#give him a blanket cowards hes literally cold all the time let him have a blanekt

[lubdubsworld]

Blackberry Winters.

Part 1

Check part one for warnings 💔

Part 2.

Namjoon stared at his mother, her words registering but not quite sinking in. He blinked, a couple of times and swallowed dryly, trying to gather his wits that felt like they'd been scattered to the four winds. There was a dull ringing in his ear, a feeling of impending horror and he had to fight to bring himself back to the present.

"She is...?" He couldn't even say it. Somewhere in the back of his mind he realised the irony of it. It wasn't supposed to makes him feel that way. The reason he had taken her to bed was for this : a heir to take over the duties of the head alpha after him. And yet, he knew that he couldn't just ignore all the things that would come with having a pregnant mate. All the added responsibility.

At the heart of it , Namjoon was exhausted.

He had been trained for this position but it didn't make it any easier. His wolf yearned for solitude and serenity, peaceful quiet where he could contemplate life and all its mysteries but the duties and responsibilities kept piling up. He had no time to indulge in such whimsical fantasies. From daybreak to sundown, he drowned in problems that demanded solutions, issues that required his intervention and he was always giving so much of himself to so many.

It was as taking a toll.

And now here was the promise of another new soul. A pup. Fully dependant on him for survival. It was hard to be ecstatic.

" Why do you look so surprised? Have you not been sleeping with her?" She frowned, moving closer to the small wooden bench in the corner of the room. She sat down, primly adjusting the large swathes of her skirt. Even at her age, she was a beauty and despite being a widow, she was treated with great respect by all the wolves in the clan.

" I have... Of course...I just didn't expect her to ...so soon. " He muttered hesitantly. He made a quick calculation, Conceived at the end of autumn meant the child would be born at the end of summer. Rains and more rains. He would have to commission the weavers to make a lot of warm blankets and thick bedding for the babe. And make sure that all the birthing huts had their roofs mended. He felt an ache in his chest. He knew he had to have a heir. It was part of what he was responsible for. But he wasn't ready to be a father yet. Especially not with someone like her.

" You haven't been very subtle in your disdain for her, Joon. It makes me wonder of perhaps I have failed in teaching you the ways of a husband." His mother's sharp voice made him wince.

His parents had been deeply in love with each other. His mother had been an equal contributor in running the clan, his father's most trusted confidante. He couldn't imagine having something like that with the woman he had rather recklessly chained himself to for life. But he couldn't be openly defiant in front of his mother.

So he bowed.

" I've tried to talk to her mother. She looks at me like I'm some marauding villain."

Lady Kim scoffed.

" Because, for all she knows, you may as well be one. Think of who she is, how she was raised. Her mother died when she was eight and she has been keeping house for her father since then. It Is a miracle she knows how to read a few words and to write her own name. Old man Gong is unkind and cruel and I've only ever watched him treat her like an unruly dog that needed discipline and never like his own flesh and blood. She knows men to be cruel and powerful and capable of doing her great harm. Add to it your status as the head of the clan, of course she thinks you're dangerous. "

" am I to be blamed for her childhood now?"

" Don't be obtuse. That is not what I'm saying. I just want you to consider her upbringing, before you write her off as dramatic or hysterical. "

Namjoon sighed deeply.

" Alright, mother. I'll try to talk to her again. "

And he knew that he had to. If he wanted some semblance of peace in his life, he would have to make an effort with his wife.

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

Jiah sat by the haybale near the barn, cross-legged on the dirty floor as she watched Misu and Loshim, two of the stable boys tend to the horses. She stared at the careful way they brushed the large beasts, their tone gentle and soothing as they murmured reassurance to the agitated animals. She found it fascinating, how even an animal that powerful could feel fear and anxiety. It made her feel better about her own shortcomings.

From a very young age, she had known of her flaws. She was jittery, prone to cold sweats and breathing problems, easily frightened and absolutely terrified of confrontation of any kind. Her parents had been, to put it lightly, unkind. They had seen her as a burden, as something broken and useless and cumbersome and that had done nothing for her self esteem.

To make matters worse, they didn't let her attend lessons with the other omega girls, her education limited to scribbled writing on granite with chalk when her father was feeling bored or charitable. She could read a few words with difficulty . Could write her name out if you gave her some time and patience.

At first, her ignorance had been embarassing but over time she realised her education wouldn't serve her much purpose.

She thought of herself as something temporary and fleeting. Not meant to leave any lasting impression on the world. So it was alright if she didn't know what every other girl her age did. She was going to live and die in that hut near the boundary walls..... She would have no use for fancy words or exotic dances.

Or so she hd always believed.

So when the head alpha had asked for her hand in marriage, she had nearly passed out from her heart giving out.

Namjoon was seven years older, almost thirty winters old and she had only ever caught glimpses of him when he came to check on her father's watchpost occasionally. He was a tall man, strapping and intimidating with dragon eyes that glowed red. And one evening he had stopped by her side when she had been tending the beets and potatoes in the small vegetable garden out back.

He had stared at her for a few long minutes while she had sweated in nervousness and then he had promptly asked for her father. When the man had Stepped in and told her father that he was looking to make her his bride, the old man had been jubilant while Jiah had been confounded.

She hadn't wanted to say yes but she had been too much of a coward to say no. Besides, she didn't know if saying no would have any repurcussions....she didn't want to risk offending the literal head of the entire clan. What if they banished her? What would become of her then?

And so she had said yes. And here she was.

Mated to the man for life, her wolf connected to his and his mark on her neck and now....his child in her womb.

She felt the familiar stirring of panic, digging her nails into her palm to ground herself .

Jiah had long come to terms with the fact that her mind was not her friend. It sometimes tried to attack her , tried to make her feel irrational things. It convinced her that she was a bother, that she was useless, that she was a burden. It also tried to tell her that she was in danger, that she had to run and avoid and get away, even when she was perfectly safe.

When she had first come here as the head Alphas new wife, her brain had wrecked havoc on her senses. Had made her feel like a hunted animal, always cowering and hiding and trying to disappear . Namjoon had tried to be friendly, tried to be courteous and all she had done was hide and recoil, skin ice cold and words practically non existent. She hadn't said a word to him those first few days and even the bedding had been a nightmare, her entire body stiff as a board and she knew that he had probably felt like he was making love to a corpse.

She regretted it. Deeply. But there was not much she could do about it now. Besides she wasn't sure she even wanted to. It was obvious her husband's affections lay elsewhere. She had seen the way he looked at that courtesan. Had seen him sneak out for walks with her, had seen them huddled together in the room with all the scrolls and leather bound books.

Jisoo was a beautiful omega, well read and trained in musical arts. She played the gayageum and the flute, knew how to entertain guests with a perfect ceremonial dance and she was always at the helm of every festivity, dressed in vibrant fabrics and full of life.

She was also madly in love with Namjoon.

Jiah sighed, watching the horses paw at the dirty stable floor. She wanted to get to know her husband, yes. But she knew that even if she did, he would only find her wanting and inadequate in all ways.

And that was just not acceptable .

She maybe self aware when it came to her short comings but she also had her pride.

She would rather live like this. Tucked away like an embarassment, hidden like a dirty secret because then there would be no piercing gaze weighing her against her peers and declaring her broken.

Yes.

Pregnant or not, she wanted nothing to do with her husband.

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

" Are you feeling well now?" Namjoon's voice startled her, eyes going wide as she looked around the resting quarters , gaze finally falling on the man standing near the large table on the side. Namjoon was bent over the rough oak surface , papers spread out in front of him, an oil lamp burning bright nearby, casting a sepia shadow on the man himself and she hesitated, debating the pros and cons of excusing herself to go see his mother instead. Maybe claiming a headache?

In the end she did neither, resolving to at least make an effort with this.

" I'm well, alpha. " She swallowed the lump in her throat. " I'm sorry for inconveniencing you. "

He straightened, turning around to look at her finally.

" Do you wish to move into another room?" He said briskly and she startled.

" Another room?"

" Now that you are with pup, there's no reason for us to keep sleeping together. I prefer having my own space. "

Jiah felt the blood rush through her ears. This shouldn't hurt but it did and she could feel the self loathing flood her senses. She stared down at herself, the lack of beauty and the utter lack of any kind of elegant upbringing. Of course he didn't want to stay with her any longer. What had she been thinking , agreeing to this farce of a mating?

" I... Alright. "

Namjoon turned away from her.

" Good. I've already arranged for all your things to be moved to the west wing , next to the gardens."

Far away from his rooms, Jiah thought bitterly. The sudden realization that Namjoon had been looking for some sort of brood mare and not a mate hit her . And it suddenly made sense that he hd picked her.

Someone easy to boss around.

Someone who wouldn't demand anything from him, loyalty or affection or attention .

And it irked her for some reason.

Why did he get to treat her that way? Why must she put up with it?

But she stayed quiet because she wasn't sure what to say.

" You can leave now, Jiah. " He said dismissively and she hesitated before stepping out of the room.

And she wondered if with her departure, someone else would be taking her place in his bed.

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

Authors Note : would you guys like first person narrative or should I continue in third person? 👀

[hot-wiings]

The One Where It's The Dead Of Winter And Your Boyfriend Keeps Giving You His Cold Side.

Edited: 12-20-2020

You shivered as you moved and rustled in your bed. It was positively freezing, your feet and arms were frozen. Despite your husband, Shouto Todoroki, having a warm and useful quirk, you ended up cold. Despite going to bed with his left side leaning into you and clinging onto half of your body, you were cold. This happened to be a nightly occurrence. Somehow, every night this week, his body flipped around, his cold right side ended up on top of you, smothering you, suffocating you.

You hadn't even noticed that your left foot was hanging off of the bed, all you knew was that your blanket was no longer on your body, and Shouto's right side was suffocating your head. You rolled over, hoping to get him off of you, and with a heavy thud you landed on the floor. Momentarily Shoutos light snores stopped before resuming. With a scowl, you pulled yourself up to your feet and looked at the bed. He hadn't moved, if anything, once your body hit the floor he rolled further onto your side of the bed.

"I've had enough of this."

The past entire week, Shouto had woken you up doing this. Usually, you didn't mind Shouto's bad bed mannerisms. Sure, he might steal the blankets, and sometimes he hogged the bed, but you enjoyed cuddling with him. That was when the weather was more suitable. When it was warmer, Shouto stayed on his side of the bed, but now that the weather spiked cold recently as it got further into winter, he had seemed to reach out for your body craving warmth. While you felt slightly bad, he was just looking for a source of warmth, it was ridiculous. He practically pushed you out of the bed, and he could naturally create his own heat source.

The reasons you assumed he was reaching out for you and the reality were completely different.

On other nights, not wanting to disturb his sleep knowing he had to get up early for work in the morning, not wanting to cause an issue, you would've gone to the couch and slept out there before waking up and returning to bed before Shouto got up to get ready for work. Tonight was not like other nights. You grabbed a hold of the blanket and pulled the quilt out of your husband's tight, sleepy grasps. You dropped the blanket on the floor and used your hands to push Shouto's body back over to his side of the bed, but not without trial and error. After huffing and puffing, you successfully moved him. He was heavier than you thought, although you had noticed he was spending more hours training and at the gym.

"Better."

You threw the blanket back on the bed and smoothed it out so you both had blanket coverage, but leaving more length on your side of the bed. You slid back on the mattress and tucked the blankets under your body so he couldn't steal them as easily. Warmth once again hit your body as sleep started to envelop you again, however you were awoken back up by your husband making the bed dip as he shifted on his side of the mattress.

"Sweetheart? Are you awake?"

Usually, you were gone by the time he woke up in the middle of the night. Usually, he'd walk out to find you huddled asleep on the couch. To embarrassed and ashamed to bring you back to bed, he'd leave you there and let you sneak back in when the sun rose. You felt Shouto's hands on your arm, his cold hand rubbing up and down as you tried your best not to groan out and scream. Had he no idea what he was asking you? Of course you were awake, he had pushed you off the bed, who falls asleep after that. You were going to switch your sides of the bed tomorrow, maybe then his warm side would reach out to you instead.

"God, you're so cold. I hate this, I hate what I'm doing to you. I'm such a coward."

You felt Shouto wrap his arms around you and his chest shook as he tightly grasped your body against his own. You could feel his left side heating up, trying to give you the warmth you silently begged for and craved, but you couldn't focus on that, not as you felt his tears leak out and wet the back of your neck. All the angry, cold feelings left your body as you tried pulling out of your husband's grasp to turn your body around and look at him properly.

"Shou, baby, what's wrong?"

"Nothing princess, go back to sleep."

"You're crying, you liar."

Your hands reached up and cupped his cheeks, fingers slowly skimming over his scar delicately as you pushed the tears out of his eyes and let them linger there to provide some comfort over whatever was bothering him.

"Tell me what's wrong... Is it because I pushed you to your side of the bed? My actions are justified because you pushed me out of the bed first!"

"I pushed you out of the bed? Did I hurt you, are you okay?"

Shouto's tears came out faster and harder, upset at the prospect of pushing and hurting you in his sleep. Guilt flooded your chest and you placed a quick reassuring peck against his lips, trying to show him you were okay.

"It's fine, technically I rolled myself off, you just pushed me to the edge. I'm fine. It's fine."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry I pushed you, I'm sorry I've been making you cold and making you isolate yourself to the couch."

You bit down on your lip your cheeks flushed. He had noticed? You didn't want him to know you were spending your nights on the couch. You didn't want to stress him or worry him, most of all, you didn't want to make a big deal out of nothing. It was so much more than nothing, you just didn't know it yet.

"You noticed that?"

"I wake up every night you leave, and I feel guilty for pushing you away due to smothering you."

"Baby, it's fine. You're just a bit of a bed hog, that's fine."

Shouto closed his eyes as he debated on telling you the truth as to why he'd been cold at night. The truth of the nightmares that chased his sleep, the nightmares that plagued his mind as he slept, causing him to reach out for you in fear, in need, and making him feel alone and cold.

"You're my life, I don't want to scare you away, but you're also my wife, and I want to be honest with you."

Shouto's hands came up and covered your hands that held his cheeks, enveloping you in even more new warmth—at least partially.

"It's my body's reaction to fear. I've been having nightmares. You die, you're taken away by a faceless villain and I'm too late to stop it. I'm scared it's gonna happen, and it's been making me chilly at night."

"Oh, Shouto. You're never gonna scare me away. I'm not gonna divorce you over a few silly nightmares and a cold room. Although I will say, my case of cold feet at the wedding was nothing compared to my, literal, cold feet now."

"I'm serious. I make a lot of enemies as a hero and the media is always in my business. It's so easy for them to do a quick google search and find my wife's name and address."

You pulled Shouto's face down into the crook of your neck as you pulled him deep into your grasp. You pulled the blanket up and around your body, locking in the little heat you had.

"I know no matter what, you'll always do what it takes to save me. Besides that, I might be a support item inventor, but you still trained me to defend myself. I'm not going anywhere, no villain is going to take me away from you, if you still feel different, than change it. Train me more, take me to the gym with you, put me on some extreme diet–wait, not that last one, that's going to far."

He chuckled and you could feel more heat radiating from his body.

"You're right. I did train you, and I'll be here to save you. You're not going anywhere. Still... I'm sorry for pushing you out of bed."

"It's okay, now I know why you were being cold and clingy. Now I know it's your body's response to fear. I'm not gonna let you go through that alone."

Shouto placed a deep, wanton kiss against your cheek as he hummed, his body turning warmer, feeling better, more secure, and content about your safety.

"We're in this marriage together, that means we share our fear and nightmares too. I don't deal with a grump, whiny, bigoted father-in-law only for a nightmare to tears us apart."

"Together. We're in this together."

[callaxe]

hi im sorry for the long post i've been thinking about kiribaku platonic bromance

my fave headcanon ever is that (dismissing katsu's canon cute ugly ass hyena giggles) is that his genuine laugh is.. so fucking loud and contagious

like. like people who actually go 'AAHAHHHAHAHAH' and it sounds so warm??? DOES THAT MAKE SENSE???

his friends hear him laugh once to some stupid joke and they all end up giggling

so like

he and kiri, best buds, as you do, have their own stupid inside jokes and literally no one gets them even with context

like one day kiri in class goes 'toilet seat so hot with soup' and katsuki crumbles to the ground choking and laughing so hard he starts screaming bc his ribs hurt

kiri's ofc, wheezing along

like they'll be joking around and laughing during lunch, literally out of breath and katsuki's obviously trying to add something but his face is way too red and he keeps giggling like his life depends on it

he manages to get one single word out and kiri nearly dents the table from slapping it too hard and his stomach is cramping from laughing so much

JUST GOOD VIBES YANNO?

and one night when katsuki woke up from a particularly bad nightmare kiri brought him downstairs and played swing dance tutorials on his phone till 4am and they only stopped once they could actually dance correctly

on the days that kirishima feels bad about his hair/his roots, katsuki will steal a flashy leopard print headband from mina or use his hero mask to push his hair back so kiri doesn't feel.. as alone? homeboy's trying, and kiri appreciates it

and he knows that kiri misses his family lots and gets p home sick bc ua doesn't leave much time to visit anyone, so katsuki lets kiri be extra touchy with him and tries his best to initiate it too- walking arnd town and katsuki gets needy so he pulls at kiri's hair until he lets him sit on his shoulders, or when they're just standing in gym class waiting for instructions katsuki will lean an arm against him

he goes with kiri to the store for hair dye and helps him dye it, in the afternoon they'll be sitting in the common room and kiri fell asleep his head on katsuki's lap, who was playing with his hair and making it his personal mission to turn it into the ugliest, most tangled bird's nest ever bc he's still a brat

days where trauma isn't so kind to him, katsuki gets dragged in the middle of the common room or a hallway and kiri forces him to salsa dance together, even if shark boy's kind of carrying (most of) his dead weight, practically half asleep dozing off on his shoulder and kiri wakes him up again by spinning him

okokoakot

take kami and kiri's bro dynamic and apply it to them here

kiri calls everyone bro, its natural but when he n katsuki gets closer, kiri goes "my bro my dearest bro" n "my loveliest of bros... my best bro" and katsuki's "???"

until he just goes with it bc kiri refuses to let up and elaborate

it gets to the point where kiri will be laying on mina's floor whining about how his buddy left him behind, travelling the world by himself

"ei, bakugou's intership isn't even an hour away from here"

"WHAT MATTERS MOST IS THAT MY BRO'S NOT WITH ME RIGHT NOW, MINA"

they reunite, katsuki's not even halfway through the door before kiri tackles him to the ground

just fuckin

glomps him

kiri: MY BRO!!!! OH HOW I'VE MISSED YOU

katsuki: hello brother

kiri: ...what happened

katsuki: i am a changed man

OK SO WAIT. GOING BACK TO SALSA DANCING

in common room

the times where katsuki is actually awake and has a brink of energy, he and kiri will fight over who gets to lead the dance

while. dancing

there was no discussion or hint beforehand

so it's just a mess of pulling at each other's arms, knocking their shins into tables and chairs, tripping over each other's feet and crashing to the floor and getting bruised all over because they're dumb

they start singing some festive spanish song sero taught them with the grace and voice of a pair of war grizzled drunkies, cackling and laughing and their voices crack at every verse

second year kiri pulls a stupid stunt and ends up in the hospital bc he like, nearly actually died

katsuki isn't even that worried, he's the one who dared the guy to jump off tokyo tower and try to land in the pool of the hotel beside it (they underestimated the distance, kiri landed in the fucking street)

he's on his phone in the waiting room with mina and kami nervously fidgeting

kami looks at him and goes "do you not feel bad? it's kind of your fault that he jumped in the first place"

katsuki doesn't even look at him, "my main bro's fucking dead, i'm more concerned with finding a replacement right now"

while they wait for kiri to get out of surgery, katsuki writes up an application form for broship and puts it on twitter; sero replies and they "hook up"

when kiri wakes up, mina and kami are fretting over him and sero finally arrived, but he shrugs them off and immediately goes for katsuki's throat

"so what am i, your side bro now?!"

"sorry you had to find out this way" katsuki is leaning back against sero

kiri is heart-broken, "i thought we had a bond, you and i!"

"...i was gonna show up to your funeral?"

"were you not planning ON GOING BEFORE?"

when they get back to the dorms kiri gives him the cold shoulder for a week before he comes back crawling to katsuki

(by then, he and sero "broke up")

but don't be fooled,

this tokyo tower dumbassery somehow brought them even closer

somehow

don't ask

kiri is the first person katsuki says "trans" to

katsuki is the first person kiri says "gay" to

of COURSE they cuddle, once katsuki warms up to him and his over affectionate touchy-feely bullshit, kiri just loves picking up his bro and carrying him anywhere

swaddling him into a blanket burrito and knocking him off the couch

hiding under his arm during a class horror movie night

sharing a bed when katsuki can't handle being alone in his room at night

viciously criticizing and tearing down the atla movie and being pressed together because there's barely any room, playing a game of footsie bc their legs are tangled to hell and back but the game turns dangerous

(also when they learn that katsuki can, in fact, make explosions from his fucking feet, kiri has a nice scar on his calf that oddly looks like half of a foot and 3 toes seared into his flesh)

(yes, he's bitter)

turns out, katsuki can aslo be a soft affectionate touchy-feely bullshitting asshole when he wants to be, but these days it's mostly out of spite

when the squad starts calling him dad (with the exception of kiri), katsuki goes over and pats everyone's heads when he wants to, and also because he enjoys seeing them freak out by the blatant display of affection

he does little things like letting mina and kami cozy up to him during movie nights or when they go out in town during winter, and lets sero peer over his shoulder to look at what he's cooking and rub his head between katsuki's shoulderblades like a damn cat before walking away like nothing happened

katsuki's used to it, the rest of the class is mystified

one day, common room again, bksquad is playing mario kart vs the izucrew, katsuki's sitting on the couch with kiri on the floor between his legs, letting his hair be played with and braided

then he stands up and announces he's going to bed, out of habit (when did this become a habit, the class thinks) katsuki reaches up and drags kiri's face down so he can.. kiss the top of his head? kiri just smiles and calls out a goodnight and leaves as if, nothing happened

mina asks "what was THAT"

katsuki just settles back down, opens his phone and stares her straight in the eyes "homies kiss each other goodnight if they're not a coward"

that's it that's the post i'll be back with more

[jjpmoans]

birthday morning | ijb

happy birthdayyy to my beloved, most favourite, neve letting your down person, VALENTINAAAA @defgyus​. I hope you like this, I made this in like 30 mins while I was talking to you. I wish you all the nicest things in the world. I’ll write your birthday wish laterr. but now, have your gift first!

You’re spent. Really you are not joking. You don’t feel your legs and your back screams when you turn in your bed, tossing around to find that specific human bolster that causes all numbness and depletion of your energy early in the morning. However with your eyes closed, you couldn’t find him. 

Has he fallen off the bed?

You peek an eye and find his side of the bed empty, the coldness of the sheet tells you that he’s been out of the bed for quite a long time, at least for more than five minutes. Jaebeom is not really a morning person, on weekend you mean. He’s more the type to sleep in because it's the weekend. Not to mention he spent almost five hours last night giving you a birthday gift-- he said that and you’re not complaining, but as he’s an old man, you doubt he still has energy to wake up early and do something after five hours of intense love making and only three hours of sleep.

You catch the first sizzling sound and your ears perks in attention, listening to more sounds from outside. There’s a sound of your electric boiler going off, signalling the water being boiled. There’s also a sound of clanking, perhaps something is being cooked.

Oh, you muse.

You carefully remove the blanket off your body, shivering as the cool air hits your naked body. You search around and spot Jaebeom’s shirt hanging off the table’s edge, courtesy of his indecent act last night, throwing his shirt mindlessly because he’s distracted with you. 

The first step on the cold floor had you wincing, the feeling of your bones coming together after being wrecked last night had you promising yourself not to let Jaebeom have his way with you again. After a few winces and curses, you made it to the door, turning the knob and peek curiously at what your husband had been up to.

You spot him behind the kitchen counter, shirtless and his shorts hungs dangerously below his navel, back facing you. He’s beating the egg, which you figured he would make it scrambled. Jaebeom has survival cooking skills like yours and you like it. You’re dumb together and none of you will have guts to criticise one’s meal because it’s very decent and common, enough to pass a cooking evaluation.

You walk slowly past the sofa, to the countertop where Jaebeom is busy cooking, sitting on the high chair. As he turns around, ready to pour the beaten egg into the sizzling pan, he spots you, sitting and admiring the breakfast he made.

“Good morning baby.” he smiles, pouring the egg into the pan. The sizzling sound makes you calm, you don’t know why, it just has effects on you. “How are you feeling?”

You wince at his ask, grimacing as you feel the numbness of your legs and your soreness lining up. “Awful.”

At your answer his laugh echoes, loud and clear. You don’t know what is funny to him but oh, his laugh. You loved his laugh. You love when he laughs, it’s genuine and you feel so proud whenever you can make him laugh. Jaebeom, as he shows others, is not really a person who laughs freely. True he laughs with his friends but he came home with sad shoulders and has a very fragile mind. So when you make him laugh, you feel as proud as winning the best award.

“Why are you laughing? It’s not funny.” 

Jaebeom snorts, scrambling the eggs expertly. He leaves you for a moment, putting two slices of bread in the toaster and coming back, still grinning. “I am well aware that you’ll regret your decision letting me have my way in the morning. But you can’t say you didn’t enjoy last night.”

“I don’t.” your quick reply had him laughing again, turning off the stove and placing the scrambled egg on two plates. Jaebeom then turns again to get the baked beans and opens the can to scoop a generous amount of beans into yours and a normal amount for him.

“Yeah you don’t. Someone else was screaming ‘oh god, Jaebeom’ over and over again last night. I see.” he moves towards the microwave, taking out two freshly heated croissants and and to the fridge, taking out a plate of sliced fruits. 

When he comes back to you, you’re scowling at him, embarrassed how he points out the obvious. “Wait, these all for me?”

Jaebeom nods, starting to arrange the food into two plates, his and yours. “Oh and it’s supposed to be breakfast in bed. Why don’t you run quickly to the bed and act like you just woke up and you’re surprised?”

His suggestion had you laughing, nonetheless you did make a quick return trip to your room -- no you can’t run, you’re still sore -- and hiding yourself under the blanket, feeling excited even though you literally had seen everything he cooked.

Jaebeom takes awfully long time to set up the plates because by the time he knocks the door out of courtesy, your stomach has been growling for at least two minutes. To your surprise-- yes you’re still surprised -- he enters with two tables, setting it down on the floor. 

“I know you’ll kill me if I stain the bed sheet with food so we’re eating on the floor.” Jaebeom says, placing the table down to set up his plates.

“Jaebeom, it’s not breakfast in bed anymore, it’s breakfast on the floor.” 

He rolls his eyes, saying, “Whatever. I just don’t want to be killed after this. You did a lot of nagging when you regret something and I don’t want to spoil the mood.”

“Coward.” you mutter under your breath. You’re sure Jaebeom heard it but he let it slide, still in the mood to serve you breakfast. After all, he still has a lot to surprise you with, breakfast is just the beginning.

Jaebeom starts bringing in foods he had prepared and when you said it’s a lot, it’s really a lot. He first brings in a plate of croissants with freshly sliced apples and grapes, a plate of toasts with scrambled eggs and baked beans, and a bowl of cereal. Approximately he did about three trips of going back and forth to bring all of them into the room and just as you thought it’s over, he brought a jar of milk, two cups of coffee, an orange juice and a cup of yogurt.

“Jaebeom.” your jaw hangs open at the sight of the breakfast in front of you, looking at him in disbelief. “These are a lot, Jaebeom! How am I supposed to eat all of them?”

“Well,” he sits down, giving you your utensils. “You have your husband right here to finish it.”

“Thank you.” you tell him, smiling as you reach for your croissant, munching on it happily. Jaebeom is amazing, you had that thought countless times. No matter how tired he is, if it makes you happy, then he’s all in for it.

You remember how selfless he is and how he has been by your side whenever you need him and it dawns on you, he’s the best gift you ever had.

“Happy birthday, baby.” he smiles, watching you eat his home cooked breakfast. It’s satisfying for him, to see you happy. And today is the most important day to make you smile, because today is the day he has been blessed with your existence. “And I should call your mom later.”

“Why?” you ask, your mouth full of the croissant. “Do you need anything?” 

Jaebeom only calls your mom when he needs something and amazingly, your mom seems to have everything he wants. 

“I need to thank her for bringing you to this world.”

writings by jjpmoans

[hargrove-mayfields]

Dream Boy Lover

June 12, 1985

The dead heat of Hawkins summer is almost in full swing, but in the damp cement back room at Hawkins Community Pool, it’s freezing.

Waiting out the time before her next turn in the chair is Heather Holloway, laying down on the wooden bench, one leg hanging lazily over the side. She’s got a pair of sweats on over her bathing suit and a throw blanket that was supposed to be on the back of her mother’s expensive couch wrapped around her shoulders.

With her on the same bench is Billy Hargrove, laying on his back like her, their heads touching so that curly pieces of their sprayed hair get tangled together. He’s got his ankles crossed one over the other, wearing his lifeguard hoodie and a pair of boots, but the tips of his nose and fingers are still ice cold. Even out of the sun, lounging around on break, he’s got a pair of aviators propped up on his nose.

They don’t have to be back out in their chairs for another hour or two, something about the manager's nieces coming in and taking over everyone’s shifts, so they’re just killing time.

Heather’s got a gossip magazine that’s a bit too immature for her, the kind aimed at middle schoolers rather than a couple of fresh out of high school adults, and she’s reading out loud anything she finds interesting. Billy’s got a bag of skittles he got from the vending machine on his chest, and occasionally, when he doesn’t have a cigarette hanging from the corner of his lips, he drops a few into his own or Heather's mouths. She’d suggested the skittles, he likes M&Ms better.

After a few minutes of silent page turning, Billy feels himself start drifting off to sleep, it’s too cold and he didn’t sleep last night and he’s bored, but Heather startles him awake with an exclamation of, “Oh! Listen to this.”

She clears her throat and reads in a smug, over enthusiastic voice. “How to tell if your crush likes you back.”

Billy groans, he knows the teasing that’s about to come will be insufferable. Ever since Heather got herself a relationship, she’d been trying to get him to follow suit, and she’d weaseled it out of him with hardly any effort that he’d already been gunning it for someone.

Pretty much every day he had to get at least one reminder that he was a coward and a wimp for not making a move, her obsession with his romantic life just that intense, but he’s usually a good sport about it. Like now, as he listens to her read out of a magazine too lame for even his little sister, not interrupting her once as she reads off the list.

Well, at least until she strays from what is actually printed on its glossy pages. “Number one. Does he or she talk to you everyday?” She waited for barely a second before reprimanding him. “Come on William, I’m expecting answers here.”

Sighing through his nose, he plays along. “Whatever. Sure.”

“Okay. Number two. Does he or she tell you all of his or her deepest secrets?”

“Deepest? Dunno about that.” That answer isn’t good enough for Heather, who waits impatiently for him to give her a better one. “Alright, fine. Yes.”

The smile on her face is almost audible through the excitement in her voice. “Number three. Did he or she give you his or her phone number like, the third time you ever talked to each other?”

“That’s not in the magazine, Hetty.”

“Um, it totally is.” She says it like she means it, but there’s a little hint of humor in her tone almost giving her away.

Because she’s so relentless, Billy admits, “It was the fifth time.”

“Number four.” The pause between her words as she thinks of something to taunt Billy with is enough that he knows something ridiculous is about to come out of her mouth. “Does he take you out to the quarry, a place we all know is the cooler older brother of Lover’s Lake, in the middle of the night ‘just to hang out’?”

“That’s it, I’m cutting you off.” He announces, reaching behind his head and snatching the magazine from her hands, flipping it around so he can read it. “My turn.”

“Oh no.” She says with a giggle.

There’s the sound of laminated pages flipping until, Billy says, “Ooh, this one sounds good.” in a tone matching the one Heather used when she started reading.

“How to know if your relationship is going to last.” He gasps for dramatic effect, and Heather can’t stifle a giggle while she waits for the rest of the question, “Do you call each other a thousand times a day and whisper sweet nothings over the phone?”

Even though he can’t see her face, she rolls her eyes. “Duh.”

“Did you pine helplessly after each other for literally three years just to kiss on the first date?”

“Yeah and it was awesome.” They both laugh at that one, her obviously overdone response enough to break the false seriousness they had going.

It’s also a challenge for Billy to do it again.

“Do you stay over at her house every night just so you can wake up together in domestic bliss? Does she pack your work bag for you every morning like you’ve been married for years, and make you your lunch in a little brown bag and kiss you on the forehead on your way out the door and-“

“Alright, alright. I get it.” Billy’s point having been proved, she takes her magazine back and sets It aside with the rest of her stuff. “You’re just jealous because you won’t shoot your shot with Steve.”

“Am not.” He scoffs, trying not to let the little bit of offense he felt at that show. “Have the situation perfectly under control.”

“Sure. Is that why you spend all of your time sighing wistfully and daydreaming about your one true love?” Her hands are clasped together at her cheek and she lets her voice get higher and dreamier.

“My options are limited.” It’s a lame excuse just to deflect the truth and they both know it.

So she calls him on it, and uncontainable smile accompanying the song-Singh remark. “You didn’t deny it!”

“What?”

“That you’re in love with him!”

“Thought that was obvious. Why the hell else do you think I’m still single?” He motions vaguely to himself. “Just look at me, Hetty. Could have anyone I wanted.”

“Except Steve.” The reminder is mostly meant to be like, a way for her to show him that he should just make his move already because he can have anyone he wants, but, having missed the point entirely, Billy sighs and agrees. “‘Cept Steve.”

