that boots crunched through the gravel drive outside. Henry shivered against the cold of the morning. While snow refused to fall, ice still formed in the mud outside the Garrison. Fog hung low in the air as it rolled off the Cut, and, quite frankly, Henry found himself wishing for summer.

Distracted, he hurriedly shoved his key into the lock. It gave too easily. At first he didn’t register anything amiss, but soon his tired mind caught up. Something was wrong. The door swung open revealing a gaping hole of darkness that seemed to yawn open in the stark morning light. 

He took a deep breath fidgeting with the lock. “Grace? Are you in here?” His voice cracked.

The creak of the grimy wood floor was the only answer. He glanced around quickly, starting when his boot squished in a small muddy footprint. He licked his lips.

“This isn’t funny Grace! You know I like a clean floor.”

All he heard was the soft hiss of the radiator. Finally, he looked around. The scent of stale beer and sweat assaulted his nose, quickly leading him to the source. Several buckets of excess stout still waited to be taken out. A thin film coated the bar, pretty typical for the end of a night. But now?

“This place is too bloody dark,” he said to himself in a singsong voice. He wasn’t sure if it made him feel better, but it helped fill the heavy darkness. He wracked his brain for where he’d put matches. The backroom. 

Henry rushed forward, tripping over a chair in his eagerness for light. He felt out wildly for the rough wood. His hand collided with the dense slab with a loud THUD. Shaking the handle, it refused to budge.

“Shit. Again?” He fumbled for his keys

“Henry?”

“Y/N? Is Grace in there with you? She was supposed to lock up and the place is a bloody disaster.”

“Yeah…”

Henry grumbled to himself, “Of course. You girls been in there all night?”

He cycled through several keys, cursing all the while. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the door creaked open. Immediately, Henry was assaulted by cold air.

There he found Grace and Y/N huddled together between kegs. Grace’s blonde hair hung limply, her clothes wrinkled, but what stood out the most were her blue lips and pale skin.

Henry stumbled forward, “Christ, is she ok?”

Y/N shrugged in an attempt to hide a shiver. “Dunno, but we need to get out of here.” She stood on wobbly knees. Henry waved her away when she tried to help and soon both women were upstairs beneath blankets.

“Well, I guess I”ll just have to do without my barmaid today. You two stay up here and warm up. Keep an eye on her, alright?”

Y/N nodded as she absently put a kettle on the stove. 

“Do you want me to call Mr. Shelby?” he asked, setting Grace’s bag by the bed, having found it behind the bar.

“No, I’m gonna hop into bed with her, heat her up. Besides, there’s not much he could do. But you might want to get the window downstairs fixed.”

“Window?”

Y/N settled onto the bed, “The one in the backroom. It’d popped off its hinges. We tried to close it, but it wouldn’t budge.”

Henry shook his head. “Damn, alright. If you need anything I’ll be downstairs. And make sure Grace is up and about soon. I… Don’t feel like hiring another girl in this mess.” 

“Aww, you like her,” Y/N grinned.

“She works hard and is easy on the eyes,” he waved her off. “You can’t beat that on this side of town.”

“Mhmm. Go, get. If Tommy asks, try not to freak him out.”

The informality earned her a raised eyebrow but only silence answered. After last night she definitely wasn’t going to complain. She readjusted Grace’s blanket, the top of her bag coming into view. 

There was a pull, a gravity towards that bag, that little primal part of her brain that needed to uncover secrets. It wasn’t proper. But since when have I been proper? Y/N glanced towards Grace before reaching for the leather handles. 

Inside, she found several things that were pretty typical; however, a metal glint caught her attention. She’d already committed to the act of snooping, so she reached in to see. Her heart grew cold as her hand closed around a familiar sensation. She pulled out a small gun. 

Y/N’s hand began to shake. She had proposed the idea of Grace working with Inspector Campbell months ago. Gently, she set the gun down before continuing to rifle through the small bag. While the Garrison was in a rough part of town, it didn’t warrant a gun, did it?

It wasn’t long before her hand closed around a small metal object. She already knew what it was before she laid eyes on it, but that didn’t stop her. A badge. Fuck.

Grace shifted beneath the covers. Y/N quickly shoved the badge and gun where she found them. Her heart tried to beat out of her chest as she swung the purse to the foot of the bed, barely preventing it from colliding with the foot post.

Moments after her hand released the straps, the sound of feet pounding up the steps echoed through the hallway. Every instinct inside her told her to recoil, to hide what she’d done. She forced herself to turn toward Grace and not fidget as Thomas stormed into the room. Grace jumped, sleepily rolling towards the door.

“Hey Tommy,” Y/N said as calmly as she could. There’s a gun less than a foot from me.

“Are you two alright?” he asked. “Henry told me what happened.”

She rolled her eyes, “I told him not to freak you out.”

He stared at her like she’d grown a second head, “Is there a nice way to tell someone two people almost froze to death?”

“Eh, you’re just frazzled cause it’s us.” The color drained from his face as he stared down at them. Y/N grimaced. “I’ll try not to hit the nail so much on the head next time.”

Grace slowly sat up, seemingly unaware of what the others were saying. “We got out?”

“Yeah, Henry found us this morning. How’re you feeling?” Y/N reached out to brush her fingers over Grace’s skin. It was still cooler than she’d have liked, but miles better compared to only a few minutes ago.

She instinctively leaned into Y/N’s warm touch, “I can’t believe we survived the night.” 

Y/N froze, trying to figure out a way to tell Grace to shut the hell up. She didn’t get the chance to before Thomas closed the distance between them. He leaned forward to investigate Grace’s condition, falling back into that leadership role he found himself in way too often.

In his haste, his elbow pushed into Y/N’s hip, forcing her to scramble onto her feet before she was shoved off the bed. She cast a glare at him before her eyes landed on Grace’s purse.

She’s working for Campbell. The words almost pried themselves from her lips as she watched Thomas fuss over Grace. Then he brushed his thumb over Grace’s lower lip.

“Are you alright, Love?” His voice was soft, tender and sweet. The same voice he’d use under the cover of night when he and Y/N were alone. Except now, it wasn't for her.

She’d known this was happening, and, yet, it didn’t stop the dagger from ripping through her heart. It didn’t save her stomach from dropping through the floor. She whirled around, looking for something, anything, to distract her from what was happening. The teapot had started to scream.

She busied herself with making tea, even though stupidly, most of it consisted of waiting. Y/N found her fingers tapping on the counter, reciting her mother’s words about never stirring steeping tea. Someone cleared their throat, causing her to jump.

“Did you hear me?” Thomas asked.

“No, Shelby I didn’t hear you.” 

Thomas frowned. “I’m ‘Shelby’ now?”

Y/N shook her head, finally facing him, “Sorry, what did you say?”

“I was asking if you were alright.”

She glanced at Grace who was looking about the room, “As good as I can be, I guess.”

“Y/N, if this bothers you, all you have to do is say something.” He gestured towards the bed. 

“Oh, so I need to ask for your attention now?” Y/N couldn’t keep the venom from her voice. 

“You never indicated that-.”

“I never said I didn’t want to. I only said that I wouldn’t be… You know what? Now is not the time for this conversation.” Y/N rubbed her eyes. “We have to talk anyway.”

She paused. Y/N had told Aunt Pol about Grace but she had intentionally kept the information from Thomas. If she told him now it was as good as lying to him. He wouldn’t care that she didn’t have proof before, or that it could’ve gotten an innocent woman killed. His only concern would be her divided loyalties between him and her conscience.  

“How about the races? Later this week?” She glanced up at him, hoping his love of horses would win over his curiosity. 

He seemed to consider before finally nodding, “Wednesday?”

“Wednesday.”

[nyxdelanuit]

Please Let Me Take You Ch 1

Here is the start of my BakugouxReaderxKirishima fic!

Warning: NSFW, Cheating, Mentions of Injuries, Drinking

Summary:

You were the fiancee of one of the Top Five Heroes- Bakugou Katsuki. Like all things, he was passionately devoted to your relationship as long as it didn't get in the way of his hero work. And hero work is why he hasn't been home in days, why you only see him for quick, kinda uncomfortable sex every once in a while, and why you aren't able to move closer to a place that has a job in your field. Yeah, that has to be it. He's just a really good hero. Like your best friend Ochako's husband... who is home every night doting on his pregnant wife...

No matter, you won't be that clingy girlfriend. It was just a settling-in phase. You'll just grin and bear it, and it will all work out, right?

Until then, maybe you could make a few more friends while you waited for Katsuki to come home.

A03 PLMTY MASTERLIST

It was another night of watching him on your television. How high and mighty he looked, snapping at the reporters huddled around him. Although he sounded angry, the pride and haughty tone he held said differently. You muted the report, unwilling to listen to him talk down to his pandering masses any longer. It wasn’t a surprise, he had warned you from the first date that his work took preference. What you didn’t expect was how you now felt like a guest in your own home.

You felt like you were barely there, existing. Melting into the decorations-none of which were yours. You had moved in with Katsuki Bakugou six months ago, although you had been together for almost five years. Your head rested on your hand as you glanced over your living room, sparse and designer. It looked more like a showroom than anything. Why wouldn’t it, no one was ever home to live in it. A glint of red caught your eye, prompting you to look at the extravagant ring nestled on your finger, sharp points tugging on your skin.

He proposed a few months ago in this very living room, not that many people even knew you existed. You were a blank face in the eyes of the public, “Ground Zero’s Fiancee.” No name, no pictures, just sparse mentions every few months when some cocky reporter decided to dig into Katsuki’s personal life. You would be a liability if people knew who you were, he said, and like always you gritted your teeth and nodded along. It was all part of the package for dating a hero and not being one yourself. You wondered if he would even make it home tonight.

Maybe you were being too harsh on him, but it was hard not to think about how different your life was now compared to when you first met him.

You were 23 when you met him, in a new town, working towards a new degree. You didn’t have time for anything besides your studies. No new friends, no new hobbies, just your head stuck in a book. You were skimming over the material you needed for the day’s classes as you stumbled off of the train and onto the sidewalks. He had been out of his hero costume, but people still moved out of his way as he strolled along. Except you, too busy to notice.

You ran headfirst into his chest but he didn’t budge. You simply looked up with a glower, straightening out any papers that bent during your collision. With usual Katsuki grace, he scoffed down at you.

“Most normal people apologize when they run into someone.” You sneered at the boy, causing his eyes to widen. The two of you would bicker for the next ten minutes until you noticed the time and ran off, not even dignifying the angry boy with an explanation. You had, however, left without some of your documents.

It was a lucky break for him that the papers you left had been for a resume. Your name, phone number, and address were printed neatly in the corner. That’s how he found you that night, waiting outside your apartment building as you drug yourself in from a long day. You remembered his smirk as he talked to you.

“You really don’t know who I am, do you?” You shook your head.

“Why, are you supposed to be famous?” He let out a bark of a laugh.

”Let me treat you to dinner and I’ll let you know.” An answer wasn’t expected, he had already turned to walk off, motioning for you to follow.

The following years were filled with precious memories. If they hadn’t been, you think you would have already left. Every time you thought of leaving, you remembered the times Katsuki would show up in the middle of the night. Sometimes he just wanted to be next to you, laying on your chest with your hands in his hair. Other times he came still bleeding from a recent attack. You lost count of how many nights you had sat on the edge of your bathtub stitching shut the gashes and cleaning the scrapes. Even the seldom times he introduced you to his friends were precious memories for you. You don’t know how you could have survived this relationship without the unwavering support of Mina and Ochako. Even Kaminari had grown on you in time. What would you do without them now?

All you had was a cold, empty house, a degree that was little more than another frame on the wall, and fewer friends than you could count on one hand.

You turned your attention back to the television. Katsuki wouldn’t be home any time soon if the attack you were watching was live. This meant you had two options: Sit at home to wait diligently for your fiance to return and hope he doesn’t crash at the office, or leave and do something with yourself. The choice seemed easy to you now, the house seemed to be closing in on you. Your fingers flew over your phone screen, sending a swift message before you flew out the front door.

Ochako opened her door at your first knock. She tried enthusiastically to hug you, but it was pretty difficult for her to maneuver around her distended stomach. Katsuki didn’t necessarily like you being so close to Mrs. Midoriya, but she was one of the few people you could talk to candidly about your life with the pro-hero. He liked it even less after her pregnancy announcement, complaining that it was only another thing Midoriya had beaten him to. You honestly thought the whole rivalry was a bit one-sided and childish, but he wouldn’t hear of it.

Of course, after learning that and being recently engaged, Katsuki had convinced you that the two of you should try. You weren’t sure if you were happy that he hadn’t been home at the right time for you to fall pregnant or not. Just another drop in the bucket of things that hadn’t been going right.

You shook yourself from your thoughts, you came here with the intent to leave your thoughts of Katsuki at home. Ochako deserved more than to be your emotional dumping ground, even if the two of you would end up speaking on it eventually. You let yourself be ushered into Ochako’s home, curling up on your regular spot on the couch while Ochako brought you tea. You knew that Ochako needed these moments as much as you did, she wasn’t taking her long maternity leave very well.

“So, Y/N, what brings you to my humble abode today?” She had a grin hidden behind her teacup as she sipped. You sighed, tangling your free hand into your hair and letting your head rest in your palm.

“The usual, I’m tired of sitting at home when I know Katsuki won’t be home half the night.” You blew a piece of hair from your face. “Plus I figured my favorite momma-to-be could use a little distraction.” You smirked right back at her, joining in on her good-natured chuckle. The two of you often commiserated on feeling like useless dolls, sitting at home and looking pretty until their big strong men came home. You, from the lack of a job close enough to commute to in your field, and Ochako from her forced vacation. If the worry for her unborn child wasn’t in the equation, you were sure she’d still be out in the field working rescue missions.

Alas, one of the things that Katsuki and Izuku shared was their unwavering stubbornness when it came to their girls. God knows how many times you had tried to convince Katsuki that moving to a slightly less affluent neighborhood would only increase his commute by a few minutes, but open plenty of doors for you career-wise. At least Ochako’s issue had a time limit.

“So how much longer until you pop?” Ochako rolled her eyes, you had a habit of comparing her to a balloon since you had first met. You had wondered if she lost control of her quirk if she would just float up into the atmosphere, joining all the lost balloons tumbling in the wind. Izuku had gone quite pale at your ramblings, and it took her a few weeks to calm him after.

Her hand roamed her stomach, stopping if she felt the pressure of a small hand or foot pressing up against the heat of her hand. “It shouldn’t be much longer now, probably a month or so.” She had a sweet smile on her face, and you were sure that motherhood would agree with her, “Izuku finished the nursery a few days ago, just in case I go early. Knowing him though, I think our baby will stay cooped up as long as they can.” You giggled in response, thinking back fondly on the days you spent here when Izuku had the day off. Ochako could barely get him out of bed before noon, and he would wander the house wrapped in a quilt for a few hours after. It was always a stark contrast to his energy when he was out in public, and you wondered how he would fare when his late mornings were interrupted by their child’s cries. At least he would be there. You wondered if Katsuki would return home more often if you were pregnant…

Ochako had placed her hand on yours, squeezing softly. You had talked with her before about this and you had no want or energy to talk about it again. “Wanna get dinner?” You said instead. She nodded her head, giving you a soft smile before shuffling to her feet. You waited at the door for your friend, allowing her time to get herself ready around her bump.

The plus side of having pro-hero friends were being able to get into fancy restaurants or hero-specific clubs. With a flash of her hero’s license, or more likely just by her status, and you two could be shuffled into a private room or exclusive bar. Ochako complained about not being able to wander around to smaller mom and pop shops anymore, but you much preferred this to the few times you had been ambushed by her or Katsuki’s fans.

This was one of the more low-key places Ochako favored. Instead of full private rooms, the booth had a sheer curtain separating you from the main area. Plus it had copious amounts of baked goods and Ochako’s sweet tooth had not been tempered by her pregnancy. She always seemed to glow when she bit into a particularly good danish or Mille crepe. You had let her take over the conversation, naturally swaying towards her growing excitement and impatience to have her child. Although you weren’t sure if or when you’d be okay with having a kid with Katsuki, you were overjoyed for your friend. Plus you were damned determined to be the best auntie to her kid, that was at least one thing you could do.

