#clinging onto the tiny pieces of the man who abandoned you both.

[saturnsorbits]

Thinking about sleeping with Gojo because it’s the only way either of you can be close to Geto anymore…

[capochinootea]

How the Shishigumi met Baby Louis

Me thinks Baby Louis and Shishigumi wholesome time ^-^

Free

When Free first met Louis, it was in the middle of a shootout. He was 17. Young, brash and bold. A few weeks into the Shishigumi, and he's already considered an elite, impressing those who have climbed the ranks for longer.

It was an unfortunate time when Free was met face-to-face with a child, a herbivore child, no less. Guns drawn, ready to fire at their leader’s command. In all Free’s years of living in the Back Alley Market, this is by far, the most ridiculous thing that has ever happened.

Members of the gang yelled for back up. He was ready. Ready to take on their opponents, but what he sees is a much taller, more mature lion- Ibuki, he realizes, blocking his way, hands extended.

...What?

Confused and slightly irritated, he was handed a child and the lion left to help his comrades. Poor and confused 17-year old Free sat there, as the fawn- aged 6- he guessed- giggled at him, oblivious to the danger they’re both in.

---

Ibuki

Livestock. Ibuki never fancied the business. Even for a gangster lion like him, selling livestock- he thinks of it so immoral. You must be completely fucked down to the core if the mafioso lion has more heart than you.

When news travelled to the Shishigumi of a livestock trafficking ring not having paid their share, Ibuki breathed a sigh of relief. An excuse, he thought.

Finally.

But when he got there, it was like a place after war. It smelled of filth, abandon and decay. The building barely stands, it’s pillars a breath away from collapse.

In it lay a single fawn, blood stained but alive. A living, breathing being surrounded by death, of carcasses and corpses. The fawn looked as though he was the god of death himself, mortalized in a fragile being, cursed to wander the earth, leaving death in his footsteps.

---

Dolph

For a lion who’s lived in the market for more than 2 decades, he thought he had seen it all- the mundane, the gruesome, the ridiculous. Hell, the Shishigumi is proof of that. But somehow, not even the pole dancing mice could top this.Standing there, by the mansion’s gates was Ibuki, a sleeping fawn in his arms, bundled in his suit jacket. If he were any more shocked, his jaw might have hit the ground.

Surely the trip to the livestock trafficking ring didn’t hit Ibuki’s head. If not, then that’s probably not Ibuki at all. He was pretty damned sure that if anyone in the Shishigumi were to replace the old chief (should his ultimate demise were to ever happen- he hoped soon), it would be Ibuki.

Yet he stands there, a soft look in his eyes, the happiest he looked since he joined. He can’t help but feel dumb. The market is just full of surprises.

---

Hino

It was Wednesday night. The mansion silent and empty, its corridors barely illuminated by the hanging low light above . Almost all of the lions had left for the night, sans a few lower goons keeping watch over the gates. Sitting by the hideout’s make-shift home bar, nothing felt out of the ordinary.

He cradled the cheap whiskey in his hands and circled the drink slowly. He watched the drink as it created a mini whirlpool, his reflection on the glass.

His brows furrowed in confusion. Something was amiss. This isn’t right.

His tail moved back and forth, fur standing, mind on edge. Someone foreign was in the mansion. He continued to watch his reflection, but there was no sign of the intruder.

Too late did he realize, as a creature suddenly latched onto his leg. He would've kicked the stranger out of instinct, but when he caught a glimpse of wide ears flinching, the smell of lion on him, all sense of dread died.

Looking down, he sees a fawn, toothily grinning at him, hugging his legs like they were pillows.

“What are you doing here little guy?” Hino crouches, hands folded so as to not hurt the tiny creature.

The fawn giggled, clutching his face in his mini hands. They’re warm, he noted. .

“Mr. Lion!!” He cackled.

And like a child calling for its mother, Ibuki came running up the stairs, his glasses out of place, strands of his mane flying everywhere. He looked like hell.

“Louis!” he called and bolted right after where he sat.

Such a strange sight to see. A huge lion cradling a fawn, no bigger than Ibuki’s hands. A smile found its way to Hino’s flawless features. It’s a beautiful Wednesday night.

---

Sabu

He’s getting old, he realizes. His mane is getting harder to grow, his joints more prone to aches. He wonders if growing old is a gift, with what dangers lurking in the Back Alley Market. You’re lucky if you still have all your limbs intact by the age of 30.

Sitting by the kitchen counter, he closes his eyes. Ah, well it’s not like he could complain. In fact, he’s lucky to be alive, limbs and all.

“Up!”

He cracks one eye open.

..What?

“Up! Up!” Standing there, a creature unlike him. A fawn. No older than 6 he thinks. Clutching what he assumes is a stuffed animal, a small pout laced its face.

He had so many questions.

“Up! Up!!!” The fawn demanded, now running around, making soft tap tap taps against the floors of the mansion.

How youthful, he thought, picking up the child, giggling as his arms wrap around its tiny waist.

“Funny lion man!” it cackles, now trying to climb his head, to touch his mane. He assumes his mohawk is a different sight from what the fawn usually sees.

He still has so many questions.

He let the fawn play with his mane, not minding the strands that now fall against his face, covering his eyes.

“Ibuki!!” the tiny fawn suddenly shrieked, hurriedly trying to climb down from his now lopsided mane. He watches the young fawn dash to the other, who caught him as he propelled himself in the air.

How youthful, he thought again.

---

Miguel

It’s not like he’s not used to the fearful looks most herbivores and even the lesser carnivores give him. He’s big, brawny, a lion through and through. A literal king of the beast. To say he was used to the wary stares, the jealous glares, is the simple truth.

His footsteps alone are enough to spook a sheep down to its very core. He need not speak to intimidate a room full of hyenas, no. Even baring his fangs would be too much.

Which is why he found this whole ordeal completely and utterly ridiculous.

A tiny fawn stood before him, staring up at him. Fearless, he thinks. No! He was awestruck… mouth agape and ears perked up. He looked at him like he’s something to behold.

“Big Lion Man!!!” it cackles.

Odd..

It was so odd.

He felt his heart swell beneath the hard muscle, beneath tendons, flesh and bones. Never before has a creature looked at him with such delight. From a herbivore no less.

---

Jinma and Dope

If there’s any duo more suited to work together in the Shishigumi, the title befalls on one Jinma and Dope. Another successful negotiation. Another night of festivities.

Tonight, the table was decorated with an assortment of meals, meat cooked to perfection. A flawless buffet. An impeccable occasion.

Until Jinma caught a glimpse of movement beneath the table covers. An intruder? A spy? That’s impossible. It just is. He knows no one would have balls big enough to go alone in the Shishigumi headquarters unscathed.

He eyed the table covers with great intensity. He squints, watching the creases of the fabric, waiting to see any sign of movement. Nothing. Not until a foreign tiny hand slipped under the covers to grab a lone piece of meat sat atop the table.

In an instant, he lifted the white sheet, uncovering the thief hidden below the covers. He expected a young lowly canine, or mayhaps a racoon, only to find a giggling fawn munching on the small piece of meat he’s stolen.

“The fuck..” he heard someone mutter behind him. Dope, he thinks.

“Hello!” The young deer greeted, mouth full of meat.

This is weird.

Jinma watches as the fawn finally moves to unveil himself out of the white sheets, walking towards Dolph, who picks him up like it was something he’d done before.

This is so weird.

The two lions watch with their heads tilted to the side. Confused, they see Dolph smile at the tiny fawn he was cradling, who was still chewing the meat he’d stolen.

“The fuck” Jinma mutters.

---

Agata

“What??” Agata squawked, hands balled into a fist. How could they do this? To a lion, barely the age of 16.

“I.. I can’t! I’m not sure how to?” he countered, looking anywhere but the scene before him.

A child, clinging to the cuffs of Ibuki’s suit jacket. A fawn, 9 or 10 years old- by the looks of it.

“Agata, it will only be for an hour or two,” Dolph explained.

Like that’s going to change anything.

“But! Dolph-san, why? We don’t even know who this kid is? I mean.. Why can’t we just give him back to his parents?” He blurted.. The words left his mouth before he could process what he had just said. He prayed to whichever gods listening to him to please not make him babysit a child- and a herbivore child too!

Ibuki furrows his brows, before sharing a look with Dolph, who looks as equally as upset. A beat, and then,

“Louis stays with the Shishigumi,” Ibuki stated, like it’s the most obvious thing.

“You can’t be serious!” Agata whined, his arms flailing. It was a fight he couldn’t win. He frowned.

It didn’t take Agata more than a second to realize that his outburst had caused Louis to hide more behind Ibuki, his teeth bared, eyes burning with passionate hate.

Ah... He really did not like babysitting.

[errabundus-nox]

Hello, I wrote a ficlet dealing with my fav daozhang (XXC). The idea of Song Lan fearful of touching XXC after his revival because of his brute strength as a fierce corpse popped into my head while conversating with someone.

Canon Divergence. XXC Revives!

Song Lan / Xiao Xing Chen

Angst(y), T rated.

Biblichor

Song Lan succeeds.

He feels the infinitesimal shift of the pale, still man beneath him. His ears pick up the tiny flutter of heartbeats, the twitch in his fingers.

The breath of air exhaled.

Song Lan swallows a hard lump down his throat, eyes - Xiao Xing Chen's eyes - unblinking. Afraid that this would be the ruin of the phenomenon unfurling before him.

How much time has he spent? Unsleeping and fasting, piecing together Xiao Xing Chen's spirit in this dingy, abandoned shack he had placed his coffin in.

Where demonic talents had failed, and righteous teachings have all but set him up for an unfeasible task, he succeeded.

“Zichen – “his voice like sandpaper rasps.

Beside him, Song Lan’s fingers curled against the edge of the coffin in a knuckle white grip, splintering wood. Seeing eyes zeroed in on the man that had just roused, a white bandage sitting on high and delicate cheekbones, face bereft of color. Xing Chen’s skin was parchment thin and looked so fragile, almost translucent in the glowing embers of dawn. His all-white robes casting an almost distant and ethereal quality to him.

Song Lan fears that he might just break him with a single touch.

“Zichen,” Xing Chen’s raspy voice tries again, a slight edge of firmness to it that washes relief through Song Lan. Xing Chen struggles to pull himself up, joints stiff and body uncoordinated from a prolonged period of disuse.

Song Lan reaches over to his back and helps Xing Chen sit up, with barely any pressure behind his touch. Xing Chen couldn’t help a small shiver as the air moves around him. It wasn’t a cold day, with the rising sun emitting its warmth. Song Lan doesn’t hesitate to remove his outer robes and drapes it across Xing Chen’s shoulders. He reaches out and puts a cup gingerly against cold lips.

Drink this first, Song Lan voices out mentally.

He feels the ghost of his breath pass through his fingers, a soft gasp escaping Xing Chen’s lips.

“Can you – “he sputters, fingers slowly reaching towards his right ear, to confirm his senses where his eyes could not.

Song Lan shook his head before he could stop himself.

No, was his answer.

Xing Chen could still feel the cup pressed on his lip. His fingers moved to grasp it, brushing against Song Lan’s. He takes a tentative sip, feels the prickling discomfort of liquid down his parched throat, and tries not to cough. The second sip is easier, and he empties the contents of the cup on the third.

Song Lan spent trudging up the path to the celestial mountain for many days.

He realizes, quickly, how much the world has changed during his absence.

The war was over, its demonic cultivators quelled all thanks to their heralded heroes but at the price of many. Even the fierce corpses that once plagued helpless villagers seemed to thin and disperse.

He spent days at the foot of the mountain, with each passing moment confirming his denied entry.

But in its silence, he found the answers.

This is the way of the world, that we seek to understand on common ground. To leave, would akin to finding your own answers and give meaning to matters once not understood.

Song Lan stood up, bowed deeply thrice, and made his journey back again.

He finds an abandoned wooden shack tucked just under the foothills, on the outskirts of a small town where the population was sparse. He makes quick work of setting up wards to keep spirits and living beings away, and continued onwards.

Song Lan never feared death. Just like Xing Chen in their ideologies – if they could turn their views into a positive force, to something tangible and of aid, then it would be this very ethos that would keep them immortal in the minds of men, surpassing their physical bodies.

Death was an irony to Song Lan at first. The stench of it made his skin crawl, intensifying the impulse to carve away the spidery veins that marked his skin, making him bear the stigma of something he once fearlessly cut down without a second thought; to cleanse the world of its impurities. Leaving behind wounds that would never heal, never close, yet never fester.

He returned to Yi City once again, knowing that bringing Xing Chen back to life in this forsaken city of dust and corpses would be cruel, and unfair.

It would remind him of Xue Yang’s manipulation and betrayal.

Of A-Qing’s demise.

Of their deaths.

Through actions not by his own hand, Song Lan could never bring himself to blame Xing Chen for the tragic role he had to play.

The villain had been rid, yet the friend he so wished badly to apologize to and atone for was not standing by his side.

Such was the determination of a man who toiled relentlessly, forgoing sleep and sustenance.

Not that these physical needs were needed for a reanimated corpse, no less.

Such were the efforts he took as he labored day and night into bringing the coffin on the back of a rickety cartwheel to the drab and dilapidated shack. The single goal burned into the back of his eyelids as he sat next to Xing Chen’s body lying in the coffin, the almost nothing weight of his soul in a brown pouch scribbled with red insignias between his hands.

The words of an apology repeated in his head over and over again, but failing to come out of his very own mouth.

Song Lan would achieve what others before him could not – by weaving his own consciousness and stitching Xiao Xing Chen’s soul back together again. The price he had to and was willing to pay.

They spend the next month not quite touching – Song Lan fearful of his newfound strength he struggled to control, vicious scenarios conjured at the back of his mind circling around causing unintentional hurt towards Xing Chen and his seemingly fragile state.

Xing Chen ripped from the claws of his self-imposed punishment and coming to terms that his death was not a resignation, but a chance for forgiveness given by others.

Those four walls weren’t quite home, but it sufficed for the both of them who wanted nothing much but only each other.

Song Lan would tend to Xing Chen’s gradual recovery and Xing Chen turned to weaving baskets, working the dexterity back into his fingers. Eventually, they found a pattern together, similar yet completely opposite of what they were accustomed to in what felt like another lifetime.

Nights when terror seized Xing Chen through nightmares, Song Lan would slide into the bed that he had built for them (Xing Chen, mostly) and hold him so tenderly. Xing Chen would wake with blood run tears soaking through his bandages, clinging tightly to the front of his robes, pressing kisses as light as a butterfly flitting through the flowers onto cool, thin lips.

I’m here, Song Lan would soothe repeatedly, a mantra that calmed hiccupping sobs broken by shuddering breaths into deep, even breathing.

In the darkness only illuminated by full moon, laid Song Lan and Xiao Xing Chen in a tender embrace. Separated only by the planes of existence - one, a dead man who walks amongst the living. Another, who's alive but borders so close to death. Song Lan finds it easier to shake off the dread that twists at his guts, that one day Xiao Xing Chen would traipse over the fine line between living and a place where he could barely follow after. Xiao Xing Chen gradually learns to overlook past his mistakes, turning the endless compassion he once had for others onto himself.

Eventually, they would make their way back to A-Qing’s grave. Song Lan was never fully certain if Xing Chen had the capacity to handle his grief right in front of her small, marked gravesite. However, he gave him privacy and a wide berth to grieve alone; knowing that Xing Chen’s newfound purpose would give him the strength to tide through soft anguished cries and blood-soaked bandages.

They take a small piece of rock surrounding her grave back with them, as a memory in honor of the brave girl that so relentlessly tried to seek justice for her Dao Zhang, back to a rightful place where they could settle and finally call home.

[chasingforeverandaday]

Can I ask for #23 from the fluff writing prompts please? “I’d rather live in the woods with you than in a mansion with some (boy/girl/person) I barely know.” I mean, it’s just screaming gendrya at me! Thank you!

Well, how does some Regency era AU sound? This one ended up a full on one shot, because I fell down a rabbit hole real fast. Also I got to write Robb, which was super fun because I never write Robb. He may be a bit out of character, but I feel like if any of the Stark siblings would understand Arya’s conflict of love and duty, it would absolutely be Robb.

half agony, half hope

There are times that Gendry Waters thinks his life would be so much simpler if he’d ever actually learned how to say no to Miss Arya Stark, sister to the Lord of Winterfell. He can stall her in her impulsivities yes, or can sometimes talk her around to his point of view on a matter, but straight up denying her when she looks up at him with those big grey eyes and the pout he always wishes to kiss from her lips?

Stronger men than him would capitulate without question.

Stronger men have.

So when she barges into his smithy one June morning, he steels himself for whatever new (potentially scandalous) misadventure she has in mind for them. But the stricken look on her face as she quietly requests that he close up early and meet her in his personal quarters ignites a panic in his belly, and he hustles the other customers out as quickly as he can after she leaves.

Door locked and forge cooled for the day, he hurries through washing up and finds her in his rooms, pacing back and forth in front of the hearth. He can see the exact moment she notices his presence, as her head whips around to his and her face crumples. Terror seizes in his veins and he crosses the room in two strides to pull her into his arms.

She doesn’t fight him, just lets herself be held for a moment before wrapping her arms around his waist so tightly he thinks she’ll never let go. A shudder passes through her slim frame, then one hand reaches up to bend his neck downwards, her mouth seeking his.

Gods know he’d be happy to kiss her forever, but something must have shaken Arya badly for her to show up unannounced and ask him to abandon his work. Pulling away to lean his forehead against hers, he asks, “Love, what’s wrong?

A tiny voice he’s never associated with Arya Stark whispers, “How quickly can you be ready to leave?”

“What?” Utterly bewildered, he pushes her back farther so he can read her face, but she just burrows her face into his neck, clinging onto him like a limpet. Cautiously, he moves them to his narrow bed, sitting on the edge as she falls into his lap, all the while never letting him go.

She looks up at him then, eyes a little harder, a little more sure as she takes his hands in hers. “Run away with me. Gendry, please, we need to go, and it needs to be as soon as possible.”

“I don’t understand, I thought we had more time, that I had more time to…” Prove myself worthy of you, let myself learn to let you go, something, anything but be forced to watch you choose between me and your family.

“My mother’s invited suitors from houses Frey, Dayne, and Arryn to Winterfell, and I heard her tell Robb earlier that she won’t be letting me reject all of them.” Turning away as she speaks, Arya curls into him more, making herself look even smaller if that were even possible. “She intends to have me wedded and bedded by the end of the summer, seems to think it will curb my more unladylike tendencies.”

“Arya, you’re only twenty two for gods’ sake. She can hardly be that desperate to be putting you on the shelf already!” Almost as an afterthought, he mumbles into her hair, “And I like your unladylike tendencies.”

A sad smile on her face, Arya cups his cheek with her palm as she stays seated in his lap. “I know you do. I think she just wants me to be someone else’s problem now. Besides, all my siblings but Rickon have made good matches and are married. But what my mother said isn’t the important part.”

There’s a subtle shift in her voice as she draws herself fully upright, the pain replaced by something a little more hopeful. She’s finally looking at him again, her grey eyes searching his.

“Because Robb…” she took a deep breath, squaring her shoulders before looking him straight in the eye. “Robb told her he thought I should have more of a choice. He said that yes, I should marry, but that it didn’t have to be one of them. He told her that none of them would make me happy, and that I should marry a man who made me smile, not grimace every time I looked at him.”

Rubbing a hand up and down her back, Gendry cannot help but wonder, “That’s good, even I know that’s a good thing, but why…?”

“Because Robb walked out of his study and found me standing there, pale as a ghost I’m sure. He took me back to my room, and he told me that he thought I shouldn’t be forced to marry a man I didn’t love.” One of her hands comes to rest over his heart, fluttering rapidly at her touch. “Somehow, he knew about you and me, because then he told me he’d been thinking about commissioning you for some ironwork around the estate, and perhaps I could go to town to speak with you about it, since neither he nor Bran could do so today.”

The pieces fall together, and a little of Arya’s hope finds a home with Gendry. “So you think he’s giving us his blessing, and we’re running away.”

“I know he is, he just can’t come out and say it because of who he is.” Threading her fingers through his own, Arya holds their clasped hands together like a talisman, pressing a light kiss to the back of his before looking up with a smile. “We’re going to Gretna Green, and we’re going to get married like we’ve wanted to for three years, and then I’m going to actually learn how to keep a house and run your smithy, and we’re going to be happy, Gendry, so incredibly happy.”

“Aye, in our tiny little home with two rooms and no grand paintings or pianos or anything fancy like what you have up at Winterfell.” He knows that Arya says she has no care for those things, but he needs to remind her of the difference in their standing, just one last time before they make this choice that will alter their lives forever.

“Stupid boy,” she giggles, poking him in the nose with the first true grin he’s seen on her face this afternoon, “I’d rather live in the woods with you than in a manor with some person I barely know. I mean, ideally we live somewhere with a forge for you, but as long as you’re with me, I’m hardly going to be picky.”

Bending down, Gendry allows himself to brush a quick kiss to her lips, a promise made without words. “Give me a few days, so I can finish up my orders and get everything ready so I can leave. Just don’t say yes to any other proposals, and we’ll be saying our vows in a fortnight.”

-/-/-

A sennight later, as she prepares her horse for the journey as surreptitiously as she can, the stable door creaks open. Terrified that it will be that one stablehand who always tells her mother when she leaves the estate without asking permission, Arya hides in the shadows of Nymeria’s stall, peeking out into the center aisle into the hazy, pre-dawn light.

It’s Robb, carefully shutting the door behind him. He walks straight up to her hiding place and holds out his hand to her, a small smirk on his face. “Come out sister, we’ve not much time to waste.”

Slowly, she leads Nymeria out of the stall, fingers tightly gripping her reins. Her brother looks older than she’s ever seen him before. He looks like a lord in a way he never has before, one with the world weighing on his shoulders. But then her eyes meet his, and he smiles at her, and Robb is her big brother once more.

Dropping Nym’s reins, Arya throws herself into his arms, trusting that he will catch her implicitly. She’ll miss this, she thinks, having a brother she knows she can depend on.

When they finally pull away, Robb reaches up to wipe a tear she hadn’t even noticed from her eye. “There now, this won’t be the last time we see each other, little sister. Besides, one would think you’d be happier to be heading off on such a grand adventure with your blacksmith.”