“I don’t know though, Rob’s been putting out some feelers, and like, her gaydar is super good.” Her and Robin are probably more involved in this than their idiot best friends by this point, it seemed to be all they ever talked about anymore. “She’ll be able to tell you if he’s on the market.”

“I don’t need a lesbians dating advice, thank you.” Billy chuffs. “Pretty sure I can figure it out on my own.”

“Oh.” In a show of feigned nonchalance, she holds her hands above her face so she can examine her painted nails as she says, “So I guess you already knew that his freshman year, Steve dated Tommy Hagan for an entire month.”

The rest of their skittles were sent scattering all over the stained up concrete floor as Billy sat up quickly, his boots swinging to the floor and blood rushing to his head fast enough to knock him silly. “What?”

“See. You had no idea.” Sitting herself up much more gracefully, Heather turns so she’s facing Billy with her legs crossed. “For months you’ve been moping over your straight dream boy, and he’s been bi the whole time.”

“No way.” Stupidly baffled is the only way to describe the look on Billy’s face.

“Yes way.” She nods smugly. “He said so himself.”

This was something she thought was completely obvious at this point, so she can’t help but say, “Seriously, William, when were you going to open your eyes? Someone who doesn’t like you isn’t going to let you crash at their place and tenderly bandage your wounds.”

“S’not tender.” It’s such a confident comeback, Heather could almost believe it.

Almost, but she’d heard all the stories about how Billy’s dad would rough him up, kick him out with a nasty split in his lip or bruises all over, and he’d drive all helpless to his savior Steve Harrington’s house to get patched up. Not tender her hind end.

“Well, I guess it doesn’t matter, because I also seem to remember him driving an hour into the city to pick you up when your car broke down, sooo…..” Billy wouldn’t win this one, she had just about a million other courting attempts from poor Steve on stand by.

“It wasn’t like that, H.” His gaze fixes to the floor, to a green skittle melting over in the corner, as he mumbles, “We’re not even friends.”

“What about when he saved you a seat on the basketball bus?” The nerve of him to come running back to her with all of his romantic troubles and woes, and still deflect like this. She almost couldn’t bear it. “Or literally like, a week ago when he hand delivered a bunch of super thoughtful birthday gifts to you?”

“I don’t know what you want me to say!” His hands are thrown up in exasperation, though Heather would argue he doesn’t have the right be upset when he’s the one doing all this to himself. “He’s just too nice for his own good.”

“Please lord give me the strength to deal with this boy.” She turns her eyes to the wooden ceiling, joining her hands together in a false prayer. Sighing through her nose, she turns her attention back to Billy, who’s trying to hide his smugness with how frustrated he’s making her. “William. I know you think you screwed that friendship over forever, but I promise you, if Steve didn’t forgive you, he wouldn’t let you in his house, let alone do all this other stuff for you.”

“Dunno Het, kind of hard to forgive someone who doesn’t apologize.” She could ring his neck for how casually he says it.

“What! You mean you didn’t say you were sorry yet?” Rolling up the discarded magazine, she smacks him on the back of the head with it. “William that was like, seven months ago!”

The strain in his voice tells her they’re on the same level of annoyance. “What am I supposed to do! Tell him I’m sorry I almost killed him with my bare hands, and he’ll just forget about me being an evil bastard so we can live happily ever after like you and Robin?”

She hits him again. “One, you are over exaggerating by a long shot buster, and two, you need to quit projecting your crap onto that boy before someone else comes along and swoops him up.”

“What does that even mean?”

“It means that you’re an idiot William Hargrove.” Another whack with the magazine as she tries to explain the situation, something that makes perfect sense to someone who isn’t emotionally constipated, to Billy who is, well, extremely emotionally constipated. “Steve is trying to move on. He flirts with you like, every day and he was willing to be civil without an apology. That doesn’t mean you ‘aren’t even friends’”

“It means that you,” Her cherry red fingernail presses into the material of his hoodie, “you are the one that needs to forgive yourself.”

“You think so?” There’s a sort of disbelief in his voice, but it’s not like he’s doubting himself so much as he’s mocking Heather for thinking it’s so easy.

And that, well, she’s used to it. They’ve been friends since early December, so she didn’t let him being a big jerk put her off after so long dealing with him acting like this. “Yes I do, as a matter of fact.”

“Think you’re giving me too much credit then, sweetheart.”

“You are so difficult.” She felt like a tired mother scolding a child. “Now you listen up and you listen tight. I don’t want this self-deprecating garbage keeping you from what you deserve, you hear me? This is a once in a lifetime opportunity, and I’m telling you, you have got to take it.”

“Steve does not care one little bit what you think of yourself. He likes the real you. Not who you think you should be, not who you think he deserves. He wants you.” Maybe she’s being dramatic, who knows, but Billy keeping his mouth shut means she’s probably on the right track. “And I guarantee you, you will never forgive yourself if you let that boy go.”

Sure, she’s up on her high horse there, talking down to Billy like he’s completely incompetent, but she’s been in the same boat. From experience she knew Billy’s heart would never recover if he lost Steve to someone else. It was in part for her sake so she wouldn’t have to hear about it, but mostly for her best friend, who already had so much other stuff on his plate to deal with that she wanted to make sure that didn’t happen.

“Don’t be so dramatic Het.” Is what he comes up with, but he’s biting the corner of his nail, something he only does when he’s thinking hard about something. It doesn’t take very long for him to break. “Promise you’re not just hyping me up?”

“You know me better than that. I don’t have a dishonest bone in my body.” With her hand on her heart she promises, “I wouldn’t say any of that stuff if I didn’t mean it.”

“Yeah, whatever.” He waves her off, but he looks sort of queasy, won’t hold eye contact with her for more than a second. “I’ll think about it.”

“You better.” Leaning over across the bench Heather wraps him in the best hug she can in the awkward position. “You know you’re my best friend in the whole wide world, right?” He lets out a breathy laugh against her hair, “I know, I know.”

It’s for Billy’s sake that she lets him drop it. Were it up to her entirely, she’d want him to make his decision now, she’s tired of watching him be too scared to make decisions for himself, but really, they’ve been at it for half a year, what’s a few more days to get the ball rolling?

So she listens with her full attention, keeping her arm around his waist to never fully break off the hug, as he shifts the conversation to more casual topics, like his failed attempts at trying to teach his little sister how to drive, how his new tattoo is taking way too long to heal, and how he’s triple booked for swim lessons tomorrow morning.

When after so long Adams' voice cuts over the speakers calling for the next ten minute pool check, their break is officially over.

The manager pops his head in to tell them they need one of them to switch out, and Billy, after sitting in one place for so long, stands up and stretches his limbs before he offers himself up, “You stay here in the cool, princess. I’ll keep watch over your loyal subjects.”

It’s obvious he just wants some time to himself, so, where she normally would’ve come back with something silly about how the pool goers respected his abs more than his authority, she instead gives him something to think about during his solitude.

She waits until he’s kicking his boots off and shoving them under the bench to say, “You know, maybe it’s fate that the both of you, absolute hunks that you are, have stayed single this whole summer. You’re probably like, destined to be together.”

“Keep dreaming Holloway.” He says, snatching up his whistle and his smokes from the pile with the rest of his stuff.

All smugly nonchalant she replies, “I’m leaving that up to you, lover boy.”

Billy just laughs as the metal door swings shut behind him, but he admittedly goes on to do exactly that, dreaming of his pretty boy up in the lifeguard chair.

Realizing it might be a hazard to public safety to ignore his responsibilities to drool over Steve Harrington while he’s on duty, he blows his whistle at a kid holding another one under the water, and tries to let the noisy pool distract him.

Heather’s right, this is getting to be ridiculous.

Read also on ao3!

[divinewhimsy]

Ichor Pt 7 (DabixReader)

A/N: SO I KNOW IT SOUNDS LIKE IT but I PROMISE this isn’t the last one for this. I just wasn’t sure if I wanted to go much farther in this exact moment. I have a couple other ideas for this series but I’m not 100% on most of them so we’ll see. I was thinking of starting some others as well, different one shots or whatever. Would you all be interested in a NSFW addition in the next one? Or is that too far/too much? ImeanIlovesmutasmuchasthenextpersonbuuuuuuuut I don’t wanna force it on people, I guess. Eh, who knows. Enjoy! Thank you for reading!!

Part 6: X

Part 8: X

Tag List: @velvet-kissesss​ @marydragneell​ @littleblackpheonix​ @holytacocactuscollector @ghostingtime​ @the-cosmic-dreamer​

Calloused fingers trace down your sides and you shiver at the touch as they grasp your thighs. Palms both smooth and rough with the slight feel of metal slide against your shorts, fingers tracing shapes into your flesh slowly. Waiting. Savoring. It’s the heat of him that overcomes your senses, leaving your mind in a trap. His scent fills you.

Leather and whisky. Smoke and sandalwood. A hint of mint and what seems to be the natural musk of his skin as he feels your body in his hands. Caressing every curve and dip of your flesh. 

As he finds your hips and pulls you roughly closer to him you yelp at the sudden movement. Dinner long forgotten on the cold stove, you grasp at the leather jacket and his shoulders. Sliding your hands up from his neck to his face, holding him gently as you breathe in his scent. It’s hypnotic. Intoxicating. 

Lips tease at your ear with a husky laugh, his next few words softer than you’ve ever heard him speak before. 

“I could eat you out right here.” he growls playfully and he presses himself between your legs. 

“Not on the counter.” you giggle and he nods, pressing sensual kiss after sensual kiss down from your ear to your collarbone. 

“Shit, you’re right.” he breathes and hoists you up in his arms as he carries you to the kitchen table. “Meals are meant to be eaten at the dinner table.” 

You’re on your back on the table in seconds, his head trailing down your body so slow it's almost painful. Inching closer to the waistband of your shorts until he grabs the drawstring with his teeth and pulls the knot until it’s undone. His tongue tastes your skin beneath your belly button and you shiver under his touch. 

“And I’ll be honest baby girl,” he breathes, his breath tickling your skin. Goosebumps pop up along your stomach and legs. “I. Am. Starving.”

You bolt up in your bed, your heart hammering in your chest at the memory of the dream. Eyes wide to the dark room you search fitfully for something that’ll remind you it was only just a dream. Nothing more. Nothing less. 

Who are you kidding? You’re disappointed it was only a dream. You groan and flop back down to your pillows, staring up at the ceiling as you wipe the sweat from your brow. So worked up over nothing but a dream. How depressing. 

It’s been a week and a half since you’ve last seen Dabi. Since he disappeared in the middle of the night. 

You still haven’t pulled yourself together. As much as you wish you could it seems damn near impossible to forget him as he appears night after night in your dreams. They’re not all the same but they all feel inexplicably and frustratingly real. 

His hands, his voice and his goddamn heat. They plague your slumber like a beautiful nightmare refusing to leave you. Haunting you. What would it take to get this man out of your head?

You’re not sure but the thump from your living room seems like a good enough distraction right now. Freezing, you stare at your door in panic.

Someone is inside your apartment. 

Fear, cold and unyielding, grips at every inch of your skin and you shrink back into your bed. Who the hell would have broken into your home?! Could it be a member of the League, scouting you out? Could it be that strange man who won’t leave you alone after that one night at the bar? You hadn’t brought him home or told him anything beyond your name but the world is full of creeps who will do anything to get what they want. 

You listen in silence as your heart starts to race faster and faster. With every breath it shoots the ice cold paranoia through your veins. You should have listened and moved. As soon as Dabi told you to. Just abandoned everything here and just ran. Bolted. Shit, you’d figure out how to fly if it got you out of this situation.

There’s a tap at your window and a shuffle as you crawl away from it. A shadow peers in from outside and starts to pop the screen out.

Oh no. You never locked your window?! Jesus, how stupid could you be?! What kind of idiot doesn’t quadruple check their windows and doors?!

Well… You, apparently. 

The struggle with the window is only momentary as they press their hands to the glass. When it starts to give way to their movements and slides open, you feel your stomach drop into each of your toes. Not one but two people are invading your home and you’re frozen in terror. 

How many minutes would it take to get away from both of them? How fast would you have to be? Could you get them to I just some of your blood and then drain them? It would have to be quick to get them to buy into it. If you can even pull it off, that is. It’s not easy to get someone to willingly drink your blood- unless you revealed it boosted their quirk. If you could trick them into thinking you’ll comply you’ll have a better shot. 

The figure at the window hops up with a soft jingle. They shift slightly and all the trembling your body has started stops. You recognize that silhouette. You know without a doubt that you’ve seen a fair amount of his flesh without it being covered. Memorized the crazy tufts of hair that go in every direction both wet and dry- and you can never, ever forget those blazing blue eyes. They’re sewn into your mind's eye. A beacon that will always call you toward him from whatever end of the earth you are. Miles or inches away, you can feel them searching for you. Watching.

“D-” you start to say his name in disbelief but his hand clamps down over your mouth and he brings a finger to his lips. 

He motions towards the hallway where the other noises are coming from and you give a small nod. You don’t need his words to understand. 

Somehow, against the odds, Dabi is here. That’s all you can care about although you know you should care there is a literal intruder in your home. Not that it would be important at all or anything. 

Dabi leaps from your windowsill and down to your bed, keeping in to a low crouch as he slides off. Silent as sin, he tip toes to your door and disappears behind it. You listen intently as the shuffling from the living room continues- completely unaware of the man heading their way. 

Had he known you were in trouble? How?

Why show up now, of all the times to show? Not that you aren’t thankful, of course. It can’t be coincidence he’s here when someone else has literally broken into your home. 

The sound of fighting and a yelp from the living room pulls you from your thoughts and you scramble to shut the window. Who did Dabi find? Is he the one who yelped or is it the other person? The sound of scuffing and grunting sounds grow ever closer to your room. You hold your breath and clutch your blanket closer to you, fear flooding into your body as a loud thump slams into your door. 

It bursts open and the man with the green skin from the bar tumbles in, Dabi looming above him. The man twists to face him, his skin changing into different colors. He must have some kind of chameleon quirk. It tries to blend him in but it’s going too quickly, too sporadically to hold on to one shade as he scrambles away from Dabi. 

“Look what the cat dragged in, darlin’.” Dabi drawls and steps closer to the man menacingly, blue fire hovering from his hands. “More trash.” 

“Please, I-I-I didn’t know she was with you!” the man- ‘Charlie’ you remember he had told you to call him. “I just thought she was some single broad!” 

“What difference does that make?” Dabi grins and you watch as he glares down at the man. 

This. This is the villain you’ve been told about. It should scare you. Shit, you should be terrified of him. But somehow, someway, you aren’t. All you can see is that it’s Dabi. The feel of his energy returning to your empty halls. The sound of his voice against the walls and floors. Enveloping your ears in a soft caress as he drawls. Having him near is comforting.

You can feel the bond between you two hum to life, a surge of power and heat bolting through. You know it’s not just from Dabi- you can feel it as the warmth spreads from within your body to the outer layers of your skin. Every calm breath he takes, every step he advances- you can feel the proximity ignite so much more than this mixture of sensations. Your body is locked on to his location like it’s your own. Like it’s a piece you never knew you were missing until you met him. 

“I-I- Nothing! Nothing!” Charlie stutters and turns his eyes to you. “I’m just a friend, right? Go on, tell him!!” 

You shake your head. 

“Pathetic.” Dabi clicks his tongue, “You really can’t think of anything else to save your sorry ass?” 

Charlie lets out a sob and glances back at you. His eyes are begging for your help but you can only flinch as he grabs at the leg of the bed closest to him. He holds onto it firmly with both hands and turns on his stomach as Dabi grabs him by the back of his shirt. 

“Please! I haven’t done anything wrong!” he growls. 

“Yeah, what’s a little breaking and entering into a place that isn’t yours? That’s not wrong in the slightest.” Dabi mocks. 

“Coming from you that’s laughable!” Charlie snaps. “At least I haven’t killed anyone!” 

“That’s just because you’re a coward.” Dabi snarls and yanks Charlie up from the floor. 

“Do you really want to kill me in front of her?!” Charlie motions toward you and Dabi follows his gaze. “Sh-She’s still innocent, isn’t she? You wouldn’t want to ruin her for yourself.”

Woah, woah, woah. Back it up. Ruin you? 

You blink at Charlie as your brows furrow. Confusion turns into anger as you realize just how defenseless he thinks you are. 

“That’s a fucking joke.” you sneer and glare at him. “Why are you even breaking into my apartment in the first place? Couldn’t take no for an answer?”

“Oh shut it.” he snarls. “You brought your pathetic, desperate ass to that bar hoping to be fucked-”

Dabi drops him on the floor face first and presses a boot to his spine. He digs his heel in between his shoulder blades and a sickening crack echoes in Charlie’s body. He gives a pitiful whimper in response and turns his head to the side, un-smashing his face from the floorboards. 

“Did you really think,” Dabi seethes with a wicked grin.  “I would let you go? That I wouldn’t notice you creeping towards her?” 

“I told you!” Charlie whimpers. “I didn’t know she was with you- ack!!” he chokes as Dabi slaps a hand around his throat. 

The smell of burning flesh spits into the room with the smoke curling from underneath Dabi’s hand. You flinch at the sound of the impact and turn your gaze to Dabi. Is he really going to kill this man? In your home?

You know he’s a villain. You know this. But seeing something like this first hand is uncomfortable. It unsettles your nerves and you find yourself reaching to stop Dabi as you scramble out of bed. 

“He’s learned his lesson.” you say quietly and Dabi flicks his eyes to you dangerously. The anger stirs beneath his face, the churning fire of his soul erupting from deep within. 

You grasp his forearm lightly, the heat of his skin seeping into your hand as you hold your breath. He has to listen to you. He has to. Even though this man- Charlie or whatever- is a creep who broke into your apartment, you can’t just stand here and watch him die. It goes against what you stand for. What you try to do with your quirk.

The quirk you’ve used twice now to save him. To scoop him from death's door and back into the land of the living. 

“Let him go.” you say softly and slide your other hand to lay over the outside of his around Charlie’s neck. “Please.” 

Dabi drops Charlie roughly, letting the man slam back into the floor. He fixes him with a nasty scowl before he turns his gaze back to you. 

“You don’t know what’s even going on.” he seethes. “Stay out of this.” 

“I know you’re about to kill him in my own goddamn apartment. I don’t want that blood on my floor.”

Snapping back at him isn’t what you intended. Honestly. 

“I’ll make sure to be careful.”

“Dabi, no-“ 

“Fine.” he says curtly and picks Charlie up, stalking over to your window and throwing the man through it harshly. You catch the grunt and yelp outside as he lands before Dabi’s hoisting himself through it. 

“Lock your fucking door.” he hisses before he slams the glass shut behind him. 

Had he just been here for Charlie, then? You’re left, dumbfounded and confused in the middle of your bedroom. Staring at the closed window, blinking slowly as you try to process what just happened. 

When you can find no explanation, you instead take his hasty, last minute aggravated advice and lock your door. You’re not sure how it got unlocked in the first place or why he just didn’t exit through it if it wasn’t locked.

Locking your window for that added passive aggressive push, you curse Dabi in your mind. 

A week and a half of absolutely fucking nothing and then that? Some half assed attempt? Why was he even here in the first place? What did Charlie have to do with anything? Not that you had any kind of affection for the strange, creepy green man but it had seemed...Strange for him to appear right after Dabi had left. 

Was he using you as bait, then? A trap for someone stalking him? He had said you had no idea what was even going on, after all. But you would know if he’d just told you. 

Then again, he also told you to move. And you haven’t listened. You’ve stayed, unable to even summon the energy to try and uproot yourself. The thought alone is a knife to your stomach. Empty, shallow pains that claw at your throat, threatening to crawl out of your mouth and onto the floor. 

Some of the things Charlie said still feel strange. Your ears refuse to understand the words as you mull over them. Why should it matter to you anyways? Dabi chose to leave. He owes you nothing. Your deal with him is done. It’s over. 

Then why do you feel so cut off when he’s gone? 

Sleep is a blessing not bestowed upon you for the rest of the night. You give up after an hour or so and decide to get dressed instead. It’s only three in the morning, perfect for a short stroll. Totally not to try and find the patchwork man who’s consuming your every waking thought. That’s just ridiculous. 

Your steps on the damp pavement are the only sound as you walk. There’s an occasional car or two but beyond that the night is silent. It observed you walking down the street aimlessly, purposeless save for the burning knot of emotion settling into your heart. Why does it bother you so much? Why does his absence mark your senses with a streak of edge? Sharpening every facet with the temperament of steel. You’re hyper vigilant to the world around you- every space you see, every breath you take, every sound you hear- it’s all categorized in your mind, shuffled away until you have a perfect map in your mind. 

You have no idea where you’re going. You don’t even know this part of town that well. It’s a stranger to your company and you’ve preferred it to be that way before now. 

Now you can’t stand not being here. Not being out and experiencing the night fading into day break. The hours may tick by but your body takes it all in stride, your limbs moving to a song you can’t hear but you can feel. It’s a beating of a drum, growing louder and louder as you feel every breath you take pulled from its notes. Forcing your lungs to inflate and hold before deflating. It picks up rapidly until you’re finally running through the streets, your blood singing with energy as you catch a familiar feeling. The thread between you and Dabi reappears and you can feel the song swell with the dwindling space. 

Magnetic. That’s what this is. You can’t help but feel drawn to every step he takes further away from you. When the blue flames ignite from his body and into the night sky, you see the way they jump higher the closer you get. His power grows as you near him. 

It’s undeniable. He doesn’t seem to acknowledge it as he focuses on the burning body in front of him. Burnt to a crisp. Charred remains start to flake away as they burn into the night. You don’t have to guess to know it’s Charlie. 

You can’t find a single bone in your body that cares. Not a drop of blood that screams that this is wrong. The only focus you have is the burning body that’s in front of you. The man that's still standing as his flames engulf him. As they rise and dance into the night sky, a star given human form has dropped out of the sky and onto the earth. He is destined for so much more than he’ll ever know. 

You can’t find the words as his flames shoot out around you. Walls of blue surround your body but don’t dare encroach on your form as you step closer to him. They part to let you closer to him and the steam and smoke from their absence curls off of him in tendrils. Memories written into the air before they wash away with the wind. 

You’ve come all this way for him. Without words to even say why. Explanations are beyond your mind as the feel of his drumming heart erupts into your skin. His heat enveloping you in a sweet summer's embrace. The kiss of the sun without it’s normal light. But it doesn’t hurt. It doesn’t even burn- your body is cold against his heat and you can’t help but reach out to him. Arms winding around his waist as you hold your breath. 

You are not afraid. You’ve never been afraid. 

Having him so close feels right. It feels like the universe has corrected some cosmic wrong as he breathes at your touch. A silent sigh exhaling from his lips. Tension rolling off his shoulders as the fetal rage winds back inside his heart. Retreating at your touch, slowly receding into the shadows in his eyes. The dark skin held to his face. Hidden beneath the burn scars and trauma you don’t dare ask about. 

“What are you doing here?” he asks quietly, his voice a bored drawl but you catch the note of agitation he’s lacing it with. He’s still upset. In the throes of his dwindling rage he’s still softening to your voice, bending to your embrace. 

He doesn’t even know. Doesn’t realize the curling hand he places atop your own is gentle and warm. That it solidifies your thoughts into a clear stream instead of the jumbled mess they’ve been in his absence. The thoughts of him leaving showing you the awful future he’s barreling towards without the connection between the two of you. 

His future will only change if you force yourself into his life. Letting him go now will end in nothing but pain. Love or not- even if this is the beginning of something you’ve never experienced- you’re not willing to let him die. 

“I don’t know.” you murmur back. “I couldn’t not be here.” 

“He’s dead.” 

“I know.” 

“I killed him.” 

“I know.” 

Silence. 

“I don’t care.” you whisper as assurance. “He’s not the reason I’m here.” 

“And what is?” his words are sharp and quick. Quipped. Tight lipped. Clenched teeth spitting into the world around him like venom. 

Defensive.

“You.” you admit and press yourself closer to him, tightening your grip as he tenses.

Rejection isn’t an option. Not when you know the pull towards him was more than just you. Not when you feel the beat of his heart in your bones. Summoning you, pleading for you. Begging for your presence as vehemently as he’s trying to fight it off. 

“That’s a pretty shitty reason.” he growls and you shrug. 

“I don’t think so.” 

His hands trail to your wrists and loop his fingers over them. Holding them, he pulls your arms off of him and lets go as he turns to face you. Looking at him face to face, you hesitate to touch him again. The agitation in his eyes warns against it but the way he had almost melted when you did says otherwise. 

He must not have been hugged often. Or touched in any loving way. Not that you were sure you loved him- that’s far too bold to assume so early- but the gentle caress of someone you enjoy being with is always a welcome gesture. And you enjoy Dabi. Even if he can be a huge ass sometimes. 

“What do you want, princess?” he whispers and you can see the way his eyes lock onto your face that he’s angry at himself. 

The frustration is not meant for you. He’s biting back the urge to snap, curbing his anger to remain inward. 

“You. To come back.” 

His hand rises to cup your cheek hesitantly and you lean into his touch. Showing you’re not afraid. You’re here for him. 

“I can’t do that.” he frowns and his hand drops from your face. “You wanted me gone, remember?”

“I changed my mind.” 

“That’s not how this works.” 

“It is now.” you can’t help the smile on your face. 

He fights off returning it before he gives in with a cocky grin. 

“Nice try.” he sighs, “but that’s not going to work for this.” 

“Why did you leave without saying goodbye?” 

He glances away and sighs heavily. You can feel him trying to pull away but for every tug away he tries to take you follow. It’s a dance of wills you’re not willing to lose. 

“Stop.” he says and you catch his hand in yours, refusing to let him go. 

“Dabi, please.” you breathe. “Just listen for a moment.”

“Not here. Not out in the open.” he glances around. “If you’re hell bent on this then we need to go somewhere else, darlin’.” 

You can read the frigid shut down he’s forcing himself through. It locks through his muscles and he returns to the bored, uninterested mask he always does. He won’t be himself outside. Where others can see. 

You don’t blame him. 

You lace your fingers through his and tug his arm back toward where you came from. He lets you lead him and although he gives your enclasped hands a wry look he doesn’t pull away. It sends a thrill through your stomach, knowing he’s at least willing to indulge your fantasies. 

The memory of your dreams surfaces as the warmth from his hand spreads into yours. In your dream he’d caressed your body, sensually tracing his fingertips against your skin. The hungry growl and groans he’d let out turn your face red and you hope he doesn’t see. Just in case he thinks this might be for other reasons. 

Dealing with these wayward thoughts might be harder than you thought. The attraction you feel for Dabi only grows the closer he is to you. The more skin that touches yours ignites your desire for him. It’s hard to breathe by the time you make it to your home and tug him inside. 

He doesn’t say anything as he kicks off his boots and strolls to the couch. Watching you carefully, he stands with his hands in his pockets. Silent. Stoic. That same bored facade sewn onto his face. But you can feel his heart through the bond between you two and it’s beating as fast as your own. 

“Well, Princess,” he drawls, “now what?” 

There’s a flicker of lust in his eyes as you meet his gaze. A goading that taunts your own senses. Daring you to recognize it. Displaying it all just for you to see.

It has to be your imagination. 

“Things have changed.” you say plainly, hating the awkward way the words spill from your lips. 

You don’t feel like his attention should be so intently on you. You aren’t a seductress. You’re not well versed in the tantalizing banter and dirty talk like you know he is. It’s the confidence he exudes when he hides that tricks you into thinking you’re out of place. The control his eyes command with just looking at you causes your heart to race. 

He quirks a brow and steps closer to you. You copy the movement, hypnotized by his energy. Losing control over your grip on your own emotions you can feel the flood of the bond between you two. You’re drunk on the feel of being near him, the buzzing life that shimmers between the two of you. You want to touch him- want to hear his words whispered against your skin. 

“I don’t want you gone.” you whisper, reaching for him. 

He steps into your grasp and tugs you closer to him. As if he’s controlled by the same haze you are. Locked into the feeling of the murky and misty emotion buzzing out of control. The desire to be closer has never been this strong. 

What’s different?

You try to think about it but it’s hard to think of anything else but him. Hard to tear your eyes from his. You’re lucky you can even remember how to breathe although you’re sure it’s only because you’re mimicking his actions. Like a puppet pulled into this dance as you two twirl in motions that aren’t your own.

“What made you change your mind?” he whispers huskily and you can hear his control dripping away with every word. 

“I don’t know.” you admit, unable to say anything else. 

Your dreams, maybe? The connection between you two? It could be any number of things, honestly. 

“I just know the farther away you are,” you breathe, “the worse I feel.” 

“Hm.” he hums and dips his head to yours. “When did you figure this out?”

You breathe in his scent, eyelids drooping hazily as his lips near yours. 

“An hour ago.” 

Then, his lips are on yours. It’s a slow, powerful motion at first that turns into a hungry devouring quickly. It’s like he can’t get enough as quickly as he would like. His hands cup your face gently as his fingertips tease into your hairline, pressing into your skin with fervor. It isn’t long before you’re lost in the feel of his lips and hands, loving the warmth spreading from him into you. Your heart is pounding in your chest, speaking his name with every beat. Dabi, Dabi, Dabi. He’s all you need, all you want, all you could ever imagine yourself having. You’re lost in the feel of him. Putty in his hands as he molds you into a shape that fits against him perfectly. 

The rush of your quirk activating without your control makes you both shiver and Dabi gives a deep growl. 

“I don’t want your damn quirk.” he pulls away, breathing heavily. You see the surge of power grow in his eyes and feel the pang of hurt start to spread. Hadn’t your quirk gotten you into enough trouble with him? Wasn’t that enough? 

Your thoughts melt away from your control, still drunk on the idea and the irreplaceable taste of Dabi. You can’t focus on anything else when he’s this close to you. After you just kissed him for the second time in your living room, funnily enough.

“I-I didn’t mean to...I.. can’t control it.” you whisper back and lean in for more.

He doesn’t push you away. 

“Are you saying you can’t control yourself around me?” he laughs and holds your face inches from his own. 

His thumbs brush beneath your eyes and you melt in his touch. The soft and rough feel of him. The cool and warm brush of his body, of his skin. It’s all intoxicating. It’s overloading your senses, your body bending to his every whim and touch. 

“Yes.” you breathe and he chuckles. 

He snakes one arm around your waist and holds you to him. Pressed flush against him you can’t help the sharp intake of air at the sensation of every curve and indent of his body. It’s a hungry rush that bolts through you and he watches you with his half lidded eyes, drinking in every noise and face you make. 

Nothing has felt as right as it feels when you’re kissing him. You’re sure of this. Not having helped the countless people you did before. Not thinking of helping people after him. Nothing compares to the complete sense of rightness that floods through your system as his lips meet yours. 

‘Yesyesyes’ your body craves his touch, every place his hands roam burning for more. Your quirk is already overflowing through your system and the power that runs through him is apparent as he struggles to keep his breathing even. 

    “Sorry,” you breathe as you catch him grit his teeth. “I can try and get it under control-”

“That’s not it.” he interjects as he backs you into the wall. “That’s not it at all.” 

His breath is hot on your neck and you bite back a mewl as his lips press dangerously close kisses to your ear. His hand moves from your face to the wall, pressing a firm fist into it as he heaves breath in and out. He’s balling up the fabric of your shirt in his fist at your waist, a deep, quiet grumble of a groan releasing from his lips. 

“Then what is-” you can’t get the words out as his mouth devours the rest, his tongue slipping into your mouth without a warning. 

This is different. His posture, his words- Dabi can barely control himself as you’re at his mercy. He’s drinking in every gasp and mewl he can pull from you with his lips. His body is pressing against yours, his knee sliding between your legs and pressing against you. You can barely breathe between his lips and his body, your mind spinning with the essence of him. 

“Wha?” you whisper as you pull yourself away from him for air. You need to know what's changed. What's happening? Why is he holding you so tightly- pressing into you with so much fervor? 

“Shh.” he whispers and nips at your ear. The moment his lips touch the skin beneath it you come undone in his hands. Any further protests or questions scatter from your brain before you can even remember what you were trying to say. You wrap your legs around his waist and Dabi gives a happy hum at the motion before his lips are on yours again. 

You’re lost to the desire to be rid of everything but him. Melting and reforming with him beyond your own comprehension, your energy soaring to an all new high as you drift along with Dabi. His body feels like an anchor to your restless soul. A shore you finally come across after years and years of swimming endlessly. 

He’s the answer to the question you never knew you were asking. A divine gift into your dark, secluded and lonely life. A present wrapped in mystery and flames, burning brighter and brighter just for you. A beacon for your lost, wary soul. He is rest when you need it, sustenance when you’re empty. Filling when you’re starving. Everything right in the world aligned just for his presence to be in your life. You can feel his heartbeat alongside your own, feel his body pressing against your own, his soul tying into yours around the bond between you two. Winding around it in knots that seal the two of you together. 

Have you ever felt this complete? How could anything before this even compare after you’ve tasted the wine of his being? Life is changing rapidly and permanently as you wind around him.

And you never, ever want it to go back to the way it was before.

[crystalirises]

The Final Answer (36 Questions AU 2/13)

Second part.

ONE THING

Dream froze, the door groaning against its hinges as it slowly creaked open. He took a step back, hastily placing his mask back on as the face of his husband peered up at him from within the shadows of the cabin. Fundy had his arms crossed in front of his chest, a frown etched upon his face as those eyes – the eyes that used to hold nothing but love for him – regarded him with disdain. Dream wondered what he looked like to Fundy right now. A shivering and desperate mess in the rain or did he look as he usually did?

