#meant i could put the wool on his neck too without it covering his face

[kriscommitscrimes]

wanted to make him look even more like a sheep by making his muzzle longer but he really just looks like the nerd inventor white boy whos in every single cartoon ever

[lilith-of-rivia]

Chapter 1: The Meeting

Summary: Ina of Cintra the Lioness's firstborn daughter has been a well-kept secret. her title as princess never leaving the castle walls, her abilities, abnormalities not being uttered without the blessing of the queen. She has her entire life planned and guided so she doesn't break the Crown's rules. She has been an outstanding model of good behavior, that's until she meets a certain witcher.

Word Count: 3.6K

Warnings: Blood and gore, swearing, mentions of death

I

“Ma’am…” Knock, knock, knock. I had heard whoever it was coming to wake me up before they even got to my door.

“Yes?” I heard them hold their breath, they weren’t expecting me to be awake.

“Uh-uh yes ma’am, Druk is outside. He has sent for you.”

“Yes thank you. I’m awake.” I said as I rose from my bed. Folding at the hips my fingers gazed at the floor as I yawned in a stretch. My spins cracked along with my shoulders.

“Yes of course ma’am” There were no footsteps and the heartbeat was still there outside the door.

“You may leave now.”

“Right right, yes ma’am.” Scurried light footsteps filled the empty hall as they left.

With a heavy sigh, I contemplated the day I had ahead of myself. Mornings with Druk were never different. The day was was one full day of drills, day two was one different full day of drills than to day three, four, five, then repeat next week. Druk wasn’t like other witchers I had met. He wasn’t focused on the coin or glory. Maybe it’s because he saw his brothers and mentors be slaughtered when his Keep fell.

“Knock knock.” My eyes snapped to the door of my room, dragging attention away from the gauntlet on my. My mother stood at the door. She was still in her sleep clothes, a wool robe hugged her body as she smiled softly at me from the door.

“Morning mother,” I said looking back at my gauntlet, huffing in frustration as I struggled to get them tied.

Wordlessly my mother walked across the room, grabbing my arm as she sat in the chair across from the one I was in. her fingers delicately tied the strings tightly, the gauntlets tightening around my wrists. Once finished, she softly held one of my hands, her face was cold, stoic as always. But once she looked me in the eyes I saw the fear.

“You know, don’t you…” I nodded my head. Looking out the window of my room, breaking eye contact. I stood up walking from her to the armored cabinet in my room. I grabbed my two swords from their hooks looking over them and assessing their sharpness.

“I heard you and the court talking last night. Many in this castle forget I have super hearing.” I heard her sigh heavily, shakily.

“I’m so sorry, Ina…” I turned to her. Her gaze was on the floor, her chest rising and falling fast.

“Mum...don’t cry…” I crouched down by her side, my hands going to hers squeezing them. She looked back at me, one hand cupping my face. Her thumb softly brushed over the scar on my left cheek.

“I’m so sorry I brought you into this world...Into this life...I wish I had known your life would be so painful…” I leaned into her warm hand, my eyes closing as she spoke.

“Stop blaming yourself...everything happens for a reason...and no matter what happens after the meeting today...I will always love you.” Her hand moved from my face to my neck. She pulled me into her chest, hugging me tightly.

“I’m so sorry.” Hse sobbed into my hair, rocking us back and forth. I said nothing, just kept my arms around her, holding her while she sobbed. Her tears wetting the spot she laid on my shoulder.

“Don’t be…”

II

“You know princess, I do not normally wait. You are lucky the gold and wine your mother gives is so good.” Druk’s voice was below a whisper as we snuck through the damp dark woods. My hands felt the tree bark under us as we slowly tipped around the fallen trees, as to make as little noise as possible. Funny with Druk’s big mouth.

“My mother is very worried about the meeting tonight,” I whispered back, following him as he weaved in and around the thickly wooded forest. We were hot on the trails of a stray kikimore that had been terrorizing a southern village. Druk and I were sent to take care of it.

“Are you worried?” Druk asked, pausing to look back at me.

I stopped too for a moment, thinking about his question.

My eyes searched the forest around us while we sat in silence. The forest was no longer lush and green. Late Saovine meant the world was cold, covered in ice and snow. Nothing was awake. All the animals were in hibernation, birds had flown south for the winter. The only things still awake were the monsters.

“No. I’m not. Should I be?” Druk looks away from me, his amber eyes searching the forest around us.

“Tonight is the night a pannel of witchers, mages, and the royal court you belong to decide if you go through the trials...maybe a little of fear. It would be healthy.” I smirked and rolled my eyes.

“Fear isn’t necessary for my vocabulary.” Druk laughed softly, his head nodding as he looked me in the eyes again.

“Then don’t be afraid. Fuck em all. If any woman could survive the trials it’s you.” Once finished with his small sentiment, a cheesy grin spread across his face. He nodded his head in the direction of the kikimore and we both rook off after it again.

Our feet lept, ran, jumped, and sprinted across the fallen trees and rocks throughout the forest. The snow-covered ground would cause too much noise. Druk had gone to the Witcher school of the cat. He prides himself on his ability to remain stealthy and quiet, all while being just as lethal as witchers from other schools. He taught me to only put my feet on the ground when it really mattered. You’re much easier to be tracked and killed when you travel foot to the ground. But foot to a tree to rock is a different story.

Jumping from a rock onto a tree we scaled the side till we were above the tree line. Out heads stuck up and out of the dead branches. Our chests rising and falling heavily as we looked around, noses sniffing out the location of the kikimore. The high point giving us the advantage. Druk’s yellow eyes scanned the trees below while I sniffed the wind. He had better eyes than I. his mutations to thank for that. The wind blew softly and the thick smell of iron and rotting corpses seeped into my nostrils and filled my head.

“To the east,” I said quietly. Druk adjusted his direction eyes grazing the land elbow us. A small smirk graced his lips, he found it.

“It about four hundred yards northeast. Common princess no time to waste.” We quickly scaled our way down the tree till our feet were steady on the branches. He wasn’t wrong, we were already out way longer than we were intending. Meaning we were going to be late for the meeting.

Druk took the lead. His hand holding the hilt of his silver swords. His other hand out in front of him, his fingers gleaming with a soft blue tint. Aard was spoken in elder inaudible to the average human. He was prepared to blast the kikemore to give me more time to ambush it. Druk only ever took the lead, then he’d stand back and watch. He’d teach me a new skill by charging whatever beast. Whether it was a new sign manipulation, a new combat skill, or hell even how he wields his sword. He started, I’d then follow and clean up.

“Ready Ina?” There was a soft pop and a cork fell onto the ground below us with a soft thud. His head fell back the liquid pouring down his throat. He grimaced slightly before turning to me, his eyes were black as night, now white to be seen. The veins on his neck, face, and hands were dark black and bulging. The potion was vital for witchers, giving them heightened senses, and skills. Allowing their powers to increase.

“So fucking ready,” I said, a smile gracing my lips. He returned the smile, his more sinister with the help of his eyes.

My sword was in hand. The silver catching the few rays of sun peeking through the clouds above. We both moved silently through the brush. Out feet feather-light against the snow. We moved fast, never keeping pressure on one spot too long to not break the crust of the snow. Druk made it to the clearing first. The Kikimore was alerted to us as soon as we reached its small nest.

Druk’s hand thrust out in front of himself, a huge ball of blue light smacked into the kikimore, throwing it back and hard into the tree. Druk sheathed his sword and ducked behind me. The kikimore shook its head before it made eye contact with me. I crouched lower to the ground, eyeing the beast. It slowly started to move to its left, so I mimicked it. We slowly began circling one another. The Kikimore’s large gray limbs stabbed into the ground with every step. Its gross snarly face, red beady eyes looking me over, studying my every move. The only issue was I knew where and how it would be.

The kikimore pounced, its legs kicking up dirt as it tore after me. The short distance between us was gone in no time. I lunged out of the way. Diving and rolling away from the clumsy beast. I was much smaller, giving me an advantage.

“My my what an ugly fucker you are.” I mocked. The beast turned to me again, and let out a low grumbly growl. I was moving closer to its nest. I could smell the rotting bodies even worse as I moved slowly. My eyes never leaving the kikimore.

It charged again. I slashed my sword through the air, spinning around, splicing my sword up in the air. The kikimore squealed and screamed as its leg fell from its body. Spinning on my heels my sword slashed through the air again, making contact with its neck. The sword slashed through the beast’s thick, fat neck like butter. The screams stopped, the kikimore’s body falling limp on the ground, blood-spewing, and pooling on the ground and around my boots. I sighed heavily, a smile gracing my lips again as I whipped the dark black blood from my blade before sliding back into its sheath on my back.

Clap, clap, clap. “Very well done princess!! A full-grown warrior kikimore down in two strikes, no potions or magic!” Druk had a smile ear to ear, his potion still in effect. Seeing a laughing, happy smiling witcher with pure black eyes was a sight to see.

“Only as good as my mentor my dear friend,” I said with a laugh. Crouching to the ground, my hand gathering the small tuft of hair atop the kikimore’s head and lifted it so it was eye level with me. Blood dripped from its mouth, nose, and eyes. Its dark purple tongue hung out of its mangled mouth.

“Add another one to my list.”

III

“Common hurry Druk!!” I yelled through the rain as we ran up the cobblestone road towards the castle. The kikimore’s head swung over my shoulder. “We are already late they will have my head!!” Druk ran from the stables after me, quickly catching up with me right as I neared the doors.

The two guards opened them for us as we walked through. I breathed heavily, my lips blue as my teeth chattered. Despite my many abnormal traits I still got just as cold as the average human. The rain had come out of nowhere. The two of us speed walk down the corridor, our muddy boots squeaking against the marble floors as we got closer to the royal library. A place I’d only ever been when I was being threatened by the crown’s court. The doors appeared ahead of us as we both halted before we could be close enough to be heard. The floor below us was wet as we dripped head to toe.

Glancing at Druk I gulped, now that I was about to walk into the room, I was more than terrified. The prospect of the trials was so much closer than they had ever been my entire life. Druks hand went to my shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“You’ve got this.” He whispered, before giving me a soft push towards the door. I took a deep breath before shoving the door open, swallowing the fear and placing the stoic look of my mother back on my face.

The voices in the room stopped when I walked in. my boots stopping heavily on the floor. My eyes glanced around the room, everyone there were people I have known for many years. My mother stood in the center of the room by her throne, my sister who was not supposed to be here was next to her. They looked scared.

“Sorry, I’m late, had a prior arrangement.” I heaved the beast’s head over my shoulder and threw it on the floor. It flopped down and rolled a little its tongue falling out as its cold dead eyes stared up at Gadri, a member of the Crowns Court. His face scrunched in disgusts before he kicked it away from his shoes.

“You are nearly three hours late, Ina.” I rolled my eyes my attention going back to my mother and sister.

“What is she doing here?” I asked pointing to my sister.

“We think it’s important that the future queen gets to help make choices regarding her subjects.” Hazzez, a plump fat little man with a bald shiny head and large white mustache and beard said standing from his seat.

I huffed, the corner of my lip pulling into a sly smirk as I shook my head. Water falling on the floor.

“Yes, the future queen who passes her sister even tho her sister is the senior. Yes, and my sister needs to be in control of whether I will be subjected to the trials and if I’ll die or not.” Druks witcher attitude tended to rub off on me. Witchers are trained, to be honest, overly honest. Blunt and rude is what many present them as.

“Ina. enough.” my mother said sternly, her jaw tightening. I bite my tongue nodding my head. My fingers pulled at the buttons of my jacket, throwing it on the floor in a wet pile. The room was cold, making the wet clothes on my body send shivers down my spine.

I glanced around the room, eyeing the other members of the Crown’s Court. And then the other few people who were in the room. Tissaia, a mage from Aretuza smiled at me fondly as we made eye contact.

“Hello, princess, my how you’ve grown.” Her voice filled the empty room. I smiled back at her.

“Tissaia-” I bowed my head to her softly, “yes, it’s been a while hasn’t it? What 15 years?”

“17 years.” my mother chimed in behind me.

“Whos the mystery man next to you?” I asked her, she glanced over at the witcher who was perched next to her. Druk was seated next to him.

“Well get to that in a second. Please sit down.” Hazzez said, gesturing to a lone isolated chare in the middle of the room.

It was as if I was on trial, for simply being born.

IV

“Druk how has she been doing?” My mother asked, her eyes glaring daggers at the five men who were attempting to discredit the years of work and training I had done with Druk.

Durk rose from his seat next to the other witcher, a bored look on his face. “She is exceptional. Not only her physical talents in combat and swords but her book knowledge. I’ve trained three other witchers before her, and none of them come close to the skills she posses. She is a skilled alchemist, a skilled swordsman, she is skilled in nearly every talent she tries. I would trust her in a battle to have my back any day. It has been an honor training her for 15 years, your highness.” I smiled at him, a smirk covering his lips.

“With all due respect your highness we are not interested in what the witcher from a failed school has to say. The witcher to his right has been watching her and keeping track of her success. That’s who we care about.”

Before the witcher could address them, Tissaia stood up. “What is the problem here gentlemen. On her fifth birthday, you all made this a rule. You said her abnormalities would only ever benefit her if she was trained as an assassin or a witcher. She has been trained for 17 years by a witcher, as a witcher. She has proven time and time again she doesn’t need the trials and mutations to be as skilled as a witcher.”

“Thank you, Tissaia, but need I remind you that you are only here to as a stand-in for the mage in your court who can still perform the mutations. Please sit down and be quiet.” My mother shot Tissaia a look, making her shut her mouth and sit down. The witcher next to Druk stood up.

“I have been following her and her trainer. For months now. Even just today I followed them while they killed the stray Kikimore. She killed the Kikimore with two strikes something many of my boys have struggled with as fully mutated and trained witchers. She without a doubt has a talent and a heart of the witcher.” I heard my mother’s breath catch in her throat as she held my sister’s hand. My sister was stating at me, had been since I sat down. Her face was painfully still, her throat tight as she breathed heavily. She looked scared, so did my mother.

“Tissaia, you will take Ina to Kear Morhen. Along with the mages in your court. The mutations will be done by the end of the week.” My throat ran dry. Hazzez kept talking but my brain tuned him out. None of us thought they would go through with this. The chances of me surviving the trials and the mutations were nearly impossible. Less than 20% of the boys who face the trials died. And the mutations are designed for male genetics, not females. I was never supposed to be mutated, just trained.

“Hazzez you piece of shit!!” My mother screamed as she stood from her chair. Her hand reached for the dagger she kept strapped to her thigh.

Her hand came down quickly with the shinny dagger, flying towards Hazzez face. My hands quickly caught her arms and I pushed her back. Knowing if she killed one of her court members over me I would surely be sent away and killed, no chance of survival.

“Mother mother please stop it please,” I screamed into her red, tear-stained face as she attempted to fight me off. Her chest rose and fell heavily. She hissed through her gritted teeth, she was probably breaking teeth.

“Queen Calanthe-” Hazzez spoke. I turned to look at him, my back to my mother. Her dagger is in my hand. I threw it to the floor, kicking it away. “Do not forget the sympathy the crown, and your father gave you for your bastard daughter. She should have been killed out of the womb. But your father cared too much for you. Count your blessing that you got 20 years with her, and at least she will die with a little bit of dignity.” Hazzez stood up to leave, the four men ready to follow him, they gathered their belongings.

“Gentlemen.” My mother said, her voice harsh and cold like the wind outside. Her brows set in a low glair as she looked them up and down. “I am still your queen, you do not get to control everything. It’s clear you’ve made your choice, but when it happens. That is my choice. She is my daughter. I choose when she goes with the witcher. I do not know when that will be but it will be after her sister’s betrothal. If you have an issue with that, find a new court to control.” the five men looked at her, then each other before nodding and walking out of the room silently.

My mother’s hands held my arms as she dragged me into her chest. My sister came up to us both, her hands wrapping around both my mother and me I. her head resting on my shoulder. Wrapping one arm around her and one around my mother, I let my fear fall. My fear came out in silent sobs. My shoulders shook, my eyes clouding as I stared at the wall behind my sister. The tears pooled down my face.

My mother pulled back, one hand on each of my cheeks, her fingers brushing my tears away.

“You will be the first female witcher to ever be. You will make history.” my shoulders started to shake more violently as I cried more. The impending end of my life is on the horizon. My mother’s denial was just to help her cope, but we both knew how it would end.

“Mum...we both know what will happen to me...I won’t survive it.” my voice was broken as I spoke caving as I cried. Her fingers moved faster to wipe my tears as she shushed me. My sister’s hands are on my arms and back.

“Even if that’s the case, it won’t be for at least another month. Live your life for the next month the way you want to, no regrets,-”

“No hesitations.” I interrupted her, a small smile tugging at my lips. Her eyes softened at me. She leaned in placing a soft kiss on my forehead.

“You can do this Ina. You are the Lioness Cub. If anyone can do it, it’s you.”

[lonely-lost-soul]

Under the Floorboards pt. III

(Technoblade x Reader): Pt. I, Pt. II, Pt. III, Pt. IIII

     From that day on Tommy stayed with you and Technoblade in your collective house, Technoblade tried to establish some ground rules but Tommy being Tommy refused to listen to any of them. He was dead set on building a cobblestone tower as well as taking all of Technoblade’s golden apples instead of eating the golden carrots that were graciously given to him. Other than that, things seemed to be going okay for your little found family. Well, that was until Technoblade and Tommy got wind that a man named Dream was sniffing around the area. 

 Dream was an enigma to you, after hearing Tommy’s stories about the man you could only come up with two conclusions about him. One was that you had no idea what his motivations were in the first place and secondly you wanted to beat his ass for what he did to Tommy. As... unique as he could be at times no child deserved to be exiled and manipulated, it was disgusting. He was a sixteen-year-old boy who got caught up in too many wars and too much violence, you needed to protect him. So long as he was with you and Technoblade that’s what you planned on doing. That was what you silently vowed to yourself, even if Technoblade didn’t share the same sentiment. 

 Now, it seemed you were coming increasingly closer to voicing those feelings to the man himself. Tommy was shaking a little besides you he tried to look strong as Technoblade frantically told him to hide and splashed him with invisibility potions. He looked over at you next and grabbed your shoulders, he actually looked scared, which meant he wasn’t messing around. 

          “You need to hide too. God- there’s nowhere that he won’t check.” Technoblade mumbled, his brow creased, and he closed his eyes. “He CAN’T know about you! No one other than Tommy can, they’ll hurt you and-” Hesitantly you put your hands on his cheeks,  

         “Take a deep breath…” You said tenderly as he opened his eyes to lock with your own. “We’ll be okay, splash me with invis and I’ll stay by Edward, hopefully it’ll mask my particle effects.” He gave a worried nod; you pecked his lips tenderly to reassure him as he splashed you with the potion. Just in time too because a knock on the door sounded, for once Tommy was absolutely silent. You watched as a man who rivaled your boyfriend in size came through the door, your eyes widened at the white mask covering his face there was an almost haunting smile painted on it. You pressed your tongue against your teeth and watched him give a wave to your boyfriend. Even without seeing his face you could tell he was smirking coyly at him. Never one to be intimidated Technoblade gave him a casual greeting and their conversation about Tommy’s location began. You had to cover your mouth with your hands at one point to stop yourself from laughing as Techno began talking to ‘chat’ instead of talking to Dream. You watched as the masked man grew more and more angry at Technoblade’s antics, he began speaking about a favor and Techno reminded him that he believes in full reciprocity. At the end of the interaction, it took all of your strength not to punch Dream directly in his stupid masked face. Why the fuck did it sound like he wanted to murder a child? If Dream ever laid a finger on him again, he was personally going to feel your wrath. The potion wore off almost as soon as Dream disappeared over the hills, Techno immediately turned to Tommy anger written all over his face.

         “Where you eating my gapples that ENTIRE time?!” Tommy sputtered out an excuse about absorption and you watched Techno open the window and beckon Dream to come back. You gave Technoblade a look and he scoffed at you, 

          “I won’t let him hurt you again Tommy. I promise.” You swore looking down at him, and his face turned a little pink. Tommy cleared his throat and shook his head,

          “Thanks, Ms. Blade but I’m tough enough to fight him head on! Have no fear!” He pointed to himself with his thumb a proud smile adoring his face. You gave a little laugh and nodded in agreement, 

          “You definitely are. Thank you for reassuring me.” You hummed and his smile only seemed to widen, 

          “I’m more qualified to protect your girlfriend than you are it seems Technoblade.” 

 Technoblade looked unamused, his eyebrow twitching in distaste. “Tommy I literally hate you so much. You’re a nerd.” 

         “Play nice both of you.” You scolded them, “We have to work together and at least pretend to get along or it’s going to be a very long partnership.” They both nodded reluctantly, and Techno sighed tiredly, he ruffled your hair. The rest of the night was spent gathering some more food in hopes it would stop Tommy’s gapple eating tirade, it obviously wouldn’t but it didn’t hurt to try. After that all three of you turned in for the night, as both you and Technoblade were getting ready for bed he decided to speak up about the plan for the next day.

          “Tommy and I need to make a trek into L’manburg to find Phil and try to get my stuff back. I don’t want to leave you here alone considering what just happened today, but you also can’t come to L’manburg.” 

        “Bubs you know I’ll be fine here alone did we not just have this conversation?” You pinched his pointed ears, and he made a sound of protest. “I’ve got fighting skills, after all have you not been training me in the art of war?” You teased with a smirk, “I got this Blade.”

          “Okay, okay, okay.” He leaned forward and kissed you and you kissed him back without hesitation. You felt him squeeze your hand fondly before pulling away from you. “When we get back home, we’ll have a date night okay?” Technoblade whispered softly pressing his forehead to yours. 

          “Gonna be a bit hard with the raccoon boy snooping around.” You teased eyes sparkling in delight, 

         “I’ll send him on a quest for something or other. So, it’ll be just us, I swear.” The soft look on Technoblade’s face made your heart squeeze in your chest. He brushed your hair behind your ear, “I’ll make you dinner, and we can watch a movie.” 

          “Well don’t take too long then.” You sent a teasing wink his way and he smiled fondly back at you. You kissed him again pulling him down into the bed, you both bounced with a laugh. His pink hair hung down and framed his face gorgeously, his glasses slipped down his nose. You pushed them back up with your index finger and he went cross-eyed, “I’ll be looking forward to it.” 

 The next morning rolled around and after breakfast both boys reluctantly packed a bag with important things they needed for the day. Stepping outside with the two of them, Technoblade gave you a farewell kiss and you watched them disappear over the hills. They were most likely going to go cause problems for other people on purpose. Finally alone, you decided to check up on the nearby villages to see if they had any interesting trades that you and Techno could exploit. You slung a bag over your shoulder and placed a good portion of emeralds inside of it, you placed a few potions inside of the bag as well. As a precaution you also grabbed an axe and a sword, you had to be ready for anything after all. Shutting the door behind you, you started your trek through the snow-covered woods you heard the snow crunch under your boots and began to hum softly to yourself. You paused a moment and raised an eyebrow as you caught sight of a blue sheep wandering by, tilting your head to the side you approached it. 

        “Well, hey little guy.” You murmured reaching out and running your hand through the sheep’s soft wool. 

         “Oh, um excuse me!” A voice spoke from behind you, you jumped with a yelp as soon as you spun around you were met with a fully transparent man. He had a yellow sweater with a big gash in his torso, and a beanie resting atop his head. You tilted your head up and locked eyes with him, they were almost completely white.

 He was a ghost.

          “That’s Friend! She doesn’t really like others petting her but it’s okay because you didn’t know.” The ghost smiled; it was contagious as you felt yourself smiling back at him.

         “My bad, my names (Y/n). What’s yours?” 

         “Oh! I’m Ghostbur! It’s nice to meet you miss, I’ve never seen you around here before. Are you new to the SMP?” He tilted his head floating around you, almost as if to get a better look at you. You focused more on his name, Ghostbur, which means this was Wilbur Soot, ex-president of L’manburg, and ‘brother’ of Tommy and Technoblade. 

 You cleared your throat and rubbed the back of your neck. “No, I’ve lived in this area for a while, but I’m a wandering adventurer. I trade with the villages around here for interesting collectables stuff like that. I don’t do much of that now though.” You watched the ghost’s eyes widen a little,

          “That’s so cool!” He praised, “I bet you have a ton of cool stories.” 

          “Yeah, there’s been a few close calls, but I’ve made it back alive and well- oh shit no offense.” You winced a little and he laughed shaking his head, 

          “No worries it’s okay! I’m fine with being dead you know, no one really liked who I was alive, so this is better for everybody.” He puffed out his chest a little and a big smile spread across his face, that only caused you to frown. You reached out to try and touch him and your hand went right through the man, you both seemed to shiver at that, and he looked at you in shock. 

      “I’m sorry to hear that...that must be really hard.” Wilbur’s jaw dropped at your response, he floated around a bit awkwardly. If he wasn’t floating, he would’ve been shuffling on his feet in a nervous manner. 

       “N-No it’s…Wilbur was a horrible, horrible man.” He took a deep breath and began to throw some sort of blue substance on the ground in a rapid manner, you watched as he began to mutter and breath heavily. 

        “Woah, woah, woah I’m sorry don’t freak out!” 

         “I’m not, I'm okay see, see I’m fine and happy. Very happy with everything that’s going on so no worries okay! Here.” He tossed the blue substance at you and you collected it with a weary smile, “Have some blue it’ll make you feel better.” You thanked him quietly and you both stood there a bit uncomfortably that was until thunder rumbled overhead. “Oh no…I melt in the rain.” 

         “Here why don’t you come with me.” You smiled softly, “I know a place where you can wait out the storm.” 

          “Aw thank you.” Ghostbur clapped, “Friend can come too right?” 

          “Of course.” 

          “Good. Then lead the way.” He chirped as Ghostbur followed you back the way you came, now before you get too mad at yourself you should know that Technoblade had informed you that during his ‘execution’ Ghostbur had visited him at his home. If he didn’t share that information with you, you’d be never revealing Technoblade’s base. As the house appeared over the mountains the ghost looked over at you with a bright smile, “Oh! That’s my friend Technoblade’s house, do you live with him?”

         “I do.” You smiled fondly and watched his smile grow excitedly, “He’s helped me out quite a lot.”

         “That’s wonderful! Technoblade usually never helps people unless he likes them or if they can do something for him in return. You must be very special, are you two together?” He only had to glance at you for a moment before laughing excitedly, “You are! That’s wonderful!” Ghostbur chirped, clapping his hands as he phased through Technoblade’s door, officially safe out of the rain, turned snow. You had let Friend inside as well and Ghostbur continued talking “Tell me how you met, please, please, please.” Seeing how excited the ghost was you melted, he won your heart just like Tommy. However, you had to keep in mind his alive self-did blow up an entire nation and that couldn’t be just brushed away like he seemingly was trying to do, you can’t erase the past. You can only accept what happens, learn from it, apologize and grow. However, you didn’t see the harm in sharing how the both of you met so you began to retell the tale to Ghostbur, the entire time he had an almost bittersweet look on his face. 