Ochako’s phone chimed as she was alternating between munching on a raspberry danish and debating if snaps or zippers were better on onesies. You had no idea. She glanced at her phone quickly, shoving the remainder of the treat into her mouth. You stifled a giggle, the raspberry filling had smeared across her cheek in her hastiness. “C’mon, Y/N, we’ve got plans.” Her eyes lit up with excitement. You let yourself be pulled from the booth, but quickly stopped Ochako to clean off her face.

“Alright, what’s the plan?” You huffed as the crisp fall air hit your face. “I just got a message from Mina, she wants to meet up tonight.” You perked up a bit at that, it was never a bad night with Mina around. Plus Mina was bound to be out much later than Ochako.

The club Mina sent you was a bit farther from home than you went on your own. You always wanted to be nearby in case Katsuki came home, but you couldn’t find yourself caring tonight. Ochako led you to a discreet door, manned by an aloof looking guy dressed in dark, muted colors. Ochako flashed her hero license and he nodded sharply, grabbing the door. She grabbed your hand, tugging you along after her, and you released a breath when the security guy only looked you over instead of stopping you.

There were a lot of familiar faces in the small club. It was getting pretty dark outside, and the night scene was starting to come alive. If you hadn’t been with Katsuki for so long, you may have been a little starstruck at the heroes walking around casually. You were a little desensitized, dating one of the top five and being besties with another’s wife. Ochako had wandered to the bar, ordering herself a kiddie cocktail to make herself feel included. You had found this extremely adorable, watching her fidget with the cocktail umbrella. You hadn’t gotten a word out to the bartender before you were nearly bowled over by an inebriated Kaminari.

“Y/N~” he whined, nuzzling his head into your chest. “We missed you, you never come out.” He came to his senses momentarily, removing himself from you and scanning the crowd for an angry blonde coming at him. Once he was content that Bakugou wouldn’t show up out of the crowd and set off an explosion in his face, he returned to your chest with a satisfied sigh. “Oh, Minari… never change. Actually, please do.” You chuckled, extracting yourself from his grasp. Mina and Sero followed soon after, much more sober than their friend. Mina gently pushed Kaminari away.

“Come on, you horndog. You’re taking my spot.” Her serious facade faded as she jumped to you, repeating Kaminari’s actions and burying her face in your chest. You wrapped your arms around Mina while Kaminari pouted. He flung himself onto Sero’s shoulder.

“How are we supposed to get any cute girls when Mina keeps stealing them?” He looked up to his friend for support but Sero just shrugged.

“I think Bakugou had dibs on this one before Mina.” He grinned widely. You were starting to feel more like yourself surrounded by these idiots you called friends. Going out was definitely the right choice tonight. You squirmed in Mina’s hold, getting her arms around your waist as you finally ordered from the bar. You took your drink with a quick thanks and sipped slowly as Mina dragged you to their table. Kaminari had already abandoned the group, looking to sway some new hero into his bed. As usual, you doubted he would convince anyone.

A few drinks later and your group had a good collective buzz. Kaminari was still going hard out on the floor, desperately trying to get anyone to dance with him. Ochako lived vicariously through her friends as she babied her virgin drink. The drinks were finally loosening you up to complain about your current predicament, and Mina was encouraging you to no end.

“That douchenozzle!” She keened, “If you were my girl, I’d have you on my arm at all times, and I’d come home every night.” She leaned over the table licking her bottom lip slowly. You laughed off her bold attempt at flirting, knowing that she would never take you from her friend. Although at this point, her offer did seem a bit enticing. Sero was little help with commiseration.

“I mean, it’s Bakugou. We were all really surprised he even had a girlfriend.” He shrugged. Ochako nodded along sadly. You shrugged in return.

“Enough about my problems, why don’t you guys reminisce about high school so I can hear more embarrassing stories.” You waved them off, taking a long swig of your drink.

Ochako called it a night after a few stories. You offered to return with her, but she insisted you stay.

“I’m pregnant, not disabled. I can get home just fine.” You pouted at her, still not sure if you should stay.

“You sure?” She nodded, smiling back at you.

“You need to get out like this. And I need to go to bed. It’s tiring growing a whole person.” She giggled again, and you walked her to the door. After a quick hug, you watched her settle into her car before rejoining your friends. It seems that Kaminari had finally given up the chase, instead choosing to lay his head upon the table, half-awake. You came up and ran a hand through his hair, enjoying the way the static made it cling to your hand.

You would never have been able to do this if Katsuki was here. You had been starting to wonder if you were actually happy with Katsuki, even outside the issues with his hero work. You would have to think about it another time when you weren’t on the verge of being drunk.

Now that Ochako had left, Mina had no qualms about dragging your group to the dance floor. Another drink had you in the right mood to lose yourself to the bass. It felt like time had both stopped and went by so quickly. The small club was packed with heroes and their friends, bodies pressed up against each other. You had lost sight of your friends, but you weren’t too concerned. Mina had ways to find you if she needed to.

You felt arms encircle your waist, a feather-light touch. It must not have been Kaminari or Mina, because this person was letting you move from their touch if you wished. You felt a little rebellious and let them keep their hands there. They swayed with you to the music, not invading your space any further. You turned around in their grasp, meeting bright red eyes. It threw you off for a second, but you recovered quickly. You quickly motioned to the bar and made a drink motion, mouthing sorry. You wormed your way from the crowd, catching your breath as you made your way to the bar.

Another drink in your hand, you sat at the table. You took a hearty sip, not knowing when the next time you were going to be able to enjoy a night out was. Might as well enjoy it to your fullest.

The clearing of someone’s throat was the only warning you had before the guy from the dancefloor seated himself across from you. He smiled brightly at you, looking a little nervous.

“Sorry if I scared you back there. You just looked like you were having fun and I’m kind of new around here.” You quickly set your drink down, waving your hand at him.

“Oh no, it’s totally okay.” Poor dude, of course, had no idea what was going through your head tonight. You had a chance to take a good look at him now, and the red eyes were the only thing he shared with Katsuki. His hair was black and fell to his shoulders. Choppy bangs hung down to his nose, almost entirely obscuring his eyes from your view. His grin was sharp, and you wondered if he had some sort of shark quirk. He pushed the hair back from his right side, showing his glowing red eye and a thin scar trailing through his eyebrow.

“Kirishima Eijirou.” He introduced himself, sticking a hand out to you. You returned the gesture and gave him your name. He twisted your hand gently in his grip, showing off the heavy ring- still a bit too gaudy for your taste. “Looks like you have a lucky guy on your hands.” He grinned at you, letting your hand go. “I hope he doesn’t mind that I danced with you.” The way he rubbed his neck reminded you briefly of Kaminari.

“Oh no, it’s fine- I mean he is a hothead- but he’s not here.” You were babbling over your words. “An innocent mistake, I’m sure. I won’t tell if you won’t.” His smile widened and he nodded. “So, uh, you’re new around here?” He hummed in affirmation.

“Yeah, I’m just getting back into the hero scene. I had to take some time off.” You nodded politely.

“I really think that more heroes should take more time off for themselves and their families.” You hadn’t meant for that to sound so bitter, but Kirishima just laughed.

“Not a hero then?” You shook your head meekly.

“My quirk is barely worth mentioning.” You shrugged.

“Well, it wasn’t exactly my choice to take a break.” You leaned in closer, not expecting your bitter tone to be mirrored back at you. He noticed you are interested and let out a defeated chuckle. “I got too full of myself for my own good. It was right at the start of my hero career, straight out of high school.” You sipped on your drink, enthralled in the story already. “I had picked an agency with my best friend. Well, he was my best friend at least, I’m not sure he even considered me a friend at that point. Anyways, he’s got a real bad temper, set off by everything. We were on our first big job as sidekicks, not really ready for it if I’m honest. We end up losing the guy we were following. He goes berserk, scaring all the civilians around us- and get this- the guy we lost? Wasn’t as far as we thought. Now he knows heroes are tailing him and it’s turning into an all-out brawl. The guy had a lot more people on his side than we thought, and we were only supposed to be doing recon. This guy was just a pawn in a larger operation, and now it would take months to track down the main branch. This only sets off my friend more. Sure, we get the guy we were tailing, but there was no way we could have restrained all of the others that had run. So he’s still going off, and I’m trying to be a bro. I was known by our friends as the only one that was able to handle him. And then I go put my hand on his shoulder. Should have been ready, but he threw a hook at me, quirk and all…” His hand goes to his hair, pushing it back. You couldn’t hold back your gasp.

Stretching across the bridge of his nose, across his left eye and disappearing behind his ear stretched a scar. You could tell it was old and well healed. The hair of his eyebrow had grown back, and the skin didn’t look too rough, but it was pale white in comparison to his tanned skin. The edges near his eyebrow and nose seemed a little rough, and some points looked like they pulled at his skin, but you also noticed how piercing it made his eyes. You had downed your drink during his story, and your inhibitions were clearly nonexistent as you reached to touch his face. He looked shocked as your palm cradled his cheek and your thumb swept over the skin under his eye.

“Sorry, I… don’t know why I did that.” You laughed, pulling your hand back. His eyes softened and he smiled at you. He cleared his throat again.

“Anyways, I got lucky. We had a lot of good healing quirks at our disposal, but I still lost some sight and most of my hearing on my left side. Took a long time to be ready to protect people again.” You were awestruck by his tenacity. “Now I’m back, trying to get in touch with some friends from high school. I heard some of them may hang out around here.” You looked around, although you weren’t sure who exactly you were looking for until someone called your name. Sero was at the door, dragging a barely conscious Kaminari along. Mina was walking towards you but paused as she eyed the person across from you.

“Kiri?” She said softly, and he pushed his hair back in front of his scar.

“Hey, Mina.” He smiled sadly. Her eyes flicked to you and back to him. With your back to him, you weren’t able to see the pleading look he gave your friend. She seemed to acquiesce to his silent plea.

You were oblivious and excited. “Mina is your friend? That’s a crazy coincidence! She invited me here tonight.” You definitely felt that last drink now.

“Y-yeah, babe, sure is.” Mina stumbled over her words, her eyes never leaving Kirishima. “I can’t believe you’re back. Really… I… I’m glad to see you.” You had never heard her this soft. You wrapped your arms around her waist, still sitting down. She absentmindedly stroked your hair. “Um, listen, I want to catch up, I do… but if we don’t go Kaminari’s probably going to throw up in the Uber. Again.” She seemed to snap back to herself, digging through her purse for her phone. She punched in the code and quickly slid it across the table, prompting you to do the same.

If he was their friend, he was yours too. Kirishima nodded softly, quickly putting his number into both phones and handing them back. You quickly sent a text with your name, grinning as the phone in his pocket chimed.

“We should hang out soon!” You cheered as Mina led you out. It was hard for her to stop looking back at him.

Kaminari was already passed out by the time you reached the Uber. Mina squeezed in the back with the two boys, letting you have the passenger’s seat. You let the gentle rumbling lull you into a half-awake state. You could hear Mina speaking in low tones with Sero in the back. With a quick look into the rearview mirror, you saw Sero’s arms wrapped tightly around Mina, tears staining both of their faces.

You were about to speak up, but they were whispering to each other again, smiles on both of their faces.

You stumbled into your house, throwing a wave at the retreating taxi. You fumbled your key into the lock, quickly opening the door and resetting the alarm. Stupid Katsuki and his stupid security system. You were sobering up too fast for your liking, your buzz being replaced with bone-deep exhaustion.

You kicked your shoes off, walking straight to your bedroom. All you were up for doing was crawling straight into bed, clothes and all. You buried into the pillows and blankets, smelling only the laundry detergent. At least you’ll sleep well.

You thought. You awoke to arms snaking around your middle, causing you to uncomfortably arch on your side. Calloused hands groped at your chest.

“I’m home, baby girl.” Katsuki’s gruff voice was in your ear. You weren’t sure if you were happy or annoyed, but you were willing to fake it until you made it.

“Welcome home, Katsuki.” You mumbled into the pillows. His mouth latched onto your neck, finally drawing a reaction out of you. Katsuki’s rough hands slid under your shirt and bra, roughly tweaking your nipples. You grimaced, grateful you were facing away from your fiance. It’s like he couldn’t get it through his head, they weren’t an On switch, and it never felt good to be that rough right off the bat. Not like he cared much, it was about all the foreplay you would get.

Katsuki was already moving to tear your pants off of you, rubbing harshly at your clothed core before removing your panties as well. He guided you up onto your knees, rubbing himself between your lips before plunging in unforgivingly. The stretch stung, and he drug dryly at your walls. A few thrusts and you felt yourself relaxing and getting a bit more wet to accommodate him. He thrust deeply, hitting so deeply it hurt. You gasped in pain, but he took it as a cue for more. He pounded himself quickly into you, rutting you into the headboard. It was no longer uncomfortable, but you also felt no pleasure.

He finished inside you quickly. Pulling out, he gathered all that dripped with his fingers, shoving it back inside your warmth. A hangnail caught roughly inside you, making you wince. Katsuki placed a lazy kiss on your cheek before facing away from you. You knew he would be asleep before you got back from the bathroom.

The bathroom light stung your eyes, swollen with lack of sleep. You felt sticky and unsatisfied and hungover. The shower was a tempting offer, the bath even more so, but you opted for the quickest option. You drug the cold washcloth over yourself, wiping away all of Kastuki’s mess. You were a mess, shirt and bra still on, naked below the waist, makeup still on your face. With a sigh, you stripped the day’s clothes from you, wandering back to your room to throw on some cotton shorts and a loose tee.

It was rare for you to wake up with Katsuki still in bed. He rolled over and spooned you on the bed. With the morning sun and Katsuki warming you, the morning almost seemed bearable. Katsuki started to leave lingering kisses between your shoulders, following the curve of your shoulder blade. You hummed happily, basking in his affection and the gentle morning warmth.

“’ M sorry I was so rough last night. Needed you so bad. I know you can take it.” You rolled your eyes but accepted it none the less. Half asleep Katsuki was the only one you could get an apology out of, half-assed or not. You watched as he slid off the bed, stretching out. His sweatpants hung dangerously low on his hips, and you let yourself drink him in.

“’ M gonna go make food.” He grumbled, leaning over the bed to place a kiss on your lips. You watched as he made his way out of the room, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

Maybe things weren’t as bad as you had made them out to be.

[smashing-teacups]

Missing J/C goodbye scene, 5x02

A/N: Hi y’all! Just scribbled down a quick goodbye scene between Jamie and Claire in 5x02, as I feel like we were missing that in this episode, hm? Their reunion is coming up in 5x03 and Sam has mentioned it’s one of his favorite scenes in the entire season, so I’m not touching that one! I’ll let the masters do their thing. But on the front end, here’s a wee thing I wrote this evening. All mistakes are my own; it’s quick and simple, didn’t even run it by a beta (or title it for that matter, haha)

____________

Jamie rose before dawn, early enough that the rustle of quilts and sag of the mattress didn’t fully wake me. I was still heavy-limbed and lethargic after spending the night entwined with him, unhurried and savoring, burning the feeling of one another into flesh and bone to take with us when we parted. Rolling into the warm depression his body had left behind, I breathed in the scent of him (of us) and drifted off again with a low hum of satisfaction. 

He was purposefully quiet as he moved about the room, dressing in the pale grey light of pre-dawn. It wasn’t until I heard the repetitive clink of the metal buckles along the length of his boots that I stirred in earnest, lifting my head with a snuffling breath. 

“You’re up early.” I squinted across the room at him in confusion, knowing full well that he didn’t plan to leave until after his men had filled their bellies with a warm breakfast.

“Aye,” Jamie agreed huskily, his morning voice an octave deeper than usual. “Thought I should see to my chores ‘fore I go.” He finished the row of buckles along his left boot and switched to the right while I stretched languidly, arching my back and toes into the cool sheets before coiling back into my ball of warmth. 