“I’m only letting you in so you don’t get eaten alive.” Fundy tore his gaze away, heart beating painfully in his chest. He couldn’t look into those beady black eyes drawn upon Dream’s mask. His hand gripped the brass handle of the door, resisting the urge to slam it on his ex-husband’s face. An inkling of fear settled in him as he stepped back to let the man in. 

How did Dream even find him? He watched as Dream trudged into the room, clumps of wet sand and dirt scattering onto the polished wood floor.

“So… you’re saying that I won’t be eaten alive in the house?” Dream swallowed down the dry chuckle rising in his throat, the callous warmth of the house did nothing to assure himself of what he sought to accomplish. Fundy’s gaze turned towards the floor, irritation flashing across his face. Dream winced, feeling the bits of sands falling off his trousers. Well, this wasn’t the best way to start apologizing to your husband. Dream had until the storm ended, maybe this won’t end in disaster… He hoped it didn’t.

“Not by zombies.” There’s an underlying growl beneath Fundy’s words, an anger he thought he had quenched surfacing as he heard the liar speak. Fundy shook his head. No. No. No. Just happy thoughts. Drywaters Law #1: No Negative Shit. Fundy forced himself to look into those painted black eyes, the simple smile on that porcelain mask seemed eerie against the darkening land beyond the house. He gritted his teeth, a mockery of a smile. It would be rude of him to let the man die out in the rain, right?

“Please close the door behind you.” Fundy turned to walk further into the house, dragging his feet towards the living room. As much as he loathed his current and unexpected guest, he hoped he had a spare blanket to share. The man would catch a cold at this rate. Could Dream even get sick? Admins couldn’t  get sick right?

“Hi, Funds― and he’s walking away.” Dream sighed, catching a glimpse of Fundy’s tail disappearing into one of the rooms. He grasped the door handle, trying his best to gently close the door behind him, wincing as it let out a loud screech. 

This was good. They were together. In a house. With each other. Just the two of them. No one else. No L’Manburg. No Essempy. Just the two of them.  Dream just needed to get his husband to forgive him. Easier said than done. 

“He’s still mad, isn’t he? What can I do? Wait did I―”

“I can hear you!” Fundy scowled, gripping at the pitiful white sheet that he had found draped over the couch. It was a flimsy thing, thin and certainly not enough to block out the cold, but it would have to do. A squeak broke him from his annoyance, he looked up at the small bat hanging from the ceiling. 

“Sorry. Did we wake you? Don’t worry, he’ll be leaving soon… No. No. It’s okay. Just keep yourself warm up there, alright? Wouldn’t want to lose you too―”

“Who are you talking to?” Dream had made his way to the room, the low hush of a whisper drifting through the air. He stared pointedly at his husband who… was talking to the ceiling? Not that Dream was going to judge him. His husband had… his own strange ways to cope and he didn’t want to get kicked out of the house by commenting about this one. Fundy spun on his heel, the hint of a smile on his face, disappearing as soon as their gazes met.

“I’ll ask the questions, what are you doing here?” Fundy tossed the sheet at Dream – who caught it without fail – walking past the man to rummage through one of the few chests he had in his home. Niki insisted he place a fireplace in the cabin, oh he didn’t expect he’d be using it under such circumstances. His fingers curled around a familiar object, flashes of burning cloth racing through his mind as he pulled out his old trusty flint and steel. His ears began to twitch. No. No. No. No bad thoughts. Just good thoughts, Fundy.

“Fundy, you know why― Is that a bat?!” Dream looked up. The blanket in his hand nearly falling to the ground as he sawthe black blur on the ceiling.

“Dream!” Fundy’s head snapped towards his ex-husband, his teeth clenched together so tightly that he feared they might crack. He was tired. No. He was exhausted. New life? HA! Fundy should’ve known that the peace wouldn’t last forever. Not when he got married to the literal god of― “Dream, you… Why are you here? I thought leaving the ring would have been a good enough hint for you. Did you… Did you follow me here? Why?”

“I didn’t follow you here, Fundy… I was worried. You can’t just leave without a note. How was I to know where you were? It’s a bad time, Fundy. The entire server is after my head. They would do anything to get to me, including―” Dream’s attention turned towards the flint and steel. He tensed. Fundy and fire… wasn’t a good combination. He moved closer, the fox hybrid shuffling to move away from him. 

Dream paused, “Can you… put the flint and steel down? It’s very intimidating.”

“Wha― You know― You don’t― Like, do you actually know what you did – what you did to me – or have you lied to yourself so much you’ve developed selective memory?” Fundy shook his head, the word ‘memory’ a bitter taste against his tongue. He leaned against the cobblestone wall of the fireplace. The fire he had meant to start forgotten in favor of his ex-husband. He just wanted to get this over with. 

“Dream… I already have an amnesiac dad. I don’t need another angst fest in my life, okay?” Fundy hid his face in his hands, his ears erratically twitching on top of his head.  

“Fundy… I came here for you. Whatever I did… I can make up for it, I swear! Just… come home… please...” Dream wondered if Fundy could hear him, his voice barely a whisper. The fox hybrid’s ears were twitching so that had to mean something, right? 

“For me?”

“For you?!”

“No, no, no. That’s not what I meant!” Okay that was the wrong thing to say, oh no. Dream turned his attention back towards the ceiling, wringing his hands together as he thought of what he could say that wouldn’t get him tossed out the already broken windows. Small brown eyes met his gaze, a small squeak echoing through the room. A bat. A BAT! That was a good conversation to have, right? Fundy liked to talk about his pets… He loved to talk about his pets… 

“That’s… that’s a really cute bat.” Dream pursed his lips.

“Correct. Yes, they're the best bat in the world.” Fundy rolled his eyes, not missing the way Dream quickly changed the conversation. Coward.

“Where did they come from?” Dream held his breath, not missing the way Fundy spoke to him with such malice and hate. He messed up.

“I…” Fundy sighed, running his recently trimmed nails across the skin of his arms. He didn’t want to talk about this. Not with his ex-husband of all people. 

“Their name is Batry and they’re here because I found them in a cave and invited them back here. They love flowers and have incredible comedic timing, and kind of my only friend right now, which I’m sure sounds insane to you but― you know what? I don’t have to explain things seeing as how you refuse to explain even the most basic things to me, like… did you even care for me?”

“Fundy, of course I―”

“You only care about the discs, right? What was that about, Dream? The wars were over! But you―”

“Okay, wait―”

“Do you even actually need food or sleep to function? Are you some sort of immortal god? Because I―”

“I wasn’t judging! They seem like a really chill bat.” Dream’s voice wavered, his breath quickening at the sudden confrontation. This wasn’t how it was meant to be.

“Well, they are very chill!” Fundy screeched, his hair bristling in absolute anger. Anger at what? Fundy… Fundy didn’t know… He didn’t want to fight. Not here in his newly made country of happiness, anyway.

“If they’re helping you get through this stressful time Fundy, I’m all for it. Really! I only came out here to ask you to do one thing.” Dream took his chance. He edged closer, hesitated before he placed a hand on his husband’s shoulder.

He held his breath as he waited for the fox hybrid’s answer. Fundy’s gaze turned towards the hand on his shoulder, “…one thing.”

“Yeah… one thing―” A loud crash rang throughout the house, the floor shaking beneath their feet at the violent intrusion. Dream quickly reacted, his hand moving to grip the back of Fundy’s jacket, pulling him closer as he summoned his sword to his hand. Fundy’s hat pressed onto the blade’s hilt. 

“What was that?” Dream glared at the hall, expecting a zombie to emerge from the corner.

“That would be the sound of the shelf I just built, buckling under the weight of a hundred books.” No. Fundy did not appreciate being in his ex-husband’s protective embrace. Shut up.

“Oh.” Dream coughed, backing off immediately. His sword faded back into his inventory, and he placed Fundy’s hat on the sofa before he could accidentally rip it. Fundy would never forgive him if he destroyed it. Though Fundy did leave it out in the rain, what was up with that?

“You know this place…” Sucks. The word was on the tip of his tongue, but Fundy refused to say it. Why would he give his ex-husband the impression that he was clearly unhappy? The sharp crack of glass followed soon after, 

“And there goes my collection of Ghostbur’s blue.” Fundy sighed, his tail curling around his waist as if he was trying to console himself.

“I… I know I’m not supposed to be asking questions, but… your entire family is here in the Essempy… Couldn’t they have helped you do all this work on the house?” The house was a mess, and Dream didn’t mean that lightly. He glanced at the misshapen windows, the floor made from different pieces of wood…

“They don’t know.” Dream’s head snapped to look at Fundy.

“They don’t know you’re moving?” Fundy winced at the accusatory tone. Did it matter if he had told them? No one would have noticed anyway…

“Moving is such a strong word…” Fundy flailed his hands into the air, his own nervousness betraying him. The smell of smoke filled the air, Dream freezing in place as he looked at something behind Fundy. 

“Do you… Do you smell smoke?” Fundy sniffed at the air, wondering if he had accidentally left something on in the kitchen.

“Fundy.” Dream reached out once more, turning the fox hybrid to look at the small fire his flint and steel had caused. He nearly screamed when Fundy had flailed his hands, the flint and steel flying from his loose grip. 

“Ah, yeah… that’s fire. Just stay calm. Just a small little fire, can you hand me some water?” Dream didn’t look up from the growing flames, holding out a hand towards Fundy.

“Shit― Uh, sure.”

He felt the heat before he saw it. He looked down at the bucket of lava on his hands, frustration bubbling to the surface of his mind. He placed the bucket down, summoning his own bucket of water. The fire died just as quickly as it had been born. 

“Did you just hand me a bucket of lava?”

“What? Oh! Dammit I thought that was something else.” Fundy gripped the edges of his hair, groaning at the stupid mistake that might have destroyed everything he’s worked for. 

“Well, as you can see, you’re timing, as always, is impeccable. I’ve now broken the first law of Drywaters, thanks Dream.” Fundy threw his hands in the air, an exasperated sigh leaving his lips.

Dream tried to keep his composure, knowing that a sliver of his own annoyance would lead to nothing but heartbreak. He needed to fix this. Now. 

“One thing, Fundy. That’s all I’m asking for.” Dream tried to reach for Fundy’s hand, stopping as he realized he couldn’t.

“One thing…” Fundy sighed, falling onto the sofa, his head hidden in his hands. He couldn’t look at his ex-husband. Not if he wanted to keep his own resolve.

“I came out here for one thing… And that little bitty one thing…” He had tried so hard. He had stayed for a man who he thought loved him. He was wrong.

“…was to forget about you.” Fundy held back the sob in his throat. His fingers clung to the frayed edge of the couch, a momentary distraction from what was currently happening.

“But I guess I've learned something, that there's never really one thing.” The fox hybrid flung his head back, exhaustion taking its claim as he remembered… his tasks.

“'Cause pretty quickly one thing, evolves into two, or three, or more.” He didn’t realize running away from his responsibilities would mean… more responsibilities. This was unfair.

“For example… See the light in the hallway? It is always flickering. Ever since I installed it, it is always flickering.” Dream frowned. That wasn’t right. His star was an excellent inventor. There’s… there’s no way that one light bulb would be his great downfall.

Fundy couldn’t make anything… he didn’t have the motivation to.

“After three days here, it was unbearable. My list grew: Two, fix the light bulb, and one, forget about you…” Three days… Dream had only realized today… was that how long Fundy’ had been gone?

It had been a week since he left. Fundy would visit the house they shared in that week… hoping for a sign that he should stay.

“Went back home, stole a bulb. One of those new LEDs. Brought it home, put it in, but the redstones weren't connecting. Suddenly, they went on the fritz…” No… His star was a master with redstone…

Fundy couldn’t think straight in the past few days… not enough to make a simple light source light up.

“My list grew: Three, fix up the redstone. Two, fix the lightbulb, and one, forget about you…” Fundy wasn’t done. The long list flashing in his mind as he recalled every bad thing that had gone wrong.

“So, I went to the attic and to my utmost delight, there it is, red vines, killing me slowly each night... and I feel it's my duty to remove it…” Wait… red vines? Dream didn’t like the sound of that…

Fundy couldn't bring himself to take them down… he couldn't take them down.

“My list grew: Four, kill the red vines. Three, fix up the redstone. Two, fix the lightbulb, and one, forget about you―”

“Yeah, but my one thing is really just…” Did… Dream really just interrupt him?

“I'm not done.” Fundy raised a hand, gesturing out towards the hallway. 

“See the tarp in the hallway? That’s meant to be a gallery wall, lots of pictures, super classy. Glad I had to make the call, but in scouring for vines, I had to take the place apart…” Fundy had wanted to place his most cherished memories up on that wall, the pictures he had taken with Ranboo… the one with Niki… maybe even the one with his father. Of course, the world really told him ‘no’.

“Because sometimes to solve a problem…” Their eyes met, a sickening suggestion hanging in the air as Fundy spoke those words. 

“You follow it back to the start.”

Dream froze at the faint sound of creaking wood.

“Oh. Who's that?” Dream reached for the sword in his inventory.

“No one. It just does that when it rains!” Fundy hoped the house didn’t end up flooded by the end of the day. 

“When I tried to rebuild the wall that I'd taken down, I discovered two holes burrowed right into the ground, and I didn't have the heart to kill 'em… So my list grew― But then, the cement that I found to fill in the gaping holes wasn't good, it didn't stick. Apparently, cement can get old?! In trying to fix one thing, I made everything worse…” Fundy screamed into a pillow, his rambling getting longer with each second.

“My list grew: Nine, steal new cement. Eight, take care of this bat I found. Seven, clean out the pipes for the bathroom and the kitchen. Six, rebuild the wall. Five, keep out the pests. Four, kill the red vines. Three, fix up the redstone. Two, fix the lightbulb, and one, forget about you…”

Nine. Nine fucking things. And he knows – HE KNOWS – it’s going to get longer. FUCK HE SHOULD ADD A HUNDRED MORE TO THE LIST NOW THAT DREAM WAS HERE―

“I think it's lovely… to see you fix up this new house, because you want it to be… nice for your own country…” Dream didn’t care that Fundy was making his own country. He just wished he had been told. He knelt down in front of the couch, reaching out to place his hand on top of the hybrid’s. He was happy for his husband. He was! But not if it meant losing his sanity for it! 

“But I think maybe you're obsessing… over things you can control, hoping to control your feelings for…” 

“What?!” Fundy withdrew his hand, his ears pressed against the top of his head as he stood up from the coach. The nerve― The actual nerve― He began to pace the length of the room, sparing a single glance towards the man who hadn’t moved a single inch from the couch. Feelings? Feelings?! Oh, Fundy had feelings alright. Just not those types of feelings. No, what he wanted right now was to burn something. But not his house because he worked so hard on this stupid cabin. 

“No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no…”

“So… you came here, looking for one thing… and you're saying that one thing… was to forget about me?” It struck a chord in his heart. Dream picked at the frayed seams of the couch. He couldn’t bring himself to look into Fundy’s eyes. 

How did he mess this up so badly? Their differing politics were supposed to stay out of their personal life… It never got in the way before… Even when they met on the battlefield. 

“Well, all I am asking is for you to do the first thing, which could also be the last thing that you do with me.”

“These things needed to get done– okay, okay…” Fundy wrapped his arms around himself, tail curling onto around his right leg. He had so much to do, and with Niki and Ranboo off doing their own thing, he could at least try and― He froze, darting across the other side of the room as soon as he noticed Dream standing up to move towards him. Dream tried to follow him, but Fundy didn’t want to be near him right now. He held up a hand. 

“Just… just… just stop moving towards me. Just stay on your side of the room―”

“Okay? So, we can talk this out?” Dream held onto that. He could salvage this, couldn’t he? They could talk this out, make up, and Fundy could forget about the whole… running away thing he’s currently got going on. They’d go back to the way it was. Though what that was exactly, Dream couldn’t really say.

“Well, listen… well, listen… If my friends are gonna be so nice to have me out here and respect my need to be alone during this really insane, crazy, impossible time of my life…” And by friends, Fundy meant Niki and Ranboo. He doubted anyone else would have noticed his absence. No one would notice if he just up and left, right? Well, New L’Manburg certainly wouldn’t have lost anything of value. 

“The absolute least I can do is, you know, just… just go around and… and… and… and… and… destroy this house.”

Fundy was ripped away from his thoughts, a hand grazing the top of his shoulder. When did Dream get so close? Dream frowned, the expression hidden beneath the mask. Fundy’s eyes had glazed over, and Dream knew what that meant. In any other circumstance, he would have pulled the fox hybrid into his arms… but he couldn’t do that now. 

“After tonight, you'll never hear from me again. If that's what you want. All we need to fix our marriage is one decent conversation. I'm asking for one chance.”

Fundy’s piercing brown eyes glared up at that porcelain mask, he should say no. He really should. But he never was the type to say no to someone he loved, was he? 

“We'll do this one thing…”

“It is the first thing…” Dream needed to get this right.

“We're doing together…” Fundy wanted it to be over.

“Since…”

“You left without saying a word.” Dream never meant for it to go that far.

“I found out you are not who I thought you were.” Fundy never thought he’d ever feel this betrayed.

“We'll do this one thing…” Fundy wished it would be just this one.

“It could be the last thing.” Dream hoped it wouldn’t be the last.

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

prev / next

[idjitlili]

Gonna need a wheel chair

Bard x reader

A request from @ifitaketwomoresteps​ 

“I noticed you haven’t wrote for bard *shocked emoji*can you write something fluffy and sweet for him?” I cant tell if this what you wanted ,i kinda went mental when i thought of a title...

summary:renting a room from bard only to come home ,to find a bunch of dwarves there,lets just say he doesnt like the looks the dwarves were giving you.

word count:1551 a/n sorry if this isnt great a request from tumblr ,it was my greatnans funeral ,and at the wake I ended up injuring my second biggest toe on a door. po tat TOE.  

Okay times were tuff in laketown,people could barely avoid to feed themselves,oh and you were worse you couldn't avoid to home yourself. You had been friends with Bard for many years,well your older brother was that how you knew him. Yeah brothers bestfriend you had developed a crush on him,but in the end he got married and had two children. You were beyond heartbroken,you bottled it all up to hide it from your brother,getting a job in laketowns only pub as a waitress.

At this point you were only a teenager ,you shoud not have fell in love with an older man,yeah. The reason you needed to work was simply you wanted your own freedom to go on adventures,and not live with your parents. Fast forward still saving ,when you hear news of Bards wife dying in childbirth ,he was a widow now. Is that what you call a guy with a dead spouse you werent sure.

In a couple of years later he comes into the pub ,starts talking to you,informs you of how he needs a babysitter for most hours in the day,due to his job. Yeah you were confused why he was telling you this,but it turns out he had spoken to your brother about it ,and he had informed Bard that you were saving to get out of the house. In which you would be happy with just a room,and this caused Bard to offer you a job as his childrens babysitter,and get payed and live with him for free.

You still on weekends worked at the pub,as those were Bards'  two days off in the week. This babysitting gig meant free home away from your parents, free food ,money ,only disadvantage was being so close to the man that didnt love you back.This carried on for a couple of years,in which you might aswell be their mother ,being the only motherly figure Tilda had ever known,the other too seem to like you but didnt warm up to you as quickly. Unknowingly to you Bard grew deep feelings for you too,but thought you would never return them as he was father to three children,what could he offer you but barrels from the elven king,Thranduil.

Your parents nagged you everytime they saw you ,asking when you would court someone,as they were scared not ever seeing you in a proper relationship. Your mother would ask if you liked Bard or how was bard oh how are your legs,can you still walk.It was horrific;in honesty.

However on this particular day you had cooked dinner when you had realised there was no more bread, so you would have to run out,telling the children not answer the door to anyone but you and Bard,as he was due back any minute. Only to your luck you had brought the bread ,heading back onlyto run into Alfrid who shamelessly tried flirting with you ,in which you told him "go brush your bloody teeth maggot" in which he did not like that ,and it ended up with you being pushed in the lake ,dropping the bread on the wood before hand.

Your outer dresses and corset pulling you done, making it hard for you swim up. The cold water over taking you ,only choice you had was to cut off the corset and outer dress with the knife located in your sock.

Alfrid laughing at you from the decking ,only to gasp when you come rushing up in just your now very see through dress thing,with shorts on underneath of course. Alfrid had began to walk away when you had pulled yourself up onto the decking grabbing a hold of him ,throwing his bloody hat in the water before punching him square in the nose. Him being a coward had almost fell over ,gasping ,kinda of crying before sprinting off like sonic in embarrassment. YOu had frowned in annoyance about your now ruined new dresses,before picking up the loaf of bread ,heading home.

You had tried to rush back without drawing to much attention the the dress ,and how awful you must look right now,you didnt want these people seeing your breasts.You had swung the door open ,loaf in one arm ,you sorta looked like the terminator,when he holds the present.

This caused a whole bunch of dwarves ,Bard and the childrens eyes to be covered to look at you wide eyed-wait why were there dwarves here. Bard had looked you up and down in shock before taking a blanket from sigrid's arms ,walking to you fast paced wrapping it around you covering you up.

"what in bloody middle earth ,caused you to run around naked?" Bard had whisper shouted at you making you flinch ever so slightly. " I went to go get bread for dinner then after Alfrid." you had whispered to Bard looking down in embarrassment ,you had hoped that he wouldnt have been home and seen so much of you. It was worse that so did a bunch of dwarves that you didnt know did too. "what did he do?OH MY-I'll kill him" he had turned literal red in anger,you had gripped his arm stopping him going past the door. "he only pushed me in the water , the dresses were pulling  me down, I had to cut them off. If anything he will leave me alone." you had smirked up proudly at Bard ,who looked at you confused.

"what did you do hm,y/n?" at this point he had pulled you into your room away from the eyes of the dwarves,some more pervy than others. "well first off so you aren't angry with me he was making a move on me again.  So I told him to brush his teeth ,and then boom im in the water so then I had to cut my NEW dresses to avoid death,then jumped out like a bloody frog and boom punch him in the face.I swear to god he started crying and ran away." he had chuckled at your emphasising gestures at the words new ,frog and boom,well those were only hand movements but he liked your description.

"he has done this before?why have you never said,I would have sorted him for you." he spoke brushing a stray strand of wet hair from your face with his rough fingers,making you lightly redden.

"yes multiple times, i'm a waitress it happens. Plus I didn't tell you because I dont expect you to protect me,its not your problem." you spoke slightly embarrassed walking to your draws pulling out a pair of trousers and shirt out,before sitting on your bed pulling the shorts off,bard would see anything because your dress was covering,pulling the trousers on. You had shrugged the blanket off standing up,going to pull the dress off,making Bard turn away.

"Its not like you havent seen me nude before. Remember when I tripped with stew and went to change and you burst in to see if I was okay or about the time when-""yeah I get it,its just not very polite to watch a women undress and not give her privacy." he spoke quietly,still facing away as you now pulled your tunic on.  In which you had turned him around ,pressing a peck of your lips to his ,before speaking "yeah ,unfortunately for me most of lake town and  a bunch of dwarves have seen pretty much everything." you began to walk away to open the door but Bard turns you to face him like you had done to him.

"I really cant tell was that kiss signifying you like me back or?" he had questioned you with his big green eyes,searching for any emotion. You had smirked up nodding ,you dont know what had given you that push to kiss him but it happened.  He had grinned widely ,following you . And with that you had walked out your room with the loaf still with you. Only for Tilda to running and jump into your  arms once you had reached the kitchen.

"DArn the bread is really squashed now." you had thought but you were happy ,you could already hear your nosy mouth asking "do you need a wheelchair,what kind of sausage is it german or- yeah lets not continue thinking about that. Anyways you end up travelling just not how you expecting ,uhh smuag the terrible. But after that you did go travelling to different kingdoms ,well you had to due to Bard being king of dale,but never less you got to see everything you wanted and you got a family with it.

[stillebesat]

Chimney Sweep

Sanders Sides: Deceit (Devlyn) Cartoon Therapy: Emile Picani Blurb: Sure. It’s great to be able to see visions of missing children...but being able to find them still alive is another thing entirely.  Fic Type: Hurt Comfort, Human AU, Kid!Emile Overall Fic Warnings: Negative Self Talk, Death Talk, Near Death Experience, Claustrophobia/Trapped

It was stupid.

So completely stupid. 

Hadn’t he learned time and time again in this city that trying to help others only meant finding a body? Only meant that he’d be trying to speak comfortingly -which wasn’t his forte at all, mind you- over the ugly sobbing of the hysterically crying parents who had to confront the cold hard truth that he’d been too late to help and that their precious angel was now literally an angel because no matter what he did or how hard he ran or how long he stayed up, Devlyn could never find the child the visions in his messed up eye showed him until after they’d long gone still, cold, and...vacant. 

It freaking sucked. 

But it wasn’t like he could just ignore the visions of the missing children he saw. 

Missing children like one Emile Picani who vanished on his way to school five days ago. 

Sure. Devlyn did his best to avoid reading, hearing, or seeing any news in relation to this sort of situation. The cases were the children just...vanished. 

But if the visions struck, and they often did with a vengeance despite his due diligence in avoiding anything like the hard to miss Missing Child poster on the freaking Grocery Store doors….it wasn’t like he could just say ‘too bad so sad good luck with your next kid’ and move on with his life. 

Perhaps someone with a harder heart could have done it.

But not him. 

           “Someone.”

                     It was dark. Cramped. Like being shoved in a box. A long hard box.

            “Help.”

                    A pair of bright blue eyes.

           “P-please.”

                   His feet dangled, kicking freely. His shoulders were caught fast, the shirt pulled up to expose his stomach as he struggled. 

           “HE-HELP ME!”

                   Snow fell on his head, piling up despite his attempts to shake it free. 

           “Help me.” 

               Bright blue eyes flared, looking directly at him, searing him to Devlyn’s shredded soul, purpling lips quivering as Emile’s already faint voice whispered,

              “Dee Dee.”

                                 “S-sa-sa-save me.”

            “Save…..me…...” 

                                  “..........save. Me…….” 

Devlyn grimaced, blinking the memory of the vision from last night out of sight, pausing in his precarious climb up a rickety lattice to rub his gloved hand over his aching heart.  

Not him.

As much as he wanted to pretend to not care like any other troubled seventeen year old teenager struggling with the weight of the world on their shoulders--Devlyn couldn’t just do nothing and let the kids he saw just...die. He couldn’t ignore the giant WHAT IF that seemed to hang over his head like an itch that needed to be scratched that he could never quite reach. 

WHAT IF this time he found the child before they perished?

WHAT IF he actually reunited a family and they had this so called happily ever after everyone seemed to be looking for?

It haunted him. Those WHAT IF’s. 

Sure the last three hundred times had ended in failure. But maybe...just maybe...this time would be different.

It had to be different this time.

Of course, Devlyn had told himself that like a hundred times already, but hey, if the lie was good enough to hold up over time, he might as well keep telling himself it. 

But this time. This time the child had called out to him. Emile had called him Dee Dee. No other child had ever done that before in these cursed visions. It had to mean something this time. IT HAD TO.

He grunted, pulling himself onto the snow covered roof of an old abandoned house following the faint glowing imprint of a child’s figure that flitted across his bad eye like the shadows left after staring into a blinding light bulb.  

What he wouldn’t give to be wrapped up in a blanket in front of a space heater right now instead of following things other people couldn’t see. 

Gritting his teeth, shivering as the purely evil white bits of snow somehow made it through six layers of warm wool to melt against his skin, Devlyn pushed onto his hands and knees. “Okay kid.” He muttered, eyes darting around the silent, snow covered roof and then to the neighborhood beyond where he could barely, if he concentrated, hear people calling out Emile’s name two streets over. “Where did you go?” 

If the vision held any useful clues it had to be somewhere tight.

Somewhere where the legs dangled.

Somewhere where the snow could fa--His eyes fell on the crumbling chimney. A narrow space barely two feet across if that...and the faintly glowing footprints on undisturbed snow leading straight to it. 

Okay, Devlyn knew a thing or two about picking small tiny spaces to hide away from the world in...but this seemed a bit extreme. 

            Cold.

            Still.

           Silent.

          Vacant.

“Please.” The word left his lips like a prayer as he inched forward on his knees across the roof, his heart climbing into his throat with each precarious movement that threatened to send him sliding down the slope and to the ground three stories below. 

Please. Let Emile be alive.

Just once.

Let him succeed. 

That still didn’t stop Devlyn from hesitating as his fingers closed on the edge of the chimney. 

So many had been dead.

With the heavy snow storm of the past day and a half only now fading away--

What would make the outcome of looking for this child any different than the others? 

            “Dee Dee…….save…..me.” 

How could he save him when the temperatures had been so cold for so long? When he’d only had the vision last night? 

Devlyn gritted his teeth, shivering as he moved to his feet, carefully balancing on the sloped roof. 

Come on coward. Look and face your failure.

But it had to be different this time. This kid called to him. This kid would LIVE!

He pulled a small flashlight from his pocket and with a quick icy inhale of the winter air, shined it down into the dark empty void within. 

Or…

Not so empty.

         Bright blue eyes. 

With the chimney uncovered like this, any snow would have to be at the very bottom. Yet there, only three feet down, where the chimney merged into the roof, the snow rested in a cone shaped pile.

A pile marred with thin dark lines sticking through it. 

Hair.

A body.

Emile.

“KID!” Devlyn yelled, surging into the chimney, hissing as his shoulders caught on the edges. 

Please. 

Dontbedeaddontbedeaddontbedead. 

His fingers brushed the very tip of the snow. “Come on! KID. Emile. EMILE! Wake up. WAKE UP! KID. ANSWER ME!” 

Nothing.

No movement.

No signs of life.

Devlyn pushed himself out of the chimney, heart feeling like it would burst from his chest at any moment. 

He had to get closer.

Come on come on. He had to---Devlyn threw himself against the crumbling brick, heedless of how his feet slipped on the snow covered roof. He had to break it. Had to get closer! 

Again and again he hit the side of the chimney, using all the strength in his thin frame that he could to get the top half to shift. To deteriorate further. To--

He nearly fell off the roof as the chimney suddenly gave way sending him sprawling over the remaining portion. 

Emile.

Come on come on come on! 

Heedless of his precarious position, Devlyn used both hands to reach into the shorter space, brushing the snow from the child’s head first before he grabbed the bony shoulders to yank him up into freedom.

So still.

“Come on Kid!” He begged, trying to keep his vision clear in his good eye as it fogged over.

Dontbedeaddontbedead. 

He pulled the small body from the narrow space into his lap. 

“Say something! Come on! Anything.” 

He--He was so cold. Like an icicle. Swallowing over the lump in his throat, Devlyn tore open his six layers of wool, pulling the boy in close to his chest, hugging his still form tightly. “Emile. Please.” His voice cracked as he tugged off a glove to rub the boy’s cheek. “Please. WAKE UP.” 

WakeupwakeupwakeupwakeupicantdothisagainWAKEUP!

He couldn’t do this. Devlyn closed his eyes, rocking the body, breath hitching. He couldn’t deal with another dead child. He couldn’t--

“....Dee?”

He froze as the small form shifted against him, icy fingers pressing against his chest. His eyes flashed open as Devlyn looked down to see a pair of bright blue eyes staring up at him.

ALIVE.

He swallowed, nodding uncontrollably like a stupid bobble head statue. Alive. “Yes. Yes. I got you, Em, I got you. You’re safe now.” He hoped, he didn’t know--he’d never had to deal with finding someone alive before. Did the kid need a hospital? Probably. He was cold. Frostbite. The kid probably had it--should he call out to the other searchers? To the police? To the boy’s parents? They had to be somewhere nearby right?

Emile sighed, giving him a bright smile before he ducked his head, snuggling against him and pressing his button nose into the base of Devlyn’s neck. “DeeDee.” He whispered as a tremor shook his body. “Knew….you….come.” 

“Of--” Devlyn cleared his throat, hugging the boy tight.  “Of course. I--I’m here. You’re safe, Emile.” He whispered.

Alive. 

Safe. 

For once. FOR ONCE it had worked. For once the visions were a blessing not a curse. For once---

Devlyn let out a shaky breath, resting his chin on Emile’s head. 

For once he could say, “Let’s get you home.” 

Taglist in Reblog

[earthendandinbetween]

This was literally supposed to be a quick prompt. But no. It’s so long. Why. What happened to me here.

Everything was loud, indistinct, too close, too far. Snow clumped together with blood and trampled footsteps from the battle, the only real distinction that he had infact won was the still retreating forms of the bonedeths in the distance.

It wasn’t really much of a true battle, more like a cowardly- stupidly pathetic infact – ambush. They had tracked the zigotons’ patrolling path and tried to pick them off like simple prey animals. ...Perhaps they would’ve, if they had accounted for his presence. He could feel enough pride that it was rather difficult for enemies to truly plan for his strength. It wasn’t like they knew how to fight against an akumapon, what with the two tribes being supposed allies and such.

Though, he had expected the commotion to have died down by now. There were still shouts, not easy to make out from his focus on his blurry vision, only really able to make out the puffs of breath that froze in the snow-field’s cold.  It wasn’t easy to get out of an ambush unscathed, he certainly expected a few hits. Some were deeper than others, but at least nothing was broken.

...He assumed such at least. The exhaustion and chill from the freezing temperatures made it difficult to tell anything anymore as he lowered down to kneel.

Just a moment. He’d be fine. He had survived much, much worse before.

A singular shout got a bit closer. His name, maybe? Probably.

He was too tired to move or acknowledge such. He didn’t usually like to acknowledge the little zigoton soldiers anyways outside of an order or two. They weren’t his troops, he held little interest towards them. Give him a minute to catch his breath, it’s fine. He’ll take them back to their general and they’ll probably plan some new stupid patrol path.