Laughing wetly, she replied, “I am, trust me, I am anxious to start our lives together, I just…” here she shrugged, fidgeting her hands as she tried to gather the words to express herself. “This is the last time I’ll be in Winterfell as Arya Stark, or maybe ever if Mother reacts the way I think she will when she finds out. I’ll miss it here, even when Gendry and I have a new home. It’s all I’ve ever known.”

“You’ll always have a home here, for as long as I’m the lord. Probably after too, as you and I both know you’re Little Ned’s favorite auntie. But I think you’ll be far happier living wherever you and your husband end up than you would locked up in a London townhouse with whatever ponce our Mother has handpicked for you.” The disgusted face he made at his own words made her smile again, which she knew was exactly why he’d done so in the first place.

Serious again, Robb placed a hand on her shoulder and gave it a light squeeze as he said, “I’ve grown to love Jeyne, I have, but I’ve never looked at her the way your Mr. Waters looks at you, or you look at him, and neither has Sansa’s husband. You’re incandescently happy whenever you’re near him, and I can always tell when you haven’t spoken to him in days because you’re so quiet, like you’re holding in all of your thoughts until you can share them with him.”

He sighed before continuing in a soft tone, “If you hadn’t found him, hadn’t fallen in love, then I would try to arrange a marriage for you that could lead to your overall happiness in life. But you did. You fell in love years ago, and I’m glad that at least one of us gets to experience that joy in this lifetime.”

Moving to hold her hand in his left, he reached with his right into the breast pocket of his coat and pulled out an envelope. “This is the information for the accounts I’ve had set up in your name in London.” He placed it in her hand and looked her square in the eyes. “You may not be marrying with a proper trousseau, but this way you won’t be entering this marriage without your dowry. You don’t need to worry about Mother’s reaction either, I’ll take care of it. Jon will meet you in Scotland, I’ve already sent him an express explaining everything.”

Shocked at all the things he had thought of and put in place for her, Arya could only manage to sob, “Robby, I…” before hugging him again.

Her brother pulled her close once more, placing a kiss on her brow before pulling away. “I love you, and I’m sorry I cannot do more. Be happy, Arya. Be happy and one day when we’re old and grey, you’ll tell me stories of all your adventures with the man I know you love and the adorable little children I’m sure you’ll have. Now go, the tasks I set for James cannot take much longer, and you have quite the ride ahead of you.”

With that, Robb helped her onto her horse and led her outside as the sun rose. After he let her go, Arya pushed Nymeria into a trot, determined to make her way to the closed smithy before the people of Wintertown fully awoke. She only let herself look back once, barely able to see the figure of her brother as he waved her off into her future.

[avembrum]

The Fall of The Bird (Avengers Fanfic Prologue)

A/N: Hello! I am a new writer, so if there are things/mistakes anyone notices please kindly let me know.  I’ve had the Idea for this character and this story for a long time, and I’m finally coming around to bringing her story to life. I’m posting this first, and then I will make another post that has more information about the character herself and who her face claim is. I really hope people enjoy this and follow along with her story and come to love the character as much as I do! 

             -Bird   - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

Wordcount: 4.1k

                           Grand Est, France                            2011

Birds perched on a tree, sitting close together to try and absorb each other's warmth. The snow covering their feathers like a second skin. And a few hundred yards in front of them, was a small building. But little did the small birds know what happened inside of the seemingly abandoned area. It was tiny, the size of a small family home, and completely concrete and grey. It almost looked like it was supposed to be a doomsday bunker. 

The birds were confused, there hadn't been anyone to the bunker for as long as they had been there. But recently, about a few months ago, a few Jeep’s pulled in, and men in black uniforms filed out of the vehicles. They carried equipment inside. Provisions, weapons, and a strange machine. 

Of course, the birds would have no idea the machine would be. But I can tell you what the machine looked like. The first two pieces looked the same. Two poles, thick in width -maybe about 12 inches-  and tall in height, thought that looked like it could be adjusted. At one end of each pole seemed to be a small platform that could enable them to stand upright, and on the other end seemed to be metal boxes, possibly to store the wires for whatever the machine was. 

They only carried in two other things that seemed to be related to the machine, though those were in cases that took two men to carry each. So the little birds couldn’t see what they were. 

The birds enjoyed watching the men. They always had men standing around the outside of the building, holding large guns, and scanning the perimeter expertly. There was no way of telling what was happening inside, no windows were on the building, but they had transported a copious amount of computers to the building. So they can’t just be there for a vacation. 

Every few days men would pile into the Jeeps quickly, like they were being sent out on a mission. But they never seemed to be triumphant when they came back. Whatever they had been after each time must have gotten away. 

By now it had just hit the three month mark, and the sun was starting to set. The beautiful colors falling over the somewhat untouched French forest. It was peaceful, and serene. 

But the peacefulness was interrupted when their Jeep’s pulled in through the snow once again, the now familiar logo of some type of red skull with tentacles gleaming in the light. 

This time was different than the last times the Jeep’s had pulled in though. They were going faster, with a purpose. 

When they stopped, not a millisecond was spared before all doors on both Jeeps were flung open, and the soldiers poured out, though they returned with less men than they had left with yet again. 

The guard who had exited the drivers side of the Jeep’s closest to the building had his lips curled into a smirk. He relished in the sounds of the grunting and struggling coming from the other Jeep. His smirk only grew when the person the noises belonged to, was led around to his side of the Jeep. 

Her hands were bound behind her back, her snarl only became more intense than it had previously been when her eyes met the guard’s. He stepped closer, his steps confident but lazy, as well as how he was holding his rifle. 

“We finally caged the little bird,” Said the man, an air of victory around the young man as he stepped closer to the girl, who seemed to be a couple years younger. He lowered his eyes to her level, the guard holding her being sure to keep a tight grip on her arms. “Guess you were wrong, we did get you.” He mocked, his head tilting. 

His blue eyes seemed to gleam, while the girl’s one green and one blue ones might as well have been red with anger and annoyance. It only took a second. The girl reeled her head back before connecting her forehead with his nose. Enough force being given to make him yell and stumble back. His left hand left the underside of the barrel of his gun, and instead flew up to cup his bleeding nose. His head tilted back and his eyes shut tightly. 

The other guards all flinch, raising their guns to the girl, but she seemed to have no intention to move. She let out a huff through her nose and straightened her back, keeping her shoulders back. Her scowl never left though. 

The man brought his hand away from his nose and looked down to his glove clad hand, now soaked with blood that still dripped from his crooked nose. “You little bitch-“ He seethed, but didn’t continue the sentence any further before he was dropping his gun, the strap around his chest letting it fall to his side. 

He stepped toward the girl, this time his paces held no air of confidence, nor victory. Just hatred. His hand went to her shoulder, shoving her front half down to connect with his risen knee. The guard that had been holding the girl quickly let go. The impact of his leg sent her into the Jeep. Her head hit it with a harsh thud before her legs gave out and she slid down. 

Her nose was bleeding like his, but not broken. She had her eyes shut tightly as she let her body lean to the left and tipped her head forward to spit out the blood from her busted lip and bitten tongue. 

She took a few labored breaths, but they just sounded more like grunts as she leaned back against the vehicle. Her eyes opened to look up to the man, he still had no victorious smile, just heaving breaths and flared nostrils that hurt his face. 

The girl rose a brow at him, a few stray dark hairs falling from their ponytail. “You still hit like a little bitch, Harvey.” She mumbled hoarsely with a small lopsided smirk, but there was nothing but honesty behind her words. 

The guard -Harvey- growled. “Get her up!” He barked to the guard next to him, who wasted no time in lifting her up by her arms. She grunted, her head dipping down as she tried to make the ground seem like it was spinning. 

Before she knew it another blow was being sent to her gut, but she was able to tell it was by a fist. A wheeze  escaped her as she doubled over, probably only still on her feet because of the person holding her. 

Suddenly a voice cut through the air, it was high pitched- young. “Stop hurting her!” The girl's head snapped up, meeting the familiar eyes of the little boy being held by another Hydra guard. He must have only just been led around to this side of the cars. 

Harvey’s grin returned, showing his bloodstained teeth. “Oh, stop hurting your little friend?” He asked tauntingly. The young boy's terrified eyes stayed wide, but he said nothing. Harvey laughed, and moved his hand toward the girls, grabbing her ponytail and yanking her head back harshly so she was standing straight. 

Her teeth bared into a snarl, huffing breaths through her grinding teeth while looking at Harvey. But his eyes were fixed on the little boy’s. “She’s the reason you’re in this whole mess anyways kid,” Harvey turned his eyes to her, and took a moment to appreciate her utterly pissed off expression. “If it weren’t for her, you would have had a painless and easy death months ago.” He turned his head back to the child. “But now you’re in this shit.”

One of the men from the side finally spoke up. “Boss, they want her inside.” Harvey let out an exasperated breath. “Fine.” He snarled, releasing the girl’s dark hair. “Get them in.” 

The squadron all nodded and moved towards the door. The girl seemed too tired to be able to fight back as she was led, but the boy only went kicking and screaming. 

Harvey stayed back, watching as his team took the two to the door. His head snapped towards the tree line of the forest hearing a sound. 

The two birds nuzzled close together, perched on their branch in front of the bunker. The snow covering them like it was a second skin, but that was okay. They nuzzled closer together, observing the forest in front of them. The bullet came fast, shot with pinpoint accuracy to get both birds in the neck. 

They fell off of the perch. Into the snowy ground below them, the flakes clinging to them like a second skin. And there was no warmth from them anymore. Only the warmth of their blood soaking the cold snow under them. Staining the once pure white with red. 

Harvey only tilted his chin back as he holstered his hand gun, and made his way inside the building. 

<><>

Inside of the bunker was just as bland as the outside, except now there were bright white lights from the ceiling flashing onto The girl’s pale and sweaty skin. 

The boy had stopped struggling, his yelling now reduced to scared whimpering. He looked over his shoulder to the girl, who attempted to send him a reassuring smile, but with the swelling in her lip and ache that felt like it was consuming her entire body, it came out as more of a grimace. 

She only seemed to be able to regain full control of her muscles when they started moving the boy to a different room, and continued taking her down the hall. 

“Hey!” She snapped, trying to pull from the man’s hands. “Stop! Where are you taking him!? Stop- let me go!” She growled. “Asshat, if you don’t let me the hell go I’ll break something a lot worse than your nose!” She yelled, her words now directed at the man restraining her. 

She couldn’t do it, the boy yelled for her. Pleaded to her. Begged her, to help him. But she couldn’t. She clenched her jaw and tried one more time to pull away as she watched the door to the room close, but she couldn't. 

I should be able to, She thought angrily. I have enhanced strength for Christ’s sake! She should be able to do this, and she was tearing herself apart for not being able to. 

She had kept herself, and the boy, hidden from Hydra for four months. She was supposed to kill him. But she couldn’t. She had been able to kill everyone else she’d been tasked with. But this time they had tasked her to abduct and execute a nine year old boy, all because of who his father was. And when she wasn’t able to, she killed the rest of her team, took him, and ran. 

She had killed the person she believed she was in love with to keep the boy safe, and now it was going to be for nothing. And in her mind, it was her fault. 

Her bones felt like they were a million pounds. When they had finally gotten her in the fight a few hours ago, Harvey had stuck a needle in her neck, and injected her with something. But it made her groggy, and she wasn’t able to use her abilities. Everything felt slightly blurry. 

One of the guards opened a door at the end of the hall, bringing her out of her guilty thoughts. Her eyes snapped to every inch of the room, scanning anything they could take in. Computers lined one of the walls, on them were maps of the area and cities, and footage from street and shop security cameras. So this is where they’ve been tracking us, she thought. 

That thought seemed to be thrown into a trash bin of unimportance as her eyes landed on the metal table in the middle of the room, leather straps for arms, legs, and for someone’s neck attached to the surface. 

The girl’s eyes widened. “No.” Her eyes peeled themselves front the table when a voice came to her ears. “Subject B24.” His accent was thick German, and she recognized him, only barely, he was one of the doctors at the Hydra base she lived at for most of her life. He lifted his head from the clipboard in his hands, and a smile came onto his lips. “Jay, it’s good to see your face again.” He shook his head. “My apologies, I hear you do not go by that name anymore. What is it you call yourself now? Ah, Raven.” 

Memories suddenly flooded to the girl's mind, making tears gloss her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. 

Jay grunted as she leaned against the wall of the cave. It wasn't an ideal shelter, it was damp inside, and not exactly warm, and small. She had to crouch to walk inside, and it was only big enough for her to sit with her back to the wall and stretch her legs out before her toes touched the other side. 

The boy beside her stayed silent. His eyes wide as he stared down at his shoes. He had just been taken from his home by a small group of strange people and tied to a chair. The girl sitting next to him, only a couple of hours ago had a gun pointed to his temple. 

But she didn’t kill him. She had turned and used the bullets meant for him to kill the group that was with her and get him out. They had been chased when they tried to leave town, and after it all they ended here. 

The boy's eyes looked at the girl as she hissed in pain. She was leaned over her leg, looking at her thigh with a grimace. The boy wanted to ask what was wrong, but he stopped when the girl took a deep breath and started to push her fingers into the flesh of her thigh.

His eyes widened, now realizing her leg was wounded, and she was trying to get something out of it. It didn’t take long, it must not have been that far in there, before she pulled her hand away, a small shiny -blood coated- bullet between her thumb and forefinger. 

She threw the bullet to the other side of the cave and leaned her head back, closing her eyes while letting out a deep sigh. The boy gulped, realizing he could have been the one to get shot. 

They sat in silence for a while. And in that time the girl had torn some of her shirt and tied it just above the bullet wound on her thigh. 

The child didn’t like the silence, so he spoke. “What’s that?” He asked, grabbing the girl’s attention. He pointed to the necklace that rested against her chest when she made a face like she didn’t know what he was talking about. 

Her eye landed on the necklace, and she gently picked it up in her fingers. “A person very close to me made it for me.” She answered quietly. 

“Like a present?” The boy asked, tilting his head to the right, and scooting slightly to look at her. 

The girl let out a small chuckle, though there seemed to be little humor behind it. “Sort of.” 

The boy nodded and looked back down to his dirty sneakers. After a moment another question came to mind. “What’s your name?” He asked. 

The girl thought for a moment. She didn’t actually have a real name, or if she did she didn’t know it. The guards and scientists had always called her by her subject number. There was one name that had been given to her though. Her… lover, had given it to her when they were young, and it had kind of just stuck through the years. 

But everything he believed in was Hydra, and she didn’t know how well she could trust either him, or Hydra anymore. “Jay.” She finally answered. Deciding that that name would be easier for the kid to remember than her numbers. 

“Like… blue jay? Is that why you have the bird necklace?” He asked, pointing again to the pendant in her fingers. 

A sad smile came to the girl’s lips as she nodded to him. “Yeah.”

The boy frowned. “But blue jays are mean.” He said simply, catching the girl across from him off guard slightly. 

“They’re… what?” She asked, letting go of her pendant and leaning forward, her uninjured leg bending to rest her arm on. 

“Blue jays are meanies.” He said flatly. “Me and my grandma watch them through the window. They fight with other birds, and steal their food. They’re mean. But you’re not.” 

The girl’s eyes widened slightly before she chuckled, actually finding something humorous now. “Alright then,” She tilted her head up at him. “What kind of a bird am I?”

The boy thought for a moment, looking at her intently, only making the corner of the girl’s mouth quirk a little more.

The kid smiled when he seemed to get it. “A raven!” The girl raised a brow, wanting him to explain. “They're bigger than a lot of other birds, and you were a lot stronger than those guys from before, and they're not mean, but they attack if someone gets close to their nest.” 

The dark haired girl tilted her head. “How do you know all that?” She asked. 

The boy shrugged, looking down at the ground once more. “My tutor gave me a book about them once, I just remembered it.”

The girl smiled. “Alright.” The boy snapped his head to attention. “Raven it is.” 

He grinned, his little white teeth almost blinding her. He stuck out his hand. “Hi Raven, I’m Ivan.” 

Raven smiled back. “Hi Ivan, it’s nice to meet you.”

Raven was bought from her thoughts by the sound of the doctor’s clipboard being set down. “No answer? That’s alright. We don’t need one to get started.”

Her eyes widened as the doctor nodded to the guard holding her, and he started moving to the table. “Wait! What are you doing? Stop!” She hated begging, but her emotions felt like they were overflowing, and her body felt like it was about to fall apart. And she really, really, hated doctors appointments. 

The guard uncuffed her, and even if she felt like she had enough strength to fight back, they didn’t give her enough time before another guard lifted her onto the table and they got to work on the buckles of the restraints. 

Her chest heaved as she watched what people around her were doing, but her line of sight was cut off as the doctor stood in front of her with a sweet smile that she knew was a lie. He even looked like your typical evil doctor, with the little circle glasses, white lab coat, balled head and wrinkles. 

The doctor started to work on the restraint that would go around her throat. “You are one of Hydra’s best Agent’s Jay. It would be a waste to get rid of that talent just because you’ve lost your loyalty, but lucky for you,” His smile widened. “We have ways of forcing you to remember who your loyalty lies to.” 

When he tried to slip the leather through the metal buckle, Raven lifted her head and spat in his face. He retracted, a disgusted expression on his face as he wiped the saliva off of the lens of his glasses and his cheek. 

Raven glared at him, her chest heaving. “My name’s Raven, asshole.” Soon her head was slammed back onto the table. She groaned and when she opened her eyes she was met by Harvey’s smirk once again. He must have wiped the blood from his face, because most of it was gone now, that didn’t get rid of the ugly crook on the bridge of his nose he now had. 

Harvey held her head down while he buckled the leather strap over her neck. Raven didn’t look at him, she kept her eyes on the ceiling. She grunted had Harvey’s hand grabbed her jaw, forcing her head to turn to him. “I’ll enjoy this, sweetheart.” He smiled, patted her cheek, and stepped away. 

Raven’s eyes widened, her mind started running at the thought of what was about to happen. Though it couldn’t have been much worse from anything else they had done to her in the past. 

“Jay,” She heard the doctor speak. She turned her head to see him opening one of two silver cases set on one of the tables that held some of the many computer monitors. “I’m sure you are aware of the Winter Soldier, no?”  

It all clicked as soon as he motioned for someone stronger to pick up whatever was in the case.

She knew who the Winter Soldier was, and how they kept him in line. Brainwashing. She had seen it happen once, and hated every second of it. She let her eyes linger on one of the headgear pieces only for a moment before looking to the pole that was slightly behind her. There was one on each side of the table. This machine looked different than the one they had used on him. 

“Now, as you can see, we are not in one of our better facilities,” The doctor explained as the men who had grabbed the piece from the case started to attach it to the larger part at the end of the pole. “So we were only able to transport one of our earlier models, but it will still do its job nicely.”

Raven got herself together, replacing her terrified expression with another glare. “So, what? You put my brain in a blender. Make me a zombie like the One Armed Slave, and freeze me for a few years at a time and pull me out whenever you need someone killed?” 

The doctor chuckled. “We have programmed this one a little better than the Asset’s has been. Though I will give them credit, it is good work for such an early time.” He smiled, like this was an amusing conversation between a friend. 

Raven felt her panic start to rise as they began attaching the second piece on the other side. “And Ivan-the kid, what will you do with him?” She demanded. 

This time Harvey spoke up from where he stood with his arms crossed. “We’re finishing the job you couldn’t.” He grinned. 

Raven’s eyes grew. “No, no you can’t do this!” She pulled at the restraints. “He’s just a kid! You can’t do this!” She screamed. 

Harvey took a couple steps closer. “Oh we’ve already started.”

Raven opened her mouth to shout back, but wasn’t able to, because a rubber mouth guard was being shoved between her lips, and the two sides of the machine were being lowered to the height of the table. 

Raven’s lungs and heart felt like they would pop at the rate they were working. Sweat beaded from her hairline and neck -well, from everywhere-, more tears started to build up in her eyes. 

She didn’t want to forget.

 She didn’t want to forget everything that she had gone through. No matter how traumatic or painful, it built who she was. And she didn’t give a damn if it sounded cocky, but she was one of the fucking strongest Hydra had created, and not because she was one of the only who’s enhancement trials had actually worked, but because she had willpower and determination like no one else. 

She didn’t want to forget all the friends she had watched die during experimentations. Or the teammates she had lost during missions. She didn’t want to forget the person she had fallen in love with. She didn’t want to forget any of them, and she especially didn’t want to forget that she had finally found out the people she had been forking for her entire life were on the wrong side. 

But it was too late. The machine was set over her face, the cool metal on the right side covering her cheek and eye, the other side only covering a cheek. 

Her ears were ringing, and the tears had started falling, but not for her. From the next room over, she could hear Ivan scream, before a gunshot ran through the building and the screams were silenced. 

The doctor nodded to everyone else in the room before turning on the machine.

And then the screams were for her own pain. 

<><><>

Other than noises of the machine and Raven’s muffled screams. Til’ one of the the scientists at their computer turned to the others. “We have a chopper coming! About 10 klicks northwest.” 

“Dammit.” 

[littledreamybeth]

Angel Daddy

A/N: I wrote this in the middle of the night so it might make not much sense :D Enjoy!

Warnings: angst, mentions of death, will probably cause heartbreak

Her alarm went off. It rang and rang and rang and rang. There seemed no end. She didn’t turn it off. She had no power to stretch out her arm and shut it off. Instead, she reluctantly opened her eyes, just watching the red numbers depicted on the small device situated on her nightstand. She waited patiently- waited until the shrill, annoying sound stopped echoing through her bedroom. But it did continue. It continued, and she felt like her ears were bleeding. Rage started boiling in her veins, and the longer it took, the more she had the urge to smash the clock down, watching it break into pieces. Just like she had let her heart shatter into pieces. Seeing the broken parts scattered on the ground would bring her the greatest satisfaction, but no matter how much she’d love to do it, she also did not want to go outside to buy another. Being surrounded by people was the last thing she currently craved for.

It had been a while since she had been under people. She couldn’t tell how long it had been, perhaps days, weeks, or even months- she didn’t know. She had lost track of time. Was it Monday or Tuesday? Thursday or Friday? Was it May? Or June already? She really didn’t know. The world outside her apartment went on while hers had stopped. People carried on with their lives, practiced their daily routines and worked hard like a maniac. Y/N couldn’t remember the last time she had been at work. She had completely isolated herself from civilization, hiding behind the walls of her home.