“You didn’t have to do that. I would have taken care of it.”

My husband glanced up at me with a throaty Scottish noise and a shrug. “Ye’ll already have to take up my slack while I’m gone. Dinna want to burden ye wi’ today’s work as well.” He finished the last of his buckles and crossed the room to me in a few strides, bending to capture my lips in a soft kiss. He smoothed a thumb over my cheekbone and down my chin, his eyes half-closed and trained on my mouth. “Go back to sleep, a nighean,” he murmured, and kissed me again.

Admittedly, I was tempted. It was still dark, the air beyond my cozy huddle of blankets discouragingly cold, and as we’d spent very little of the night actually sleeping, I was still plenty tired. Left to my own devices, I might have hunkered down and dozed blissfully until noon. The only thing preventing it was the recognition of how precious little time remained for us to be together before Jamie left for God-knows-how-long on Tryon’s bloody crusade. Savoring every moment afforded to us had been a hard-earned lesson, carved painstakingly into the shells of our hearts over the course of twenty long years.

Pushing the quilts back, I shook my head and swung my legs over the side of the bed, a prickle of gooseflesh rippling over my bare skin at the exposure to the stark morning air. “No,” I insisted, fumbling in the darkness to find the shift that had been hastily discarded on the floor the night before. “I’ll come with you.”

He waited for me to dress (I was quick about it, eager to bundle myself against the bitter chill), then wrapped an arm comfortably around my waist as we strolled out into the quiet, unfinished house. 

“Some tea first?” I asked softly as we walked by the kitchen. 

Jamie’s steps faltered for a moment as he considered it, but he shook his head. “Nah, I’ll bide for now. The animals’ll be restless for their breakfast, and I want to turn that new colt out for a bit ‘fore I go.”

I nodded, laying my head in the crook of his shoulder as we walked out onto the porch and down the path toward the barn. He was right, of course; heedless of our nocturnal activities and the ungodly hour of the morning, I could already hear the stamping of hooves and blowing snorts from the horses. Clarence began to bray excitedly when he heard us approaching, and that set off the chickens and the goats and the white sow. By the time Jamie lifted the bolt on the barn door, the whole bloody lot of them were in a cacophonous uproar.

The two of us exchanged knowing, exasperated smiles, then wordlessly set about our individual tasks: I filled grain and water buckets, Jamie climbed up in the loft to begin to heave down bales of hay. Once all of the animals were munching contentedly, I set to work milking the goats while my husband groomed the horses. With my cheek resting against a warm, bristly black belly, I listened to Jamie murmuring to one of the mares in Gaelic, smiling at the phrases I did know (“be good for the mistress, aye?” and “there’ll be apples in it for ye” and “bite her and I’ll tan yer bonny hide”) and closing my eyes to simply listen to the lilting cadence of his voice through the parts I didn't understand.

The comfort of it, the utter tranquility of the morning dawning golden and crisp and beautiful around us as we worked, was enough to fill my heart to the point of aching. After all our years of strife and suffering, sacrifice and separation, I finally had everything — we had everything — we’d ever wanted. We delighted in the simple pleasures of the farm, the land, the community, our family, each other. I had a booming medical practice where I finally felt useful, and Jamie had blossomed effortlessly into the role of laird that he had been born to fill. 

But of course, fate simply couldn’t bloody well let us alone. 

There was always another fucking war. Another battle, another conflict, another reason to tear Jamie from my arms and into the line of fire. It seemed these moments of tranquility would forever be fleeting for us. 

Perhaps that was the price we were meant to pay for challenging history, bending time itself to accommodate our love. 

Peace, after all, had never been part of the bargain Jamie and I had struck. 

So be it. I’d said it once before, and meant it: I would have him any way I could.

Setting the milk bucket aside, I went to Jamie in silence and wrapped my arms around him from behind, bowing my forehead into the valley between his shoulder blades. He paused at once with the brush at the horse’s withers, turning his head slightly toward me in silent inquiry. 

“Keep working,” I murmured against his back. 

I just need to hold you.

I didn’t need to say it for him to understand. He did as I bid him, and resumed his characteristic quick darting flicks as he brushed the horse. I closed my eyes, moving with him, memorizing the way his scarred skin stretched beneath my cheek, the way the powerful muscles of his shoulders rippled as he worked.

After a moment, he abandoned his task altogether, letting the brush drop softly into the hay at our feet as he turned to face me and wrap me in his arms. 

I need to hold ye too, Sassenach.

I didn’t cry, and neither did he. But we ached together in silence, swaying gently from side to side, my face tucked into his neck and his into my hair. 

In the distance, I could hear the stirrings from the other cottages; tenants waking to the new day and starting chores of their own. Within a few minutes, I knew we’d hear the telltale squealing of our grandson in the cottage just down the path. 

The world around us was waking. 

Which meant my time with Jamie was quickly running out.

We’d say goodbye here, alone. Later there would be people everywhere; we’d exchange nods, smiles, pleasantries, a quick and chaste kiss before an audience.

But here, I could say what I truly meant, and so could he.

“If you do find him,” I whispered against his skin, “make it quick, Jamie.” I pulled back just far enough to look him in the eye, and swallowed the lump in my throat. “For both your sakes.”

His eyes burned red for a moment, and he sniffled hard, dropping his forehead against mine. “Christ, don’t let it come to that,” he prayed, his voice barely a whisper.

“You told him to be hard to find,” I reminded him, squeezing his shoulders. “And the mountains are vast. You’ll make your excuses. Hm? Lead the wild goose chase as long as you can.” He nodded against me, and exhaled shakily. “But if…” I swallowed again. “If you do find him...”

“It’ll have to be me,” he agreed hoarsely. “I’ll no’ let him hang.”

“I know,” I whispered, and smoothed my hands over his stubbled cheeks. My husband stared down at me, earnest and terrified, and I drew him in with a soft, desperate sound, kissing him with everything in me. I stood on tiptoe and pulled him close, wishing I was big enough to wrap around him, make him feel protected, the way he did when I needed his comfort. The best I could offer was tenderness, understanding; shared affection and history with the man he was forced to hunt, defying every last one of his instincts. 

I loved Murtagh too. Jamie knew that. I don’t know if it helped him, but it was what I had to offer. 

When at last our kiss softened into grazing lips, I nuzzled the tip of my nose against his and murmured against him, “Ride slowly, Jamie. Wander. Take the long road around the mountain. Buy whatever time you can.” I drew back to look at him, to make sure he saw the honest permission in my eyes. “We’ll be alright here. I promise.”

“Aye,” he breathed, reaching up to tuck a piece of hair behind my ear. “Ye run a tight ship, a nighean. I dinna worry about the Ridge wi’ you at the helm.”

“Good,” I said, and gave him one more firm kiss on the lips. 

Jamie held fast though, tightening his grip on my waist. “I do worry about you, Claire. Ye get so deep into tendin’ yer patients that ye forget to tend yerself. Be mindful, aye? Dinna do anything reckless wi’ yer own safety while I’m no’ here to grouse at ye for it.”

I smiled, swaying my hips with his and humming faintly in amusement. “I promise to imagine your most disapproving face every time I get a bright idea, hm? We’ll see if it makes any more difference than when you’re here to give it in person.”

He fixed me with his best exasperated glare, and my smile softened. “I’ll be careful if you will, soldier,” I offered quietly, rubbing my palms over his shoulder caps. 

Jamie made a decidedly Scottish grunt; caution and self-preservation were not either of our strong suits. Still, he nodded as he leaned in to capture my lips one last time. 

“For your sake, then, my Sassenach,” he vowed, “I will.”

[pitterpatterpot]

Lion’s Pride: Chapter Twenty-Seven

I figured I’d do something a little different as a treat, (don’t worry I haven’t forgotten about all the other requests, I just wanted to give this a go as a change of pace.)

——

Chapter 27

Modern au

It’s a groggy glue that sticks Aedion’s tongue to his mouth. It feels thick and sluggish, yet downright pleasant compared to the trial of peeling his eyes open to answer his ringing phone. Lysandra’s annoyed kick at his shin and huff helps speed up the process. Especially when she tugs at the doona and cocoons herself at his cold expense.

Propping himself up, Aedion brings his phone to his ear, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

“Hello?” Aedion mutters.

“Boyo-“

“Fenrys, it’s three in the morning,” Aedion groans. “Whatever this is-“

“Gavriel was in a collision,” the older male cuts in, his voice solemn and serious in a way it rarely is. “They have him in intensive care and started working on him as soon as he came in.”

Something lodges in Aedion’s throat. “What hospital?”

He can feel Lysandra come to attention, already swinging her legs off the side of the bed to slip on her Ugg boots, grabbing a jacket to throw over her winter sleepwear.

Winter. Where the roads are slick.

Aedion notes the address Fenrys gives him, barely remembering to hang up before he’s haphazardly throwing on his own clothes. Lysandra slides into the drivers seat, sending him a look that silences his protests before they even come. But it’s almost worse sitting there in the passenger seat with nothing to do but stare persistently at his phone screen. Lysandra’s white knuckles stay stark against the steering wheel, her fingers cinched around the sturdy material.

When they enter the waiting room Fenrys is easy to spot collapsed in a chair, Vaughan surprisingly arguing with a nurse behind the reception.

“Aedion!” Vaughan stands straight, turning away from the glaring receptionist. “They’ll only tell family or emergency contacts what’s going on.”

The receptionist perks, turning to Aedion. “You’re family?”

Blinking, Aedion swallows. “His son.”

Gods above. Saying that out loud.

“What exactly happened?” Aedion grounds out, voice haggard even to his own ears. “Where is he?”

“Your father was in a car accident with these two men,” the receptionist waves a hand towards Fenrys and Vaughan. “They we’re both seated on the left side of the car and suffered minor bruising and concussions. Another vehicle ran a red light and slammed into your fathers side. He sustained lacerations to the chest and neck. They’re working on him now to stop the blood flow and give him a transfusion, as well as stitching up any damage done and checking for spinal injuries. We’re unsure of how long it will take at this time until we see how extensive the damage is.”

It’s Lysandra’s hand on Aedion’s shoulder that holds him up. She leads him over to the waiting area, guiding him down into a chair before returning to the desk to talk in hushed whispers to the nurse. Fenrys comes to sit next to him, an arm shifting to lay across Aedion’s shoulders, Vaughan boxing him in from the other side. It’s strangely comforting to have his fathers friends on either side, a solid support.

“What happened?” Aedion croaks.

“We needed a lift,” Vaughan gently fits in. “He offered to pick us up, he got back in the neighbourhood early.”

Fenrys sends Vaughan an alarmed look, the other male squinting his eyes in clear confusion. Aedion’s hitched inhale of breath draws their attention, the younger male pressing his face further in his hands.

“I turned him away,” Aedion’s voice comes out weak, bordering on brittle. “He was supposed to come to dinner but I called him last minute.”

Fenrys hesitates. “Boyo-“

“Why did you cancel?” Vaughan pushes in, voice firm and steady.

“Vaughan!” Fenrys hisses, tanned face creasing in rage. “Shut up.”

The hollow taps of Lysandra’s Ugg boots against the impeccable flooring fills the silence. Fenrys dutifully hops over a seat so Lysandra can sit next to Aedion, her piercing green eyes prompting his sudden movement, never mind the small wince that follows. She immediately huddles into Aedion’s side, his arm wrapping around her warmly.

“I talked to an administrator,” Lysandra informs them. “He came out of surgery twenty minutes ago, they didn’t find any spinal damage, so that’s a major relief. The upside is that he has a torn neck muscle, along with several cuts and a large one running down his shoulder. Physical-therapy should help with that.”

“That’s fantastic,” Fenrys breathes out a sigh of relief.

Lysandra hesitates. “That was the upside. The downside is the impact his head took. It doesn’t look like there was any internal bleeding, but they’re going to keep monitoring him to make sure it goes down.”

“If it doesn’t?” Aedion asks.

“Then they’ll need to take a closer look and there’s a higher chance of long-term damage,” Lysandra purses her lips. “Aedion, there’s-“

“Mr Ashryver?”

Blinking, they all look up at the approaching doctor.

“Are you two family?” She points to the two of them.

Mouth dry, Aedion nods, words stuck in his throat. Fenrys stands up, quickly approaching the doctor to speak in hushed tones. It’s the way his face falls that causes Aedion’s heart to freeze.

“What?”Aedion asks. “What is it?”

“He’s alright,” Fenrys raises his hands in a calming gesture. “He seems fine. They just have some questions they need to know.”

“Right,” the doctor nods. “I can completely assure you that for now your father is in stable condition. I just need you to give me a bit of information since these two couldn’t. Did your father have any previous medical conditions or concerns?”

“I don’t know,” Aedion stares blankly, hands gripping at his hair. “He was in the military, he may have old injuries from that.”

“Was he a heavy drinker?”

“He never seemed like it?”

“Prescribed medication?”

“I don’t know,” Aedion rasps.

“Insurance?”

“I don’t know!” Aedion throws his hands up. “I- can he use mine?”

Fenrys nods at that and Vaughan quietly shakes his head, mouthing ‘no’ to his partner, who quickly deflates.

“I don’t know how insurance works,” Fenrys mutters.

“It’s alright,” Vaughan mutters, patting his back. “No one does. You just lose money.”

“Your father can’t use your insurance,” the doctor blows out a breath. “Does he have any other close family?”

“Two brothers,” Vaughan supplies at Aedion’s panicked look. “They both live overseas.”

“Right, and are you his only child or are there any others we would need to contact?” Scribbling on her clipboard, she turns back to Aedion.

“No, I-“ Aedion blinks, as if in surprise. “Only me. He only has me.”

As if sensing the change in atmosphere and attitude, the doctor softens slightly. “Well, he’s set up comfortably right now if you would like to sit in with him. Family only at the time, unfortunately.”

Swallowing, Aedion stands, his knees creaking underneath him. “Can my wife come?”

“She can,” the doctor nods. “He’s in a share room at the moment until we can work out his insurance coverage.”

“Is there any way to get him his own room based off mine?” Aedion nearly begs. “Or a way to pay for it up front?”

“I’m afraid not,” the doctor shakes her head, wincing a little herself. “As soon as we pull up his records we should be able to get it all sorted. Would you like to see him?”

Aedion’s voice lurches to a stop. Lysandra’s hand tightens on his arm, Vaughan and Fenrys respectfully keeping their distance. The walk to the room feels nonexistent, all attention diverted thanks to the people rushing past and the usual need to step around a cart. The first person they see when the doctor opens the door to the room is an old lady laying back with an IV in her arm, skin grey and wrinkled like mesh paper folded in on itself. Bile rises in the back of Aedion’s throat at the empty bed across from her.

“He’s in the corner,” Lysandra whispers, nodding towards a section with closed off curtains. “He’s here.”

Aedion breathes out a breath. It’s sucked back in once the curtains are opened, his dinner lurching up to his throat once again. His next sight is the bottom of a bucket in a seperate room, Lysandra shaking herself and rubbing at his back.

“I’m sorry,” the doctor frets, moving around the office for tissues. “I didn’t think it’d be such a shock, he’s cleaned and no major outer damages showing-“

“I’m fine,” Aedion wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, voice thick. “I was in the military as well. Just, seeing him like that-“

The doctor pauses. There’s no need for either him or Lysandra to look up to know the expression on her face.

“I see,” the tissues are gently placed next to him. “You’re more than welcome to wait out in here until you feel up to visiting him, or would rather stay close by for information.”

“Thank you,” Aedion takes the tissues.

The doctor leaves the room and Lysandra presses firmly against his side.

“His neck and shoulder-“

“They stitched him up,” Lysandra cuts in, voice firm despite the cold paleness of her face. “They got to him before the blood loss was fatal.”

“His head,” Aedion runs his hands through his hair. “Through all the gauze and bandages, Lysandra his head-“

“He’s alright for now,” Lysandra reaffirms, squeezing his arm. “We just need to wait and see. Do you want to go back in?”

Aedion rubs at his face. “We should go back to Fenrys and Vaughan.”