...Was it snowing again already?

Gods, he hated snow.

That was the last real conscious thought Kuwagattan had before collapsing. At least, that he could remember.

–

“He’s...Going to be alright, right?”

“Well, thanks to the others on the patrol, yes. The Snow-field can be unforgiving when one’s alone.”

“Poor dear...The zigoton scouts told me about the ambush...”

“Hm. I’ll have to plan with Gong for a new patrol route. Gathering Intel on our enemies is good and all- until things like this happen. I keep asking to send in one of the machines I’ve been working on, it could make the process so much safer.”

“It’s only a prototype, dear.”

“I know I know but-”

“I know, you’re excited, but--- Let’s save that for now, please. I don’t think a patrol route is really on his mind right now...”

“...You’re right. I’m just...Worried. You know that. I ramble when I’m nervous...”

The odd warmth and idle, soft chattering had slowly sunk into his regained consciousness, bringing with it a confusion and ache that lingered in the back of his skull. Where was he? It had to be familiar. He could recognize these voices, at least a little.

It took a moment as he squinted his eye open, blurry imagery of bricks, a desk, flames--- Ah. Part of the hideout. That seemed clearer now. One of the tents...shacks...buildings? Whatever stupid name the barracks were referred to. A mismatch of all three, really. It was dark, with only the warm glow of the small embers of the fire-pit bringing light in.

Well, at least he wasn’t freezing anymore. When had he fallen asleep? Or gotten back here for that matter? Last he remembered, the battle had just ended in the morning. This, this wasn’t morning. Dusk--- maybe. At least that guess was closer than the early morning sun. Did the scouts help bring him back? A little ridiculous, he would have been fine. He just needed a few moments and then he’d be right back on his feet again, like always.

Giving a soft groan as he moved, Kuwagattan shuffled in the thick fabric that he had been nestled in, cracking a few sore joints as he glanced about the bandages covering his form. There were an awful lot this time, almost shameful really. He was tougher than this, that was just a fact! Lousy cowards, hiding in the treelines instead of facing their own demises head-on. What good did ambushing even do for them in the end? It was the same result either way for the opposing tribe.

...The only thing the ordeal had done was plague him with an obnoxious stinging pain across his body, as well as wasting his time. If he wanted a battle, he would have gone to one. An entire day- just gone like that. The gall-

Where was his helm? Ugh, it had to have been that stupid Almighty that moved it. Anything just to be an obnoxious, soft hearted nuisance. He could mock her tone firmly in his head. ‘

He would be more comfortable without it!’ in her soft, annoying trill of a voice. Others would describe her voice as soft, kind, gentle. But to him it was all just high pitched chatter.

Great. He would have to reclaim his helm soon.

“Oh!”

Speak of the devil, and she will appear. Or whatever that saying was. He couldn’t care enough to remember. Moving his eye enough to see further into what he could only assume was a makeshift infirmary, the akumapon squinted at the two figures.

The irritant of a deity and...Of course it had to be Spiderton. Both pests he frequently had to deal with, even if the latter was only mildly less obnoxious. ...Very mildly. Maybe if he sunk further into the blanket, neither would pay him any mind. Or better yet, leave.

Calle offered a gentle wave as she spotted him, one he returned with a grunt of annoyance and roll of the eye. Not interested in the formalities. The two’s chatter resumed, quieter this time. His brow quirked slightly as the deity quickly shoo’d the spider-helmed zigoton out of the area, watching as he disappeared behind the cloth that closed off the outside world from view. Great. What ridiculous thing had she sent him off to do that he apparently wasn’t allowed to know?

“Stop starin’ at me,” Kuwagattan growled softly, not exactly up for his usual bite, “What do you want?”

“I was just worried,” Came the trill of a response, “I’m not staying for long.”

“Ugh. Good, get lost already” he hissed, “I can barely tolerate you when I’m not injured.”

Instead of the typical argument that would ensue between the two, typically resulting in the deity becoming annoyed and referring to him as ‘childish’ or ‘cruel’ before stomping off angrily, Calle simply creased her eye in worry as she dipped her head in silence. An abnormal response, not something he was used to at all from anyone. He knew the Almighty was soft hearted, willing to spare anyone and anything. He knew she did hold concern for him but--- without an argument or attempt to reach a mutual understanding first was not usual.

Had things really been that bad while he was out of it?

Couldn’t be. It was just a ridiculous display of patheticness. It didn’t matter, it kept her from speaking for now. That was fine by him.

...He wasn’t used to being cared for anyways. It didn’t matter.

Wordlessly, Calle stepped towards the cloth entrance, pulling it open without so much as a hum or chirp of wishing his swift recovery like she usually did when she found even a simple injury on him or others. A silent respect of his wishes to leave. He got a glance at the sky as she left, it was much darker than he had first thought. Truly, an entire day left wasted. Of course, just his luck.

Silence reigned, with only the crackling of the fire present as his gaze wandered about the unusually roomy area. Where even was this located in the hideout? He surely hadn’t seen it before. A vague recollection of a project the others were working on floated by his memory. ...Maybe this was that project. It would make sense, to build an infirmary of sorts. That, however, wasn’t what the akumapon was looking for right now. As he reached a hand idly to the soft tangle of fur on his head, he grumbled in annoyance, right now he was looking for a particular accessory of his that was unceremoniously stolen.

Laying on the slightly crowded table was the object in-question. Perfectly intact and completely unnecessary to remove. It didn’t exactly matter now, as he slowly stood with a grimace, popping his knees softly to try and shake the pain out of them. ...Might as well just drag the blanket with him and settle over there. He truly did not feel like playing a game of back and forth right now. He was not in the state to do such, slowly dragging his body across the room, flinching at every jostle of one of the wounds. ...They were much deeper than he had first assessed. What a shameful thing, to let himself show such weakness in battle. He would need to do better in the future.

It hadn’t taken long to retrieve his helm back to its rightful spot, tucking away a few loose strands of troublesome fur back under the accessory as he adjusted it, but the action certainly had felt longer than needed. The silence was welcome at first, slowly ebbing away into boredom and the urge to fidget about once more. This was why he hated vigils, typically. Standing around and accomplishing nothing, not even the tiniest bit of entertainment.

Kuwagattan was aware he was always seen as brash and stubborn, but he knew better than to strain himself currently. He’d come to regret it later if he did. He had done such in the past, albeit in a much weaker form, and it only resulted in a much longer rest time in the end. He could handle the boredom.

Instead, he put more of a focus on the surroundings, adjusting the thick blanket back over his own shoulders with a contented hum. The area was cluttered, clearly not entirely finished on its interior. A few bricks lay loose on the floor by the fire-pit, with tools and various maps laid about on the table. It was probably a hasty move to bring him here was the assumption. Warmer, most likely as the snow-fields could be intense. Ugh. Snow. He remembered being dragged through the Bryun snowfields and ice forest back over the bridge. He hated it then, but not nearly as much as the Sullied Tears. The storms were much more intense here, casting even part of the Field of Angry Giants in a thick ice at least once every other week.

This whole place was insane, now that he thought of it. Things were much more simple back home.

...Partially because he wasn’t expected to do much else than fight and die. That, that was most likely the major factor of not noticing how dangerous things had gotten in the world.

In the end, the general wasn’t given much time to dwell on that subject. Maybe a sign to keep the past in the past or---some weird thing he was often told or thought about on his own.

The cloth marking the entrance had moved slightly, causing him to squint in predetermined annoyance. His pupil formed a thin slit to show that whoever was here to bother him, that it was not welcome, and that it would be best to leave.

“Evening,” The voice was low, and yet even with a singular word the tone still was laced with a clear concern.

Almost immediately, the akumapon let his shoulders drop as the now identified stranger entered, allowing the curtain-like fabric to fall back into place. Soft footsteps followed, approaching him with an air of caution. Something he knew was not directed at him, just more of a mannerism picked up over years of battle.

Ah. Someone he could tolerate.

“Hey,” Kuwagattan offered a ‘grin’ as he adjusted the hold on the blanket, “I’m surprised you’re not..uh...Keeping watch or something. Isn’t it late?”

Gong stayed silent for a moment in response, taking a slow seat directly infront of the other, pupil turned away to avoid his gaze and brow furrowed. His eye was glossy, swimming with multiple thoughts he most likely wouldn’t say out loud, but were still clear. He hated these moments. Hated the soft looks and attempt at good advice to keep himself safer next time. He didn’t need to be babied, be patronized---

He didn’t need to know he made someone worry so stupidly over himself. And deep down, he didn’t want to acknowledge that he felt guilty over never listening to the others. He hadn’t made a mistake this time, it was a true ambush where quick thinking was needed. What could he possibly be chastised on this time?

“Don’t look at me like that,” He grumbled, “I’m not in the mood for another conversation about my battle plans.”

“No, I’m not here for that,” the zigoton half whispered, “My scouts told me how well you had protected them. Not a scratch on a single one of them.”

Kuwagattan huffed proudly, giving a more smug, prideful look as he responded, “Well yeah. I said I would look after your troops when I left, didn’t I?”

“Hm,” Gong dipped his head slightly in a nod, “Of course, I had no doubts of such to begin with. I just--- I had not expected an ambush, especially of that size for such a small patrol group. I suppose this entire time I’ve...let my worries wander. About you.”

The akumapon paused his quip he was about to speak. Typically this would be where the two would prod fun at each other and laugh off the danger, like any other time the other was harmed in a fight. They had both faced death and returned stronger from it, they could handle just about anything. This really wasn’t much different from a typical battle, so why the dire atmosphere?

The tone was all wrong. This was too serious for his liking, not a conversation he wanted to be apart of.   He allowed himself to shrink further into the fabric draped around himself, gaze darting away from the tateton as he heard him clear his throat to continue.

“I know that you are--- Not used to being shown concern for your well being. Kharma did not treat you with much respect as a general and--- gods know how that star treated both you and Makoton as disposable pets. I just wish that you would not push yourself like you still need to prove you are worth belonging.”

“I thought you weren’t here to chastise me,” Kuwagattan muttered, trying desperately to chase away the pushing guilt and just get away from the subject, “I can handle myself.”

“I know you can,” Their eyes met for just a moment, “You know yourself best, after all, and you will follow any path you see fit. These….these are just my own worries and thoughts, especially after today.  We all care an awful lot about you here, this isn’t like the akumapon tribe, not by a longshot. Perhaps not even like in our old territory, either.”

“They ‘care’, sure,” the beetle-helmed general huffed, sarcasm biting through that led to vague annoyance,“Whatever. You can go now.”

“I’m tired of you acting like you’re indestructable!” Came the snapping, surprisingly harsh tone thrown his way, “I did not track you down and face you alone over the bridge because I needed another soldier. I did it because you deserved to have a chance to do something other than be expected to waste your life in an unwinnable battle. You can act crude and sarcastic about the rest of them but you cannot say to my face that I don’t care or that I do not know what I am talking about.”

Kuwagattan paused before he could even will himself to utter a word. His arm twitched nervously as he  thought of any comeback or way to guide this somewhere else. Away from the concept of his ever need to prove his strength to everyone and anyone. To avoid being soft.

...He had not wanted to push the one being in this camp that he truly tolerated enough to give even a fleck of vulnerability to, and the guilt clung uncomfortably heavy to him. He hated it. If he kept quiet, maybe the other would leave and things would go back to normal by morning. It had to, right?

Hands gripped the outer section of the almost sort-of cocoon he had made of the blanket, causing the akumapon to jolt slightly, gaze finally lowering to the other general. The glossy look in his eye had only increased, leading into a stray tear or two. This...wasn’t right. This was never how their conversations had ever gone in the past. Why was it like this now?

“Why won’t you let me help you?” The burst of anger had quickly turned into a pained, hurt tone that was trying to hold back a worse choke-up, “Why won’t you let anyone help you? I don’t want to lose you, not again. There’s so much left for you here.”

Kuwagattan waited for a further word, a snap that he was being foolish, how to fix it, how to plan better. Anything that he was used to hearing, maybe an odd saying or metaphor, but he was left with the silence. Any conversation had stilled, and the only real way he could tell the other wasn’t about to up and leave was still the tight grip held onto the fabric.

He’d rather be shouted at, questioned for his mindlessness, told not to be stupid and not to ruin a plan. Anything but being left with his own thoughts right now.  The ever present worry of showing vulnerability or weakness, the fear that such would make him been seen as not as worthy as others. That if he was not always striving to crush his foes that they would up and walk over him. Or that those he was told to defend would up and leave.

The presence of what a second death might mean, and that the slightest of hesitation could bring that upon him.

It didn’t make sense. Not at all. To be encouraged to feel anything other than a dull rage, an urge to fight for a tribe that insisted it was in everyone’s best interest. He wasn’t good at having a choice, he just fell back into his old habits of defending without much thought.

Yet it had also grown so differently here. More open. Friendlier.

And he couldn’t handle such.

It felt like a ploy to get him to care, to feel like he could simply be without having to defend his worth at every angle. To be vulnerable to strike his pride down and lose everything he had begun to work for. He had been shown enough that leaders did not care for him, and that most of a tribe would not remember his name.

...He hated this. He hated it.

His body shuddered instinctively. His views had been challenged and though he had thought once or twice about it, he still had kept himself shut off. He wasn’t allowed to care so much like this. He couldn’t figure out why, in the end, that he wasn’t allowed to. It was just how it had always been before.

Kuwagattan had often thought of letting himself simply be... it just never made any sense. Clearly, if this was all he had ever known and been taught, it was all he was.

Without his gruff attitude, rage, and strength…What would be left of him then? A shell? A stranger?

...Would he like to be a stranger? Something different? Not wholly different, mind you, but with less of a bite towards those that only meant him well. What would he have to really leave behind to do such?

He wasn’t sure. He hated himself for being so unsure.

His body shuddered again, and with that his eye watered without being able to mask it, nor stop it from happening. ...He would succumb to this weakness. For now.  He was being shown vulnerability from his companion, it was possibly only fair to do the same. He...did not want to lose his second life, either. Not now that he had more of a choice, whatever it may be.

It was more of an involuntary motion, but the akumapon made no conscious effort to stop himself as he  lowered slightly, pressing his face halfway against the base of the smaller general’s helm, fur brushing across his face softly. Familiar, comforting almost.

“...I’m sorry,” His speech was so much softer than he anticipated, almost foreign to himself despite it being clearly his own voice, “I’m...I’m no good at all of this...Changing, I mean.”

“...You’ve certainly come further than I’m sure you thought you would,” Gong’s response was barely audible, muffled as he adjusted himself a bit more comfortably, “You would not have admitted to this in the past.”

He wouldn’t have. He was sure of that. The general wouldn’t have even questioned for a second that he had done anything wrong, that what he was doing was anything but correct. Yet, here he was. Feeling guilt for causing worry. Something he once never even gave a second thought to, since worry thrown his way was so rarely shown. And even then, it was less personal and more of a worry of losing numbers and strength.

This. This was much different. More personal.

Kuwagattan should’ve expected as much, he had heard the term friend spoken to him a few times here and there, but the concept never really stuck. That someone would really want him around.

He wasn’t sure if he would often set aside his pride and facade like this. But, he wanted it to stick this time around. That he also cared, that he understood the risk and the worry. That the effort spent on him wasn’t in vain.

It was just showing it that made it so difficult.

“Yeah I guess so,” The pause he took in the middle of his sentence was unusual. He typically thought of his responses quickly, this was so much slower, “I-- I do appreciate what you say to me. It’s just hard to….accept it...I guess. I don’t know.”

“I understand, of course I do...You were not taught well. I should have been there more to help before.”

There was a twinge of anger. Not at Gong, not in the slightest, just the wording, the self put blame. The other general did this far too often with others. A blame that he is always the last line to catch a disaster before it happens.

...Both of them were pushed to be something more than just a general. He vaguely understood the worry with the zigoton tribe. They needed a strong leader when their queen was not enough, and she sought after strength as well to keep enemies at bay. They hadn’t seen something quite as dangerous before. Thus, the two were set up from the beginning for such.

After that...that was when he felt any comprehension ended.

With a sigh, he moved one arm from his cocoon of blanket, using it to pull Gong in closer to himself. It was the only real comforting thing he could think of other than words.

He wasn’t sure how this was supposed to work. He was never one for comforting or to be comforted.

“...Not everything is your problem, you know,” Kuwagattan muttered softly, “Nor should you make it your issue. Things can just be.”

“Hm, and yet I still feel as though, if I had done better-”

“...What difference would it have made anyways? It would’ve played out nearly the same.”

“I suppose you’re right. At least here, there was a chance to set things right.”

A chance to set things right. He understood that, at least, when he was first asked what he truly believed in. He wasn’t ever really able to answer that question before. Maybe he believed in this world being saved to use that second chance better than he had so far.

It wouldn’t make sense to leave it behind in ruins. Not really.

“Yeah. I guess,” the akumapon flinched slightly when a hand came up to flatten a bandage that had become bunched up on his side, “I think--- I think once things are back to normal I can focus on--- I don’t know. Figuring things out.”

“Of course. I can’t imagine the stress has been good for anyone’s thoughts.”

“...But if I let myself go –ugh--- soft….What would be left of me then? This is all I have.”

There was a slight shift in movement, followed by a much calmer laugh and a soft pat to his forehead.

“Changing does not mean you’ll lose all parts of yourself,” Gong responded, tone having changed from the hurt he had heard before, “Besides. Whatever you become, I’m sure you’ll be alright in the end. Give yourself some credit, my friend.”

“Hm. You think so?” The idea of still being himself was a comforting thought, being a complete stranger to himself was….Too much, “Think we’ll still be friends by then?”

“I’m very certain of such. I’ll be with you every step of the way.”

The akumapon gave an amused snort, quirking his brow in question with a ‘grin’, “All of them? You sure?”

“If you want me to be there, then yes.”

“Well, remember that when you get sick of me then! You’re stuck with me now,” It was odd to feel more at ease as he tightened his arm around the other just slightly.

“And you, General Kuwagattan, are stuck with me. We are both equally stubborn, you know.”

Oh yes, the akumapon was very very aware of such, if previous conversations and sharing of views was anything to go by. Admirable at times, for the both of them he presumed. To be passionate for something, even if he wasn’t entirely sure what he was so passionate about.

...

“Y’know, Gong…I’m really glad you’re here.”

[hashtagartistlife]

Maybe fate was called fate because some things weren’t choices; some things were simply written into his DNA, woven into the very fabric of the universe. World orders. The sky is blue. The sun is hot. He is in love with Kuchiki Rukia.

Kuchiki Rukia is dying.  

Ten years after the defeat of Yhwach, it’s time Ichigo and Rukia started facing some truths— about the world, about themselves, and about each other. 

this is all i have of this fic for now (this and a tiny little bit of chapter 3), i guess it’ll be updated when i woman the fuck up and wrack up enough nerves to keep writing which im hoping will be sometime this decade :’/ but i might post chapters i have for other unfinished fics i have over the next few days so if you’re into unfinished fics (read: literally nobody) then stick around!!! 

premise for this fic | chapter 1 here | this is chapter 2

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f r a y

by hashtagartistlife

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Two 

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9:12 am 

Kurosaki Clinic

When Renji wakes up the next morning to find Rukia safely asleep beside him, he feels the tension across his shoulders ease somewhat. They’d both been a little worried about how her sleepwalking habit might fit into this visit (even though neither of them had voiced their concerns out loud), he more so than she for reasons he had yet to disclose to her. Her breathy sigh of ‘Ichigo?’ rings in his ears. He hadn’t seen a point in telling Rukia about that, not when she was still refusing to admit she had a problem in the first place. She’d just feel needlessly guilty and isolate herself even more. Renji knows how Rukia works. What he doesn’t know is how to break through that shell she builds around herself, how to draw her out of it and get her to face her problems head-on. 

No, he admits (and he’d be lying if he said there wasn’t a trace of bitterness in the way he thought it), that’s always been Ichigo’s specialty. He looks across the rowdy breakfast table to his friend, who is sitting uncharacteristically silent with a mug of something dark and unappetising in his hands. His eyes are shadowed, tired, and when he meets Renji’s gaze he starts almost guiltily before curving his lips into an uneasy smile. 

The hell’s all that about? Renji thinks, but then Ichika slams into his knee, shoving a glass of orange juice into his face, and he puts the moment out of his mind. The rest of the morning is filled with trying out some godawful beverage called ‘coffee’ at Orihime’s behest, wrangling Ichika into human world clothes, and sending the children off, along with their mothers, to go meet Sado. He and Ichigo stay back, Ichigo to tend to his clinic and he to go see Urahara. Since gensei visits were so few and far between, even on what was ostensibly a holiday they had been saddled with checking in on the shopkeeper to exchange news and technology. Renji figures he might as well get that out of the way first, and catch up with Sado later. 

At least, he figures that until Ichigo corners him just before he walks out the door, a dark expression on his face. He looks uncomfortable, standing in the doorway of his own house, a hand on the back of his neck, and Renji notes with a kind of detached surprise that if Ichigo hadn’t been slumping, they’d be more or less at a height now. He raises an eyebrow at him in a silent question. 

“A— about Rukia—” Ichigo stumbles over the syllables in her name, and stops, wetting his lips, looking nervous. A sense of foreboding settles into Renji’s gut; Ichigo hasn’t looked this worried in— well, a decade. He stays quiet, letting Ichigo finish his question. “Has she ever— has she ever sleepwalked before?”

He freezes in his tracks; frantically, Renji rewinds last night in his mind. It’s no use; he’d been out for the count for a solid eight hours. If he hadn’t been so tired lately, he’d have thought someone had spiked his drink. Try as he might, he can’t remember Rukia slipping out of bed at all. But she’d been back in bed by the morning, so someone must have intercepted her—

Ichigo. Rukia’s voice, ghostly in his mind, calling his name. Ichigo. Ichigo. Ichigo—

His breath leaves him in a long, long sigh, and Renji closes his eyes before gesturing for Ichigo to sit. 

. 

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6:53 am

Ichigo doesn’t go back to his bed after the kiss. Instead he sits outside the clinic, on the cold hard asphalt, for one eternity— two— til the sun starts lightening the end of the street and the moon grows paler in the sky. He can still feel Rukia on his skin, in his veins, lingering like a drug that refuses to clear. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever be empty of her touch now that he’s known it. 

When the moon finally disappears and the sun well and truly risen, he picks himself up from the ground and stumbles back into the house, feeling like he was the sleepwalker now. The sight of their children sprawled out together in their blanket fort brings the reality of what he’s done rushing back to him. He can’t help the reflex that brings his fingers up to ghost over his lips, like a lovesick teenager. The breath leaves his lungs like he’s been punched, and he turns away from the kids, sleeping angelically side-by-side. He can’t bear the thought of facing either of them, of facing anyone in this household any more. 

What does he do now? Does he go back to bed, pretend nothing ever happened— slip into his place beside Orihime and forget the fact that his heart is beating again for the first time in ten years? Does he come clean to her and beg forgiveness, tell her he loves her and it won’t ever happen again, or does he lock this away in a dark recess of his mind, just like he’s done with his shinigami powers and everything related to her for the last decade? His mind casts around frantically for excuses — he was tired. It was the middle of the night. Hell, he doesn’t even know if it really happened anymore — was everything a fever dream, triggered by the immense relief of seeing Rukia again? But his blood is thrumming in his veins, and the power he’d spent his entire adult life crushing down is once again swirling and eddying just under his skin, exactly like it had when he was seventeen. His hands are shaking, and his skin feels hot. He can’t lie to himself. Rukia was here. Rukia’d kissed him. He’d kissed her back. 

He drags his trembling hands over his eyes, down his face; slumps into a chair in the kitchen and attempts to evade the question that becomes more pressing with every second. What now? It was clear that Rukia had no idea what had happened. The weight of this transgression was his alone to carry. Even if she had remembered, the fault lay with him— she’d been asleep, but he’d been wide awake and had pulled her towards him. 

A part of him— the good part, the noble part, the part that had once forced its way through layers of hollow to tell his zanpakutou to fuck off out of his fight with Byakuya— is yelling at him to confess, to lay himself at Orihime’s mercy and take whatever comes from it. But a larger, more insistent part of him is asking, for what? What does telling Orihime accomplish, but the breaking of four hearts? He has never deserved Orihime, with her soft smiles and kind words to his rough edges; the fact that he is, once again, an awful person to her— for her— is not news. What is the point of ruining her spun-sugar smile with something that will never happen again—

liar

—especially when it doesn’t just involve him? If he confesses, it’s not just his head on the line; it’s Rukia’s, too, no matter the fact that she was asleep at the time. And he might be willing to risk everything he ever is or was for far less than this, but there is no way in hell he will do that to Rukia. Not for some one-off sleepwalking incident that she had no control over, and if it happens again he’ll just push her away—

liar

— and oh, god, was this a thing that happened often? Rukia’d always been a deep sleeper; she was, despite everything she insisted to the contrary, very clearly not okay if she was sleepwalking like this. 

As his thoughts spiral back to the cause of his turmoil, Ichigo becomes acutely aware of her reiatsu upstairs, thrumming rapidly like a hummingbird’s wings. It seems lighter and more unsettled than he remembers it being, and the tinge of instability to it as it flares and retreats irregularly unnerves him. Rukia’s reiatsu control has always been top-class, so this distinct lack of it triggers alarm bells in his mind. He swallows, and attempts to smooth down the ragged edges of her power with his; but wherever his reiatsu brushes against hers, it just flares brighter and more powerful and he has to give up, lest it disturb Renji or the kids.

It's been a while since he's felt someone else’s reiatsu like this, but he knows this isn't normal; concern eats at him even as it wars with an urge to ignore it and bury everything about this incident as deep as possible. Rukia isn’t an idiot, she would have gotten help if it was something serious—but would she, really? He knows better than anyone how stubborn she can be when she thinks she’s being a burden. She’d die before she let someone else take the fall for her. 

He closes his eyes. 

He scowls; ten years it’s been, and she’s still so— so— so her. Longer hair, a husband and child, a Captain’s haori, and nothing matters; she’s still stubborn, still a bitch who lives to help everyone else but won’t let anyone help her. It's evident in the way she refuses to say she’s tired, the way that Renji’s eyes follow her around everywhere, worried. She’s still the self-sacrificing idiot she’d been from day one, and he—

He is still the coward he’d been twelve years ago, when he’d watched her bleed out on the concrete before him and only then been spurred into action. 

This isn’t about him. If Rukia is ill, then he has to let someone know— someone who can actually do something about it. His feelings — whatever they are— does not factor into the equation. This is about Rukia—

— so, he needs to talk to Renji. 

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10:18 am

“Has Rukia ever sleepwalked before?”

A moment of tension across Renji’s features, and then a long, long sigh; he gestures for Ichigo to sit, and the two of them shuffle over to the recently vacated kitchen table. Renji rubs his face tiredly, and Ichigo’s sense of foreboding grows. 

“... Last night, huh?” Renji says, and Ichigo almost jumps out of his skin; did he know? Could he see— was the mark of Rukia's lips on his visible, indelible, the way it felt like to him? Could everyone read it on his face, that he and Rukia—

Renji’s voice is weary as he continues. “Yeah. Yeah, she's sleepwalked before. The past few years, actually. What did she do last night? How did you find her?”

— kissed—  “She— she walked out of the clinic and I heard the door open. Renji, is she— is she okay—”

Renji leans his elbows on the table and buries his face in his hands. “I don't know,” he breathes, frustration dripping from every syllable. “I don't know, she won't tell me, you know how she is—”

Did he ever. Ichigo remembers with vivid clarity the time she'd sustained a stomach wound, back in the days before Soul Society; she hadn’t told him for three days, and had only agreed to go see Urahara when she'd finally collapsed in his arms. 

“ — don't think I've tried—? God, doctors, healers, we've tried everything, Kuchiki-Taichou’s worried out of his mind. But she won't have any of it, says she won't let us waste time fussing over her when there are better things to worry about—”

“That fucking idiot,” Ichigo mutters, and Renji barks out what is almost a laugh. 

“Right? Drives me up the fucking wall. Wouldn't be Rukia if she didn't.”

“Guess not.”

Renji cracks a strained smile before it fades away into seriousness again. “It wasn't this bad before,” he says, and Ichigo sits up straight. 

“Recent thing, then?”

“Depends what you'd classify as recent. I mean, she's never been a heavy sleeper—”

At this, Ichigo interrupts. “Wait, really? She's always slept like the dead—” 

Renji gives him a look, and Ichigo remembers who it is that is sharing her bed now. He shuts up. 

“ — as I said, she's never slept too well, even during our Rukon days, and it got pretty bad after the war, but it wasn't— wasn’t to this extent, you know? At least, not till she had Ichika. And then— it was like a switch flipped. She couldn't get to sleep at night, and she could barely keep her eyes open during the day. It started interfering with her work, and you know how that would have killed her; we started to go see a bunch of people for it but nothing seemed to help. And then she started sleepwalking—”

Something cold crawls up Ichigo’s spine.

“She— at first, we didn't know where it was that she was going in her sleep. she wandered the Kuchiki Manor gardens a lot, sometimes she just paced around inside the house. Sometimes she got out of the Kuchiki property and was well into the streets before we found her and brought her back. I didn't know where she was trying to go—” 

Renji breaks off, and looks Ichigo dead in the eye. 

“— till one morning I woke up, and found her at Sokyouku Hill.” 

Ichigo’s blood turns to ice. 

“It was bloody Sokyoku Hill, Ichigo. Every single time— inside the Manor, in the gardens, on the streets. She was always trying to get to Sokyouku Hill. North-north west from the Kuchiki Manor. I—”

Renji’s expression turns supplicating, as if asking him for an answer, but Ichigo has none to give; he’s rooted to the spot by the sheer horror he’s feeling, Rukia strung up against the Sokyouku vivid in his mind. That collar around her neck, a red slash splitting her throat open; her eyes, glazed over with tears. Her skin dyed orange and yellow from the heat of it all. 

“I don’t know what’s wrong with her, Ichigo, for fuck’s sake I can’t even get her to admit that there’s something wrong. I just—” 

Renji drops his head into his hands. Very softly — so soft that Ichigo is sure he isn’t meant to hear these next words— he says to himself: 

“Ten years. Ten years, and I’m still not enough.” 

Ten years. Enough to fell mountains; enough to dry rivers and move oceans. 

Not enough to change a heart. 

When Renji looks up at Ichigo again, his gaze is edged with steel. 

“She says your name.” 

“I— what?” 

“She says your name, when she walks out to Sokyouku Hill. She says your name.” 

A memory, in his mind: Rukia, ethereal in the moonlight. Ichigo? 

Yeah. Yeah, it’s me. I’m here. 

Ichigo doesn’t know what to say. 

Eventually, Renji breaks their impasse; he sighs and raps the table before getting up. “I’m not such a small man as to beat you to a pulp over that, Ichigo, stop looking like you think I’m going to bite your head off.” 

“I’m not—” he protests automatically, but Renji shushes him with a wave of his hand. 

“You are, but that’s not the point.” He ambles over to the door and looks over his shoulder at him, one hand poised on the handle. “If— if there’s anything you might be able to do for her—” 

“Renji—”

“Please,” Renji says, and even though this time, he isn’t on his knees half-dead before him, Ichigo knows what it’s costing him to make this request. “Please… help her.” 

Of course, Ichigo wants to reply, She’ll be fine, I’ll save her. Rukia’ll be safe—

But he isn’t fifteen anymore. 

“I’ll— try,” he says, lamely, and that is the best they can do. Renji nods. 

“Gonna go see Urahara. He might have some tricks up his sleeve,” he says, but he doesn’t look like he believes what he’s saying. Ichigo waves him off, and Renji slips away.

The sound of the clinic door swinging shut echoes in his wake. 

.

.

.

3:02 pm

Rrrrrrrrrrrrrr.

Click.

“...Hello?”

“Kurosaki-san?”

“...... Urahara-san?”

“Ah, Kurosaki-san, thank goodness you picked up. If you aren’t busy, I’d appreciate your presence at the Shoten as soon as possible.” 

“What? Me? Why?”

A pause; Ichigo finds, for no good reason whatsoever, that he is holding his breath.

“Ah, well. You see, that is—”

Between one accelerating heartbeat and the next—

“Kuchiki-san has collapsed.” 

[sissytobitch10seconds]

Harry is in a very toxic relationship with Malfoy. They are hiding their relationship because Malfoy is afraid to come out about their relationship to everyone and his parents because they are death eaters and dating the boy who lived will be a disgrace to them and they will disown him. Malfoy is also very jealous of him spending time with Ron and Hermione, they are getting fed up with it but try to be supportive. Harry can only see them in the common room. (part 1 of 6)

REST OF PROMPT: One day, Harry gets very sick and despite Malfoy trying to control him and getting him not to go to the hospital wing, Ron and Hermione walks in, sees the state Harry is in and heard Malfoy calling him all kinds of names. They escort him to the hospital wing, telling Harry enough is enough it's either he chooses Malfoy or their friendship. Harry mumbles he knows but just wants to go to the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey checks him over and to his horror, he finds out he is pregnant. Harry panics as Madam Pomfrey gives him options but he decides to keep the baby. He immediately tries to tell Malfoy but his boyfriend ignores him as he's furious he left their date to go to the hospital wing. Finally, after dinner, as Harry is walking back to the common room, Malfoy pulls him into an empty room and starts to be sweet/kisses him Harry pulls away and tells him off for being an arse and that he's pregnant. Malfoy starts to get toxic, tells Harry that his parents can't find out Harry's pregnant with his child and forces Harry to choose him or the baby. Harry coldly chooses the baby and ends his relationship with Malfoy. For the next few days, Ron gets very protective of Harry and he soons become his rock. Soon word gets out Harry is pregnant and Malfoy tortures him, the Slytherins taunt him continuously and three months later Ron asks Harry why he won't say who the father is. Harry admits he's afraid of Malfoy and he doesn't need stress Ron comforts him saying he should tell everyone who the father is and what a coward he is for leaving Harry. Harry whispers he can't and Ron tells him he doesn't have to afraid, Ron will protect him which makes Harry melt. That was when he realized he was starting to develop feelings for his best friend. Harry and Ron start to fall for one another and date around the time Harry is 5 months pregnant. Could you add some sweet moments like when Harry asks Ron if he's sure he wants to date someone who's who's pregnant with another bloke's child and Ron replies it doesn't matter if he's pregnant as long as he lets Ron love him and his baby? Their first date and kiss, kissing Harry's stomach, telling Harry he's beautiful when Harry is self conscious, telling him Ron will love the baby as if he's his own and kissing him after he has the baby? Harry thanking him for being there when Malfoy left him?