Home. She scoffed, tears pooling her eyes. Home isn’t what it used to be anymore. A tear had found its way down her cheeks, shortly after the next followed. Then another tear started running, and it went on and on until she became a crying mess, heavy sobs leaving her already sore throat. Y/N was used to crying- it had become a part of her new life. Her fingers dug deep into the cushion she had her head rested on, her face pushed into the soft material to muffle her sobs. The all-too well known pain appeared between her ribs, gnawing on her heart as if something was still there. Literally speaking, she was alive, however, it didn’t feel like it at all. She wondered how she could be if she was already dead inside.

She lifted up her head, then facing towards the empty side of the bed. There was a time where another body was resting on that now cold, abandoned spot. Somebody with strong muscular and tattooed arms holding her, protecting her while she was asleep. Somebody whose heart was wider than the entire universe, too precious for this world. That vital organ, whose owner had been Y/N, was too kind and too valuable. The day it stopped beating was the day Y/N had fallen into an abyss with no familiar arms to catch her. He wasn’t there to assure her that everything was fine. He was no longer there. Gone too soon.

Y/N missed his forest-green eyes and his dimples when he smiled. She missed his throaty laugh and his warm touch. Funny how things can change from one second to the other. One minute you’re the happiest woman on earth, and the minute after your happiness is taken away from you, giving you no chance to spend more time, to create new memories, to enjoy togetherness. Everything happened with the blink of an eye, and now she must mourn over the loss of the man she loved more than anything in this world. She would’ve given everything to feel his soft hands on her- to feel the rapid beating of his heart under her fingertips. Her ears were deprived from his voice- how much did she wish he would call out for her again. The only times she heard his voice was when she cried herself to sleep while listening to the songs he’d left behind.

Her family was worried sick about her. Even though they knew she was going to change and wasn’t going to be their funny, happy, cheerful and vibrant Y/N anymore, they did not expect her to change this drastically. She was basically a walking corpse with no vital force. Her once tanned skin was now pale. Her once bright, shining eyes were now dull and empty. She didn’t talk anymore. She hadn’t used her voice properly for months- only if she really had to. There was barely anyone around with whom she could lead a conversation anyway. She cut everyone out.

Each day, Y/N was taking steps further to depression.

Her parents offered her to visit a psychiatrist, even proposed to accompany her, but she declined. From her perspective, she wasn’t insane, but her family shared different opinions on that matter. They had had to watch their daughter whither away like a rose. Who could’ve known that she was going to change 360 degrees? A young woman, no longer willing to live, but still clinging on to life because she had someone who was dependent on her.

Her love had left a legacy behind- a little baby girl.

A small baby who currently had learned how to stand on her own legs. Her chubby legs- he would’ve loved to gently sink his teeth into the little one’s skin. She was almost one year old and very vocal, babbling things no one could identify. Her first word was ‘dada’, and Y/N couldn’t figure out where she could’ve picked this up from since there was no daddy around. It was probably her sister teaching her niece how to say it- she lived with them to support Y/N, helping her out to make life a bit more bearable.

Y/N did not keep in touch with her in-laws. She couldn’t face them because of how similar they looked to him. It was already hard enough to look at her daughter who was the replica of her father without the need to cry. His mother understood- a mourning mother who sometimes wanted to crawl into a hole and never appear again. But the woman, called Anne, stressed that she wanted to see her grandchild often as possible because the baby girl was the only thing left of her son. She couldn’t lose her. So, Y/N’s sister drove little angel back and forth.

Her attention was now glued onto the large picture hanging on the wall. It was him displayed on it, beaming a smile towards her direction.

If he was looking down at her from above, then he must be very disappointed in her. He would complain that Y/N was barely taking care of herself. He used to a lot in the past because her wellbeing was an important factor for him. He would’ve wanted her to stay strong- especially for the baby.

“I’m sorry,” She whispered, wishing that he would answer her. “I’m sorry for being such a failure, for not being strong enough. I can’t… I can’t without you.”

Another sob wrecked her body. “How can I drink or eat, knowing you can’t do it anymore? Tell me, how could I go outside and enjoy things while you’re stripped off that opportunity? You’re everywhere, Harry. In every place, every corner, there is a part of you… I cannot just go out and pretend to be strong as everyone expects when I’m so truly broken… I just can’t…”

She wiped the salty liquid with the sleeve of her pajama bottom. “Why you, Harry? Why does it have to be you?! Why do always good people die?! Why?!”

She couldn’t fathom what Harry did to be cruelly punished at such young age. He had been barely 30 years old when he passed away. One crash was enough to end his life immediately. He was dead on spot. It was a shock for all relatives, as well as for the entire world. Y/N tried to console herself that he at least did not suffer. No pain. Just eternal rest.

“I love you…I love you so much…” Y/N said, “I don’t know when I’ll see you again but please, wait for me…”

The young woman freed herself from the bedsheets and got up from bed. Her sister would be waking her soon anyway. Her head ached terribly from the amount of crying, so she strolled her way to the bathroom to take some medicine. When she passed the nursery, she suddenly stopped. Little squeaks could be heard from behind the door. Her baby daughter was laughing, and Y/N was wondering why. Baby girl should be normally asleep at this time. Curiosity eating her alive, she slowly pushed down the handle and slightly opened the door, taking a peek through the gap.

She furrowed her brows when she saw her angel sitting on her bed, clapping with her tiny hands while gazing at something in front of her. However, there was nothing that Y/N could see. She watched her daughter trying to get up, her fingers clasping the edge of her bed. She bounced on her chubby legs and laughed at whatever made her laugh. Then suddenly, baby girl stumbled backwards and fell down on her little bum, while rubbing her nose, as if someone had poked her. Y/N wanted to interfere, however, her heart skipped a beat when her daughter raised both of her arms to the air and squealed, “Dada, up.”

[jenmyeons]

These Nights

Pairing: kyungsoo x female reader

Summary: Kyungsoo’s dream has always been to own a farm where he can lead a quiet life without much worry. Turns out silence is hard to come by with two kids and equally as many dogs. At least he has you to share it with and perhaps that’s the best part.

Warnings: none

Word count: 1,7k

Author’s note: been meaning to put something together for the loveliest and super talented @kyungseokie for a while now and after not being able to get kyungsoo on a farm out of my head, this served to be the last push. i hope you like this dia! you are such an inspiration and one of the kindest people i’ve met on this site. this is a little thank you for being so kind to me 💗

A warm breeze catches your hair and the white linen hung up by clothing pins, the wind blowing through the treetops giving off a calming sound as you reach for the next bedsheet in line. The familiar smell of detergent filling your nostrils. In the distance, you see your husband approaching with his beige straw hat in place and a large basket filled to the brim with various greens which you know will be used for dinner later on. Your mouth waters and stomach rumbles lowly with the thought of your husbands homemade meals. Lost in thought, humming a made up tune under your breath, you pinch the last clothing pin over the creamy white fabric. There’s a shuffling of feet against grass sounding from behind you and then you hear a thud as, what you suppose is the basket, hits the ground. Turning around, your husband’s heart shaped smile greets you and he stretches his arms out to draw you into himself, leaving featherlight kisses on your unsuspecting lips. You close your eyes briefly to cherish the moment before Kyungsoo pulls away from you, lips returning to their grinning form.

”What have I done to deserve all this affection?” You ask suspiciously with eyebrows raised.

Kyungsoo shrugs and steals another kiss. ”Nothing, just here to tell you that I’m done at the field for the day and thought I’d head inside to get started on dinner,” he tells you then looks around the yard, likely searching for the kids.

”They’re playing with the dogs at the front yard,” you let him know.

Just then, the distinct sound of your daughter screeching out her laughter reaches you through another breeze. Then followed by her brother’s.

”I bet they’ll be hungry soon so go ahead and I’ll join you after I’m done hanging these.”

This time, it’s your turn to sneak a kiss. Kyungsoo nods and picks up the basket once more before making his way towards your house. You take a moment to admire your husbands rather nice-looking butt as he takes his leave. You laugh at yourself, feeling like a teenager stealing glances at their crush when they aren’t paying attention. Two kids and years together yet you still question how you managed to snatch such a good looking man with a heart of gold and the added bonus of a firmly shaped ass.

Walking into the house after finishing up outside, you’re immediately met with the welcoming smell of your husbands cooking. The sound of a stew boiling on a low temp on the stove and your husband’s sharp knife hitting the cutting board relaxes you in an instant. Leaving the empty laundry bag by the doorway and making your way into the kitchen. You steal a carrot from a bowl on the counter in front of Kyungsoo, plopping it into your mouth, then move to lean your backside against the sink and ask if he needs any help with dinner. Kyungsoo shakes his head but gives you the task of setting the table instead. Moving over to the cupboard beside the stove is almost autopilot at this point and you quickly bring down four plates which you then put them in place upon the dining room table.

”Honey, dinner is almost done. Will you tell the kids to come inside and wash their hands?” Kyungsoo asks over his shoulder and you hum out a ’yes’ in response.

You walk out the front yard and are immediately met by your children’s delighted giggles as they throw Meokmul her favorite toy, clapping in awe as she races to catch the worn out rubber chicken. Your heart fills with warmth in your chest and you smile widely at the scene unfolding in front of you.

”Hey kids!” You call out gently to gain their attention. ”Dad is almost done cooking so would you make mommy and daddy proud and show us how fast you can finish up here and go wash your hands?”

Stopping in their tracks, both of them shriek out ’yes’ in chorus before running off to wash their hands inside. Forgetting all about the dogs and the rubber duck. With a sigh, you pick up the abandoned toy from the grass and instruct Meokmul and Hoochoo to get inside as well before heading back in yourself.

Dinner flows by like the light breeze outside, the kids laugh at Kyungsoo as his glasses fog when lifting the lid off the pot and then some more when he scolds them lightheartedly for laughing at their dad. You listen intently as each of them recount their days at school and kindergarten. Small hands waving around frantically while your daughter tells you all about the latest dinosaur she’s learnt about, beaming at the proud grins her parents sport as she happily continues on about her favorite herbivore.

Your son at the opposite side of the table, is too busy stuffing his face with food to engage in his older sister’s storytelling. The way it usually is, and you eye him carefully to make sure he doesn’t swallow down the wrong pipe. Kyungsoo, ever the attentive husband, catches on quickly and nudges his son gently.

”Hey big guy, slow down a little,” your son looks up in confusion and Kyungsoo elaborates, ”you don’t want your tummy to hurt.”

He ruffles the mop of black hair on the younger’s head and receives a nod in affirmation but continues keeping an eye on his son until he slows down.

”I just love your food the mostest daddy!” Your son exclaims, mouth full of food, a spare piece of rice flying out onto the table. All four of you laugh heartily at the sight, especially your daughter who clutches her stomach from laughing too hard - almost falling off her chair in the process. A habit she has definitely picked up from her uncle Chanyeol.

You can tell by the fond smile and love-laced gaze in your husbands eyes that the compliment has his heart swelling in pride.

After the kids leave the table and only the dishes are left to wash is when the sun starts to set, painting the room in a golden hue. Kyungsoo puts the leftover food in various glass containers while you get started on rinsing the plates before putting them in the dishwasher. The low humming of Kyungsoo’s voice feels soothing as you scrub the damp sponge against the porcelain. In the background, the sound of the TV playing can be heard along with the occasional giggle from one of the children. You lean into Kyungsoo as he affectionately envelopes you in his arms from behind, a kiss being left behind your ear. There’s something safe about his embrace. Something about the way he softly clings to you after a long day out in the field. It makes you think that maybe you’re his safe haven the same way he is yours.

”It’s getting late, let’s put the kids to bed and bring out the wine after,” he says, voice low and deep in your ear.

”Sounds good.” You nod. ”We still haven’t watched that movie you were talking about a while back.”

That settles it, the two of you usher the kids upstairs and into their shared bedroom to put on their pajamas. The youngest getting some help while your daughter puts her penguin patterned t-shirt on. Some whining, overpowered by loud giggles rings from the bathroom across the hall as you help your son. A tell-tale sign of your daughter testing her dad’s patience while he attempts to comb through her long dark hair.

An annoyed ’yah!’ sounds through the house and you pat your son’s butt when you finish buttoning his pajama shirt to urge him into the bathroom.

”Sit still if you want to avoid getting your hair pulled or you’ll have to do it yourself!” Your husband complains to his daughter who is still acting like a giggling mess below him.

You smile and fetch his toothbrush from the cabinet and tell your son to take a seat on the toilet so you can brush his teeth. Your son listens and impatiently swings his legs back and forth as you get his toothbrush ready, his tiny hands grabbing the edge of the toilet seat. He is definitely the calmer of your two little wildlings and let’s his mom brush away without much complaint until you’re done. Getting his sister to go to bed, on the other hand, is an entirely different story. You let Kyungsoo handle her most nights, his patience a lot better than yours.

After successfully getting them both in their respective beds, they both nag their father to read them bedtime stories until they fall asleep. Kyungsoo, being the tender soul that he is, gives in without much convincing and you deem your job done for the night, leaving the top floor to get the TV started then pour up the wine.

Wine glass in hand, you listen carefully to your husband’s storytelling - taking a sip from time to time. Judging by the lack of interruptions on the children’s part, you imagine it’s quite the intriguing tale. You take this moment for yourself to stretch out your tense limbs as you wait for the story to end.

A while later, the sound of Kyungsoo’s slippers flopping as he makes his way down the stairs meets your ears and you set your own glass down in order to pour him some. You leave the kitchen and make your way into the living room where Kyungsoo has already parked on the couch, remote in hand, ready to start the film up. Knowing the two of you, you probably won’t make it through the whole movie anyways - no matter how good it may be since falling asleep on the couch seems to be the default setting of parents with young kids. Not that you mind. Not in the least.

[sirius-archive]

Chaos Theory Chapter 13

Pairing: Cedric Diggory x Reader, Harry Potter x Reader, Draco Malfoy x Reader, George Weasley x Reader, Fleur Delacour x Original Male Character

Warning: Swearing, mild smut, drug use

Word Count: 6,411

A/N: I’m finally posting this!! I’ve been working on it for ages and I’ve scrapped so many drafts but now I’ve finally settled on one I like! I also apologise for the format; I’m posting on my mobile bc I’m house sitting for a friend. I will repost later when I’m back at home but for now, enjoy.

Please be aware that there is a mild sex scene toward the end of the story and also discussion about underage sex. If this makes you uncomfortable, please stop reading. 

P.S thank you to everyone who waited so patiently for this chapter!!!

***

Chapter thirteen

There is an old-fashioned code for people like him; honour among thieves. 

Darius has never been that trusting let alone stupid — stupid gets you caught, and he’s far too busy to get caught by the assholes chasing him. Darius has been in the business since he can remember, and he knows all to well that thieves have no honour, that’s why they’re thieves. 

Still, He’s always known to a certain degree that his own greedy ambition would thrust him headlong into a nest full of hungry serpents. It’s an occupational hazard, he supposes; there’s always someone with an ulterior motive, which is why he works alone. He can’t deal with snitches. 

Snitches are just asking to be killed. 

The one that snitched on him is practically begging Darius to kill him, and he’s going to grant the snitch that wish as soon as he gets out of here. 

Thanks to the suicidal dumbass, Darius now has to deal with the auror’s who have managed to invade his underground safe house.  He can sense them creeping through the sewage, armed with wands that have taken away countless lives. 

It’s all very...inconvenient the whole situation is. He’d just settled into his neat, little man cave. Now he has to find a new spot. 

Using wandless magic, Darius effortlessly levitates a giant dung bomb from its spot in a box and drops it in front of the door. With a snap of his fingers, Darius ignites the bomb just as the door bursts open in a cloud of dust and dirt. 

“I found him!” Auror douchebag murmurs into a hidden mouth piece and Darius smirks. 

“Took you long enough,” Darius quips, “Would you like a tea or a coffee? I would offer you something stronger but I’ve run out — I’ll just pop down to the liquor store—“

Auror douchebag’s lips bend into an ugly, menacing smirk, “You’re not leaving here alive, boy. You stole from the wrong people. Give me the book.” 

Instead of answering, Darius slants a glare at the auror, noting his height and weight. Darius copies auror douchebag’s stance and posture. 

“You’re not leaving here alive, boy,” Darius mimics, almost laughing at auror douchebag’s confused expression, “You stole from the wrong people. Give me the book!”  

“Stop that!” Barks auror douchebag, raising his wand, “Give me the damn book!” 

“Stop that! Give me the damn book!” 

Auror douchebag takes several steps forward, attempting to assert his dominance. 

“Stop playing games,” Auror douchebag snaps, “You don’t realise how much danger you’re in.” 

Darius takes a decisive step forward, straightening his posture. He’s significantly taller than auror douchebag, and the coward has to take a step back. 

“No need to be afraid,” Darius remarks, the beginnings of a smirk flirting around the corners of his lips, “It won’t hurt.”

Auror douchebag snorts, “What are you on about, boy? What won’t hurt?” 

“Killing you,” Darius replies, simply, “Well, it won’t hurt me anyway.”

Auror douchebag’s mouth flaps open to spit some dull remark, but before he can finish the dungbomb at his feet explodes. Plumes of thick, acrid smoke fill the air, clouding both auror douchebag and Darius’ vision. Auror douchebag splutters into his fist, distracted long enough for Darius to land a punch to his jaw and a roundhouse kick to his chest.  

Auror douchebag flies backward, gasping as the wind is knocked out of his lungs. His head lolls forward, resting on his shoulder as his lids slide shut and he drifts off into unconsciousness.

Darius smirks, “You should have let me go to the liquor store.” 

Concentrating hard on auror douchebag’s rugged appearance, Darius’ skin ripples and stretches, bones crunching into place as he morphs into an exact copy. Rising to his feet, Darius transfigures the unconscious body of auror douchebag into a rat just as his partners rush into the room. 

They sent the whole god damn brigade, Darius thinks with a flush of pride. 

Doubling over, Darius feigns a serious rib injury, rasping on a sharp, jagged breath, “He escaped! He beat my dumb ass and went that way!” 

The aurors stupidly follow Darius directions, rushing off to the other end of the sewer. Darius waits until their footsteps fade before grabbing his escape bag and scaling the ladder out of the sewer, smirking as he escapes into the night. 

When he finally finds somewhere to lay low — an abandoned mansion that’s most likely haunted — Darius drops onto the creaking, jarrah bed and unzips his bag.

“Finally” He murmurs, staring down at an ancient, leather bound book.

Darius studies the book he had stolen with curiosity, wondering why everyone wants this book so damn much. He opens the first page, noting the snake consuming its tail and the Scarab beetle fluttering its moth-like wings. What a strange illustration...

Beneath it, scrawled on the page in barely-legible chicken scratch, is a strange Latin incantation. Without even realising it, Darius mutters the incantation, not knowing the ripple effect those simple words will unleash on the world he knows, not realising the tragedy contained within the stained pages of the book, not realising what it means to his estranged family...

Not knowing that, three-thousand miles away, (Y/N) Arden startles awake with a loud, piercing scream, having experienced a nightmare that felt more real than anything she’s ever known.  

***

The scream comes just as the hour hand of Hermione’s quaint, muggle alarm clock strikes six. 

Hermione stumbles out of bed and fumbles for her wand, pushing wiry locks of brown hair out of her face and blinking away the sleep from her eyes. Her heart is pounding, adrenaline coursing through her. She almost feels dizzy from it. 

More screams ring through the dormitory, issuing from behind the drawn curtains of (Y/N)’s four poster. Hermione hears Parvati and Lavender stir awake in their own beds, the curtains yanking open to reveal their sleepy expressions. Hermione rushes toward the (Y/N)’s bed, hastily tearing the curtains apart to reveal her terrified friend. 

The white linen sheets of her bed are kicked into a tangled heap at her feet as (Y/N) flails. She glistens in the morning light, beads of sweat coating her skin and drenching her sheets. Her eyes are wide and panicked, misty from unshed tears and her breath rattles in the back of her throat. 

Without hesitating, Hermione clambers onto the bed and drapes her arms around (Y/N)’s small, trembling form, holding her close. She can feel (Y/N)’s heart thumping in her chest, pounding against Hermione’s like a second heartbeat.  Hermione squeezes a little tighter. 

“It’s okay,” Hermione coos, “You’re safe.”  

“I-I-“ (Y/N) chokes out, swallowing thickly, “It was-it was right there...” 

“It was just a nightmare,” Hermione reassures, gently, fingers trailing down the knobs of (Y/N)’s spine, “You’re okay.” 

(Y/N) exhales a shaky breath, a sob forming in the back of her throat. She swallows it and steadies her trembling voice. 

“A-a nightmare,” she finally whimpers, voice tight and small like a child’s, “Just a nightmare.” 

“That’s right, just a nightmare.” 

Through her peripherals, Hermione spots Lavender and Parvati peeking through the crack in the curtains, expressions riddled with questioning concern. Hermione dismisses then with a shake of her head and the curtains draw once again, soft footsteps disappearing to the other side of the room.

“What—What was it about?” Hermione asks, slowly, hesitantly, watching (Y/N) carefully. 

There’s a long, eerie silence. Hermione doesn’t think (Y/N) will respond, and just as she’s about to give up and go back to sleep, (Y/N) sighs, “There was this huge...shadow monster with these-these long claws and huge teeth and—and scratched something into the mirror.” 

“What was it?” 

(Y/N) exhales a shaky breath “The truth will set me free...” 

Hermione frowns, bites her lip. She’s heard that before, though she’s not sure where. 

“What else happened in your nightmare?” 

(Y/N) sniffles, “It was...peculiar. Like a dream within a dream...” 

“Go on.” 

“Well...In my nightmare, I had just woken up from a different nightmare. I don’t really remember but it felt so real!” 

(Y/N)’s voice wavers, her bottom lip trembling. Hermione can tell that she doesn’t want to be alone, and after what she’s just heard, Hermione doesn’t blame her. 

“Do you want me to stay with you?” Hermione whispers into (Y/N)’s hair. She feels (Y/N) nod, tears soaking through the thin cotton of Hermione’s pyjamas. 

Hermione settles into the bed beside (Y/N). (Y/N) wraps her arms around Hermione’s waist in a desperate hug that feels as though she’s clinging to her for safety, for reassurance, for comfort. Like she’s drowning in an ocean without a shore, waves crashing over her and pushing her further to their murky depths. 

Together, they lie in (Y/N)’s bed, staring up at the ceiling. Raw sobs and sharp knots of air tangle in the back of (Y/N)’s throat. 