It’s a surprise to have something collide against his side the moment he exits the elevator, his arms full of expensive sleepwear and mused blonde hair. It doesn’t stop his eyes from watering once again, burying his nose in that hair to breath in the similar scent of lavender and wild grass.”

“Hi,” Aelin rasps against his shoulder.

Aedion closes his eyes, jaw trembling. Rowan’s hand lands on his shoulder, a warm and solid presence that guides him back to the waiting area. Lorcan raises a hand in a weary wave, his own stoic face unusually rattled, Connall in a similar state where he checks over Fenrys’s minor injuries before turning to give Aedion a strained smile. Elide joins Aelin in his arms, worming in for room and slinging a slender arm around his waist.

“Fenrys filled is in on everything,” Elide gently supplies. “We got hot coffee and sandwiches to eat while we wait.”

Aedion blinks, eyes stickier than he’d like to admit. “You’re all staying?”

“Of course,” Aelin pushes back, eyes fierce. “Until we know for sure that he’s alright.”

~~~

“Mr. Ashryver?”

Jerking, Aedion inhales sharply and groans at the pain in his back. Lysandra mumbles in disagreement from where she leans against him, her torso twisted over the arm of her own plastic chair to reach him. Everyone else is likewise sprawled out across the waiting room, various limbs draped over chairs and couples pressed together.

“Your father is awake,” the doctor says in a hushed tone, leaning in close. “He’s in stable condition and it looks like there’s no visible side effects of his head injury, the swelling has already reduced greatly over the past eight hours since the crash. He’s a fighter.”

Something plucks in Aedion’s chest. “He is.”

“Would you like to see him?”

Gently tipping Lysandra to the side, Aedion stands and follows the doctor. Seeing his father lying there, on the bed with his eyes open and searching, is nothing like seeing him unconscious and shattered. Those golden, tawny eyes land on Aedion before he even has a chance to fully pull aside the curtain, recognition flaring like a heat signal.

“Aedion,” Gavriel rasps.

The younger male stops. Gavriel shifts where he lies, as though trying to prop himself back up again. He grimaced at the flare of pain shooting through the right side of his neck and right shoulder.

“Shit, don’t-“ Aedion grits his teeth, reaching forward to reposition the pillows himself, hands shaking. “You tore your damn neck muscles and have a cut the size of her forearm spanning across the area. If you pop those stitches they won’t redo them.”

Gavriel huffs, the sound jagged and dry. “I’m sure they would if I asked nicely.”

Aedion pauses, eyes flicking to his father. “Don’t finally start making fucking jokes when you’ve nearly been killed by a car.”

Gavriel rests his head back in surprise. “Aedion-“

“Don’t,” Aedion demands, sinking into the seat next to the bed and covering his face with his hands, shoulders trembling. “Just-“

“Aedion,” Gavriel says softly, watching his son shake. “I’m here. Everything is going to be alright, I’m here.”

A sob tears out of Aedion’s throat, more tears following. Gavriel winces, trying to shift closer.

“Come here,” Gavriel pleads, his own voice trembling. “Please, come here.”

Inhaling, Aedion kneels by the side of the bed, next to Gavriel’s left side. The one unharmed arm rises up to rest on Aedion’s head, carding through his hair and down to his cheek. Aedion closes his eyes at the contact.

“I’m sorry,” Aedion whispers.

“Don’t apologies for the actions of someone else,” Gavriel commands, his own voice becoming that of a general. “You didn’t drive the car that hit me.”

Aedion’s breath hitches on a sob, his eyes squeezing shut. “A car hit you-“

“I’m alright, Aedion,” Gavriel promises again, his own eyes misting over. “I’m here. I promise you, I’m here.”

The monitor fills the silence between them, a rhythmic reprieve from where Aedion follows the pulse from Gavriel’s wrist, his father’s hand clasped tightly in his own.

——

Authors note: did you think I would just give you fluff WITHOUT the angst. *EVIL CACKLE* also I’ve stumbled across the Fenrys/Vaughan ship and might do a seperate one shot for that later on.

[waywardnerd67]

TFWB - Chap 5 Our Bar

Summary: Jared and the boys head out to their favorite bar to meet up with Jared’s childhood best friend. Characters: Jensen Ackles, Jared Padalecki, Misha Collins, Rachel Sanderson (OFC), Reader Pairing: No Pairing Warnings: Fluff Word Count: 1500 Squared Filled: Best Friends Since Childhood A/N #1: This is for @spnfluffbingo​ card

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Jared was in the backyard laying out on a blanket with a book he had picked up from a resale shop. Having Misha in the house brought a whole new dynamic especially since he and Jensen were becoming close friends. At times, it had Jared missing his best friend from home. They talked all the time on the phone and wrote to each other every week. It just was not the same as seeing her in person.

“Jare, Rachel is on the phone.” Jensen called out from the back door.

He quickly got up taking the receiver from him, “Hey Rach, how was KU?”

She groaned loudly as he chuckled, “It was as I expected, bor-ring. However it appeased the ‘rents so now I can finally visit the college I want to see.”

His heart thumped rapidly against his chest, “You mean…”

“That’s right, you better make room for me because I will be down a week from tomorrow!” the excitement in her voice was contagious.

“Rach, that’s wonderful news! I can’t wait to show you around Austin and campus.” Jared was genuinely giddy with joy for his best friend to visit.

They met in grade school when a bully was pushing her around and he swooped in to save her. They were inseparable after that and as they got older the rumors of them dating ran wild. They were each other’s dates to every school dance and the few relationships they each had never lasted long. Every girl Jared every girl dated always ended up jealous of Rachel and with good reason.

In his eyes, Rachel was perfect in every way. No one ever lived up to her, but Jared was never brave enough to admit his feelings for her. His fear being that he would ruin their friendship if she did not feel the same way. He buried his feelings down deep and was grateful to have her in his life.

“Jared!” she called out grabbing his attention again.

“Sorry, Jensen was distracting me. What did you say?”

She chuckled, “I said I’m going to be meeting up with another friend of mine at The Tiniest Bar in Austin. Is that an actual bar?”

Jared started laughing, “Yes it is. Actually, it’s the bar that us guys always go to on Friday nights. They have great drink specials. We could just meet you there and who is the friend?”

“Oh, her name is (Y/N). We had some of the same classes at community college and we really hit it off. She is living in the dorms at UT-Austin and is letting me crash there.”

Jared’s heart dropped slightly that she was not going to be staying with him. The wave of sadness passed quickly as her excitement seeped through. She told him all the details of her planned trip and set on a time to meet up at the bar. It was only when Jensen was tackling him to get off the phone that he ended the call.

“So, I finally get to meet the amazing Rachel.” He chuckled as Jared nodded quickly coming to a terrifying realization.

What happened if she met Jensen and they fell for each other. Red flashed before his eyes as a low growl bubbled in his chest. Countless times, Jared watched as women fell head over heels for Jensen and he was sure Rachel would do the same. That thought alone made Jared want to punch something.

“Who’s Rachel?” Misha’s calm voice pierced through the maddening thoughts going through Jared’s mind.

“Rachel is Jared’s best friend from San Antonio who he happens to be in love with.”

Jared’s eyes snapped over to Jensen’s who gave him an all knowing look, “How…?”

He rolled his olive eyes, “Please, you would have to be blind not to see that you have feelings for her. I just don’t understand why you won’t tell her and ask her out.”

“I… well… I have my reasons. I’m gonna go work on some homework.” Jared stammered walking away from both his roommates, his cheeks burning as he walked up the stairs.

The week flew by and Jared found himself nervously pacing in his room an hour before having to meet Rachel. He had not noticed Misha leaning against his door frame with a look of concern on his face.

“You’re going to wear out the floor if you keep pacing.”

Jared stopped rubbing the back of his neck and chuckling, “Yeah I guess you’re right.” He sat down on his bed bouncing his leg.

Misha came in shutting the door and sat beside him, “What’s going on? You’re obnoxiously nervous.” He gently placed his hand on Jared’s knee to keep his leg from bouncing.

“It’s nothing.” He mumbled looking down to the floor.

“Uh-huh. Jared, no judgements from me. I just think you should get whatever it is off your chest before going out. Less chance of you making a fool of yourself.”

He eyed Misha suspiciously before giving in, “Jensen was right. I do have feelings for Rachel and I’m… I’m terrified that if she meets you guys then…”

His roommate’s blue eyes softened , “You think she will fall for one of us and vice versa.”

He nodded the weight of his confession making his shoulders slump over. Misha patted his back, “Here’s how I see it. One, you can keep your feelings bottled up like you are and push her towards another man. Or two, you can grow a pair and tell her how you feel. Now, I have a sneaky feeling that number two will reap you more than number one. Don’t worry about Jensen or me because we won’t break the code.”

Jared smiled, “Bros before hoes.”

Misha stood up laughing, “Exactly. Now get ready because we’re leaving in ten.”

“Misha?” Jared called out as he turned in the doorway, “Thanks.”

He gave him a short nod before exiting the room. Jared quickly put on his favorite button down shirt, faded jeans and boots. He ran his hands through his long hair and made his way downstairs to find his roommates waiting for him. They piled into Jensen’s Pathfinder and headed off to their favorite bar.

Upon entering The Tiniest Bar in Austin, Jared did a quick scan of the small establishment not seeing Rachel anywhere. It had been almost a year since he last saw her and was worried he might not recognize her. They grabbed a table near the back ordering a bucket of beer. Jared’s eyes snapped over to the door every time he heard it chime. Finally, Jensen challenged him to a dart game to distract him.

He was getting ready to throw when suddenly a pair of small arms wrapped around his waist, “Gotch ya, Jare!”

Rachel’s sweet voice was music to his ears as he turned not hesitating to pick her up into a big hug. Her joyful laugh filled his ears as she held onto him tightly. He did not want to let go of her, but did as she quickly pulled someone up to him.

“(Y/N) this is Jared. Jared this is (Y/N).”

They shook hands saying hello to one another. She was pretty with soft (Y/C/H) hair pulled back and lovely (Y/C/E) eyes looking away bashfully. (Y/N) was in a UT-Austin t-shirt, jeans and black Converse. He looked up to see Misha elbowing Jensen who was staring right at her. Jared immediately exhaled the breath he had been unknowingly holding.

“Rachel and (Y/N) these two knuckleheads are my roommates, Misha and Jensen.” He went in between the two pulling them into the little huddle.

Misha elbowed Jensen in the side when he didn’t reach out to shake the girls’ hands. He stuttered through his name as his eyes never left (Y/N). Jared chuckled as he motioned for two more beers. The five of them fell into easy conversation and the night ended up being one of the best Jared had in a long time.

The guys walked the girls to their car and Jared was able to get Rachel to himself for a moment, “So what do you think so far?”

Her arms were around his waist as they walked down the street. She looked up smiling, pulling something from her purse to show him. She broke away from him as he read the first few lines of the letter.

“You already applied!” He stopped for a moment as she nodded excitedly.

“Of course I did. Honestly, I already had my mind made up since you were here and (Y/N). Of course, my parents think I’m just following you down here, but honestly I just like their education courses better than any other school.”

Jared hugged and picked her up twirling her around. Everyone else had stopped when they heard her giggling. They caught up to the rest of the group and suddenly everything seemed to be perfectly in place making Jared beyond happy.

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[fruit-teeth]

The Angel

(Alternate title: the story Heavy refused to tell.)

It had been three months since the death of his father, and two and a half months since he and the rest of his family had been forced out of their home and into the gulag.

Misha was only a boy, just fifteen years old, yet he’d lost all hope of ever escaping. There’s was only a sliver of his willpower left, but he used it to defend his mother and his younger sisters. He knew that’s what his father would do, if he were still here, but he wasn’t. Misha felt a deep bitterness every day for the men who killed his father...he’d never hated anyone before, but now hate was all he knew.

He stared at the wall, a blankness in his eyes, his back stinging like hellfire. He refused to allow himself to feel pain, he’d felt it so long that there was no use crying over it any more. His sisters were crying in the corner, watching him, hugging each other with fear in their eyes.

The guard rose up from where he was bent over the boy, the whip still in his hand, and he turned to look at the girls huddling and sobbing in the corner.

“You can be next,” the guard snapped, pointing the whip in their direction.

Misha turned his head, rage filling his face again, as if he hadn’t just been whipped by this terrifying man. “Leave them alone,”

The guard snorted. “Still gnawing at the same bone, are we?” He laughed, the whip swinging like a tail. “It’s funny to me when you nasty beasts try to play adults...maybe I should give you another round of whips to shut you up,”

“No!” Little Zhanna blurted out from the corner, her eyes full of tears. “No, don’t!”

The guard turned to glare at her. “What did you just say? You can get whips too,”

Before the situation could escalate further, another guard yelled from the hallway, “Volkov! Come out here, the shipments just came in!”

Volkov growled, tucking the whip back under his shoulder and giving one final look at the children. “I’ll be back for you later,” with that, he stalked out of the room.

The moment Volkov was gone, Misha got up and went to his sisters, still wincing from the pain of being whipped but trying his hardest to be strong. He gathered Zhanna and Yana, the two littlest ones, into his arms and hugged them close, his heart aching terribly as he heard them weep from the fear and pain. Bronislava stood up after a moment, tears rolling down her cheeks, and she buried her face in Misha’s shoulder, crying silently. Misha just wrapped his arms around all of them, closing his eyes, saying nothing. He wished his father would come back, that this pain would all be brought to an end, although he knew that was impossible.

After a moment, Misha pulled away from his sisters to check out their tiny window. It was snowing outside, the wind was howling, and their mother had not returned. He knew why: she was still working, she worked longer hours for the guards at the gulag to cover the children’s working shifts so they didn’t need to do the hard, physical labor the guards wanted them to do. To make things easier for, Misha grabbed their bucket and rations of soap, turning on the tiny faucet in their cell so the girls could bathe before their mother came back. It was easier to bathe this way, as Misha felt nervous about using the shower rooms with the other prisoners. He also didn’t want his little sisters to have to shower with strange adults, anyhow.

“Brother,” Bronislava prodded his arm, handing him a sponge soaked with soap and water. “Here, wash your cuts...”

Misha accepted the sponge, but he remarked, “You put too much soap on this. We should save some for later...”

Bronislava frowned, shaking her head. “But you’re hurt! And mama says you could get infected if you don’t clean well,”

Misha sighed, but he smiled, taking the sponge. “All right...thank you,”

As his sisters took turns bathing with the bucket and sink, Misha sat down on their shared bed, washing his wounds with the damp sponge, lost in thought. What if this was going to be their whole lives? What if there was no light - nothing, just more beatings and work and pain and fear? He couldn’t even imagine how they would ever leave this place, it seemed impossible.

Their mother said it was important to have faith, and that eventually, things would be all right...but what that wasn’t true?

It was then, though, that something on the floor caught Misha’s eye. At first he thought it was some ice from outside, but as he looked closer, he realized it was metallic.

Brow furrowing, he stood up off the bed and knelt down, picking up the item and holding it up to get a better look at it. It was a key, with the words, ‘Weapons and Artillery’ engraved into it, and Misha realized was it was right away: it was the key to where the guards kept their weapon stash. Volkov must have dropped it at some point, while he was whipping Misha.

Misha shoved the key in his pocket right away, checking behind him to see if his sisters had noticed. Yana was washing her hair, while Bronislava was distracted with making sure Zhanna cleaned her finger nails properly. Misha wanted to say something to them about his discovery, but somehow he couldn’t bring himself to do so. He had a key to all the weapons, every single kind the guards used to enforce policies in this awful place...but what could he do? He couldn’t take on those guards, he was just a boy!

Misha held onto the key all throughout the rest of the evening, even when his mother returned and they had their measly dinner of thin, meatless soup and stale bread provided by the gulag. When the guards came around later to bang on the prisoner’s doors and remind them it was time for bed, all the children curled up on the cramped cot together while their mother slept beside them on what was left of their late father’s torn, tattered fur coat, which they only had because the guards were unable to sell it due to its condition. Misha hardly slept, and when he woke up for the fifth time that night, he finally got out of bed, going to the window and staring outside.