NOTES: You can also read this on Archive! WARNINGS: Abusive relationships, rumor spreading, pregnancy, pregnancy symptoms, controlling relationships, emotional abuse, and mpreg

“Draco, please,” Harry whispered. His stomach rolled again and he swallowed harshly to try and keep the bile down. He had been feeling ill all day. His skin was hot and tacky to the touch, as well as being overly sensitive like he was a livewire. His stomach had been upset all day as well, despite him being hungry enough to eat a table when he went down to breakfast that morning. His sinuses felt swollen to the point of bursting and his throat was sore from swallowing.

“Wha- oh you’re not still on that, are you?” the blond asked with a roll of his eyes. He snorted. “You’d think that the chosen one would be a bit more resilient. You probably just caught the cold that’s going around. Now if I may continue my story,” he huffed.

“Draco,” Harry complained. He brought his leg up close to him and turned so that he was facing his boyfriend. The two of them were on their weekly date in one of the abandoned classrooms that the trio had found out about in their fifth year when they were avoiding Umbridge. There was a blanket and some food spread out on top of it, though the food smelled wrong to Harry. 

The blond rolled his eyes and turned to his lover with an exasperation expression. “What?” 

“I don’t feel well! I think I need to go to the hospital wing,” he whispered, brushing a hand over his forehead. He whimpered as snot ran down the back of his throat and he had to swallow it with his sore muscles.

“You don’t need to go to the hospital wing you stupid pansy,” Draco snarled. Neither of them noticed the door opening behind them and letting in the Gyffindor’s best friends. “I’m trying to talk here and you keep complaining like some kind of child.”

“I told you, I feel like I have the flu or something. I have to go to the hospital wing,” he objected.

“You don’t have to go anywhere. You can stay here and talk to me like the good boyfriend you should be acting like. I know that you’re not really ill and you’re just trying to go sneak off and talk to that stupid blood traitor friend of yours.”

“What do you have against Ron? He’s literally done nothing to you to make you hate him,” Harry objected. HIs voice wasn’t nearly as accusatory as he wanted it to be due to how miserable he felt. Normally things were a little one-sided when it came to their conversations, with Draco controlling them and directing them back to himself, but this time it seemed like his boyfriend had ramped all of his bad traits up to eleven. “I do just need to go to the hospital wing. I don’t feel well.”

“Of course you don’t feel well. The one time that I actually get to talk and have some of the attention on me, of course the Chosen One has to have a sickness so that he can make people pay attention to him,” Draco folded his arms over his chest and huffed hautily.

“Harry,” Hermiona called over him before the blond git had the chance to say anything else. 

Ron marched into the room, his eyes narrowed menacingly at his best friend’s boyfriend. “Come on, mate. We’re going to bring you to the hospital wing like you wanted,” he offered his hand to Harry, who gratefully took it. He staggered out of the room with the help of Ron to guide him.

“Did you hear the kinds of things that he was saying?” Hermione hissed at them, both of her hands clinging to the strap of her bag. “I can’t believe the audacity of him, especially when you look like this.”

“Yeah, Harry,” Ron nodded. “I mean, he is supposed to be your boyfriend. If he really loves you then he shouldn’t be treating you like this.”

“And that’s not the first time that I’ve heard him complaining about Ron and I. He seems to think that we’re going to steal you away from him just because you hang out with us sometimes. He’s the one that decided that he couldn’t risk making his parents mad long enough to come out about being with a half-blood,” she rolled her eyes. “You know that he’s still spreading rumors around the school about us like he used to before the two of you got together, right?” she asked.

“Hermione, calm down. Harry’s really sick,” Ron said softly as he stopped long enough for the other teenager to steady himself and stop the bile rolling up from his throat.

“No, I’m not going to calm down! This is wrong and we shouldn’t have to tolerate it anymore, any of us,” she stamped her foot. “We shouldn’t have to deal with our best friend’s boyfriend spreading rumors about us around the school and badmouthing us in front of our faces or stealing Harry away from us. Harry shouldn’t have to deal with a boyfriend that’s going to ignore the fact that Harry is clearly sick and do all sorts of other horrible things.”

“She does have a bit of a point, mate,” Ron nodded while awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. 

“Harry, you can either choose our friendship or the relationship you have with Malfoy,” she said, her eyes glistening with the ferocity that she carried into tests and ten page essays.

“I just want to go to the hospital wing before I puke all over the halls and get detention from Filch,” Harry whined as he wrapped his arms around his rolling stomach. His friends exchanged a quick glance between each other before they each took one of his arms and guided him through the rest of the halls to the hospital wing.

Once he was there they were ushered out and Madame Pomfrey began to perform her tests on him. “First, I’m going to need you to tell me what symptoms that you’ve been experiencing.”

“Well, I feel like I have the flu. Food also smells weird and I’m nauseous but I was hungry this morning,” he explained. He shifted uncomfortable as her scrutinizing gaze looked over him a couple of times.

“Well, it’s impossible for you to have gotten food poisoning if you ate things that came from the kitchens and nothing else,” when he nodded she rubbed her chin in thought. She walked away from him and then busied herself with looking through a drawer. When she returned she had an amulet with a stone hooked to the end of it. “Lay back on the bed, Potter. Pull up your shirt so that your stomach is exposed.”

Harry did as he was told, lying back against the bed with his shirt pulled up so that his stomach was exposed. She dropped the necklace down so that it was hanging still over his belly button. She said a couple of words and then the pendent began to swing back and forth, from north to south.

“I was afraid of that,” she tutted as she wrapped the chain back around his hand and it moved it away from him.

Harry sat up, his shirt falling back down around his stomach as he turned towards the medi-witch. He paused for a moment and placed a hand over his mouth as he tried to keep down the nausea threatening him again. She placed a hand on his shoulder and waited until the green color had slowly faded from his face. “I want you to promise me that you will remain calm and stay in here when I tell you your diagnosis,” she said. 

“I promise,” Harry whispered. His lips stuck together as all the moisture in his mouth was whisked away with fear. What if something was deathly wrong with him? He had so many responsibilities, he couldn’t deal with a terminal illness on top of all that.

“The charm that I used on you is a pregnancy device. If it swings, then you’re pregnant. North to south is a boy, east to west is a girl,” she explained while showing him the amulet wrapped around her hand.

The teenager in front of her blinked a few times as he tried to take the information in. He was pregnant. There was a tiny life growing inside of his body. A tiny human that he had created when he and Draco had been stupidly intimate. He was used to being told that he was responsible for the lives of the people around him and the entire wizarding world, but they were all faceless, nameless numbers. This was a real, tangible person that he was now directly responsible for. 

“Potter,” Madame Pomfrey placed her hand on his shoulder to try and tug him from his thoughts. She handed him a tissue and he dabbed away the tears he hadn’t realized had been streaking down his face. “I know that this is something that is most likely very terrifying and overwhelming for you, but you do have some choices. You can keep the child, give them up for adoption, or abort the pregnancy.”

“I can’t give up my child or kill them,” he whispered, his shoulders sagging.

“Are you sure? This is something very serious. This isn’t something that you can dive into headfirst and then have someone come and save you from when you decide that it’s gotten too hard. This is a lifetime commitment,” she explained seriously.

“I have to,” Harry whispered. “I know what it feels like to grow up without your parents. If the baby is with me then I know that they’ll be in a good home and I won’t have to worry about whether or not they ended up with someone as awful as my aunt and uncle. And I can’t kill them.”

“It wouldn’t be killing them depending on how far along you are,” she explained softly. “But I respect your decision. I will have to tell the rest of the staff as well as the headmaster. Do not worry, they won’t expel you for this.”

“That’s good, because I don’t have anywhere else to go,” he nodded timidly. The next two hours or so were filled with Madame Pomfrey educating him about everything that would happen with the pregnancy and the kinds of things that he needed to be aware of this early. She gave him anti-morning sickness potions and taught him a couple charms for making things taste different and ways to get rid of fatigue and other symptoms. 

By the time that they had finished, Harry was both feeling more overwhelming and more prepared for something than he had ever been. His bag contained a few of the potions he now had to take every morning and night. He walked out and saw that Hermione and Ron were still waiting for him.

“What happened, mate?” Ron asked at the same time as Hermione asked, “Are you alright?”

“Erm,” he glanced up and down the hall to make sure that no one else was around. “I’m pregnant.”

“Oh Harry,” Hermione cried, quickly wrapping her arms around him. “That must be so frightening.”

Normally he shied away from physical affection, especially when it came to both of his friends after he had been together with Draco for a while. Now, however, he gratefully took the hug and hugged her back. “It’s so scary.”

When Hermione finally released the raven-haired teen from the hug, Ron clapped a hand on his shoulder, “We’re going to help you through this, mate. You won’t be alone.”

“Are you going to keep the baby?” Hermione asked as they slowly began to walk down to dinner. 

“Yes. I can’t bear the thought of giving them away or killing them,” he shook his head. They were mostly quiet as they continued down the hall. When they got to the staircase that went down to the Great Hall and led up to the common room, Harry separated from his friends so that he could drop off his bag and hide the potions in his trunk.

Once he had finished with that, he hurried back down the hall so that he could get to dinner before the time was over. He spotted a head of blond hair that was very familiar and rushed to catch up with his boyfriend. “Draco! I have something to-”

He stopped as the blond whirled around and jabbed an accusatory finger into his chest. “I don’t want to hear a word from you right now, Potter,” he seethed. 

“Draco,” Harry pleaded as he walked after his boyfriend.

“No, you need to be punished for bailing on our date with your stupid friends. You didn’t even return and I had to clean everything up!” Draco threw his arms up in exasperation. Harry didn’t try to fight anything that he was saying, his head bowed as Draco stormed down to the Great Hall. Eventually, the raven-haired teenager slowly walked down the staircase as well. 

They sat away from the other Gryffindors that night at dinner, talking quietly amongst the three of them. Harry could feel Draco staring at the back of his head from where he was sitting at the Slytherin table, but he knew that the blond would eventually come around. When they had finished, Harry decided that he was going to head up to the common room before the others since Hermione wanted to talk to someone about a project and Ron wasn’t finished with his deserts.

He sighed to himself as he walked through the mostly empty halls. He let out a startled noise as the door to a broom cupboard opened and a hand darted out, tugging him into the enclosed space. He was pushed against the wooden door and felt hands slowly running up and down his abdomen. 

“You can’t stay mad at me forever, can you?” Draco asked in a low, sultry voice as he continued his motions. He kissed just underneath Harry’s earlbow and then continued the trail down his chin to underneath where his neck met his jaw.

“Draco, stop,” Harry reached up and grabbed his wrist, pushing him off. “You’re a complete arse. Now I know why you didn’t want me seeing Hermione and Ron. You were worried that if I talked to my friends and they saw the way that you treated me then I would break up with you, and now you’re scared that it’s going to happen so you’re being nice to me.”

“No, Harry, I love you,” he tried again, his other hand reaching out to cup Harry’s cheek.

The Chosen One was silent for a moment before he said, “I’m pregnant.”

Draco recoiled from his boyfriend, holding his hands up in the air like he had just touched something disgusting. He made an offended noise and wrinkled his nose with displeasure. “You can’t seriously be thinking about keeping it. Imagine what my parents would do if they found out that impregnated some halfblood that destroyed our family,” he sneered. “I won’t have it.”

“Draco, I’m keeping the baby. You can’t seriously ask me to get rid of a child that could go to a home like I did,” he whispered, tears collecting in his eyes as he shook his head. 

“Harry, you can’t keep that thing. Imagine what people would think about me! After everything that you put me through today, you have to pick one. The spawn or me,” he said, folding his arms across his chest and sticking his nose in the air. 

Harry’s hand balled into a fist by his side. He took a deep breath to try to calm himself down, but when he looked up at Draco, his eyes were flickering with rage. “I choose the baby.” he whirled around, grabbed the door handle, and left the broom cupboard as quickly as he could.

---

Three months had passed since the fight that Harry had with Draco. Since then, his friends had become a lot more protective of him. Ron walked with him to every class, and Hermione busied herself with finding out everything she could about pregnancy and putting it into a format that Harry would actually remember. The raven-haired teen would have been worried about people getting suspicious if the news of his pregnancy hadn’t flown all over the school within a week. 

It wasn’t nearly as bad as he had dreaded it being. The teachers- with the exception of Snape- were very diligent about making sure that none of the other students were harassing Harry and he wasn’t overextending himself. It got a bit annoying with Professor Sprout and Professor Trawleny because the former became a bit of a mother hen and the later kept announcing that he would die in childbirth and couldn’t do anything lest he advance the process. 

That being said, the teachers could only do so much. They made sure that he was safe during classes and meals, but there was only so much that they could do on weekends and after school hours. Most people ignored him, with a few of the older students looking at him with pity or disdain. The younger kids seemed to have lost a lot of their reverence when it came to him, but were still excitable and annoying as always. The kids in his house treated him like he was fragile, which was a bit annoying but not necessarily a bad thing. The Slytherins were the main problem. 

Draco had riled them all against Harry more so than they already had been before. They called him names and made implications about who he would let in between his legs. They would slap the books from his hands or push him with their shoulders when he was walking down the halls. There would be more jeers and insults thrown at him then there had been during his third year when he had been chosen by the rigged Goblet.

Currently, the trio was sitting in the back of the library at Hermione’s favorite table while she poured over books for her research. Harry had his arms folded in front of him and his head resting on top of them, trying to fight off the tiredness. One of the side effects of the charm that he had been given was that he had to have an off day, something that he had only found out after using it during the weekend once so now the day where he couldn’t use it lay in the middle of the week. Ron was sitting across from him while trying to balance one of the thick, ancient novels that Hermione had pulled from the shelves on the edge of the table using the spine.

A group of Slytherin seventh years entered the library and snickered as they walked by, muttering a couple of insults and kicking Harry’s chair. Hermione glanced up from her book just long enough to glare menacingly at them before she returned back to her reading.

“You know, if you just told them who the father was this wouldn’t be as bad,” Ron sighed as he glared after the older students. 

“I can’t,” Harry replied as he began to trace over an old mark in the table made by a charm gone wrong. 

Ron was quiet for a moment, setting the book back down on the table properly. “Why not? That git was selfish and just abandoned you after knocking you up. You could even figure out how to do one of those charms that proves the father by branding them with your name on his cheek for a day so that no one could question you.”

“I can’t,” he repeated again with a small shrug.

“Why?” he demanded, his fierce protectiveness not directed at Harry but very evident.

“Because I’m scared,” he replied, shrugging his shoulders weakly. “I mean, I’m pregnant and apparently sometimes that can make your magic go all wonky. What happens if he decides to attack me and then my magic stops working? It would hurt both me and the baby.”

Ron reached across the table, taking Harry’s hand and forcing the other to look up into his eyes with his other hand. “Harry, you don’t have to be scared. You have me. I’ll protect you,” he smiled softly.

Harry felt his heart flutter madly in his chest and his stomach did a flip that was definitely not caused by morning sickness. He tried to drive the thought from his mind, but he couldn’t help but feel like he was beginning to catch feelings for his best friend. “Alright,” he nodded after taking a moment to consider it. “I think that I can do it.”

“You mean that I’ll do it,” Hermione said as she looked up from her book. “That’s a rather complicated spell and I’m the only one out of the three of us willing to sit here and study it,” despite the teasing in her words, she looked rather excited for another project. 

“If you would, Hermione,” Harry nodded hopefully.

“Of course,” she beamed as she leaned over and gave him a platonic kiss on the cheek.

---

The smell of breakfast in the burrow woke Harry up late that morning. He dragged himself out of the bed as his stomach growled to remind him how hungry he was. He let out a small shudder from the cold as his night shirt rode up on his stomach and exposed it to the cool air of the bedroom. He dressed slowly as he thought back to everything that had happened since he conceived the baby. 

After deciding that they were going to expose Draco for the cruel abuser that he was, Hermione had studied the spell they were going to use and then cast it. Everyone found out almost immediately as one thing that the charm did was make it impossible to cover up the words ‘This is the father of Harry Potter’s baby.’ The Slytherins had immediately distanced themselves from the blond git, not because he turned out to be a backstabbing abuser, but because he had slept with a half-blood and then gotten their mortal enemy pregnant. There were a few comments from people in their house until Ron had come out and shut them all up by explaining how manipulative and abusive Draco had been about the entire thing.

Everything had continued as normally as it could when Harry was expecting a baby as a teenager. They graduated and then only Hermione decided that she was going to go back to school for her final year. Harry and Ron were both waiting for when the baby came and they could go around and help with the Order. Neither of them could look too far past the immediate future of this impending war. 

Harry let out a small sigh as he turned sideways in the mirror and looked over himself. The roundness of his stomach was now unmistakably a pregnancy bump. He frowned and tugged his shirt down a little bit to try and hide it, unsure how he felt about the roundness.

“Harry? What are you doing?” Ron asked as he walked up the stairs, his brows furrowed with worry.

“Just… getting dressed,” he shrugged as he tugged the shirt down again.

The redhead gave him a small, knowing look as he crossed over the small space between the doorway and Harry. “Are you self-conscious about the belly?”

“I mean, wouldn’t you be? I look bloated,” he grumbled as his eyes drifted back to his reflection again.

“Harry,” Ron laughed as he took the other man’s hands. “You don’t look bloated, you look pregnant,” he chuckled. “And that’s really beautiful.”

“Are you saying I’m beautiful?” Harry asked, unsure but optimistic.

“I mean, yeah,” he turned almost the same color as his hair. “I’ve… I’ve liked you since before you and Malfoy got together but I couldn’t say anything because then you were pregnant and I didn’t want to put any kind of pressure on you,” he said nervously.

“I love you,” the other teen whispered. He placed his hands on the back of Ron’s neck and tugged him down for a kiss. He could feel himself crying as their lips moved back and forth, but the kiss was still so full of love and care that he fell in love with the ginger all over again. When they separated he let out a small laugh while their foreheads were pressed together. “I’ve loved you since Malfoy and I broke up. You were there for me when it felt like everyone was against me, time and time again. You accepted me with no complaints and you dealt with me when I was being a complete ass.”

“I love you Harry. No matter how much of an ass you’re being, I still love you. And if you’ll let me, I want to be with you,” Ron whispered, his eyes closed with apprehension.

“You want to be with me?” Harry asked with a small, forced laugh. “You have to be joking, right? I’m pregnant with another bloke’s child.”

Ron dropped down onto his knees in front of Harry and pulled up his shirt to reveal his stomach. He kissed the swollen, stretched skin there. “I don’t care if you got pregnant after sleeping with every bloke at the school, you’re still the love of my life. I would be honored if you would let me be with you,” he stood up and held both of Harry’s hands in his own. “On one condition.”

“What?”

“You promise that I am allowed to love you and the baby with my whole heart,” he whispered, a goofy grin falling over his face.

“Of course, you git,” Harry threw his arms around Ron’s neck and brought their faces together for another kiss.

[imagine-that-one-thing]

Something To Be Thankful For. 

Authors Note: Just a little something I wrote with a lovely friend of mine, Mel.

The crisp autumn air nipped at my skin as I rushed from the New York City street to the foyer of my apartment building. My heels clicked and the plastic bags in my hands rustled as I walked to the elevator, and then waited for what felt like forever for it to get to the main floor. 

Upon reaching my apartment, I was greeted by the dim light I managed to leave on — a mere example of my responsibility. The bags left red lines on my fair skin and thudded on the counter as I began to unpack.

I continued putting the groceries away, and slightly reorganizing my pantry, for nearly a half-hour before a soft knock at my door brought me out of my concentration and back to the real world.

Without expecting any company, or packages, I softly walked to the door and peered through the peephole. To my surprise, Harry, my ex-boyfriend, stood waiting on his phone. I stared at him for a moment more, watching him lock his phone and impatiently await my greeting.

With a heavy, and annoyed, heart, I unlocked the door and pulled it open. As soon as his eyes met mine, I knew something was on his mind, but whether or not I was willing to be apart of this thought process — I was unsure.

“Scar, it’s so nice to see you,” Harry started, looking at me sweetly. “May I come in? There’s something we need to talk about.”

“Oh?” I replied, probably seeming more shocked by this question than I should have. “Come in.” I waved him in, opening the door further for him.

He promptly took off his shoes, placing them on the matt just as I like it. He kept his leather coat on, making his towering figure than much larger and darker as he stood over me slightly. I found myself admiring him for a second before I collected myself and closed the door behind me.

“Do you want anything to drink?”

“Tea,” He answered, “If you have any.”

He smirked at me, knowingly. He knew I had more tea than I could handle.

I filled the kettle, and Harry walked over to the island, pulling out a stool and taking a seat. He watched me with his arms crossed as I prepared the two mugs of tea. English Breakfast for him, Green for me.

He filled the void with small talk, covering the weather, the fact that the apartment hasn’t changed since the breakup, and his recent travels. This was enough to grant me time to pour the boiling water into the mugs, prepare Harry’s tea to his liking, and pass it on for his approval. He sipped it, nodding and smiling at my successful preparation.

“Okay,” I began, leaning over the counter in front of Harry. “What is it that you need to talk to me about so badly?” I questioned, cutting his small talk short, eager to hear what he has to say at this point. 

“There’s no easy way to put this,” Harry pushed his hair back, noticeably blushing as he choked on his words. “I need you to come to my family’s Thanksgiving with me this year.”

“What?”

“I know, it’s crazy.” He said, stopping to chuckle as he watched my facial expression. “I couldn’t bring myself to tell them about the breakup, so they think we are still dating and it’s too far gone for me to tell them now."

“So, let me get this straight, you're inviting me to thanksgiving because you didn’t tell your extended family that you broke up with me?” I questioned, waltzing around the kitchen beginning to put away the groceries that I neglected.

“No… yes... I mean… I’d like you to come, please don’t make me face everybody alone.” 

I shook my head with a small chuckle escaping the corners of my lips, “No. Tell your family that you decided to leave, you were the one who wanted to split up.” I reminded him of his decision, making sure he didn’t forget it for a second. I sure haven’t forgotten the night he ended things in the middle of a storm. The harsh weather should have been enough to tell me that the night wasn’t going to go as planned, and indeed, it didn’t. 

Harry nodded his head, “I made a mistake, can’t we work things out?” he questioned, beginning to help with putting the groceries away. 

Even though the relationship between the two of us had changed, much to my despair, what hasn’t changed is the connection and the way we could effortlessly manoeuvre around the kitchen without getting in each other's way. 

“No, not until after the holidays, you can’t just show up and ask me to go to your family event and expect me to take you back.“

“Are you doing this just to make me go alone? Is this to get back at me for breaking up?” 

“It isn’t always about you. You broke up with me, you need to prove to me you deserve a chance, and asking me to Thanksgiving because you don’t want to face the music, isn’t winning me back.” 

“Scarlett,” Harry sighs, “Let me prove it to you at Thanksgiving. Please, don’t make me go alone, you know I can’t.” His voice was faint and vulnerable, his eyes soft. I took a breath, doing my best to disregard the tugging heartstrings straining in my chest. 

Harry had never been one to handle family gatherings and holidays. 

He managed every excuse possible to avoid them, and for the most part, he tended to make sure his tours collide with holidays; Harry would rather be alone than to sit through the holiday events with his family. He despised the concept of only getting together for holidays, he disliked the questions, and most of all, he despised the idea of not having a safety blanket. 

He needed someone he could lock eyes with from across the room and know that, at any given moment, he had a safe haven or a quick getaway. 

“You’re such a coward…” I huff, shaking my head at him. “Fine. I’ll go. But you’re driving. This doesn’t mean we are getting back together, and you better be on time,” I warned, well aware that he had a tendency to be late.

Harry smiled at me, his Cheshire grin he had always made itself known. 

“Thank you, love.” 

I shook my head and took a sip of my tea, resting my elbows on the counter, locking eyes with him, “Don’t thank me yet, we haven’t made it through Thanksgiving.” I responded. 

Harry smirked and chuckled lightly, “Oh, but we will. Thank you,” he leaned closer to kiss me like he would any other time we were situated across from each other. 

I turned my head to the side, allowing him to grace my flushed cheek with his tender kiss, “Going to dodge me, huh? Still giving me the cold shoulder?” He questioned.

I leaned closer with a cocky grin painted across my lips, “I won’t be dodging you at thanksgiving. You’ll pick me up at ten, right?” I cocked my head to the side, purposely batting my eyes working a charm to (Mel finish this) 

Harry cleared his throat, “Yes, at ten… Are you hinting for me to leave already?” 

I shrugged my shoulders, the idea of trying to play hard to get and to keep him on my toes played in my thoughts. “You said what you needed to say, you drank your tea, so unless you plan to stay the night, yes. Leave.” 

“Is that an invitation?” Harry questioned, his eyes flicking between us and the bedroom, the bedroom that has been barren and cold since he stopped staying the night. 

I shook my head, “No, merely an indication that I’m ready to get in bed, alone, so, please.” I gestured towards the door. 

❇ ❇ ❇

Standing at the front door of a house I have wandered into various times made me feel uneasy, timid, happy, and sad all in one. Perhaps it’s the emotions from the fact that we had to fake a relationship due to Harry’s fear of being alone. Whatever it was, the door stared at me and it stared at me in the most unrelenting and welcoming approach. 

I swallowed my emotions, my eyes locking with the pleasant autumn pumpkin wreath that was a welcoming accent to the mahogany grain door. With a quick glance towards Harry, my fears and anxiety were suspended and the smile on my face became painted on. He gave me his reassuring glance and nod before the footsteps leading towards the door halted. Before I could think twice about hightailing it to the car and going home, the door opened. 

At first, Harry’s mother stared at Harry and I like we showed up unannounced— She was stunned, to say the least. 

“You came,” she simply smiled at Harry, her arms welcoming him instantly. 

Harry nodded, “Of course, I did.”  

“Scarlett,” she beamed, “I thought you were working, Harry said you were probably working,” she commented while ushering me inside, welcoming me with a warm hug— A hug I had missed dearly. 

While we walked down the hallway, I glanced back at Harry, wanting answers on what exactly he has told his family, but I shook the thoughts away and continued walking down the immaculate hallway that hasn’t changed since the last time. The candles were lit with the same warm scent, the table runner hadn’t moved an inch, it was still the same geometric patterned cast in a palette of blue, taupe and grey; the paintings and portraits all hung immaculately in the same positions. 

I reached the end of the hallway and found myself instantly submerged into a swarm of family members that seemed to have missed me as much as I had missed them. I was pulled into conversations, and quite literally dragged from Harry’s grasp, something that wouldn’t have bothered me, but it did. I didn’t know how to act or what to do, after all, how was I to know how to fake a relationship? 

I stood behind the kitchen counter, trying to focus on the conversation at hand— Harry’s sister’s engagement—  while I aided in helping some of the women prepare different portions of the late lunch. One thing that can always be noted, is that no matter what time the food is meant to be on the table, it will always be an hour later. Schedules in this household have never been on time.

With one hand clasped to the wine glass, the other continued to add the ingredients to the pumpkin pie mix, meanwhile, my eyes scanned every person in an attempt to locate Harry. No matter where I looked, or how many tall figured men I saw, it was never him.

“And, you and Harry, how long until the two of you walk down the aisle?” I was asked. 

I panicked, the sudden rise of interest between Harry and I is something I can’t handle, my blood ran cold.

How can there be an engagement when there isn’t even a valid relationship? 

I chuckled and shrugged my shoulders, “That is up to him,” I responded calmly, taking the moment to step away from the kitchen counter, “Speaking of Harry,” I began, doing my best to keep a smile on my face, “I should go find him, and tell him lunch is nearly ready.”

I left the conversation without an intention to go back and I wandered out to the patio where the men always settled themselves with beers and spirits. 

“Harry,” I placed my hand in the small of his back and took the space beside him, “Can I talk to you inside, please?” I questioned, gently pulling him away from the men and taking him inside. 

Harry took my hand, his fingers intertwined perfectly with mine as he silently took me upstairs, disregarding his sister calling his name, questioning what we were doing. 

He took me into the bathroom, oddly enough, the one connected to his old room. It was funny that I had been here so many times, yet somehow still felt out of place.

“Your family is asking me so many questions, Harry.” I started, as soon as he closed the door behind him. “I can’t keep lying.”

Harry turned away briefly, looking at the bathroom door, and turning the tap on to cancel as much noise as possible.

“What kind of questions?” He asked me, whispering and coming closer to me.

It pained me to answer him. Perhaps in another situation, I would be excited about answering their questions about marriage. I wanted to marry Harry when we were together. But now, in the midst of a breakup and still pretending to be together, marriage was a thought that made me sick.

“When we are getting married,” I whispered, “I can’t do this, Harry. I need to go home.”

“Don’t say that,” He rubbed my arm. “I know you don’t mean that.”

“I do mean it,” I stated, placing my hand over his to stop the rubbing. “I don’t fit in here, Harry, I need to leave.”

“Love,” Harry began, “I don’t think the problem is that you don’t fit in, I think it is that you fit in too well,” Harry informed me, his comment took me by surprise and left me stunned and speechless.

“I would feel better about that compliment if we were actually dat-,” I began, but got cut off by a quick knock at the door.

“Harry?” Gemma called, opposite the dark wood, “Is everything alright?”

Harry looked at me, eyes widened and begging me to just shut up for once — a tendency he knew I had a bad habit of. I smirked at him, knowing that often times my childish antics got us into more trouble than necessary.

“Scar is just feeling a bit sick, Gemma.” He replied, “Give us a few minutes, alright?”

“Dinner is nearly done!” She whined, “Don’t take too long.”

With the final statement, Gemma was on her way. Harry made sure the footsteps went all the way down the stairs before picking up the conversation again.

He looked at me and sighed, “Is this what this is about?” he questioned. 

“No… yes… no, I don’t fucking know, Harry,” I became confused and lost in my own thoughts, “I just- fuck, Harry, yes, this is about us not being together, I thought I was okay with faking it, but I am not, your sister thinks we are going to be in-laws, she wants me in her wedding, people want to know when we are getting married, and they don’t even know that you fucking left, just up and left,” I didn’t hold back my words as they slipt from my lips effortlessly, “you fucking left, and didn’t have the courage to tell everyone, including the family.” 

Harry nodded, “listen, just hear me out.”

“What? So you can sugar coat things? I think I should leave.”

“Damnit, Scarlett, listen to me for a minute, please darling, just listen.” He pressured. “I didn’t tell anyone because I still love you. I didn’t stop loving you. I was being self-absorbed, and I know that now, sweetheart. I would do anything to take that back, but I know I can’t just make it disappear. It happened, yes, I left, I admit it, I fucking left and it was the worst mistake” 

“It was,” I whispered, tears clouding my vision. “You really are stupid.”

Harry chuckled, “I know, I am.”

“But, I love you,” I said, contradicting my whole argument.

With this his hands he cupped my face, his loam-grey eyes gleamed into mine and for a split second, time stopped, I wasn’t even sure if I was breathing. Captivated by the moment and the unforeseen rise of all the emotions, I did the unthinkable- I kissed him— I kissed him softly and slowly as if my life depended on it, and for a brief moment, it felt like my life did depend on it. 

“I’m so—I'm sorry,” I muttered as I dragged myself away from him. 

Harry shook his head, he stepped closer to me and filled the space between our two bodies. Harry kissed me sincerely, granting me a long-drawn, liquid, tempestuous kiss I had been yearning for since he left.

Oh, how I had yearned the taste of his satin-soft lips. 

I could sense the aching tension between the two of us, a tension that had undoubtedly been brewing for quite some time. Our bodies were keen to investigate each other’s like we were two kids in love again. Our brazen hands didn’t know where to start as they both trembled with an ache to welcome every dip and curve our bodies had to offer. 

“I want you.” His breath touched my neck and bestowed shivers down my back with his keen anticipation. 

I wanted him too, I’ve wanted him since he left, but this wasn’t right? Was it? 

Without much thought, the words, “I want you, too.” Left my desperate lips that wanted nothing more than to keep tasting his sugary taste. 

He benevolently shifted me towards the vanity and lifted my body to sit on the edge of the vanity, while his hands tugged at my shirt. 

The tips of his fingers brushed under my shirt and manoeuvred their way to my cleavage, sending sweet shivers down my spine. I tasted the walls of his mouth and allowed his warm hands to travel every inch of my body that he desired. His soft hands travelled my body like it was a map he wanted to travel ever so dearly.

He swiftly dealt with my shirt, exposing the tender skin beneath it, his eyes taking in the view for a brief moment, and his lip became caught between his teeth.