“Breathe,” Hermione whispers, soothingly, “Just breathe.” 

Eventually, (Y/N)’s stuttered breathing smooths and shallows, her long lashes drooping closed. Tears stain (Y/N)’s flushed cheeks and she still trembles from fear, but at least she’s asleep.  

Hermione stays by her side, lying awake, watching her with a mixture of worry and curiosity, wondering with a tiny prick of envy how someone could look so pretty when they sleep. 

***

Ron — to his eternal frustration — is not as oblivious as everyone thinks. 

He notices things. Important things. Sometimes obvious things. He’s noticed things before other people have (except for Hermione because, lets face it, she’s a bloody nerd). He notices (Y/N) –– though, admittedly, everyone does, and he’d have to be half troll to not notice her. This morning, he notices something different about her, something that blurs the line between excitement and unease. 

In earnest, Ron doesn’t notice anything peculiar about her at first. When he enters the common room from his dorm, she’s cradling Nightshade and mingling with some of her sixth-year friends. He can tell she’s tired, though almost everyone is feeling sleepy from the previous nights festivities, including himself. 

(Y/N) spots him almost immediately and waves goodbye to her friends, practically bounding toward Ron. She flashes a dazzling smile, displaying a perfectly straight row of gleaming teeth, but there’s something about it that seems a little...forced. 

“Morning,” she greets, and Ron reaches out to pat the messy bun she had tied on the top of her head. She smiles broadly. 

“Sleep well?” Ron asks and (Y/N) sighs. 

“No...not at all.”

“Been dreaming of Cedric Diggory all night, eh?” 

(Y/N) rolls her eyes, cutting Ron’s snickering off with a well-aimed punch to his shoulder. 

“Oh shut up...” she snaps, though her cheeks are pink and the corners of her lips hedge on a smile. 

Ron casts a look over her shoulder, watching the group of sixth years she had been talking to. 

“How do you have so many friends?” Ron asks, eyes meeting hers again. 

She shrugs, “Mainly through that thing called — now, what’s it called now? — social interaction.” 

“Huh. Isn’t it annoying?” 

“Not really,” (Y/N) answers, “They’re not like my best friends or anything. I’ve only got three best friends...” 

“Don’t you mean four?” Jokes a familiar voice from behind Ron. 

Ron doesn’t need to turn around to know that his two older brothers, Fred and George, are standing behind him. He exhales heavily, glancing over his shoulder just in time to catch George slap Fred behind the head. 

“Who taught you to count?” George snips as he watches Fred rub the back of his head soothingly. 

“You don’t count,” Fred explains, “You’re more of (Y/N)’s boyfriend than ‘best friend.’” 

Fred winks at (Y/N). 

George’s cheeks glow red. 

“Didn’t you hear?” Ron chimes in, “(Y/N) is already taken.” 

“Thanks, Ronald,” (Y/N) snaps sardonically, narrowing her eyes on him, “I’m relieved to know my privacy is of your utmost concern.” 

Ron throws (Y/N) a disbelieving look, “It’s Hogwarts, (Y/N). Nothing stays secret for long.” 

(Y/N) snorts, just as Nightshade begins to stir from her doze. She squirms in (Y/N) arms and she gently placed her cat on the floor. 

“Looks like George’s old sweater has found a new home,” Ron nods at her sweater, “Are you sure that’s hygienic?” 

Ron has to bite back a laugh. It’s almost comical, the way she swims in George’s sweater, so much so she’s had to tuck the excess fabric into the hem of her tennis skirt. He has to admit, she does wear the it well, though he can’t figure out why anyone would want to wear such a monstrosity of a sweater in the first place

George rolls his eyes, “I think now would be a good time to reflect on the memory of Ron projectile vomiting slugs in his second year.”

(Y/N) cringes, “Please don’t. I’ve been trying to erase that memory from my mind for the past two years.”

“Didn’t you nearly catch one, (Y/N)?” Fred smirks. 

“Anyway,” Ron snaps, glaring at Fred and George, “It looks better on you than it ever did on George.” 

(Y/N) throws her head back and laughs. Her eyes, though shadowed with fatigue, still seem to twinkle with amusement. 

Ron casts her a side-long glance. Maybe she is just tired. 

“Flattery will get you everywhere, Ronald.” 

The four of them head down for breakfast, talking about the previous night and laughing amongst themselves. The twins and (Y/N) do most of the laughing, mainly at Ron’s expense, but if that means he gets to cheer his best friend up then he doesn’t mind. He watches with a mixture of relief and joy as the apprehension begins to melt away from (Y/N), leaving her brimming with happiness. 

The twins — to Ron’s dismay — decide to sit with Ron and (Y/N) for breakfast, where they wrestle over who gets to sit next to (Y/N). She eventually points out that she can sit between them, though not without watching their pissing contest with amusement. Content with her suggestion, the twins finally settle, Fred a little more so than George, the latter of whom keeps throwing (Y/N) strange looks. 

Soon after, the four of them are joined by Hermione and Harry and they all settle in to enjoy their breakfast. To Ron’s relief, the twins decide to leave after breakfast and with bellies full of delicious food, the four of them return to the common room. 

“You must be starting a collection of stolen clothes,” Harry jokes, nodding at (Y/N)’s sweater, “You still haven’t given me my hoodie back.” 

(Y/N) bites her lip apologetically, “It’s so cozy though...” 

Harry’s lips tilt into a smirk, “You can have it, it was Dudley’s old hoodie anyway.” 

(Y/N) cringes and laughter erupts between the four of them, the unspoken tension lingering from last night melting from the warmth of each other’s company. When bubbles of laughter fade, Ron and Harry begin to fill them in on what they learned about Hagrid.  

“Well I thought he must be,” Hermione says once Ron finishes, shrugging nonchalantly, “I knew he couldn’t be pure giant, because they’re about twenty feet tall. But honestly, all this hysteria about giants. They can’t all be horrible.” 

Ron blinks at Hermione, biting back several scathing comments. Is she bonkers? He always knew that she wasn’t completely sane, but now it almost seemed as though she were deliberately talking crazy to egg Ron on. 

“And what do you think about this, (Y/N)?” Ron sighs, rubbing his forehead to keep himself from starting another argument with Hermione. 

(Y/N) shrugs, leaning back in her chair and crossing one leg over the other. The hem of her skirt slides up a little, giving him a glimpse of smooth skin beneath the fabric of her stockings. Ron can’t help but notice the way Harry’s cheeks flush and he has to swallow down the urge to tease Harry. 

“Hermione and I figured it out almost straight away,” she says, matter-of-fairly, “Why is it such a big deal? We know Hagrid isn’t like other giants so why should everyone care that he’s a––“

Ron cuts (Y/N) off with a sharp ‘shush’, glancing around to make sure no one heard. 

“Keep your voice down,” Ron hisses, “We might know Hagrid’s a You-know-what but no one else does. He could lose his job!” 

(Y/N) rolls her eyes, “I’m going to make sure he’s okay,” she says, climbing out of her armchair and flattening the fabric of her skirt, “He’s probably a bit hurt from what happened last night.” 

“You’re right,” Hermione says, narrowing her eyes on Harry, “Harry should go with you.” 

Harry’s mouth drops open but Hermione gives him a stern, pointed look that withers any argument Harry or Ron could muster up. 

“Okay,” (Y/N) shrugs, flashing a brief smile at Harry, “I’ll go and get my cloak. It’s bloody freezing out there.” 

When (Y/N) is safely out of range, Harry rounds on Hermione. 

“What was that all about?” He snaps. 

Hermione leans forward, glancing around the room conspicuously, “(Y/N) had a terrible nightmare last night. She woke up screaming and absolutely terrified. Honestly, if you had seen her...” she cuts herself off with a sharp sigh, “Going with her to see Hagrid night help her open up a little and maybe you can tell her how you feel.” 

“I already did that!” Harry grumbles, bitterly, “And she said she loved me as a friend!” 

Hermione snaps the book in her hands shut with such ferocity, she startles the sleepy Crookshanks curled up on her lap, “Well who’s fault was that?” 

“—Alright, I’m ready.” 

The three of them jump. 

Swivelling around, Ron forces a smile he hopes looks convincing. (Y/N) arches a brow suspiciously, though to her credit, she doesn’t ask. 

“Ready to go?” (Y/N) asks Harry, and Ron spots the way her fingers twitch around her mothers bracelet. 

Harry jumps to his feet, mumbling an uneasy ‘yeah’ and the two of them set off, stepping through the portrait hole. Despite himself, Ron can’t help wondering what the bloody hell is going on. 

****

Harry is — well...

Nervous doesn’t quite fit it. 

He’s certainly uneasy, for reasons obvious to seemingly everyone around him except for the one person who matters, whose always mattered, even when he didn’t realise it. He wonders whether that’s because of she’s blinded by Cedric or if it’s because of something Harry has said or done. 

He claws awkwardly at the nape of his neck, clearing his throat every now and again as though he’s trying to gulp down that swirling, heated pool of feelings currently trying to climb its way up his throat. 

“Frog in your throat?” 

Harry tries his best not to jump. He was so deep in his own thoughts and feelings, he had temporarily forgotten where he was. 

(Y/N) stares at him expectantly and Harry sighs. 

“Not quite.” 

He clears his throat on impulse, and the corner of (Y/N)’s lips twitch.

“Still sulky about last night, then?” 

Harry’s jaw slackens. 

“What—? I wasn’t — I mean — I was never —?” 

“Parvati told me all about it,” (Y/N) interjects, a smile teasing her (perfect) lips  “Are you feeling better this morning?” 

Harry drags a hand through his hair, grazing his nails over his scalp to stave the prickle sprawling beneath his hair. 

“Yeah...though to be honest, Ron was more upset than me.” 

(Y/N) snorts, “Yeah he was, wasn’t he?” 

“I’m just glad he and Hermione have agreed to disagree.” 

“I think that’s the basis of their friendship.” 

Harry chuckles, giving her a sidelong glance, “Where did you end up disappearing to last night anyway?” 

Guilt briefly crosses over (Y/N)’s face, shadowing the light in her eyes and accentuating the dark circles beneath them. 

“I was...I was looking for my brother...” (Y/N) says, so softly he barely manages to catch the hitch in her voice. 

“Is he okay?” 

(Y/N) bites her lip, hesitating, “No...not really...” 

Harry waits for her to elaborate. 

She doesn’t. 

He wisely decides to let it slide. 

“Listen, I’m sorry I ditched you last night,” (Y/N) mumbles, “I didn’t mean to. I guess I was just annoyed at Ron, you know?” 

Harry nods in understanding, “At least you made sure Hermione was okay.” 

(Y/N) nods and sighs, looping her arm through his, “You’re both assholes, you know.” 

Harry laughs. He’s missed her more than he originally realised. He can’t remember ever feeling this relaxed with her since...well since last year. The unease he’d felt entering the conversation has drained away, leaving him warm and content in (Y/N)’s company as they stroll through the castle, approaching Hagrid’s hut at a leisurely rate. 

When they make it to Hagrid’s door, Fang gives a couple of raspy barks until he catches their scent and he hears the heavy thump of his tail against the door. A long, groaning noise issues from the other side of the door, like someone choking the engine of an old, rusty motorbike. 

Harry shares a worried look with (Y/N). 

He knocks. 

No answer. 

“Huh,” (Y/N) frowns, “Lets try again. Maybe — maybe he didn’t hear —?” 

“—Didn’t hear Fang?” Harry asks, stepping away from the door. Another long peal of that strange groaning noise echoes through Hagrids hut. Harry frowns, “And what is that weird noise?” 

Harry creeps around the side of the hut, peering in through the window. A hazy sheen of fog covers the glass, but through it he can just make out the sleeping form of Hagrid collapsed on his bed, one giant hand on his stomach while the other clutches an empty bottle. 

Harry laughs, “He’s passed out drunk!” 

(Y/N) rushes to his side, reaching up on the tips of her toes to stare into the window. 

“So he is,” she giggles. 

“Best leave him to it, eh?” 

(Y/N) nods, grinning at Harry. 

The two of them make their way toward the castle, laughing. 

“I should brew him a hangover potion,” chortles (Y/N), “Something tells me he’s going to need it.” 

Just as they reach the courtyard, a familiar voice rings through the air. 

“(Y/N)!” 

Harry’s stomach curls into a swampy knot, resentment climbing up the back of his throat. He clenches his jaw shut, grinding his molars as he and (Y/N) turn around. 

“Cedric!” she beams as he jogs toward her. 

Harry stares as his arms wrap around her waist, embracing her in a hug. Watching them sours the good mood (Y/N) put him in. 

When they break apart, Cedric laces their fingers together, beaming broadly at Harry, “Heya Harry. Suppose you heard the news about (Y/N) and I...” 

Harry nods curtly, “I heard.” 

(Y/N)’s teeth clamp down on her bottom lip, glancing uneasily at Harry. 

“We were just on our way back from Hagrids,” (Y/N) says, gazing lovingly up at Cedric, “He’s — er — still asleep. Had a long night I suppose.” 

“I think we all did,” Cedric says, giving (Y/N) a look Harry does not like at all. A delicate, spring-pink blush spreads across (Y/N)’s cheeks. 

It’s grating. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Harry snaps. 

Cedric smiles sheepishly. 

(Y/N)’s blush deepens. 

“Anyway,” Cedric continues, “I hope you don’t mind if I steal (Y/N) for a moment? There is something quite important that I need to talk to (Y/N) about.”

Harry does mind. Very much so. But he can’t make a scene, so he bites back several sarcastic remarks and nods his head, “Sure.” 

Cedric beams, “Well, see you around then.” 

Harry sincerely hopes he doesn’t see Cedric around. 

“I’ll meet you back at the common room,” (Y/N) says, giving Harry one of those lovely, reassuring smiles. Harry, though, is too bitter to fully appreciate it, and the fact that he can’t appreciate it only makes him more angry with Cedric. 

“Yeah.”

With that, Harry wheels around and leaves, the remainders of his good mood tarnished by Hogwarts favourite champion. 

****

Cedric used to be a patient person. 

He’s been told by many that it’s one of his defining qualities, that he’s patient with people in the same way that they imagine Helga Hufflepuff being. Cedrics always thought that comparing him with Helga Hufflepuff is an exaggeration to say the least, but since he’s met (Y/N), he’s begun to realise just how patient he used to be. 

‘Used to’ being the operative term here. 

Because since meeting (Y/N), he has been the most impatient, the most selfish, greedy fool he’s ever known, an idiot in love who has completely surrendered himself to her charms. He can barely wait to be with her and when he’s with her, he’s found that he only wants more — more of her. 

“What is it?” She asks when they reach the Hufflepuff common room, concern creeping into her words. 

Cedric hesitates, chewing his bottom lip. He really doesn’t have anything romantic planned like their previous dates. He’s just a desperate man trying to soak up as much warmth a woman like (Y/N) emits. 

The common room door hisses and slides open, inviting them into the cozy warmth of the room. Cedric leads her inside, checking to see if anyone is there. It’s completely empty. Everyone is out enjoying the snow. 

Thank God. 

“Wow!” (Y/N) exclaims, gazing at the tree in the centre of the room, “That’s incredible! I wish our common room had a tree in the middle of our—“ 

“Do you trust me?” Cedric cuts her off, glancing at her lips. (Y/N) nods slowly, curiously, though there’s a glint in her eyes that tells him she knows what’s about to happen. 

Cedric kisses her. 

She’s surprised at first, taken aback by the ferocity of the kiss, and he worries for one dreadful moment that he overstepped his boundaries. But then she wraps her arms around his neck and pulls him closer, her movements swift and desperate and Cedric sighs into the kiss, tongue sliding over her bottom lip. 

Relieved and emboldened, Cedric presses her against the wall, hands roaming up and down her sides, relishing in the warmth that hums beneath his touch. Guttural moans rumble at the back of his throat as his brain melts to slosh in his skull, swimming with intoxicating amounts of dopamine and serotonin. 

“Is this the important matter you so desperately wanted to discuss?” She rasps when they finally break apart, lips red and swollen. She gasps when Cedric’s lips drag across her jugular, teeth scraping over her thumping pulse. She shudders in response, lolling her head back to grant him more access to her neck. 

“I hope you’re not too mad,” He murmurs, breath hot against her skin, “Though something tells me you’re not.” 

She whimpers when he kisses her collarbone, arching up into him, “Oh I’m totally furious.” 

“I’ll have to make it up to you.” 

“I’m not so easy to please.” 

His lips travel up the curve of her neck, gliding across her jaw, until his eyes meet hers. They’re blown wide with what Cedric’s horny, caveman hindbrain recognises as lust; syrupy warm and obsidian dark. Those eyes of hers could paralyse even the strongest of men and turn sinners into beggars. 

She’s going to be the death of him. 

Licking his lips, he leans in close, gazing into her eyes, his voice a mere whisper. 

“I’m counting on it.” 

Their lips collide. 

All he’s been able to think about is this very moment. Since the moment he met her almost a year ago, all he’s wanted to do is drag her into the closest broom closet and kiss her senseless. That desire, matched with an healthy dose of love and adoration, has gradually filled up until it overflowed, drowning him in absolute yearning. 

He’s brought back to earth by a tug on his belt, and Cedric realises her nimble fingers are fumbling around it, blindly trying to strip it from his pants. 

Cedric leaps back.

“What’s wrong?” She asks, frowning. 

Cedric licks his lips and swallows, “I’m not sure you’re ready for—for that...” 

(Y/N) reaches out to him, hooking her fingers into his belt and tugging him forward. She reaches up into her toes and whispers into his ear. 

“I’m ready, Cedric. I want you.” 

Cedric swallows, blood heading straight to the region beneath his belt. His resolve is rapidly dissolving and it takes every ounce of his willpower to step away from her.

“Are you sure, though?” He asks in a soft, reassuring voice, “We’ve only just made our relationship official. We don’t have to rush things...” 

(Y/N) peers up at him through doe-like eyes, lashes fluttering as a cute, little frown forms. 

“Do you—do you not want this? Want me?” 

Cedric bleats a laugh on impulse.

“Merlin, (Y/N)...” Cedric drapes his hands over hers, ducking his chin to catch her gaze, “All I think about is you. You’ve completely consumed me. And you know what? I don’t even care.” 

(Y/N) smiles bashfully, her teeth catching her bottom lip. Cedric gives her hands a gentle squeeze. 

“All I want is for you to feel comfortable,” Cedric says, softly, “You’re only fourteen (Y/N). Pushing you into a situation you don’t want to be in before you’re ready will hurt you. And the last thing I want to do is hurt you because—“ 

I love you

Cedric catches himself. He licks his lips and swallows, “—I care about you.” 

(Y/N) almost looks relieved. She clearly wasn’t as ready as she thought she was. 

“I care about you, too,” she murmurs, reaching up to kiss him. 

Eventually, Cedric manages to break away long enough to show her the common room. They take full advantage of the solitude; kissing languidly whenever they get the chance, as though their kisses are oxygen in a vacuum. 

They barely manage to stumble into his bedroom and collapse on his bed, giggling between kisses. Time seems to slow to a stop whenever he’s around her, whether they’re making out or chatting. All Cedric knows is her, his anchor that keeps him tethered to reality, that stops him drifting into space. 

Cedric wasn’t lying when he said she had completely consumed him. He doesn’t think there is a single cell in his body that doesn’t belong to her. It sounds cliche but it’s true. 

Together on his bed, the two of them drift off into a dreamless sleep, warm and comfortable, oblivious to fates cruel, cold plans. 

***

Luke wakes with a start.

He groans. His head feels like a small, rabies-infected rodent scratched away at his brain. His stomach feels like the rodent curled up and died inside it. 

Blinking blearily, Luke glances around the room. 

He’s in a cellar, surrounded by shelves of fire whiskey and butterbeer. He scratches the back of his head. How the fuck did he end up in the basement of the Three Broomsticks. 

A chill breeze sweeps through the basement, prickling his skin. With a shock, Luke realises he’s completely naked. Fleurs body is warm and soft beside him; her head resting on his chest, her hair splayed out like a silver halo against his skin. She’s equally naked, which is not a particular thought Luke really needs to process right now; his erection is already poking into her thigh and he can feel the round smoothness of her breasts as her chest rises and falls with her shallow breathing. 

Luke carefully manoeuvres Fleur off his chest, stuffing his pitiful excuse of a pillow under her head. 

He has to find his clothes. 

Climbing to his feet, he steadies himself on a bench, cradling his head in a large hand. His eyes snag on his pants and he dashes toward it, wincing at the obnoxious ache throbbing between his temples. 

As he pulls on his pants, snippets of the previous night return to him; the Durmstrang ship, inhaling the Nyx’s blood, getting blind drunk, stumbling around in the snow, having sex in the Beauxbatons carriage, in the prefects bathroom and the Black Lake and in the Three Broomstick’s cellar...

Luke’s heart sinks. 

(Y/N)’s face floats across the jigsaw puzzle of memories forming in his mind. She saw him. She knows...

“You look like a bloody mess,” says a cold, sniffy voice from over Luke’s shoulder. Luke turns, spotting a well-dressed boy no older than eighteen sitting on an armchair. His thin lips are pinched, his expression sharp and his eyes narrowed on Luke in disdain. 

“Who are you?” Luke croaks, squinting at the boy. He’s not sure if it’s the hangover or the lighting but he doesn’t recognise the intruder. His crisp Posh accent tells Luke that he can’t be from Durmstrang or Beauxbatons. 

“Doesn’t matter who I am,” the boy waves his hand at Luke, as though dismissing him, “I’m after your sister.” 

“A lot of boys are after my sister,” Luke snaps. Within the span of three minutes, this fucker has proved to be a condescending, arrogant bastard, “And if you know what’s good for you, you’ll stay away from her.” 

The twat rolls his eyes like a little bitch, “Or What? You’ll kill me? I’m afraid you’ll find you can’t kill me.” 

A stabbing pain slices down Luke’s skull. Something about this guy reminds Luke of his father. The likeness leaves a sour taste in Luke’s mouth. He curls his fingers into fists, grinding his jaw. 

“I may not be able to kill you,” Luke growls, stepping closer to the stranger, “But I can make you wish you were dead.” 

“Says the half-naked, hungover imbecile who doesn’t even remember how he got here...” the dense motherfucker has the audacity to scoff, climbing to his dumb feet, “I’ll find her myself.” 