         “I was married once...her name was Sally. She...left though. But I still had my son, Fundy and we did the best we could together.” Ghostbur said fondly his eyes softening,

         “I’m sorry...that must’ve been really hard for the both of you.” 

         “It’s alright! She was a salmon, so she was going to swim away eventually.” 

         “Like- like an actual salmon?”

          “Yes?” 

The silence that stretched into the room was deafening, you cleared your throat deciding not to dwell on the fact that the ghost in front of you very likely fucked a fish. You hoped to god she was some sort of shapeshifter, in fact that’s what you were going to believe. You managed to break the silence by asking about Fundy, and the way he gushed about him was nothing less than fatherly. It was sweet and you listened intently to him, Fundy seemed like a good kid, a bit quirky but you were dating a blood god so who were you to judge? Eventually the snow outside stopped and the sun began to peek out from behind the clouds. Ghostbur glanced out the window and decided it was time for him to head out with Friend. It was about midday and you were almost sad to see him go. 

 Alone again.

You still had hours to kill before Technoblade and Tommy reappeared, so you figured it was about time to start doing some chores. 

---

         “Ghostbur what’re you doing here?” Fundy murmured softly, looking over at the ghost with an exhausted expression. His ears were pressed back against his head, talking to the man who was once considered his dad always made him exhausted. Wilbur, or Ghostbur now, really was pitiful.

         “Can’t I visit you every once in a while!” Ghostbur hummed a smile plastered on his face as Fundy frowned. 

         “Preferably not. Plus...I’m a little busy right now I’m meeting up with Quackity and the Butcher Squad to talk about Techno again.” 

         “OH! Technoblade! I just spent the loveliest morning with his girlfriend, she was absolutely wonderful! She asked all about you and just adored Friend-”

         “Rewind, Technoblade’s what?” Fundy’s jaw dropped to the floor and he felt a hand on his shoulder, the young fox man stiffened. He looked to the side and saw Quackity besides him, Ranboo was next to him but Tubbo stood a little ways away. 

        “Yeah Ghostbur. Do continue.” Quackity grinned, his missing tooth sticking out from his last encounter with Toothpick. Ghostbur wilted a little bit and his eyebrows creased on his forehead, he fucked up didn’t he? 

        “I-um nothing actually I misspoke.”

        “Did he misspeak Fundy, cause to me it sounds like we have new leverage against Technoblade.” Quackity laughed a crazed look in his eyes, “Once again Ghostbur I have to thank you for the great information.” 

        “You’re welcome…” He murmured weakly, as Quackity stepped besides the ghost. 