My breath hitched in my throat the second I heard knocking on a door, and I pulled away from Harry’s lips and swatted his hands away from my body. I looked at him, wide-eyed and slack-jawed with racing nerves pulsating through my body. I swallowed hard, the sudden thought of us getting caught, even though we are adults, became devastating. 

“Shh,” Harry hushed, pressing his finger to the edge of my lips. 

Harry stepped away from me and with a heavy huff, made his way out of the bathroom and into the bedroom where someone was knocking on the door. 

“What? What could you possibly need to knock on the door like a mental person?” I overheard Harry mutter, and I had no doubt his sister was on the receiving end of the comment. “We will be down in a minute, just give us a few minutes, and don’t give me that look,” Harry stated sternly, and I hopped off the counter to move closer to the door to better hear the conversation.

“Mum won’t let us eat until we are all at the table, so hurry up with your shag and get downstairs,” Harry’s sister had no remorse for her comment, and again my eyes grew wide. 

“That is not what is happening,” Harry was quick to defend, even though that is exactly what would have happened if nobody has interrupted, damn it. “She feels unwell, give her a minute, and get your head out of the gutter, thank you.” Harry proceeded to inform his sister, promptly closing the door. 

I stepped out of the bathroom as I heard the door close, pure shame painted across my blushed cheeks, “she knows. She knows, Harry,” I whispered softly with a cracked voice. 

“She doesn’t know what we were doing, it is a good thing I turned that water on for the conversation, then she would know the biggest secret of the day. Love eavesdroppers.” He winked in an attempt to lighten the mood, but I found there to be nothing humorous about almost getting caught in the guest bathroom by his sister… 

“Harry…” I began, suddenly remembering that we are sitting here playing ‘happy couple’ when we are far from a happy couple. “What’s going on?”

To be quite honest, we haven’t even been happy, we have both been miserable, even if we have been too stubborn to realise it. 

“With us?” He questioned. “You know I can’t be the only one to answer that.”

“Give me some direction.”

“If we were together, how would those marriage questions make you feel?” He asked, in a soft and honest way.

“Happy,” I replied, even though he knew what my answer would be. “You know it’s what we wanted.”

“Then why can’t we just be happy?” Harry questioned me, even though he seemed more to be questioning himself. 

“I don’t know, Harry, I can’t be the one to answer all the questions, this is a two-way street… I thought we were happy, I thought what we wanted would become a reality, but we took a 180.” 

Harry nodded, “we were, I just fucked it up. Scar…” Harry trailed off, “I love you, I can look you in the eye and tell you I love you a thousand times, but it doesn’t mean anything if you don’t feel the same, so tell me, do you love me enough to forgive me?” Harry questioned, putting me on the spot for what felt like the hundredth damn time.

I stared at him for a moment, my world is becoming a scrambled mess as I fought to find the right words to say. I had been waiting for this moment for a while, but I never thought it was going to come. I never thought he would truly confess that he was wrong and apologise to me. I thought we would go down in history like another failed couple who once loved each other but fell when things got tough. 

His face dropped and he looked down at the floor, his head shaking in the process, “Okay,” Harry began with a softened and disheartened voice, “I’ll take you home, just let me get my keys,” Harry informed me. 

“Harry,” I gently grabbed his hand as he attempted to turn away and walk towards the door, “I still love you. Harry, I need to know that you’re not going to do this again, that you’re not going to decide to walk out on the relationship and think I’ll take you back again.” 

“Scar, walking away was the biggest mistake, I wish I could take it back; I was selfish and self-absorbed. I love you, darling, I want my life with you, I want to have you by my side through thick and thin, no more running when things get rough.” 

“Promise?” 

Harry nodded, “I promise to love you and protect you, I promise to do everything in my power to make sure I don’t break your heart or ruin us again, I promise to be the man you need me to be.” 

I smiled up at him, “Then we don’t need to go home, let’s enjoy lunch with your family.” 

Harry leaned down and kissed my lips sweetly, “Okay, let’s go before my sister comes back up.” Harry gestured towards the bedroom door before we left the bedroom.

Harry and I walked down the stairs, and overlooked the side-eyed glares and wondering questions on what happened upstairs. I smiled politely, making my way towards the table with Harry’s hand in the small of my back, the only thing keeping me secure and sane. Prying eyes of the family had never been something I’ve appreciated; I don’t like being the centre of attention. 

Harry placed his hand on the back of my chair and leaned closer to me, and whispered, 

“Ignore it,” pulling my chair out chivalrously. 

I nodded, sitting down and awaiting the Thanksgiving toast. Anne stood at the end of the table, her wine glass secured in her hand, and Harry rose his nose up at the thought of having to drink the wine at the table, he has never been one to savour the taste of his mother’s choices of wine. I’ve always referred to him as a ‘wine-snob’, and in all honesty, he is. 

I clasped my fingers around my wine glass and beamed towards Anne, her sweet smile and serenity graced us generously, 

“The year hasn’t been easy, everyone has been busy, it has been hard to get everyone together but I’m thankful today we can be together. I hope that we can make more of a habit of coming together and may the rest of this year will be wonderful… Gemma is gesturing to her watch for me to hurry up. So happy thanksgiving, to family,” Anne held her glass up and we all followed, cheering to the family before she gave us the initial permission to begin devouring the meal. 

Forks and knives clinked plates, laughter pervaded the air and chatter never seemed to halt. One thing that can always be said about this family is that there’s never an awkward or dull moment, it’s not in the family nature to have a silent moment. 

Among all the noise and clutter of serving plates, I kept noticing Harry acting out of character beside me. He barely ate his food, but he fumbled with the potatoes and turkey on his plate for minutes on end -- Rearranging the pieces as if he was displeased with the setup. I glanced at him every now and then, and in between my glances and subtle analysis of behaviour he took sips of his wine, and briefly engaged in small conversations.

I turned to him, finally, furrowing my eyes at him with a mouth full of food. It seemed as though this action was the tipping point for Harry.

He cleared his throat, his hand released his fork and knife and glanced up and around at everyone at the table, his teeth chewed between his bottom lip. 

I swallowed, “Everything okay?”  

Harry simply grinned, “Couldn’t be better,” he informed me before he shifted his plate away from him, “Can I— can I get everyone’s attention? Put your forks down for a minute, please,” Harry began and I side-eyed him, unaware of what he was doing. 

Trust him to somehow make this about him.

Gemma stared at her brother, and shoved another piece of food in her mouth, before she heavily huffed, “What could you possibly have to say? Just shovel your food and eat.” 

Harry shook his head, “Shut up and listen, I know that’s a hard thing for you to do,” Harry muttered, “I can’t keep this in any longer, there are some things I’d like to say.” 

“Well, get on with it, don’t drag it out, drama queen,” Gemma chuckled, taking her wine glass between her fingers. 

“It has been on my mind for a very long time and it has taken me this long to figure things out. I uh… I can’t even go for that typical sweet speech but I am far from perfect, and the woman beside me knows this and still has managed to stick by me and not give up on me,” Harry took a moment of silence before standing to his feet. “Hey, will you stand with me for a minute?” Harry challenged as he extended me his hand. 

Without much thought, I accepted, I placed my hand in his and stood to my feet. 

“I’m in love with you, I have been since we met, you’re my other half and I don’t want to live this life without you, honey, I know I’m not perfect, I know I make mistakes and sometimes I’m hard to deal with, but you’re the one my mother told me I’d end up marrying… Will you marry me?” Harry said, getting down on one knee and pulling out a blue velvet box.

I gawked at him, stunned. 

Just a few hours ago, Harry and I weren’t even in a relationship, we had been broken up for a few months without reason. The only reason I came here was to save him the burden of having to face his family alone.

I’ve loved this man for years, I’ve loved him through the ups and downs life has thrown at us, I’ve loved him through the good and bad times. Just because we broke up, it doesn’t mean I ever stopped loving him; I’m not sure I’m capable of not loving this man. He had never been the knight in shining armour that everyone dreams of as children, he was never the one to say the right words at the right moment, quite honestly he was a master at ruining sweet moments with quirky comments. He used to always joke that he’d screw up his proposal by saying something stupid and ruining the moment because of his nerves, I’m quite surprised he has managed to get this far with just a few stuttered words. 

“How do you have a ring?” I inquired, astonished that he has a ring after all this time. 

“That’s your answer?” Harry breathed out with a small laugh. 

For a split moment, silence filled the room, something that is rare, “It’s a yes or a no, darling!” Gemma piped in, amused by the response. 

“No.” I shook my head, and for a moment, I heard everyone in the room gasp and every mouth hit the floor. “Yes, No, wait, are you serious?” 

“Would I be on one knee with a bloody ring if I wasn’t?” Harry responded while I ran my fingers through my hair. 

All that I could think about was the fact that he left, no matter how we sugar coat things, he still left that one night, he still walked out and went MIA on me. 

Harry stared at me and I could tell his heart was more than likely beating just as fast as my own, “Love, I need you to say something.” Harry breathed out. 

“I love you.” I smiled down at him and tugged him back to my level. I looked him in the eye and my hands cupped his face before I kissed his lips, “Yes. A thousand times, yes,” I mumbled just for the two of us to hear. His lips curved into a smile before he pulled me closer and kissed me deeply. 

We pulled away and Harry’s hand took my own, with a grin on his face, he slid the ring on my finger. I was in awe at how beautiful it was, and not in the way that is shined perfectly in the light and is probably the most expensive piece of jewellery I have, but because the meaning behind it is beautiful. We are two old souls, entirely in love with each other, and no matter the ups and downs we face in this life, we will always conquer and overcome the mountains as one. 

Harry cleared his throat and looked towards his family who was still staring with dropped jaws, “Well, don’t all congratulate us at once.”

After Harry’s comment, everyone congratulated the two of us, everyone seemed to be over the moon despite the fact it was entirely out of the blue and nobody saw it coming. 

After a while, everyone and everything settled down, dinner was eaten, and everyone was back to mingling around the lower level of the house and relaxing. Gemma danced around me with a bottle of wine in her hands, giggling as she clasped the bottle opener, 

“So, ye’ really marrying my brother, huh?” 

I nodded with a smile, well aware of her tipsy state, “Unless you don’t want me to?” I questioned playfully while I leaned over and grabbed the wine from her hands, “Here, let me open it,” I informed her. 

“No, I want you to marry him, now we can go shopping for dresses, you’ll be my sister-in-law, and we, we… I don’t know where I was going with this, but welcome to the family,” Gemma grinned as I opened the wine for her and handed it back to her. 

“Ah, is it really thanksgiving if my sister isn’t sloshed?” Harry questioned with a chuckle, “Gemma, can I have my soon to be wife now?” 

Gemma rolled her eyes and nodded. “With the wine.” Harry gestured towards the bottle that Gemma was cradling with no desire to part ways with it. 

“Get ye’ own bloody wine, you wine snob.” 

“I am not.” Harry defended.

“You are.” Gemma and I responded in unison before laughing. 

Harry rolled his eyes, “Darling, care to join your wine-snob fiance in the living room?” 

“Of course.”

Gemma groans, “Get a room, you make me sick.” She shooed the two of us out of the kitchen.

I sat down on the couch and Harry placed a white blanket over me before taking the spot beside me. He wrapped an arm around me, allowing me to rest my head on his chest while we relaxed in front of the crackling fire. “Been quite they day, huh?” Harry began and I nodded, “Who would have thought this is how it would end?” 

“Apparently you since you have had the ring.” 

Harry hummed, “I didn’t know today would be the day.” 

“You always do things out of the blue. But I wouldn’t have it any other way,” I muttered as I curled up into him, beginning to feel the sleepiness after eating so much. 

Harry kissed the top of my head, “Glad you said yes, thought you wouldn’t for a minute.” 

“Glad you finally asked.” 

“Mhm,” Harry hummed, his body relaxing as he draped the blanket over him, meaning only one thing— it was time to call it a day and take the long-awaited nap on the couch, accompanied by the heated fireplace. 

[asherranceoftheheart]

Icarus Falls - III - The Good Doctor Comes Home

Story Summary: “You’ll never leave me alone right?“ “You think I’d actually let you go?”

A story about the slow descent and corruption of a lonely man, a demon who learns that bonds go both ways, brothers who deeply regrets their words spoken out of anger, and a conflicted man watching them all fall down from the distance. Here’s a Puppet!Chase AU that was written with extreme self-indulgence so beware and read the tags before entering.

Chapter Summary: Chapter title says it all lol but also a breather chapter Pairing/s: None, Platonic Character/s: Jack McLoughlin, Chase Brody, Antisepticeye, Henrik Von Schneeplestein, Mentions of Other Septic Egos Genre: Angst, Fluff Chapter Warning/s: Self-Deprecating Thoughts (Thoughts like I’m not as good as the others, etc.), Sadness, extremely vague mentions of torture (Archive Of Our Own Edition)  (Prev. Chapter)

Do you ever have one of those days when you wake up feeling both numb, and raw and sensitive on the inside and thinking ‘Ah. It’s one of those days…’ and wondering if it’s even worth the effort to open your eyes and move?

Chase felt emotionally and physically drained with a rocking throbbing headache as he woke up in a cold empty bed, tucked in like a child under the blankets. He stared up at the ceiling blankly, looking and thinking of nothing in particular until the memories began to come in crystal clear film in his mind. His hand twitched as he remembered the warmth of another person enveloping him even if that person had been his mortal enemy.

A part of him wanted to hate himself for missing, for yearning for the addicting affectionate touches that his enemy showered him with while he had been dreadfully sick. After all, had he become so desperate after nearly nine months of having no positive physical contact with other people that he would take comfort in the demon who was the main cause for why it was happening in the first place? However, a bigger part of himself was just tired, so very tired of the constant emotional olympics his self-hatred would force him to go through every single day.

He closed his eyes and for a moment, he allowed his own mind and heart to fool himself and pretend that the last part of yesterday never happened. He chose to believe in the fleeting happiness of the illusion that his best friend had never gone into a coma and tht Anti was merely a part of an excruciatingly long nightmare.

When he opened his eyes again, the sun had gone down outside but he can’t find the energy in himself to give a fuck about time moving on without him.

Chase heard his phone buzz with new notifications. He stomped down the flickering spark of hope that it would be any of his brothers finally answering his messages and calls. He knows that he can’t keep blocking out the world like this especially when the world needs him to be Jack McLoughlin so with an exhausted grunt, he slowly pushed himself up to a sitting position and reached over to the left bedside drawer to grab his phone.

He pressed the button on the side and was relieved to see that it was just Doctor Adam rather than one of Jack’s friends asking Jack if he was alright.

Dr. Adam: Mr. Brody? You haven’t replied to my messages for a while. Is everything alright?

The concern from the doctor melted some of the ice numbing his heart. This man really reminded him of Henrik albeit softer and more formal.

Chase: I’m ok doc. But I don’t think I’ll be able to drop by for a while. Think I caught a bug on the way back or something and I don’t want to transfer any of it to Jack. I’ll try to take a few more days off until I’m sure I’m okay. :)

Dr. Adam: Ah! I thought so… You’ve never missed a day visiting your brother unless you were really sick. So I was worried. But since you said that you’re okay I have to trust that you know yourself and your limits by now. Do take care of yourself! Get a lot of sleep, eat something even if it’s just buttered toast (altho I would prefer if you ate healthier foods…), drink lots of liquid, and make sure you take your medicine.

Chase: Yea, I’ve been doing all that Just keep me updated on Jack pls?

Dr. Adam: But of course, I know how much you worry over your brother. Anyway, I’ll leave you to rest. I hope you get well soon!

‘I hope I do too, Doc.’ Chase wiped a hand over his weary face with a loud sigh.

He placed his phone down on his bed when his eyes caught sight of something sharing the same drawer that his phone had been placed in earlier. It was his medicine and it was placed on top of what appeared to be a note. He knows what the pills were obviously for but the note awakened some of his curiosity and anger.

It was obvious who wrote that note.

He wanted to run over to his desk and grab his lighter to burn that seemingly innocent looking white paper as anybody with a shred of common sense should. However he knows himself. He knows his curiosity over what the note would contain would itch at him for a long long time if he didn’t find out what it said.

He inhaled deeply and slowly let the air out as a low hiss through gritted teeth while he mussed up his already messed up hair.

“Fucker,” Chase insulted both the demon for taking advantage of his thrice damned curiosity that could rival the stubbornness of a spoiled cat, and himself for falling for this obvious show of manipulation as he forced his arm to reach out and grabbed the paper.

He crumpled the note into a wrinkly ball and stared down at it with some trepidation. What horrific message will this paper contain? Was it going to contain some blackmail worthy secret? Maybe taunt him for his complete breakdown yesterday? Jesus Christ… He literally fell apart on top of the bastard. He’d wish he could erase the memory but Anti would probably take that as permission to completely fuck him up mentally and maybe possess him as a little treat.

Well, he can’t keep stalling for more time like a coward. He uncrumpled the paper, smoothing it out on his covered lap, and read it with some trepidation.

One pill every eight hours from the moment you wake up. Going to be busy for a while. Don’t wait up for me, little brother. You’re still sick so don’t have a breakdown every other hour. Remember I’M ALWAYS WATCHING

Chase stared down at the note that was practically dripping with sarcasm with an expressionless gaze. A form of calm had settled down upon him and he almost absentmindedly started to rip the note in half. He doesn’t know what to feel about the laughably simple note. Should he get angry? Should he spend the time away from the bastard trying to decode some sort of hidden message from it?

In the end, he decided that it wasn’t worth the energy to get annoyed or obsessed over the taunt. He spent the next few minutes tearing the note into teeny tiny pieces before he left it scattered all over the top of his lap in unsalvageable scraps.

The ripping and tearing actually brought him some satisfaction which he relished in no matter how tiny it was. He swept the mess off his bed with a wide wave and watched it free fall to the floor like snow during winter. The man slid off his bed and spitefully ignored the medicine before he dragged himself over to the bathroom to freshen up.

He took a short shower, changed into fresh new indoor clothes, and dried his hair with a towel before brushing it up until it stayed neat and fluffy on his head. A sudden burst of productive energy suddenly shot through his entire body when he looked over the entirety of his room and realized just how filthy he had let it become over the months.

Chase could almost hear Anti sneering at him at the back of his head, telling him how useless and broken he was when nobody is there to pull him forward like a fucking donkey.

A massive wave of spite mixed in with his burst of energy and he began walking around the room to gather up his dirty clothes to put inside a hamper that he carried over to his laundry room to load up inside the washing machine. Then before working the machine, he went back to his room to change his bed sheets and blanket to a clean one before hefting them all up to the laundry room. While the washer was humming and vibrating as it got to work, he grabbed two big trash bags from his current location before he walked back to his bedroom.

The first step to feeling better after another one of your long episodes is to clear up the clutter that built up around you. It will help you associate clearing up as another way of resetting your own point of view.

A tiny smile twitched up at the corner of his lips as Henrik’s gruff but gentle voice as he coaxed him from his bed in the past. He separated his trash into two bags and straightened up to look around his now cleaner room. Chase tied up the trash bags so that none of them would spill out before he opened up his window and smiled faintly at the refreshing evening breeze that brushed against his heated face.

Then he walked over to his closet to bring out the Roomba that he hasn’t used for a while, letting out a victorious ‘heh’ when it still worked and placed it in the middle of his room before turning it on to roam around the floor to suck up the dust that built up over the past months.

He gave his cleaner and brighter bedroom another look over with satisfaction pulsing in his chest before making two trips up and down the stairs to take out the trash that he just collected and move the piled up dirty mugs on his desk down to the kitchen.

“How’s this for being useless and broken, asshole?” Chase spitefully said into the empty air towards the absent being who insulted him daily when he was there. “Fuck you.”

Chase huffed to himself in the middle of the kitchen while he was crouched over his dishwasher, loading it up with all the dirty dishes. After he closed the thing’s door, he realized as his stomach growled rather loudly, that he was pretty hungry.

“I’m hungry but I’m not in the mood for anything too heavy or chewy…” Chase hummed while he browsed the contents of his fridge. He leaned over and grabbed the covered bowl at the back of the fridge. “Oh hey, this was the cream of mushroom soup I ordered a week ago… It doesn’t smell bad so I guess it’s still fine!”

He heated it up on the stove before scooping them all up into a clean bowl. He placed a spoon with it before he walked over to the living room. Chase turned on the TV before laying on his side at the couch while he slurped up his soup.

‘Man… If Hen was here he’d probably be telling me that this soup isn’t healthy enough for me,’ Chase chuckled to himself, eyes misting over with nostalgia over the memories of his most fussy older brother. ‘Then he’d threaten to tie me up on a chair and feed me his horrid homemade food.’

Henrik might be one of the smartest people in the world but his cooked food… There’s a reason why he was never allowed to cook for them during their weekly gatherings. He remembered Marvin telling him a story about his first time of coming into contact with Henrik’s Mystery Food and swearing on his name and magic that it had a living soul.

“It’s not that bad!” He would hear Henrik stomping his feet on the floor while imagining the lethal glare he’d give his brothers while they gently redirected him even as he’s protesting the discrimination loudly from the kitchen.

“Henrik please… Every single bite Jackie makes of your food immediately sends him to the hospital and you of all people know that he’s immune to nearly all sorts of poison.” Jack squeezed the fuming doctor’s tensed shoulders in an attempt to calm him down.

“Come on, Jack-Jack. You don’t have to sweeten the truth up for our mother hen,” Marvin’s delighted and mischief-filled voice would snicker from the other room where he was probably curled up on the floor near the window to get the maximum sunshine. “Henrik, your food tastes so bad that Jackie’s mind blocked out any memory of the taste to protect him from relieving the trauma.”

“As if your cooking is any better!” Henrik would shoot back scathingly.

“At least I can survive on it on my own and feed some of it to others!” Marvin would have puffed up as he readied himself for their banter.

“Guys please,” Jackie, ever the peacemaker, would try to calm the duo down while Jack wouldn’t even try and raise the white flag the second they start.

Chase laughed to himself at the present time as he recalled the loud racket Marvin and Henrik would make while they exchanged light-hearted insults. He would’ve been in the kitchen, humming and smiling while he busied himself with his cooking. A few minutes later would find Creator and Hero skulking back to his safe grounds with their tails tucked neatly between their legs and trying to help him but he’d just easily shoo them off to pout at the kitchen table.

‘I wish Jamie had experienced that before everything went to complete shit,’ Chase’s smile turned bittersweet at that stray thought. ‘Henrik and Jack would’ve loved him. He and Hen would probably spend some nights drinking tea in the middle of the night with each other. He’d have helped curtail some of Marvy’s sharp nature with a light smack on the shoulder. Jackie would’ve been so glad to have someone helping him act as the peacemaker of the family. Jack… Jack would’ve adored him. He’d gush about how Jamie was so spirited, so sassy, expressive and—and how he and Marvy always loved so fiercely…’

Chase licked his spoon clean (Marvin would’ve been looking at him with disgust and tell him that he’s a mannerless savage which… bold words for someone who would lick their balls while in their cat form) and dropped it down with a loud ear ringing clang on the now empty bowl before placing them on the living room table. He scooched over and laid down on his back on the couch and crossed his arms at the back of his head as a makeshift pillow while he reminisced.

Anti might insult him for doing nothing else but think of the past but it was the only thing that gave Chase the energy to keep moving forward even if he didn’t really want to. For the sake of all his loved ones who would’ve wanted to experience those memories in the future with them after all of these bullshit… Yeah, he’d trudge through all the painful days for them.

He closed his eyes and tried his darnest to remember anything memorable that had happened since the others left him behind but other than Anti’s unforgettable presence, everything else passed by in a blur.

“Damn,” Chase sighed, his smile lacking any light nor humor to it. “Anti really had a point when he said that I’m useless without the others huh?”

It is not your fault, Chase. Depression has the tendency to mix all your memories together in an unrecognizable blur. Do not worry. We are always here to help you remember.

“Unfortunately Doc,” Chase sighed as he sat up and grabbed the dirty bowl and spoon to place them together in the washer. “The only person left who’ll help me remember the past months is a complete bastard who I wouldn’t entrust my head to even if I had to choose between him and pain.”

Not that he really wanted to remember anything… He’s pretty sure that if he remembered anything it would just be of him whining about his loneliness, Anti fucking him up, and trying to keep up the Jack mask so that nobody else would find out that something had gone wrong.

He went back upstairs and moved the wet clothes from the washing machine to the dryer and loaded up the dirty bed sheets and blanket to the washing machine before heading straight for his bedroom. The Roomba died under his desk, having lost all of its battery while he was downstairs, and he scrounged through his dark closet for its charging adapter. Once the Roomba was set up and charging, he changed into his new pajamas and slipped back under his blankets.

He continued ignoring the set of pills on the drawer and turned on his side so that he could curl up under the sheets. Chase powered on Jack’s phone and waited for it to load so that he could check the comatose man’s social media. Another mentally and emotionally draining part of his imitation job was to maintain the Jack mask while pretending that the man was A-Okay and there was no reason for concern.

First, he pulled up Twitter and made a face when he realized that somebody posted something on the account while he was sick. Thank god it was just a little message to everyone that he was going to be on a break for a while because he was sick. It was still creepy that Anti could perfectly copy Jack’s mannerisms as he looked through the little retweets-interaction with everybody. Even he had some hard time fully copying his best friend’s posting quirks.

Either way, it was still annoying and stressful to Chase how the demon could keep pulling these kinds of shit with Jack’s social media. Maybe he should change to passwords and login info to everything while Anti was god knows where.

…

Chase sighed and shrugged. Then again, it’s not like that would be effective anyway. He knows that Anti was the one who keeps reblogging art of himself on the tumblr account even though he was pretty sure he changed the password nearly fifty times over the past few months. It never fazed him.

Speaking of tumblr… A part of him wanted to resent the community for giving the demon so much power through their attention via art, theories, and stories but he knows that it wouldn’t be fair of him to blame them for something that is completely out of their control. It’s not like they knew that the thing with Anti which they knew to be an ‘ARG-like’ story for the channel was actually his and his brother’s reality. Most of them were just people who were enthusiastic for the escapism their ‘story’ provided and he couldn’t exactly fault them for that.

He decided to update twitter that he’s feeling much better than before and that he’ll go back to filming videos tomorrow. The replies were almost immediate as the community reassured him that it would be fine if he took more days off to recover fully and he can’t help but smile at their unending support even if it was actually directed towards Jack. He knows that they wouldn’t mind it if he took an entire week off but he gets really antsy when he’s not putting up any content for the channel.

It feels like if he doesn’t keep it up, there’ll be nothing left for Jack to wake up to, all the hard work he put into this channel and community has been one of his brother’s ultimate joys. He doesn’t want to see Jack’s devastation if he also loses the community that he so dearly loved to the coma.

Besides… It’s not like he can afford to slack off while the others are trying their hardest to save Jack. This and taking care of Jack was the only thing that he could do to be of some use rather than become another burden to his brothers.

After he read and replied to a few more retweets, he turned off Twitter and moved his attention to the other big gathering place for the community. He tapped Tumblr’s app button and scrolled down Jack’s blog and let out a sharp, annoyed exhale when he saw that Anti had been busy reblogging things related to him or him torturing the other egos while Chase had been indisposed. A lot of the theorists hit the nail on the head when they theorized that the one who had been reblogging Anti-related things without any caption had been Anti.

It must have been something about Tumblr’s wonky programming but Anti can’t say anything or it’ll come out all glitched and zalgoed. Of course, he could’ve gotten maximum attention that way but he probably thought that it would be much better to have the fans stewing and trying to obsess over every single action that may or may not relate to Anti by having it all be a mystery.

Sometimes Chase wondered if maybe he and his brothers could make use of the community’s eagle-eyed observations that tend to hit right most of the time to help them find out a way to save Jack. He’s lost count of how many times they’ve managed to notice something that he hasn’t noticed such as a little subtle glitch on the video’s audio, a flash of someone in the back of his facecam, or even changes in the description or titles of the videos that was definitely not made by him.

Their skills would’ve been impressive if it wasn’t downright frightening for how obsessed they seem to be with Anti.

He reblogged a few cool artworks and edits with little words of encouragement under their captions. Then he’d like some of the little sneak peeks to the daily lives of the community members that always made him smile because at least these funky little people are doing their best to live. It’s a nice reminder and boost to the morale that there was a reason why he was also doing this other than to keep the channel up and running for Jack’s comeback.

Chase stretched out his arms and legs with a jawbreaking yawn as he felt the sleepiness settle in. He looked at the time on his phone and made a face when he saw how late  it was. No wonder his eyes were starting to blur with sleep. He decided to set his alarm clock up for the morning. He’s gotta wake up early to prepare himself to go under the Jack mask and record a video after all.

The tired man scooched underneath the blanket, covering himself up to his bed and curled up into a tight ball while tugging the sheets around him. A spark of pride welled up inside his chest when he thought back on how he managed to do a little bit of productivity in tidying up his bedroom. While he definitely started out the day rough and numb, he managed to salvage it by the end.

At the end of the day, it’s these teeny tiny baby steps that would bring you much farther than you thought when you look back in the future. So do not sell yourself short, Chase Brody.

Never forget that we are always proud of you no matter how inconsequential you believe your little progress was.

Henrik’s gruff but gentle voice echoed through his mind, easily drowning out all the insecurities and dark voices sneering at him for his pride. For the first time in a long while, Chase fell asleep with a faint but sincere smile on his lips.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

“Maybe you should’ve jumped higher for that trick shot so that you wouldn’t have fallen over and broken your foot,” Jack’s voice shook with silent laughter as he leaned on Chase’s side while they both watched Henrik scrambling around, fussing over Chase’s foot that was placed in a cast, and fluffing up pillows to squeeze behind Chase’s back while he’s relaxed on the couch and worrying his head over whether his broken foot was raised high enough.

Henrik spun around and levelled a death glare towards his creator who instinctively raised both hands in a show of harmlessness, the doctor bared his teeth at him, “If you keep encouraging him to do more reckless acts I will break your own leg.”

Chase coughed and choked on a laugh and gave his doctor older brother a smile full of innocence and sunshine when he swiftly turned around to glare at him as well while Jack sputtered in the background. Jackie was dying on the floor. He sounded like he was about to upgrade from his booming cackling to wheezing, dying laughter.

“Wh— You took an oath to never harm another human when you became a doctor!” Chase turned his head to look at Jack when he felt him sitting up straight and leaning forward with an outraged look.

“I did no such thing,” Henrik snubbed. “It was whichever fake Schneeplestein that magic made to explain my existence in this universe that made such an oath.”

“You’re still a doctor!” Jack yelled vehemently, slapping a hand on his knees.

Henrik sniffed. He looked down at Jack from behind his nose and made him feel like he was some worm tainting the bottom of his shiny shoes. Then the doctor dramatically turned his back on the pouting man obviously giving him the cold shoulder.

“Chaaaase,” Jack twisted his body to ‘sob’ into his best friend’s shoulder. “Henny’s being mean to me again!”

“There, there,” Chase snickered as he patted the older man’s curly hair. “I won’t let the big bad doctor bully you anymore.”

Jack turned his head so that his cheek was pressed on top of Chase’s shoulder and he stuck his tongue out at Henrik who rolled his eyes back at him.

A massive white maine coone glided into the chaotic living room, jumping up on the back of the couch, and strolled over to smack Jack’s face with his outrageously long and fluffy tail—while ignoring the annoyed yelp ‘Marvin!’ before the poor man started sneezing and cursing the magician’s existence—as he slid down a bemused Chase’s torso into his lap. He rubbed his fluffy body against his little brother’s chest with a loud meow for his greeting.

“Hey to you too, Marvy,” Chase chuckled as the cat began to purr.

Marvin’s purr grew louder until he was practically like a growling motorcycle and arched his spine when Chase’s fingers stroked him from the bridge of his pink nose down to his tailbone. The heavy white cat kneaded his claws into Chase’s baggy shorts before circling around—ignoring Chase’s agonized groan at his weight—and curling up into a smug self-satisfied ball on his lap.

“You satisfied now, Drama Queen?” Chase teased the magician with a fond smile while he scratched the cat on the perfect spot behind his ears. “I think we should put your cat form on a diet. You’re getting pretty heavy.”

The cat nipped at his fingers with a hint of a warning bite but Chase just tapped his prickly older brother on his nose as a gentle reprimand. He only got a bunch of annoyed chattering for his daring gall to touch his majesty.

“Marvin, you better not bite anyone again,” Henrik dryly warned the magician who hissed at him. “Don’t think I can’t sedate you into going to the vet and getting you neutered.”

Marvin let out an offended yowl and attempted to stuff his massive unit of a body under Chase’s shirt, drawing giggles from the man who tried pushing his fluffy butt away as his squirming body dragged his soft fur over his ticklish stomach.

“Marvin, you fucker!” Chase squealed and tried to pull out the squirming cat who somehow managed to find the perfect position and perk out only his head from under his shirt. “Really? You’re going to subject me to your stinky butt for the entire movie marathon?”

His only response was a thick tail that thwapped his sputtering face.

“Aww… It’s just his way of showing you his love, Chasey-wasey,” Jackie giggled without looking up from his phone. “Also I can’t blame Marv for wanting to snuggle up to you. You’re like a portable heater slash teddy bear.”

“Yeah well, I’d say Marvy would be like a teddy bear too if it weren’t for the fact that he weighs like a rock on top of my kidneys,” Chase deadpanned before smacking Marvin’s back through his shirt irritably. “Use your claws on me again and I’ll neuter you myself without the help of a vet.”

Jack snickered at the irritated mewl from the cat while Henrik huffed and rolled his eyes at their antics. The doctor sat on the right couch seat and pulled the side lever up so that he could fully recline his body and feet. Jack leaned over and grabbed the remote from the table in front of him and Chase.