It was pitch black outside, aside from the few flickers of light glittering onto the surrounding snow. The wind howled mournfully, and Misha closed his eyes, hugging his arms.

“Father,” he began softly, and he imagined his father there, standing before him. “Papa...I know what I have to do. But...I am scared, I don’t know if I can do it...” he hung his head, pressing his forehead against the wall, his eyes pressed shut. “Papa, please...I need help,”

The wind picked up outside, and Misha shivered with the cold. He knew he should go back to bed, to huddle with his sisters for warmth, but instead he lingered by the window, waiting for something. He didn’t know what it was he was waiting for, but he just needed a sign, any kind of sign, so he would know what to do.

And then he felt it, so subtle but deliberate: a feeling of warmth, brushing over his arms yet seeming to grip him tightly, almost like he was being hugged. He gasped a little, his eyes opening up, and his heart felt as if there was new life in it.

It was like a fire burning in his chest, but it wasn’t like the fiery rage or bitterness he had grown accustomed to feeling in the recent months. This was a warmth, a determination, a strong urge to go out and do something - and he knew just what that was.

Misha reached into his pocket, pulling out the key, and he took a deep breath. He understood what he had to do, and he bowed his head in respect towards the window, to the howling wind outside.

“Thank you, Papa,” Misha murmured, feeling his eyes well up with tears. “I will protect mama, I will protect my sisters...I promise,”

By the following morning, Misha already had everything mapped out in his mind. On the walk to the mess hall for breakfast, he slipped quietly away from everyone else and to guards’ area. The guards had their own cafeteria and bathrooms and places to take breaks, and although Misha wasn’t entirely sure of how to navigate the place, he did his best to sneak past various guards and Soviet soldiers stationed there.

He tried to think about where they would keep their weapons, where a logical place might be, until he happened upon a staircase leading to a basement. Intrigued, he looked over his shoulder before descending down the steps as quietly as possible, eventually coming to a door marked with several ‘guards only’ signs. It looked as if someone had been down there recently, as there was an open toolbox laying on the ground, so Misha knew he had to act quickly.

His heart racing, he fished the key out of his pocket, his hands quivering as he began to unlock the door. But he didn’t get far, for out of the silence a voice shouted, “Hey! Who’s down there!?”

Misha gasped, almost dropping the keys in fear. It was Volkov, with a baton in his hand and another guard at his side, and they were heading down the stairs towards Misha. Volkov had a look of sheer rage in his eyes, one that Misha knew all too well.

“So it was you who stole my key!” Volkov barked, snatching up Misha’s arm and trying to pry the key away from him. “Give it back this instant!”

Misha kept his grip, though his hands were shaking. “No...no!”

The other guard grabbed Misha by his hair, yanking him towards him. “He’s a mouthy one, isn’t he?”

“Indeed,” Volkov raised his baton high above his head. “Hold him for me— once I beat him, he’ll be too weak to defend his sisters, and then they’ll really get it from me!”

In a split second, Misha saw the hammer from the toolbox, and he yanked himself out of the men’s grip and grabbed it. The other guard tried to pounce on him, but Misha swung the hammer with all his might, clocking the guard in the head and knocking him unconscious. Volkov let out a yell, rushing towards Misha with the baton still in his hand, but Misha blocked the blow with the hammer, shoving Volkov back against the wall. Volkov jumped right back up, raising his hand to swing the weapon again, yet Misha dodged it just in time. Thinking fast, he turned the hammer over to shoved the sharper end right into Volkov’s throat, yanking it up in a quick motion with his strong arms.

It hadn’t occurred to Misha how deadly this attack was, and he didn’t even know he’d killed Volkov until he heard the sound of throaty gurgling. He looked up just in time to see Volkov fall back against the wall, clutching his throat and gagging as the blood soaked the collar of his uniform and his hands. Misha stepped back, watching in both amazement and horror as Volkov took his final breath and died, his throat flayed completely open by the tool.

There was silence for a long moment. Misha looked around, only to find that no one had heard the commotion that had just taken place in the stairwell. He snapped himself out of his trance, fumbling around on the floor until he found the key he’d dropped during the scuffle, and he quickly opened the door to the storage room.

Sure enough, it was a pantry stocked with weapons and ammunition of all kinds. Misha quickly closed the door behind him, turning on the light inside and going to rummage through the weapons on the shelves. He had some experience with guns already, as he and his father used to go hunting quite often, and he’d also learned how to use a revolver as a means to defend himself. Yet these guns were unlike anything Misha had ever seen before: they were more complicated, and when he picked them up, they were heavier. But, he knew he could learn, and he was no stranger to lifting incredibly dense and heavy objects.

Misha settled upon a large, glossy gun with a handle, and after some trial and error he figured out how to properly load it. Once this was done, he soon found a wagon in the corner, which he dusted off and began to load more weapons and ammunition into. It was heavy, it was all so heavy, but Misha knew he could carry it all. He wasn’t going to give up, especially not now.

Once everything was loaded, he mentally prepared himself, asking the heavens and his father for strength before opening the door.

Much to his horror, when he opened the door, Volkov and the other guard were gone, although the splatters of blood still remained on the floor. Misha’s heart dropped, and he looked around, though he saw no one at first. He took a few more steps, moving slowly and carefully, but he halted in his tracks the moment he saw the muzzle of another gun pointed right at his chest.

At first, he just saw one guard aiming a gun at him, yet he then noticed more guards just out of the corner of his eye, moving in closer with their weapons poised.

“Put that gun down, boy,” the guard attempted to coax him, his weapon still aiming at Misha’s chest.

Misha stood as still as a statue, the handle of the wagon in one hand and the mini gun in the other. He started to feel fear creeping in again, and he wanted to just curl up in a ball and forget the world.

“Put the gun down,” the man repeated, staring at Misha with bull-like intensity. “You don’t even know how to shoot it,”

Misha let the handle of the wagon drop to the floor, but before anyone could try and take the other weapons from him, he lifted the mini gun with both hands and reached for the trigger.

The bullets were like thunder, and it actually scared Misha when he watched them absolutely shred the body of the guard in front of him. He could hear the other guards yelling behind him, but he whirled around, firing in their directions and taking them down one by one, the action of it all so abrupt that somehow he didn’t even register what he was doing at first. The feeling hit him like a freight train though, when he realized what had just happened, but he didn’t have time to sit around and let it sink in. He snatched up the wagon handle again, rushing down the hallway while trying not to slip on blood left behind by the slaughtered guards. The other guards at the gulag had clearly gotten wind of what was going on, and a siren began blaring throughout the building. The prisoners all stopped what they were doing in confusion, looking all around for answers.

When a few inmates began wandering out of their cells and rooms to see what the commotion was about, they were greeted by the sight of Misha running down the hall, gun in one hand and wagon handle in the other, blood staining his clothing and a look of determination in his eyes. The wagon dragged behind him, filled with bullets, guns and batons.

Misha’s mother immediately noticed it was him, and she rushed towards him in a frenzy, grabbing his arm. “Misha! Oh, son, we were looking all over for you! What have you—?”

Misha grabbed a gun from the wagon, placing it in her hands. “Mama, we are going to escape this place,” Misha told her hastily. “Take this weapon, tell everyone to take a weapon! We must fight, now!”

His mother searched his face for answers, a clear look of panic on her face, but after a moment she composed herself, taking a breath. “All right, son...all right!” She turned to the other prisoners, pushing the wagon towards them. “Take a weapon, everyone! We will fight them all!”

When the remaining guards rushed for the halls, they were greeted by over a hundred armed inmates, who ambushed them with a rage that had been building up for months. Misha hardly remembered most of it— he just remembered running, the gun clutched in his hands, the hail of bullets mowing down any potential threats. He was afraid, he was angry, but most of all: he felt alive. More alive than he had in months, and in that instant, he could feel his father with him, urging him on and telling him that he would be out soon, and that he and the others would be safe.

At some point during the battle, gunpowder had been scattered all over the floors of the gulag, and some faulty wiring which had been shot down sent some sparks to the ground. As soon as the guards were vanquished and the inmates were all outside in the snow, the entire building exploded into flames. The flames shattered every window, every painful memory, every trace of terror and torture held by its walls, and all the prisoners could do was watch.

By the time Misha was outside, he’d collapsed in the show, exhausted from what had just taken place. He must have fallen unconscious, because the next thing he knew, he was laying on his father’s torn fur coat on the ground. It had been slightly singed from the fire, but it was there, and Misha would have recognized the feeling of it anywhere.

He lifted his head, hearing the crackling of a fire, and he felt the tender hand of his mother on his forehead.

“Shh,” she kissed him, kneeling beside him and holding him close. “My son...”

Misha blinked, sitting up, taking his mother by the arms. “Mama...where are the girls?”

“Sleeping,” she gestured to blankets the girls must have snatched from the building before their escape, which the girls had made a makeshift bed out of. They were sleeping soundly, their hair messy and their skin marked with traces of mud and soot, but they were safe and alive. That was all that mattered.

Misha looked beside him, seeing the mini gun, and he sighed. “We...we are free,”

“Yes,” his mother stroked his hair, kissing him again. “Yes, because of you. You saved us, my son. You saved all of us...” she placed her hands on his cheeks, looking into his eyes. “I am so proud of you, so grateful to have you as my son,”

Misha’s eyes filled with tears, and he pressed close to his mother, wrapping his arms around her. “Mama...I love you! I will spend my life protecting you and the girls, I promise!”

His mother rubbed his back soothingly, before pulling away to look him in the eyes. “You’re still only a boy,” she told him gently. “I am so grateful for what you have done today, but you must rest. You deserve some rest...we will find our way home when you awake,”

Misha was getting very tired, so he kissed his mother and laid back down on the fur, curling up against it and closing his eyes.

“Thank you, Papa,” he murmured, barely audible, feeling the sheet of otherworldly love fall upon him once more. He reached over, feeling, before his hand brushed the handle of the mini gun. He smiled to himself, shifting closer to it, and he knew deep down that he would do anything in his power to protect his family and make his father proud.

[slowlymadeart]

[Image 1 Description:  A Crowd of people, all colored blue, with the label "Interneters" on them. To the left of the crowd a young man stands out. He is a repeat character. We'll call him "The Interneter." He has dark brown skin, short light blue dread-locks. He wears a burgundy colored hoodie, a dark teal V-neck shirt, and dark bluish-grey jeans. The Interneter says "You never told us what a "Spoonie" is."

To the middle right is Rachel, we can only see to the bottom of her shirt for now. (She has pale white skin, short and messy blonde hair, teal shirt with ferns printed on each side, Maroon shorts, light cyan thigh-high stocking with cut outs of leaves on them, maroon shoes). Rachel, smiling wearily, looking right at us, holding her index finger up:"Well, you could just google it. But hey, what the heck? Why pass up an opportunity to be the first person who tells you what it means?" 

We see Rachel again on the lower left side, smiling while raising an eyebrow, holding her left hand to her face, and her right hand out towards us: "Ya  ready?" 

The crowd lines the bottom of the image. The Interneter stands in the middle, with a speech bubble above "Yes." and a speech bubble to his bottom right, "That's why we asked."]

[Image 2 Description: There is a lavender square at the top of this image, on it is the text:  "Spoonie" comes from a disability metaphor first described in a 2003 essay by christine miserandino called "The Spoon Theory" in which she tells the story of trying to explain to a friend what it feels like to have lupus, using spoons as visual representation of her daily energy. She actually handed her friend a bouquet of spoons and said: "

Below Christine, a white woman with long brunette hair, a white headband, purple dress shirt and jeans, holds out a sparkling bouquet of spoons saying "Here you go". 

Below this we see her down on one knee. To her right her friend, female, brown skin, long braided dark brunette hair with a reddish tint, blue over-all dress, and teal leggings, sits on a stool holding the spoons Christine handed her.

"You have Lupus." Christine says, to which her friend nervously responds "Haha, whaaat?...... Please explain."]

[Image 3 Description: Another lander square fills the top of this image, on it is a quote from Christine's Essay,  "Most people start  the day with unlimited amounts of possibilities- energy to do whatever they desire...for the most part, they do not need to worry about the effects of their actions...I wanted something for her to actually hold, for me to then take away. If I was in control of taking away the spoons, then she would know what it feels like to have something else being in control." 

Below Christine sits alone, her legs "criss-cross". She is smiling at us and holds a giant spoon. Around her are little blurbs in purple text, "Might actually own a giant spoon" "Has done awesome advocacy work" "Read more at butyoudontlooksick.com (if you want to)"]

[Image 4 Description: a chart titled "How Spoon Theory Works". A single spoon equals a unit of energy that a person can use safely. On the left is "spoon cost per activities" on the right is icons to show the activities.

1 spoon; Getting out of bed, taking medications, changing clothes. 2 spoons; Watching a tv show, a microwavable meal, using the internet.3 spoons; Enagaing in a small activity like art, cleaning something, making a meal that required stove or oven.4 spoons; Taking a shower, leaving your home, socializing.

Narration text: Why use it? I'll let this quote by a doctor who was originally using buckets of water (???) with patients explain. "Using analogies and/or metaphors...can help clinicians and patients' loved ones get a better understanding of the impact of specific activities on a patient." (John Hopkins Neurologist Scott Newsome, DO, on the topic of "Spoon Theory")]

[Image 5 Description: The Interneter is looking worried, sweating. He says to Rachel,

"Oh wait, so I have major depression disorder, insomnia, and ADHD. During my last episode, I was barely able to make it to one class a day, and maybe get one meal. My insomnia felt uncontrollable. I ran out of mental brain power for my classes, but I still attempted as much class work as I could, even if my brain couldn't fully show up. Don't get me wrong- I still tried, so hard. Even if I was too depressed to feel things like 'normal' I still wanted to be embracing my college life. I feel like spoon theory would have really helped me in times like those. Especially since I haven't found an antidepressant that works on me yet. I know it's not like what you go through, like chronic physical illness. I wouldn't want to make less of your experience or appropriate this term. I'm just wondering if-"

 Rachel, looking calm, finding The Interneter endearing and smiling slightly, "Your experiences are just as valid and the level of impact your depression has absolutely qualifies you as a spoonie."]

[Image 6 Description: Narration text  "Today  a spoonie is someone with a condition that causes limited amounts of physical and/or cognitive energy, such as chronic illness, mental illness, or disability. It's also used by neurodivergents who deal with persistent energy limitations."

Below sits 4 girls all smiling, waving, and looking at us, left to right; The first girl has an average frame, tan skin, long navy blue hair, a maroon hat, faded pink pants, a blue/purple/lavender striped shirt, and cutting scar on her arms. Second girl is Kitt, she was in another comic, she has a plus sized frame, dark brown skin, shoulder length curly/dark brown hair. she wears a teal dress with white strips, a waist long blue jacket, blue shoes, her left left is a purple prosthetic. Third girl, she is Asian, very light but still tan skin, with black hair in cut in a pixie style. She has on a white sweat shirt that has lavender sleeves and a salmon color at the bottom, in the center is the rainbow infinity sign for neurodivergence. She has on mint pants and wear white and salmon colored sneakers. On the floor below them sits Rachel. 

Narrative text "Not all of us are literally measuring out energy in terms of spoons, but having such a metaphor is extremely helpful."]

[Image 7 Description: Narrative text "Spoon Theory embraces acknowledgment of a condition's control, which is weirdly liberating because this reminds a person:"