“Don’t you dare go near her!” Luke snarls, advancing on the stranger, “I swear to Merlin I will destroy you!”

The stranger barks a cold, mirthless laugh. The more Luke stares at the stranger, the more he’s reminded of his human-stain of a father. The resemblance is uncanny. 

The stranger’s expression flickers, anger contorting the handsome features of his face, “You wouldn’t know anything about destruction! You’re just a boy drowning himself in toxins instead of being a man and making a choice! You’re sister is better off without you!”

Luke swallows thickly, the strangers words creating a deep, hollow fissure in his chest. 

“Who are you talking to?” Asks a husky voice from behind, accented with crisp and elegant French. Fleur is awake and swimming in his dress shirt. Luke blinks, glancing back over his shoulder at the stranger. He’s gone. 

Was that entire conversation real? Or is the Nyx’s blood still lingering in his system. Luke turns to Fleur, forcing a smile. 

“No one,” Luke says, hands sliding into his pocket. His fingers twitch around the vial of Nyx’s blood sitting like an anchor in his pocket. He retrieves it, shaking the vial in front of him, “Want some breakfast?” 

“Don’t you think it’s a little early?” Fleur asks, walking toward him. She sinks to her knees, her perfect teeth digging into her bottom lip. She peers up at him through a row of long, thick rashes as she purrs “Besides, there are other ways to make you forget...” 

Luke stares down at her, watching as she tugs on the zipper of his pants. He lowers his hand, cupping her cheek, the pad of his thumb stroking her cheek bone. He guides her up onto her feet.

“You don’t have to do that for me...” 

“You don’t mean that,” she says, eyes not quite meeting his. She slides her tongue across her bottom lip. 

Carnal desire flares inside of him, jolting straight to his crotch. His hand slides down her face, fingers curling around her throat. 

“What if I do?” 

“Then you’re a liar,” Fleur says, her fingers reaching into his pants. He groans and she flashes a wicked grin, “A dirty, sexy liar...” 

A strange, almost toxic combination of desire and anger simmers in Luke’s veins. A sudden burst of possessiveness pulses through and he slides his hand from her throat to her waist, picking her up and planting her on the bench. 

Fleur delighted laughter tapers into a moan when Luke wraps a tight and slightly assertive grip around her neck with one hand. With the other, Luke pops the lid off the vial and inhale the glittering smoke that curls in the air. The chemical mixture travels straight to his head, curling around his brain. The pressure in his head seems to drain, healing his pounding migraine. 

Luke’s head is already swimming when he offers her the vial, and when she takes it, he drops to his knees, nudging her legs apart so he can kneel between them. He licks a white hot trail up her inner thigh, smirking smugly when he hears her gasp. 

The empty vial falls to the ground with a loud clang. 

Fleur wiggles forward. 

Luke chuckles, exhaling against her skin and breathing in her scent, “Oh how the tables have turned...”

“If you’re going to do something, do it quick,” Fleur taunts, he can hear the smirk in her voice, “Unless you’ve forgotten...”

“Oh yeah?” Luke leans forward, teasing her with his tongue, “How bad do you want it, Delacour?” 

Fleur is panting above him, “My guess? As bad as you do.” 

Luke’s heart races, head swimming in a hazy delirium. 

He dives forward. 

The stranger is already a distant memory, buried in the deepest, darkest crevices of Luke’s haunted mind. He’s never been so happy to forget. 

***

@marauderskeeper @weaselby418 @acciorinn @hervench@depressed-octopods-art @steph-fowlie @lilulo-12@randomfangirl117 @asofslytherin @seunlight@thebesteleganttrashyouseen @elsie2018@polkadotfairyposts @hylianhighlander @dracosdoves@siriuswitches @bernadineisreborn @lousimusician@randomoutsiders @smolldork @danidomm@xrosegoldwolfx @ashkuuuu @sly-vixen-up2nogood@tchalland @lucifersnipnips @notorious-fiction@peppermintspecks @sleep-i-ness @reducto-bitch @who-said @mhftrs @whimsicalangels1234 @kneekoteen  @steve-thotgers @qrangr @valiantlynervouschaos @klaudia-deer @bennie-badeend @gryffinclxw @steph-fowlie @acciorinn@fallern618 @alyenaaa @dammit-scamander @kararanae23@myhopeisinfinite @blaised-zabini @poppykoke@swansong321

[littleladymab]

tiny cracks of light - chapter seven

(masterpost)

Prelude- She can hear the softest tread a few rows over, and figures that someone from the main Institute arrived while she was busy. Tim is the only one that seeks her out, and the others she only has a passing knowledge of.

But when the hands close over her eyes, Sasha can't help the startled squeak and she drops the book that she's holding.

"Guess who," a voice says, the tone pitched low and ominous to disguise who it might actually be.

She purses her lips and starts to lift her hands to guess by feel, but the person says, "Uh-uhhhh! That’s cheating."

"I would think that just Knowing it would be cheating."

"Then consider this practice."

There's very few options of who it could be, but she falls still and stretches her senses out anyway — the way Gertrude taught her, plucking and pulling on the threads binding the Eye's vision just so so she can let an image take shape.

The person covering her eyes has strong ties, sharp and reluctant, but there. He also was supposed to be back several days ago.

"Gerard Keay, are you slacking off on your work?" Sasha finally says, and he laughs as he lets her go. She spins around to face him.

"If a man enjoys what he does, he never works a day in his life!" he intones in the same dramatic voice. When she smacks his arm, he laughs again and holds up his hands to defend himself.

"Then what does that make you?"

He considers the question as Sasha stoops to pick up her dropped book. "A slacker?"

She opens her mouth to make another quip when she spots the smear of red poking up from just beneath his collar. "You're hurt."

Gerry adjusts his coat and brushes his hair over his shoulder to hide the mark. "It's nothing. It's mostly healed."

Sasha bats his hands away and tugs at the collar of his shirt to get a better look. "You should be resting!" She herds him over to one of the reading tables and forces him down into a chair. "What happened?"

"Run-in with a friend of the Slaughter. It's fine. I took care of it." He bites out the sentences without any emotion. "I got the report Gertrude needed and that's the important thing."

She sighs and clicks her tongue, tugging at his coat to get him to take it off. "The important thing is that you're safe," she says and braids his hair back. "Now, I know you carry emergency medical supplies for situations like these. Get it out, and let me take a look."

Gerry gives a long-suffering sigh, but there is the hint of a fond smile as he pulls the bandages and a flask of strong alcohol out of the pouches at his sides. "You care too much for a place like this, Sash," he says softly, but tilts his head and subjects himself to her help.

"Okay, hold on. Go back to the part where you just met the Avatar of the End? And he told you that there's a bit of Jon in the lake?" Tim paces in a tight line on the shore, running his hands through his hair in frustration. "That doesn't make sense." 

Melanie snorts. "It makes perfect sense." 

"It's as I said: I saw Jon in trouble in my dream, and so Melanie and I set out to head to the Archives. On our way there, we met Oliver and he told us to come here instead." Georgie glances to Melanie. "He's doing what he can, but even he is not completely powerful enough to stop what happened." 

Daisy's voice, when she speaks, is a low and dangerous growl. "And what did happen?"

This time, Georgie spares a glance at Sasha, but Sasha picks absently at a loose thread on the hem of her skirts. "I believe he was attempting to perform a ritual of some kind with the Eye. But then… I interrupted it." 

"So it's your fault?" Daisy summarizes. She seems completely unfazed by Melanie's snarl of warning. 

"In a sense, I suppose. But I don't know the point of what Jon was attempting. He… He didn't tell me, when last we spoke." Georgie rubs the top of her dragon's head as he butts up against her thigh. "But I know that we are the only ones capable of saving him, and for that we need Sasha." 

Everyone turns to look at her then — everyone but Melanie, who keeps her face angled towards the fire that they started at their makeshift camp. 

Tim rounds on Basira. "Did you know? Is that why you went to go bring her back, because you needed her to just be another tool for Jon?" 

"No," Basira replies. "No, I didn't…" She trails off, thinking about this before shaking her head. 

"It's fine, Tim." Sasha pushes herself to her feet and dusts off her skirts. Four pairs of eyes follow her movements, and Melanie just snorts again. "Next to the Archivist and the Watcher, I have the strongest connection to the Eye. Even after my dismissal. Sometimes the only way to be helpful is to be useful, and right now, I'm the only one who can find Jon." 

She forces herself to hold Tim's gaze, watch the frustration and anger play out over his face as he struggles to keep himself in check. "It was my choice to come back. I knew what it would mean, to some extent." 

Georgie stands as well, shifting the Admiral onto Melanie's shoulders. "The sooner we get to work, the sooner we can bring him back. Do you know what you have to do?" 

"I have an idea." Sasha removes her belts and pouches and lays them out next to her boots. She ties her hair back in a quick braid, then heads down the shore to the lake. 

Georgie follows without saying anything. 

They come to a stop in the middle of the lake, far enough away that the others will not be able to hear their conversations. The water only comes up to her waist, and it is as cold as she remembers from her vision. 

Sasha tilts her head back and gazes up at the clear sky above. "There's still enough daylight." 

Georgie looks as well, then breathes in deep. "I hope you are right." 

With a breath of her own, Sasha kicks out her legs and tilts back, allowing the water to keep her afloat. The ripples of her movement send little waves against her ears and forehead, and she swims in and out of a muffled silence. "I need you to be a tether to Jon, and that line between life and death. Can you do that?" 

She takes Sasha's hand in one of her own, and the other smooths over Sasha's brow. "Hold on tight," Georgie says before covering Sasha's eyes with her hand. 

The effect is instantaneous. 

The darkness of Georgie's palm is replaced by the starless night sky, and the thing made entirely of eyes has its hands on her breastbone and on her forehead and it shoves. 

Sasha only has a moment to inhale one desperate breath before she's plunging down into the water. 

She doesn't fall. The water has too strong a grip on her limbs. It lowers her down slowly, almost gently, if it wasn't so suffocating. 

When she sees the first of the thick, black tendrils, Sasha grabs it with both hands and uses it to propel herself further on. The only thing she can hear is the bubbles streaming from her nose and lips and the thudding heartbeat, and she thinks that she might run out of air before she hits the bottom — unsure of what that means, how real this is, what would happen if she tries— 

She tumbles suddenly into free-fall, passing through water and silt like the time the floorboards of an abandoned house gave out beneath her and she fell down a story. 

The last of the air is knocked from her lungs as someone catches her, and she gasps. 

"Careful," the person says, and at that single word her heart stops. That voice. These hands. It shouldn't be. "I've got you, Sash."

Slowly, afraid of what she'll find, Sasha lifts her gaze to see the face of the man who caught her, and Gerry gives a crooked grin.

"You look like you've seen a ghost," he says, and she gives a shuddering, wrenching sob before throwing her arms around his neck. "Alright, alright. I've got you," he repeats, his hand against her back to keep her upright. 

"Your jokes are always the worst," she says into his chest. "What are you doing here?" 

"Well, you know… realm of the dead… me being dead. It all makes sense, if you think about it." Gerry sets her down and she takes a moment to try and regain her composure. "I think the more important question is what are you doing here? You're not… Are you?"

She wipes at the lingering tears clinging to her eyelashes. "No. It's… the Archivist." 

His expression flickers before settling on understanding. "Ah. So that's what this is about. I was worried this would have been a social visit."

"I was told that a piece of him would be here." 

"Yes…" Gerry draws out the word awkwardly and rubs the back of his head. "In a manner of speaking." 

"I need it." She waits for a beat, and when he doesn't immediately pass something over to her, she holds out her hand. "Please." 

He gives her a pleading look before taking her hand in both of his own. "It's not a physical item. It will be a mark on you." 

Sasha hesitates, lifting her free hand to press against her chest. The thing inside of her is unusually silent. "I already bear the mark of the Stranger. I will take the mark of the End if it means saving Jonathan."

Gerry's sigh is pained and he runs a hand over his face. "I always told you you cared too much for the Archives, Sasha." 

"So did you, in your own way." She presses her palm to his cheek, then pulls him in for another hug. "I miss you." 

"That place was never for me, and it didn't even have the audacity to be the thing to kill me in the end." He laughs and hugs her back. "But as good as it is to see you, let's not keep you here any longer." 

Gerry's fingers, cool and calloused, just as familiar as they've always been even in death, press against the pulse point on both of her wrists. He closes his eyes and focuses. A second, then two, and then a shock of ice cold pain pierces through her skin. 

She swears that her heart stops for a moment, but as soon as the pain fades, she can feel it rabbit-quick beneath his grip. "Oh, is that all?" she jokes, breathless. "You should have seen the Stranger—"

Something wraps around her forearm and gives a ferocious tug — sending her off balance and almost ripping her from Gerry's grasp. 

He lashes out, the knife already in his hand even if she didn't see him reach for it, and a black tendril falls away to dissolve into an oil slick at their feet. 

"What is happening?" she asks, slapping away another that reaches for her hips. 

"Where is your body?" 

"In — in a lake. Floating in the lake where Jon disappeared—" 

Gerry grips her shoulders and gives her a firm shake until her eyes focus on him. The black tendrils are crawling up her ankles now, though they seem to avoid Gerry. "Do you have a tether? Something to pull you back?"

She thinks of Georgie and nods. 

"You have to go," he says, and clasps the side of her neck with one hand. He leans his forehead against hers, and she can feel the spark and prickle of the Eye. "Sasha, don't let me find you here again unless you have a very good excuse." 

"I promise," she manages before the water swallows her whole and she's drowning.

Interlude- (The scene you see is thus:

On the shore, Tim struggles against Melanie's grip, screaming for a name you know is your own. There's real fear there, and you know its taste — can remember it from when he saw you before. That utter, horrifying fear because he knows what it could mean for you.

Basira drags Georgie away, both women ashen and terrified, but Georgie is an easier charge than Tim. She goes limply, but willingly. 

And there, thrashing in the middle of the lake, the Hunter pins down the thing that wears your skin. You feel its scream in your throat, clawing and hungry for air. But the Hunter doesn’t flinch. She just holds you under.)

[writingismyhappytime]

Marry Me (Part 3)

Ricky Horror x Reader

Warnings: Language

Chloe clings to you as the two of you walk through the grocery store, her hand clenching in your t shirt. You're tired, you'd gotten up early to drop by Ricky's to pick her up so he and Ryan could go do something he didn't feel necessary to tell you about.

Really.

Now why the hell did you get roped into babysitting? He's supposed to be spending this Sunday with Chloe, and you're supposed to be putting in a few extra hours on that Honda and replace the power steering before tomorrow!

Maybe you can just do it tonight.

"So, Fruit Loops or Cheerios?" You ask, presenting the soon-to-be six year old with her options. You know Ricky and Ryan only have horrible man food in that house of theirs, so Chloe has probably been eating microwave meals and Ramen noodles.

Chloe purses her lips thoughtfully. Honestly she's the most adorable child you've ever seen. She has Ricky's dark hair --- not black, because Ricky's isn't natural, but dark --- and his blue eyes as well. She's tiny, wearing a little dress with multi-colored flowers all over it and you're pretty sure Ricky is the one who put the bow in her hair because it's definitely lopsided.

"The fruit loops," she says decisively, and you nod as you toss them into the buggy before walking on. You're not exactly sure why she finds it necessary to hold onto you and make it kind of difficult to go around corners with the close proximity, but you're not going to question it.

Kids are just weird.

"So are you having fun at your dad's?" You ask lightly, pausing by the Pop tart section of the store. You've been around Chloe plenty of times to where the two of you are comfortable.

"Yup! Him and Uncle Ryan always let me watch the dinosaur movies." She says, and no doubt that means Jurassic Park.

"Oh. Do you like them?"

"Yeah! The long necks are my favorite, but the --- the waptors are mean."

Waptors?

Oh.

Velociraptor.

"I don't disagree."

You're going to have to talk to Ricky about that; she's a little young to watch those movies!

"So where was your mom going this weekend?" You ask lightly, glancing around before you push out into the main aisle of the store where the coolers are. You make sure to grab a small bottle of milk.

"She said she had to see a doctor." Chloe shrugs her small shoulders, warily eyeballing the blue-dressed store worker stocking some shelves. "Does that mean she's sick?"

"No, not necessarily." A doctor? Like a plastic surgeon doctor, a doctor she's going to bone, or a doctor because somethings wrong? If she comes back with a new nose you'll have your answer, but Claire has always been pretty so you're fairly sure she isn't going to change her appearance.  "I'm sure it's nothing big. What do you want for dinner tonight?"

"Spaghetti!"

"Spaghetti?" You chuckle, lingering in front of the pasta sauces. "With meatballs?"

"Yes!" Chloe brightens noticeably. "Mommy doesn't like the red sauce, but I do! Can we get this one?" She points eagerly at the garlicky sauce, and you shrug your shoulders as you put it in the buggy. Spaghetti doesn't sound bad to you, and it won't hurt the boys to have a decent dinner for once.

"Are you gonna help me make it tonight?"

"Yup!"

You chuckle; she sounds so eager when most kids would snarl their nose.

"Okay. Let's find some garlic bread, alright?"

~~~~~~

Ricky and Ryan crawl wearily out of the car, both of them stretching. They'd been in and out all day and both of them are pretty tired.

"Hey, did we leave the lights on in the kitchen?" Ryan asks after a moment, hesitating on the sidewalk leading to the porch.

"No. But there's (Y/N)'s car, she and Chloe are here," Ricky says; he'd noticed your car right away, Chloe's car seat is in the back. It's kind of a nuisance trading it back and forth with her mother, and he's been debating on just buying one.

"Oh, cool. I was worried we'd go in and all my guitars be gone."

"Or the TV. Or my guitars." Ricky adds, both of them loudly going up the steps and shoving the front door open.

Almost immediately the scent of food hits his nose, and his mouth waters on cue. He glances back at Ryan, hearing childish giggles from the kitchen as the warmth of the house greets him.

This is nice.

He cautiously makes his way to the kitchen door, pausing just in the entrance. You're standing at the rarely used oven, Chloe on a step stool beside you vigorously stirring a pot that Ricky knows he definitely doesn't own.

"Well this is nice," he comments, causing both of you to look over your shoulder. "It smells good."

"(Y/N) let me make the sauce!" Chloe announces proudly, and you look at her in amusement. She poured the jar into a pot and has been stirring it for fifteen minutes, but you suppose it's all the same. "Daddy, look!"

"It smells great," he says, kissing the top of her head as he glances around. "How long have you guys been here?"

"About an hour." You shrug, your skin pricking from all the heat. Using the oven seriously drives the temperature up like ten degrees and you're starting to sweat. Chloe doesn't seem to mind, too excited, but you have the fan in the corner on to try to help.

"Dude, did you make garlic bread?" Ryan asks as he makes a beeline for the fridge, grabbing a drink out and popping the tab.

"Chloe did."

"Yep! I stuck them in the oven," the six  year old says proudly, abandoning her sauce stirring to instead wrap her arms around Ricky's neck so he can pick her up. "All by myself!"

Not by herself.

Ricky kisses her nose fondly. "You're growing up on me, kid."

You shake your head as you turn away, asking Ryan to grab some plates from wherever they are and put them on the rarely used table. You cleaned the junk off it earlier but you're not really one for pillaging through cabinets, so you'd left the rest for the guys when they got home.

Ricky sits Chloe at the table, getting her settled and practically covering her in napkins --- he knows the impending stains that are coming from the spaghetti.

Claire is actually allergic to red dye, and she basically stays away from anything red in general because of it. Chloe doesn't seem to have inherited that, normally she's just picky, but he's not surprised she's excited to eat.

"So what did the two of you do all day?" You ask lightly as you pull the garlic bread out of the oven. You glance at them over your shoulder, seeing them exchange a look; Ricky had literally avoided telling you what he was doing so hard he'd hung up on you after you'd agreed to watch Chloe for a few hours.

You find it suspicious.

"Just some guy stuff," Ryan says, flopping down at the table across from Chloe and making faces at her.

"Right." You frown, not believing it for a second.

"Me and (Y/N) went shopping!" Chloe announces as Ricky steps to the oven to help you with the food. "She got me cereal, and it had a toy in it!"

"What kind of toy?" Ricky holds the plates as you put spaghetti on them, dishing some hot bread in the corner. You don't give Chloe near as much as you do the guys, and you make sure her bread is cooled off so she doesn't burn herself before allowing him to take it.

"It was a princess ring." The little girl proudly displays the gaudy plastic ring on her finger, but the men ooo and ahh over it appropriately.

You sit down beside her with your plate, handing her the plastic fork to eat with; the house has a suspicious lack of silverware you noticed.

It feels a little strange, sitting down and having dinner with someone. Usually you're just alone or so tired you skip it, but this is rather nice.

The guys talk a little, and Chloe yammers happily about her day; as much as you dislike Claire, she's not a bad mother. Chloe is happy and well taken care of, which you suppose is all that matters. You just dislike how she treats Ricky, who genuinely wants to be a good father.

If it was you in her position, you'd let him see his kid all the time, you wouldn't keep the child from him. The only person that's really hurting in the long run is the kid, not the parents, who'll definitely pay for it later on.

Kids don't forget.

"So when is Mommy coming to get me?" Chloe asks halfway through dinner, spaghetti sauce down the front of her makeshift napkin apron. You'd vainly attempted to wipe it off her chin a few times but it had been futile; the child is going to be messy if it's the last thing she does.

"She'll pick you up after school Monday." Ricky says after a moment, tearing his garlic bread up into little pieces to mix with what's left of the sauce on his plate. "I'm taking you tomorrow morning."

"Okay." Chloe doesn't seem bothered by that, and you relax a little. You know how some kids will only go so long without seeing a certain parent and have separation issues, but apparently that isn't the case here.

"Daddy?"

"Yeah?"

"Bread, please!" Chloe holds her hand out expectantly, and after a moment Ricky hands her a piece, helping her break it in half and remove the crust. He doesn't seem to mind, and you can't help but watch him curiously.

He's so good with her, he doesn't complain when she accidentally runs a red noodle across his hand or gets crumbs all over the table. He's patient, but you've heard him use his stern voice enough to know he won't let her run all over him either.

It's cute.

"Ryan, you're dripping everywhere." You sigh. Ryan blinks, looking up from his phone to see he has sauce dripping off his fork where it hovers halfway to his mouth. He mumbles under his breath, hastily blotting at the table.

It's like having two children.

You don't know how people do it.