“Everybody finally settled down for our movie night?” He asked, just to make sure so that nobody would suddenly whine in that childish sort of voice that he didn’t wait for them again.

coughJackiecough

Jackie gave him a thumbs up and finally looked up from his phone. He was laying on his stomach on the blanket he set on the floor with a variety of pillows forming his nest around him. His own bowl of popcorn and a massive bottle full of Sprite was set in front of him.

Chase makes an agreeing grunt while he leaned on him on his side, taking care not to move his cast while Marvin chirruped from under his shirt, his little head poking out directing his nose to the bowl of popcorn on the table. Henrik just shrugged and gestured his head towards the screen.

“Just get on with it. If anybody was not ready I am sure that they’ll be letting out some godforsaken complaint through their loud mouths,” Henrik scathingly said but his eyes glimmered with laughter, taking off the bite from his words. He merely arched an eyebrow at everyone when they childishly stuck out their tongues at him.

Jack huffed and shook his head at the brotherly banters. No family activity would be the same without these chaotic preparations and quips from the others. He pressed play on the remote and started the movie. He sat back on the couch with Chase, his smile unconsciously growing wider when the youngest ego scooched closer to him.

…

“Is he asleep?” Henrik asked in a hushed tone as he craned his neck to look at Chase’s face which was hiding away against Jack’s side.

Jack nodded with a gentle smile and pressed a finger against his lips in the universal sign for silence. He slowly began to shift himself so that he could move Chase into laying down fully on the couch and for his head to be placed on his lap. Henrik assisted him, carrying the younger ego’s legs into the couch and made sure that his injured foot was raised with a few pillows propped underneath and around it to keep it from moving.

Chase made a soft noise and pressed his cheek on Jack’s stomach while the older man petted his head, idly rubbing a thumb against the healed over scar that would ache from time to time especially when Chase is particularly emotional. The sleeping man sighed contentedly in his sleep and murmured something far too unintelligible for either man to hear. Henrik grabbed one of the free blankets remaining to place it over Chase, tucking him under the warm sheets.

“I’ll get the other blankets—Marvin!” Henrik hissed as the cat that had been watching them from the table, slowly walked over to jump on Chase’s chest. Chase’s breath hitched but thankfully he didn’t wake up. Chase wrapped his arms around the cat who had stretched himself out over his little brother’s body and tucked his head under his chin. “You’re so lucky he’s a heavy sleeper. If you woke him up I would have shaved you, you needy cat.”

The cat flicked his ears at Henrik and made a show of nuzzling the bottom of Chase’s chin and purring almost as loud as a starting motorcycle to spite the doctor by showing just how comfortable he was in his makeshift bed.

Jack rolled his eyes at the little drama queen before he looked back at Henrik with a pleading smile, “Blankets please? It’s pretty chilly around here at night.”

Henrik sighed and nodded. He carefully maneuvered himself out of the crowded living room. Jackie had spreaded out his entire body on his own side of the room, snoring lightly while drool trailed down his cheek. Henrik made sure that he didn’t touch on the territory of the unknowing human venus flytrap who’d snap his arms around your legs in a flash the moment you stepped within his area of attack. Last time one of them (poor Marvin… despite screaming and trying to squirm out of those iron arms...) fell for that trap, they had to deal with a clingy as a leech Jackie for the entire night.

He went upstairs to grab extra blankets and pillows for him and Jack since someone (Jackie…) hoarded most of them for their nest and one of the original blankets was placed over Chase. When he went back down, Marvin was already asleep, his cat body slowly moved up and down to his rhythmic breathing. Jack was staring down at Chase’s face with a blank look which generally meant that the man was probably thinking something that was bothering him again.

As he passed by his creator, he gave the man a gentle smack on the back of his head with his elbow. “This is not the time for complicated thoughts. This is family time.”

Jack jolted at the hit and his voice, turning his head to make a silly face at him.

“I know, I know, I just can’t help it, Hen,” Jack sighed and patted Chase’s head. He peered at the doctor when he saw what he was carrying. “Huh, you got those from the closet in the hallway?”

“Where else would I get it? Here,” Henrik made Jack lean over so that he could place two pillows on the back of his neck. “Support for your neck.”

“Thanks,” the other man gave him a thumbs up with one of his free hands. “Can you uh place my blanket over my lap? I’ll move Chase’s head a bit.”

“Wait your impatient butt. I am just going to move around the couch.” Henrik said as he walked over to his own spot to drop his pillows and blanket before moving over to Jack.

Jack carefully lifted Chase’s head so that Henrik could slip the blanket over his lap. He absentmindedly rubbed a thumb over the sleeping man’s head when his brows furrowed at the movement and he looked like he was about to wake from his sleep. Thankfully, he settled down once he was returned to his previous position only he curled closer to his creator’s warmth.

“Ah man, Chase really is the best little brother I could ever ask for,” Jack sighed with a fond smile softening the weariness from his face.

Henrik snorted, giving Chase a little pat on his head before he walked back to his couch chair and dropped his body on it.

“And you say you don’t play favorites,” Henrik accusingly narrowed his eyes at Jack who stuck his tongue out at him.

“And I’ll keep saying it no matter how much you guys accuse me of it,” Jack grinned, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

The doctor rolled his eyes before spreading his own blanket over him. He turned over on his side and snubbed Jack with his back, ignoring the ‘Oh real mature, Henrik!’ that Jack shot towards him quietly.

“Goodnight Mister McLoughlin,” Henrik said in the snobbiest tone he could muster.

“Are you seri— Oh whatever, goodnight to you too, Doctor Schneeplestein.” He heard Jack huff and mutter something incomprehensible with his distance under his breath.

Henrik stifled a smile and his chuckle as he felt his creator fake pouting even with his back turned against him.

As he closed his eyes, he was highly aware of the sounds of soft breathing (or snoring in Jackie’s case…) coming from everyone in the room and he thinks that it’s the most beautiful sound he has ever heard his entire life.

He wished that he could stay in this single moment in time for as long as he wanted, to engrave it in his memories for when the nights are cold and when deep regrets are keeping him awake.

0-0-0-0-0

“Testing! Teeeeesting… Alright, the mic and audio seems to be okay,” Chase squinted at his face cam, flicking a finger in front of its lens to get its autofocus clearing up on his face. He brightened up when the camera finally focused just right! “Attaboy! Now we can finally start recording.”

He’s done his vocal warmups before he started setting up everything and even made sure that the house was nice and locked up and made sure that he doesn’t need to go for a pee break for one to two hours. Those moments are always a hassle and awkward for him and Robin to cut out. Not to mention it’s always a bit of a distraction especially when he is finally in the zone for the camera.

He also has his own lil water container filled with delicious fresh water in front of him, out of the camera’s point of view, just so he could freshen up his voice from all the screaming and yelling that he was about to do. While voice cracks are fun to jump from from a comedic point, it’s not nice to be known as the loudest Irish youtuber who still has voice cracks like a teenager going through puberty.

The phone has been muted and set on vibrate, and the games have been pulled up and listed on his desktop ready for recording!

Today’s video recording theme is… those medical surgery related games.

It had been an idea that had been drifting around his mind for a while but he didn’t have the mental and emotional energy to bother with the vivid reminders of his missing older brother. Maybe this was just another way of spiting Anti for what he had done to him a two days ago in his vulnerable state just like how his sudden burst of energy fueled him to prove that he wasn’t completely useless all alone by tidying up his wreck of a room in the middle of the night.

He knew that Anti seems to have it out for Henrik just as personally as he has it out for Jack since any mention of his brother has the demon hissing and spitting rage which he found rather peculiar since he’d have thought that the demon would be using what he’s doing to Henrik as another one of his taunts and considering he probably has the upper hand over the doctor right now. He stopped mentioning Henrik after that one moment when Anti had gone frighteningly still with his eyes glowing bloody murder towards him and then disappeared for a few hours. When he came back, he was covered in blood and Chase wisely didn’t ask him from whom it came from.

Since then, they never talked about it although Anti’s presence would be unbearable whenever he played any medical related game since it always felt like the demon was breathing down his neck (although knowing his luck he probably did but since he didn’t care enough to turn around and see that horrifying sight he’d like to believe that it never happened) just daring him to mention anything about his beloved doctor of a brother. The only time Anti made any comment about Henrik was literally that postcard hack on tumblr. That was a hell of a thing to open the app to.

He could feel the smugness rolling off Anti’s shadowed corner in waves during that day and he had to stop himself from vaulting over the couch to grab the demon who’s been pestering (severe understatement, he knows but still—) him for months and demand what the fuck he’s planning with the postcard.

Anyway, now that Anti wasn’t here (and thank fuck for that) he’s free to record and post this fun little thing for the channel. Honestly, it’s pretty odd to have the past two days of complete silence from Anti but it was also extremely refreshing and absolutely rejuvenating for his spirit. Oh, he didn’t doubt the ‘Always Watching’ threat from his last note but this was the most peaceful and private he’s been for the past months.

Chase adjusted the headset over his ears, checking to make sure that it wasn’t uncomfortable, before he stretched out his arms and body for the long recording session, releasing a satisfied groan at the obscenely loud cracks that his joints made with the stretch.

Okay… Close your eyes…

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

In the next few hours, Chase Brody will not exist. Instead, another man will take his place. How would he react to certain things and events? How would he act out a carefree skit of a parodied impersonation of their resident doctor?

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

Turn the chair around and…

Click

Something snaps into place as his lips stretched itself out into a familiar crooked goofy grin at the sound of his mouse clicking. The metaphorical mask slipping over his face felt so much more natural than when it was taken off at this point in time. He swung his chair around and greeted the invisible audience on the other side of the screen.

“Hello and welcome back! I am Doctor Jacksepticeye,” he both recognizes and doesn’t recognize the face that was looking back at him on the recording screen, “and welcome to my ER!”

It was easy, always so so easy to step into his shoes, to become someone who is dearly beloved by so many people, to become someone who has inspired this community to follow him. Every time he slips this mask on for the screen he always experienced this high knowing that for once he won’t be someone who was miserably alone and useless to his loved ones. If he immersed himself deeper into this mask, he could even believe that the people are seeing him and not Jack but that’s a thought that he’d brush off the moment it lingers at the surface of his mind.

However, while it was highly tempting to keep the mask up even by his lonesome, it always faded away the moment the camera stopped and left him far more drained than before he started recording.

Stop. Don’t think about that now.

Chase does not exist at this very moment.

Only Jack remained with that cheerful smile on his lips.

Finally, he allowed himself to fade into the background and push that persona forward to take his place.

In the next blink, Chase closed his eyes and Jack opened them.

0-0-0-0-0

The deep blue sky stretched over the horizon.

It was much too big. Much too hopeful.

It was too much for him who has been stuck in the darkness with no one but Him for company—

No.

No.

Do not think.

Not yet.

Later. Yes, later. In safety. In his family’s safety and warmth.

The door had been unlocked. Why? Why had it been unlocked?

Then he was running, stumbling about in the abyss like a drunk and suddenly there was light—

It had been too bright, too warm on his cold skin that it felt like it was burning his flesh off like the hot po—

No. Regroup. Stop.

Do. Not. Think. About. It.

He ran and ran and ran amongst the crowd, deaf to the rude words that had been tossed towards his way when he crashed into someone and jumped away as if he had been shocked, deaf to the concerned strangers’ questions before he shoved their wandering hands away.

Don’t touch him. Don’t fucking touch him!

It hurts. His eyes hurt. His ears hurt.

It’s so loud. He missed the blissfully subtle static that always kept him company in his cell—

Stop speaking… Stop speaking! Shut up… Shut up. Shutupshutupshutupshutupshutup—

The colors began to shift around him and they… became familiar? Familiar streets. Familiar names.

There was that sound from the annoying dog barking from a neighbor’s—

Ah.

This must be another one of his games.

The front garden was unkempt. Why was it unkempt? There were no flowers blooming from the bushes that looked as dry and thirsty as he normally felt. His little brother loved—loves his gardening hobby. He loves seeing the smiles of the passersby and his family when they see the colorful flowers he’d carefully tend to every week.

Yes, this was just further proof that this was all an illusion. He wanted to scream. He wanted to tell Him to stop this farce. However, he knows that he must continue the show lest He becomes angry for his disobedience once more.

He walked on. There. The front door was in front of him. Instinctively, he reached into his coat’s pocket (since when had he started wearing this coat?) and of course, of course, the key was there.

The door is opened and he is greeted by a cold, silent hou…

No.

Wait.

He looked up. There was a voice. It was faint but there it is.

Which show was he putting on this time? A replay of that fateful day? Or perhaps it was another one of those games where He makes him pretend that he was finally free?

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

He walked up the stairs.

One.

Two.

Three.

The fourth door.

The Recording Room.

What sort of cruel joke awaits him behind this door he wondered?

He was tired. So so tired… Perhaps if he pretended to be the brave, cool headed doctor that he had been He would grow bored of this show quick.

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

The ice on the doorknob was a welcome sting to his constantly wandering, constantly moving mind. It keeps him still. Keeps him in the moment just like all of the pain—

Take all the shattered pieces of your bravery now, good doctor, and let it all out…

The door was flung open and the familiar—unfamiliar man in the room spun around in his chair and looked up at his heaving, shuddering body with a wide-eyed look. Yes, that face—that impossible face was the face of a comatose man as He often taunted him during their sessions— sat in front of him just told him that this was all just another one of His cruel mind games.

A flash of anger.

A dash of fear.

Then the ridiculous words streamed out of his lips as he pointed a shaking accusing finger angrily, fearfully at the shocked mirage before him.

“I-I am the good doctor,” he started, his voice growing louder to mask the racing, thundering heart attempting to rip itself out of his chest, “and that is my chair!”

“... Henrik?” At that trembling, fragile voice, the mirage shattered and suddenly his baby brother, the one who has always looked up to him like he knew all of the secrets held within this universe… the younger brother who had always, always undervalued his own existence… The baby brother that he so dearly loved was looking up at him, no traces of the impossible man were left behind. “Henrik, is that you?”

And for a second, he allowed his guard to drop, allowing the fragile piece of hope in his chest to wriggle up the surface of his beaten heart.

“Help me,” he begged. His voice was painfully raw and vulnerable as it clawed itself out of his throat.

Then as if he was just a puppet whose cruel puppeteer cut his strings out of nowhere just because he had grown bored of his broken toy, he crumpled forward, all remaining energy in his pathetically weak body dropping to a complete zero, and his legs toppled underneath him. He braced himself to meet the cold unforgiving floor of his cell while his warden cackled at his show of weakness…

But it never came.

Instead, someone caught his body and he was suddenly engulfed in that familiar softness and warmth as two arms gently but firmly wrapped themselves around his bony waist.

“I gotcha… I gotcha big bro. I gotcha,” Henrik closed his eyes and in a fit of broken exhaustion allowed himself to believe in this dream.

“Don’t let this be a dream,” he whimpered. “Don’t… Don’t let me wake up—”

“Shh… It’s not a dream. You’re home. You’ve come home. I promise,” he shuddered at that almost comforting voice and the hand that was stroking the back of his head tenderly. “I’ll still be here when you wake up. I promise.”

Chapped lips were brushed over his forehead and he slipped away into the familiar abyss.

Oh how the good doctor dearly wished that he could remain in this single moment of time rather than face the cruel reality of what was waiting for him the next time he opened his eyes.

[boarix]

Wraith in the Ruins: A Fallout 4 Story Part XXI

Lost

Trigger Warnings: canon language/violence/gun, drug and alcohol use. Sexual/mature content. Burning/fire.

Please Enjoy!

……

“AAAAARRRRGGGGHHHH!” Strong’s roar of outrage carried far across the swamps south of West Roxbury Station. He pounded the earth, ripped up trees and threw them away like javelins. “RRRRAAAHHHHAAARRR! COWARD GHOUL, FACE STRONG!”

Terrified of him, Radiance had slipped into a narrow crag and instructed her few remaining ferals to abandon any attempts to attack and flee. There were two glowing ones left in the group and so their light had been what led the super mutant away. For several hours he doggedly pursued them: at first through the many twists and turns of the almost completely dark, rough-hewn tunnels and then on and through to the straight, derelict tiles of the metro tube.

Initially he made no attempt to calm himself. Reveling in his fury, he tore apart the landscape and yelled at the sky. He knew what the plan was: if separated or unsuccessful he was to rendezvous at the Peabody safehouse. He found that he didn’t much care. It wasn’t Alpha’s plan. It wasn’t even Cait’s.

He liked when his alpha went berserk. Her shear power and ruthlessness thrilled him and made him proud. But, he also very much liked the pups that were a part of their pack. Duncan, Shaun, Nat and even Billy Peabody tickled memories of something he couldn’t quite recall and the thought of Wraith hurting any of them, was unacceptable. Finding Wraith didn’t matter so long as Radiance lived and he very much wanted to be the one to kill her.  Failure was also unacceptable, and having been around humans for long enough to gain a small sense of personal accountability, he was disappointed in himself.

Strong remembered MacCready telling him about the fight with the behemoth in the swamps around Murkwater, and decided that an epic battle of that nature would help improve his mood so he took up his hammer and slogged away south: looking for trouble.

……

……

Deacon fell up the basement stairs, bashing his shins and elbow in the process. His uncharacteristic clumsiness carried him through to the kitchen with a sharp countertop to the hip. He paused in the living room to take a couple of deep breaths before racing up the stairs to the room Hancock and MacCready were sleeping in.

He opened the door as quietly as possible before creeping to the bed. Hancock was furthest away and had his back to him. He was fully clothed apart from his hat and boots and was tucked into a fetal position. MacCready, on the other hand, was flat on his stomach, spread-eagle, shirtless, wearing pants and one sock. The young man’s face was tilted to the side, like a swimmer gaining air mid stroke. He had pushed his pillow onto the floor and was snoring and drooling directly onto the bed sheet.

Deacon picked up the pillow and raised it high above his head before swinging it down directly onto the sniper’s head, “WAKETHEFUCKUP!”

Both of them leaped to their feet with weapons at the ready. Hancock stood next to the bed and MacCready on top of it, “DEACON! Goddamnit! You gotta death wish?! You ASSHOLE!” Hancock hadn’t put his blade away when he came around to where Deacon was doubled over laughing. The ghoul dismissed the very satisfying image of stabbing him as soon as he noticed that the spy was also crying, “What? What the hell is going on?!”

MacCready was still standing on the bed, his fierce glare giving over to rapid blinking as he noticed the odd combination of emotion, “Is it Wraith? What’s…? Wraith?!”

“She said words at me!” Deacon nodded and pointed eagerly toward the basement, “To me. She said my…”

“Why is your hand bleeding?” MacCready saw the flash of crimson as Deacon gesticulated.

“Well, she uh, bit me too...”

“I keep telling everyone not to put their hands in the cage!” He scolded him as he pulled on a shirt and crammed his feet into his boots.

The three of them were loud enough to wake the whole household so there was a small amount of shoving when the group bottlenecked at the basement stairway. They thundered down the steps and crowded around Wraith’s cage. For her part she seemed to have once again lost all trace of sanity and was hissing and growling like a cornered alley cat.

“Deacon, if this is some sort of prank, it’s in very poor taste.”

“I swear, Danse. She said, ‘Deacon, don’t leave me’.”

“I told you I could be of help.” Infamy stepped from a shadow and lifted their hood to reveal a smug look on their luminescent face, “It’s just a matter of finding the cracks in the…”

Hancock didn’t let them finish. He seemed to fly across the room, and lifting the surprised glowing one up by his lapels, he pinned them to the foundation wall. When he spoke, his voice was a menacing growl and he punctuated his clipped words by slamming the other ghoul into the wall after each one, “You. Did. Not. Have. Permission.” He let them drop to the floor and he took a step back, flexing his hands.

“We never gave you the go-ahead.” Deacon felt he’d somehow been robbed, “Was that even her?” He was shaking as he advanced on them, “You put words in her mouth? DID YOU FUCK WITH HER MIND?!”

“That’s interesting, coming from you.” Danse’s comment was soft but it cut through the room like a knife.

“Later, son.” Hancock shot him a look that killed any rebuttal.

“You are all very excitable, aren’t you?” Atom’s Assassin pushed themselves up against the wall and into a sitting position, “Not very friendly. No, no. Hahaha!” They dipped their chin and held out their hands, palms up, “I meant no harm. I felt I needed to prove my worth. It’s a very nice cage you’ve made for her; very spacious. Much better than the one you brought her here in. Better than mine. Hahahahaha. Still a jail cell though, huh? How long do want to stand around her prison and watch her suffer? Wraith’s words are her own. It took a great deal just for that much. Quite the effort! You all should be thanking me.”  

“Thanking you?! Why, monsieur, you are the cause of all this! Had you not attacked Madame’s citizens she would have never had cause to learn to call feral ghouls. She would have never summoned this Radiance and none of this would have happened!”

“She didn’t summon her.” When all their eyes flashed to him, Deacon waved a hand and shook his head, “Off topic, don’t worry about it. Doesn’t matter.”

“What matters to me is how you got out of your cage.” Piper glared down at them.

“Locks are nothing to me, my dear.”

“I think we should let them try.” Preston was watching Wraith. His face twisted between grief and anger.

“Non, General. Not at least until Dr. Amari has come to give her assessment. As her physician, I will not permit this.”

“Oh, but how will you stop me, sweet child?”  

Curie lifted her chin slightly, her voice was as cold as the look in her eye, “I will have you shot if you dare.”

“Well, you are all very terrifying. Whatever happened to the Oath? Hippocrates is spinning in his tomb. Oh, nuts. This didn’t go very well, did it?” They started to rise but thought better of it in the face of seven pairs of glaring eyes, “As you wish. I won’t go poking around where I’m not invited. Do I have to go back to the cage?”

“It’s more than you deserve.” Danse was watching Wraith as she had decided to ignore the mob surrounding her and was remaking her blanket nest. He felt like crying, “Why should you be free when she isn’t?”

“Cage is up to you, but you’re livin’ in the shed until I say otherwise, you feel me?”

Infamy gave him a lecherous sneer, “I think I’d like to…”

As if it was choreographed, Deacon, Danse and MacCready, wearing identical expressions of grim resolution, unholstered their various sidearms and leveled them at Infamy.

“Fine! Fine. I know when I’m defeated. It is by Atom’s will, that I devour this slice of humble pie.”  With hands raised above their head, they crept up the stairs and out to the shack.  

Piper sat cross-legged on the floor next to the cage. She washed her face in her hands and groaned, “I’m so tired of them. I’m tired of hearing about them. I’m tired of their ghost-in-the-receiver voice...” She trailed off as one by one, four of the other six joined her on the floor. “I have so much work back-logged at home. And I don’t want to leave, but Shaun and Duncan are coming in soon, so I’m heading out in the morning.”

“Thanks for keeping a eye on my son, Pipes.”

She cast MacCready a sideways smile, “’Sokay. I like him better than you anyway.” Preston was to her left and she leaned over and set her head on his shoulder. She smiled again when he reciprocated, “When are you going back to the Castle?”

“Tomorrow. I’m making myself crazy watching her and we are having problems from the groups exiled out of Nuka World. The best I can do is to make sure everything she set up doesn’t come crashing down, just because she’s not here holding it up.”

“Literally.”  

Preston smiled at Hancock, “Yeah, literally. Did I ever tell you all about the time when she threw a refrigerator at a Deathclaw?”

“What?!”

“Incredible!”

“No way!”

“Why a refrigerator?”

As Preston settled in to his tail, Deacon, who had remained standing, quietly headed back up to the main level. He intended to follow Infamy out to the shack and rough them up for eavesdropping on his heart-to-heart with Wraith, but his plans were altered for him as the unmistakably heavy footsteps of Danse followed him up the stairs.

“Something you need, pal?”

Danse gestured to the small living room, “I would like to have a word with you, if I may.”

Inwardly, Deacon growled in frustration, “You have a specific word in mind? I’ve always liked ‘spatula’.”

Danse looked confused for a second, “Very amusing…” He sat in an armchair and waited for Deacon to sit on a sofa across from him. He cleared his throat, “We haven’t spoken frankly to each other…”

“Don’t take it personal; I’m not frank with anyone.” He refrained from eye contact and picked idly at the raised floral pattern on the couch’s arm.

God, this thing’s ugly…

“I’m referring to matters of a personal nature that you may have been a party to…”

“Oh, I don’t really go to parties.”

The effort it took to maintain his composure clearly showed on Danse’s face, “By God, man! Please! I’m asking you for information about my being a synth!”

Deacon immediately stood and turned to leave, “Sorry can’t help you.”

Danse reached out and caught the other man’s sleeve. He looked up at him with light brown eyes that were so lost it nearly brought a tear to Deacon’s eye, “Please.”

He sighed dramatically and pinched the bridge of his nose, “Okay, but not here. Leave a note for Curie then follow me to Quincy. I’ll be waiting in the church.”

……

Deacon paced around in the nave, waiting. It seemed to be taking longer than it should and the spy was beginning to think he’d been stood up. Or, that something else might have happened with Wraith. He decided to head back and almost ran face first into Danse.

“I apologize for the wait,” the large man shook a Minutemen pack above his head as he maneuvered around him, “I talked to Curie directly and she advised I bring us a ‘snack’. She probably thinks we’re both too thin.”

Deacon had to bite back a harsh comment as he felt an intense stab of envy at the look of tender love on Danse’s face, “Yeah, I might have over corrected on my weight-loss plan.” In truth the weeks of worry and hard travel had ate into his muscle mass, leaving him more wiry then when he was in the Commonwealth last, “There fruit leather in there?”

Danse smiled as he passed him a strip, “Naturally.”

Rather than bite into it right away, Deacon held it almost lovingly in his hand. When his vision blurred with tears he quickly turned away from the other man and shoved the whole piece in his mouth, chewing noisily, “Mmmpf. Moorph. Hmmm. Thish batch is pretty good; lots of mutfruit. MacCready make it?”

Danse chuckled, “If there is a specific joke in there, I’m not aware.”

“Hmm. You’ve more a capacity for a sense of humor then I remember.”

Danse rightened a table and pulling up a nearby chair gestured for Deacon to take the one across from him, “As I said earlier; you and I have never had a real conversation.” He took a large bite out of jerky and leveled a rather intense gaze at him as he chewed, “I’ve been told that it can be difficult to authenticate a great deal of the information you share.”

“That’s maybe the prettiest way anyone’s ever called me a liar, Danse. Thank you.”

“I’ve also been told that you have a tendency toward more factual discourse when you aren’t wearing your sunglasses.”

Deacon briefly covered his eyes then pulled them away as if he was playing peek-a-boo, “The eyes tell lies as much as the truth, just so you’re aware.”

“So, it’s just another way for you to keep people guessing?”

“How very perceptive of you.”

The two men stared at each other unflinchingly for several seconds before Danse sighed and reached back into the pack for more food, “Do you want jerky?”

“Why not? You only live once.” He chewed thoughtfully for a moment, “I have to tell you this is not how I thought this was going to go. I also don’t mind telling you that I’m actually pretty tired so…”

“Right, right. Of course.” Danse set his hands together then held them out toward the spy as if he was asking him to set information in them, “Do you remember me as M7-97?”

“No. I wasn’t your handler.”

Danse’s eyes flashed back and forth, searching Deacon’s pale blue eyes for any sign that he was lying, “Are you quite certain? I’ve come to understand that my appearance was most likely altered.”

“It most likely was, but I never forget the synths that I’ve personally helped. And before you ask; no I don’t know who your handler was, or even if they’re still alive. The Railroad has had a high turnover. Probably because groups like the Brotherhood keep blowing us the fuck up.” He hadn’t meant to envenomate his reply to that severity, but found that he didn’t regret it.

“Ut sementem feceris, ita metes.”

“Post hoc ergo propter hoc.” Deacon was not going to back down, “We didn’t have to be your enemy. That was Maxson’s choice.”

Visibly upset, it took several deep breaths before Danse trusted himself to speak, “I wasn’t present during the attack on the Railroad. I had already been exiled. And even more so, I will admit, I did not approve of every order Maxson gave…”

“But you still followed them.” In Deacon’s mind he relived the moment when the light in Glory’s eyes went out, “My friends are still dead.”

“As are Rhys and Ingram and a multitude of others…”

“Others who turned their back on you when they found out you weren’t human.”

Danse slammed his hands on the table and stood, “YES! CORRECT! THOSE OTHERS!” He closed his eyes and swallowed, “I will never be able to take back the things I’ve said and done. I can only not forget and work toward making better choices.” He sat back in his chair and glared at Deacon.

The words struck a chord in him and Deacon suddenly felt ashamed, “That is something I can understand.”

“If I had my memories of being a synth, I’d have never joined the Brotherhood and we’d not be having this argument.”

“That was your choice.”

Danse twitched his head and narrowed his eyes, “What do you mean by that?”

“When the Railroad frees a synth we give them the option of a full memory erasure and face change, in fact we very strongly suggest it, but we never do it without their expressed consent.”

“You’re saying that I asked to have my identity stolen? My very life was ended and I asked you to do it?!”

“I’m not going to debate the concept of Nature Verses Nurture with you, but yes, you would have had to agree. We’ve had a bunch over the years who opted out of both but unfortunately, most were recaptured by the SRB or killed by hatemongering wastelanders.”

Like the UP Deathclaws.

Danse sat back in his chair, his expressions morphing from disbelief to anger and sadness. When he spoke his voice was low, “Why didn’t you at least give me memories of a family?”

“I could speculate but…”

“I would appreciate any insight you can provide.”

“Okay,” Deacon stood and began pacing, “so first, let’s get one or two things out in the open.” As he spoke he tallied items off on his fingers, “You’re not ageing. Your physicality is above average and… you’re… um… shooting blanks.”

Danse groaned and set his face in his hands, “I don’t even want to know how you ascertained that.”

Deacon had the decency to make himself look abashed, “Yeah, let’s move on. In my humble opinion as an expert in these matters; you were most likely a courser. It wasn’t necessary for you to fit in with the population at large so those items previously listed weren’t included in your design. And when you were given new memories, they wouldn’t involve people whom you would have tried to go look for because that would make you more conspicuous. If that makes sense.”

“So, I never even had a chance to have a family.”

“What do you mean by that?” Deacon let an edge creep into his voice, “What about the family you have now?” When Danse gave him a bewildered look, he grew legitimately angry, “Curie, Wraith, Shaun, Duncan!” He shook a finger toward the safe house, “Preston and Piper. Not to mention your ever-angry little brother MacCready.” He brought his hands up to either side of his head, “Hancock! Oh my god! The scariest being in the entire fucking Commonwealth calls you ‘son’, and you ‘don’t have a family’?! Fucking shit, man!”

“You’re scared of Hancock?”

“Never said that.” Deacon came back to his chair and sagged into it. “’Self-determination is not a malfunction’.”

“What do you mean?”

“That’s a quote from someone who could probably help you much better than I can. They were also a courser and were also upset when they found out their life wasn’t what they thought it was.”

“May I speak with them? Or, have they been… reset?”

Taking a bite of jerky, Deacon sat and thought out loud as he chewed, “Maybe only on the vaguest of terms. I could ask them to read a letter from you… have to be anonymous… would take some time… What information do you want?”

“I want to know what M7-97 was like… who they were. Anything you can offer me would be helpful.”

“Honestly, Danse I think it will only be helpful if this lets you move on from your past.” His voice grew soft and low, “We can’t always be living there.” He stood up and stretched, “Now, I need to shut down for a couple of hours…”

“I think I might need a beer… don’t you mean ‘sleep’?”

“Oh, I don’t actually do that.” He flashed Danse a shit-eating grin, “I’m a far superior model.”

……

……

There was some difficulty with moving the memory lounger to the basement and more still with its power supply, and so even after Dr. Amari’s arrival, it took several more days before they were able to try and scan Wraith’s mind. Curie’s tranquilizer was administered and she was carefully strapped in.

“Are the restraints really necessary?” Nick Valentine had arrived a few days before the doctor, and had been greatly distressed at seeing Wraith’s living arrangements. He frowned as Curie tightened the straps.

“They won’t hold her for more than a second anyway, Nicky.” Hancock was frowning as well and despite his words, he seemed unsure, “It’s to give us a chance to bail outta here if she decides to wake up early.”

“Would she really hurt us?” Valentine had been trying to convince himself that when she had rushed the cage bars when he tried to say “hello”, it was out of a response to fear and not wanton violence.

“She tried to kill me, Valentine.” MacCready’s voice was flat but his dark-circled eyes were sad.

“She must’ve pulled her punches a little. After all, you’re still very much alive and kicking. Though, from the looks of you, not as high.” He looked around critically, “Have any of you been eating properly?”

Hancock patted him on the back, “Yer a dad alright.”

“I don’t know about her holding back, but after I saved MacCready’s very life,” Deacon paused to smile at the sniper’s eye roll, “she responded to me. She even stopped trying to pull my head off.”

“It’s likely that due to the power armor, Wraith would have had no idea who MacCready was.” Danse smirked at Deacon, “Had she failed to give you a chance to speak, you’d likely be a headless corpse right now.”

“Hmm. Not sure that’d be a good look for me.”

“Gentlemen, we should be ready to begin.” Amari turned from Curie and smiled at the five men, “You can stay during the exam if you wish, but I ask that you refrain from any loud conversations.”

“She means arguing.”

“We know what she means, Deacon.”

“And there won’t be any arguing, cause yer gonna keep yer trap shut.”

……

Wraith was watching Glory. Beautiful, powerful Glory. The memory came into focus as her mind filled in details. They were fighting side by side in the Metro. Now they were sitting and talking at HQ. Now they were sharing a beer.

She was in an expanse of white nothingness. Prism like, the memory hung in midair as if it was suspended from an invisible celling by invisible rope. Wraith became aware that there were two others watching it with her.