Girl number 3 is on the right is whispering to The Interneter "Lack of control isn't proof of personal weakness. You don't have to beat yourself up for experiencing your condition." 

"I know that. . ." the interneter says shyly, blushing and smiling.

"Do you though?" Rachel says from the left.

Below her is girl number one. "Do u? I've been doing this for 13 years and even I forget sometimes."]

[Image 8 Description: Narrative text "For young people in particular, spoonie is the first word a person may use when starting to rewrite what their life with their condition could look like."

The Interneter lays flat on his bed, we see him from the side looking hopeful "Having to live life this way isn't easy, but I want to make it work."

Below we see he is centered on his bed holding 1 spoon, "especially since I'm still having that episode of depression." On the right side his words continue "I didn't say anything because I was afraid of messing up the flow of the comic."]

[Image 9 Description: Narrative text "Spoons can be a silly thing to associate with possibly not having enough energy to manage basic survival activities, which is one reason some don't bother using the term at all. Still, it's easier to say,"

A woman, standing in the center of the image with a long purple dress, short brunette hair, and a purple walking cane, holds a hand to her chest smiling "I'm a spoonie!"

To her left is a large man all in red, hand on his hips smiling, "My own experiences of feeling tired helps me empathize with you. You make me feel validated."

To her right is a little girl colored pink "Spoons are good!"

Next to her is a woman in maroon "Such a cute and positive take!"

At the bottom of the image narrative text says "Rather than bring folk's moods down with-"]

[Image 10 description:  "My body is disabled! Living an existence with a condition that is unpredictable and invisible sometimes breaks my brain! Please don't shut me out until I'm "Fixed". Just respect my limits." Rachel says, now in the center of the people instead of the purple-dressed spoonie. She sits in her wheelchair with legs up, holding her arms out, her expression is crying yet smiling.

The large man to her left has his arms folded, now very uneasy "How do I tell apart your "disability" from excuses, self pity, and faking stuff? And who sits in a wheelchair like that?"

On the right the little pink girl is crying, her maroon mother bending down to hold her. "Isn't "Disabled" bad?" the girl ask.

Her mother responding "Nothing we need to worry about, sweetie. There are plenty of programs that think of the disabled so we don't have to."

Narrative text, "Yes. Spoonie can at times feel detached just enough from harsh reality to ease people's discomforts."] 

[Image 11 Description: Narrative text:” Perhaps detached enough for misguided normies to think,”

A young woman standing in the center with one hand on her hip and one raised with her index finger pointed upwards says "Hey! I feel like I have limited energy to! I like this "spoons" idea. It will help me be mindful and proactive with my energy! I'm a spoonie now!"

She is white woman with tanned skin, long bleach blonde hair in a pony-tail, wearing grey yoga pants and a green tang top.  On her tang top are the words "Has no condition is just human".  

To her left Girl number 3, Kitt, and Rachel are huddled looking at the woman. “Don't-” says girl number 3. "Oh no, wait-" says Kitt. "You're not one now, but hey, you'll be one of us eventually. No need to rush." says Rachel.

On the left is a young hipster male all in orange "You're just a product of obsessive online health trends." He calls out. 

Narrative text "Let's hope it doesn't turn into the 'snuggie' of disability lingo.]

[Image 12 description: Narrative Text: "Now, being disabled by a condition, especially it's fatigue aspect, doesn't mix well with the 'hyper-productive' narrative that today's society puts out." 

A Pinkish-maroon leg with the words 'society that doesn't fully realize the systemic harm of it's ableism' on it, kicks a stick figure of the Interneter high up into the air in a Team Rocket fashion.

 "Looks like having problems with my human body is causing me to be considered less of a human agaaiinn!!!" The interneter says, surrounded by anime sparkles. 

Narrative Text "Still, being active, productive, and accepted by some form of community, lay the foundations for self-confidence and a sense of worth. Contributing online is one way even the most debilitated amount us have managed a version of that foundation."]

[Image 13 Description: Narrative text: "Disabled communities are sources of support, love, guidance, and empowerment built upon collaboration, inclusion, and knowledge. They help bring together people with a willingness to listen, because they all know the value in feeling heard."

Two horizontal rows of a diverse group of people with disabilities, drawn to show them all in bed,  all interacting with each other like the would if the were together in person. Below each person is an awareness ribbon to indicate the condition(s)they have.

 From left to right, top row; A young woman with very dark brown skin, black hair in a bun, is looking concerned and reaching for a young man in the row below her. He is black with slightly lighter skin, very short hair, a 5 o'clock shadow, wearing glasses. He is reach towards her with is left arm, his right arm is curled due to his medical condition.  Next in the top row, a  Young woman with curly brown hair, tan skin, glasses, and cutting parts on her arms is smiling and being handed a book by a young white male with Downs-Syndrome, he hair short light brown hair and glasses.  A young woman with tan skin, glasses, wearing a hijab, has a pink prosthetic arm holding a piece of paper, and is using her other arm to hold hands with the person she is smiling/talking with- a thin non-binary with short blue pixie hair and braces on her elbows and right arm. This person is also holding a piece of paper, eyes shut from laughing, with happy tears coming from their eyes.

Bottom row; Next to the young man with dark skin, is a plus-sized woman with white skin, her hair is deep violet in a pixie cut. She is holding a yellow ribbon, looking concerned and speaking a "?" as she taps the should of the girl next to her. This girl is Asian with black hair in a short ponytail, she looks back at the woman with the ribbon, her arms are on the back of the next woman, whom she is comforting. This woman has medium dark skin, half her head is shaved, the other is short navy blue dreadlocks. She is curled up and crying, below her is a yellow ribbon next to a purple one. The young man on her left has his left arm around her, and has a sympathetic expression, talking with the woman to try and provide comforting. He has tan skin and short curly brown hair, with short curly brown facial hair. 

Narrative text: "Spoonies are just one part of this collective, their efforts displaying that a condition's control isn't proof of weakness, as if can exist even along side massive amounts of inner strength."]

[aliceslantern]

Give/Take, a Kingdom Hearts fanfic, chapter 3

Ienzo has been too busy since the war to be overwhelmed by the past. But with little progress to be made in his work with Kairi, old nightmares start to invade.

Riku is a glorified housesitter. Lonely and faced with no choice but to wait for a way to find his friends, he eagerly accepts when Ienzo asks him to help do repairs around the castle. Before long, the two strike up an unlikely friendship, united by their dark pasts and their attempts to be better people.

But just as they begin to consider something more... Kairi wakes up.

Ienzoku (Ienzo/Riku), post-Melody of Memory, slow burn. Updates Thursdays until it's done.

Chapter summary:  Riku gets sick, which ends up having worse consequences than it should.

Read it on FF.net/on AO3

---

Ienzo tucked another blanket around Kairi. The air in here was quite cold--despite the oncoming winter, the AC was running to keep their equipment happy. He knew she couldn’t feel anything, but he hoped the position she was in wasn’t uncomfortable. They’d done the best with what they had.

It was getting dark, but there wasn’t anything for dinner in the castle; as in, they’d even eaten all of the auxiliary cans of soup. It might be nice to stretch his legs. He put on his raincoat, picked up an umbrella, and set off.

He thought that shopping would irritate him, being another one of those necessary human activities. But he actually found it quite soothing. The food here seemed fresher, richer than what he was used to. He picked up what they needed for a few days and started to head back. It really was raining rather heavily, making him a bit jumpy in the early evening, despite the bright flashlight of his gummiphone. He still had magic, but that didn’t mean he wanted to use it.

In the darkness of the construction site, he thought he saw a figure. He tensed, trying to find that magic, only to see that it was “Riku?” Still in the rain, without a proper coat. “I suppose you found something to fight, then?”

“...You could say that.” His voice was unsteady, and Ienzo thought he saw him shaking.

“Have you been out here in the cold this entire time?”

“I’m alright,” he stuttered.

“I can both see and hear you shivering.”

“I’m really fine.”

Ienzo frowned. He knew that line through and through. The last thing he needed was for Riku to collapse on them. “Why don’t you come inside and get dry and warm?”

“No, it’s alright. I’ll go--back to the castle.”

“You shouldn’t leave while it’s dark.”

He squinted at Ienzo. There was a flush in his face. “I’ll really be okay.”

“...And it’s not pouring buckets,” Ienzo said dryly. “We have the room and frankly, you look like you feel ill.”

Riku trembled, clearly trying to come up with an excuse.

Ienzo sighed. “You want to run yourself into the ground, fine. But neither Kairi nor I appreciate it. It won’t help make you feel better, that’s for sure.”

“W-why? You b-been there?”

Ienzo chuckled. “Between my reformation and Demyx’s delivery of the replica for Roxas, I don’t think I slept more than an hour a night. And then I crashed in front of Aeleus and it was very humiliating.” He twirled his umbrella. “So really, I’m trying to help you save face, here.”

Riku considered. “W-well if you put it like that.”

He bobbed his head towards the door. “Come on, then.”

Unfortunately the only extra bedroom that was in any livable shape was the one that had belonged to Xehanort. Ienzo gathered some clean sheets and extra blankets for Riku, who was still shivering rather insistently.

“I’ll bring you something dry to wear,” he said.

“You don’t h-have to, I’m sure once I get dry I--”

“Riku, if I let you stay in those wet clothes then I may end up getting the rest of us sick. I’m making soup for dinner. I do hope you’ll come eat it.” He told him briefly where the kitchen and bathroom were.

“I’d hate to intrude--”

“The only thing I particularly hate right now is that you’re refusing help when you clearly need it. It’s fine. We want you to be comfortable.” Insofar as he could be here, anyway.

He dropped his eyes. “...Thanks.”

“It is the least I can do.” He nodded once, curtly. “Dilan gets upset if dinner is not served precisely at seven-thirty. You better be there.”

“Or w-what?”

Ienzo cocked his head. He didn’t know what that tone meant, other than the fact it made his heart skip a little. Nerves? Discomfort? Indigestion? “Then I’m afraid you’ll miss my gourmet cooking, which is a shame for you,” he replied, equally. “Get changed. Quit procrastinating.” He shut the door on Riku before he could protest further, and tried not to ponder the nervous little seed that was now growing in his chest.

It had been a while since he’d had banter with-- anyone , and fighting with Even didn’t count . They were all too busy walking on eggshells around each other. That was why, right? A friendly moment with someone who was nigh-identical to his murderer?

Ienzo shook his head and went to start the soup. He enjoyed the neat order of cooking, its innate harmlessness. They’d been taking turns cooking for everyone; Dilan was a good cook, Aeleus passable. Even couldn’t do much more than boil pasta, nor did he care to do more. Ansem preferred to “support local business” and get takeout. He kept chopping vegetables, making his broth, readying bits of beef. It’d take some time to simmer, so he tried to catch up on his coding on a tablet.

Ienzo was starting to get sick of numbers.

---

Riku was starting to get sick. He felt it. That was dumb, he thought, wincingly. While a warm shower and the blankets on the bed helped with the worst of the shivering, it was only just beginning, an ache in his bones. A potion might at least help him be functional, but one was all the way across the room in the pocket of his pants, which were drying on the radiator.

This room reminded him too much of the one Maleficent had given him the last time he’d stayed here. The furniture was the same style, the walls the same green. He wondered dizzily if this was that room, but this one had a window and the other had not.

Ienzo had left him a set of linen pajamas, but knowing who they belonged to nearly kept him from putting them on--at least until the bone-deep cold reinvaded. He huddled under the three or four blankets he’d been given.

Nice one, idiot, he thought. He’d known that fighting in the rain was a bad idea, but he’d done it anyway , and now he was out of commission for at least a few hours, until the dizziness faded enough for him to travel-- not home , but to the place he’d been living.

It seemed to take a long time, but finally, finally the shivering stopped. The bed wasn’t nearly as uncomfortable as he’d thought, and he found himself drifting, trying desperately to stay awake. The soup. He’ll be mad if I don’t eat the soup. The notion of trying to stomach something just made him feel nauseous. Riku tried to sit up, but the wave of vertigo that overcame him was so intense he had to lay right back down.

Maybe it wouldn’t be so terrible to fall asleep…

Riku dreamt.

The buildings and alleys of a city in the rain, full of bright pulsing neon and he was searching, so desperately, so desperately, for Sora, and time was running out--

The dream warped and changed.

The castle had seemed darker then, its smell muskier, Heartless wandering the place in droves. He’d hear them fighting each other as he tried to sleep; he remembered that being surprising. At first the pulse and pull of darkness inside of him had felt exhilarating, like he could do anything, like he was unstoppable.

Then he started blacking out.

The loss of time had been a few seconds, minutes at most, like he’d simply zoned out or lost his train of thought. But slowly, over the course of those days, Ansem’s grip on him tightened, and the minutes became hours, and he’d be left in the darkness of his own heart, a sensation that threatened to drown him if he didn’t consciously fight it moment for moment. It had burned, felt hot, and now and again he could twitch his own fingers, take a few hesitant steps in his own body. Even once Ansem had theoretically been purged from him, he still felt that pull, itching, aching, not helped at all when it was quite literally awoken.

Castle Oblivion wasn’t dark. It was bright, white, piercing, despite the fact that it was underground and had no windows. The only darkness came from the Heartless, from the shadowy figures that lurked within--

“Riku?”

I know who I am.

When did that happen? You were always terrified of the dark before--

“...Right. I see. I’ll leave it here for you.”

A clink of metal and glass, a cool hand touching his forehead--

Then I shall make you see that your hopes are nothing but a mere illusion!

Riku grasped Zexion’s wrist hard, and heard a startled cry. A lamp light clicked on.

Not Zexion.

In his hazy state, it took him a long, long moment to realize what had happened. The walls of the room were wobbly. Ienzo was clutching his wrist, gasping and breathing hard. “I-I’m sorry,” Riku stammered. “I didn’t mean--are you hurt?”

But Ienzo didn’t respond. His head was bowed low, and his grip had shot up to his throat. Riku tried to reach towards him--

“Do not .” The words were harsh, almost animal-- with panic , Riku realized dizzily. “Don’t touch me, don’t--” He choked for breath for a moment longer before he darted from the room.

Perhaps it was the fever, but Riku reeled with confusion. Their battle, to his knowledge, had been tough but ultimately mutual. Why was Ienzo reacting this way?

Either way, he’d messed up again , and he felt too awful to try and make more sense of it. He saw that Ienzo had brought him some of the soup, and some tea and medicine, and the guilt only tightened.

His exhausted mind swept him back under.

---

Riku woke with a jolt. He wasn’t sure if the fever had broken or not; he was uncomfortably sweaty in all these layers. He could tell he’d been having dreams, intense, difficult ones, but they all dissolved in the morning light.

Lying on his side, he saw the abandoned soup bowl, the now-cold tea and medicine. A stab of remorse made his stomach clench. In that moment the fever really had made him think Zexion was attacking him, but that didn’t make hurting him any more right.

And--squinting hard--had that grip made Ienzo panic ? Why?

Either way, Riku had a lot of apologizing to do. He warmed what he’d been left with a spell and ate, the prickles of guilt getting worse.

His clothing was dry by now, so he got dressed and folded up everything he’d used. He was still a bit shaky, but he’d be fine enough to get back to the Land of Departure. He hardly ever got sick like that. But he hadn’t been able to sleep well lately, and there was the cold and the rain, and he probably wasn’t eating well either. He’d run himself into the ground. Riku had to get better control of this, if so just to prevent all this from happening again.

He set off to find Ienzo, his heart beating hard with anxiety. Just say sorry. Just say sorry. There had to be something he could do. He hoped he hadn’t hurt him; he knew too well the ache of broken bones.

He headed back to the lab, trying not to talk himself out of it. He mentally rehearsed what he had to say-- you were so kind, I acted completely out of turn-- but when he got there, Ienzo wasn’t even in the room.

“Good morning, Riku,” Even said, and Riku wondered if he was imagining the coolness in his voice. “I see you’re up and about.”

“I’m so sorry about yesterday. Thank you for letting me stay.” He cleared his throat.