        “Get your weapons boys, it’s time to pay the Technoblade household another visit.”

~~~

Hey guys! Pt. III is officially up! Technoblade’s livestreams huh? :) 

Also friendship with Tommy ended Ranboo’s my new favorite child.

As always I love your feedback thanks for reading! 

[sarcasmandships]

honey and glass part 2 ~ spencer reid

i move to new york but i can’t seem to escape spencer reid 

spencer reid x reader angst + hurt/comfort (sorta, it’s all in first person but with no names/no specific descrptions)

word count: 15.4k (got a bit carried away lol)

read part 1 here!

disclaimer: i do not ship jeid or think they had any chemistry but it’s a good opportunity for angst x

it’s snowing in new york.

i groan internally, resting my head in my hand as i stare out the window.

it’s half past six and most of my co-workers have already left for the night, but i’m still trying to mentally prepare myself to venture out in the cold.

“hey!” agent cole greets me as he flops into his chair at the desk next to mine, a mountain of papers in his arms.

“hey,” i mumble in response, “you’ve got a small rainforest there,” i motion with my head to the folders he has now spread across his desk.

“yeah, the bishop is laying it on me thick this week. you make one mistake in this place and its paperwork, paperwork, paperwork for a month. i need to get through this by lunchtime tomorrow.”

i pause and glance out the window again. i really hate the cold.

“i can give you a hand if you want-”

i’m about to suggest that he hand me over half of his files, but before i know it agent cole is leaping to his feet and flinging on his coat, “you are a lifesaver let me tell you that, god bless fitz for bringing you over from quantico!”

he’s scooping up the folders in his arms and dumping them onto my desk.

“oh! i meant that-”

“thanks again, really appreciate it!” agent cole cheers and before i can protest he’s already past the double glass doors and clambering into the elevator, he gives me a wave as the doors slide closed in front of him.

“no problem…” i say to myself.

i shuffle into the breakroom and put on a fresh pot of coffee, i’m going to need it. i fill up a mug and envelop my hands around it as i sit back down at my desk, the heat from the coffee warms my numb fingers enough to hold a pen between them. i make a start on agent cole’s paperwork.

it’s a few hours and many cups of bitter coffee later when agent fitz appears from his office, he’s wrapping a thick, wool, scarf around his neck when he passes my desk and pauses.

“you’re still here?”

“yeah…paperwork,” i say, pointing to the pile of folders i don’t even seem to have made a dent in.

he raises an eyebrow, “your file said you were efficient, but i didn’t think that even you had the ability to fill out paperwork on cases we haven’t even worked yet.”

i laugh nervously, “what do you mean, sir?”

“well, my role as assistant unit chief to agent bishop involves ensuring that all agents are up to date with their paperwork, so i know that all of your cases have been written up, reviewed and filed. so you either have some kind of psychic ability that allows you to predict your future cases and do their paperwork, or this isn’t yours.”

i can’t tell from his tone whether he is annoyed or amused.

“right,” i nod slowly, “see the thing is sir, agent cole had all of this paperwork to do and i offered to help him, only he thought i was offering to-”

“to take it all?”

“yes, exactly. agent fitz, sir.”

he takes a sharp intake of breath in through his nose, “i think that agent cole knew fine well what you meant.”

“what? then why would he-”

“can i give you some advice?”

“y-yes. of course, agent fitz. go ahead.”

“you’re a very nice person, but you’ve been here six months now so you don’t need to worry about making a good first impression anymore-”

“i’m not,” i say defensively, “i just wanted to help out a fellow agent, we used to do it at the bau all the time-”

he gives me a look.

“sorry for interrupting agent fitz, sir.”

“you’re not in quantico anymore honey, this is new york. so my advice to you is to stop being so nice, because i hate to be the one to break it to you but agent cole has taken advantage of your niceness big time here.”

“so your advice to me is to be mean because right now i’m too nice?”

“not mean, just firm. agent cole was given the extra paperwork as a consequence of his own actions, and because you’re too nice, you’re still at the office filling out reports while he’s relaxing at home.”

“be less nice, got it,” i nod and stare down at my hands, unable to believe that i fell for that, i’m supposed to be a profiler, “thank you, agent fitz,” i smile at him.

“just call me fitz, everyone does,” he says as he begins to unwind his scarf.

“what are you doing? you’ll freeze out there without that-”

“we’ll get through this in half the time if we split it,” he shrugs, “i’m gonna grab a coffee, do you want one?”

i jump to my feet, “it’s okay, i can get the coffee-”

“have you forgotten my advice already?”

i can feel the heat flooding to my face, “don’t be too nice, got it,” i sit back down again and twirl my pen.

“see, you’re learning,” he lifts my mug from my desk, “any cream or sugar?”

i shake my head.

he nods and moves into the breakroom.

i let out the breath i didn’t know i was holding. i’d been here sixth months, i thought i was finally fitting in. everything was different in new york, the way of working, the people, the humour. something that would’ve sent spencer into a fit of giggles back in virginia would only earn you a concerned stare here.

or maybe that was just spencer and i’s sense of humour, we got looks back in quantico too. but it was okay because i was with him. it had been six months and the promises of texts, phone calls, emails and letters had withered away.

jj was the only one i still regularly heard from, we called every week.

there was the occasional text from morgan, and garcia.

emails from hotch and rossi.

but from spencer, it was radio silence. i told myself it was because he was a technophobe, and he hated texting on that tiny little phone of his.

“the buttons are too small,” he’d complain.

yet my suggestion of him updating to a modern model was ‘out of the question’, i understood he didn’t like it, but i didn’t understand why he wouldn’t make the effort.

maybe i would’ve confronted him about it if i’d had the nerve, if i wasn’t too nice.

“there we are,” fitz says, placing a mug of steaming coffee in front of me.

“thank you, agen-,” i pause, “thank you fitz.”

he smiles and takes a pile of papers from my desk as he sits in agent cole’s seat.

too nice, the words echo in my head.

if i hadn’t been so intent on being the nice, sweet, helpful new girl i could be at home by now. granted my tiny apartment wasn’t much to go back to, but it was something. i had a chance for a fresh start here and i wanted to be the girl that people liked and respected. i wanted things to be different but i’m just as spineless as i’d been in qunatico.

all honey, no glass.

“you’re leaving?”

“yeah.”

“when?”

“two weeks.”

spencer gets up from the couch and storms away from me, he stares out the window, “so you’re leaving your job in the bau - one of the most sought-after jobs in the bureau - to work for the counter terrorism division in new york?”

he almost sneers ‘counter terrorism division’ at me and i’m taken aback. the spencer in front of me isn’t the spencer that i love, i close my eyes and tell myself that he’s just being defensive. i’ve known him long enough to recognise his abandonment issues.

“why are you saying counter terrorism like that? like it’s a step down for me? because it’s not. it’s better hours, better pay-”

“cost of living is higher in new york city!”

“and my new salary will be more than enough to cover it! they’re also helping me with moving expenses, helping me find an apartment – they really want me over there, spencer,” i run a hand through my hair, “do you know what that’s like for me? to have someone want me so much that they’d pay me 20% above the standard salary-”

“so this is about money for you then?” he says bitterly.

“no! it’s about someone valuing me and what i can do. it’s about someone thinking that i’m good enough and giving me the chance to prove that to myself.”

 “and what, you think that we don’t value you?”

 “i didn’t say that spencer, i’m just saying that i have a chance to excel over there and be a better agent. i’m a good profiler, but i’m not a great one, even you can see that. i’ll be happier when i’m finally in an environment where i don’t need to put myself down and compare myself to everyone around me.”

 “please stay,” he pleads, “can’t you stay for me? everyone is leaving or dying. please, you can’t leave me too.”

 spencer reid is standing in front of me with tears in his eyes begging me not to go, and i want nothing more than to rush to him and promise that i will never abandon him. if i hadn’t already signed a binding contract, i would probably be in his arms now.

 i shake my head, “i’m sorry spencer, it’s already been decided. i’m only staying these extra two weeks to give hotch a chance to find someone else, i didn’t want you to be down two agents.”

 spencer clenches his fist, “i can’t believe this is really happening. jj left, and now you’re leaving too. emily hasn’t even been dead a month and-”

 “you think i don’t know that? you think i just forgot that emily died? you aren’t the only one suffering here spencer! agent fitz brought up transferring to me over a year ago, i called him up about it before jj left for the state department and i was meant to go to new york weeks ago!”

 i close my eyes and take a shaky breath before i can bring myself to continue.

 “and then emily died. and i stayed because we were all grieving and i wanted to be close to you guys, but i can’t put my life on hold forever, i can’t expect agent bishop and agent fitz to keep the job open for me forever, it’s time for me to go.”

 “why didn’t you tell me any of this sooner?”

 “because emily’s death hit you really hard and i-”

 “no, before that. you said that you were planning this before jj left, why did you wait so long?”

 “because after i called agent fitz i needed to do interviews and go through another round of interviews and interrogations, they’re really strict on security over there. it took weeks for me to even find out if they would grant me the security clearance required for the job, i wanted to be sure i was going before i said anything. and then jj left, and i was getting ready to go when emily needed help with doyle, and i told myself i would stay for once more case and then-”

 i have to stop because there’s a lump in my throat and my body is trembling. the memories of emily’s death are still so fresh in my mind, i want to curl up under a blanket and never come out when i think about her corpse, rotting away under the ground.

 “please don’t go, i need you,” he says, not even trying to disguise the way his voice cracks.

 i shake my head, “no you don’t.”

 he doesn’t. he has morgan, and hotch, and garcia, and rossi. and most importantly jj. i know that when he’s not crying in my arms, he’s crying in hers. i know the only nights he chooses me over her are the nights when she’s busy with will, or henry or something classified at the all-mighty state department.

 “yes, i do! you’re the only one who’s there for me 100% of the time, you’re the only person i can talk to about jj-”

 the only person i can talk to about jj. there we go, that’s the reason he wants me to stay. i don’t know why i’m so surprised, or why it hurts so much to hear. i should be used to it by now.

 “i can’t just hang around because you need a shoulder to cry on.”

 i must’ve let more venom slip into my voice than i intended because spencer’s face drops immediately.

 “i-i didn’t mean that, i just meant that you’re my best friend and i don’t know what i’ll do without you.”

 best friend. i can’t bring myself to respond.

 “is that what it is? are you leaving because of me? do you think that i don’t appreciate you, that i just think of you as a shoulder to cry on? because i don’t think that at all-”

 “spencer, you haven’t done anything wrong, i’m not leaving because of you, okay?”

 that’s a lie. and i hate lying to him, but he’s so busy pacing and running his hands through his hair that he doesn’t detect the guilt plastered across my face. spencer is the primary reason for my leaving, but not in the way that he thinks.

 “are you sure?” he asks frantically, “have i done something to upset you? don’t you want to be my friend anymore-”

 it’s ironic how spot on he is, whilst still being utterly oblivious to my feelings for him. i’m leaving because he unknowingly devastates me every day, i’m leaving because i don’t want to be just his friend, i want to be more but that can never happen.

 because he still loves jj. and i know that i can never be happy sitting on the sidelines of his tortured longing. i’m only trying to do what’s best for myself, but when i look at the pained expression on his face i can’t help but feel like a selfish bitch, i’m abandoning him when he needs me most.  

 “look, spencer i’m moving to new york, not australia, it’s not even that far. And we can text, and call each other and email, we can even send good old-fashioned letters if you’d prefer. this isn’t the end of the world.”

 “i think i could manage a text.”

 “really?”

 “yeah, i won’t like it. but i’d do it for you, like i said, you’re my best friend.”

 “are you okay? you look kind of zoned out” fitz asks.

 i place my phone down on my desk, “yeah i’m fine. it’s just…nevermind.”

 “hey, come on. you can tell me.”

 “i just got a call from my friend spencer, we worked together back in quantico but he wasn’t thrilled when i moved here and we never really kept up with texting or emails. i haven’t heard his voice since i left…i was just thinking about the day i told him i was leaving,” i drum my nails against my desk, “it was so long ago now, but it hurts like it was yesterday.”

 “sounds like you guys were close,” he comments carefully.

 “yeah, we were.”

 “so what did he want?”

 “um…him and my other old colleagues, they’re planning a surprise wedding for jj. she’s my best friend, she works with them too.”

 “are you gonna go?” he pauses, trying to gauge my response, “i mean you haven’t been back to virginia since you took the job.”

 i nod, “i know, i didn’t even go to see emily when she came back to life,” i say, my voice mixed with bitterness and guilt.

 fitz reaches over and takes my hand, “and we prevented a potential biochemical attack that week, and a bomb in the subway the week after, and a potential hijacking the week after-”

 i roll my eyes lightly, “i get the point, fitz. we’re always busy saving lives, but i don’t know if that’s a good enough excuse for being such a shitty friend.”

 “they work even crazier hours than us, i think they’ll understand,” he pauses, “i also think that you’re making excuses, and there’s a different reason that you don’t want to go.”

 “i thought i told you not to profile me.”

 “it doesn’t take a profiler to figure out there’s something going on, i’m willing to bet it’s the same reason you wanted to leave in the first place.”

 i smile sadly at him, “you got me there, fitz. i’m in love with my best friend, but he’s in love with the bride, who happens to be my other best friend. only he isn’t the groom.”

 i feel sick at the thought of watching spencer watch jj get married. he is exceptionally good at pretending to be happy, and i’m sure he’ll have the others fooled. but none of them know that he’s in love with her, they don’t know that his feelings evolved to anything beyond a silly, little crush.

 i feel sick at the thought of watching him slap a smile on his face, and shake will’s hand, and make a toast. i don’t doubt that there will be a part of him that is happy for her; the thing about loving someone the way i love him and he loves her is that is that seeing them happy gives you this sickly, jittery, joy.

 it makes your heart race and your hands tremble, and it feels almost like happiness. but its sticky and catches in your throat like honey so you can barely choke out the words to convey how fucking happy you are for them. even honey attracts flies.

 “shit,” fitz says.

 “yeah, shit.”

 all honey, no glass.

 it’s jj’s wedding.

i wanted fitz to come with me but he couldn’t get out of work, we were swamped at the moment, but he’s still insisted that i go. he drove me to the airport and practically forced me through security, and now i was standing in the kitchen of rossi’s mansion as emily refilled my wine.

i took a sip of it and smiled at her. she was the one good thing that had come out of this trip so far, i hadn’t seen her since she came back from the dead and i had been so worried she would resent me for not coming to see her sooner.

but instead she offered to pick me up from the airport and let me stay with her for the weekend, she really was a good friend. i missed my old friends, and it was nice to see everyone again. but i was already exhausted from avoiding spencer and jj hadn’t even arrived yet.

i was drinking my wine far too fast, relishing in the warm euphoria it granted me. it allows me to float through the rest of the evening, i help jj pin up her hair when her mom brings her own wedding dress for her to change into. i wipe her tears when she stares at herself in the mirror. i tell her she looks beautiful, and she really does.

i don’t speak to spencer until the ceremony is about to begin, i squeeze in next to him and mumble my hellos. he doesn’t respond and i know it’s because he’s focusing all of his energy on keeping himself together, i wrap my hand around his and squeeze it gently.

he has tears in his eyes when will and jj kiss, and so do i because i am watching him watch her and i can see his heart breaking with every micro expression. my heart aches for him because his world is falling apart in front of his eyes and he has to pretend to be happy about it.

when jj turns her head i see how widely she is grinning as she clings on to her new husband. spencer sees it too because something in him shifts and i see that sticky, artificial happiness bubble to the surface and before i know it he has dropped my hand and rushes to congratulate the happy couple.

i hang around emily and morgan for most of the night, she keeps my glass full and he doesn’t tease me about my defecting to another division. i know they know something is going on, but they don’t question me about it and i am so grateful for it.

i excuse myself from their company when i see spencer sitting slumped on the patio alone. he’s half hidden behind a pillar but i can see his feet sticking out so i shuffle over to him, my mind dizzy with wine as i take a seat beside him.

“hey.”

“hey.”

“are you alright?” i ask.

he nods stiffly, “fine, just tired – it’s been a busy week. how are things in new york?”

i sip my wine, “yeah not bad, just busy…” i say, my voice trails off and i mentally kick myself for failing to think of a better word, “spencer, can i ask you something?”

“yeah,” he says flatly, “why not.”

“okay…” his dulcet exterior makes me hesitate but i force myself to continue, because fitz told me to grow a backbone and i don’t know when i’ll get that chance again, “i was just wondering why you never called me, or texted, or emailed. we were best friends before i left and now you feel like a stranger to me.”

he shrugs and takes a swig of beer.

“is that all i’m gonna get? a shrug,” i scoff.

i know that he’s upset about jj, my heart is bleeding for him and i understand better than anyone how he is feeling. but even i can see that i deserve more than a shrug from him after a year of no communication.

“spencer, i know how you’re feeling but-”

“no you don’t,” he snaps.

i bite my tongue.

“i want to be here for you spencer, but i can’t do that if you’re going to be a mood-”

he titled his head to look at me, his eyes are dark and empty, “if you wanted to help me so badly then why did you leave?”

i open my mouth to speak but he raises a hand to silence me.

“you want to know why i didn’t call you?” he slurs, “because i was pissed at you, everyone was leaving and dying, and you left too. and then emily came back and everyone was acting like i was crazy for being so angry about it, and you weren’t here,” his voice splits, “i know it’s not an excuse and i’m sorry if i upset you but not having you here just hurt so bad and somehow texting and phone calls made it hurt more.”

i pause, “are you trying to say you missed me so much that you couldn’t call me?”

“like i said, its not an excuse but-”

“no, it isn’t” i spit.

i’ve never been angry at him before because any of the hurt and heartbreak he inflicted on me was unintentional. but now something is burning in the pit of my stomach because he ghosted me for the best part of the year and the best excuse, he can come up with is that it hurt him too bad.

“how do you think i felt spencer?” i hiss, “when i was all alone in another state and my best friend wouldn’t return my calls? i spent so long feeling guilty for leaving you but you weren’t alone. you still had everyone else, i was the one who was alone. you had jj and-”

his grip on his bottle tightened, “i didn’t have her, she was lying to me about emily and then even when we made up from that things were never the same…” he holds his head in his hands, “i’m trying to be happy for her but it just hurts so much…”

he wipes his eyes, “i’m sorry, i should be asking you about new york, not making you listen to the same pathetic sob story that you’ve heard a hundred time before.”

i wrap an arm around him, “spencer, trust me i know how much it hurts but…it’ll get better, okay? one day you’ll get over her, and you find some genius, scientist girlfriend who loves you back and then you won’t hurt anymore.”

“how do you know?” he croaks.

i sigh, “because you might love jj but she just isn’t right for you, but that doesn’t mean you won’t find someone who-”

he shakes his head, “not that, you keep saying you understand, and you know hoe much it hurts – but how do you know?”

his eyes are wide and teary, and he hiccups as he stares at me. i have to look away because the blood is pounding in my ears, i feel dizzy but its not just from the wine. we’re outside in the cool air but i feel like i’m burning up and i recoil away from him.

“spencer, that’s not important-”

“yes, it is. i wanna know. i wanna know how you think you know how i feel to the extent you can give me advice-”

he’s drunk.

“and tell me its all going to be okay, but you don’t know that! because how could you know what i’m feeling-”

he’s raising his voice now.

“spencer, you need to be quiet. someone will hear you-”

“i need to know what gives you the right to tell me that i’ll find love when you don’t even know what-”

“i know what it feels like because i am in love with you!” i finally snap, the words slip out before i can stop them and i slap my hands over my mouth, “oh god…i didn’t mean to say that….”

spencer is staring at me blankly, but slowly his stoic expression begins to melt into one of pity and sympathy. i can see his brain working overtime behind his beautiful honey and glass eyes, thinking of all the different ways he can let me down easy.

he opens his mouth.

“you don’t have to say anything,” i squeak, “i didn’t mean to say that…so stupid…can we please just forget about it?” i plead.

“d-did you mean it? you love me?”

his pitiful stare burns through me and i can’t stand it. i would rather have him glare at me with pure hatred in his eyes than this agonizing brand of sympathy, it makes me feel sick. my legs are shaking, my hands are shaking, my whole body is shaking and i realise it’s because my chest is racked with sobs.

i nod, “i-i mean it,” is all i manage to choke out.

his arms are wrapped around me, and in any other circumstance i would sink into them but now my body is rigid, and his embrace is suffocating. i can’t breathe.

i can’t breathe.

i can’t breathe under the crushing impact of knowing that i’ve fucked up a decade of friendship in less than five seconds because i couldn’t keep my emotions under control.

“i’m so sorry, you know that i care so much about you,” he says softly, “but i just don’t see you in that way-”

“it’s fine spencer,” i sniffle, “you don’t need to tell me that, i’m already well aware of that fact,” my voice is laced with far more venom than i tend but in this moment i can’t bring myself to care.

“how long?”

i’m laughing through the tears, i don’t know why because its not funny.

“ten years, give or take.”

“oh.”

oh. that’s all i get.

they say that when a burn is bad enough it incinerates the nerve endings, so you don’t feel any pain. a burst of excruciating agony and then nothingness. that’s how i feel, i’ve spent years wallowing in my own heartbreak and now that i’ve told him the truth, i just feel numb.

my sticky, sweet exterior is melting away with every passing second and pitiful glance and i don’t think i want to see what’s underneath. i push spencer’s arms off my body, and he doesn’t protest.

i sneak through the double glass doors and into the kitchen, that’s where the wine is. it warms my throat and my stomach, proving some solace from the deep-seated chill i feel in my bones.

the lights of the kitchen reflect off the glass so much that i can’t see past the glare to tell if spencer is still there. i shuffle towards the doors and press my forehead against the cool glass. spencer is gone but i like the way the window feels against my skin.

its smooth, and hard, and cold.

when your world has fallen apart, anything can be a source of comfort. and i don’t have anything left to give, so i close my eyes and rest against the chilled surface.

no honey, all glass.

the office is swarming with new recruits, they’ve descended on us like plagues of locusts and i am not in the mood for it. they’re eager and naïve as they attentively takes note of agent bishop’s words.

“…now I don’t want you to think that counter terrorism is all like what you see in the movies,” he drawls, “its not all action and defusing bombs, its patience and paperwork, careful observation and analysis – it takes more discipline to work in this division than any other in the bureau. its hard work, but it’s worth it as agents tell you,” he says, indicating towards fitz and myself.

he gives them a determined nod, i muster up a half-hearted shrug from my position leaning against the filing cabinet in the corner. i’m really not in the mood.

bishop’s phone chimes and his brow furrows ash his eyes scan the screen, “it is also unpredictable at times, so you’ll have to excuse me. but i leave you in the capable hands of my two right hand agents, they’ll be more than happy to lead the rest of the seminar,” he gives us both a quick nod before he darts out of the room.

fitz moves to the center of the room, “well, agent bishop had pretty much covered the lecture section of the session. next we are going to move onto some basic training scenarios, i will outline a situation and if you think have a strategy just shout it out, how does that sound?”

he is talking to the trainees but looking at me, he fidgets with his collar. he’s nervous, and he’s waiting for me to give him some reassurance. i force the corners of my lips to curl upwards, and it seems to give him enough confidence to continue.

he uses the remote to change the slides on the projector screen behind him and begins to list scenarios. the newbies are falling over themselves to catch his attention long enough for him to call on them. their enthusiasm and passion should inspire me, but it makes something in my stomach twist and there’s sharp anger burning through my body.

they’re all so fucking happy. so eager to see what their years at the bureau will bring them. all i got was heartbreak and rejection, but i don’t think agent bishop would appreciate me saying that so i keep my lips tightly pressed together.

“…and then i would diffuse the bomb and-”

“you would what?” i say.

the recruit shrinks back slightly when he feels my unwavering gaze shift to him.

“the scenario agent fitz gave us involved an explosive device, so my strategy would be to diffuse the-”

“that’s what the bomb squad is for, your job is to prevent the threat before it can occur, not to play around snipping wires!”

“i worked explosive ordinance disposal in the army, i would know what i was doing-”

“you aren’t in the army anymore,” i snap, “you’re in the fbi now, and we don’t have our agents running around like headless chickens during an active terrorist threat because we have rules and when you don’t follow the, people get hurt!”

“but what if the bomb squad can’t get there? surely if he has experience-” the girl next to him tries to defend him but i hold up a hand to silence her.

i laugh sarcastically, “okay. let me tell you what, next time we have a terrorism threat involving explosives i’ll tell the bomb squad that we don’t need them because i have two rookie agents who want to do things their own way. anything you’d like me to tell your families after you blow yourselves up, likely taking dozens of civilians with you?”

when they don’t answer me i give a smug smirk, “that’s what i thought,” i look over to fitz and nod, “you’ll have to excuse me, they’ve rotted my brain enough for one day,” i say before sweeping out of the room.

“why is she so mean?” the female recruit asks when she thinks i’m out of earshot.

i can feel agent fitz hesitate and i don’t blame him. i wouldn’t know how to explain to a group of trainees that i’ve been a complete bitch today because i’m bitter and heartbroken.

“she isn’t mean,” he says slowly, “she’s hard on you because she wants you to learn; its life and death out in the field and you need to be ready for anything. there’s no time for niceness and if you’re expecting that, then you’re probably in the wrong job.”

i appreciate his lie.

he makes me sound noble.

the trainees nod at his words, their eyes wide as they feed into the seamless bullshit. the stoic and honorable agent makes a better story than the resentful shrew.

i don’t want to be this way. but spencer’s words echo in my head and the breath is knocked out of me every time i picture his face, i feel like i’m drowning. it’s a dull, crushing ache across my body, weighing my limbs down like there’s lead in my veins.

i want to be honey; golden and sweet but i’m all angles and sharp edges. i’ve broken like glass and it’s only a matter of time before i draw blood. it’s easy to push people away when they’re scared of getting cut.

“are you okay?”

i jump as agent fitz creeps up behind me.

“sorry, i didn’t mean to startle you. but you haven’t been yourself and i just wanted to check-”

“are you scared of blood?” i ask.

“what?”

“blood. does it freak you out? make you feel faint?”

“no, i’m not scared of blood,” he says hesitantly.

i smile and for the first time in forever it doesn’t feel forced, “good.”

no honey, all glass.

it’s agent bishop’s retirement party.

i stand next to fitz, we’re in a circle with some of the other agents. i glug my wine as they converse, its dark and bitter and red.

“so, agent, you used to be a profiler down in quantico, didn’t you?” someone asks.

i swallow my wine, “yes, i was. that was a while ago now though.”

“do you miss it?”

i smile fondly, “every day.”

“isn’t profiling just pseudoscience?” someone snorts.

before i can even open my mouth to respond, fitz interjects, “actually the bau is one of the most successful departments in the bureau, they are responsible for saving hundreds of lives and allowing families to seek the justice they deserve.”

i nod appreciatively at him, “behavioural science isn’t empirical but more often than not we are right, like agent fitz said, we -they- are one of the most successful departments in the bureau,” i say, trying to fight the smirk creeping across my face.

“how does profiling work, can you really catch someone based on the method of killing they chose?” someone gushes.

“yes, we can tell a lot from victimology, signatures, cause of death – it’s usually symbolic in some way of their motivation for killing, or metaphorical for a message that they want to send, you’d be surprised how much we can learn from details like that.”

“interesting!”

“oh, that’s cool.”

“i didn’t know you guys did stuff like that, i might need to put in for a transfer!”

everyone laughs.

i give a half-hearted chuckle. all of my stories and experiences at the bau are tainted by him, i can’t even make light conversation at a party without my body turning numb. every memory chips away at my heart, and it’s growing more and more hollow with every beat.

“i think you need another drink,” fitz whispers in my ear.

i allow him to take my hand and lead me into the kitchen, he tops up my wine, filling it more than he probably should. but i appreciate him for it, i think he can tell i need it.

“are you okay? you clammed up right after you finished talking about your time at the bau.”

“i’ve told you before, don’t profile me,” i say, my voice sharper than i intend it to be.

“i’m not. i’ve just noticed than whenever you talk about your old job you get this look in your eyes, and you go all quiet and snap at everyone for the rest of the day.”

i drink a quarter of my wine in one gulp.

“this is still about him isn’t it?”

i shrug, “i thought i’d be over him by now but…” my eyes start to prickle and i have to console myself with another mouthful of wine.

“but?” he prompts.

“you know how jj and i call each other every week.”

“yeah.”

“well this week she told me that the rest of the team are starting to suspect spencer is…seeing someone. i don’t know the whole story, jj didn’t either. but apparently he’s been acting weird and making all these phone calls and i-”

i have to stop. i bite the inside of my cheek. he got over jj and i didn’t even know. i wasn’t even there, maybe if i hadn’t left…it hurt too much to consider the possibilities. and now there’s another woman that i don’t know anything about, at least when he was in love with jj i knew what aspects of myself to compare to her. now i’m jealous of a woman i’ve never even met.

“do you want to talk about it?” he offers kindly.

i shake my head.

“…can i ask you something else?”

“shoot.”

he looks over his shoulder and i can see his jugular vein pulse in his neck, he’s nervous.

“earlier, when you were talking about how killers leave symbolic or metaphorical clues that helps you figure out their motivation….”

i motion for him to continue.

“is that true for normal people too?”

“what do you mean?”

he runs a hand through his hair, “say you have a friend, and they as you a weird question, but it’s so out of the blue you it can’t be literal, that there has to be a deeper meaning behind it. if their question is symbolic for something else, could that indicate what their intentions are?”

he avoids eye contact with me.

“what’s this about?”

“n-nothing, nevermind. it was a stupid question anyways…” he mumbles, grabbing his beer and shuffling past me.

“fitz, come back!” i call after him, “fitz!”

he’s already gone. and i don’t have the energy to go after him. i huff and lean back against the counter, swirling around the wine in my glass before i raise it to my lips.

my hand slips, and the wine glass tumbles to the ground before shattering against the white kitchen tiles.

“fuck!”

i rake around a couple of drawers, searching for a dish towel to mop up the mess. eventually i find one and bend down to clean up the wine; the red is stark, splattered against the shiny white background.

it looks like...

“are you scared of blood?”

the words of my own cryptic question echo in my head and something clicks.

fitz.

i use a towel to scoop up the shards of glass and absorb the wine, i toss it in the sink and dash out of the kitchen in search of fitz. i spot the back of his head through a window and follow him out to the balcony, its lit by twinkly fairy lights.

“why are you out here? it’s cold,” i say, my teeth chattering slightly as i fold my arms across my chest.

i linger by the door, hoping to cling onto some of the warmth radiating outwards. but when fitz doesn’t answer, or even look up i huff and close the door behind me, shuffling over to him.

“were you asking me that stuff about metaphors and symbolism because of what i said to you about blood?”

he looks up at me but still doesn’t speak.

“fitz that was months ago, and i didn’t even mean anything by it so i don’t know why you’re reading so far into it,” i shiver, “can you just tell me what’s going on with you so we can go back inside?”