~~~~~

"Thanks for watching Chloe today." Ricky says after a moment, shoulders hunched as he shoves his hands into his pockets. You're both standing out on the front porch, your cook pot under one arm as the light buzzes above you.

"No problem, we had fun." You shrug. "She's a good kid."

"Yeah. She really is." Ricky has to admit Claire is doing a good job of raising her. "So are you coming back over tomorrow?"

"Uh, I didn't plan on it."

"Come back over, I'll take you out for dinner."

"Dinner?" You quirk a brow at him curiously, shifting your weight. You took today off and left the shop in the questionable hands of your mechanics, just so you could watch the child tucked into bed upstairs. "Now that's a little suspicious. Is this about the thing?"

"No." Ricky flushes, knowing you mean the marriage deal, but the two of you are being careful not to talk about it unless you're completely alone. "I just want to take you out as a thank you."

"Ahuh. Still suspicious."

He rolls his eyes. "Can't I do something nice?"

"Not without some sort of strings attached." You eyeball him in amusement. "What are you up too?"

"Just planning a romantic rendezvous on the beach, that's all. Seagulls, salty air, some shells in the sand that gets stuck in our shoes ---."

"We don't even live near the beach, you goof!" You chuckle, but you're relaxing. He's giving you that silly grin of his, letting you know he's just teasing. You're glad to see it, honestly, he's been much too serious lately. You get why, of course, you know he's stressing himself out, but he does need to chill out for a bit.

Maybe a dinner out will be good for him.

"Alright, I'll go. Where do I need to meet you?"

"I'll pick you up, don't worry about it."

"Ah, making sure I can't run away, are you? Clever. Are you going to wear my skin as a skirt next?"

He sighs dramatically. "Sometimes, (Y/N), I really wonder why I'm friends with you."

"You and me both." You grin, and brazenly lean forward to kiss his pale, cold cheek. "Now go back in and make sure Chloe isn't summoning demons with your guitar strings. I'll see you tomorrow."

~~~~~~~

"So you two are going for dinner tomorrow, right?" Ryan asks as Ricky steps back into the house. Ricky doesn't immediately answer, just watches your lights disappear down the street through the living room window. He gives it a few moments, his eyes flicking upstairs before he turns to face his roommate.

"Yeah, she agreed."

"Cool, I'm glad. I mean, I seriously paid that band like fifty bucks for the music tomorrow, so it better pay off."

"I told you we didn't need it."

"Yeah, well, you're going all Nicholas Sparks on her, so if she doesn't punch you because you're too mushy, I at least want the two of you serenaded with decent music," Ryan clucks. Honestly, he's totally on board with the two of you being a couple, you sort of balance each other out in his opinion. You're not going to put up with anyone's shit, so you can wear all the pants in the relationship and keep Ricky from losing his mind when it comes to his kid.

Ryan isn't totally sure why his friends planning such a big thing for Sunday, but he figures it's none of his business. Maybe it's the first date the two of you have been on since sort of announcing you're together, or maybe he's going to officially ask you out or make the relationship public, hell if Ryan knows.

He just knows Ricky is putting a little more effort forth than usual, but it's nice to see him thinking about someone other than his ex girlfriend and the kid they had together.

Ricky stresses too much.

~~~~~~

"Alright, Olson, this is pretty nice." You admit reluctantly, sitting out on the patio beneath some fairy lights, a glass of wine in your hand as a band plays down the street. Their music is just loud enough to hear, and they're pretty good, so that's nice. "But why are you wining and dining me?"

"So I can get laid, why else?" Ricky toys with the pasta on his plate, liking the amused smile on your red-painted lips. You dressed nice again, even if you did settle for jeans and a t shirt. You look much better when you're not resembling a grease rag.

"Har har." You snort, taking another sip out of your glass. Honestly, it's kind of sweet he took you out for Italian food, he knows it's your favorite. There's a few other couples out on the patio, one with a little baby in a swing as they eat. It's so relaxed, if not a little intimate, but you're enjoying it. "I don't remember that ever being in our agreement, and if that's up for discussion, I'll need another two bottles of this," you gesture with your glass, making your point.

Ricky flushes; you're a little tipsy, aren't you? He has no intentions of ever bringing that into your relationship, that would make it too complicated! He just wants to do this right, which is why he's bribed the staff to come out in just a few moments with dessert and a cellphone.

He's gonna do this right.

You thought he wouldn't be able to do it, that he couldn't surprise you, but boy were you wrong. He's got it all planned, no interruptions or distractions this time! Chloe is safe with Ryan, Ryan is, well, moderately safe with her, Claire is out of town --- all he has to do is get down on one knee, make sure he gets a photo of your surprised face, and shove a ring on your finger in public so everyone sees it!

Sure, you make a little of a mismatched couple. He's all tatted up with a beanie pulled low over his head, and you're wearing a flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled to your elbows, painted nails gleaming in the dim lights. You look content, though, which makes the situation a little easier, and he seriously doubts you have any idea of what's about to happen.

He didn't take you to a five star restaurant, after all, which is what would have given away the plan immediately.

You both look over as the waitress suddenly appears, holding a slice of chocolate cake the size of your hand. You blink a little in surprise as she sets it in the middle of the table, and your lips part to ask where it came from --- you know neither of you ordered it, but it is your favorite.

"Compliments of the chef," the waitress says with a smile that's just a little too wide, her eyes flicking to where Ricky sits across from you, fiddling with the white tablecloth. You quirk a brow, your fork twisting in your pasta.

Huh.

"That's nice," you comment after a moment, your eyes flicking over to where he sits as the waitress leaves. "Do we know the chef?"

"He probably knows we've eaten here fifty times in the past three months," Ricky says dryly, already lifting his fork and slowly getting himself a bite; you notice the waitress brought two forks so the two of you can share. "They know us on a first name basis, after all."

"Well, yeah, but we normally get food to go," you reply, shamelessly cutting off a large bite; you love yourself some chocolate cake!

"Do you always have to question when people do nice things for you?"

"I do when I know there's an ulterior motive."

"You're so suspicious."

"Hey, I have a right to be." You level your fork at him playfully. "Take you, for example. You only came to see me at the shop because you wanted something. This is the first time we've spent together where there's not been anything you've needed out of me."

Well.

Uh.

About that.

Ricky fidgets, but you don't notice as you eat your half of the cake, finding you're starting to get a bit full; four breadsticks, a salad, and a plate of pasta will do that, though.

He waits until your sugar craving is satisfied before he looks over pointedly, spotting the lingering wait staff in their black outfits and white aprons. He takes just a few more moments before he leans his elbows against the table casually, gazing at you.

"(Y/N)."

"Hmm?" You glance up, a little surprised by how intense his blue gaze is.

"You know we've been friends for a while, and I know I've been asking a lot of you lately. I just... want to say I really appreciate it." He shrugs, but his words are sincere, he wants you to know that. "It means a lot what you're doing for me, and I want to make sure that you know it. I couldn't do this without you."

"Yeah, well, that's what friends are for," you respond, blinking. "Although admittedly, I wouldn't be doing this for just anyone."

Well, he hopes not.

Ricky hesitates only a second more before he rises to his feet, and you lean back in your chair curiously as he stretches his arms out in front of him as casually as he can manage.

"Ricky ---."

"I know this is a little impromptu, and not how we talked about, but," he turns to face you, and after a moment he drops to one knee on the cool patio tiles, reaching inside the pocket of the jacket he has hanging on his chair.

You stare at him in surprise, your cheeks heating as you swivel in your chair. Holy shit, he's doing this now!?

"Ricky..." Oh hell, you don't know what to say! He literally caught you by surprise!

Your eyes flick up, seeing that everyone is looking at you, women flailing at their men so they don't miss the photo-worthy moment of you getting proposed to over chicken alfredo.

Not too shabby, Olson, not too shabby.

"You don't have to say anything, really." He says hastily, presenting you with a black velvet box. You hesitate, watching as he awkwardly pops the box open, revealing a ridiculously pretty ring inside that you don't even care if its real or not --- it's beautiful! "I just, well ---- will you marry me?"

Smooth.

Public proposal, check.

He's already working on your requirements for this fake marriage, and you soften as you realize all the effort he put into tonight and at least attempting to garner to your wishes. He doesn't have too, and you know that, so it means so much more that he does.

You stare at the ring for a few more seconds, liking the way the modest diamond sparkles in the center, surrounded by pretty, if not much smaller, diamonds. You're not much for jewelry, you have no idea if it's real or not, but it's the thought that counts and you immediately like it because he picked it out.

"(Y/N)," Ricky's voice is a little nervous, and you straighten as you realize you've just been sitting in silence, not responding at all ---- okay, too much wine.

"Oh, I --- yes." you manage, flushing; you swear every person on the patio was staring at you with bated breath, waiting for your answer. "Of course, I --- yes!"

Ricky looks relieved, and he quickly takes your warm hand, slipping the ring on it --- now how did he know to get the right size? Your cheeks burn as there's a splattering of applause and cheer all throughout from the gathered crowd, and as Ricky stands you do as well, wrapping your arms around his neck and hugging him tightly.

"You sneaky fuck," you whisper in his ear, burying your face against his neck. He chuckles, lightly holding you back; you're only hugging him because if you just went back to eating your pasta, it would completely ruin the moment.

"I told you I would surprise you," he murmurs, liking the way your hair smells of vanilla, how soft it is against his cheek. "Do you like it?"

"I love it," you sigh as you lean away, turning so that the ring glints in the light from above. "It's beautiful."

"Is this where I'm cheesy and say not as much as you are?"

You grin, gazing up at Ricky, seeing the mirth in his pretty blue eyes. You know you should kiss him, that would be the normal reaction, but the two of you haven't really talked about that just yet.

Oh hell --- might as well keep the show going!

Your lips brush his brazenly for just a few seconds, lingering just long enough for it to look like a genuine, excited kiss before you lean away. You don't want Ricky to get the wrong idea, of course, but you're thoroughly enjoying the applause and happy congratulations the two of you are getting, and you don't want to ruin it.

He blinks a few times, startled, and you doubt his face can turn any redder.

Hopefully someone got a pic of that, maybe you can see the shock on his face later on.

Your first kiss with Ricky ever, and it's basically under false pretenses.

Still, even later, you find yourself thinking about how soft his lips are, how  warm. It's probably the wine, no doubt, but you want to kiss him again, and again, and, well, technically he's your fiance now, isn't he?

Kissing is sort of a given.

Ricky holds your hands tightly, threading his fingers through yours as the couple across from you chats you up, gushing about the proposal and congratulating you. You're smooth in your responses, looking just as excited as you should be. You play the part perfectly, showing off your ring which he did pay a pretty penny for, flailing a little, giggling with the other wife.

You're too good at this, and he's very sure you're having fun.

He watches you out of the corner of his eyes, his lips still tingling from the touch of yours. He was seriously surprised when you did that, but obviously it was just for show, right? It's not because of anything else, which the two of you do need to discuss later.

Obviously kissing is going to have to be a normal thing, for the wedding and just casually to keep up the act. You're going to have to hold his hand, sit beside him, do couple-y things.

He suddenly doesn't know what couple-y things are.

Movies? No, no he wants to make sure when you're seen together, it's in public. People need to notice that you're together, that he's settling down --- fuck, his social media is going to be a disaster now. And considering the wedding is going to be so sudden and next month... everyone will no doubt assume you're pregnant, why else would the two of you rush?

Lord, Ricky doesn't know what he'd do if he ever had another child, it's not something he wants. He never wanted kids with two different women, he never believed in it, but he definitely doesn't want anymore ties to Claire.

You're good with Chloe, she really likes you and you're responsible enough where he doesn't worry about her constantly when she's in your care, unlike Ryan's.

Who he needs to text and make sure the house hasn't burnt down.

His eyes go back to you, now that everything has quieted and no one is talking. You're just gazing at the ring, shifting your fingers every now and again to make it sparkle. Your cheeks are still flushed, whether from wine or excitement he isn't sure, and you have a small smile on your lips.

Your eyes flick up, as if you sense him looking at you, and you give him a genuine smile.

"You did good, Ricky," you say after a moment, reaching across the table to curl your fingers around his arm. "I was starting to think you didn't have it in you."

"Just biding my time." He clucks, propping his chin on his hand. "I wanted to catch you off guard."

"Well good job. I'm just glad I wasn't shoving a breadstick in my mouth when you did."

He grins.

This marriage is going to be interesting.

Tags:  @ryansitkowskiswifey, @theoneandonlykymberlee,  maelloute,  musicsexandpizza69,  jojomiwbvb6

[thekriseffect]

An Artless Smile (Liam x MC)

[Note: All this Royal Heir business is making me feel extra cheesy lately. I love the concept of MC starting a family, I love the lightheartedness of it, and I love that I have more Liam content to go off of! I missed this series way too much. So naturally I had to write a fic centered around this theme. They’re just too cute not to.]

[Summary: Halfway through her third trimester, Freya is feeling the effects of her pregnancy.]

[Song Inspiration: Where’s My Love- SYML.]

It’s difficult to do anything remotely exciting when you’re eight months pregnant. The highlights of my days, when not stuck dealing with overly theatrical political exchanges, are pretending to go into labor when I’m feeling particularly bored and walking the palace grounds. No, not walking. Waddling. Walking was abandoned long ago when I lost sight of my own feet. Waddling is now my short-term way of traveling. But lately my legs have decided that functioning all together is impractical and that lounging in bed is a far better pastime. So now my highlights have evolved into binging as many shows as possible and seeing how many marshmallows I can fit into my mouth at one time. The answer is six, in case anyone was wondering.

I won’t say that being pregnant is one of the worst experiences I’ve ever had. I’ll think it all I want, but I won’t actually voice it out loud. After all, it is my primary purpose in being Queen of Cordonia. To provide heirs for the throne to strengthen the line of succession… or so that’s what they love to tell me. I should feel honored, I’m Liam’s personal babymaker. Yay, me.

It’s not that I hate pregnancy necessarily, it’s just that I didn’t expect it to be this hard.

I hurts in places I didn’t even realize could hurt. Back aches, pelvic pain, swollen feet, all from a tiny human being no bigger than a soccer ball. There’s stubborn tension in my neck and shoulders that refuses to go away no matter how hard I try. I guess carrying an extra thirty pounds around does that to a person.

My hormones are out of control. One minute I’m so thoroughly happy that I could hug anything in sight and in the next I’m contemplating how difficult it would be to claw someone’s eyes out with my nails. Not that difficult, I’ve decided.

I miss my mother, Wendy Lin. The woman who abandoned me even before I knew what the word abandonment meant. The woman who didn’t think I mattered enough to stick around. The woman who preferred her independence over raising her one and only child. I’m surrounded by fine furnishings in a breathtaking country with people who love me, who need me, and all I can think about is someone who never wanted me in the first place. What would she say if she saw me now? Would she be proud of me? Would she even care?

My body doesn’t particularly enjoy being pregnant, so in retaliation it likes to convince me that I’m on the verge of dying regularly. My feet hurt first thing in the morning? Death. A blemish appears on my cheek while I was sleeping? Definitely fatal. One boob is growing larger than the other? I expect plum hued floral arrangements at my funeral. Due to this I tend to dramatize most situations. Sometimes it’s unintentional, slipping out when least expected, and other times I enjoy doing it just to see if I can get away with it. I think it’s kind of funny. Liam? Not so much.

But most of all I’m scared. I want this to work. I want to be everything that my husband and Cordonia needs. Liam insists that I have nothing to worry about, that I’ve always been enough, but most of the time I’m not convinced. I want to be a good queen, a good wife, a great mom, but I’m just not sure how. How can you be good at something that’s geared to wear you down?

It’s a thought that likes to cling to the back of my mind like sap. It’s constantly there and sticks to everything. And it’s the thing that’s currently causing my face to scrunch up like I’ve swallowed a particularly sour lemon when Liam walks into our room.

I’m laying in our bed with a wall of pillows barricading me from the outside world, watching Pride & Prejudice on repeat. I tend to doze off at certain parts so my logic is to keep watching it until I’ve see all the parts I’ve missed. Mr. Collin’s face invades the screen when I scoot myself up into a sitting position, my back pressed against the frames headboard.

I’m watching Liam silently as he circles around the room, unbuttoning his coat and slinging it across the back of the mahogany desk chair, removing his vest followed by loosening his overly expensive cufflinks. It’s become a routine; me witnessing him transform from King Liam, polished and beloved ruler of Cordonia, to Liam, my adorably dorky husband, every night.

He shrugs out of his shirt, exposing his broad shoulders and firm stomach and I let out a low whistle, causing his head to snap up in my direction.

“Hot,” I say while wiggling my eyebrows suggestively at him. A dazzling smile brightens his face when his gaze meets mine and my breath catches in my throat. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to the way Liam looks at me. Once, a long time ago, it terrified me that someone could look at me with so much need. So much admiration. It still scares me, even now, but in an elevated, peppy sort of way. One that makes my lips quirk up and my heart rate skyrocket. I never thought I’d deserve a look like that. I never thought I’d deserve him.

Liam walks over to the bed to press his lips chastely to mine. The mattress dips as he leans over me. “They missed you at dinner,” he says as he pulls back slightly to look at me.

I blow a rogue hair away from my face. In a fit of hormonal rage I’d chopped off most of my locks until they sat in messy strands atop my head, much to Bertrand’s horror. “You look like the top of a mop head,” he’d told me. Most days it refused to sit flat no matter how hard the royal stylist tried. And she tried very hard. I didn’t care. I liked the wild look it gave me. I liked how every “reputable attire” was ruined by my spontaneity.

“I got tired of people talking to my belly button,” I tell him while picking at an invisible hangnail. “I don’t know who decided that it’s a cute thing to do but it really isn’t.”

After discarding something onto our ridiculously gaudy dresser, he crosses the room to crawl up the foot of the bed, his arms braced on either side of me, supporting his weight, as he skims his mouth up my swollen stomach. I shiver.

“Your beautiful mother doesn’t like the attention you draw to her,” Liam says into my abdomen, his warm lips brushing against my skin with each word. It’s distracting and causes scandalous images of him sated and spent beneath me to flash into my mind. Sweat clinging to his powerful frame, blue eyes hooded with desire, smooth chest heaving heavily, handsome face tensed in the best way. He should be naked. Why isn’t he naked? Why do I have to resemble a giant hippo?

Liam meets my eyes then, giving me a teasing look and I comb my fingers through his hair, untidying it. I tug gently in retaliation. Wiseass.

“Well it’s cute when you do it,” I mumble, and it’s the truth. I love how much he’s enjoying all of this. I love how his look alleviates whenever he sees me. I love how boyish and carefree and happy he is. It makes it all worth it, every moment.

His smirk broadens as he kisses the stretch of bare skin fondly. “How are you feeling today, my love?”

I consider his question for a moment. “Like the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man.” Liam blinks at me wordlessly and I almost laugh at the lost expression on his face. “Like an oversized grape,” I try again. “I’m beyond ready for her to be out.”

“Her?”

I hum. “I’ve decided it’s a girl.”

“And why’s that?” Liam asks, resting his chin on my belly to give me that intense look.

“It’s the universe’s way of getting payback,” I explain while tracing my fingers over his face. Brushing over his eyebrow, painting down his stubbled cheek, thumbing against his lips. “I’m not the world’s… easiest person.”

“No?” Amusement dances in his gaze.

“Shockingly. So what better way to get even than force me to deal with a miniature version of myself.”

Liam kisses the inside of my wrist, digits fiddling with the wedding band around my finger, before dragging his mouth along my forearm. “I don’t see that as payback. I happen to like how you are.”

I snort. “How comforting.”

“Does this mean that she will also look like you?”

I freeze. My hand stills its journey over his temple as I wordlessly assess him. He meets my look curiously, pale hair curling endearingly over his forehead and I have to resist the urge to reach up and dishevel it further. Usually so put together, it’s rare to see him this disorderly which makes me love it even more. I twist the rebellious piece between my fingertips and tug it down so it reaches the bridge of his nose. He smiles shyly up at me. “No. She’ll look like you,” I tell him. I’d want our daughter to be beautiful like you.

He presses his nose into my skin and I shift forward, coaxing his face closer to mine when there’s a sudden kick to my ribs. A nervous twitch. A tumbling motion. I yelp, looking down. Liam laughs.

“Someone’s feeling spirited. I wonder where she gets that from,” he beams as he places both hands over my stomach while my belly twitches, smoothing across my ribs and down to my hips.

“She couldn’t be cooperative for just a few seconds longer?” I grumble which makes him laugh again and I can’t help but return his grin.

I’ve noticed that Liam has two kinds of smiles. There’s the one he presents to the public. The one he purposefully uses to emphasis his charming persona, to sway the hearts of hundreds of strangers. To solidify unions and craft agreements. It’s the one he practices the most, regrettably. And then there’s the smile that bleeds too much joy to be anything but genuine. That opens him up like a book, all his thoughts bare and out on display. The one that feels like a gift when you receive it. One that makes you feel so undeniably important.

In this moment I know the one that slips onto his face does so without any restraint from him. It’s too real, too content, to be a creation of The King Liam. It’s just the man I love, feeling the movements of his baby and smiling.

[trashpandaorigins]

The Body Keeps the Score Interlude: Groot

"You said it yourself bitch, we're the Guardians of the Galaxy." Gamora is finally a part of something. But the past always follows you, eats at you and she must come to grips with her deeds as she tries to build a future. Meanwhile Rocket has never cared much for anyone or anything. Together the two of them discover they are more alike than different and try to heal themselves by befriending the other.

*Content Warnings: Mentions of child/animal abuse, trauma, character death, physical torture/pain*

Title of this fic is taken from the book of the same title "The Body Keeps the Score: Brain, Mind, and Body in the Healing of Trauma," by Bessel van der Kolk

All creatures in the known galaxy perceive their surroundings through a variety of senses. Touch, sight, taste, sound and smell. Most creatures use all of these interchangeably but some are more dominant in certain creatures. Humans from terra typically use sight and hearing. Flora Colossus are unique in that their dominant sense is touch and a very heightened sense of touch at that. Through the complex network of millions and millions of roots the flora are able to sense the vibrations of things around them. Presently Groot could feel the tension in Drax’s body, muscles tight like a spring ready to go off.

“No one’s here,” the man who liked music looked around as they stepped off the ship. Away from comfort and safety. Toward this place of horror and tears. This place Groot had never been to and yet, he could feel it. Like the water that soaked into his pot, pulling him with the gravity of...of something.