“I don’t think any of us are strangers to overwork,” Ansem said. “You’re welcome here any time.”

He dropped his eyes. “...Thanks. Um. Where’s Ienzo? I wanted to thank him for the dinner.”

Again, that stab of paranoia--was the pause too long? “He had a few things to tend to in town, I believe,” Even said. “But I will pass on the message.”

“...Oh. Thanks.” He looked back at Kairi, still deeply asleep. Would she be ashamed of him? “I guess I should… head out, if there’s nothing I can help with here.”

“I don’t believe so,” Even said, without looking up.

“Take care,” Ansem said, with that same old man smile.

Riku returned to the Land of Departure, to the silence.

[vertanimeni]

the ice will start to break, the day will fade away (10/18)

Summary:

“Have you heard? The Elephant of Caocin has committed high treason!”

From Trikru’s most reputable war hero to Trikru’s most wanted traitor, Kova found themselves stripped of their titles and trapped between a clan that wants them dead and a camp of invaders - the same ones who kidnapped and tortured their brother.

But Kova was willing to do anything to stay alive and keep their family together.

Pairing: Bellamy Blake/Grounder OC

Word Count: 6,363

TW: Wilderness violence, bees???

A/N: Hi again!! Ahh I’m really happy, I think I’ll be able to finish this series by September at the rate I’ve been writing... Anyways, if you’re reading through my blog, the read more does not show up due to Tumblr’s new formatting, so please click on the post itself. I will be updating every Friday at 4pm EST. Enjoy! <333

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x. ireful.

The two entered the dropship simultaneously, but the moment Raven caught sight of Fox and Emmie huddled together, speaking in gentle tones, she sped up. Emmie no longer clutched her stomach in pain, nor was she sweating, but she was still laying in bed. Wells stopped Raven from walking in further, but before she could ask why, he held up a cloth similar to the one he had over his lower face.

Kova and Raven tied their makeshift masks when Emmie called out, “Kova, look! I’m already feeling better!”

Although this was the third time she had interacted with the grounder, Raven found herself surprised at the way Kova’s eyes lit up. She watched as they tied off the cloth in a hurry and sat criss crossed in front of Emmie.

“Let me check.” Kova placed a hand on her forehead just as Raven joined them. “Hmm. Strange.”

“What? What’s wrong?” Fox asked with a worried look.

“I don’t hear or feel any brain cells thumping around in there.”

…

Emmie let out a soft giggle. “You can’t feel my brain cells like that!”

“How do you know?” Although the mask covered half of their face, the three sky people (more importantly, Emmie) could see the teasing mirth in their eyes. “Here, maybe if I try this way,” They flipped their hand and plopped it across Emmie’s forehead, making her flinch and laugh (and cough a bit, but nothing of concern), and touched their own forehead with their other hand.

“How is she, doc?” Raven played along, “Are her brain cells still there?”

“Mn,” Kova closed their eyes and scrunched up their face, as if concentrating hard. “I sense at least one.”

“Hey! I have more than one!”

“Oh, really? Then how come I don’t— Ah!” They exclaimed as quietly as they could without disturbing the other patients. “I feel more brain cells running around.” They took their hand back. “She’s okay, no fever.”

Fox visibly relaxed, her shoulder bumping against Raven’s.

Kova took Emmie’s hand. “Now to see if I can hear your blood cells.”

“Blood cells?”

“Mn.” They wrapped a hand around her wrist, two fingers at her pulse point. “Well, really, I’m trying to hear your heartbeat. Let’s see what your heart says.”

Emmie waited with bated breath while Kova closed their eyes and ‘mn’-ed and nodded a few times, as if they were having a conversation with her heartbeat. “Your heart says… You need to eat more.” They concluded, placing her hand back to where it was. “More vegetables, preferably.”

“Yuck.”

“Yuck? Vegetables are delicious.”

“The ones the older kids make us eat are kinda gross.” Emmie frowned.

Fox flinched, and Raven murmured, “They’ve been eating only turnips and onions for the past few days, so…”

“Ah. I see.” Kova nodded solemnly. “Well, until we can find better vegetables, you must listen to your heart and eat what you have for now, okay?”

Emmie grumbled out an “okay,” and sighed.

Kova turned back to Fox and Raven. “I… will talk to Clarke about this. I’ll see you later, Emmie.”

“Already? Bye!”

Before either Fox or Raven could say anything, Kova stood and made their way to Clarke, who had finished with another patient.

“Hey.” Exhaustion laced Clarke’s voice, and for a moment they wondered if they should ask about this now or let Clarke catch up on some sleep first. Well, best not to beat around the bush.

“Your children are malnourished.” They said quite bluntly. “They are more susceptible to the virus.”

“Oh? Is that’s why…?” Clarke looked over her shoulder to the three new small patient she gained in the past hour. Letting out a heavy sigh, she rubbed at her temple. “Shit. No wonder.”

She heard the click of Kova swallowing before they said, “Let me go out.”

Clarke snapped her head up, her neck audibly cracking. “What?”

“Let me go out. Send me with a team if you have to. I can get you better vegetables than onions or whatever it is you have been feeding them. We can go hunting, bring back meat and medicinal plants, too.” Their expression grew more calculating. 

“Medicinal plants?”

“I… will admit I am not the best at making medicine, but I know the process and which plants you would need. It won’t cure the virus, but it’ll lessen the symptoms at least.”

“…I guess this is our closest shot.” Clarke let out a soft sigh. “Ask Bellamy to set you up with a team — the more people you have, the more things you can bring back. Just be back before sundown.”

They gave a curt nod, and after explaining the situation to Wells, they replaced the cloth mask for their brother’s mask and jogged out of the dropship.

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Leaning over the table where he had set up a map of the surrounding area, small twigs representing an unfinished wall, Bellamy had been halfway through the discussion when he noticed a change in the delinquents’ behavior.

Skin shining with a sheen of sweat, Jasper had turned even paler than Bellamy thought possible and kept his eyes lowered, as if all the blood drained away from his face, as if afraid to make eye contact. Bellamy would have immediately sent him to Clarke if it weren’t for others in the room also nervously looking away, averting their gaze from his general direction. Even Miller, who Bellamy had known since the Ark Guard, had grown twitchy and would catch his eye only to look past his shoulder, as if gesturing to look behind—

If Bellamy jolted when he was suddenly face-to-face with a mask resembling a snake, that was no one’s business but his own. He leaned back against the table and let out a harsh sigh, his eyebrows furrowing in anger.

“My apologies,” Kova said, “I did not mean to interrupt, but I must speak with you.”

“We’re busy. You’ll have to wait.” He turned his back towards them, but before he could continue with the discussion—

“It’s urgent.”

Another sigh. He hung his head, then looked at the group. They all seemed to be itching to leave, and Bellamy couldn’t blame them. “Work on what we’ve talked about so far. Once that’s done, come back and we’ll work through the second half.”

Everyone bolted from the table, except for Miller.

Bellamy turned back and gestured for Kova to talk.

“The children and the others in camp are becoming more susceptible to the virus because of malnourishment.” They started off. “Getting proper vegetables, meat, and medicinal plants would benefit not just them, not just the sick, but the entire camp. Clarke said you would set me up with a group of people to go out and forage.”

“No,” was his immediate response. He never thought a blink could hold a weight of judgment until Kova leveled his gaze, fire flaming behind them.

“Clarke gave permission. Unless you prefer I go alone—”

“It’s hard enough getting this wall up with a pandemic running around.” He gestured to the camp around them, to the people lugging tree trunks, rope, and heavy buckets of water. “With the grounders ready to attack at any moment, do you really think I’ll let you go out? Tell her to send someone else to lead the mission, and maybe I’ll consider it.”

“Bellamy—”

“The whole point, Bellamy,” They gritted out his name with contempt, effectively cutting Miller off, “is that I am the only one who can recognize and bring back what is needed. And contrary to what you may believe, I do not gain anything from returning to Trikru.”

“And how am I supposed to believe that?”

“Murphy said it himself. They consider me as the scum of the Earth. Not exactly welcoming. Look, at this point, I don’t care what you do. I’m going.” Kova brushed past him and bumped into his shoulder. “Good luck trying to explain to Clarke why I didn’t bring back enough—” They knew it was a mistake when they felt fingers clasped around their wrist.

“You know, that reminds me. I had some questions about that. Elephant of Caocin?”

The same reaction as last time. They froze. Spine popping as their shoulders tensed. Hands shaking and balling into fists — in anger or fear, Bellamy didn’t know, but he felt the back of his hand prickling under their sharp gaze. They angled their head towards him, and to his surprise, their expression behind the mask seemed haunted, not unlike his after he realized how many people died in the Ark because of him. Shaken, he found himself releasing his hold on them.

“What?” He snapped, suddenly uncomfortable. “It’s pretty suspicious—”

“What is, exactly?” One step, two steps forward, and Bellamy felt the angry warmth of their body against his, the two chest to chest. He resisted the urge to reach for a weapon. “What’s so damn suspicious about it, hmm?”

‘Many things, too many things,’ He wanted to say, ‘Why are you helping? Why are you still here? What's with you and Octavia? Everything about you screams suspicion.’ But instead, he fumed in silence at the fact he had to stretch his neck to reach their gaze dead on.

They tilted their head in a way that infuriated him even further, that had his fists clenching, jaw tensing. “I think you’re just upset Murphy knows something you don’t.”

His eyebrow twitched.

“Ah. So that’s what it was.” They nodded, their lips curled back in a mocking smile and they pressed a knuckle against their bottom lip. “If you want to know so damn badly, then I’ll tell you. Elephant of Caocin is a title that had been given to me three years ago by the Commander of the 12 clans. The one you angered. That’s all you need to know.”

Miller thought Bellamy’s jaw would break at any moment. “Based on Murphy’s spouting,” Bellamy gritted out, “it seems to be more than that.”

“And like I said,” they bristled, “that’s all. you need. to know. That title is well over three years old, long before you all came and ruined everything.”

“Meaning?” Faces far too close together, Bellamy could see Kova’s sharp eyes glaring down and clashing against his.

“Meaning the Elephant of Caocin is none of your fucking business. I am going to get those damn plants with or without your help. If you need more proof, I have already snuck out of this camp at least twice since I’ve been here, and Trikru has not shown up at your doorstep.” They continued, despite Miller’s shocked look and Bellamy’s face flushing in anger. “Like I said, scavenging for better food is our best shot at curbing the pandemic. Unless you want more people dying, this is the best way to help them.”

“The best way to help is— Monty?”

He let go of their wrist. They turned just in time to catch a poorly made wooden spear. They unconsciously spun it into the other hand and positioned the pointed end towards the ground between them and Bellamy, who stepped back after he realized his foot was directly underneath it.

Kova looked back to the young boy who threw the spear, and although Kova recognized him as the boy Octavia was talking to the night they snuck out, they eyed the boy with suspicion.

“I overheard everything. What’re we gonna do when the wall is built but there’s no food?” Monty’s voice wavered ever so slightly, but he stood tall with his own spear.

“Then we’ll go and find some ourselves.” Bellamy answered.

“Last time we did that the entire camp ended up high as shit. Miller was stuck in a tree for three hours.”

(Kova glanced at Miller. He covered his face and averted his gaze.)

Monty then turned to Kova and said, “I was… uh, decent in Earth Skills, but it’s not very helpful when all the plants have mutated. I’ll do whatever it is you need me to do.”

“I’ll take as many people as I can get, regardless of skill. Do you know anyone else?”

“We’re going!”

“I-I’m going too.”

The group turned around, and while seeing Finn didn’t shock Bellamy, seeing Zoe with a bright smile and her hand in the air, Drew, and even Fox caught him completely off guard.

He wasn’t the only one. Kova’s eyes widened when they landed on her, barely noticeable behind the mask, but Fox caught it. “I heard your conversation with Clarke earlier. I… wasn’t sure if I wanted to go, but Raven convinced me. I want to help.”

“I appreciate it. Thank you.” They lowered their gaze before turning to Monty. “Are there any big baskets in this camp?”

“I think there’s a couple from when Roma…”

Only Kova and Miller noticed Bellamy’s flinch at the name.

“Yeah, I know Warren and Myles took over her project after she died.”

“If possible, get one per person.” Kova paused. “And two for me.”

“Two? They’re pretty big…”

“Kova,” Finn glanced at their leg. “Don’t forget about your wound.”

“I know. Two for me.”

“I-I’ll go get them.” Fox said.

“I’ll help.” Finn offered.

“We’ll meet you outside the gates.” Kova eyed the spear in their hands. “We’ll have to make do if we want to get fish.”

“Oh, we’re going fishing?” Monty’s nervous smile brightened. “Sweet!”

“I bet I can catch the biggest fish.” Zoe grinned haughtily.

The remaining three delinquents headed towards the gate. But when Kova made a move to follow, a hand held their bicep. They lowered their gaze to the offending limb, then to Bellamy. “Let. Go.”

“You’re not leaving.”

“Like I said before,” They centered their gaze on the wooden gates past his head. “Clarke already gave me permission. If that’s not enough for you, that’s not my problem. Take it up with her.”

Ripping their arm from his grasp, they left without another word, leaving Bellamy and Miller dumbfounded.

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“Alright, gather up. Drew, got your spear back?”

“No, not yet!” Called out said delinquent, balancing on top of Zoe’s shoulders trying to climb a tree. Far above him, his weapon stuck out of the tree’s trunk. “But we’re getting there!” 

“Great! Monty, fixed your shoe?”

“I’ll probably end up with a blister or two, but yeah, for the most part.”

“Alright.” Finn clapped his hands together — not too loud, though. He learned his lesson after last time. “Who’s gonna talk to them?”

If the group hadn’t teamed up against him, Finn might have laughed at the way Zoe and Drew froze and looked up/down at one another, while Fox and Monty scratched their heads and faced away from him, acting as if they didn’t hear his question. Instead, he exhaled through his nose — too gentle to be a proper sigh, but too passive aggressive to ignore — and turned around to the fallen log a ways ahead, where Kova had been brooding alone for the past ten minutes, one leg propped up, the other bouncing against the wood.

The scavenger group had only been an hour into their trip when Kova had their outburst.

It all started with Drew. Call Drew whatever you’d like - serious, stubborn, a tad bit overprotective, somewhat of a romantic — but nobody could call him a quitter. And one squirrel in particular had caught his eye when it scurried down from the trunk of its tree, tail swishing, taunting him like the little shits they were. 

And guess who fell for the trap?

That is how Drew had gotten his spear stuck in a tree not once, not twice, but three times. And because none of the sky people knew how to climb a tree, Kova had been the one to retrieve it. All. Three. Times. And they weren’t low throws either! Again, no one could call Drew a quitter.

But by the time Kova had retrieved the spear for the third time, face scratched up, twigs and leaves stuck in their dreads, they had given him a sharp look and put an end to his squirrel endeavors.

(He kept a careful eye on the squirrel though. Just in case.)

The group continued. All was well until Kova felt a nagging feeling when they saw Fox reach down and exclaim excitedly, “Oh, I know this plant! This must be Virginia Creeper!”

Now, Kova knew five things about Virginia Creepers.

Do not eat raw, it is poisonous.

Do not touch with bare hands, it is an irritant.

When cooked or used properly, the berries can be used for edema, the roots for diarrhea, and the bark and twigs for a strong cough syrup.

Younger vines have three leaves, older vines have seven leaves, but typically it should have five leaves.

It is an aggressive and invasive tree murderer, a vine that likes to climb and suffocate trees by growing its leaves on top, and they absolutely hate growing along the forest floor.

Recalling points 1 and 2, Kova had already been moving towards Fox to warn her. Recalling point 3, they thought, ‘Maybe I can wrap some in a rag for Clarke,’ and pulled out said rag that they kept in their pocket. But then, recalling points 4 and 5, they noticed the plant looked mature despite growing on the ground, but it still had three leaves—

With a red center at the stalk—

And Fox’s bare hands were far too close—

Kova dropped the rag and found themselves running towards her, yelling, “Wait, don’t—!”

In their panic, they swung their leg straight up, kicking Fox’s hands away. Fox yelped and backed away with hurt, wide eyes, clutching her wrist. Before any of the delinquents could point their spears at them, Kova quickly said, “This is poison ivy, it causes awful rashes, blisters, and allergic reactions, and I don’t have any jewelweed that could help if someone is affected. Stay away from it.”

Monty’s eyes widened. “Whoa, that’s poison ivy?”

He, Zoe, and Drew crowded around the plant. Kova made their way towards Fox and reached a comforting hand out to place on her shoulder, but hesitated and pulled back in case she didn’t want them touching her. “My apologies, Fox, I did not mean to hurt you. I panicked, and I didn’t know how to get you away from it fast enough.”