“what’s wrong with me,” he snorts.

“yes, because you’re acting really weird-”

“i’m not the one who is acting weird, ever since you came back from your friend’s wedding you’ve been like a totally different person, and then you ask me if i’m scared of blood out of fucking nowhere. what am i supposed to make of that?”

i’m taken aback from his sudden outburst, fitz is usually calm and good natured, “why are you yelling?” i snap.

“because i don’t know what else to do, i’ve tried to be a supportive friend but you’re acting totally out of character, the new recruits call you medusa because you’re so harsh on them. if this has something to do with spen-”

“i said i don’t want to talk about him!”

“well i’m not giving you the choice anymore, i’m sorry if you’re heartbroken over him, but you’re killing yourself trying to love him. do you think i don’t notice how exhausted you are? you’re working at least 30 extra hours a week and i can only assume that’s some kind of coping mechanism, and now i’m worried you’re hurting yourself-”

i squint at him, “you think that’s what i meant when i asked you about the blood?”

he nods, “well, yeah. i didn’t think you were killing people but you’re obviously angry and sad and i figured you might have needed an outlet for that-”

“yeah, i do, it’s called kickboxing fitz! i beat the shit out of a punchbag three times a week, the blood thing was…” i groan and sit down on the bench, “you’re right, i did change after jj’s wedding because i was scared of feeling hurt like that again so i thought if i toughened up and stopped being so nice and sweet then people wouldn’t be able to hurt me anymore, but…”

“but?”

“but then i realised that by being so sharp and harsh all the time then people wouldn’t want to be around me and i would be hurt all over again, and i just thought that if i made sure you would always stand by me then i’d be okay.”

he looks up, his eyebrows slightly less furrowed than before, “so, the blood thing was a metaphor for me always being on your side? cos’ if it is you don’t even have to worry about that, of course i’ll-”

i throw my arms around him and he squeezes me tightly in return, burying my face in his chest i blink back tears because the reassurance from my new best friend lifts a weight from my shoulders. but it’s a bittersweet feeling because i know he accepts it, but he doesn’t understand it; with spencer i never would’ve had to explain my enigmatic words.

with spencer i never even would’ve had to say them because he would just know. fitz is great and we make such an efficient team because we move in tandem like magnets; i move, he moves, but we’re always one behind the other. with spencer we were in sync like planets circling the sun, pulled together by an intangible force strong enough to construct a universe. at least that’s how it felt.

with spencer, we were in sync until we weren’t.

no honey, all glass.

i know that spencer and i are out of sync because when he comes to the city to deliver a guest lecture at nyu, he doesn’t even tell me.

fitz does.

he brings it up to me hesitantly after a meeting one day. since agent bishop retired, he is the new head of the counter terrorism division, and i’ve been promoted to his old job. we have tactical meetings every week with the heads of the three field offices in the state of new york to discuss any potential threat.

this week’s meeting was particularly taxing so when everyone leaves the conference room i just want to go for my lunch break, but fitz stops me to ask if i was aware spencer was in the city.

“no,” i say through gritted teeth, “i wasn’t, how do you know?”

he busies himself with some files, “i’ve been monitoring the movements of all agents coing in and out of the city-”

“why? do you think somethings wrong?”

he hesitates and loosens his tie, “i don’t know yet…i’m working on it, but i noticed that dr reid had a scheduled visit.”

“oh,” i say and try to force myself to wait an acceptable amount of time before questioning, “what’s he here for?”

my voice comes out dry and croaky despite my best efforts to appear unbothered, fitz ignores it and carries on as though nothing had happened.

“he’s giving a guest lecture to a criminology class at nyu, something about profiling…i don’t know,” he looks at his watch, “if you left now you could make it in time, professor van der woodson is a friend of mine, show her your creds and she’d let you sit in.”

i’m pulling on my coat before fitz has finished speaking, “wait…we have that meeting with that financial analyst today, he said he’d found a suspicious pattern of payments that could indicate a-”

fitz waves me off, “i got it, you go.”

i smile at him appreciatively before grabbing my bag and dashing out the door. it’s pouring with rain and it takes me forever to hail a cab, i sit in the back seat wringing out my hair with my scarf as we wait behind an immovable wall of traffic.

the cab crawls along the grid locked streets as i check my watch every two seconds, time is moving at half speed. by the time the driver pulls up outside  by by the time the driver pulls ups at nyu i’m sure spencer’s lecture will already be over.  i huff and trudge inside the building anyway, i’m chilled to the bone as i a buy myself a coffee from the cafe and find an empty seat to perch on.

i drum my fingers against the table as i sip the scorching hot coffee, i don’t really know what i’m expecting to happen. i haven’t seen or spoken to spencer since jj’s wedding, and at whisper of him being in the city i’ve spent the best part of an hour in the back of a taxi to see him. now that i’m here, i’m not sure that i want to see him.

classes are beginning to finish and the entrance hall floods with students, the volume level increases tenfold and i don’t want to be here anymore. i grab my coffee in my hand and make my way back to the front entrance when i hear a familiar voice call my name. i turn my head and i see him, he raises an eyebrow at me and begins fighting his way through the sea of students.

i freeze.

he’s getting closer with every second.

i don’t want to be here.

i don’t want to do this.

i don’t want to see him.

i turn on my heel and i powerwalk, the front door his jammed with students and if i take that route i’ll get suck and he’ll catch up to me. i spy a doorway to my left and dart towards it, breathing in a sigh of relief when i push through it and find an abandoned corridor.  

“wait!”

spencer is still in pursuit. i groan but pause in my tracks as i turn around to face him.

“are you running away from me?”

i fold my arms over my chest, “no.”

“really? because that’s what it looked like.”

“i’ve told you before to wear your glasses, if you don’t then-”

“i’m wearing contacts,” he says softly as he takes a step towards me, “i can see perfectly clearly and you’re running away.”

he reaches out an arm to touch my shoulder but i flinch away, he look of hurt that spreads across his face would be enough to break my heart if he hadn’t already shattered it.

he swallows and pulls on the cuffs of his blazer, i can tell that i’ve upset him but i don’t have the words to console him. this had been a horrible mistake. i’d dreamt of seeing him again every night since the wedding, i ran over and over again in my head what i would say and do. i never imagined that i’d be soaked to the skin and standing in front of him in a corridor lit by flickering, fluorescent lights.

“okay, so i ran away, so what?”

spencer shakes his head, “do i really make you that uncomfortable? your body language is closed off, you keep looking at the door and tapping your foot…you really don’t want to see me…so why are you here?”

i have to look away from him, “i made a mistake coming here, i don’t want to see you.”

“is this about what happened at jj’s wed-”

i hold up a hand to cut him off, “please don’t,” i screw my eyes shut, “i’ve had to relive that moment enough in my nightmares, i don’t want to do it again for real.”

“i’m sorry, i never wanted go hurt you. i just don’t fee-”

“you don’t feel that way, i get it spencer. its fine,” i look at my watch, “there’s a meeting that i really should be at…i’m sorry spencer this was a mistake, please can we just forget about this-”

“do you still love me?” he asks quietly.

i laugh.

“what’s so funny?”

“well, it isn’t funny i suppose,” i say bitterly, “it just makes me laugh that you think i could ever stop.”

“so…that’s a yes?”

“of course it’s a yes!” i look at my feet as i speak because i don’t want to see whatever pitiful look he’s giving me, “you’re my first love spencer reid, i’m always going to love you.”

i take a shaky breath and look up to the ceiling, trying to hold back my tears.

he stares at me sadly, and i know i’ve really fucked things up between us when even dr spencer reid can’t think of something to say. there’s a stagnant awkwardness and i want nothing more than to be hiding under my duvet, but this might be my only chance to get everything off my chest.

“i will always love you spencer, but i’m not in love with you anymore.”

“there’s a difference?” he says with a hint of ice in his voice that makes me flinch.

“of course there is, i love you but it’s not the same suffocating and overwhelming love i felt for you years ago. i love you but i don’t want to burst into tears whenever i see you glance at jj. i love you but i’m free from hating myself and wondering why i could never be good enough for you,” i don’t even try to hide the tears now, “spencer i used to love you so much that i couldn’t breathe, but now i can breathe on my own.”

“i’m sorry,” his voice cracks, “i didn’t know…i didn’t know i made you feel that way, if i had then i’d have-”

“you wouldn’t have done anything spencer because you didn’t feel the same, and that’s okay. you would’ve just avoided me and given me the same pitiful look you’re giving me right now which i can’t fucking stand.”

i sniffle and run a hand through my hair, “i wanted to be there for you spencer, i thought you deserved someone that loves you like you love jj, and you still do. but i can’t be that person anymore, i love you spencer but you aren’t healthy for me.”

“i never asked you to do that for me.”

“not in so many words, but when you would show up at my apartment crying over jj or emily or tobias hankel or your mother…it didn’t take a profiler to figure out that you needed someone, and i loved you so much i was willing to put your needs above my own.”

he looks at his feet.

“i don’t blame you for that spencer, i didn’t value myself very much back then and i thought that loving you was the most important job in the world,” i tug at the sleeves of my sweater, “but now i know that loving myself is the only thing that matters.”

he doesn’t say anything, he just shuffles towards and me envelops my body in a gentle embrace. i’m crying into his chest and judging by his sniffles and shaky breaths, he’s crying too. he holds me tentatively like he he’s scared i’ll shatter in his arms if he squeezes too tight.

i realise he still sees me as fragile and brittle.

no honey, all glass.

i’m finally beginning to feel like my life is coming together.

today felt like a good day.

i woke up before my alarm, had time to make myself a decent breakfast, and didn’t have to sprint to catch the subway. i got to work early and the coffee machine i had ordered had arrived, i made myself a cup of steaming coffee as i relaxed behind my desk and checked my emails. i had a light day ahead of me and thankfully no meetings.

today felt like a good day until fitz burst into my office as half past eight and slammed the door behind him.

i leapt to my feet, immediately expecting the worst, “what’s going on? is there a bomb? hijacking? what is it?”

he waves me off, “no, nothing like that,” his eyes dart between me and windows that look out over the rest of the office, he pulls down the blinds and shuffles over to my desk, “do you remember a few months ago i said that i had been monitoring the movements of agents in and out of the city?”

“how could i forget?” i say bitterly as i am reminded of the painful encounter i had with spencer, “what does that have to do with anything?”

he swallows and sits down in the chair across from my desk, “i noticed that a few of our confidential code names for active and inactive investigations were cropping up in a few of the internet servers that we monitor, so-”

“so, you were tracking the movement of agents because you suspect a mole,” i finish for him.

he nods, “at first they were names of investigations that were well known within the bureau or easy to access with a low security clearance, so it could’ve been anyone, but i’ve been supplying different code names for made up investigations to different divisions across the bureau….”

“and you’ve seen those names continuing to appear in the servers,” i run my hand through my hair, “fuck, this is bad. does internal affairs know?”

he rests his head in his hands, “it’s worse than bad, because i kept a record of which names i gave to which departments because they were all unique, and the names that came up in the servers were only given to our division.”

my heart skips a beat. he was right, this was worse than just bad. this could be catastrophic, other departments in the bureau could gain access to some of our more low-level investigations. but only members of the counter terrorist division had access to the most potent and prolific threats, if we had a mole in our department then we could be looking at disaster of epic proportions.

i collapse into my own chair, “d-do you have any idea who it is?”

he shakes his head, “no, i’ve been nagging the director about it for months but i never got a proper response until this morning, he’s sending a team to conduct an internal investigation…” he looks up at me, his eyes filled with worry and pity.

i realise what he is too afraid to say.

“you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

“i’m sorry, i thought they would just send someone from internal affairs, but the director feels that for someone to infiltrate our department then they must be highly trained and-”

“its fine, i get it, catching the mole is the most important thing right now,” i drum my nails against my desk, “that doesn’t mean i’m overjoyed at the thought of my old team crawling about the place and questioning our every decision.”

fitz reaches across my desk and squeezes my hand, “it’ll be okay, they’ll clear you right away and then you can get on with work, you don’t have to spend anymore time with them than necessary.”

“you mean anymore time with him than necessary,” i gulp my coffee and i don’t even flinch when it burns my throat, “when are they arriving?”

“an hour or so, they’re already on their way here and it’s a short flight,” he sighs, “it will just depend on how much traffic they hit on their way over, but we’re-”

“close to the airport, i know,” i bite my lip, “what do we tell everyone, they’re gonna start arriving soon,” i say, pulling up my sleeve to look at my watch.

its nearer nine now, and the office will start filling up soon with agents ready to start their day. there’s over a hundred agents in the counter terrorism division alone, and one of the is a traitor.

“director says we have to continue as normal until the bau team get here and they’ll decide the best course of action to take-”

i grip the edge of my desk, “so we just let them waltz in here and take over? those are our people down there, they don’t know them-”

“hey, its gonna be okay. you trust these guys, don’t you?”

i nod.

“so they’re going to find out who the mole is, and they’re not going to arrest anyone who isn’t guilty, they’re good at what they do.”

i let out a deep breath, “i know, i know. its just…i’ve been apart of these interrogations before, they ask you about everything and anything and analyze your every movement and micro expression, they’re going to question every decision we have ever made, professionally and personally. this is going to be an exhausting day,” i groan.

today felt like such a good day when i woke up, and now i was facing a waking nightmare.

fitz had gone back to his own office, like he said we needed to act like it was business as usual until the bau arrived. i had rolled my blinds back up and kept an anxious eye on the double glass doors that served as a main entrance to the bullpen.

i’d had an hour to try and prepare myself, to slow my heart rate and pull myself together enough to deal with my team of ex coworkers flying in to pick apart my department.

despite the hour i had to prepare myself, my legs turn to jelly when i see the elevator doors glide open and agent hotchner step out. fitz taps on my window as he passes my office on his way to greet them and i begrudgingly follow him out.

“agent hotchner,” he says, reaching out his hand, “thank you very much for coming on such short notice.”

hotch is stony faced as ever and gives him a brisk nod, “of course, have you told any of your agents about the situation?”

“just me,” i say, “no one else knows, but your presence here won’t go unnoticed for long,” i motion back through the double glass doors where some of the agents are already beginning to strain their necks to see who fitz and i are talking to.

“we brought our technical analyst, penelope garcia along, we might need access to computers and phones. do you have somewhere she can set up?”

fitz nods, “the conference room is just next to my office, you’ll have plenty of space and privacy in there for you all, i’ll show you the uo now if you’d like to follow me,” he says, motioning towards the door.

hotch nods, he and the rest of the team follow fitz through the bullpen and into the conference room. they mumble their hellos to me as they pass me but i know they can tell from my tightly folded arms and clenched jaw that i don’t want them here.

i tag along after them, behind a woman with dark hair that i don’t recognize, after i introduce myself she identifies herself as a dr alex blake.

“so you used to work with the bau?” she asks as we make our way up to the conference room, “hotch said you were a good agent, it’s nice to get the chance to meet you.”

i nod, “yeah, i transferred here a few years ago, it’s nice…to see everyone again,” i force a smile as i hold the door open for her.

“oh, thank you.”

i glance out the bullpen and see dozens of confused faces staring back at me. i close the door. the team have already settled themselves around the table, hotch, rossi, morgan, garcia, jj, blake and finally spencer. i avoid eye contact with him.

“so what are you going to tell people?” fitz asks, “surely if you announce that you think there’s a mole then whoever it is will just run?”

morgan nods gravely, “that is a concern, can you account that all of your agents arrived this morning?”

“lopez and mccall are out on assignment,” i say, “everyone else is here, either at their desks or somewhere on the floor.”

“any concerns about lopez and mccall?” hotch asks, “reprimands, hr complaints-”

“i know what to look for,” i say icily, “and no. they’re both stand up agents, they’ve saved both of our lives countless times,” i motion between fitz and i.

he nods, “she’s right. i’ve suspected a mole for months, so i’ve only been putting the agents i’d trust with my life out on assignment.”

hotch nods and makes some notes on the papers he is holding, “okay that’s good enough for me, like you said it is a concern that revealing our true purpose here could cause our mole to panic and we don’t want him to hurt himself or any of your agents.”

right, because a shoot out would just be the cherry on top of my day.

“our plan is to say that we have evidence to suggest the mole is in a different department, but the interviews we are carrying out here are just formality, we’ll ask inconspicuous questions and rely on behavioural cues,” morgan explains.

i raise an eyebrow, “and you really think that’ll work?”

“it has to,” jj whispers.

“okay,” i say, “i assume you’re going to want to interrogate fitz and i as well?”

“interview, not interrogate,” rossi says, “i will talk with agent fitz and dr blake will interview you…we felt that would be best since you never met during your time with us, that way there will be no bias or-”

“okay, i get the point. my office is next door, dr blake is welcome in there whenever she is ready to conduct our interview.”

before anyone can object i’ve already swept out of the room, into my office and slammed my door behind me. i’m sure they can hear it bang in the conference room. i know they’re just trying to do their job, and i feel pretty sure that they don’t suspect me. but i’m not in the mood to have my life picked apart by a profiler, especially one i don’t know.

it’s a few hours later when dr blake knocks on my door, when she comes in i motion for her to take a seat across from me. i offer her a cup of coffee but she politely refuses.

“no thank you, i don’t think this will take very long and i have quite a few interviews left after you….”

“of course,” i say, “i’m ready whenever you are.”

blake nods and presses the audio record button on her phone, “i already have the basics, your name, age et cetera confirmed by agent hotchner and fitz, so i just have a couple of quick questions. when did you transfer to the counter terrorism division?”

“three years ago.”

“and how long have you been in your role as assistant unit chief to agent fitz?”

“about a year and a half, he took over as unit chief when agent bishop retired and i was promoted to his previous role.”

blake nods, “okay, excellent. why did you choose to transfer from the bau to the counter terrorism division?”

i don’t think there are enough hours in the day to explain that properly, is what i want to say to dr blake. i left because of a bitter concoction of unrequited love and self-hatred, is what i want to say to dr blake. but instead i force a smile.

“i had been with the bau for a very long time and i felt it was time for a change of pace, i-”

the door swings open, cutting me off mid-sentence. i’m ready snap at whichever one of my agents is stupid enough to interrupt, but when i look up all i see are the cold and hard eyes of spencer reid staring back at me.

“reid, is there a problem?” blake asks.

“no, i was just hoping to sit in on this interview,” he says, never breaking eye contact with me.

“oh, spencer i don’t think that’s appropriate, you two were friends-”

“it’s fine he can stay. pull up a chair, reid.”

“i’ll stand.”

“fine.”

i’m grateful when dr blake doesn’t comment on the obvious tension between us. spencer sulks over to my desk, he stands slightly behind blake and leans against the wall. his arms are folded tight across his body, his jaw is clenches, his brows are furrowed; it’s like looking at myself in the mirror.

spencer reid doesn’t want to be here either.

“right,” blake says slowly, “you were just telling me why you transferred to the counter terrorism division, please continue.”

i tear my gaze away from spencer, “yes, of course. like i was saying i felt i had been with the bau so long and i just wanted a change of scenery, when agent fitz offered me the job i thought it would be a perfect opportunity to go somewhere i could really thrive and make a difference.”

spencer makes a face and i ignore him.

blake smiles and nods, “well it sounds like you’ve done just that, agent fitz speaks very highly of you.”

“what’s your relationship with agent fitz?” spencer interjects.

“dr reid, i think it would be best if i ask the-”

“he’s my boss, and he’s my friend. probably my closest friend here.”

“hmm.”

“what?”

spencer shrugs, “some of the other agents i’ve interviewed reported that you two have a very close relationship, and he offered you this job before he was unit chief. hiring agents wasn’t part of his job description.”

“this supposed to be an interview, none of those were questions.”

“i guess i’m just wondering why he offered you this job in the first place, and why he chose to promote you to assistant unit chief when there are dozens of other agents in this office who have been here longer than you.”

“maybe you should be asking agent fitz those questions, not me.”

“oh i intent to.”

“do you really think i’m the mole?” i spit.

“i don’t know, but jj says you’ve been dodging her calls, not answering her texts…and i know from experience how much you hate that. not to mention you just lied straight to dr blake’s face, so i’d say you’re not looking as innocent as hotch and fitz think you are.”

“what is he talking about?”

the anger is burning through my bloodstream. the bitter and cold spencer reid standing in front of me is not the man i left in virgina all those years ago. he’s not even the same man i met at nyu even a few months ago, something about him is different.

“i think he’s referring to when i told you that i transferred because i wanted a change of scene, spencer has always believed there is a bigger conspiracy behind why i left.”

he snorts.

“something funny?”

“well it’s only a conspiracy if it’s not true.”

“that is the truth,” i say though gritted teeth, my nails dig into the palms of my hands as i clench my fists.

“part of it maybe, why don’t you tell dr blake why you really left?”

“spencer, i think that’s enough. i knew this wouldn’t be appropriate-”

“what happened to you spencer? you’re acting like a totally different person, refusing to sit down, snapping at me, speaking to me like i’m an unsub – you’ve changed.”

“maybe i’m taking after you,” he shrugs, “jj says that you’re different too now, she says you’re irritable and-”

i laugh, “she said that? do you two have little catch-ups where you can discuss how rude and bitchy i am now?”

“i’m sure they don’t-” dr blake begins.

“no, we do. jj doesn’t like it when you don’t call her back, she was upset-”

“right, because everything comes back to jj with you doesn’t it.”

he pauses and i see a hint of emotion flash through his eyes, i’ve touched a nerve there.

“not anymore,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

“right, you’re not in love with her anymore, she mentioned you had a new girlfriend.”

blake’s eyes flicker between reid and i, “we really should get back on track-”

“yeah, not anymore with that either.”

i roll my eyes, “spencer, i don’t care about your relationship status anymore. i know you remember what i said to you at nyu, so i know that you know i don’t feel that way about you anymore,” i don’t even care the blake is in the room with us anymore, “i’m not in love with you, so if you’re trying to make me jealous with your little girlfriend in the hopes that i’ll get upset and reveal something then you’re barking up the wrong tree, i’m not the mole. i don’t have anything to hide.”

“i’m not trying to make you jealous,” he croaks, “even if i wanted to i couldn’t, because she’s dead.”

oh. so that’s why he was acting so out of character.

“what happened?”

“stalker, shot herself and maeve right in front of me.”

maeve. what a pretty name, the mystery woman i’d been so desperate to know about when jj first mentioned her on the phone. that was so long ago now, i hadn’t felt jealous of her in a long time. i was grateful for that, i didn’t want to be jealous of a dead woman.

i hadn’t lied to spencer when i said i wasn’t in love with him anymore. i would always have a soft spot for him in my heart, but i wasn’t in love with him. i’d been slowly piecing myself back together for the past year and a half, as my feelings for spencer faded i felt better, and stronger.

i felt more confident than i had in a long time, because i wasn’t constantly competing for his attention or comparing myself to the women he preferred. i once felt like spencer and i were tied together like planets orbiting the sun, but that was never a true representation of our relationship because he was my sun, the light and center of my life.

and to him i was just one of many trapped in his orbit. i let my love for him burn and keep me warm for years, but you can have too much of a good thing i was blinded by that love. eventually, you have to learn to keep yourself warm. eventually the eclipse will pass.

“when?”

“a couple of months ago.”

i sigh and lean back in my chair, “why are you telling me this spencer?”

spencer isn’t look at me anymore and for once i don’t mind.

“alex, could you give us a minute?” he asks, she hesitates for a moment, “please.”

eventually she nods, gets up and leaves. spencer takes her seat.

i pick at my nails, “so now you want to sit down, huh?”

“don’t be like that.”

“oh i’m sorry, have i been rude to you?” i scoff, “are you not the one who has been unprofessional and-”

“i shouldn’t need to be professional with my friends!”

“are we even friends anymore, spencer?”

he shrugs and looks down at his lap. i see the dark circles rimming his eyes, the hollowness in his face, the tangles in his hair. he looks rough. his chapped lips, his pale skin, his bruised knuckles, he looks ill.

“why did you barge into my interview? blake wasn’t going to ask me anything you didn’t already know the answer to.”

“i wanted to see if you’d about your transfer, and you did-”

“spencer, i don’t know why you have this fixation on why i left, but if you want me to say it so badly then fine. i left because of you, is that what you wanted to hear? are you happy now?”

i wait for the tears to well up in my eyes but they don’t come. i can’t tell if that’s a good thing or not.

“do you think i would be happy about you leaving because of me?” his voice cracks, “i learned recently what rejection can do to a person, i guess i wanted to see if-”

“if what? your rejection drove me to become a terrorist?” i snort, “jesus fucking christ spencer, i’d have hoped you had more faith in me than that.”

my heart begins to soften when i see the tears in his eyes. that fucking soft spot.

“with maeve…” tears begin to stream down his face and it’s several minutes before he can bring himself to speak, “maeve rejected a phd student’s thesis, and it drove her crazy. she stalked, kidnapped and eventually killed them both, and that was just a thesis rejection.”

he holds his head and his hands and cries, i stand up from my chair and shuffle round the desk, bending down i wrap my arms around him.

“i’m not a profiler anymore, but you’re upset and i think you’re projecting your feelings about maeve’s death onto me.”

he shakes his head, “she was the love of my life, i wanted to spend forever with her and she’s gone. i’m not upset, i’m devastated,” i wipe the tears streaming down his skeletal cheeks, “and i am projecting my feelings, but not about this.”

“spencer, i-”

“no, let me finish, please,” he whimpers, “i’ve been thinking about you, even before maeve died, since that day at nyu and i don’t think i’ve been a good friend to you, i should’ve noticed your feelings sooner. and i shouldn’t have made you listen to my feelings about jj all those years, it wasn’t fair-”

“you don’t need to apologise, you didn’t know-”

“but i should’ve! you were right in front of my nose and i never noticed,” he looks up at me with his tear-filled eyes, “i think i could’ve learned to love you, if i’d had the chance.”

my blood runs cold and i drop my arms from their embrace around him, slowly backing away, “learned to love me?” i repeat, “i don’t want you to have to have force yourself to love me, who would want that?”

“wait, no i’m sorry. i just meant that-”

“i’m finally over you spencer,” i cry, “i spent years putting back together what you broke, and now you come to my job and tell me that you could’ve learned to love me? no. that’s not fair spencer, i deserve someone who loves me without having to try, i don’t need your pity or your fake love.”

i turn on my heel and storm towards the door, spencer leaps to his feet and follows me, crying out his apologies the whole way. i ignore him, because what else does he expect me to say?

i’ve worked so hard to put my life back together, and now he wants to shatter me like glass over again? he wants to sit in front of me, in my fucking office, and tell me that if he’d profiled me a little bit harder then we could be together right now?

i think i could’ve learned to love you.  

somehow the words hurt more than his rejection.

i swing open my door, hotch is standing in the doorway.

“we got the mole.”

“who was it?” spencer asks, evidently having pulled himself together long enough respond to hotch.

“an agent jermey cole,” hotch says hesitantly, his eyes flickering between us, “were you two close?”

“not anymore,” i say, mocking spencer’s earlier words as i shoot a glare back at him, “we only dated for a few months, i broke up with him when he started acting strange...”

“strange how?” hotch questions.

“weird phone calls in the middle of the night, hiding his texts from me, coming home late…god i was so stupid. i thought he was cheating on me.”

 hotch places a reassuring hand on my shoulder, “it’s not your fault, that was a far more reasonable assumption than guessing he was part of a terrorist cell. but we caught him before he could do any real damage, i have to go and call the director. i was just coming to tell reid we’re heading back to the jet now.”

hotch nods at spencer and walks away, pulling his phone from his pocket as he enters fitz’s office.

“i didn’t know you were dating anyone,” spencer whispered.

“yeah,” i spit, “guess you could say i was learning to love him.”

i leave spencer standing in the doorway to my office.

i think i could’ve learned to love you.

his words sting, and they definitely make me angry. but there’s a satisfaction in knowing that they don’t make me fall apart. i love spencer, but i’m not in love with him, and this erases any doubts i had about that fact. had he said those words to me a year ago, i’d have been crumbling to pieces in his arms.

but now i feel like honey and glass.

it’s been two years since i saw spencer.

it’s been two years since i saw anyone on the team, jj sends me pictures of the boys sometimes, but even we aren’t the same as we used to be. and i think i’m okay with that.

fitz and i make a good team, we run the counter terrorism division like well oiled machine and people don’t die. he’s my best friend now, and i don’t need anyone else.

not in my personal life at least. but professionally, we’re at a dead end on this case and if we don’t act now then people will die. fitz and i only work so well as a team because we know when to make the hard calls.

for me, the hardest call was when i had to pick up my phone and ask agent hotchner for his help tracking down a serial bomber who was targeting busy tourist spots around the city.

it’s been two, peaceful years since i saw anyone from the bau, and now they’re standing next to me, clad in bullet proof vests and surrounded by s.w.a.t agents as we approach grand central station, one of the most frequented areas in the city.

this was his endgame.

the n.y.p.d are working on evacuating the station, and all incoming trains have been rerouted. the bomb squad are getting anxious, they don’t like waiting around like this, but there isn’t much they can do when the unsub has the bomb strapped to his chest.

fitz is trying to talk him down, but i can see the unsub getting angrier and angrier with every second, he’s going to blow us all up.

“we need to do something,” i hiss to hotch.

we’re standing at the very edge of the station by the entrances, ready to sprint out if he decides to detonate. only i can’t leave fitz, i didn’t want to let him to go and talk to the bomber and i tried to fight my way towards them but hotch told me i could either stay with him and follow his orders or i could go back to headquarters. i begrudgingly chose the former.

“well we can’t shoot him, he has a manual and biomechanical trigger – if the heart rate monitor detects that his has heart stops beating the bomb will arm automatically, our only chance is if fitz can talk him down.”

i tap my foot, “he shouldn’t even be the one negotiating, he has a wife now and a kid on the way, if he dies that baby is gonna grow up without a dad,” I clench my fists so hard my nails dig into my palms and draw blood, “if i die, the only person i’m going to hurt is myself, but i’ll be dead so it won’t matter.”

“i can’t let you go over there-” hotch begins.

i look over at fitz, standing several feet away from the bomber with his hands in the air. i imagine telling his wife that her husband has been blown to pieces, i imagine her going through labour alone, i imagine his kid growing up and asking why everyone has a daddy apart from them.

“no you can’t, but you also can’t stop me,” i say, shoving my gun back into its holster and taking my first few steps towards the unsub.