“They’re probably hiding in one of the buildings,” the green lady answered, tight lipped.

Groot looked between them from his place in Drax’s bulky arms. This place wasn’t safe, it was dark and scary and...he could feel it’s hallowed ground. Smell iron and chemicals and the remanence of fires that were long since extinguished.

“I am Groot!”  

The green lady, Gamora glanced over at him and offered a sympathetic smile. Thus far, only she had been able to understand him. Her and the other one...what was its name? The furry one. Rocket.

“I know it’s scary Groot, but we have to get Rocket and we can’t leave you alone on the ship, it’s not safe.”

The little flora cocked his head, perplexed. The ship is safe, safer than this place.

The man...Peter? Peter patted his head playfully, Groot smacked it away.

“I AM Groot!”

They descended the ramp slowly, weapons out, peeking around cautiously. Ships were crumpled and in pieces, laying asunder across the vast docking area. Not one remained intact.

No breeze. Air heavy. No water, all dried up. No sunlight. Just haze.

Drax walked behind Gamora and beside Peter. Groot climbed up his arm and onto his shoulder. The man’s ears made good handles to hang on to.

“How long has this place been abandoned?” The tattooed man demanded.

It had been abandoned a long time, as far as Groot could tell. There was no smell of life. Only of death, of hurt. Lingering suffering.

“I am Groot!”

“Hush dumber Groot!” Drax shushed him forcefully. Groot twisted the man’s ear, giggling as he yelped. The tattooed alien attempted to swat him away but the little flora ignored it. He could not hush. There was something about this place...something that made his roots curl in restlessness and trepidation.

“I’m not detecting any survivors,” the human man glanced at his device warily.

“Let’s try the buildings,” Gamora reasoned. “They must be here somewhere.”

Drax lumbered forward, knives clutched in each hand. Groot looked around, letting out a small whimper as they crossed the threshold of the nearest squat stone building, into the dark halls stinking with rot. There were no living things in place anywhere. No warmth. The last thing that had been here had been in insurmountable pain. Quill held his remaining blaster out, his back against a peeling wall. If the flora had lungs, he would’ve held his breath. Instead he tried to stifle the sap coming to his eyes. This place was scary, it was unknown. No...not entirely unknown. Something somewhere deep inside his branches told him this place was familiar.

“I am Groot?!”

“No we’re not leaving, we have to find Rocket,” Peter admonished. He rounded the corner and aimed his blaster but let it drop.

Beside Drax, Groot could feel Gamora’s slight animosity towards their missing companion. Not hatred, but...profound disapproval and disappointment.

They turned the corner, nothing but a hallway of...corpses. Several people lying in contorted positions, their limbs all out of place. One woman lay on her back, a dried blood splatter staining the wall above her. Groot shivered, leaning in closer to Drax.

“They’re claw marks,” Peter crouched by the wall grazing his fingers over the three straight lines digging into the stone.

“I think I stepped in someone’s innards,” Drax commented, lifting his boot. Groot didn’t dare look, but scurried down his leg and over to Peter.

“Hey there bud, it’s alright. Stick close to me.” The man scooped him up with his free hand and Groot climbed on top of his head, growing little branches around his hair to get a better purchase.

Gamora stopped suddenly.

“Shhh...do you hear that?”

Groot glanced over at her, squirming with worry. Tears fully pressed against his eyes, leaking out and streaming down his face.

“I hear nothing,” Drax shouted. The woman shot him a glare. Peter’s eyes scanned the deserted hall, towards another set of stairs. They moved forward, this time quicker, Drax adjusted his grip on his blades, Gamora too took her sword out.

“I am Groot!”

“SHHHH!!!!”

They took to the dingy steps slowly, pausing to survey their surroundings with every stair. Groot could feel the terror now even more so than before. Finally, Peter stepped into the hallway, now underground, a pipe dripped liquid from somewhere they couldn’t see. Wires dangled from above. Groot glanced around, wincing at what he saw. To the right, windows. But no view of the outside world, rather they were windows into….cages. Rows and rows of cages each uniform and tiny. All of them are still occupied. By ghosts and bodies. Four of the animals were still upright, their little skeleton claws still clinging to the bars of the cage straining to get out. He let out a small sob. Peter’s hand rose up to cover his face and Groot sniffled. Wishing it did any good. It didn’t. The anguish, the pestilence as corrosive as the smell of chemicals.

“I heard it again,” Gamora halted as they came to the end of the hall. Looking right and left. Peter flipped on his scanner once more.

Beep, beep, beep.

“Life forms.”

Gamora strode forward, confidant as ever, not even bothering to pause before another turn in the hall. Down two more flights of stairs and endless twists and turns. They were getting deeper, Groot could feel it. Farther away from the ship, farther away from where it was safe. Deeper into this miserable hole.

“Rocket!”

Groot’s attention snapped back to the present, he blinked back tears. Down the hall, through a set of broken doors was Rocket...but he was...not himself. Anguish radiated from him and the other figure beside him. The team ran forward, he could feel Peter’s heart beating fast, his chest huffing with anxiety.

“Nebula!” Gamora thundered, “let him go! Our feud does not concern him!”

Groot let out a wail, struggling to let go but Peter easily held him back, trying as he might.

Wires extended from both the woman and the raccoonoid. Each of them trembling, sparks of white electricity leaping and sizzling off of flesh and fur.

Rocket looked up at them, red eyes burning and feverish. He blinked slowly, teetered, and crumpled.

“I am GROOOOT!!!”

The flora screeched and thwarted Peter’s hand away, he leapt down to the hard ground and charged forward.

He’d been here before. Or at least, another version of him had...and Groot was determined to get them out.

Get them all out.

Groot hauled himself up onto the metal table, collapsing against Rocket’s side.

Nothing….he felt nothing.

“I am Groot?”

Sparks singed his small hands and he jerked away with surprise.

“I am Groot? I am Groot?!” He tried again urgently, voice straining.

“Don’t….t….touch...h...him!”

The woman named Nebula tried to shove him but stopped, screaming and went rigid as another spout of electricity wracked her. Groot only tried to wake Rocket again. Yanking on his ears.

“I AM GROOT!”

Still nothing….the raccoonoid was still.

“Groot!” Someone cried.

There was nothing, no feeling, no breathing.

They were too late.

[ducktracy]

99. buddy’s pony express (1935)

release date: march 9th, 1935

series: looney tunes

director: ben hardaway

starring: billy bletcher (villain/dog), jack carr (buddy), bernice hansen (cookie)

though this is the 99th cartoon, this is my 100th review (gotta include bosko, the talk-ink kid now!) and i just wanted to thank you! this has been very exciting and fun for me, and i hope that i’ve been able to educate, inform, and entertain you. these cartoons aren’t masterpieces, but we’ve seen the good, the bad, and the ugly—which we will continue to see all of those. thank you for your support and motivation! in terms of synopsis: buddy competes against a fierce competitor with tricks up his sleeve.

a quiet, sleepy town in the old west. or not—this IS looney tunes. bullets fly and bodies roll, an undertaker even taking in a body that rolls right into his stretcher. how morbid! two men clinging to telephone poles shoot at each other, hitting the poles which each shrink in size as the shootout ensues. they meet in the streets, a big dog vs a little dog. the big dog plugs the little dog’s gun in his own gun, shooting him upwards with ease. the little dog comes crashing to the ground, taking the big dog with him. two men bury the men in the hole with the excess dirt they left behind.

elsewhere, buddy is tinkering away at a piano inside a saloon. now he’s REALLY under his final redesign. i like it a lot, i think it’s the most fitting and appealing. his stool takes a life of its own, dancing along to the music. meanwhile, a dog orders a glass of whiskey, drinking its contents and convulsing. nothing like a good whiskey to make you writhe on the floor.

cookie makes her appearance in another one of her waitress roles, singing an original song titled “oklahoma cowboy joe”. some intermittent shots of buddy playing the piano while she sings, including him being a ham and playing with his feet. a tiny cowboy (not yosemite sam) enters the saloon and shoots a few warning shots, cookie singing that his guns are empty and that it’s just for fun—makes me feel very safe. another man shoots him right in the head, his head exploding... revealed to be buddy in disguise. the gag is certainly incomprehensible but amusingly so, especially when an oil lamp falls on buddy’s head.

all of the sudden, a cowboy skates inside on his spurs and posts a flyer, shooting bullets to hold it in place. immediately the gaggle of cowboys in the saloon gather round to read the news. the flyer advertises a pony express race at 2:30, a mail contract awarded to the winner. buddy and cookie read it once the crowd disperses, buddy eager to enter. he shows off his horse to cookie, the horse whinnying happily. the villain of the cartoon pokes his head around the corner to eavesdrop, overhearing buddy boast “he’s the fastest in the county!”

buddy pulls out his pocket watch and excuses himself to get ready for the big race, telling cookie that he’ll see her there. outside, the villain takes the horse off its post and kidnaps it, giving a billy bletcher evil laugh for good measure. he makes off towards an abandoned glue factory (awfully random), where his OWN horse is waiting. it’s practically a shell, the villain shooting off a vulture perched on top of the poor thing. to restore it back to its former glory, he stuffs a balloon in the horse’s stomach and attaches a pump inside, blowing it up to size. he draws two dots on the eyelids of the comatose horse, who stares at him wearily before becoming a vegetable once more.

satisfied with his work, the villain takes his own decrepit horse to the post outside the saloon, passing it off as buddy’s horse. buddy dresses up in his cowboy garb, bouncing out the window and onto his fake horse, which takes off for the race.

the horse zigzags to the starting line—not bad for such a weak horse. cookie bids buddy good luck, to which he confidently replies “it’s a cinch!” the villain doesn’t think so, laughing him off.

some nice visuals as a man fires his starting pistol to signal the start of the race. he’s perched on a grazing horse, the force of the shot propelling him downwards and back up, the horse’s body reverberating in rubber hose goodness. the runners are off, an array of spot gags including a native american riding inside a teepee, a man hobbling on crutches, a man riding after a dog...

the man riding after a dog faces some trouble once the dog spots a rabbit. the dog stretches itself through many rabbit holes, the rabbit mocking the twisted up dog. sounds familiar! especially fitting since hardaway directed porky’s hare hunt, birthing a prototype of a familiar brooklyn bunny.

meanwhile, buddy and the villain are next and neck. the villain plays his dirty tricks, if stealing buddy’s horse wasn’t enough. he yanks the tail of buddy’s horse back, sending him flying. once more does buddy surge ahead. this time, the villain yanks the horse’s tail and twirls him above his head, laughing as buddy and his horse sit in a daze. he’s too busy laughing at the two to notice an upcoming cactus, getting knocked into it and twirling around.

our chase continues to a cliff, some beautiful animation of the horse galloping along as buddy dangled by the reigns over the edge, the cliff rotating as they move along. buddy twists around a tree, the villain passing. to prevent them from edging further, the villain shakes a bridge beneath buddy, tossing him up in the air repeatedly. buddy rides inside the bridge like a protective hamster wheel, chasing down the villain.

his makeshift protective wheel crashes against a rock, catapulting him over a cliff and dangling on a limb by his suspenders. the villain laughs, tossing a boulder down at the branch to finish him off. harsh! of course, the boulder bounces off the branch and knocks the villain, amusing animation as he tugs at the grass for support like a carpet. he and the horses topple over the edge and crash into buddy, all four plummeting to uncertain doom.

the entire landscape is riddled with mud puddles. cookie cheers buddy on from the finish line as the rivalry approaches, both sliding into mud puddles. thankfully, our hero buddy pops out of a puddle across the finish line, the villain left to lie in the rain. buddy and cookie kiss... a horse, that is. buddy’s horse pops up between the two and blushes at the unprecedented display of affection, iris out.

not a very captivating cartoon. there were some lovely visual gags and pieces of animation: the guy shooting his pistol and propelling off his horse, buddy barely holding onto his horse as it scales the mountain, the villain clutching the grass like a rug and pulling it, but it just felt not memorable at all. this can obviously be attributed to my ADHD, but some cartoons are easier to pay attention to than others. i found myself zoning out a lot on this one, and during my rewatch i was even like “wait, this was a scene?” overall, skip it. not the worst, but not much of anything. just another unmemorable cartoon.

link!

[cdg174]

Call me Jane Doe: Chapter Twenty-three

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I completely made up the creature in this chapter just FYI.

Masterlist

Words: 2364

Castiel’s pov.

Blue shimmer paints the white wall like a firework does the sky but it doesn’t fade to smoke. The monster’s lifeless body timbers to the concrete, a look I assume of pain permanently embedded on its mirror covered skin. As the creature’s body made of glass meets the ground, it cracks and shatters all across the surface.

No coming back from millions of pieces.

These creatures I and the Winchesters hunt are of an unknown origin. Although they are dangerous and made of sharp material, they are easy to kill when you have the upper hand. Any weapon will do because although these beings look like walking windows and mirrors, they shatter under force.

I hear something walk behind me. Thinking it’s another one of the creatures of the hunt; I raise my blue speckled angel blade and begin to swing it behind me.

“Whoa!”  

I pull my weapon back just in time to miss Dean’s face.

“Next time say something to let me know it’s you.” I am not angry at the hunter for sneaking up on me. More so fearful of what could have happened if I hadn’t pulled back in time.

“Sorry.” The hunter’s hands drop to his sides. “Come on, let’s find Sam.”

The three of us had to separate in the decaying remains of this hotel where these mysterious beings live. The building is three stories with seventy rooms, so we each took a floor. Dean must be finished with the first floor and I’ve just swept through the second. Now all we have to do is find the youngest Winchester and finish the job.

Being abandoned for so long, the stair wells are even darker than the halls that were only lit by broken windows. There is no light the way we have to go to find Sam.

“We are not alone Dean.”

I feel another presence as soon as the door of the stairwell shuts. It is not a friendly one.

………………………………..

Sam’s pov.

I pull the bandage tighter on my injured thigh. I think one of those damn things hit an artery.

I have to use the crusty walls to hold myself up as I limp along to safety.

Dean, Cas and I have no idea what these things even are.

Their entire man shaped bodies are covered in shining glass and mirror. Their touch is as sharp as knifes which is why so many people who explore this hotel often go missing. Or they die leaving and are later found by a car driving alongside the road outside.

It seems like even the road isn’t all that safe because many accidents have occurred on it and in broad daylight. These monsters probably stand in the windows to catch sunlight on themselves to blind drivers outside.

The top floor must be the mirror monsters main den too; I’ve come across at least five of them up here so far. The last one sniped at my thigh before I shattered it like the rest. They don’t seem to be able to see you unless you look at your reflection in it first. That’s only if they don’t hear you first despite them not having physical ears.

A bang echoes. I look in the direction it sounds from but the sun comes in from the window at the end of the hall. I am blinded by it, so when a door swings open in its midst, I can’t see who or what it is.

What emerges from the doorway is not only running toward me but there are two of them.

I look down to the floor and calm my pulse. I don’t wish to make noise or look up just to see my own reflection try to kill me. I have my machete raised ready to take out the glass creatures before they take me.

I listen to them get closer and closer but I keep my eyes down.

I almost look up when they slow down only feet away from me. I hold my stance until a calloused palm grabs my wrist ever so slowly. I raise my eyes as the hand pushes my arm down.

“I’ve already been stabbed at by Cas man. Let’s keep it at that.”

I sigh in relief and relax my shoulders slightly at the sight of my brother and our friend behind him.

“You’re late.”

I laugh out as Dean takes my other arm and throws it over his shoulder to help me stand.

“I thought you said meet here in twenty minutes?”

He smirks in return as he guides us down the rotting hall. Casitel is right behind us.

“More like fifteen.”

Before Dean has a chance to rebuttal, the double doors twenty feet in front of us open.

More than a dozen of those mirror men swarm out from the meeting room they’ve been hiding within. I catch a glimpse of the inside where an entire wall is covered in window openings; that must be facing the road outside.

“We found the mother load Sammy.”

I can feel Dean straighten his back in preparation.

“I’m pretty sure they found us Dean.”

I look over my shoulder at the same time as my brother. Cas faces the stairwell they emerged from as another handful or so of those things block our exit.

The glass figures all move in at once.

“In here!” Dean half drags me into the doorway opposite of him.

Once inside, Cas rushes in behind us and slams to door shut. He locks the rusting deadbolt but continues to lean his weight against it. Those creatures pound on the door so hard, we can hear some of them shatter instantly in their attempt to get to through the door.

Dean sets me down on the nearest musty bed and grabs hold of the rotting dresser on the wall across from me. He leans at the far end of it and pushes with his shoulder to slide it over the stringy carpet.

“Move!”

A millisecond later, both Dean and Cas are shifting the back of the dresser against the door. It continues to pulse from the creatures trying to enter.

I feel blood seep through my already soiled bandages. I drop the machete and my hands struggle to stop the blood flow from my sliced thigh.

“Cas?”

I start to feel my eyes spin when I call to the angel.

…………………………………………………

Dean’s pov.

“Sam?”

I look to my brother who slowly tips back onto the ragged bed linens. He’s about to lose consciousness.

I stand away from the dresser but as soon as I do, the door jams open just enough to tip it forward. The lock is of no use anymore as it flies to the floor. I am quick to lie against the dresser again when the glass people continue to push forward. Cas is doing the same.

“Help Sam!”

The blue eye man looks at me before standing.

It’s no good though because the pressure from the reflective monsters is too much for me to hold on my own. Cas is only away for a second before they nearly knock the dresser on top of me. The angel is quick to lift it back up to the door but not before a glass arm reaches through the gap and strikes a gash in his cheek. One more shove from us has the door shatters the arm when it bangs closed.

We look at each other and I notice the cut on Cas’s face has already healed but some blood still remains on his skin.

When I look back at Sam, his eyes are just barely open.

“Hold on Sammy! We’ll think of something.”

Even as I say it, I know our chances of getting out of here are slim to nothing.

“Go to him Dean. I can hold them off long enough for you two to find a way out.”

Cas’s voice is strained from pushing against the dresser. He can’t last much longer either, even with his angel grace.

I lower my voice so only my friend can hear me now.

“Either we escape together Cas, or none of us leave at all.”

The door stops rumbling from the glass men.

Without relieving my strength, I stand a little taller to look through the peep hole in the door.

“Nothing.”

Splinters of glass and mirror litter the entire hall outside. Not a single one of the monsters are left.

“What do you mean nothing?”

Cas sounds just as shocked as I feel, so I move away and gesture for him to take a look.

“What did this?”

I shrug in response. I have no words.

“I think you mean ‘who did this?’”

The voice comes from inside the room.

Both of us simultaneously look back to the culprit, only to see two figures standing over Sam’s passed out form.

“Hello boys.”

………………………………

Jane’s pov.

Flora is the one to make our presence known to Castiel and Dean.

I however am staring down at the youngest Winchester who continues to bleed out. The hunter is fading away on the deteriorating double bed.

Sam’s forehead is covered in droplets of sweat and grim, causing his hair to stick to his skin. His clothing is astray and sliced, with tiny glass slivers clinging to the various fabrics. All this nothing compared to the tear in his jeans where his bandaged thigh is plastered with dried and new blood.

I vaguely hear Flora correct the question Cas throws into the air.

Yes I had been the one to kill the beautiful yet lethal mirror beings in the hallway. Then I took Flora and I in here.

There’s a sound of clothing ruffling to look in our direction. I take this as my cue to look up.

“Hello boys.”

It’s all the greeting I can muster before looking back to Sam.

I spare no more time and place my cool palm on the clammy forehead of the dying hunter.

Ever so, I feel Sam’s temperature warm up beneath my hand and his pale skin peaches up in color. If not for the bandages draping the wound, I could see it closing up and repairing itself.

I glide my palm to the healing man’s cheek as his eyes begin to flutter open.

It takes a few seconds for Sam’s pupils to focus on my face but when they do, the black dots expand ever so large.

“Jane?”

I nod my head along to the youngest Winchester’s woozy voice.

Sam surges up and grabs my shoulders. He gives them a slight squeeze before smiling and pulling me in for a bear hug.

“It’s really you?”

Comes a muffled question from the relived head buried in my hair.

“Yeah it’s really me Sam. It’s me.”

I follow my eyes direction as they look up to Cas and Dean’s faces.

The angel still seems in surprise at my sudden arrival after weeks of being gone. His face shows understanding though and the small smile on Cas’s lips is welcoming.

As I focus on Dean however, the hunter carries a stare of furiousness and nothing else.

I’ve got something coming my way.

………………………………

Flora’s pov.

“Where have you been?!”

The eldest Winchester marches over to the bed. He looks at his brother and breathes a sigh of relief that he is alright but the sight doesn’t stop his anger.

“Thank you for what you just did but seriously where the hell have you been?”

Dean’s gratitude is short lived due to his continuous questions.

Sam see’s the oncoming storm and quickly stands next to Jane in her defence.

“Does that really matter right now? All that we should care about is that she’s alive.” Sam glances back and forth from the hybrid next to him and his furious brother.

“Jane is back Dean.” Castiel speaks from behind him.

My brother seems to understand the importance of this much like Samuel. He places a calming hand on the hunter’s tense shoulder but Dean is fast in pulling away.

“No!” The frustrated man backs away from Cas.

This confuses me. Should Dean not be happy that his friend is alright? Should he not be glad to see Jane well and within his protective grasp?

“No? Do you not want her back?”

It was believed that if Jane showed up to the two men and my brother, that they would be ecstatic. Yet when I ask this, they all look wary.

Sam is quick to deny my question which restores my faith in the young man.

“Of course we do. Of course we do Jane.” He looks into the silent face of the hybrid.

“I know why you left Jane. I do.” Dean is calmed down enough to sit on the bed next to Jane’s quiet self.

It is Castiel who feels the need to speak next.

“We just need to know, why it is that you left us…” He motions between himself and the Winchesters. “Why you left us all behind?”

That is a question even I wish to know the answer to. I have no clue why Jane felt the need to let me stay with her. Why when at the time of her mother’s passing, we had only known each other for a few hours. Jane and I have come to learn something’s about each other and have a relationship built now, but all those weeks ago…

The young woman named Jane Doe relied on a complete stranger instead of her friends. Why is a very valid response.

Now, we all find out.

“The day you all met my mother, she let you know the monster in her. That is all you ever knew Mallory for, was a monster.”

Jane hasn’t spoken her mother’s name since the day she died.