Because Fox had grown up with reassuring touches and affections from her parents when they were still alive, she had seen Kova pull back their hand and took it the wrong way. She thought that the (surprisingly) kind and friendly grounder must have been furious with her despite their tone, and that any progress she had made with Kova poofed in one go, all because she had been reckless on a planet she didn’t know but claimed as her home. She stepped away, ducking her head. “N-No no, it’s alright,” She wrapped her arms around herself, unable to meet Kova’s eyes. “I should have been more careful. I won’t touch anything else.”

Fox had made herself tiny, and in Kova’s eyes, it meant she was uncomfortable with them crowding her space, just as they thought. They silently berated themselves as they dipped their head in acknowledgment and stepped away.

The group moved on, and while that incident had been more anxiety inducing rather than irritating, it didn’t help what came after. The group had finally reached what Kova and Finn had been tracking for the better part of the past hour — a deer of some sort, eating foliage in a bush. Most likely two headed, but from this angle, no one could tell. Kova leaned back, sharpened spear in hand, while Finn and Drew sat behind the bushes, holding up their own weapons in case Kova missed and needed another one asap. Just as they pulled back their arm—

Crack! Crack! Snap!

In a too quiet forest full of predators, the sound of twigs snapping was a warning. The deer fled without looking back, and yes, it was two headed, full of meat.

Kova clenched their jaw hard enough for Finn and Drew to hear a pop!

The trio turned around to find Monty and Zoe with apologetic, nervous smiles. Those two had snapped enough twigs to make an entire new dam for the beavers on the way here, but they couldn’t even—!

No point. Kova took a deep breath. No point in getting upset. The deer was long gone by now. What’s done is done. Finn was kind enough to try to track it down again, but the prints fell apart after the deer had gone through the section of the forest with thick roots popping out of the ground like veins. They would have to find something else to hunt. Instead, Kova decided that gathering the plants and herbs needed for the group to use as reference would be best.

Clap!

Knee deep in plants and bugs, a new vein would pop at Kova’s forehead with every—

Clap!

No point in getting mad.

Clap!

No point—

Clap!

Finn had grown frustrated with the sudden rush of bugs attacking him, as if drawn to his blood type.

Clap! Clap! Clap!

Now, while Kova didn’t remember what they had shouted at the group when they finally blew up, whatever it was, it must have been hurtful. Hurtful enough for Fox and Drew’s eyes to swell with unshed tears, for Monty and Zoe to pointedly look away, and for Finn to look taken aback. A feeling they wouldn’t name gnawed at their chest, and unable to handle it, Kova stormed off to be alone.

‘Well,’ They thought as the wood creaked under a new weight next to them, a pair of shoes popping up in the corner of their vision, ‘That didn’t last long.’ They snuck a peak. Finn.

Taking a deep breath, Kova spoke first. “You guys… weren’t joking.”

He raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“When you said you didn’t have much Earth skills.” They tucked their face in the crook of their elbow. “You weren’t joking.”

“Well, yeah.” He let out a light chuckle. “None of us have even seen this much green in our life. There are no trees or river or dirt in the Ark.” Well, there was one tree, but it didn’t really count.

Kova blinked a few times. “I… can’t imagine that.”

“For clothes, monochrome colors are easier to reproduce. The Ark is made of metal, so everything is grey. But when the sun hits just right, we would have yellow, blue, and green lighting.” At Kova’s confused look, Finn explained, “We still had our own version of a sunset of sorts, so we would get rays of yellow. Green reflections would come from the Earth’s forests, and blue from the ocean.” He let out a light laugh. “You should have seen our faces when we first came down here. Everyone went crazy when we saw the sky turning orange, pink, even purple.”

“Mn.” Kova faced upwards, past the bright green foliage and brown bark of the trees, to the baby blue sky, with wisps of white clouds, a serene day. “It’s quite beautiful, even for us.” They tilted their head towards him. “You should see it from Polis. It’s gorgeous.”

“Polis?”

“Major city and capital of Trikru.”

“If everything works out, maybe one day.”

The two had a moment of comfortable silence. Then Finn said, “You’re right. We don’t have any Earth skills. We’ve only survived by learning the basics.” He turned to them. “But we’re willing to try our best.”

Chewing on the inside of their lip, Kova looked down at their hands. Calloused. Rough. Dry and ashy without their usual lotion. Then to Finn’s. Cut up, sure, but other wise clean of the hard labor expected in Trikru — in all clans, really. They ran their hands through their dreads and massaged the nape of their neck, before giving him a curt nod and standing up. “If you’re willing to try, then I should treat you all the same way I treat the baby warriors back home. Let’s go.”

Without waiting for his response, Kova made their way back to the group waiting for them.

And what a sight they found themselves in. Drew, with his arms and legs wrapped around the trunk of a tree like some sort of koala. Zoe, laying spread eagle on the ground a ways away, breathing heavily, shoulders dirty. Monty and Fox, surrounding Drew, trying to coax him into giving up on the spear. That was when Kova noticed Drew had thrown his spear up in a tree again, but this time right above a—

Drew looked over his shoulder to brush off Monty, but made eye contact with Kova instead. He sent them a nervous smile when they started walking over to him and said, “No, don’t worry Kova! I can try to get it myself!”

“Nope, nope, get down from there.” They reached under his arms and pulled him off the tree with ease. “Last thing I need is you breaking a leg trying to get down.”

Drew dropped his gaze to the floor, pink flushing his neck.

‘Treat them like the baby warriors.’ Their eyes flickered around for a moment before they clapped his shoulder lightly. “Hey. If you wanted to learn how to climb a tree, I wouldn’t mind teaching you. But one, we have something else to focus on. And two,” they pointed upwards, “you see that grey pouch thing up there?”

Drew nodded, and the others followed their looks.

“That’s a bee’s nest. You see a tree with any type of lump or pouch like that, you avoid it completely. That spear belongs to them now.”

“Bees… they’re the ones that sting, right?”

“They don’t sting unless you aggravate them, and they only sting once before they die. If you see them in flowers, they’re really chill, but not in their nests.” Ah, that reminded Kova of a field trip they went when they were younger. Maybe they would tell the group the story another time. “Wasps and hornets, on the other hand, are absolute bitches, and won’t hesitate to sting you multiple times.”

“So that’s what a bee’s nest looks like?” Zoe asked.

“I said it was a bee’s nest because it’s outside on a branch, and wasps and hornets typically like to nest inside of a trunk or a dead animal—” Kova saw Monty mouth ‘dead animals?!’ and held in a laugh, “—but it’s too far for me to tell what it really is. Regardless, it doesn’t matter. If you see a nest, you walk away, even if they’re just bees. Here,” Kova passed their spear to Drew, “you can take mine, I don’t need it.”

“Oh, thanks!”

“Mn.” They dipped their head in acknowledgment and addressed the whole group. “Alright, new plan.” They clapped their hands together and started walking. “Follow me.”

“Where are we going?” Monty asked.

“There are a couple of plants that could help Clarke a lot. They grow along the river, so while I pick those, you guys will fish.” Before the group could say anything, they corrected themselves. “First, I will teach you guys how to fish, and then you will go fish.” They pressed their hand against their chin. “It’s the middle of September, so the salmon should be migrating from the rivers to the ocean. As long as we avoid the waterfalls, we shouldn’t run into any bears.”

“Salmon?”

“Bears?”

Finn stiffened. “What about the huge ass eel?”

“Huge ass eel? The unu mach’aqway?”

“Whatever it’s called, it’s huge, it eats people, and it’s in the river. How are you going to fish?”

“It’s… a water snake, of sorts. They’re usually gone by now — they migrate to the ocean and Floukru hunts them down.” Kova shook their head. “Regardless, if it is still there, we can head past the dams where it can’t reach us.”

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On the dry and ashy river rocks, there were four pairs of shoes lined up side by side, each stuffed with socks and sprinkled with specks of water. In front of the shoes, protecting them from the river, stood a line of four baskets.

“Hah! Caught another one!”

Wind blowing through the stab wound in its gill, a fish flew in the air and smacked against the edge of a basket, thoroughly splashing water across the shoes with its tail as a final ‘fuck you’ before flopping inside to be with its dead brethren.

“Zoe!”

“Ah man. Sorry!”

“Say that to your own shoes! And don’t go asking around for spares—” Drew’s tease cut short with a splash of water. “Hey!”

With a stroke of the non-bloodied end of Zoe’s spear, she splashed and soaked the cuffed ends of Drew’s pants. “Whoops!”

While those four delinquents waded in the shallow end of the river, necks aching, fingers pruned, Fox had opted for foraging and uprooting plants with Kova, to their pleasant surprise. Kova had given her a bundle of various herbs to help identify which plants to uproot and which to leave alone, and despite what had happened earlier, Fox was, for the most part, accurate. Especially compared to Monty and Drew, who somehow had pulled a bucket’s worth of weeds and useless plants.

Kova and Fox squatted at the forest line, and behind them were three baskets, organized by their designated plants: ginger and cloves; turmeric and tea plant; peanuts and thyme.

“Hey,” Kova passed Fox a bundle of cloves, “you sure you don’t want to join them? I can handle this.”

“Yeah, no, I’m sure.” She took the bundle and tossed it in its appropriate basket. “I, uh…”

Kova waited patiently, uprooting another plant, their silence encouraging.

“I’m scared.” Fox whispered out, mindlessly playing with the leaves of a ginger plant. “I don’t know why. I’ve never even been in the water before, but…” She shuddered and dropped the ginger in the wrong basket. When she turned away, Kova fixed it, and noticed the way her hands shook. “Thinking about stepping in the river, where anything could bite or crawl on me—”

“I hate the ocean for the same reason.” Kova cut in, not unkindly. “I hate the feeling of something brushing up against my legs, even though I know it’s most likely seaweed. And I’m always worried about stepping on a sea animal that’ll stab me in the foot, or poison me or something.” They snorted. “A-Lin always told me I was being dramatic.”

“A-Lin?”

“My little brother.” Kova threw another bundle into a basket and clapped the dirt off their hands. “I’m going to go check in on them. Do you…”

“No, it’s fine, I’ll keep working.”

“Okay. Call me if you need anything.”

“Yup!”

“Guys,” Finn laughed and pulled off a fish from the sharp end of his spear. “Why do I feel like I’m winning?”

“Because you are.” Monty grumbled, looking at his clean spear with both disdain and defeat.

“Finn has the most fishes.” The delinquents turned at the new voice. Kova inspected the baskets, one hand on their hip, the other holding their mask up. While Finn had seen them without their mask before, Monty, Zoe, and Drew’s mouths dropped slightly in surprise. With mirth glinting in their eyes, Kova said, “Next is Zoe, then Drew, then Monty.”

Monty gave out quite a long ‘boo’ and leaned against his spear in utter defeat. “This truly is a crime, a slander on my name, absolute heterphobia—!”

The delinquents had heard this joke of his plenty of times, both in the Skybox and since they reached Earth, and usually responded with a roll of their eyes or beaming whatever they were holding at Monty’s head. However before any of them could hit him with their spears—

A snort.

A splutter of a laugh.

The delinquents turned in shock, only to find Kova with their back towards the, shoulders shaking, the hand on their hip now over their mouth. “Sorry, sorry—” They managed to get out with a hitched breath. “I’ve— I don’t think— Never heard an expression like that before.”

They took a deep breath, wiped their face down, and without turning around, they ordered, “We’re going soon. Put the fishes into two baskets. The other two we’ll use to gather vegetables.”

They dropped their mask and made their way to Fox, purposefully ignoring the surprised whispers of the delinquents.

“Everything okay?” Fox asked, noting the delinquents packing up.

“Mn. They caught a lot of fish. We’ll move on to vegetables, then head back to your camp.” Slinging the two heavier baskets across their shoulders, they waited for Fox, who had been struggling with the lightest basket.

“Ah, really?” She finally managed to strap the basket over her shoulder. “That’s great…!” Trailing off, she noted the distant — no, fond look in Kova’s eyes. She followed their line of sight to the delinquents, where Drew and Zoe smacked one another with fish while Finn and Monty dumped the fish into two baskets. “Kova, are… you okay?”

Eyes flickered to her for a moment. “…mn.”

“…can I ask what are you thinking about?”

The two fell into silence for a moment, and Fox, thinking they wouldn’t respond, prepared to change the subject, until, in a quiet voice, they said, “Home.”

Ah. She nodded, looking up at the sky. “Mood.” She sighed.

“…mood?”

“Oh, it means something like, ‘I agree.’”

“…hmm. Mood.”

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While the forest had the sound of rustling leaves, Lincoln’s home had the sound of rustling paper. Well, what was once his home, anyways. Now, it was just a cave that once held his belongings, his knick knacks, his good memories. He had packed everything essential into a bag, including the papers he had planned on binding into a new journal, while the rest of his things were organized into two neat piles on his desk, should he return.

Should he return. What a thought. A few years ago — no, even a few weeks ago — Lincoln never would have thought about moving out. The cave was perfect for someone like him — the black sheep of TonDC. The questioner, the arguer, the “questions first, actions later” type of man, and most importantly: the solitary type. Parents dead, extended family gone, he had grown used to being alone, living alone, existing alone. The only social interaction he really needed was Kova and their family.

And when Kova had gone into seclusion, his warrior duties had begun to pile up in the aftermath of the war, so while he would still visit their family every other day, his social interaction came more from the warriors he had to train (and, truthfully, console more than anything else). Going back home to an empty, quiet cave, was nothing short of a blessing.

And a reminder that Kova was no longer there.

Lincoln shook his head, and after adding the final touched to his bag, he couldn’t help but smile slightly. Leaving with the two people he cared about the most and joining a clan that wouldn’t spark violence led by his old friend sounded almost like a dream. They could leave behind everything — Mount Caocin, the political drama, the potential war with the sky people…

Only taking Octavia and Kova with him and leaving the sky people to fend for themselves. At first, he thought he was being selfish. Even now, as he leaned against the desk and drank a cup of water, he can’t help but think that. But he tried his best with Lieutenant Anya and Chief Indra, but in the end, he was ignored and mocked. What else was there left to do?

The sound of wings flapping caught his attention. A messenger bird came through the open door, papers fluttering as it landed on his desk and stuck its leg out impatiently. Lincoln undid the knot and took the roll of paper attached, and with another flurry of papers, the bird left. He opened the letter with haste, noting it was from Luna.

My dearest Lincoln, 

The waters here have turned cold with each passing day, and while it is quite unfortunate for our swimmers, we have caught more unu mach’aqwaykuna than expected. Needless to say, we have plenty of food for incoming migrants. I am glad to hear the updates between you and Octavia, however, I cannot say the same as to what has been going down between Trikru and Kova. You and I have watched each other’s backs during our travels, as well as in our personal lives. Most importantly, you helped me escape the conclave, and that is something I will never be able to repay, in this lifetime or the next. Because of this, I deeply regret to inform you that I cannot allow Kova safe passage into Floukru.

The temperature in the room dropped. His hands trembled, and Lincoln was half tempted to stop reading to forge a new plan, but there was more.

I am unsure if Trikru has already announced this to its people, but in our last meeting, the Trikruvian ambassador disclosed to me of the high bounty placed on the Elephant of Caocin, for criminal disobedience, treason, and espionage. Relations with Trikru have been fragile as of late, and unfortunately, allowing Kova to come would bring us more problems than we can handle. I truly am sorry. However, the offer still stands with you, and potentially Octavia, as long as she has not been involved in the political problems between the descendants of the Betrayers and Trikru. She can assimilate to cover her identity here, if she wishes to do so. Again, I am sorry about Kova. I can’t imagine how difficult this must be for the two of you. Knowing you, I do not think you will come without Kova, but let me know what path you decide to take soon. 

Luna

In the end, Kova was right. He dropped the letter on the desk and brought his hands behind his head, breathing in deeply. ‘Fuck,’ He thought, and because he was never the type of person to hide his thoughts when he was alone, he said, “Fuck.”

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