hotch is hissing something at me but i don’t hear him because everything happens so fast after that. something in the unsubs body language shifts, and before i know it i’m being blown backwards by a searing hot force.

every window in the building shatters, and i land in a pile of glass, the shards tearing at my skin as a try and push myself to my feet. my head is aching, and everything blurs in front of me, but i can tell from the acrid smell and orange glow that half the building is on fire. i pat myself down, searching for any pieces of shrapnel or glass embedded in my body, i don’t feel penetrating wounds but when i hold my hands up above my face my fingers are slick with blood.

my vision is so blurry, and i can’t hear a thing over the ringing in my ears. spencer’s face appears in front of my eyes, his lips are moving but i still can’t hear a word. the ringing is overwhelming and black spots are beginning to appear across my vision.

i want to go to sleep.

my eyes flutter shut.

i think someone is shaking me.

the ringing is too much.

when i begin to float back to consciousness, the ringing is gone and is replaced with a consistent beeping. my body is aching, and i groan as i try and sit myself up because my arms don’t want to cooperate with me. when i look down i see they’re wrapped up tightly in bandages.

“hey, don’t try and move yet,” a voice says, “you have a concussion, the doctor says you’ll be okay but groggy for a while.”

the voice shifts into view, its spencer. his face is twisted with worry and he’s biting at his nail, “how do you feel?”

“like i was hit by a train,” i cough, “what happened?”

his face drops, “you don’t remember?”

i try to shake my head but it hurts to try and move, “bits and pieces, did n.y.p.d get everyone out?”

he nods, “yeah, your team did a good job,” he shifts towards me and takes a seat on the bed next to me, “but there’s something else-”

“god, my head really hurts, can they give me any pain meds?”

“yeah, i’m sure they can, i’ll ask a nurse in a minute,” he says softly, “but i have some bad news…it’s agent fitz-”

“no. no, no, no,” the tears start to burn in my eyes and my vision is blurrier than it was immediately after the explosion, “don’t say it, please don’t say it,” i plead.

he takes my hand, “okay, i won’t.”

the tears are streaming down my face i can’t bring myself to wipe them away, my body aches as it’s racked with sobs. spencer doesn’t say anything, he just squeezes my hand and takes out a handkerchief to dry away my tears.

“d-does his wife know?” i finally manage to choke out.

“yeah, hotch spoke to her.”

gemma was a lovely woman, i don’t know how i can face her again when the guilt flooding my body tells me that this is my fault. fitz is dead, and it should’ve been me.

“this isn’t fair,” i croak.

“i know, it’s never fair. but he saved so many people-”

“no. i mean it’s not fucking fair because he never should’ve been in that position in the first place, if i’d just gotten there sooner then he never would’ve tried to negotiate, it should’ve been me.”

through my own tears i think i see spencer’s eyes turn red and glassy, he shakes his head and grips onto my hand so tightly it hurts, if i had the energy i’d tell him to loosen his grip but i can’t make myself speak.

“i know what its like to have someone you love die right in front of you,” he says, and from the pain in his voice i know he isn’t lying and i know he’s talking about maeve, “i know what its like to feel that guilt and wish it was you instead but-”

“do you think we’re cursed spencer?”

“what do you mean?”

i close my eyes, “bad things seem to happen to us more than anyone else i know, we’ve both been kidnapped, drugged, tortured, known the agony of unrequited love, had someone we love killed in front of our eyes…how am i supposed to have any faith in life when we’re just bombarded with trauma and pain every single day?”

spencer opens his mouth to speak but he falters, i can only recall one other occasion where i’ve seen spencer speechless. it’s not a sight that i ever want to see again, he looks so lost as he stares down at me and i know that he doesn’t know what to say.

morgan pops his head around the door, “glad to see you’re awake,” he says.

i smile weakly at him before tilting my head away, i don’t need anyone else seeing me cry.

“sorry kid, but hotch wants wheels up in thirty, we need to get a move on.”

“yeah, i’ll be two minutes.”

my heart sinks in my chest because i realise that spencer’s hand is still intertwined with mine and i know that my heart will break when he pulls his away. i shakily raise my hand to dry my eyes, spencer has to go now, and i need to dry my own eyes from now on.

“i’m sorry,” he whispers, “i don’t want to leave you but-”

“it’s okay, spencer,” i say, shifting my head back so i can see his face again.

his honey and glass eyes are boring into mine, and in that moment, we are connected by our mutual pain, and maybe something deeper that i can’t quite discern.

“you could come back with me,” he says hopefully.

i shake my head, “you know i can’t spencer,” i squeeze his hand lightly, “you go, i’ll be okay.”

i can’t go with him because i think i know what his eyes are asking me and i can’t open myself up to something like that right now. i can’t disregard the last five years that i have spent re-building myself just for something that i may be reading too much into.

he lets go of my hand and an involuntary shiver runs through my body, i had grown so accustomed to our brief skin to skin contact and now that it’s gone i feel like i’m missing a part of myself.

“i’m so sorry, about everything-”

“it’s okay spencer, i’m starting to think that we aren’t meant to have a happily ever after.”

he doesn’t say anything else; he just presses a gentle kiss against my forehead before he skirts of the room.

i lie motionless in my hospital bed, the nurse comes in to administer some pain meds and i almost wished she hadn’t because at least the pounding in my head and stinging from my cuts meant i could feel something.

without spencer, the room is colder. i thought that having my own, personal sun was a bad thing because i thought that being strong and independent meant never relying on anyone for anything. i realise now that being strong means knowing when to when to depend on others.

i wish fitz were here, he would know exactly what to say.

i feel like rotten honey and shattered glass.

i’m not surprised by the look of shock that spreads across his face when he swings open the door to see me standing in the hallway. i open my mouth to speak but i realise i never figured out what to say. i had two cab journeys, a flight, a decade of loving him and i still don’t know what to say.

he must see something on my face because his own stony expression softens, and he reaches out a hand.

“what made you change your mind?”

it’s warm against my own, still freezing from the bitter, winter wind.

“i realised i was wrong, i thought if i ran straight back into your arms it would ruin all the years i spent sticking myself back together. before you were oxygen to me, and i couldn’t live without you. now i know that i can, i just don’t want to.”

he squeezes my hand, pulling me towards him. i’m in his apartment.

“you told me once that you still love me, but you aren’t in love with me. is that still true?”

i nod, “yes, but i don’t think that you’re in love with me either. yet,” i wink at him and he grins, “i don’t need to learn how to love you, i already know how to do that. i just need to be persuaded to fall in love with you again.”

he takes a step closer to me, “persuaded how?”

i snake my arms around his neck and his lips brush against mine, “like this.”

i press my lips against his and i don’t feel fireworks or butterflies or a gravitational pull, i just feel at home. i don’t need a happily ever after beacuse he is enough.

he tastes like coffee and i feel like honey and glass.

as usual i have finished this super late at night and havent proof read at all so pls ignore any grammar/spelling mistakes - also aware that the timeline in this probably doesn't align with canon cos i have no clue how far apart certain events happened so ive made some educated guesses. 

i never planned for honey and glass to have a part 2 but i wrote one due to all the requests i got so i’m sorry if the plot isnt the best because i didnt really know where to take it. i’m definitely not as happy with this as i was with part one but i still hope you enjoy it!

taglist:

@mggswhorificlover @doctorthreephds @minami97 @bisexualwomanofcolour @ashwarren32 @bangisbae @haylaansmi @heyy-itsharley03 @starjane312 @awesometheydontknowiamhere @radtwinkie @allexthakatt @spencereidshoe @mgglover @spideyr3id

@cloudyskylines @pastelvixenbeauty @hatemyselfbutitsokay @writingwithnotime @awkwxrdmarauders

ive tagged anyone who commented on part 1 or liked my posts about a part 2 so im sorry if you didnt want to be tagged, if ur name is scored through then i tried to tag you but it wouldnt let me x

[narakurosaki]

title: jealousy

collection: equivalent exchange

summary: the resembool trio attend resembool’s summer festival. unfortunately, jealousy isn’t a good look on a certain elric brother.

rating: t

words: 4173

accepting prompts!

read on ao3

. . .

It reeks of sheep shit.

Resembool was known as a sheep-farming town, using the gathered wool to craft Amestrian military uniforms. The smell shouldn’t be a surprise, but the awful odor still causes Edward to gag. He’s grown used to the shit-free scents encountered across Amestris during his travels—Central reeked of car fumes and smoke from factories; Dublith had become associated with the stench of blood and raw meat thanks to the Curtis’ butcher shop; Liore held the scent of sand in its air; and Briggs stunk of overpriced coffee. The scent of shit in the air had even overwhelmed Alphonse, bringing up his earlier lunch the moment the brothers stepped off of the train. It was the scent of home, he’d smiled, spitting the taste of bile into a nearby trash can. Edward begged to differ. There’s a reason he prefers to stay indoors, the smell of burnt electrical wiring and oil mixing with the mouthwatering scent of freshly baked apple pie.

The strumming of a guitar, the banging of a drum, and the clapping of hands are like nails against a chalkboard. Reaembool’s annual summer festival was in full swing, complete with food, drinks, rigged games, and dancing. Alphonse had been counting down the days since summer began, crossing each passing day off of the calendar until the circled date had approached. He’d gained enough physical strength since returning home to walk without the aid of a crutch—he looked like a proper fifteen-year-old boy, now; his bones no longer protruded from his skin, and he’d even began gaining a healthy amount of belly fat. Edward and Winry had worried themselves silly when Al announced he would partake in dancing with old friends, but Pinako had assured them that Alphonse knew what his body could handle. Still, Edward watches the dance floor for a glimpse of his little brother, spinning in circles with a different girl than before.

The moment dancing was mentioned, however, Edward bid the two farewell, wandering aimlessly along the riverbank. It drained him to be around Resembool citizens his age—they often posed questions regarding his newfound flesh arm, or inquired about his time spent in the military. Some even asked him to perform alchemy, unintentionally striking a cord within him. The friends he and Al had made in grade school weren’t forced to grow up far too quickly. As far as he was concerned, he, Al, and Winry were the most mature teenagers in town.

But, he understood Alphonse’s want to mingle. He deserved to be carefree after spending so long as a suit of armor. Winry tagged along to keep him company, arguing with Edward about ditching his younger brother. She’d yelled that he was a fucking jerk and to go home if he was going to act like that.

He sighs. Things with her had gotten incredibly confusing as of late. Maybe that was his fault; he had kissed her two days ago, and had barely spoken a word to her since. Could that be adding fuel to the fire that was her anger with him for ditching Alphonse? Could that be why he’s been seeing glimpses of her in the distance, spun around the dance floor by another man, a grin on her face?

His hands ball into fists, a fire burning in the pit of his stomach. He knows he shouldn’t care—Winry was free to dance with whoever she wanted. They weren’t dating, after all. They’d only kissed briefly one night, and Edward had scurried back to his room before she could ask what it meant. Perhaps this was payback, not that he would blame her. He deserves it.

To his right, leaves crunch beneath someone’s feet. He lifts his head, averting his gaze from the sheep, searching for the source. Illuminated by the moonlight reflecting off of the river are golden eyes, closed as their owner smiles. Alphonse holds his hand up in a friendly wave.

“You’re missing out,” he speaks into the silence, settling beside his older brother. “We’re having a lot of fun back there.”

“Trust me,” Edward waves a hand, dismissively, “I’m well aware.”

He chances a glance back at the dance floor. It’s easy enough to pick Winry out from the others—long blonde hair that flows freely down her back, a pretty white dress that ends just below her knees, a bright smile that makes his heart race in his chest. There’s a pair of hands at her waist, and Edward squints to make out who they belong to. It’s Benjamin Thompson, a local farmer boy that Ed knew nothing of, other than his hatred for him in this moment. Winry’s arms are wrapped loosely around his neck. She throws her head back to laugh at something he’s whispered in her ear. The hair on the back of Ed’s neck stands on end.

“You could’ve danced with her, you know.”

He looks to Al, brow furrowed. “These festivals aren’t exactly my style.”

Alphonse rolls his eyes. “Would it kill you to think of someone other than yourself for once?” He leans partially into the pen, running his hand through sheep wool, one by one. “You think Winry wants to dance with those guys?”

Edward drops his gaze to the sheep gathering around his brother’s hand. “Sure seems like it.”

Several sheep baa in Al’s direction. He smiles and reaches his other hand in, commenting that he will gladly pet them all if they would wait their turn. He cranes his head to look at Edward. “She’s trying to make the best out of a bad situation, Brother. Do you know how confused she must be? You spent an absurd amount of money on that ring toss game just to win her that bear she said was cute.”

Ed drags his right hand along the length of his jaw. He had only want to make her happy with that damned plush bear. Seeing Winry smile was one of the greatest sights to behold. While Edward pumped a fist in the air upon landing the winning toss, Winry was jumping up

and down with excitement as the attendant fetched her prize. She’d hugged it so tightly, Edward had joked that she’d squeeze the stuffing out of it.

“…I kissed her the other night.”

It’s spoken so suddenly, so out of no where, that Alphonse removes his hands from the sheep pen. They baa in annoyance, to which Edward glares at them. Stupid, smelly, annoying things.

“You…” Al’s jaw goes slack. It’s evident in the way his cheeks twitch that he wants to smile. His expression remains blank. “When? How? Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

Edward offers a lazy shrug. “Two nights ago. We were saying goodnight in the hall and it just… happened. It wasn’t anything big.”

“Are you kidding!?” Al runs both hands through his short, golden hair. “Brother, Ed, this is huge! I’ve been waiting for you two to do something since we got back home!” A groan escapes him. His head falls forward, bangs bouncing against his forehead. “Leave it to you to screw things up.”

Where a retort from the elder Elric would be, there is only silence. He looks back at the sheep, now wandering and munching on grass. He begins to pull at the fingers of his right hand. “Maybe she’ll kiss someone else, tonight. She seems pretty comfortable with that Benjamin jackass.”

He can feel his brother’s golden eyes on him, feel the judgment as though it were rain drops upon his skin. Alphonse breathes a sigh from his nose. “There’s a way to fix this, but if you’re going to be stubborn I can’t help you. I have to get back to the dance—I promised Angela I’d dance with her.”

Ed gives a nod.

Al pats his brother’s shoulder, an act of comfort, before making his return to the dance floor. Edward wrings his hands together. A few sheep linger near him, desperate for the human touch Alphonse had offered. Ed only scoffs.

“One way to fix it my ass,” he grouses, gripping the wood until his knuckles go white. “No way in hell am I prying her away from some redneck just to beg her to give me another chance.”

He pushes himself away from the sheep pen, the wood creaking in defiance. The sound alerts the sheep, and a dozen pair of eyes settle on him. “Oh, you guys gonna judge me, too?” But the sheep quickly return to their grazing. Ed rolls his eyes and shoved his hands into his trouser pockets. He begins the trek back to the Rockbell house.

If he looks, he can still see Winry dancing with the Thompson boy. His face is burnt from the sun, his messy brown hair falls in his eyes, and he grins from ear-to-ear as he spins Winry around like he knows what he’s doing. His wears a red and white checkered button up shirt with a basic pair of blue jeans and boots. Edward grits his teeth. The outfit was practically the standard amongst the working men of Resembool—Ed and Al had influence from the cities of Amestris when it came to their fashion. It made Edward feel overdressed at this stupid festival, walking around in a white button up with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, a pair of black slacks covering his ass, and black boots on his feet. Alphonse had dressed similarly, and Ed often heard the girls gossiping about how handsome he looked. At least it worked out for him, in the end.

He pushes his bangs back and flexes his jaw. Maybe his behavior had pushed Winry into the arms of another man, as Al suggested. There was no fixing it now, not in his mind, anyway. He and Winry had fought shortly after he’d won her that stupid stuffed bear. He wouldn’t blame her if she’d tossed it in the river out of anger. He’d fucked up pretty badly.

The sounds of the festival—instruments, laughter and chatter, the stomping of feet—begin to fade the more distance Edward puts between them. He watches his feet carry him down the familiar path home, kicking any rock that stands in his way. Granny would ask why he was home so early the moment he walked through the door. There wasn’t any use lying to her—she could read him like a book—but he didn’t want to talk about it, either. He planned to climb up the stairs and settle in his bed, doing his best to forget what he’d seen and sleep the remainder of the night away.

Maybe if he hadn’t acted so stupid after kissing her. Maybe if he’d manned up and discussed how he felt, he wouldn’t be in the situation he was now. But he’d learned at a young age that there was no fixing your mistakes. At least, no easily, and this one seemed beyond repair.

“Dammit, Ed, what are you doing?”

He stops to look over his shoulder, the familiar voice catching him off guard. He blinks, eyes widening as his brain registers the sight before him: Winry is running down the dirt path, oversized bear hugged against her chest, desperately trying to catch up to him.

His chest tightens.

“What’s it look like?” His voice lacks its usual hardness. He’s unable to mask the pain. “I’m going home. I didn’t want to be at that stupid thing, anyway.”

As he turns his attention ahead of him, Winry clutches his wrist, pulling his arm back. “What the hell is your problem?”

He clenches his teeth and yanks his arm out of her grasp. “I don’t have one. Why don’t your go back to your hick of a boyfriend and leave me alone.”

“What, are you jealous?”

“Of course no—

“Because I’m not the one who kissed me and then avoided me for two days!”

So he had hurt her feelings.

What a dumb thing to think, believing he could get out of the situation without hurting her. He really is foolish.

He fills his lungs, doing his best to ignore the stench in the air, and breathes out slowly. He turns to face her, brow furrowed. He isn’t surprised to see just how angry she is.

“All you ever gave me was a small acknowledgment, and that was only when you ran in to me.” Her arms loosen around the stuffed bear. Its head flops forward a smidge. “I figured you regretted kissing me, but, then you insisted on playing that stupid game just to win me this toy…” Their eyes meet, and Edward can see just how much he’s hurt her. “I’m confused, Ed. You never talk about your feelings, you just act. And right now, you’re acting like a dick.”

He deserved to be called every name in the book, but Winry would never do it. She was right—he was acting like a dick, and why? Because he was worried she may not return his feelings for her? Because he couldn’t bear to be in the same house after embarrassing himself? He hadn’t even been sure that she’d kissed him back. It was more of a peck than anything, and she had’t said a word once he’d pulled away.

He sneers. It infuriates him how well she knows him, how she knows exactly what buttons to press to elicit a reaction. “Why does it even matter? You’re having a good time. Why not just let me leave?”

The plush bear falls to the dirt as Winry throws her arms in the air. She groans into the night. “Geez, how stupid can one man be!?”

If it’s meant to hurt him, he barely feels it.

She places her palm against her chest. “Did it ever occur to you that I was trying to make you jealous?”

They remain there, glaring at one another as Winry’s words settle in the air. Edward’s brain works overtime to process them—he blinks, the anger on his face slowly fading as the realization settles. The anger he felt lingers, dancing in the pit of his stomach with his jealousy. Annoyance bubbles its way up his throat, leaving the taste of bile on his tongue. She couldn’t be serious.

“That’s a low blow, Winry.” His words are soft, barely audible above the sounds of the festival.

“Is it?” Her hands ball into fists at her sides. “Because I think it’s pretty on par with your behavior these past few days.”

He grits his teeth and reaches for the plush bear’s ear, lifting it forcefully off of the ground. “Don’t worry, I’ll put this in your room for you so you can go dance with Benjamin.” He turns on his heel, oversized plush dragging on the ground as he continues down his earlier path.

He makes it only three feet when Winry’s words stop him. “What is it going to take to get you to talk about the other night?”

The other night; the kiss, she means. What did it mean? Why had it happened? Why had he avoided her afterward? He swallows and lowers his head, keeping his back to her. Maybe it would be easier to discuss if he couldn’t see her face…

“I kissed you,” he answers, “and then I went to bed.”

An exasperated sigh rushes from her lungs. “You’re so stubborn, you know that?”

He spins around, ponytail coming to rest against his shoulder. His bangs hit his face, hairs sticking out in disarray. His grip on the plus bear’s ear tightens, knuckles whitening. He clenches his jaw past the point of comfort, and scowls at his best friend. She thinks this is easy? He’d avoided her those two days because it was anything but.

His upper lip quivers until he can no longer take it. “I was afraid, dammit!”

His words echo across the river. He looks worriedly towards the festival grounds, seeking anyone who may be looking his way. He comes up empty, met only with Winry’s bright blue eyes.

He shoves his free hand into his pocket. His cheeks burn with embarrassment. He ducks his head to hide his face beneath his bangs. “I had no idea what you were thinking after I kissed you. For all I know, you didn’t even want it to happen. I couldn’t face you just for you to put me down easy. We live in the same damn house, Winry. I’d die of embarrassment.”

“God.”

Here it comes, he thinks, here comes her shooting me down.

It’s okay. Tonight has prepared him for this. If she wanted to be in the arms of another man, so be it. He’d move on. He’d have to.

“You really are dumb, aren’t you?” From behind his bangs, he watches her pinch the bridge of her nose. “It’s a wonder they let you become a state alchemist. Actually, scratch that.” She places her hands on her hips and rolls her eyes. “State alchemists don’t have to be smart with women, I forgot.”

He lifts his head, dumbfounded.

“Didn’t it ever occur to you that maybe, just maybe, I wanted you to kiss me?”

Actually, it hadn’t.

He shakes his head.

“Geez,” she grumbles. She closes the distance between them and plucks her plush bear from his fingers. She sets it down on a small grassy patch beside the path. “Here, come dance with me.”

“What?” But she’s already grabbing his hands, pulling the other out of his pocket. She leads him to the grass by the river bank. She places his hands on her hips, looping her arms around his neck. His heart rate picks up, drowning out the faint music from the festival. Winry sets the pace, swaying side-to-side to what he guesses is the beat of the music. He swallows the lump in his throat.

The moonlight reflects off of the water and illuminates her eyes; they’re a cloudless sky that Edward could easily lose himself in. “I’ve literally spelled it out for you, and you still don’t get it.” She shakes her head and smiles. “What am I going to do with you?”

He sways in time with her. He begins to hear the music over the beating of his heart—the strumming of a guitar, the beat of a drum, and the deep voice singing a song of a man that didn’t dance, but would for the woman he loved. He glances down at his hands upon her hips and turns a brighter shade of red. Winry places her index finger beneath his chin and guides his eyes back to hers.

“You really hurt my feelings when you avoided me.” Her voice, barely above a whisper, is drenched in sadness. “That morning, after you kissed me, I was hoping to talk to you. Granny and Al had no clue where you were, and you didn’t come back until later that evening. Do you know how awful I felt?”

He shakes his head, and she loops her arm back around his neck. Truth be told, he hadn’t put her feelings into consideration even once. He’d ran off that morning, visiting his mother’s (and, inadvertently, his father’s) grave, telling her just how stupid he was, how he’d made a fool of himself, how he’d destroyed a lifelong friendship because his feelings for her couldn’t be held back. He won’t tell this to Winry. Not now.

“I felt awful, Ed. I felt that you kissed me on some whim and grew to regret it.” Her fingers play with the hair at his neck. “No girl wants to feel like the guy who kissed her regrets doing it.”

The pair continue to sway to the beat of the music as Edward processes Winry’s words. He hangs on to each word, each syllable, analyzing their meaning. He’d hurt her, that much he knew, and he regrets it deeply. But he never could have imagined that she would believe he regretted kissing her.

“Is that why you decided to make me jealous?”

She nods stiffly. Clearly, that wasn’t her proudest moment. “You won me that stupid bear and I figured that you were finally going to talk to me about what happened. Instead, you ran away, again, so I went with Al. All I planned to do was wait for my turn to dance with Al, but Benjamin asked me go dance, and I saw you out there by yourself… I knew you could see the dance floor. I knew you would see us—that was my intention.”

“Could’ve fooled me.” Ed rolls his eyes. “You were all over him.”

“Oh, Edward.” Now it’s her turn to roll her eyes. She struggles to stifle her laughter. “Benjamin is gay.”

Oh.

Now he feels like an even greater ass.

“You honestly think I’d willingly dance with someone just wanting to get in my pants?”

Well, yes. He had thought that, anyway.

He hangs his head and lets out a sound of annoyance. “You’re evil, you know that?”

“So I’ve been told.”

Again, her arm untangles from behind his head, hand moving to cup his cheek. She guides his gaze back to her, a soft smile on her lips. He stares into her eyes, a fire burning in the pit of his stomach. A sense of urgency hits him like a ton of bricks—kiss her; make it right—but he’s lost himself in her beauty. His feet move automatically to the song, eyes drinking in every ounce of her. It isn’t often he sees Winry in a dress—she greatly prefers the comfort and protection of her coveralls while working, and can often be found lazing about in an oversized shirt and a pair of shorts. Though, it was strange. She was always beautiful, even covered in grease. Perhaps he’s just never been this close. The last time he’d felt this way was two nights ago, outside of her bedroom, their actions masked by the dark. He swallows.

The hair at his neck twirls easily around her fingers. He yearns for her to run them through his hair, to touch him in ways no one has ever touched him before. His eyes close as he begins to dream.

Winry let’s a content sigh out through her nose. She pulls his head down until their foreheads touch. “You still don’t get it, do you?”

“Mm, get what?”

He feels her gently shake her head. “That your fears were silly. I like you, dummy.”

His eyes open, met once more by a sea of blue and a warm smile. A faint blush dusts her cheeks. His heart skips a beat.

She lays a palm flat against the back of his neck, the other moving to rest above his heart. Their swaying comes to a natural halt, and Edward moves his right hand to cup her cheek. “I like you, too.”

Winry’s grin is instantaneous. “I think we’ve established that.”

He chuckles. “Yeah, guess so.”

His tongue peeks out to wet his lips. There’s an array of emotion within Winry’s eyes that drive him wild—excitement, joy, infatuation, and something deeper that he can’t quite place. He leans forward and tilts his head, closing his eyes as their lips meet. An electric current runs between them with nowhere to go. Winry’s pulls Ed closer towards her, Ed’s hand on her hip grips the fabric of her dress tighter. Their lips move awkwardly, both lacking any form of experience. His teeth clack clumsily against hers, her lips move too quickly at one point, and his tongue shyly enters her mouth without a clue of what to do. They are intoxicating one another, freely conveying years of pent up emotions for one another with their mouths. In the distance, the band stops playing. The only sounds they hear are their lips, their breathing, and the crickets hiding amongst them.

[brandstifter-sys]

Sonnets

Word Count: 2144 (Ao3)

Pairing: Dukexiety with some Creativitwins

Rating: T+

Warnings: Sexual themes, brotherly angst, talk of death

Roman finds a journal and assumes it’s Remus’ but when Remus says it’s not his Roman leaves him with it, so he has some time to read. Little does he know what will come from perusing that book.

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Remus was chaos, he didn't bend to anyone else's rules unless he wanted to. Almost nothing was off the table for him—gore, violence, monsters, pain—but he had limits. Don't steal Janus' hat when he isn't holding or wearing it, because an angry Janus meant silence, or worse being silenced and alone. Never ever get too gross with Patton, because he will scream and cry and flash those hideous puppy dog eyes! Stay at least 6 feet away from Logan or suffer through a lecture on how little influence the duke held. Never let Roman hurt himself so bad he can't heal. And never ever read Virgil's diaries. 

Remus was happily throwing shurikens at a large canvas with paint balloons, having fun despite only hitting the ones filled with red. It was just a little annoying to only have one color on a solid white background, and even more annoying when it was Roman's colors staring at him. Roman hadn't been much of a good brother in the past few years, and it stung to think about how they drifted apart. How almost everyone ran from him to Roman. It hurt to be so lonely. 

"Greetings, Your Disgrace!" Roman said as he entered the castle atrium suddenly. Remus threw another star that lodged itself in the canvas with a splash and a thump, and grinned manically at the unsettled prince. 

"Well if it isn't MacBetty himself!" Remus said and cracked his neck sharply, "What hell did I probably unleash on you today?" 

"Don't flatter yourself," Roman scoffed and held up a black journal with sparkling green trim, "You left this in the common area." 

"Did I?" he asked and righted his head with a sickening pop. He was as bad as Roman about collecting cool journals and never filling them, so it could be his, even if he didn't recognize it. Roman handed it to him and crossed his arms. 

"It would appear so. If Logan yells at me for leaving my notes lying about, he will certainly yell at me for yours." 

Remus hummed softly and ran his fingers over the cover, ignoring the jab. The trim pricked his fingers as they glided over it. It was a nice journal, but definitely not something he conjured up. He supposed it might have been a gift, but that would mean someone made something for him—someone other than Janus, and maybe just one other side, but he remembered every gift Virgil ever gave him.

"He likes to yell. Are you sure this is mine?" he questioned, still learning the rise and fall of the trim.

"I assumed, considering the design. I don't like to open other people's journals," Roman answered. Remus knew he was scared of leafing through it, probably expecting some security monster popping out the second he opened it. He didn't blame him for that one, but it stung nonetheless.

"Me neither, but now I'm curious!" Remus laughed and opened to a random page. It was all hand-written poetry. Interesting!

"It's a poetry book! Wanna hear one? It could be a hint!" Remus wiggled his eyebrows. Roman let out a short sigh but went tense. 

"I have other things to do. I came to drop off the book and now I must depart. Farewell." Roman bowed and sank out with flourish. He left far too quickly for comfort.

"Love you too, nice seeing you again, don't be a stranger," Remus pouted and went back to his room, too bummed to paint anymore. 

  He rose up and flopped on his bed with the journal open. Some angsty poetry might make him feel better. He got comfy and let his eyes traverse the page

My mouth is dry Sugary sweet and kind Choking me with my own tongue Out of everything, that saccharine isn't a lie

Remus pursed his lips. That one was really short, and with the talk of lies, he had to wonder. Was this actually Roman's? Did he want to share this with him covertly? Remus bit back a squeal at the thought and kept reading with some hope. 

Lost in translation Obstinate and selfish Get over yourself Avoidance builds pressure Never any quiet when you snap

Remus giggled, knowing exactly who that one was about! Someone pissed the author off! And he knew that that person pissed Roman off a lot! He turned the page, expecting to learn more about this author, believing they could be his brother wanting to reconnect. He was a little surprised to find a skull doodled in the corner but brushed it off.

I want to pull him from the shadows and into my heart Will he see me? Will he disappear if I reach for his hand? Am I blind and staggering in desperation? Someone like him would be better without me Someone like him deserves someone better No star deserves to succumb to a black hole

That one hurt. Remus wiped away the tears forming in his eyes. He knew that feeling all too well. The one side who made him want to obey, the side that made his heart flutter like the bats in his tummy—that side was his best friend and then he left. He missed his partner in crime and he wished that Virgil would come back, just for a visit, and spend time with him again. But that wasn't happening and he had a whole book to read about an author he could really connect with, Roman or not.

He went through several poems that were angsty and angry, full of self-loathing. With each piece he read, the more he doubted it was Roman. The language wasn't formal enough and it didn't match his style at all! It was good stuff, most of it, and Remus kind of hoped the real author would be willing to collaborate with him. He liked this guy.

Like the sun overhead, you're on fire The big man has a little golden boy Pompous and cruel with haughty desire Which one of us are you gonna destroy?

Darkness and shadow that cannot be lit Overshadowing you to make it stop Use that hubris to land another hit I'll keep fighting until the curtains drop