“I only knew her like that thing one day out of my entire life.” She takes a deep breath. “I couldn’t mourn for my mother properly with people who knew her only as a monster.”

Broken eyes look into my shining ones.

“Flora was the only one out of all you who saw me lose a mother and not a monster.”

.............................

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[sunshineeashton]

Papa’s Finally Home - C.H.

Words - 3,035

Warnings - None? Fluff! Like sickening fluff! Theres a few suggestive sentences. This might be awful?

——————————————————————————

“Papa! Papa! Papa!” Two small children with relatively dark curly hair squeal, running up to the tall, dark, handsome man.

“Ros! Fletch! Hey bubbas! Missed you so much! Missed you both so so much”. Reaching down to bring his two children into his arms, he pulls them close to his chest breathing in their achingly familiar scent that he’s missed for months now. Blinking quickly to rid the unshed tears that spring to his eyes. Unable to find a big enough gap in the touring schedule, meant he had been unable to spend more than a few hours with his favourite humans, having to wait it out until the end of tour to finally come home. He knows its early when he finally lets himself into their home and that his two kiddos are going to be more than a little stroppy later in the day, but at this moment he could care less.

Finally tearing himself away from Roseline and Fletcher, who instantly latches onto his hand, he stands back up to full height reaching for his wife, Matilda Hood. Tilly leans into him automatically and presses a long awaited kiss to his plush lips. He ducks his head down, applying more pressure into the kiss and releasing his hold on Fletchers hand to wrap his arm around his gorgeous wife. He feels his boy wrap himself around his leg, refusing to let go of his daddy now that he’s finally home. Laughing breathlessly against each others mouths, Tilly pulls away to grin happily up at him. Falling back down on the heels of her feet, she grasps her hands together.

“Righto kiddos! Brekkie and then Papa is whisking you off for the day!”, rushing towards the kitchen, Ros nearly trips over poor Duke, before he goes skidding over to Fletcher who’s still a bit unsteady on his feet. He’d started walking a few weeks before the end of tour and Tilly had made sure to catch every step he took on film to send to Calum. But seeing his mini me in the flesh take shaky steps is a whole other story. His heart fills with pride and admiration for the little boy who pushes himself back off the floor when he tumbles over.

Bending back down he scoops up his other child, nuzzling his face in his fur while Tilly chases after the kids to start on breakfast.

“Hi boy! Missed you too gramps!” Putting Baby Grandpa back on solid ground, he picks up his abandoned bags carrying them up the stairs to the safety of his and Tilly’s bedroom. Dumping them near the wardrobe, he sees a few of his shirts and jumpers lying around. Smiling knowingly to himself, he quickly changes out of his airplane clothes, throwing on a soft t-shirt and some jeans. Tushing back downstairs to his family, he leans lazily against the doorframe to the kitchen, grinning at the sight before him. Little Fletch sitting happily in his highchair, munching on his bowl of fruit, while Roseline and Tilly are stood together by the stove making what smells like pancakes. Spotting her husband, Tilly turns towards him, “Come on C! Stop lurking in the doorway. Kids wanted your favourite this morning!”.

“Yeah Papa! Pancakes and chocolate!”, Ros says, waving the kid sized spatula atound in the air.

“Mmmm, i hope its your Mama’s recipe Ros. That one is the best!”, he mumbles this as he sways towards his girls, grin ever so present on his face.

“Of course it is. Vegan pancakes are my speciality and you should know that Hood!”.

All 4 of them are laughing, giggling breathlessly and Calum feels this contentment lay in his chest at the sounds. He’s finally back on solid ground, home. Cal scoops Roseline up onto his hip, even though she is getting far too big to do so without a small groan. He tugs Tilly into his other side, mindful of the whisk in her hand. Pressing a long kiss to her temple, he breaths her in. Takes a moment to relish in the fact that he’s home with his favourite people - his family and he’s here to stay for a while. He’s broken out of his train of thought by a gasp.

“Fletcher Fox! Baby boy, no no”, Tilly looses her grip on his t-shirt, arm around outstretch towards Fletcher before Calum is stepping around her, “Hey bud! You know your not supposed to feed Gramps any food baby boy!”.

Cal had already popped Roseline back on her feet, by the time he had made his way over to Fletcher and Duke, who was happily munching on a piece of strawberry. Reluctant to take the fruit off Duke and risk getting nibbled, he opted for picking his mini me out of his highchair instead, settling him on his hip before picking up the nearly empty bowl, “You finished bud?”.

Fletcher nods extravagantly - “Papa no more”.

“Okay okay. That’s fine buddy, but don’t go feeding Duke any more, alright?”.

“Kay”, Fletch tucked his face into his Papa’s neck, grasping his t-shirt in his tiny fists. After that, they all sat down to eat breakfast together, Ros sitting as close to her father as she could, while Fletch refused to be put back down, clinging on to Calum every time he tried. So, he sat on Cals lap, stealing a piece of pancake here and there and dipping his chubby fingers in the melted chocolate. The clock read 8:30am by the time they had all stuffed theirselves full and he knew Tilly needed to head out soon. So with a quick few kisses at the door (more like 10 minutes of snogging away from the kids) he ushered her out of the house for her girls day, promising that he’d got everything under control. After finally getting Fletcher cleaned up and helping both of his kids into clean clothes for the day (after a argument with Ros about her being a big girl and could dress herself) he buckles them into their car seats; sitting himself in the drivers seat he turns towards them, “Right kiddos! You know how me and your Mama have been together for a long time?”.

Ros stretches her arms out wide to either side of her body, “Yeah Papa, so so so long”.

“Well it’s our special day tomorrow and Mummy thinks that i’ve got nothing special planned cause i’ve been away on tour. But i need yours and Fletch’s help to pick some things out for her. You wanna help Papa?”, he reaches out his hands towards his children, both of them clutching a few fingers.

“Flowers?”, grinning at his boy, he nods his head vigorously which causes both of his kids to yelp happily.

“Mama want sunflowers?”, she’s squirming excitedly in her seat, clearly happily about the new development.

“Yeah, sunflowers Ros. I’ve had a bunch already put together for us, so all we’ve got to do is go and collect them in a little while princess. But first, how does the park sound?”.

Screams of joy are heard from the back seat of the car, so with one final check to make sure his babies are secure in their car seats, he settles himself into the drivers seat, turns the ignition on and away they go to their favourite park. Carefully placing Fletcher on his hip, he grabs Roseline’s hand and skilfully locks the car on the first try. Grinning excitedly down at Ros, she squeals with excitement when she registers what her daddy is saying to her, “Come on Princess, race you to the swings”.

And just because he’s the best Papa ever and has little Fletch on his hip, he lags just slightly behind, letting Roseline jump around excitedly when she reaches the swings first.

A few hours later, when both children are absolutely worn out from the excitement of the park and spending time with Daddy, the family of three step into a beautifully decorated shop, breathing in the smell of nature. Smiling at the woman behind the desk, Cal mutters his name, smiling even wider when the woman brings out a beautiful bouquet of sunflowers, with a few others of Tilly’s favourites hidden within. Shifting Fletcher onto his other hip, he grips both his son and daughter with one hand, while the other reaches for the flowers. Handing them over, she reaches towards a free loose flowers, giving one to each of the sleepy children, who smile softly at the woman, both of them muttering a quiet thank you when prompted. Shifting Fletch slightly, he grins at the lady, “Thank you so much, these are beautiful. Say thank you bubbas and goodbye. Lets head home yeah”.

Pulling up outside of your shared home, he scoops up a sleeping Fletch and tugs a sleepy Ros up the drive, all while holding the flowers. Too busy getting his sleepy children in the house, he misses your car already parked in the driveway. Hearing the door open and Cal trudge down the hallway and up the stairs, Tilly stretches up off the sofa and makes her way towards the noise. Seeing the back of Calum disappear into the kids shared bedroom, she notices the bouquet of sunflowers sitting on the table top. Humming her appreciation of the yellow flowers, she picks the bouquet up brining it closer to her face to get a whiff of the stunning flowers. Turning towards the creek in the stairs, she grins up at her husband who furrows his eyebrows at the sight of the flowers in her hands - “You weren’t supposed to see those yet”.

She giggles lightly at him, tripping over her own feet to meet him at the foot of the stairs, “C, you’re ruining your reputation buying me pretty flowers you know”.

He grins right back at her, “I ruined my reputation the first time i laid my eyes on you and then ruined it a second time when we got married and then I definitely ruined it when we create those beautiful children upstairs”.

By the end of his declaration, he had wrapped his hands around his wife, pulling her flush to his chest. Similarly, she had wrapped her arms around his neck, still clutching at the pretty flowers.

“Missed you bubba. It’s been so long since I’ve been able to touch you at all. Love you so much”, she mumbles quietly under her breath.

“I Love you too Dove. Love you ridiculous amounts Mrs Hood. 7 years together tomorrow and I can’t wait to spend the rest of our lives together”, he’s grinning bashfully at her, brushing his nose gently against hers. She presses up onto her toes, while pressing down on the back of his head gently to press their mouths together. Moulding their lips with one another’s, they kiss for a while. He runs his tongue against her bottom lip, slipping his tongue into her mouth when she gives him permission. Their tongues battle it out for dominance, Calum easily overpowering her while tugging her impossibly closer to his body. Unwillingly pulling away from her beautifully red and swollen lips, he smiles lazily at Tilly, “Come on, let’s go cook some ridiculous fancy dinner and drink a bottle of that ridiculous expensive wine that you seem to like so much and then I’m taking you to bed to get properly reacquainted my love”.

Giggling excitedly at her husband, she tugs him down for another kiss before sauntering away from him towards the kitchen; still hiding her smile in her flowers. Setting the flowers to the side, she grabs another one of their vases out and reaches up towards the cupboard that holds the proper flower food. Before she can grab hold of it, Calum presses flush against her back reaching up himself to grab hold of the item. Pressing a small kiss to the back of her neck, once, twice and a third time before pulling away. While Tilly busies herself sorting and arranging her flowers, Cal opens up the fridge to see what he can sort out for dinner. Turning around to face her, he catches himself grinning at her; so in love with everything she does. “Dove? Pizza good for dinner? I know it’s not the most healthiest but its quick and easy and the kids will love it”.

She places the vase with the pretty sunflowers in on top of the kitchen table before making her way over to Cal, muttering quietly, “Yeah that’s fine bubs”.

“Everything alright?”, as he tugs her back into the safety of his arms.

“Missed you. So much. Just exhausted, can’t wait to get into bed with you later”.

Placing his hand on the side of her neck, he uses his thumb to push gently at the jaw causing her to raise her head to look up at him, seeing a small grin taking over his features, “Love you Dove. Oh! How was your day sweetheart?”.

“It was good, really enjoyed it but couldn’t wait to get home to my husband and kids. Can’t believe you kicked me out the first day your home!”, she’s grinning so he knows she’s only teasing him but he plays along with her, “Only wanted to see the children, didn’t even really miss you”. They fall into a heavy laughter knowing full well that Cal is lying, having told her everyday he’d been away how much he wished he was back with her, at home with their children. His other hand, the one not holding her jaw had fallen to the curve of her back, slowly descending as he presses his lips to hers. Letting him love on her for a few minutes, Tilly reluctantly moves back and away from him, “Go and wake the kids you pest and i’ll get the pizza’s in the oven”. With one last kiss for the time being, he pats her bum twice before making his way upstairs to Roseline Joy and Fletcher Fox. The two out of three things that had completely changed his life for the better. His family. When they had found out just a few weeks after they had gotten married that they were pregnant with Ros, Tilly had been the one that was excited. Excited at the prospect of starting a family with the love of her life. But Calum, Cal had been more nervous and unsure on his feelings. Falling in love wasn’t something he even thought would happen again to him, let alone be married and now apparently be expecting a baby. He had been irrational at the time, ran off to Ashton to express his feelings before coming back home a few hours later with a strikingly familiar bouquet of sunflowers and too many apologies falling from his lips. His eyes were clearly red rimmed. She understood. Tilly always understood and waited while he muttered how scared he was to bring a new life into this world. His world. But they got through those 9 months. Together. There was a few bumps in the road but they always listened to one another and now looking at his biggest baby curled up next to her brother, he felt his heart soar with love and affection for them.

“Mummy”, “Mama”, came the shouts from the kids once they were awake enough to venture downstairs to the kitchen. Excited squeals were heard when Cal had whisper how there was pizza cooking before two sets of footsteps could be heard tumbling through the house. Home. He couldn’t be proud of himself, and Tilly. They had created a life that they had both always desired and found each other along the way. Soulmates.

Once the pizza’s were through cooked, Tilly had made an exception for the night and allowed the family of four to trudge through into the living room, to curl up on the sofa’s with each other and enjoy their food. Cal and Fletch sat on one end of the sofa, curled tightly towards one another as Calum switched between taking bites from his own pizza and feeding Fletcher his. While Ros and Tilly sat on the other end, giggling at the TV show on the telly while munching happily. This was his life now Cal thought as he watching his family. He could go off on tour happily if he could come back to this every single time. It made it easier. Knowing he had a purpose and a drive to go out there and perform and sing his heart out for his family who were waiting back at home for him. It was obviously a struggle. Going weeks, months without seeing his family was hard. But the few times they did fly out to visit him and stay for a few weeks made up for that. He could show them around the cities they were playing in and get to see his two children messing around with his brothers, while his wife gossiped with their girls. This was his family. And he wouldn’t change it for the world. They’d fallen asleep that night, right there on the sofa. Tilly and Cal lying curled into one another, their hands grasped tightly together. While Fletcher Fox had crawled his way to stuff his face into Calum’s neck, all of them giggling quietly when small quiet snores could be heard from the little monster, Calum’s huge hand sprawled safely across his back. And Roseline, Ros had tried to stay awake longer, longing to catch up with her father and hear every fascinating story he had to share, but she had nodded off next to her mother while Cal was in the middle of story about how Uncle Lu and Uncle Mike pranked Uncle Ash so many times. He’d stopped talking once he’d notice the silence in the house, Ros no longer giggling quietly at his story. Looking up towards Tilly, who was someplace between sleep and awake, he stretched over to press a quick kiss to the corner of her mouth before tucking his own face into her neck and drifting off to sleep himself. No longer need to dream as his life was exactly what he wanted it to be

[tarithenurse]

I see you - chapter 14

Pairing: Heimdal x fem!reader.Contents: angst, pining, fluff, innuendo en masse, some swearing, the end.A/N: Yes, you read that right. This is the end of “I see you”, and I hope you’ve liked it so far. It’s been a lot of fun to write, and I’ve loved every single bit of feedback. In fact, without the comments and re-blogs I probably wouldn’t have gotten it done, so thank you! If you want something else or have ideas you think I’d enjoy, feel free to use my ask-box.

Ch. 14 – Rather be

Absentmindedly, your fingertips trace the edge of paper-thin, indigo petals, making the tiny lights in the heart of the flower tremble. Next to the vase is the untouched dinner and the medication for the night which you still need (though a smaller dosage) to be guaranteed a proper sleep, both important for anyone recovering from being crushed by an alien monster…and both the last thing on your mind right now as you contemplate your future.

Every situation in life grants you choices. Sometimes the options presenting themselves are all bad, but they’re still there and in the end, they might lead to something better…or so you’re trying to convince the inner voice that’s ranting about how everything can go wrong. The first issue had been choosing where to live, or rather: where not to live, which honestly didn’t really prove that difficult. Also New Zealand, Australia or even Canada were much more sensible option than “home” could ever be if it included your ex.

Being a day labourer at some farm can work especially with your (although limited) knowledge from the job at the veterinarian, because cattle is cattle and you know how to deal with them and spot their health issues, and maybe the owner will let you camp out in the barn at first. Alternatively, a big city will offer support for homeless people and there’ll be a plethora of menial jobs that no one else wants. With enough hard work and smart living, you’ll be able to regain the kind of life you want. A lot of hard work. City-folks are rarely forgiving or kind, as far as you’ve seen, and there’ll be no connections to draw on or friends who can vouch for you when trying to crawl up the proverbial ladder. I’ll rather live as a bum for years than go back to him.

Still, no amount of imagination or will is going to help you get past the first challenge. You’re going to have to convince the Asgardians to drop you off far from where they found you. Heimdal knows where I live. The facial muscles constrict tiredly to create an expression of nervous curiosity, distorted in the reflection on the vase. How did he know? You haven’t told him how to navigate through the streets and the park in New York, but somehow…he’d followed the path you took each day, leading the magic sight of his to the ruins of the apartment building. And, now you were thinking, why the hell had he suddenly showed you what he could see? Just like that, out of the blue! The Asgardian has avoided you for a week, but suddenly sees it fit to drop that bomb on you! Who does he think he is?! Stubbornness turns into roaring flames as you decide that this game he’s playing has to end, because damnit, you deserve better than being left in the dark with no clue as to what’s going on.

“Heimdal.” The words hang sharp in the air, and you hope he can hear it from wherever he’s hiding.

Softly, the answer reaches you. “Lady [Y/N].”

That was not in my head. Whipping your head around, you see him standing in the door. The sparingly lit hallway behind him is not enough to reduce him to a silhouette, but you’d have recognized him anyways even with the heavy golden cuirass covering his chest and the impressive (yet impractical looking) helmet under the arm. Trying to stop yourself from gawking at him, you press your lips together.

“I apologize for not knocking…” A large hand reaches for the back of his neck, rubbing awkwardly before falling back to the side. “May I enter?”

Staying silent, you nod, suddenly the determination and frustration leaking from you like hot air from a balloon. His is not the voice of a man oblivious to the feelings of those around him.

As he closes the door gently, you become aware of the darkness of the room and scramble to find matches to light the candles that are placed on tables, shelves and the dresser. While busy, you’re painfully aware of how the tall man strips himself of every piece of armour, depositing it carefully in a heap on the floor. The tiny flame of the match nearly reaches your fingertips as you linger by the last light, turning your brain over for a different way to go about this. Something less aggressive or demanding.

“Please forgive me, [Y/N], for not visiting you the last many days…” the deep purr begins before you can, “it must have seemed as though I abandoned you.”

A pause stretches, allowing you to breathe deeply and gain control of your own voice. “Where…where were you?” The candle flame flickers on your breath but regains steadiness quickly.

“The All-Father reinstated me and tasked me with an additional duty.” This time Heimdal speaks from somewhere closer to where you’re standing and the butterflies in your stomach begin to stir. “My days have been long, keeping me from you against my will until you already had found rest.” The scents of warm sand and cinnamon surround you now. “Each night I’d come by, wishing you would be awake…” The deep inhalation is shuddering, the exhalation tickles you neck and jaw. “We have so little time together unle–“

You know exactly how he must have nearly bitten his own tongue to stop the rest of the sentence from spilling out, but rather than serving its purpose in keeping the peace, it pisses you off. Why can’t he just say what he wants? Why all the sneaking and holding back and damnit!

“Unless?” You groan in exasperation. “Unless what exactly?”

Turning around sharply, you come face to face with him and almost lose the sense of balance thanks to the amber eyes that nearly glow with…with what? To avoid this smoldering unknown you lower your gaze, only for it to land on his mouth, lips parted slightly. Hot damn. Your breath hitches ever so discreetly whereas his is heavy.

“[Y/N]…” When you don’t respond or move, Heimdal simply cups your face in his strong hands, tilting it upwards gently but insistently. “Please believe me when I say…there’s no place I rather want to be, than with you.”

Deep shadows created by the candles are dancing around and on both off you, still they are unable to dim the burning intensity you’re facing. Surely, your heart must have skipped several beats and it’s only as you remind yourself to breath that you know you’re still here. Standing with Heimdal in a small room in the palace known in myths as Valhalla on Asgard. Heimdal, who has just said something that sounds frightfully similar to a love confession.

As times like these would have it, articulation and poetry comes to your aid: “Whaa…?” The blood rises to your face the moment you utter the less than inspired word. “I’m s-sorry, I thought you…? Are you saying…? But how could we…?” Breathing in deeply and closing your eyes stops you from rambling on. “Won’t I have to leave, regardless of what I want?”

“Maybe not. Odin has been considering having you stay as an…ambassador.” The words are testing, fishing for a response as carefully as possible.

Ambassador? Hell, I’d have accepted being a stable-worker or cleaner. “So…I could stay...”

“Yes.”

Silence envelops you like velvet. Not in the absence of sound, but the chaos that has been raging inside you, the roar of worried thoughts trying to drown each other out are gone, leaving a soothing peace as each half-hearted plan and shattered solution to dissolve into nothingness.

Finally, you can meet the warm gold of Heimdal’s eyes. “With you?”

“If you will have me.” The smile is carefully optimistic. “I do not wish to imagine a life without you, my lady. Not since the day I first laid eyes on you by mere chance.”

Oh. “Before the…’fore New York.”

“Aye.” He actually has the audacity to bite his bottom lip in shame. “I tried to avert my gaze. I’d been smitten by your mesmerizing nature, but who was I to spy on you? A few glances as you walked through the city was all I had, and I cherished them, knowing it would never be more.” The Bridge-Keeper’s sigh makes your hair float for a heartbeat. “Then came the day of Loki’s attack. You showed strength and courage beyond measure…I could not let you die. Not you.”

A tear has formed and now it spills onto his cheek. Gently, cupping his jaw in your palm not unlike the way he still holds you, you wipe it away.

“You didn’t tell me…because you didn’t want to force my feelings?” His soft nod prompts you to slip your arms around his waist, pulling him closer. “But I’ve come to love you anyways.”

Words aren’t needed anymore. Time doesn’t matter. Only Heimdal’s burning lips as they meet and languidly explore yours while his hands travel, one to your neck and the other to the middle of your back, pushing you flush against his strong body. Your own grip adjusts as you nearly cling on to him, fingertips digging into his shoulder and grazing his scalp.

Lips part.

Tongues dance.

Teeth nibble gently as new areas are explored, heated skin showered in kisses while fingers and hands roam freely in a fevered yet leisured devotion to the other person. At the first moan Heimdal coax from you, he freezes, worried that he may have hurt you. It’s a whimper from the loss of his action that spurs him on in an effort to pull more sounds from you.

…

As the woman stretches in her sleep beside Heimdal in the bed, he can’t help but thank the All-Fathers of old. Pulling [Y/N] closer, he knows that he now will have an unparalleled reason to revert his gaze to home.

“I love you too, my lady [Y/N].” The whisper only stirs the lose strands of hair of the woman, but as he looks upon her, he sees a smile grace her face.