Philippa was staring intently on one side. In her full Marine dress uniform, she was the very picture of military discipline and order. Her hair was tightly pulled back and up, held fast by a squad of hair pins under her cap.

The other confused Wraith and she narrowed her eyes, “You can’t be here.”

“That’s right; you’re dead.” Philippa was matter of fact, her eyes emotionless.

“If I’m dead then I can go and be anywhere I like, wouldn’t you say?” The dead woman didn’t look away from the memory, “You are in love with this woman.”

“Was. She’s dead. Like you.” Philippa corrected her.

“Probably not like me…”

“I’m not sure if I was in love. I was definitely interested, though.”

“The timing was inappropriate, Wraith.” There was a hint of disapproval in Philippa’s voice.

“Maybe. I wanted to try. I just…”

“Ran out of time.” Philippa finished the thought.

The memory changed. Now it was Deacon; fighting raiders in the rain. He was wearing a white t-shit and his muscles were clearly visible as they move underneath the wet, transparent cloth.

The dead woman hummed appreciatively, “Very nice. I don’t know this one either. You’re in love with him too.” She raised an eyebrow at Wraith, “Quite the harem you would have had.”

“How obtuse. Regardless, he’s not interested.”

“Don’t be stupid, Philippa.” Wraith rolled her eyes at her, “That’s not the problem.”

“Explain.”

“He doesn’t think he deserves to be loved. By anyone. So he… sabotages himself.”

“I’m bored. What else is on?” The dead woman twirled her index finger in the air like she was dialing a phone. When the memory changed to Hancock and Wraith in the midst of strip-tease foreplay, she hummed again, “Now this is something worth watching.”

“Inappropriate.”

“This… this is private…”

The dead woman leered, “My, he is hung nicely for being so tall and slender. And you,” She turned her lecherous gaze to Wraith, “how responsive you are! You can see how you savor his every caress. More!”

“No… get…”

The image changed again with a flick of the dead woman’s finger. Now it was MacCready and Hancock: in a flurry of motion as they passionately kissed while removing each other’s clothes.

“Fantastic. I can appreciate why your eyes would linger.” Her laugh was cruel, “Ha! So much to take in.”

“Not funny. Also, your intrusion is inappropriate.”

Wraith reached out, swatted the memory and as it spun each revolution showed a different memory in a confusing blur, “This isn’t a peep show. Those moments are special. What the fuck are you doing here?! You don’t belong. You’re not me!”

The dead woman pouted, “Aww, just when it was getting good. I want to see more of Hancock’s…”As she reached out to the memory Wraith smacked her hand. In turn the dead woman dealt Wraith a vicious backhand that sent her spinning away through the void. “Know your place!”

In an instant the memory and the two other women reoriented next to Wraith. She rubbed her jaw and slowly stood, “I’m going to kick your ass!”

The dead woman vanished.

“What the fuck?”

“You can’t keep me from him, you know. Hancock, that is.” The dead woman appeared at the very edge of Wraith’s vision then began circling her; like a shark that smells blood in the water. “I’ll have him.”

“I remember… you hurt him. Why?! Leave him alone. Why are you doing this? What do you want?!”

The dead woman’s face twisted into a mask of rage, “You dare ask me ‘why’?”

“It is reasonable.”

The dead woman ignored her. She stopped directly in front of Wraith and held up two fingers, “Twice you’ve destroyed me! You took all that I had; my only chances for happiness.” She folded her arms, a smug look on her face, “So now I’ll take all that you hold dear. Your empire will crumble and your people will die. Then when you are completely lost, you’ll come to my embrace willingly!”

“You’re just like Marie.” Now Philippa circled the dead woman, her modest heels somehow making a tapping sound that was immensely satisfying to Wraith’s ears, “You were never happy. Not in any recent years. You committed murder and engaged in other criminal acts; kidnapping for example. And much like Marie, you blame your loss and shortcomings on Wraith. It’s a classic case of projection.”

The dead woman’s eyes grew shrewd, “One major difference between us is that Marie is dead.”

Wraith paled and took a step back, “What? How…”

“Oh, I believe you know.” The dead woman reached out and spun the memory one more time, “Watch closely now, darling.”

The image of Wraith ripping Marie in half, from the vantage point of her own eyes, played over and over on the prism.

Wraith’s voice was weak, “No…”

“Yes! Look how strong you are. I have never wanted you more than at that moment!” The dead woman raised her arms above her head, exalted, “You are a monster, Wraith!” In a flash of blinding green light, the dead woman became Radiance, “But I am a much, much stronger one!” Grabbing ahold of Philippa, she enveloped her.

Wraith felt the pain as a part of her was being slowly consumed by fire. Her inhuman screams echoed throughout the void.

…..

“I SAID TURN IT OFF!” Hancock clenched and unclenched his fists; seconds away from smashing the memory lounger.

“Mr. Mayor, I am doing my very best to do just that.” Amari had begun shut-down procedures as soon as Wraith started screaming, “There!”

Wraith’s wail abruptly cut off and the ensuing silence was almost as defining. Then, everyone moved and spoke at once.

“Her pulse is stabilizing…”

“What happened?!”

“Oh, Madame! Oh, oh…”

“It sounded like… What was happening to her?”

MacCready and Hancock were each working on a wrist strap and as soon as she was free, Valentine scooped her up and took her back to her cage and laid her on the mattress, “Just what in the Sam Hill was that supposed to accomplish?!”

“I don’t understand these readings…” Amari was frowning at her terminal, “There is a film or some sort of interference. And an overlap of… there are images of two brains here.”

“What does that mean?” Danse was holding on to Curie as if she were a life raft.

“It means that I cannot get a proper reading of the condition of Wraith’s brain.”

“We just wasted so much time.” Deacon sagged into a chair and spoke into his hands.

Curie sniffled, “I am so very sorry. If I had…”

“It’s alright, Baby Bird. There’s no way you could’ve known.” Hancock joined Valentine in Wraith’s cage and he patted Curie’s back as he passed. Reaching down, he laid a hand on the detective’s shoulder, “I know you want to stay with her, Nicky, but it’s not safe.” He walked over to Deacon and stood tapping his foot until the spy looked up at him, “Yer getting yer way now.” Placing his hands on his thighs he bent down so his face was directly level with his, “I can’t hear her screamin’ like that though, you feel me?” If the ghoul still had a nose, it would have been touching Deacon’s, “I am trusting you.”

Deacon swallowed hard, “I… uh guess… I won’t live to you regretting it.”

……

……

They didn’t let Infamy try right away. The decision to wait after Wraith regained consciousness and had demonstrated at least the same level of functionality as pre brain scan was unanimous. Unfortunately for Valentine it also meant it was past the time he had allotted himself to be away from his immediate family.

As difficult as it was to leave Wraith, MacCready left with him, “I shouldn’t be away from Duncan this long.”

They decided to wait further until MacCready returned and there was a changing of the guard as Cait arrived with a Minutemen convoy. She spent some time trying to talk to Wraith, but after the initial aggression, she ignored her.

“I tried me best, but… How much should I tell Bear? I’m… not for knowin’.”

Outside of Hancock none of Wraith’s ghoul friends were allowed, for their own safety, to visit with her. And consequentially, Hancock wasn’t allowing himself to return to Goodneighbor for fear of bringing further harm to his people. He stayed in contact with Fahrenheit through Radio Freedom, and even had her hold his granddaughter near the microphone so he could hear her burble.

After a few days, MacCready passed Cait astride Gracie on the road, each offering a sad wave to the other. As he was walking through the door, he intended to shout a “hello”. Raising his head he took a deep intake of breath and collapsed, unconscious on the stoop. Deacon, dozing under a book on the couch in the living room, heard the thud and vaulted the furniture to get to him.

“Crap! Curie! HANCOCK!”

He had already started to come around by the time Hancock had picked him up and he batted at his arm as the ghoul was taking him up the stairs, “You can put me down. I’m fine.”

“No, I don’t think so. You are going to get some sleep and let Curie give you some fluids and eat some damn food and…”

Hancock left him to Curie’s care and came down to the kitchen. He muttered to himself as he started to heat up leftovers, “…what if ya fell on the road? Christ! …tryin’ to be all places at once… just alike… the two of ‘em are givin’ me fits! How am I supposed to… shit… fuck… goddamn it!”

“Uh, Hancock? Your shirt. Your shirt’s on fire, man!” Deacon grabbed a dishtowel, extinguished him then proceeded to roll up the mayor’s sleeves, “Not sure if MacCready likes to eat burnt ghoul…” He was surprised that Hancock let him help and it made him nervous for some reason. Especially since the ghoul didn’t say any sort of snappy comeback and just quietly watched with his large, dark eyes; a half smile on his scarred lips. He looked away quickly, angry that he almost blushed, “What?”

“Heh. Nothin’, brother. Thanks.” Deacon returned to the sofa and Hancock worked quietly for a minute before casually calling to him over his shoulder, “You know that floral-nightmare couch you’ve been tryin’ to sleep on jackknifes, right?”

“No?! I did not know that! Was anybody gonna tell me that?!”

…..

“I need total concentration. Complete silence. It would be ideal if you left us alone so I might focus…”

“Absolutely not. We cannot permit this treacherous villain to have any unsupervised contact with Wraith.” Danse stood with his hands on his hips and his chest out.

“Alright, Capt’n Eyebrows, take it easy,” Deacon was having a difficult time clearing the image of Danse in a cape from his mind, “we won’t. Just…”

“STRONG IS HOUND MASTER! BLUE HUMANS DON’T SHOOT!”

“Hey, Strong’s back!” MacCready went outside to bring the super mutant in, “Hey, buddy. Wow! You alright?”

Strong sported a fine collection of new scars and one of his eyes was swollen shut, “MACK REE DEE! STONG FOUND A GOOD FIGHT!”

Prompted by a look from Danse, who had followed him up the stairs, MacCready questioned the super mutant about his pursuit of Radiance, but Strong only shrugged and made an assortment of noncommittal grunts.

“We kinda assumed it went that way. She didn’t rough you up like that, did she?”

“No. Glowing one ran. SCARED OF STRONG!”

“Rightfully so. Excellent effort. Glad to have you back in one piece.” Danse was stiff and formal and the words were forced.

An awkward silence descended as the two stared at each other and was only broken when Strong sniffed somewhat disdainfully and muttered something about wanting to see his alpha.

“She’s downstairs, but,” MacCready touched his friend’s big green elbow, “she’s in a cage. It’s so… uh…”

“HA HA!” He smiled, “It’s okay, Mack Ree Dee; Alpha is strongest. Would hurt little humans. Strong would be…”

“Sad?”

The super mutant said nothing, only raised a hairless brow, turned, stomped down the stairs and over to Wraith’s cage. He stood there silently while she growled and threw herself at him. His brutish face softened somewhat and he lowered his voice to a whisper, “Alpha is the strongest.”

Infamy snapped their fingers, “You all trust this big green nasty, right?” The glowing one addressed Strong directly, “Radiance should try and retrieve Wraith. You’d like to rip her asunder, right? Ha! How long can you sit still and quiet, waiting for prey?”

Strong looked over their head to Hancock and MacCready, “What does this ghoul say? Strong stay here?”

“That’s up to you, brother.”

“I agree that Radiance is afraid of him.” Danse actually liked the idea, “She fled as soon as he charged her, despite having numerical superiority.”

“Then shouldn’t he be stationed outside where she can see him?” Deacon was considering using a Stealth Boy to sneak back into the basement regardless of the consensus and was worried that the super mutant might smell him and tattle.  

“STRONG HUNGRY! WANT TO EAT MEAT!”

“I’ll hook you up, brother.” Hancock indicated that Strong should proceed him up the stairs before turning back to Infamy, “We’re gonna take shifts keeping an eye on you. I don’t give a flying fuck about what your ideal setup is. You’ll figure it out or I’ll take you apart.”

…..

…..

“Now, this is interesting! Never quite had an experience like this before. Ha!”

“Great. Another unwelcome guest.”

“What’s the matter, Wraith? Not enough room for one more mind? Seems spacious to me. Hahaha!” Finally past the barrier, Infamy spun. They wore a set of clean, hooded, midnight blue vestments with a simple atomic diagram of hydrogen embroidered in gold thread across their back. Raising their arms and twirling in the white void, their robes billowed out behind them.

“You’re not the company I’m looking for.”

They dropped their arms and sagged their shoulders, “It’s so hard being so far from home in a place where no one likes you.”

“Yeah, well, whose fault is that?”

“That is becoming increasingly obscure, actually.” They frowned at her, “Admittedly, I should have done more research into Marie’s claims and less into where your weakness were to be found.”

“I helped the Children more than I hurt them.”

“Ah yes, but you did hurt us.” They grimaced at her, “You look like shit.”

“Hey! Fuck you too, you glowstick-looking motherfucker!”

“I would figure you’d look more like your version of normal. You’re still wearing that deathclaw armor. Hmm. You look worse in here then you do… Well, that is neither here nor there. What was all that yelling about?”

Wraith sat, cross legged on the non-existent floor, “Radiance was… flexing.”

The glowing one sat as well, “She comes and goes as she pleases then?”

Wraith half shook her head, “No, I don’t think she’s actually here. It’s more like she’s left a piece of herself here to watch me, but I’m a little fuzzy on the details.”

Infamy popped up and danced around her, “Drop the barrier then. Come out and play!”

Wraith tilted her head back and laughed; a humorless and unpleasant sound, “It’s not mine!” She suddenly stood and spun around much like Infamy had, “I’m a prisoner. Radiance both loves and hates me. She wants to keep me safe while simultaneously torturing me.” Wraith stood still and raised her fists, “I keep fighting her though. I’m starting to remember real stuff. When she went for Hancock I felt it. I felt him! And I remembered later.” Her eyes went wide and she took Infamy by the shoulders, “Hancock! How is he?!”

Although they felt a rush of fear, Infamy willed themselves not to pull away from her, “All of your rowdy, ungrateful, terrifying friends are fine. Sad to say.”

“Oh, thank goodness.” She let go and returned to the floor, drawing pictures with her finger in sand only she could see, “She wanted me to trigger detonations on the fusion cores, but I just ejected them. It took all the ground I had gained and I pretty much lost it after that.” She smiled sadly, “Except for Deacon. I remember Deacon. He told me he loves me.”

“Well, you can thank me for that! I’ve been chipping away at your crust for a while now. Now that I know it’s not yours, I can be a little harsher. Hmm, I think. Hahaha! Are there any rules for this game we’re playing? I’ll work from the outside and you’ll…”

“Why are you helping me all of the sudden?”

They adopted an indignant expression and put their hands on their hips, “I’ll have you know we do a great deal of charity work! Infamy is very altruistic.”

Wraith snorted, “Right. Just because you don’t charge for your services doesn’t magically change what you do into charitable works by any stretch of the concept.”

“Ha! Well, maybe it’s because you are a Child of Atom? The Mother’s Chosen One even.”

“Bullshit. Who was it that beat you up and made you help? Mac? Not Danse or Hancock; pretty sure they would have killed you outright.”

They stuck out their tongue, folded their arms and turned away, “I’m not admitting to anything.”

“Deacon. If he’s back then he’s the one. He’s an incredible fighter.”

“Yes, yes. As I said; all of your friends are terrifying.”

“But why help me and not Radiance?”

They dropped back to a sitting position and propped their chin up with their elbow, “I don’t think this creature is of Atom. I think she’s on her own, awful agenda. She’s probably going to interfere with my people. Might even send you to destroy us. Perhaps that’s what the Fog Mother meant by you being the Harbinger. As it is, many of our ghoul members have been suffering headaches and even Mother Isolde, a human, felt the pain of Radiance’s insidious intrusion.” They pouted like a child, “Plus, she stole all my ferals, so I wouldn’t wanna help her anyways.”

“Okay, fine. Let’s say that your intentions are honorable…”

“Because they are.”

Wraith rolled her eyes, “Then what should I be doing? Sunny didn’t have much time to teach me... before…”

A brief flash of regret passed over the glowing one’s face, “He surly is with Atom,” They sprang to their feet and twirled again, “but I’m in here with you! You’re so lucky. Hahahahahahaaaa!”

Wraith made a disgusted face, “Great. Now, how do I get out of here?”

“Just what you had been doing I suppose. How clear can you see the barrier?”

“Not well. I’m pushing out all around with no real direction…”

Infamy was impressed.

“I shall be your guide. Follow my light and I will lead you to the vulnerable…”

“Follow your light?” Wraith interrupted, stood and narrowed her eyes, “How do I know you won’t just entrap me the same as her?”

They looked around and held out their hands palms up, “What choice do you have? You are clearly powerful, Harbinger. Fight Radiance. Fight me! Fight, fight, fight!” They raised their fists and shook them in the air in time with their chant, “I’ll aid you on the outside, while you…”

There was a sudden flash of green fire and Radiance was there. She glowered at Infamy, “Hsst. Begone, pest!” With a flip of her wrist she cast them out, smirked at Wraith then vanished.

Left alone, Wraith smiled, “Fight from the inside.”

…..

…..

MacCready happened to be on guard when Atom’s Assassin had their next major breakthrough. He was working on a gun restoration that Cait had brought for him and he felt her looking at him. Glancing up their eyes met and he could see that hers were clear. He jumped up and all but threw the worktable aside to get to her, “Wraith! Wraith! Wraith!” Breaking his own rule, he stuck his arms through the bars and pulled her to him. He cupped her face, kissed her then clunked their foreheads together, “I love you.”

“I… love… you too… Mac.”

He turned away to call to Hancock before kissing her again, “Are you back? Please. Please be back!”

The rest of her friends poured down the stairs with Hancock in the lead. He hugged and kissed her as well before making way for rest of them. He happened to glance at the glowing one and noticed that Infamy had their teeth bared in obvious effort, “Not sure how much time we got...”

Wraith suddenly pulled away from Deacon and turned back to MacCready. There was fear in her eyes and the effort it took to speak was clear, “I… love you, Mac.” When he tried to reciprocate she shook her head, “No… you don’t… understand. I would have… killed you anyway. It doesn’t… matter.” Her eyes filled with tears and she backed away to the far corner of the cage, “She’ll use me… to kill… you all. I love you all… I’ll kill you all… and she’ll… make me see every moment of it.”

“Why is she doin’ this?! Who or what is she?”

“And what does she want with Hancock?”

Wraith’s eyes lost their focus and she was soon back to a snarling beast, but she held on for just long enough to tell them Radiance’s true name, “She’s… Emogene.” 

......

......

Thank you so much for reading! Like what you read? Looking for more? Please see my masterlink post under the Wraith in the Ruins tag (if my tags are working, haha) or my pinned post. As always, my ask is open. If you have any questions/concerns/comments please feel free to drop me a line. I will try to answer promptly and would love to hear from you. =^..^=     

[billie-ford]

1, 2

No Days Left

T/W: Description of graphic death

9

Never in her life had Billie gotten along with someone so well, and so easily. Well, other than Abraham but he was her blood, she had no choice. Glenn was different. He was happy, actually - strangely - happy, and the brightness of his smile had infected Billie like the plague surrounding them. She couldn’t remember the last time she really laughed but now she found herself giggling like a school girl with a crush every time Glenn cracked a joke. 

She showed him a picture of her son. “He looks like you.” She smiled with pride. 

“It’s been so long since he’s seen another person. I wonder how he’ll react.”

They laughed openly over a warm two liter of Mountain Dew and fawned over their mutual obsession of baseball despite how tired they were growing from the days heat. The painted hues of pink and orange that began spreading across the sky didn’t help their case. The group had dropped them off on the clearest road nearby, at least saving them a good few miles of walking before taking off to their enticing camp on the hill. “Hey, I know about that spot. I had a buddy who was workin’ construction on it.” Billie said. 

By the time they reached the back porch of the house the sun had set completely and the line of trees that felt like a safe force field in the morning became an abyss at night. They ascended the stairs carefully, each step on the aged wood creaking horribly. It was silent otherwise, eerily silent. Billie reached the window that peered into the kitchen and blinked her flashlight twice, a small signal set up between her and her husband to keep from startling him when she returned. But after minutes of waiting and a repeat of the blinking, both through the kitchen window again and up into the bedroom in case he had fallen asleep, she got no response. A bad feeling settled in her gut and she looked at Glenn with a frown of unease.

With his assist, they shoved their way into the home, the couch toppling into the counter as they did so and the loud thump of the wood frame caused the two to cringe. From her stance in the kitchen Billie could see the living room; the front window was busted and a boarded piece of wood was knocked out of its place. That bad feeling in her gut twisted like a knife and she called out to Hunter and Devin, nevermind the noise it made.

‘They left. They were in danger and Hunter took Devin and he left. He left me a note telling me where he would be and I’ll find it any second now. They’re safe. My boy is safe.’

She checked the basement, the bathroom, the closets and when she reached the staircase she froze.

There was blood. A lot of blood. Pooling from what she assumed was the hallway and trickling down the wooden staircase like a river. Glenn reached for her shoulder when she went rigid. Ascending the stairs, Glenn taking the lead for her sake, they could hear the growls that came from the other side of the bedroom door and saw a vast pool of blood that leaked from the other side of the door frame. A bloody hand print painted the doorknob, coating Glenn’s hand when he reached to turn it.

She had always told Hunter that it was the bite that turns you. If he, God forbid, got bit he had to get as far away from Devin as possible; lock him in another room, a closet, lock himself in the basement, go outside. Something! Anything! Just protect Devin. He didn’t remember. Why couldn’t he have just remembered? Glenn opened the door, lead pipe in hand, and when he did Billie finally fell to the floor with guttural wails.

He didn’t know how much blood could come out of a three year old boy. Not that it was something he ever felt the need to think about, but seeing how the beige carpet had taken on an unnatural hue of brown and crimson, it made his stomach churn. Hunter looked back with milky eyes at the sound of his former wife, torn flesh hanging from his jaws as he chewed. His big dorky glasses were skewed on his face, a chunk of flesh on his left forearm was missing and he was stained with his own blood. Glenn made quick work of the misfortune that had befallen the man, sending the lead pipe through an eye socket before the weight of his body went crashing to the floor all too heavily.

He had just met her, had just been laughing with her like old pals. Now his heart was breaking for Billie. My baby! Not my baby! You fucking bastard how could you let this happen?! You useless fucking coward! She clutched her chest as if her heart would fall out if she didn’t.

“Bill...” Nothing he could say would calm her. A mother torn from her child. He settled for crouching down and taking her hands that shook violently into his own. “Billie we need to go. Who knows how many have heard us now.”

“No! I’m not leaving him like this not my-” Another sob racked her body and she recoiled further into herself. She wanted to die with them, with her son. What remained of her son. “He needs to be buried, Glenn please. I can’t leave him here I can’t - I can’t do that to my baby, please.”

“Billie...” “I have to!”

He couldn’t argue with a distraught mother. A widow. If they stayed and buried them they had no chances of saving any daylight for the trip back to camp. They would have to sleep here for the night and Glenn knew how awful that would be for her if she wasn’t traumatized enough. Hesitantly he nodded and from a crouched position against the wall he watched as she wrapped her son with a sheet pulled from the closet. Whimpering her apologies to him as she did so.

She stood with a lackadaisical look in her eye and beckoned Glenn to follow her. “What about..him?” He pointed to Hunter’s corpse, which Billie had to step over twice to retrieve her son. Not once looking back into the room, Billie spoke with coldness that made Glenn swallow thickly.

“He did this to my boy. Let him rot.”

10

It was too quiet now. Not an undead soul in sight as Billie dug while Glenn shined the flashlight for her from the patio step. He offered to take the load off, to finish the digging but she refused, telling herself this was something she had to do. The sorrow behind her eyes was palpable, staring solemnly into the pit as she placed Devin’s body into it with the care of a mother placing their baby in a crib. Another sob began to shake her shoulders and Glenn pulled her into the tightest hug he could manage. “It’s not your fault, Billie. Remember that...”

They busted into a house just a few doors down. It was hours after midnight when Billie finished and nothing in her allowed her to step foot back into that house. She had shut herself in the attic while Glenn went back for supplies. It was a murder scene and somehow reentry was worse than the first time. It made him queasy to walk back into that bedroom, to step over that body while collecting what was useful from the room. He did manage to find another spare sheet, which he used to cover the body on the carpet. One of those things he managed to find within the room was a stuffed blue monkey inside the closet. It had to have belonged to her son. A new wave of sympathetic sadness washed over Glenn and he shoved the monkey into his duffle bag, trying to shake the thought of what he had witnessed hours ago to continue his scavenging.

He stopped at the bottom of the stairs and admired the neatly hung framed photos of the family; A portrait of the three, Devin blowing out the candles on a birthday cake, Billie holding a newborn Devin, and what looked to be Billie and Hunter on prom night. He snuck the photo of Billie and Devin out of its frame and folded it into his pocket, hoping to give it to Billie in the morning along with the stuffed animal.

As he stepped away to continue his searching he felt the crunch of glass under his sneaker and lifted his heel to find a frame knocked to the floor. He turned it over to reveal a much younger Billie held securely in camouflage donned arms. She had a bright smile, her two front teeth missing, and wore a He-Man pajama top.

“Is that...” His brow furrowed, inspecting the photo. This tiny Billie was in the arms of someone Glenn knew. Someone he saw every day when he stepped out of his tent in the morning. Someone who had picked him up on the side of the road when the world had officially gone to shit. It was Abraham. Billie knew Abraham?

That photo too was taken from its frame and with sudden haste Glenn was bounding to the other house like he had just found the last golden ticket. Hey Bill! Your friend..or your brother or your..father? He’s still alive! He and his family are all okay! Does it make you feel better that his family is alive and yours isn’t?

However, she was asleep upon his arrival. The sunken bags beneath her eyes were darker than ever and her nose had run dry now. She had cried herself to sleep. Glenn slipped the photos and the monkey into her backpack and sat down on the nest of blankets beside her.

He watched her for a moment under the light of the moon. A sleeping person was supposed to look peaceful - that’s how it was always described in those romance novels his mom liked to read - but there was nothing peaceful about Billie. At least not now. Her fists gripped her blanket and the features of her face were so tightly collected that it almost aged her. Maybe seeing Abraham in the morning would help her cope with the events of last night, even if just for a second. That much the optimist in Glenn could only hope.

11

“Shut that shit up!”

Glenn awoke with a start. The walkie on the floor between them had crackled with life a few times before Billie swung a frustrated hand in his direction. It was Rosita’s voice on the radio, the worry in it obvious as she repeated his name, begging for him to answer. She must have been pacing most of the night waiting for the two and whoever else was bound to arrive. Now her distrust in Billie was beginning to resettle in her stomach, spitting “I knew it” to Dale when they never showed.

“Rosita? I’m here.” His voice cracked, his back and neck were sore from his position on the wood floor when he sat up to stretch.

“Glenn? Glenn! Are you alright? Where are you? You never showed- was it her? I told you we couldn’t trust her..”

“I’m fine, Rosita. We both are.” That wasn’t exactly the truth. “We’ll be back at camp before noon, no worries.”

“Do you want us to come get you?” “We’re fine.”

The line went silent before she responded with a curt fine. Glenn tossed the walkie onto his bag and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Billie had rolled away from him, curled completely against the wall. Whether or not she was sleeping he couldn’t tell, but he knew they had to get a move on.

“You up?” He spoke softly, his hand barely grazing her as he tapped her shoulder. Her eyes were open, though heavy lidded, and she stared blankly into the white wall. “We should get going soon.”

She remained silent. The air around them was uncomfortable but reasonably so. Glenn had lost anyone in that way and he could only assume this was the appropriate response. “A’right..” She finally croaked.

Her movements were weighed down but eventually she was moving; slipping her boots on and slinging her bag over her shoulder.

“Glenn?” “Yeah?” “We’re stuck.”

He looked back to where she was; stood over the open door and staring down into the hallway. His face twisted in confusion. “What do you mean?”

She pointed down disinterestedly and Glenn stood to see what she was looking at. As he got closer to her and the door he could hear it; the growls, the moans, the shuffles of clumsy feet. Fifteen, maybe twenty walkers were packed into the hallway alone and Glenn cursed themselves for never staying alert enough to here them. How did they even get in?

“What do you want to do?” She asked.

“What can we do?”

“Well...we can try and slide our way out that window, but that’s a two story drop. We can run down there and hop we get the jump on all’em or..well..there’s another way but I don’t think you’d like it much..”

“If it’ll get us out safe, let’s try it.”

12

Glenn gagged as Billie slathered his poncho-like sheet in the blood and guts of the walker he helped her haul to the attic. “They can’t smell you if you smell like them,” she reasoned, seemingly unbothered by the fact she was elbow deep in intestines. She swiped her dirty hands on herself when she was done and peered up at Glenn with question. “Ready?”

He nodded despite his clearly visible unease, so they loaded their supplies on their backs and stayed close as they descended the ladder, their breathes catching in their throats as they felt the bodies begin to bump up against their legs. Billie had a hand wrapped around Glenn’s wrist, keeping him close. ‘They must have been stragglers from the gas station herd.’ they were both thinking. It must have been that same herd that came through for Hunter and Devin, coming from behind Billie when she left that morning.

There was nothing like being up close and personal with these undead things; a multitude of awful smells and their skin felt like a leather saddle or a rubber boot. Depends on where they went bad. The worst part, however, was having their face so close; their eyes looking into yours but never once tearing to take a bite out of you, just milky, hemorrhaged orbs staring blankly into yours. Billie wondered what they could see; if they could see anything at all; memories, body temperatures, other walkers, anything.

It was nearly impossible getting through the hallway with how many of them there were stuffed in the narrow space and when they reached the living room they found just how the house was breached. The front door they had kicked in, splintered along the side, hadn’t locked when Glenn turned the deadbolt and the couch pushed up against it just never toppled over when it was pushed open. Billie shook her head - we’re dumbasses. 

When they made it to the clear street they ditched their blood soaked ponchos to the grass and dashed for Billie’s prior house. “I have my bike,” she shouted as they ran, “we can take that.” 

He wasn’t sure if it was the adrenaline, the shock of what they just did, or the fumes that decomposing bodies released, but Glenn was laughing as they ran to her garage.

13

The cool metal of the shotgun action grazed Abraham’s fingertip as he looked out over the horizon for the fifth time since dawn. His worry for Glenn had grown tremendously since receiving the knowledge that Glenn had went off with some stranger, vowing to bring back a number of them. It had the ginger chomping at the bit to aim the barrel down the throat of any of the unfamiliars when, and if, they arrived. The sun was at its highest point in the sky when the camp heard the tutting of an engine in the distance and they all gathered to greet it, to get a look at the face that had helped there own out of that garage.

 Abraham strode through the group and their line of vehicles to greet the two, to check on Glenn’s condition, but as he approached the familiar motorcycle he felt the muscles in his legs weaken and he froze in his tracks. He knew that bike, that bike that she was always working on in the garage when he came by for a beer. And he knew those black boots that she had drawn a tic tac toe board on with a metallic sharpie. He knew those tattoos on her arms and those braids and that old Beastie Boys shirt. That shirt he had given to her when he outgrew it.

Helmet still on her head, Billie froze too, Abraham’s named muttered confused into the cushioned protection. It wasn’t long before the majority of the group had surrounded to greet their friend and his new companion, but when they saw Abraham’s clenched jaw and his firm brow they all took a concerned step back. It was obvious they knew each other - whether or not they were about to draw guns was the concern.

“Auntie Bill!” With a squeak, Abraham’s oldest shoved her way passed her father and into the arms of a dumbfounded Billie once she had removed her helmet and the woman caught her with wide eyed disbelief. “Oh, you stink!”

It was really them; Abraham, and Jane, Millie and the twins. Even Kenny, her old boss back at the auto shop, looked at her with a surprised smile. They had all made it.

“Y’all know her?”  Dale gawked at his leader.

Abraham finally smiled through teary eyes, “she’s uh...that’s my kid sister.”

The entirety of the Ford clan had Billie wrapped in their embrace, a heart-warming moment that could hardly be seen through their tears.

“You smell like a morgue, pup.” Abraham chuckled, pressing a kiss to her temple. He just couldn’t believe it.

“We kinda went through it to get here..”

“What happened to the others?” Rosita asked, “weren’t there supposed to be more?”

Billie and Glenn shared a look before he opened his mouth to speak. “They ran off before we got there.” She stopped him before he could. “Must’ve been afraid I wasn’t coming back.”

That was total bullshit, that much Abraham could tell from the far away look in her eye but now definitely wasn’t the time to press it. “I’m sorry, pup. At least you have us now.”

“You must be starving.”  Jane smiled warmly at her sister-in-law, taking her hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Both of you, come sit. I’ll make y’all some sandwiches.”

No one had said anything to Billie for the rest of the afternoon, no one but Millie who was exuberantly showing how well she took care of the bunny Billie had once given her.

“You’ve been hugging it haven’t you?” Billie asked through mouthfuls of ham and cheese and slurps of PBR.

“Every night before bed.” “I could feel it. I told you I could.”

Billie winked and her niece - named loosely after her - giggled. Abraham watched the light-hearted exchange with a happy glint in his eye. It was almost dream-like to see his sister sat by the fire, washed off and healthy, playing with her niece’s messy hair and teasing her about the rough cut. But if it was in fact a dream, he would kill whoever woke him.

For fifteen years of his life he had walked this Earth having no clue who Billie was and when she was born he didn’t have much care for her. Only as she grew did he develop a love for his kid sister - the only thing he could thank his father for - and the last six excruciating months reminded him just how much she did mean to him now. Having her here, not a hair distressed on her head, he realized he just couldn’t live to be without her again.