You think you're Hercules when you're so weak Rise like a phoenix Icarus, just try  Maybe you'll learn what it means to be meek Until that day you won't see me cry

I will rain on your parade every damn time Stopping stupidity is my worst crime

Okay so that one threw him for a loop. It would take a few minutes to piece it together. Remus decided that he could assume it was about Roman this time. Princey loved the classics and he had a pet phoenix. This author had some beef with him! Remus hoped for more anger at Roman with the next poem, because he certainly had enough pent up with the snobby, best-friend stealing, always got the spotlight prince. He didn’t get that catharsis, he got more than he bargained for.

I find comfort in breathing in his scent Even if his hands are mine for tonight If he asks, I don't know where his clothes went What I'm doing is wrong but it feels right

If I close my eyes I can taste his kiss A dream in a nightmare clouding my mind Hearing my name on his lips would be bliss To pin him down, our fingers intertwined

I long to stare into piercing jade pools So he thinks of me while I stake my claim I want him to never want to let go I always thought that love was just for fools But on his green sash, love, or something, came I almost regret that he'll never know

This was definitely not a book the author wanted to share. Remus was pretty sure that his face was going to melt off. Now he really wanted to figure out who wrote these! Someone actually liked him like that at some point! It definitely wasn't Princey in that poem—Remus still had the sash mentioned! He was just the tiniest bit turned on, but most of his hype went into his famous wiggles.

"You're so dead!" 

Remus jolted up and beamed. Virgil never stopped by anymore, so when he popped up threateningly, Remus was too happy to care or put the pieces together.

"And how do you wanna kill me? I have some suggestions!" he sang and shimmied. Virgil scowled and crossed his arms. 

"Have Janus wipe your memory and give it back." 

"What, the book?" Remus questioned and held it up. Virgil snatched it and held it to his chest protectively. Remus' eyes widened in horror.

"You wrote all that?! And I read it!? Oh no no no no no! I had no idea—I'll get Hisster Myde and scrub it away with steel wool! Dammit I am so sorry, Sca–Virgil!" Remus yelped and got up to pace. His only rule about Virgil, broken! The only rule he wanted to follow—tarnished!

"Were you about to call me 'Scabby Doo' again?" Virgil scoffed, hiding the fear and hurt he felt. 

"No, 'Scare Bear,' something kinda cute but that’s not important right now!" Remus answered, "I read your stuff without asking! I might be a crazed Camus Stranger boy, but I have some standards!" 

"Remus. Breathe. You're gonna wipe this trash from your memory and it'll be okay," Virgil tried to soothe him, only for the duke to go rigid. 

"Trash!?" Remus snarled and spun on his heels and marched up to Virgil until the lumbering emo hit the wall, confused and scared. 

"It's not trash! I know trash! I eat it for breakfast! That book holds some of the best stuff my critical creative ass has read in ages!" Remus snapped and glared up at him with a fire in his eyes. 

"What?" 

"Those poems are great! I was gonna find the author and beg on my knees like a needy subby bitch to collab with him because holy shit! I felt something with each one!" 

"Even the one with the skull doodle on the page?" Virgil squeaked, his face a beautiful shade of red. Remus smiled sadly. 

"Yeah, that one hit a little too close to home. I got all teary eyed. Thinking about it now after reading that saucy sonnet, it really hurts!" 

"I uh—" Virgil stammered, "I'm, uh, 'm sorry for the sash and the whole—"

"If you apologize for anything else I am going to lip wrestle that apology away!" Remus cut him off, "Because dammit, Virgil, I love you, even if you don't feel the same way anymore. No more self-hate and no more doubting yourself." 

"Puppy," Virgil said and finally took back some control, guiding Remus back and having him sit down, "I can't promise I'll be able to stop that completely, but if you can stand a little bit of it, I wouldn't mind making that collab a date." 

"Really!?" Remus grinned making Virgil's eyeshadow turn purple, "Can we paint too? And watch scary movies? And make out? And then try and woo each other with some dark prose until one of us caves and asks the other to be his boyfriend? And then f—" 

"Yeah," Virgil cut him off and pressed a finger to Remus' lips, "Except for the part about caving. Will you–I mean, only if you want to, would you–and it’s cool if you say ‘no’ since things might be a little weird but—”

“Band-aid, Emoraptor!” Remus cut him off, like he used to do back in the day when Virgil started down one of his nervous tangents.

“Maybe be my boyfriend now?" Virgil said quickly and winced.

"Yes!" Remus cheered and dragged Virgil into a hug, tumbling on the sheets, "Loom over me like a cypress tree and stay with me until I taste death for a night." 

"Stay here and cuddle until we pass out like touch starved gremlins? Only if you visit me in the abyss until this world calls," Virge mused and wrapped his arms around the duke, curling around him protectively. 

"And then the next," Remus hummed softly and kissed his hand, “But you’re always in my dreams!” Virgil buried his face in Remus’ neck and smiled against his skin. Who would have thought that they would wind up here?

Roman sat on his bed and stared at the collage of pictures he had on the wall. In the very center was an old drawing of him and Remus in front of a castle. He sighed wistfully and stared at it, admiring Remus' work. He hoped that sneaking into Virgil's room was worth it—he wanted Remus to be happy even if he couldn't provide that joy. Maybe one day he’d be able to, but until then, he hoped he got his best friend and brother together to make some amends if not more.

[anonniemousefics]

Hi! Could you do a fic where Kaz doesn't know that inej is home from sea, but he comes back late at night to find her asleep in his bed? ♥️

HELL YEAH I can. My friend, this kind of prompt is like my kanej crack. I can’t not. I will read it; I will write it; I will like it; I will reblog it. I have a problem, and I don’t care. Here’s what came of this! ❤️

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

Kaz hated snow. It rarely snowed in Ketterdam, but when it did, there was nothing that made Kaz loathe the world more. The cold clawed at his joints in his bad leg. It meant putting an unbalanced trust in his cane, which could betray him at the first slippery patch, and absolutely no one would benefit from Dirtyhands taking an unsightly spill into a puddle of slush and ice. It wasn’t a good look for a Barrel boss.

If Kaz could have had his way, he would have holed up in his office at the first snowflake and not left until the last puddle had evaporated from the cobblestones. But that kind of indulgent behavior was the very thing that cost Per Haskell the Dregs.

So, there would be no rest for Kaz. He still needed to get paid, even in a blizzard.

He was grumbling to himself as he hoisted his aching leg up the steps of The Slat, snow piled on the black shoulders of his wool coat, dusted across his dark hair. His socks were soggy, and the hems of his black slacks were soaked up his calves, and it was safe to say it wasn’t the fresh blood on the cuffs of his shirt that was making him feel wretched. He couldn’t wait to change his clothes.

He was clenching his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering as he turned the key in the lock to his room in the attic. He shoved the old door open. In the far corner of the attic was a small, pot-bellied stove he’d been dreaming of lighting the whole trudge home. He was so close to finally being warm again.

It took his whole focus for a few minutes: throwing in the logs, trying to get his freezing hands to handle a match. But after a moment, the first few licks of flame took to the kindling, and he closed the door of the stove. He rubbed his gloved hands together, furiously, trying to coax some feeling back into them.

And then he froze. And slowly reached for his cane.

There had been a sound in the room. A sound that had not come from him.

He rose slowly to his feet, all shadow in silver moonlight from the window behind his desk. Gooseflesh prickled along the skin of his neck beneath his turned up collar. With each passing second, he was becoming more convinced he was not alone.

When he turned, he wasn’t sure if it was a trick of the moonlight at first. There was a distinct, large lump in his bed. He hadn’t left it mussed and unmade that morning. Something – or someone – had been there.

Or was still there.

The cane spun absentmindedly around his hand as he tested its weight, steeling himself. This was unusual but not something he couldn’t handle. The blood on his hands was a testament to that.

He stepped closer and, with the beak of the crow’s head end of the cane, he began to peel back the comforter. If he needed to, he would use that crow’s head to brain whoever he was about to uncover, and he already knew where he could dump the intruder’s body, too. Maybe after he was warm again…

But, in the soft orange glow from the stove, he stopped. His breath caught.

Inej?

Inej was asleep in his bed.

Kaz wasn’t expecting her to dock again Ketterdam for at least another week. But here she was, buried beneath the layers of quilts and sleeping with her arms around herself, huddled against the cold.

For a moment, Kaz forgot all about his own freezing, wet clothes. She’d slept in his bed before, but it had been a thoughtful arrangement, a risk, a battle against their own inner demons. This was entirely different. There’d been no discussion. She’d come without asking. She’d known she would be safe here. With him.

Kaz thought his heart might explode. He couldn’t stop staring, like the scene might vanish if he blinked. Her dark eyelashes spread against her brown cheekbones in soft repose; her black hair had loosened itself from her braid, falling in waves around her face. Was it possible to die of something wonderful?

He wasn’t sure what to do. For starters, he quickly set down the cane, eager to bury whatever murderous plans he’d been concocting for the mysterious intruder. And then he moved to cover her again.

Beneath the blankets, Inej started to shift and stretch. She made a soft sighing sound Kaz immediately wanted to hear again, and her eyes fluttered open up at him. And she smiled. Damn. He wanted that again, too.

“You’re back,” she whispered, in a happy, sleepy fog.

“So are you,” Kaz said, smirking down at her. That face of hers. He wanted to climb the bed and kiss every inch of it. One day soon, he would greet her returns this way, he swore it.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t able to write you our change of plans,” Inej was saying, with slow, groggy blinks as she reached for the lapel of his jacket.

“Yes, shame on you.” Kaz had a crooked, teasing smile as she tugged him closer and he leaned over her. “How dare you turn up in my bed looking so perfect.”

In the flickering orange glow from the stove, Kaz noticed Inej’s gaze flit over his mouth and back to his eyes, and his stomach flipped. She’d thought of kissing him, too. They had, they could – but, as much as he hated to admit it, it took Kaz some time to warm up to it. He didn’t trust the waters to not rise if he bent his head and took her lips now, not when it had been so long since the last time they had touched.

Inej knew this – Saints, he loved her for it. She did what she always did when she first returned from the sea. She lifted her fingers to her own lips, kissing them, before slowly reaching out to barely brush her fingertips against his mouth, sending his heart pounding. Maybe, just this once, maybe he could—

“You’re dripping on me,” Inej groaned, abruptly, and wiped some melted snow off her face. Scratch that. Kaz pulled back and straightened himself, running a gloved hand through his damp hair.

“Quite a snowstorm tonight,” he said. This is what calm, collected people did, right? Talked about the weather? “I’m glad you’re not at sea. Though it couldn’t have been much warmer in here, with the stove out.”

“I was hoping my bedmate would be here sooner to warm the sheets,” Inej said, with a tantalizing huskiness that was really unfair. Kaz felt the ache of desire thrum in his gut, and he was at a loss of what to say. He swallowed hard and went for what he always did when Inej flummoxed him – the laugh.

“Who? Where is he?” he frowned. “I’ll kill him.”

It worked – Inej laughed behind her hand, and Kaz couldn’t contain his stupid grin.

“Let me change out of these wet clothes first,” he said, beginning to pull at his leather gloves.

But Inej rolled up out of the blankets to her knees and inched closer to the edge of the bed, to him. He wouldn’t pull back – he wouldn’t. A moment later, it was no longer a worry. Her sleep-warmed body heat radiated toward him in the cold, and he felt pulled to it. She was in one of his shirts – it hung to her knees – with her disheveled braid loose over her shoulder. He wanted to put his hands to her waist and pull her up against him. Maybe, just this once –

And then his mouth went dry. Inej began running her small hands up under his coat, across his shoulders, pushing it off. She looked up at him through thick lashes, a question in the air.

“I can help you,” she offered, lowly. What had gotten into her tonight? Which of her Saints should he be thanking for this?

And his dark wool coat dropped to the floor.  

When Kaz looked back down at her, Inej had her fingers at his top button. She was close enough now that her body was just barely against his. If she arched her back, her breasts would press up against him and – well, that was definitely a mental image Kaz would be hoarding for later. He swallowed hard at the thought.

Inej undid the first button and glanced up at him, her brows cinching together – checking on him. He drew in a deep breath. Every one of his nerve endings buzzed, but he was ready to push past it all - he had to see where this was going. Slowly, he raised his hands, lightly cupping the backs of her elbows. Holding her there in a silent plea that she stay the course.

The fire crackled and popped in the stove as Inej slid her fingers through the buttons, one, two, three, all the way down, until his shirt was open to her. And then she held her palms back, away from his skin, looking up at him with expectant eyes. So, he shrugged off the shirt, and, when her expression didn’t change, pulled his undershirt over his head, too.

He knew she’d seen him this way before – had hoped she had, if he was being honest – but, now, looking at her face. Her chest rose as she took in a breath, looking him over, his eyes drifting down to his waist. His face was warm, warmer than it’d been all day. She tugged at his belt. Now other parts of him were warming, too.

Maybe…just this once…

And while his belt buckle clicked open in her hands, he slid his bare hands around the curve of her waist.

For a moment, she looked unsure. For a moment, he felt it, too. But, in a quick mental game with himself, he decided to play it off as stabilizing himself to kick off his shoes. He relaxed even more when she chuckled under her breath at his attempts to wriggle his feet out of his wet socks.

“I was not expecting you’d actually need my help,” Inej giggled, as he stumbled again over the stubborn, clingy sock. He finally had to let go of her and wrench the damn thing off, and at that, Inej laughed harder. And Kaz couldn’t take it anymore.

Without a thought, without a care, when Kaz straightened himself again, he took that adorable face of hers into his hands and kissed her.

Just like that. With hardly a warm up at all. He kissed her, and he kissed her again until he felt the breath rush out of her. She pulled his waist to her, her body pressed to him, as she parted her lips against his. Desire flooded his veins like a dam had broken; in another lifetime, in one less broken, he could see himself pushing her down into the sheets, slipping his hands beneath the shirt she wore, covering her body with his.

Maybe one day. Soon.

As it was, though, he felt her hands snake up his back, and an unwelcome jolt of panic speared him. He flinched, drawing in a sharp breath, instinctively dropping her face and pulling back.

“I’m sorry.” Inej was instantly apologetic, before Kaz even opened his eyes. “I’m so sorry. I got carried away--”

She had pulled back from him, holding her closed fists near her chest, like she’d slapped herself in restraints.

“Inej.” Kaz’s head was spinning, but it wasn’t entirely unbearable. He inhaled, exhaled. This was already more than he’d ever hoped for. She had nothing to apologize for. He just had to catch his breath to say it.

“I am really happy you’re back,” he managed to rasp, his breathing gone ragged. And Inej’s smile glistened in the dim firelight.

He changed into his sleeping clothes, folding his snow-damp clothes over his desk chair to dry. Then he slid under the comforter next to Inej, the layers of blankets a haven of her warmth and her scent. And he was content that at least this, this moment with her, he would no longer have to only hope for. This moment, at least, had arrived.

[brutal-nemesis]

Ice Day 2021: Cool-stys

Hoo boy my fingers are cold. Happy Ice Day! I hope y’all are staying chilly, and here’s to more pain! And as for this one...it’s a lot of pain (⊙ˍ⊙)

Oh also because I don’t have a place for this information but I feel like you should know before you read so when it comes up you get what I mean: I imagine a Quibhassian accent sounds quite similar to an Icelandic one.

Castys Masterlist

Ingredients: self-amputation, suicide for convenience (immortal), self-harm to escape danger, stabbing, body horror, implied suffocation

Why was Castys somehow always in the wrong place at the wrong time? Seriously, he had the worst luck. Unless you counted accidentally witnessing a murder as lucky. Well, maybe it was lucky for the person getting murdered because then they could get justice or whatever. Except Castys didn’t really care about justice and never reported that sort of thing to the authorities. So, in conclusion, Castys witnessing your murder was unlucky for you and for him. Unlucky for you because he wasn’t going to tattle on the murderer, and unlucky for him because he was currently being chased through a forest by some murderer lady.

He was never a fan of running, and certainly not running through the snow while all bundled up because it was cold but running makes you hot so there’s no temperature happiness there. He was debating just giving up and trying to reason with the lady when he tripped over some hidden mystery object and landed face first in the snow, making that decision for him. A boot kicked his shoulder and turned him over before planting itself firmly on his chest. The woman attached to it was glaring down at him, holding a large icy spear-type-thing to his neck, which would be threatening if he could actually die. Well, maybe he could talk his way out before she decided to hurt him. Because he’d rather she didn’t.

“I would just like to inform you: I really don’t care about what I saw back there. I kill people all the time; it happens. So, if you’ll just let me go on my merry way, I promise not to tell anyone about the whole, uh, murder thing. We good?” He flashed her his most convincing smile, but all she did was narrow her eyes.

“I don’t know if I can trust the word of a man like you.” She had a strong Quibhassian accent, which wasn’t surprising as they were in fact in the frozen wastes of Quibhass. 

“A man like-wha-we just met?! You don’t even know me! You’d be totally justified in your whatever criticisms after, like, talking to me for more than five minutes, but it hasn’t been that long.”

“You give the impression of a wiry little mustela, saying anything to save your own skin.” She jabbed the sharp end of her giant icicle into his neck. Well, into his scarf. Still threat-y, though.

“I-I don’t even know what that is. Look,” he finally held up his hands, which he probably should have done initially, but he found it incredibly hard not to wave them around when he talked, “is there any way I can convince you not to stab me in the throat? Because if so I’d love to hear it.” Not that he was afraid she’d kill him, being that he couldn’t die, but if she did that, she’d find out that he was immortal, which...well, people didn’t typically react well to that information. Something about him being immortal made people really want to tie him up and hurt him, which was not a pastime he enjoyed. The woman seemed to think for a moment before setting her jaw and raising her spear. 

“No. Goodbye, little mustela.” Castys opened his mouth to protest, he didn’t want to get blood all over his clothes, but the sudden agony and the usual blackness told him it was too late.

When he came back to life, he was displeased to find that she had not just left his corpse lying in the snow. No, she had to be dragging him to wherever by the ankle. Great, he’d have to play dead and pray she didn’t notice that he was very much not dead. He supposed he could just wiggle free and rely on the element of surprise to give him a head start, but it hadn’t exactly gone well the last time she chased him. Better to just wait and hope that she didn’t set him on fire. No, she wouldn’t, because ice wizards don’t set people on fire. They set them on...cold. Holy shit where was she dragging him this was taking forever and he was starting to have incredibly stupid thoughts.

By the time she’d stopped dragging him, Castys’s thoughts had wandered into dangerous territory. Not in a “thinking about Bad things” way, but in a “thinking about funny things” way. Specifically that one time Eris got so excited about fried bread that she hit her head on the ceiling. He tried to keep quiet, he really tried. But before he knew it he was laughing uncontrollably, betrayed by the ridiculously low ceilings at that one tavern all those years ago. Why the hell did that have to be so funny? Hopefully she couldn’t hear him, didn’t see his allegedly dead body shaking with restrained chuckles. 

The very cold spear now stabbed into his stomach told him otherwise. 

His eyes snapped open, and once again, she was standing over him. She ripped the bloodied scarf from his neck and examined his neck that now had no hole in it. “Killing me again will accomplish nothing,” Castys said tiredly. “So if you would please-” he had to pause to cough up blood, “accept the fact that I cannot in fact be silenced and permit to run off into the woods, I would appreciate it.” The woman responded by shoving his scarf into his mouth.

“It seems you can be silenced, tricky little mustela.” Castys reached up to pull the bloodied scarf out of his mouth, but a muttered spell from the woman caused shackles of ice to appear on his wrists. She grabbed the chain now connecting his wrists and pulled it up, preventing him from removing the gag. “Any vermin that cannot be killed must be kept. It is the only way.” She snapped the shaft of the spear, leaving the frozen head embedded in his stomach, and began to drag him by the chain between his wrists into the nearby cabin. Castys was marginally grateful that he was at least being brought inside, but that gratefulness disappeared when she flung him down a flight of stairs. 

He was too dazed to resist as the woman started slicing through his coat, reducing almost all of his layers to shreds, which was incredibly rude of her. He’d really liked that coat, and now he had nothing to protect him from her frigid basement. “The cold will keep you trapped in here. Do some of my work for me,” the woman muttered, but Castys hardly heard her over the pounding in his head. And by the time said pounding went away, all he could hear was the door slamming shut and the click of a lock.

Laying on the cold stone floor, Castys yanked his scarf out his mouth and sighed. This was, without a doubt, the worst case scenario. Well, at least his mouth being stuffed full of bloody wool had prevented him from biting his tongue on the way down the stairs, so there was that. Worst case scenario minus tongue pain, but plus everything else pain. But hey, what are magic death rocks for? With frozen fingers, he pulled the pouch around his neck out from under his shirt. He wormed a finger into the pouch, sinking into the sweet release of death at the rock’s touch.

Sadly, dying couldn’t fix all of his problems. He was incredibly cold, for one, and healing himself wasn’t going to fix his coat or get those shackles of his wrists. And he was so, so cold, almost like it was coming from inside him...oh god he was a complete idiot. One of his injuries had been from that icy spear. The broken off point had still been lodged in his abdomen when he died.

And now it was stuck inside him. Fan. Tas. Tic.

Well, unless he was willing to slice himself open and dig it out, which he really wasn’t, that was going to be there for a while. Hopefully it would melt. Stowing away that problem for Later Castys, he sat up and looked around the room, eyes straining to see in the dark. There were shelves along two of the walls, lined with jars containing liquid full of...things. He hoped it was preserved food and not, like, human fingers or something, but it was too dark to tell. Of course, he’d had a lightstone in his pocket before all this happened, but his captor had taken his things while he was dead. Which was honestly fair, he would have done the same. But since he hadn’t actually died, it was rather inconvenient. 

Against the back wall, he found what felt like a table, littered with various tools and-holy shit was that an axe? Further examination proved that yes, that lady had been stupid enough to lock him down here with an axe. He considered breaking down the door right away, but if there was going to be a fight up there, he’d prefer not to have his hands chained together. Trying to break a chain with an axe in the dark wasn’t exactly the safest thing he’d ever done, but it’s not like he could cause any damage to himself that dying wouldn’t fix. He pulled the pouch off of his neck and shook the stone out onto the table, ready for if things went south.

He put the chain of ice against the axe blade and twisted, pulling it taut. Faint crackling noises told him it was working and after a few more moments, the chain snapped under the pressure. He stretched, glad to have his arms free again. Well, they weren’t completely free as those stupid ice shackles were still encircling his wrists. Honestly, he would have preferred metal ones, even if that meant he wouldn’t have been able to break the chain, because, shockingly, these ice ones were incredibly cold. They’d pressed themselves into his bare skin after he’d been relieved of his coat, and their chill felt like it was encasing his arms in ice. He rubbed his hands on his arms, trying to warm them, but the shackles seemed to cover more of his arms than he remembered, almost as if-

The shackles were growing. A layer of ice was creeping out over his skin from where the edges of the shackles used to be. He watched, transfixed in horror for a moment. 

And then panic set in.

He frantically scratched at it to no avail, the ice was starting to cover his hands, he didn’t have any time, and when he remembered the axe, he knew what he had to do. Do I really have to? Trembling fingers wrapped around the axe’s handle as he laid his right arm on the table. I’ve felt this pain before but I’ve never had to do it to myself and I’m not sure if I can- He raised the axe, feeling the ice spread around his fingers, locking them in place. Okay okay I can do this I don’t have time to hesitate I need to stop the ice before it’s too late just do it come on do it do it DO IT-

He did it. The axe buried itself in his arm, right above the elbow. No, no it didn’t go all the way through, he’d need to do it again. Fighting to keep his screams locked behind his teeth, he wrenched the axe out from the notch it had made in his bone and swung it again. This time, it chopped most of the way through with a sickening crack. Fuck, fuck, fuck, he had to get through that last bit of flesh, had to make sure it was completely severed, and then he could die. The axe sliced through the bits of muscle and skin still attaching his arm, and he dove for his rock, pressing what was left of his arm into it.

There was no time to rest after he woke up, because holy balls he was going to have to do that again. Looking at his left arm, he was going to have to cut it off closer to the shoulder at the rate the ice was going. He tried to open his left hand to let go of the axe, but it had completely frozen over, his fingers stuck gripping the handle. Fuck, he didn’t have time for this, the ice was almost to his shoulder and then it would be too late, too late. He wedged the end of the handle under the edge of the table and pulled down with his right hand, hoping he could pry his left hand open. He felt a bolt of elation as he heard the ice start to crack, and pushed down even harder.

The ice, and the fingers within it, cracked and shattered. Castys stilled, his gaze fixed in horror at the jagged stumps where his fingers had been just moments ago. His mind was screaming at him to move, to amputate his other arm before the ice encased it completely, but the fact that his fucking fingers had just snapped off was still setting in. It was only a moment of stillness, a moment of disbelief, but it was a moment too long. 

The axe clattered to the floor. Fingers scratched desperately at the ice now encasing his shoulder, spreading across his chest, creeping up his neck. But it was useless, useless, the ice wouldn’t stop, wouldn’t go away, it was so cold, part of him just wanted to lie down and sleep, succumb to the inevitable frozen cocoon, but part of him was too terrified of the ice growing over his skin, sucking all the heat from his body it was up to his face now was he even going to be able to breathe it’s so cold GET OFF MY EYE GET OUT OF MY MOUTH STOP IT STOP IT PLEASE PLEA-

And then there was silence. There was stillness. And there was cold.

Castys Cult:  @as-a-matter-of-whump​ @blackrosesandwhump​​ @fanmanga1357-blog​​ @poppys-whumping​ @thehopelessopus​ @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi​ @hearse-song​ @muddy-swamp-bitch

[dewitty1]

Hermione Granger's Hogwarts Crammer for Delinquents on the Run

waspabi @waspabi

Chapters: 8/8 Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley Characters: Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, Luna Lovegood, Ginny Weasley, Neville Longbottom Additional Tags: Pining, Humor, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Friendship

Summary:

'You're a wizard, Harry' is easier to hear from a half-giant when you're eleven, rather than from some kids on a tube platform when you're seventeen and late for work.

Excerpt:

“You all right?”

“Brilliant,” Harry spat. His eyes burned and he turned away. He didn’t want Malfoy to see him crying.

“We can get rid of them,” Malfoy said quietly. “We can — not to sound murderous about it. I mean to say, we can just… Apparate away. Leave them here. We don’t have to get caught up in what they’re caught up in.”

“You think Hermione would go for that?”

“Probably not,” Draco admitted. “She likes the idea of a more organised resistance. Better resources. More money for those little pieces of Muggle parchment she likes with the sticky backs. But we can — we can strike out on our own, if we have to.”

“We wouldn’t last a week without her, remember?” Harry’s voice sounded hoarse. He wished his eyes would stop fucking leaking for five minutes. “We barely lasted a day at Jane and Cynthia’s.”

“I don’t know, Potter. We could figure something out. Sod this whole revolution business; it’s rubbish anyway. Crap food and no wages. Let’s leave this shit island to its self-destruction. We could go to Australia and live with Hermione’s parents and pretend to be Muggles. At this point I’d probably get an O on the Muggle Studies N.E.W.T, honestly, it’d be easy.”

Harry shut his eyes and had a brief, delirious fantasy of him and Malfoy on some Australian beach. Draco would be grousing about the heat, a thick line of sunblock on his nose. His bare shoulders would be red and peeling a little. Maybe he’d put on a really naff t-shirt with a stretched out collar to keep from getting more burnt. Harry would have a surfboard, and he’d somehow have got really good at surfing. They’d have boring jobs at a shop and no one would be trying to kill them.

“Funny,” Harry said, and his wet laugh was not very convincing.

“No?” Draco shuffled a bit closer. “Worth a shot, I suppose.”

“Sorry about your dad.” Harry scuffed his shoe on the ground, digging a little trench in the dirt. “Seemed like… I mean, I know he’s a right bastard, but I think he does love you.”

“He does. Fat lot of good that does me, obviously.” Draco edged yet closer. “It’s all right. I mean, it’s not all right, but it’s…” He shrugged expressively. “I think we’re handling your situation first.”

“I don’t have a fucking situation.” Harry looked at his feet. “Piss off.”

“In the immortal words of Harry Potter, ‘nah’.” Draco was very close to him now. He reached out and touched Harry’s hand — Harry flinched and stepped back.

“What are we even doing?” Harry demanded, wiping his eyes.

“Saving the country, and possibly the world?” Draco shrugged. “We may be doing a middling job of it at the minute, but it’s the thought that counts.”

“No, I meant…” Harry turned away. He didn’t want to look at Draco. “I meant, what are we doing.”

“Oh,” Draco said. Harry could practically hear him go rigid and pointy. “Oh, that.”

“Yes, that.” Harry turned back around so he could glower at him. “What — what are you playing at? You buy me a coat, you fix my shitty trainers, you hold my hand…” Harry’s eyes stung. His heart hurt so badly. “What are you fucking me about for?”

“I’m not fucking you about.” Draco looked pained. He brushed his hair out of his eyes. “I’m not playing at anything. Or I don’t mean to be. I… Don’t make me say it.”

“Make you say what?”

“I… you know. You.” Draco looked down at his hands, which he had twisted together so tightly his fingers were white. “I feel… I have felt… For fuck’s sake, Harry! It’s so cringe. Don’t make me say it.”

“Oh,” Harry said. “You mean… You fancy me?”

“Fancy,” Draco echoed, looking up at the patches of sky through the trees. “Yes. Obviously, are you completely dim?” He rubbed a hand over his face. “Fancy. Merlin and Morgana both, Potter.”

“Oh.” Harry ground the toe of his repaired trainer into the dirt. “I’ve never had someone fancy me before.”

“That is patently impossible, Potter,” Draco informed him. “You’re unbelievably unobservant, that must be the problem. Really, it’s like you’ve got tunnel-vision. You can only pay attention to a vary small radius of information at a time.”

“No one who knew me,” Harry amended. “No one who really knew me.”

“Oh,” Draco said. He took a deep breath like he was bracing himself for something. “Merlin’s sake, Potter. Can you stop doing things to me, for once?”

Harry frowned. “I’m just stood here.”

Draco covered his face with both hands. “This is so horrible. I hate this so much. Could you come here, please?”

Harry took a few steps forward. This was so confusing. Everything was weird, and confusing, and he was a wizard, and those men knew his parents, and they wanted him to be part of some weird underground resistance group that was somehow different to Harry’s weird underground resistance group, and here he was about to, he was pretty sure, have his first boyfriend. He was about seventy-five percent certain. He didn’t want to be cocky. He wasn’t all that certain how these things worked for normal people, let alone for teenaged renegade wizards.

“Come here properly, arsehole.”

“I don’t know what I’m meant to…”

“For fuck’s sake, Potter. Have you never learnt elementary social cues? Here.” Draco dropped his hands from his face and put his arms around Harry. He clutched Harry’s new coat with both hands. Draco’s face pressed against Harry’s neck, long eyelashes brushing his skin.

Harry couldn’t move. Draco’s coat smelled of smoke. His breath was warm and his nose was cold. Harry’s chest went tight and painfully full, like a wardrobe packed so tight that it would shortly avalanche all over the unfortunate person who would next open the door.

“Hug me back, you dickhead,” Draco mumbled into Harry’s neck.

Harry did. He put his arms around Draco’s waist and leaned into the curve of his chest. His eyes went hot and wet again, which was embarrassing. He ducked his head to hide them on the shoulder of Draco’s fancy coat. His nose leaked too, so he wiped it on the wool. It even felt expensive on his nose, which was impressive really.

“I’m getting bogeys on your coat,” Harry told him.

“You’re such an absolute knob,” Draco said, but he didn’t let go. He touched Harry’s head with one hand, spreading his fingers beneath the tangle of hair to slip over his skull. His fingers moved slowly, carefully. “I have no idea why I like you.”

“You like me. You said it out loud.”

“You must be hearing things, Potter.” Draco’s grip tightened around his waist. His other hand slid to the back of Harry’s neck and stayed there, warm at his nape. “I’m concerned about your delusions and flights of fancy.”

“My flights of fancy,” Harry said. “You lot met me on a train platform to tell me I was a wizard.”

“You are a wizard.”

“It’s the principle of the thing.”

“Can I…” Draco pulled back, eyes flickering to Harry’s mouth.

Harry didn’t let him finish. He leaned forward and kissed him. Draco made a soft sound, or Harry did, or both of them. Harry had kissed two people in his life and neither of them had felt like this, like if Draco took his hands from Harry’s face he would crumple to the ground. Harry wanted to get closer, closer, but it wasn’t possible. Pansy’s robes were infuriatingly unassailable — Harry groaned in frustration and Draco laughed into his mouth, warm and wet. The delirious dizzy nearness of Draco, their mouths together and the heat fogging Harry’s glasses… Harry felt lit up. He felt like a lumos in the dark.

“Fuck,” Draco said, his forehead pressed against Harry’s. “We really ought to get back.”

“Probably,” Harry said, and kissed him again.

“You’re right,” Draco said, his mouth moving against Harry’s. “Fuck it.”

“They can fuck right off.” Harry laughed and kissed Draco’s cold cheek, the corner of his chapped mouth. In a few minutes, they would go back and find the others. Harry would face Sirius Black and Remus Lupin, and they’d figure out what to do about Pius Thicknesse, and they could change out of their ridiculous robes. Just not yet. Not quite yet.

(⁎⁍̴̛͂▿⁍̴̛͂⁎)*✲ﾟ*｡⋆♡ོ

[crazy4dragons]

See You Soon, Bud

A fun afternoon playing dragons with Zephyr gives Hiccup the idea to take a special trip. Haddock family fluff! 

Astrid sighed as she heard her son’s tiny feet running down the hall, accompanied by his little voice calling, “Mama! Mama!” Being a mother meant she couldn’t even enjoy a bath anymore without one of her children — usually Nuffink — looking for her.

“Hold on, Finn. Mama will be right there.” The blonde quickly rose from her bath. After toweling off and slipping into her sheepskin robe, she shuffled out of the washroom to see her youngest child grinning at up at her with the same crooked grin as his father. “Awake from your nap already, huh?” she crooned, lifting the toddler into her arms and kissing his chubby cheeks.

Nuffink nodded and cuddled into Astrid’s shoulder. “Mama, I hun…hunwy,” he whined.

“You’re hungry?” Astrid kissed him again. “Why don’t you go see if Daddy can get you a snack? Mama still needs to get dressed and brush her hair.”

“No Daddy. Mama,” insisted Nuffink, winding his little arms around Astrid’s neck.

“Mama will be right with you. Just go to Daddy for a few minutes.” She carried the child upstairs and into the big bedroom, where Hiccup was signing chiefing documents with Zephyr in his lap. “I have another one for you, babe,” she smiled, passing Nuffink off to her husband. “He woke up from his nap and came looking for me.”

Hiccup grinned. “Missed your Mama, did you, bud?” he asked, taking the toddler and ruffling his hair.

“Mama,” Nuffink fussed as he reached out a hand to Astrid.

“Give Mama fifteen minutes.” Astrid shuffled over to the dresser she shared with Hiccup and grabbed her hairbrush. “Why don’t you ask Daddy to get you a snack?”

“I wanna do your hair, Mama!” shouted Zephyr, jumping off Hiccup’s lap and climbing onto the bed. “Mama, sit here and I’ll give you a braid!”

Astrid sighed. All she’d wanted was a bit of time to herself, and now she had both kids clamoring for her.

Hiccup cast his wife a sympathetic smile before turning to Zephyr. “Zeph, why don’t you come with me? I’ll let you braid my hair after I get Finn something to eat.”

“Okay!” The little girl jumped off the mattress and took Hiccup’s hand. “Let’s go, Daddy!”

“I’ll be downstairs with these munchkins,” the chief told Astrid as he stood up and headed towards the door.

“Thank you, babe.” Letting out a breath of relief, she closed the door behind her and began brushing her hair. When all the knots were out, she grabbed her scissors, trimmed her split ends, and freshened up her bangs. Usually, Hiccup cut her hair for her, but he’d been so busy with chiefing lately that she didn’t want to put more chores on his to-do list. Spitelout was begging to build a new storehouse with his name carved into the door — again, a family from a neighboring tribe was trying to negotiate an arranged marriage with one of the young Berkians, and it was nearly time to gather winter supplies. As General and Second-in-Command, Astrid helped as much as she could, but it was difficult with two little ones at home. At any given time, it was usually either Hiccup or Astrid out chiefing — not Hiccup and Astrid, like it had been before Zephyr’s birth.

Her hair freshly trimmed, Astrid wove in a tight Dutch braid before grabbing her body butter. Discarding her robe, she lathered her skin with the refreshing ointment before dressing in a pair of wool leggings and one of Hiccup’s tunics. After putting on a bit of her signature eyeliner, she slipped her chilly feet into the slippers Hiccup had gifted her last Snoggletog and shuffled downstairs.

“Mama!” A big smile spread across Nuffink’s face as he abandoned his cookies and toddled into Astrid’s arms. “I miss Mama.”

“I missed you, too,” Astrid lifted her son up and settled him on her hip, laughing softly at the sight of a messy braid in his hair. Glancing over at Hiccup, she laughed harder as she realized that her husband had not one, but five disheveled braids twisted across his head.

“I did Daddy’s hair and Nuffink’s hair!” Zephyr exclaimed proudly. “Do you like it?”

“I love it,” replied Astrid.

“And Daddy said he’ll play dragons with me now. Can you play, too, Mama?” The little girl turned her big blue eyes up to her mother’s face. When Astrid hesitated, she clasped her hands together and, with a pout, added, “Please?”

“Alright. But only for a little while. It’s Mama’s turn to cook dinner tonight.” Hiccup and Astrid had a dinner schedule in their household. On days when Hiccup had chiefing duties in the afternoon, Astrid cooked. On days when Astrid had chiefing duties in the afternoon, Hiccup cooked.

“Yay! Nuffink can play, too,” said Zephyr, racing to her bedroom to retrieve the set of plush dragons Grandma Valka had given to her as a birthday gift. A moment later, she returned with four cuddly dragon plushies in her arms. “I’m gonna be Cloudjumper, and Daddy, you can be Toothless, and Mama, you can be Stormfly, and Nuffink, you can be Meatlug.”

After playing with the dragons and enjoying dinner together, Astrid gave the kids their baths, Hiccup told them their bedtime stories, and both parents gave them cuddles before tucking them in their respective beds and kissing them goodnight.

“I’m going to get some tea before I settle in for the night,” yawned Hiccup. “You want anything, milady?”

Astrid shook her head. “No thank you, babe. I’m alright.” Turning towards the stairs, she added, “I’ll wait for you in our room.”

“See you there.”

Letting out a sleepy sigh, Astrid shuffled up to her room and, climbing into bed, snuggled beneath the furs. She thought about how she had to wake up early for dawn patrol the next morning, how she had to finally do all the laundry that was piling up, and how Hiccup was due at a tribe meeting next moon, leaving her to run the island and manage the kids on her own for a few days.

Tugging the covers to her chin, Astrid fought off sleep as she waited for Hiccup. A few times, she thought she heard the sound of his metal leg on the wooden stairs, but was always mistaken. Soon, worry overtook her. Was he hurt? Was an intruder in the house? Was something wrong with one of the kids? Those were the thoughts racing through her mind as she climbed out from beneath her warm cocoon of blankets and hurried down the stairs.

“Babe?” she asked softly, raising an eyebrow at the sight of her husband curled up on the couch, clutching a mug of tea in one hand and Zephyr’s plush Toothless in the other. Twisting the end of her braid around her finger, she cautiously settled in beside him. “You wanna talk?”

“I think we should go see him,” Hiccup said slowly, staring down at the dragon in his lap. “I was thinking sometime next year. In the summer, maybe.”

Astrid’s first instinct was to tell her husband how ridiculous his idea was. They couldn’t even get into the Hidden World without a dragon, and what would they do with the children?

“And I want to bring the kids.”

The blonde sighed. “Hiccup…”

“I know what you’re thinking, Astrid. You’re thinking that you married a muttonhead. But I haven’t seen him in almost ten years, and the kids are starting to grow up. Especially Zephyr. She’ll be almost seven by the time we go. That’s nearly seven years of living without ever setting eyes on a live dragon.”

Astrid didn’t reply. She wanted to tell Hiccup there was no way in Hel she’d let her babies near the dragons. Dragons had been separated from humans for too long; there was no guarantee they’d still be tame. Even if they were still tame, there was no guarantee the kids would come out alive. After all, Toothless had killed Stoick.

“You don’t want to go, do you?” Hiccup asked slowly.

She bit her lip. “I don’t know, babe. I support you going, and I’ll go with you when the time comes, but shouldn’t we leave the kids with Mom?”

“What if Mom wants to come with us?”

“Then Gobber?”

“What if Gobber wants to come with us?”

“Fine, then the Ingermans.”

“What if —”

“Hiccup, we are not bringing Fishlegs and Ruffnut on a family trip.”

A small smile appeared on the chief’s lips. “So you’re saying that we’re going?”

Astrid sighed. “Is there really any use in trying to talk you out of it?”

Hiccup’s smile grew wider. Glancing out the window facing the sea, he whispered, “Don’t worry, bud. I’ll see you soon.”

[lilith-of-rivia]

The Witcher's Healer (GeraltXfemaleWitch!reader)

Master List

Trigger Warnings: None

Pairing: (GeraltXfemaleWitch!reader)

Word Count: 2,539

The morning was quiet as you left the warmth of your small cottage. The sun had barely risen. Frost thick on the grass, as it crunched under your feet. The fall was deepening, winter not too far behind it. The empty water bucket hung lazily from your arm as you walked in silence to the river, Poe your guard dog in toe. The cool breeze chilled you to your bone, making you pull your wool sweater closer to your body. The river got louder as you approached, the water clear. It was very low this time of year, the snow on the mountains nearly gone as the summer came to its end.

Poe splashed recklessly around the water near the bank as you filled the bucket you had, glancing around looking at the fall greenery that was in need of picking. You grabbed the shears from the pocket of your skirt, leaving the bucket on the bank, and walked around, plucking, pulling, and cutting the foliage, putting them in your pockets. The season for growing was coming to an end, meaning your little herb and veggie garden had to be harvested, tilled, and re-seeded for next spring. A lot of work, but being a healing mage in the middle of nowhere far from any town meant fending for yourself. Most of the time at least.

The door to the house shut behind you, Poe sitting on the rug in front of the fireplace, warming his cold toes. You poured the bucket of water into the kettle over the fire, waiting for it to boil while you went to the small kitchen in your cottage. The sun was now coming up over the mountains, shining brightly through the window onto your cold cheeks. You plucked and pulled at the greenery, hanging bundles over the fire to dry. The day’s chores only grew as the sun got higher in the sky. From feeding Poe to checking snares in the woods behind your house. Thankfully you had been lucky, catching multiple rabbits and even a deer. The process of butchering, cleaning the hide, and smoking the meets would take nearly the rest of the day.

You walked back inside after checking the box in the ground that you had built to smoke meats and keep animals away, the hides now tanning on a rack outside the house. You walked over to the basin by your bed, washing the blood off your hands and forearms. Glancing over to your bed you saw the tick marks. Today marked 397 days. 397 days since you last saw your love. Since he kissed you goodbye, said he’d be back in a year or less. He was thirty days late. He had never been late, in your nearly 50 years of tending both physically and emotionally to him, he had never been late. It made your stomach ache. You would never know if he was dead or not, his line of work being increasingly more dangerous than your own.

“What if he doesn’t come back?” You whispered to yourself, tears threatening to spill down your face. If your love did not return, you had no idea what you would do. Your heart said you wouldn’t make it on this earth without him. Being a mage meant immortality. An immortal life without him was not something you wanted.

You walked back outside, the warm sun hitting your face as you walked into your gated garden, basket in hand. You began plucking and pulling herbs off their bushes, tying them in bundles before putting them in the basket. In a couple of hours, you were done harvesting. Your growth this year had been plentiful, thanks in large to the bag of manure your love had brought to you at the beginning of the season.

Carrots, tomatoes, potatoes, radishes, cabbage, onions, cucumbers, three large squash, and all the blueberries, strawberries, and raspberries you could eat. After taking multiple trips, everything from your year of tending, growing, watering, was on the table in the center of the room. After bagging all the root vegetables into mesh bags and storing them in your cellar you moved onto canning and preserving your fruits. The cans went onto the shelves in the cellar along with countless other jars of fruits from the rest of the season.

“I miss him so much.” You said as you looked from the newly cleaned table to Poe. he was laying on the couch now, his head tilting as you spoke almost as he understood you. Your body started to shake with sobs, your mind racing with what could’ve happened to your Witcher. You heard Poe Jump off the couch, soon his tongue was licking your hand softly as he whined at you. You looked down at him through clouded eyes, his ears were back. You started to pet him, his head pushing into your leg as he cuddled into you attempting to stop you from crying.

“I missed you more my love.” Your head snapped up to the door of your home, the fire lighting up his face in the dark of the night. He stood there, tall, hair a mess, his eyes were sunken in. he had two packs on his shoulders, his swords on his back. You could see the pain in his leg as he winced to put down his belongings. You could hear Roach outside, munching on grass happy her travels were over for a while.

“Oh, Geralt…” Your voice cracked as you cried more, his heart broke at the sight in front of him. You looked disheveled, face sunken in, bags under your eyes.

“Come here, my love.” His arms opened after he shut the door. Before you could move Poe was at his feet, his tail wagging so hard his entire body was shaking. He gently jumped up whining softly at him. Geralt chuckled softly, his hands petting the dog’s head, scratching behind his ears.

“I missed you too, but I need to see your mum” He gently pushed Poe off him, took two large strides, and wrapped his muscular arms around you. Your arms wrapped around him, hands gripping his shirt tightly.

“You’re late…” You whispered into his shirt, his hands stroking your back.

“I know….I’m so sorry.” His warm lips were on your forehead as he caressed your back.

“I thought you were dead…” His hands came up and cupped your face pulling you back so you could look at him. His fingers softly brushed your tears away. No one else on the planet saw this side of your witcher. Only you. With you he was soft, loving, caring. He smiled and laughed all the time. He was everything to you, and you to him.

“Nothing on this continent will ever keep me from coming back to you, dove.” his lips softly pressed to yours, it was soft, sweet. Everything in your body yurned for him. Your hands gently held onto his arms as the kiss deepened.

He pulled away too soon for your liking, making you open your eyes. His eyes were looking over your body. You knew how wrecked you looked. You hadn’t been eating or sleeping regularly. You had lost weight and it was showing. The only thing you could do to keep yourself from crying throughout the day was keeping busy. So you occupied yourself from dusk till dawn, many days only eating some bread with some form of fruit. Not nearly enough for the chores around your household. He dipped his head down, hand cupping your jaw tilting your head to the side. You felt his lips linger over your neck as he inhaled your scent deeply. You could almost see his stress melt away.

“Are you hurt?” You asked. Your hands gently pushed him back as you untied his tunic, ready to heal anything that needed your magic touch.

“Not too bad, nothing I haven’t dealt with before.” You gently removed his shirt, fingers gliding over the newer cuts along his sides and arms.

“Sit down, I’ll go mix the herbs and prepare a stew for you, my love.” You whispered, meeting his eyes. He shook his head and kissed you.

“You have not been taking care of yourself, dove. Let me help.” with a sigh you nodded.

“Go grab some potatoes, carrots, and onions from the seller. I have cured meats in the hatch outside if you’d like to grab some of that as well.” He nodded kissing your head before walking outside to gather the meats first.

You walked into the kitchen, putting a large pot over the fire, and grabbing a bread pan. You quickly mixed some flour and water with a few eggs and rosemary before placing it into the bread pan, placing it into the cast iron stove next to the fire. You grabbed the small hatchet by your wood piled to cut some kindling. Just as you were about to kneel to start the fire, Geralt grabbed your shoulders, lifting you. His hand took the hatchet as he kissed your cheek.

“I’ve got this, dove.” He whispered, steering you in the direction of your herbs. You smiled at him, your heart leaping.

After months without him, it was a breath of fresh air to have him in your home again. His sent clouded your mind as you chopped up the veg, placing it into the cast iron pot with some water and other herbs and seasonings from your cabinets. Once the meet was in the pot you covered it letting it simmer. Geralt had the fire in the oven started, bread in, and had gone back outside to chop some more firewood for the night.

You watched from the window, he was still shirtless even with the cooler temperatures, his witcher blood keeping him warm. You admired how he moved, every muscle contracting in his arms and back as he swung the ax, splitting the logs. You were grateful you wouldn’t have to do that with him home. You were grateful to have him back in arms reach.

“I got you something on the road.” Geralt said as he watched you from his place at the table, his swords in hand as he sharpened and polished them. You were pouring the stew into bowls and cutting the bread. You placed one down in front of him, lightly kissing his forehead as you sat.

“You didn’t have to do that my love.” He smiled and handed you a bag.

You pulled out the contents, your eyes widening. Inside was a beautiful black fur cloak. It was incredibly thick, made from wool and wolf’s fur. It was by far the most luxurious piece of clothing you’d ever owned. Under the cloak was a knitted wool sweater. It was green, brand new.

“Geralt….these must’ve cost a fortune you didn’t have to.” You looked at him with a smile as he ate.

“I know I didn’t have to (Y/N), but you never spend money on yourself, and you’ve been taking care of me for years. It’s no ring, but it’s better than a ring I believe. More practical. And besides your cloak and sweaters are so old, they hardly keep you warm.” He said with a smile, one eyebrow cocked at your slight confusion.

“What ring are you speaking of Geralt?” You asked as you admired the cloak. Your hands brushing through the fur.

“We’ve been together for more than half a century love. You are my wife. We may have never gotten married and I may have not asked you outright. But when women approach me in taverns when I’m away my response is always; “no because my wife is waiting for me at home”.” Your heart raced in your chest, your face was warm and you felt like crying in the best way. You had always thought of Geralt as your husband. He never asked you properly to marry him, but you never pushed, understanding that his trials and mutations had made it hard for him to express his emotions, in fear of the loss and suffering he may endure. But hearing him call you his wife, made you happier than you ever thought was possible.

“Geralt of Rivia, are you trying to ask me something?” You asked with a smile spread across your face. He returned the smile, rolling his eyes playfully as he reached across the table grabbing your hand.

“My dearest (Y/N), will you do me the honor of being my wife?” In an instant, you were in his lap kissing his face all over, not leaving an inch unkissed.

“Yes of course.” His arms circled your waist as he kissed you deeply, holding your body closer to him.

“I love you so much.” You whispered into the kiss. He smiled into your lips, fingers tightening around your waist.

“I love you, my dear.” He pulled you back, leaning over and pulling your chair closer to his. He placed you in your chair and stood up, hanging your cloak and sweater on the wall, before sliding the bowl of stew and bread over.

“Eat.” You listened, eating the stew as you watched him, tidy up the kitchen. Knowing exactly where everything was put.

“Anything exciting happens while you were away?” You asked in-between a bite. He nervously scratched his neck, placing garlic into its hanging basket.

“I went to a very important party for Queen Calanthe’s daughter. Uhm, got a very interesting gift out of it. Not really a gift, a cures more like.” You could sense his frustration, making you worry.

“Geralt, tell me what happened.”

“It was so stupid, all I did was saved a poor knight from being slaughtered because he was cursed, no monster. But the stupid curse broke all because I saved him. So he and Pavetta insisted I take something. Because I’m so stupid I jokingly claimed the law of surprise. I don’t even fucking believe in destiny. You know that. Yet here I am, stuck with a princess’s unborn fucking child.” His hand slammed into the wall as he finished his rant, his chest heaving up with frustration. You pondered his words, thinking over them. A child surprise was a big deal, but nothing you couldn’t handle.

“That’s why I was late, I didn’t want to tell you. I didn’t want to burden you with a fucking child.” You stood from your seat, walking to him, cupping his cheeks making him look at you.

“Geralt, there is nothing in this world we cannot conquer together. You need me as much as I need you. Nothing will drive me away. Unless I catch you with some whore, then you better hope I never find you.” You said the last part with a chuckle. He leaned into your hand. Kissing your wrist.

“What did I do to deserve you?” He asked as he held you close to him.

“From my recollection, you saved me from a Kikimora while I was hunting.” He smiled and kissed you softly.

“Are you sure we can do this?” He asked, closing his eyes, pressing his forehead to yours.

“We can do it, my love. As long as we are together.”

“Together, forever.”

[vidalinav]

Queen of Monsters: Chapter 4

I still don’t really have an official summary for this, since every one I write makes me cringe, but alas... Azriel is in the chapter for a brief moment and more of Cassian’s POV!

Bet you didn’t think I was going to meet my Tuesday/Wednesday update deadline! I for sure didn’t think so. 

Chapter List, General Masterlist

~

“Rhys wants a detailed report in two weeks.” Azriel noted, setting the box of this week’s supplies on the counter. Cassian eyed it with impatience, his stomach rumbling at the prospect of food. He’d hoped Nuala and Cerridwen had missed him enough to put a dessert or two in the contents. Maybe a few extra steaks for dinner this week. Mother knows he’d missed Velaris’s food.

Azriel rolled his eyes as he stepped back from the table, giving a wide girth for Cassian to trample past. It was such a Mor-like thing to do, Cassian wanted to ask if he’d been spending more time with her now that he was gone but thought better of it. No sense in touching on subjects that might make Azriel run back quickly when Cassian wished he’d stay longer.

He was not ashamed to say he’d missed his brother.

“He says that we’ve given the clans enough time making a ruckus, and it’s about time they remember who their high lord is.”

Cassian huffed a laugh at the words. Leave it to Rhys to be dramatic even in messages.

“What does little Rhysie want me to do about it then?”

Azriel shrugged, his wings rising slightly as if they too didn’t know what to make of Rhysand’s command.

“I’d like to imagine that’s up to you, but who knows what he’s planned.” Azriel spoke, his words strait-laced and dismissive. “Rhys says he wants Kallon dealt with before the Rite this year.”

“No shit, but why does it have to be so soon? It’s not like I’ve been sitting on my ass.”

Cassian understood the urgency, of course. The longer this went on, the worse the situation would be and right now it was on attainable levels. Rhys called for civility. Cassian would abide of course and so would Azriel whether he liked it or not, but Cassian knew exactly what Azriel would have done in his place. So Cassian was not surprised at his nonchalant tone.

“With the games coming up, Rhys thinks that this will be the perfect time to stop any more speak of rebellion. He’s giving you twelve days—”

“You just said two weeks!”

“He thinks the momentum will give you an edge.”

Cassian rolled his eyes and was about to tell Azriel exactly what he planned to give Rhys, but Azriel straightened. His shadows twisting around his arms. Not being one to take any of Az’s suspicions lightly, Cassian braced himself for the unknown threat.

Well, until he heard the door slam shut.

Nesta walked past them, those braids of hers tucked into a wool hat. Her nose was red, and her cheeks were blushing.  But her eyes were as callous as the moon.

Cassian stepped towards her without a thought, “I left a cup of tea on the table.”

Cassian watched as Azriel lifted a hand in greeting and Nesta nodded slightly, but to him, she did not acknowledge. The gesture made his temper flare and one of his wings rose to cover Azriel in her line of sight.

Nesta jeered, her head cocking slightly before she dismissed him with a cold turn of a shoulder.  

Azriel tilted his head towards the female who headed for her room, the door shutting with a soft click.  “I take it it’s not going well.”

Cassian grunted out a reply. No, it had not been going well, he wanted to say. It had been far from well. A fucking disaster.

Azriel sensing the mood change, started opening the box. “Elain made sweets for her and packed a few books.”

“And Feyre?”

Azriel shrugged. “I didn’t open the box. Elain just caught me before I left and told me to bring them to her.”

Liar, he wanted to say. Like those shadows of his hadn’t told him exactly what was inside and who exactly had packed each item. But, Cassian decided against arguing about it.

“And how are the sisters doing?” He asked.

Az shrugged. “As well as they can, I suppose. As well as all of us.”

“That’s not very specific.”

Azriel pulled out a box of sweets and Cassian grinned, swearing he’d find gifts to repay Cerridwen and Nuala’s kindness.

“What do you want me to say? I’ve barely been at the house since you've left. Mor’s been in between her estate and the human lands. Rhys is always with Feyre doing something or other..”

Something or other, indeed.

“Glad to know you’re all empty without me.” He said, only half joking.

Azriel gave him a mocking smile.

Together they pulled the rest of the contents out of the box. Steaks, luckily, had been included. Along with breads, spices, notes, and candles. There were things for Nesta, too. Books that Nesta probably wouldn’t read and clothes that she definitely wouldn’t wear. Because she hadn’t the last few weeks her sisters had sent them over.

It seemed that Nesta was set on making all of them pay for bringing her here.

Azriel took a deep breath.

“Advice?” He asked softly.

“For me or for you?” Cassian grumbled. Az only gave him a look.

He knew what that meant.

“Ask her to go with you.” Cassian groaned at the idea, but Azriel silenced him, “or the next time I come, I’m going to make sure this box is filled with everything you hate.”

Cassian slapped a hand over his eyes but conceded. He thought of all the ways Nesta could learn how to castrate him in the next 24 hours. She already knew where he slept.

A terrible fucking disaster, he thought.

~

It always seemed to snow in Illyria. Sleeping mountains under blankets of sterile white. Nesta wanted to grab the pots from the kitchen and bang them as she stomped around. Wake up, wake up, she wanted to yell.

Giants, Nesta imagined shouting. Sleeping, slumbering giants made of stone. Wake up! Wake up! Wake up!

But Nesta did not yell the words from the living room hallway and they did not blink their tired, beady eyes. In fact, the snow seemed to come in harder as she watched from the window. A reminder, she thought, that only the dead and the dormant remained in Windhaven’s eternal winter.

Nesta swiped the glass, her hands scrunching at the cold. The puffs of her breath clearing patches of frost. She could just envision her feet sinking to the ground. One step and then another. Her body shuddering at phantom shivers.

“I can take you to town if you want.”

Nesta stood taller at the rough tone.

“I thought you left already,” She heard herself say.

Cassian’s footsteps pressed into the spines of the floorboard and it creaked as he stepped. Nesta could only close her eyes. The vision of legs… and arms… and severed heads and white—white like bone and snow and bloodless faces and the outline of his eyes as he lied beneath her.

Nesta curled her hand on the window, the urge to push through the glass almost too much.

“I was waiting for you.” He replied, a thousand pieces of glass scratching at his throat. She could hear the tapping of his foot and Nesta wondered if that was what he always sounded like in the morning. Rough from heavy sleep.

She didn’t want to look at him and try as she might Nesta wanted to resist, but her eyes moved and her shoulders moved, and just like all of the other times, her body looked without permission. Her hands itching to touch him as he stood plain in Illyrian leathers. Nesta dug her nails into her palm.

She hated him, Nesta reminded herself. She hoped he suffered.

But half of her brain wanted to chastise her for such a thought.

No, you don’t, it argued.

His hair was tied in bun at the base of his neck and a belt sat at his waist. His leathers fit well, Nesta noted, because she could see the outline of his muscles indented in the fabric and… he was tall. He had always been tall but he stood looming and heavy in front of the hall that led to the front door.

Hulking size was right.

She finally met his gaze and Nesta was annoyed to find that bright, unwelcome gleam and that small tilt of his brow. As if he knew exactly what she was looking at and was satisfied that she’d indeed liked what she saw.  

Nesta wanted to grab one of the brown accent pillows and throw it at his head.

“You should have just left,” she fumed, his figure stepping back only slightly as she brushed past him heading toward the dining room.

Nesta took her coat and her gloves from where she had placed them on the table.

The gloves reached her elbows and every time she put them on, she thought of those days where her problems were reduced to something as small and meaningless as becoming a proper young lady. All of that pompous, poshness wrapping around her fingers like silk.

“Nesta…”

She paused at her name from his lips. Such a soft word in that tired sigh.

“I don’t want to fight with you.”

Nesta laughed at that, something terribly cruel settling in the pit of her stomach. Something she felt in her chest, that burned her lungs and made her whole-body tense up.  

If only he knew how much she had yearned for their arguments when she was locked in that so-called House of Wind. It had seemed like a tower then, but Nesta had been no princess and Cassian was no prince.

That anger his words caused made her do strange things and she prowled towards him, noting the way he sized her up. His wings growing taller and taller. She raised a brow, as she set a hand on his chest. Her head lowering as she stared at him through her lashes.

He stared at her lips, and Nesta could smell that firewood scent. It brought back memories she did not want to remember.

Nesta could feel the heat of his hands as he settled them at her waist.

“You don’t want to fight?” She teased. “Well, I do.”

Nesta laughed, the sound stark and wicked to her ears.

“You want me to play nice? I won’t.”

“You want me to behave like those sycophantic fools in Velaris. I would never. I am not your lover, I am not your Night Court companions, I am not those idiots that fall at your feet.”

Nesta pulled away, noting the way his eyes hardened where hazel pooled into white. His nostrils flaring as he breathed harshly.

“You are nothing, Cassian.” She hissed. “You have never been worth my time.”

She watched as he swallowed, his eyes cold and unfeeling.

Then he was gone, brushing past her and stalking towards the door with loud steps. A giant in a small house. But he looked back, towards her. Her own breath coming out in silent pants.

“At least, I have a family to go home to.” He spoke, and Nesta clenched her fists. “What do you have?”

Blood rushed to her face, her ears and Nesta stalked towards him, as he pulled the door open and let the freezing air in.

You did this, she wanted to screech, the phrase tasting like blood in her mouth. Nesta wondered when she had begun to hunger for the taste. But she let the words fill her. Her body wanted all of its nourishment.  

This is your fault, Nesta wanted to sing, the sentence tasting sweet on her tongue. You failed us, she heard whispered in her ears. Feyre. Elain. You failed me.

But Nesta didn’t say those words out loud and couldn’t even if she tried. Cassian twisted back, taking a breath as he said, “I’m leaving for Ironcrest in a few days.”

“Don’t come back,” she spit, even if the words sounded foolish to her. This was his house.

“I hope you rot there,” Nesta corrected.

Cassian didn’t look at her, but she could see how his shoulders dipped even if the rest of him staid positively still. But he pulled the knob at last, stepping through the door that lit like a beacon in sterile, placid white.

He looked back only once, and Nesta couldn’t name exactly what she saw in that gaze, but she knew what he saw in hers.

“Don’t forget your scarf.” He said, and Nesta raged at every syllable.

The door shut with a click and just like that Nesta was alone. The whirring wind louder than all of her thoughts. Nesta pulled her coat tighter around her, the fabric suffocating her in fur. But she left the scarf on the chair. She didn’t want to touch it at all.

She watched his figure from the window, felt the boom of his wings as he left and only then did Nesta step outside to feel the chill soak into her skin.

Wake up, Nesta whispered.

~

Ira reminded Nesta of Amren most days. She tried to pinpoint exactly what it was, between the harsh, often critical words to the pragmatic way they both talked.

Ira, though, for all her knowledge, did not invite her to learn more than what she taught, and she seldom answered any of Nesta’s questions like Amren had indulged. Nesta was reduced to cutting up bandages, to clean up duty, to dusting old books handwritten in that language she could not pronounce. It was dull work, tedious work, but Nesta didn’t complain… most days.

Today was no different as Nesta entered the tent to pick up the mop and bucket she’d left there yesterday. But Ira, anticipating her routine, held a hand out in her tracks.

“I need you to go collect these.” She said, handing her a piece of paper with names scribbled in neat cursive. Nesta grazed over the list. “You know what they look like don’t you?”

She nodded her head, the images appearing in her mind between pages and ink. Rose hips and chickweed. Black walnuts, pine, and chicory. She could see the list so clearly; her eyes having studied the pages for weeks.

“Good. Take this before you go,” she took a chain tacked to the wall. One lone bead hanging from the metal. “Our stock is running low and that seems to be the perfect time for Illyrians to start hurting themselves and getting into all sorts of accidents.”

She placed the chain in Nesta’s hand and it laid flat in her palm, the black clay cool against her skin.

A symbol was carved into the center and Nesta yearned to know what it meant. She wanted to ask the female, but she shooed her off.

“Get going. We don’t have all day, do we?”

Ira gave her a look of impatience, shuffling around the expansive tent without so much as a glance, busying herself with collecting herbs and material.

“Where would I go?” Nesta asked lightly, her lips pursing at the lack of knowledge.  

“Where would you expect to find plants?” She asked derisively. “You think the kitchens will have them? Maybe the blacksmiths?” The female sighed, shaking her head as if the idea of Nesta exhausted her. “Go to the forest, past the training fields. Show them the medallion and the guards will let you in.”

“You want me to go into the woods. I thought no one was allowed there.”

“You ask too many questions” Ira snapped.

Without further explanation, Ira grabbed the gloves and the scarf from her own chair, shoving them in her hands. “Off you go.”

Nesta refrained from sneering as she picked up the basket, the forest already taking up space in her mind.  

~

Against the entrance of the forest, stakes of wood crossed in a line of X’s. Nesta couldn’t see where the barrier ended or began, but the trees stayed tucked behind common lines.

Windhaven was surrounded by forests, one bleeding into the next, and she found it odd that the Illyrians had tried to contain them. Fences and guards… She half wondered if all the security was made to keep Illyrians out or… something else in. For what was stopping anyone from sneaking all the way through? She, herself, had walked past those damning woods every day.

She looked towards the skies, the color pale and ashy grey. Nesta wished to reach up, wipe a finger along the surface until baby blue shown beneath, but she traced figures instead. The Illyrians flying high above as their shadows played with the sunlight.

Two males stood tall and lean beside the entrance, and Nesta stared as they shuffled at her perusal. Walking towards them, she took the emblem and squeezed it tightly in her fist.

The taller of the two, looked past her and she studied his features. His eyes were a deep shade of brown and his golden skin was lightly dusted with freckles. He was large too, not quite as large as Cassian, but he was strong and muscular and Nesta might have had her eyes on him if she’d been someone else. Someone she hadn’t been in a long time, though she yearned for somehow.

“No one is permitted past these lines. Get back!” The male called out. The other raised a sword in front of the entrance as if he thought she might run through. Nesta wanted to scoff at the gesture.

She noticed the way they eyed her. Not with the subtly of soft sheets or the images of playthings and allure, but with a dark look. A cautious look. As if they didn’t know exactly what would pounce at them if they squirmed.

Interesting.

She smirked softly as they stilled, stalked slowly as they rose in height for every inch lost in distance. Each of her steps a question as to what she was going to do to them. Oh, to have so much power over those who feared her.

Nesta laid out her palm, the emblem pressing against her skin.

“Your healer is requesting I go get supplies and you are standing in my way.” She said coyly.

The male to the left only glanced at his comrade, the bridge of his nose dipping in a silent language that Nesta could imagine meant you deal with this. She pulled the chain back, the emblem falling from her hand as she let it dangle between her fingers. She tilted her head as the male on the right shirked back, sinking into himself in answer. Nesta wanted to laugh.

“You seem to think I have all day,” She taunted, rolling her eyes, but the males did not part. They kept looking at each other, going back and forth and Nesta’s patience wore thin as she tapped her foot.

“For Mother’s sake, one of you follow me in if it makes you feel better!”

But the male to the right, at last lifted the sword from the entrance, unblocking her way. She scrambled past before he changed his mind.

The two closed off the entrance as she became enclosed around trees, and Nesta distantly heard the pretty one grumble something about her lacking manners. Nesta scoffed. Manners of Brutes, she decided.

Nesta surveyed the area.

It was uncommonly dark in these woods where light escaped between fingertips. The forest tops splitting into veins, the trees pulsing. Nesta looked at the note again, though she already memorized it.

Good thing, too, since she had to squint at the paper to see. Even with fae sight, she could barely make out the words.

She set the list back in the basket and sighed.

Nesta looked towards the clearing of rock and roots, spotting the chickory stalks as she walked closer. Nesta knelt to her knees, her hands brushing off snow. She plucked the roots from the ground, digging until it was easy to pull and setting it in the basket.

She’d found the pine on the evergreens, of course. An easy conquest, and sooner than later she had most of the items checked off.

The only thing left was the rosehips… She hadn’t found the rosehips.

Nesta didn’t know how far she’d gone searching for them. Before she knew it, she was circling the area and everything had looked the same to the last 30 minutes. She could barely see the sun.

Nesta shivered as the air seemed to grow colder in the dark, and she pulled her scarf closer to her. Her teeth chattering louder than anything she’d heard thus far.

It was quiet in these woods. Nesta heard her feet crunching beneath her with every step. But in her last attempt, she spotted the vibrant color tucked into wood. Stark against snow, it gleamed red and Nesta reached for it. Twisting her arm between branches where the rosehips had barely brushed her fingers. She tried again and still could not pull off more than a few.

She crouched low, aiming to some at the roots of the evergreen. The front of her dress was already soaked with snow.

Her palm brushed against the branches and it was only then that Nesta realized she was alone in the forest. She was alone in the forest and it had been quiet, and it had been dark. But it had not been this dark, and it had not been this quiet.

Nesta could feel the hair on her arms rise, shivers dancing along her spine like fingertips trailing up her neck. She scrambled to move, but she felt her body lock up and Nesta inhaled slowly as she heard a branch snap.

Nesta closed her eyes, squeezing her lids together as if the sound might disappear again, but she heard another snap a little farther away and she blinked awake. Her hands pushed off the ground without a second thought and suddenly her body was moving.

The sky grew darker still, the trees creaking as they twisted.

Nesta ran into that darkness, ran until she saw the gleam of swords and the wings of two men who would not be happy to see her.

~

“Did you grab everything?” Ira questioned as a way of greeting. She held a mortar in her hand, crushing contents that made a thick purple paste. Nesta sniffed at the smell.

She set the basket of herbs on the table as she rattled off the list. “I could only find a few rosehips, so I’ll try again tomorrow.”

Ira didn’t so much as look up from pounding away at the concoction.

“I can come back in the evenings after my shift in the kitchens is over,” Nesta continued, pulling out the plants and plucking away at the dirt.

Ira lifted her head. “You never work late.”

“I can,” she admitted, biting her lips. “For the next couple of weeks anyways.”

Ira lifted the pestle until the purple mucilage fell like paint from a brush. Pursing her lips, she eyed her squarely, and Nesta straightened at the look.

“I don’t need you in the evenings.” She drawled.

“Oh,” Nesta remarked, her fingers tracing the needles of a pine branch. “Well, if you need me though, I am free.”

“So, you’ve mentioned.”

Nesta twisted the branch in her hand, the sap sticking to skin. The scent was strong and she wiggled her nose at the smell. “I could start taking inventory… or making list of people we’ve seen.”

Ira slammed the mortar on the table and it rattled so loud, Nesta jumped.

“Illyrians.” Ira corrected firmly.

“What?”

“Not people. Illyrians.” The female clarified, rolling her eyes, groaning as she continued. “I’ve heard you use that word so often. We are not human. And what is this free business? You’ve been firm about that schedule of yours since you’ve gotten here. A fact I find odd since you were the one who begged for a job.”

“I did not beg!” Nesta insisted, dropping the rosehips, the red scattering on the tabletop.

Ira waited for her to explain, and Nesta felt unnerved to be watched by the female who began tapping her fingers nails on the counter. One sharp flick after another.

Nesta tried hard not to twiddle her thumbs… or bite her lips like she wanted to when she got nervous. She’d knocked that habit when she was young. It was strange, she thought, for it to come out now.  

“Cassian—you know I live with him.” Nesta began to explain.

The females mouth soured. “The general—yes.”

Nesta nodded her head in agreement, “He’s going away for a while and… I don’t have anywhere to be and I have all of this time. I can work a bit longer.”

“Where is he going?” She asked abruptly.

The question caught Nesta by surprise, but she repeated the name he’d told her that morning.

“He’s going to Ironcrest.” The Illyrian echoed, reaching out a hand to grab a bottle. Nesta watched as she began to spoon the purple contents into the vial. “Marvelous. When you go, you can pick up something for me.”

Nesta’s body tensed. “But I--”

“It’ll save me a trip in the spring.” She admitted. “I’ll get you a list before you go. It shouldn’t be too much trouble.”

At Nesta’s look, Ira quipped a brow. “You asked for extra work, didn’t you?”

~

The walk back was prettier than she’d expected it’d be. The stars seemingly brighter when they were not hindered by city lights and people’s dreams. Nesta had always wondered what made up the night skies.

She distantly remembered discussing the idea under blankets and sweet giggles. Elain jumping on the bed to declare that stars were hopes manifested, all the accumulation of people’s wants and wishes. Feyre with a laugh shook her head. No, stars were the friends of the moon, she said in that innocent way of hers. So many to shine, so that the moon would never be lonely.

Nesta had not said anything. She was far too logical for that. She needed to research more—find every word hidden in anthologies, alphabetized by S for star or perhaps A for astral planes, or C for constellations… celestial… cosmic… She couldn’t find an answer that satisfied her without proof so she laid back, her head hitting the pillow as her father smiled waxing crescents.

The stars are made of fire, he’d said, tucking the girls in one by one. Feyre at her right and Elain at her left because they still never wanted to sleep alone. It is why they shine so bright and it is why they will keep on shining—like the flickering flame of a candle. To light our way in the dark.

Nesta had held onto those words.

Her father had wanted them to fall asleep to pretty answers, but the questions had danced in her mind, rattling like jumping beans in all corners. How would the stars burn? She wanted to ask. If they were indeed made of fire like her father had said, what caused the fire for they were not made of wood? And if they did burn what would happen when the fire ran out as every fire had before?

But her father, seeing her look, had merely kissed her forehead. A good night to stop those sleepless, ceaseless thoughts of hers and all that would beat across her mind until she was satisfied with an answer.

Nesta couldn’t imagine the stars being made of fire now when they glittered like moving silver in kaleidoscope colors. She didn’t understand how Velaris could be named the City of Starlight, when the residents didn't see this view. Nesta was sure they’d agree had they stood on these mountaintops and snowy plains.

She’d gotten use to the trek, as long as it was. Learned to be excited for it. A moment where she could be by herself, thinking nothing at all.

But Nesta was not alone tonight, where the stars blinked their beady eyes above her. They watched her… and something else did too.

Nesta looked to the unmarked path, the halfway point between Windhaven and the cabin. Too long to run in either directions, she thought.

Standing in the middle of the snow, a cat sat lazily in her way, blinking at her with bright blue eyes. Its fur was orange. Long, and thick. With puffs of white at the chest, and Nesta didn’t know what to make of the creature, whose tail swished back and forth. A curling finger, she imagined, coaxing her forward.

Nesta looked beyond it and then looked behind herself. Too far indeed.

She tried to shoosh it away, flapping her hands forward and hissing at it. But the cat blinked softly, tilting its head at her as if she were the one that didn’t belong, not itself who appeared out of thin air.

Nesta decided then to walk around it. It was just a cat, she thought.

Just a cat, just a cat, just a cat. She repeated.

Only when she’d past it, it’s body twisting to look at her, only when she was sure she was far away, did Nesta turn to survey it again. She jumped as the cat stood beside her.

Nesta stepped once more, and she watched as it did the same. She stopped and it stopped. She walked and it walked. Nesta made motion run, but the cat picked up speed, running alongside her.

Nesta gave up trying to shoosh it away, but that didn’t stop her from watching every swoosh of its tail and counting every time it tried to rub against her. The cat simply trotted in step.

When she reached the cabin, Nesta noticing the lights, rolled her eyes, slumping forward as she kicked up the snow. The cat meowed as the snow hit its face, but Nesta paid no mind.

Cassian was standing in the door frame, his stance wide and open, and she remembered that time across the wall. Her knee hitting the most sensitive parts of him. Nesta doubted she could get away with it now, but he was asking for it she thought, with that stance alone.

Hulking, indeed.

Nesta looked back to the cat, wondering exactly what it thought about this male who stood in their way, but when her gaze finally landed on the snow beside her, the cat was gone. She twisted around, combing the field and the forest surrounding, and nothing. Just as the cat appeared, it had vanished. Into thin air.

Cassian squinted his eyes at her, wanting to see what she saw. Nesta had to restrain herself from grumbling, thinking of orange fur and blue eyes.

Coward, she thought.

~

Nesta looked back to the pathway and Cassian squinted his eyes to see what had caught her attention. He watched her as she shook her head and looked back at him. Her once serene face swiftly changing to that You are dead look.

“What were you—”

“Is there a reason you're standing in the doorway like a psycho?” She hissed. Cassian stepped away from the door, Nesta brushing past him. He had to try to maintain some figment of composure as he caught a whiff of her scent. Fresh air and lavender.

She caught Azriel’s gaze and Cassian could feel the uneasiness rise. Her eyes squinting at the sight of the two of them conversing in the kitchen, entering her space, pushing the limits she had set in their time here. Azriel hadn’t left like she probably hoped, a reminder that she could not run from any life she’d left behind.

Cassian drifted in front of her, meeting that murderous look.  

“I’m leaving for Ironcrest in a few days,” He repeated as he had that morning. Nesta tilted a fine-groomed brow. “And since you don’t want to come with me, Azriel is going to stay with you until I get back.”

“Who said I didn’t want to go?” She voiced flatly. Cassian met her stare, the blue of her eyes a sterile, pale color.

He looked back at Azriel slowly, unsure and a bit confused. His brother merely lifting a shoulder.  

“You said this morning that—”

“And now I’m saying I’m going with you.” Nesta said quickly, her words ringing and loud. “Is that not clear? Or are you going to say I can’t?”

Cassian gulped his impatience down, his eyes closing for a moment and the opening again. Who was this female? He wanted to ask aloud as Nesta crossed her arms.

Her cheeks were still red from the cold, her neck still flushed from the heat of the house and perhaps all of that anger that seemed to simmer in her veins, coat her skin, keep her alive, he thought, because he’d not seen her live without it.

In another time, it might have been fun to see all the parts of her that bloomed that pretty red, but now... it was starting to eat away at him in ways he couldn’t satisfy.

“We leave the day after tomorrow,” He managed to grit out, his teeth rattling with restraint.

Pleased with the answer, Nesta took one last look at him, gave one last look to Azriel behind. As if she dismissed them from her presence. As if this was her castle to do so.

She stepped lightly away and when Cassian heard the click of her door slamming shut, he let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Cassian sighed, his wings falling in exasperation.

Azriel simply laid a hand on his shoulder and shook his head.

~

Tagged:  @my-fan-side  @ekaterinakostrova  @anastasia-orlov @lord-douglas-the-third @autumnsletters @soitsgorgeous @sjm-things @courtofjurdan @rogertaylorsfalsettogivesmehives

Cassian and Nesta’s relationship is very slow in this fic as with any fic that I have ever written. I just don’t think they can really get together without a whole bunch of scenes in between, maybe whole books even. Authenticity is the game I play always. Also, I wanted their narratives to sound different, so that’s why Nesta’s is sometimes a lot more introspective and descriptive than Cassian’s may be, which may change a little bit as the story progresses. 

I’ll edit this later too, my priority was just posting it...

Comment, like, reblog, ask to be tagged etc if you enjoy this fic and you are anxious to get another chapter! We’ll be in Ironcrest in the next one and maybe we’ll see some Illyrian celebrations... and perhaps Cassian and Nesta start the process of becoming not enemies!

[needtherapy]

soaring, carried aloft on the wind...continued 16

A story for Xichen and Mingjue, in another time and another place.

The Beifeng, the mighty empire of the north, invaded more than a year ago, moving inexorably south and east.

In order to buy peace, the chief of the Lan clan has given the Beifeng warlord a gift, his second oldest son in marriage. However, when Xichen finds out he makes a plan.

He, too, can give a gift to the Beifeng warlord, and he will not regret it.

Part 1: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10 / 11 / 12 / 13  Part 2: 14 / 15 / 16 … HOME

It’s complete on AO3 here.

Notes: Check the tags if you’re concerned about the pairings ;)

For translations of the entirely fictitious Beifeng language, you’ll have to scroll to notes. I’m only going to translate something that’s not clear in the text. Sadly, there’s just not any other good way to do it on Tumblr!

Chapter 16 Now

It rains for a week as spring approaches, great sheets of water that turn the Ikarahu camp into rivers of mud. Everyone is miserable, dirty, and fractious. Huaisang and Guangyao get into an argument that ends in shouting, and they stop talking to each other for three days, taking turns complaining to Xichen. Even Mingjue seems altered—pensive and solemn, his boisterous affection distracted by thoughts he doesn’t share. Xichen spends most of his time reading and avoiding people, huddling under blankets by his warm brazier.

But once the storms pass and all the water seeps back into the ground, the end of winter turns sunny and clear, as if the gods are apologizing for their earlier tantrum.

After so many days inside, Xichen welcomes Huaisang’s suggestion of a day’s ride into the foothills to the west of the camp. He’s aware that there is likely a secondary reason for the suggestion—with Huaisang, there is rarely only one reason—but the chance to feel the wind on his face overrides any care he has for Huaisang’s schemes.

They are a larger group than Xichen expected: himself, Huaisang, Guangyao, Qingyang, Titakau, and three guards. But of course they would need guards. Even Huaisang would not be so incautious as to risk their safety, and now that he considers it, three guards seems like fewer than Mingjue would have insisted on. Xichen wonders if Huaisang made his brother aware of his plans.

After only a few minutes of riding, a rolling canter that, on Liebing’s light feet, feels almost as smooth as walking, Xichen slows at the sound of pounding hoofbeats behind them.

“Aurakat! Wingani! Roka eneti di eta hira om ga tega ehi heromu,” Mingjue yells, pulling up his horse in front of Huaisang and forcing him to stop.

“Three soldiers for four people is plenty, anakau,” Huaisang argues. “Unless you think Xichen is incapable of defending himself.”

It is a low blow, and Xichen has to bite his lip to keep from laughing at Mingjue’s consternation.

“I did mention we were having a picnic. What did you think that meant?” Huaisang asks with a flippant smirk.

“Will you come with us, ahoraho?” Xichen asks, distracting Mingjue, who looks ready to tackle Huasiang off his horse. “If you are not too busy?”

With a huff, Mingjue scowls at Huaisang one more time before falling back to join Xichen. They ride in silence for a while, in part because Xichen is at a loss for words. Without the army, without the camp, he’s not sure what to talk about. He has rarely felt awkward around Mingjue, but he suddenly can’t think of a single thing to say. Instead he watches his friends. Qingyang laughs at something Titakau says, and Xichen can see Titakau smiling, even from here. Ahead of them, Huaisang pokes Guangyao in the shoulder and points to something in the distance, the silhouette of a huge eagle eventually gliding into sight, banking above them and heading north, toward the mountains. Guangyao watches the path of the bird until it disappears from sight.

“Poets in my country speak of your land as empty and barren, but I think they have never been here,” Mingjue says suddenly, breaking the silence. “There is beauty in your plains and hills, as there is in our datik.”

Xichen blinks at him, taken aback by Mingjue’s interest in poetry as much as his continued insistence that the mountains of Xichen’s home are mere hills.

Mingjue grins, reading Xichen’s expression. “They are not even covered in snow, Xichen. But tell me, do your poets write of Ikara?”

They do, and Xichen tells him that Ikara is seen as a mystical place, frightful and wild, with giants of men who ravage maidens and warrior women who wield dark magic. Mingjue roars with laughter.

“Xichen, you are kindio touha...more danger...hm...more dangerous...than most of our people. Although I do not know how it is possible. How do your people grow strong drinking the weak tea?”

Xichen pretends to be offended as he explains the supremacy of delicate, aged white tea. After so many months, it is unexpectedly charming to see yet another side of Mingjue. Xichen hadn’t fully appreciated how heavily caring for the well-being of so many people weighs on Mingjue. Within the encampment, Mingjue is always kipakau, always the general. But the further they get from the city of tents, the less he seems like a commander and more like an ordinary man Xichen doesn’t know well enough yet.

They enter a copse of pine trees, and Xichen is subdued by the beauty of this evergreen forest. Even though it is not yet true spring, there is the whisper of wind in the boughs, bird song all around him, and the peace of it inhabits him like home. When they emerge into a clearing on the other side of the woods, a quiet lake with the remains of summer reeds on its shores lays before them. Xichen nearly asks how Huaisang knew it was here, because it is clearly his intended destination.

“Time for lunch!” Huaisang announces as he dismounts, and with an unnecessarily dramatic gesture, he sets up a large flame burning in the grass.

Even with no wood to sustain it, the flame produces heat, fueled by the magic in the air. Xichen and Guangyao exchange a look. It is another reminder of how different Ikarahu magic is, and Xichen wonders how long the fire can last.

The ground is dry, if cold, and they unpack thick wool blankets to sit on. Their three guards’ horses had been carrying baskets of food, all designed to be eaten cold, as well as jars of ale and water, and Xichen is amused at how carefully Huaisang has prepared this adventure.

Huaisang whistles and Kitingi joins them, although she settles on Guangyao’s shoulder, not Huaisang’s, and bites his hair affectionately. He hands her tiny pieces of food he usually has at the ready. Guangyao’s face softens as it always does around Kitingi, and he scratches the top of her head, smoothing her feathers as she eats. Xichen thinks she might prefer Guangyao even to Mingjue these days.

Titakau whispers something to Qingyang, and Qingyang laughs. “I don’t know, auhani. I’ll ask. Why doesn’t she fly away? She isn’t tethered like the other munaku.”

“I feed her too well,” Huaisang jokes, but Mingjue gives her a true answer. “Aurakat only pretends he does not care,” he explains, smirking at Huaisang as though revealing a deep, dark secret, and Huaisang throws a cup at him. “He raised her from a chick. She could leave any time, but she stays for love.”

They finish eating, and then they sword fight. It would have been a strange way to pass the afternoon in the Cloud Recesses, but Huaisang claims to be cold after their meal and challenges his brother to a duel, a match even Xichen has never seen before. It shouldn’t have been a contest, but once they start, it’s obvious that Huaisang has learned from spending his life sparring with Mingjue. He knows every counter to every move, and he even pulls out his kitingi fan as an extra distraction, blocking Kaumadis with hard swipes and spinning the sharp blades of the fan in front of Mingjue’s face. It doesn’t seem likely that he’ll win, but he keeps Mingjue on his toes until Mingjue laughingly dodges a parry and picks Huaisang up, slinging him over his shoulder and depositing him back onto a blanket by Guangyao.

“Enough! You will have me dancing for hours, anati,” he says and looks as though he intends to sit too, but Xichen stands.

“Will you dance with me, ahoraho?” he asks, drawing Sikunadis, and Mingjue’s eyes darken.

Xichen likes that look on Mingjue’s face. He turns his back to the rest of the group, biting his lip and giving Mingjue a private smile he intends to convey just how much. Mingjue shakes his head.

“You do not fight fair, aitapaho,” he complains with a wink.

It is not a serious bout, not in the tall dry grass, and not after Mingjue has already sparred with Huaisang, but Xichen never tires of learning how he can use Sikunadis differently than an ordinary sword. As Huaisang had suspected, the sword responds to his magic, filling like a well, holding the power for as long as necessary and allowing Xichen to recover his strength. And when he pushes in more power than the sword can hold, the release is magnified, a brilliant explosion of darkness and light that can fling even a shielded attacker away.

Xichen would not say he is showing off, but at first, he lets Mingjue take more risks and get closer than usual, leaning back to let Kaumadis glide past his face, flipping sideways to evade strikes, and putting even more speed into his parries. When he realizes Mingjue is tiring, he runs his fingers across the back of Mingjue’s neck as he spins behind him, grinning when Mingjue groans and falters.

He wins against Mingjue easily and far too quickly, only using enough of the power reserves inside Sikunadis to buzz against Mingjue when he tags him on the back first, then the stomach. Mingjue falls to the ground, laughing and raising his hands in defeat. He holds Xichen’s gaze just long enough to promise rewards when they get back to camp, long enough to make Xichen grin foolishly.

“Guangyao? Do you wish to fight with me?” Xichen asks, not wanting to leave anyone out, and Guangyao deliberates before shaking his head.

“I am no expert, and Zewu-Jun is. I might only be able to keep up with Oringa'anhu Ikira,” he says, entirely serious, smiling only when Huaisang realizes he’s been insulted and reacts with mock outrage.

Qingyang declines as well, but to Xichen’s surprise, Titakau agrees to fight, borrowing Huaisang’s sword. She has excellent form and technique, and she is nearly as quick as Xichen. She catches him off guard twice, forcing him to scramble to block. They end the match in a draw, and Xichen compliments her skill. She ducks her head and tells him that her father is a swordsmith, and she has held a sword since she was a baby.

“Ei kamhawa mau peita ei eta ino iro tiato, gani ora anot inko paketau sima auha di Ipira'orhew Ikira. Et paketau di sima eta kipakau,” Titakau says, smiling shyly.

Qingyang translates, “My father was embarrassed when I became a healer, but now he is so proud that I am in service to Ipira'orhew Ikira. Everyone is proud to serve the crown prince.” With a quick grin that lights her eyes, Qingyang adds, “I am as well, you know.”

Mingjue makes a sound of dismissal and shakes his head, but he’s smiling. There is a thoughtful crease in Guangyao’s eyebrows for a split second before Kitingi leaps off of his shoulder with a sudden scream, flapping high into the air and wheeling to dive into the nearby underbrush. Huaisang and Guangyao follow her to see if she snared whatever she was hunting.

Xichen is curious about which part of Titakau’s words intrigued Guangyao, but he lets the thought go when Mingjue wraps a blanket around him and kisses Xichen’s cheek, sitting next to him with a sigh. Xichen pulls Mingjue’s hand under the blanket and rubs his thumb over Mingjue’s knuckles, leaning against him to absorb his warmth. He wonders what his father or brother would think of how easily he shows and accepts affection like the Ikarahu. He had never minded the formal distance his family kept in the Cloud Recesses. It had felt respectful and unintrusive. But now he craves the simplest touch; there is a space inside him that can never be full enough. Wangji would probably look away in embarrassment, he thinks. Or, remembering the look on Wangji’s face when he talked about his archer, maybe not. He can’t hide his smile and he decides not to ruin his day by thinking about what his father’s reaction might be. Perhaps he is an unfilial son, but he is glad his father will never have the chance to disapprove.

Guangyao and Huaisang finally retrieve a chattering Kitingi from the bush clutching a finch in her claws, and somehow, they are arguing. It’s only been minutes, and Xichen can’t understand how they’ve already found something to disagree about.

“An ambush will not work,” Guangyao says as they rejoin the group, unhooking the two birds and setting the little finch free. “I don’t care if your hawk is always successful. You’ve been camped outside of Jinlin Tai for months. They know you’re here.”

“That’s why it will work, Guangyao,” Huaisang explains, patient to the point of condescension. “They expect us to continue the siege or bring the whole army. We’ve tried waiting patiently. A frontal assault will result in too many casualties. Perhaps we need a different strategy.”

Guangyao’s eyes narrow, and he frowns. “Perhaps you should stop pestering them entirely.”

Huaisang’s grin is swift and careless, but his voice softens. “You know we won’t. Perhaps they should give in.”

Xichen wonders if they realize how obvious it is that they aren’t only talking about Jinlin Tai anymore.

Notes: Aurakat! Wingani! Roka eneti di eta hira om ga tega ehi heromu. = Aurakat! You idiot! This is not enough men for safety.

[slash-em-up]

The Logger

Hellloooooooo I decided to hop on board the slasher OC train. 

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

1958

Joanna let out a deep sigh of relief as she locked the front door to the bar.

She was exhausted.

It had been a busy Friday night - the bar had been close to bursting with groups of logging crews ready to blow their paychecks on booze and entertainment. She’d had her skirt grabbed more than once; but thankfully had enough practice to know how to avoid the guys who wanted to get seriously handsy.

That, and she suspected the glare several of the worse perpetrators had been sent from the bartender, Ben, was enough to deter those she couldn’t.

“Everything closed up, Jo?”

Speak of the devil.

Ben was a mountain of a man, and looked every inch like someone you wouldn’t want to tussle with - which was true; Jo had seen him wrangle many a rowdy patron out into the night with ease - but he was also one of the nicest, most respectful men anyone would ever hope to meet.

All the girls at the bar agreed; Ben was one of the good ones.

“Yep Ben, all ready to go.”

The words had no more left Joanna’s mouth than the door rattled violently.

“Hey sweetheart, let us in we’re thirsty!”

Joanna jumped a little in surprise, peering through the glass of the front door to see a group of three rough-looking men stumbling around on the steps.

“Sorry, sir; we’re closed for the evening.”

A stubbly face pressed in close to the window, taking far too long a perusal of her before licking his lips and putting on what she suspected he thought was a winning smile.

“Aww come on girly, it’s a Friday! We got cash to burn!”

Several muffled whoops from behind seemed to embolden the man further.

“Open the door honey, I’ll tip ya real well.”

He winked grossly as his compatriots jostled and hooted from behind.

Jo gave a thin smile.

“Like I said, we’re closed.”

She prepared to turn away, just barely catching the man’s smile dropping into a scowl before the wood of the door was once again gripped and shaken.

“Come ON bitch! Let us in!”

Jo was just about to make a run for the other door when she felt a hand gently press on her shoulder.

Looking up, she saw Ben had stepped behind her - probably when the man had started raging.

“Go sit by the bar, Jo. I’ll take care of it.”

He offered her a slightly crooked smile as he pushed her towards the back of the room.

The door was still being pummeled and obscenities tossed around freely as Ben approached.

He stared down at the other man, not speaking.

As soon as the would-be-patron noticed he had a new audience, he began hissing and swearing at Ben, trying anything he could think to make the taller man open the door for him.

“You all part of that lumber camp up by the ridge?” Ben asked quietly.

One of the other men elbowed his friend out of the way, seemingly slightly less inebriated than his fellows.

“Yeah, that’s our crew, you know it?”

Ben smiled at the man.

“No, but I will soon.”

Something in Ben’s steady gaze must have unnerved the other man as he slowly stepped away from the door.

“Let’s go boys… we can find another bar…”

The other two men began nagging their friend, calling him a coward; but he was insistent, and soon enough the night outside was once again calm and still.

Jo tentatively approached, leaning around Ben to peek out the window.

“What did you say to them?”

Ben shrugged, looking down at the young woman with an affectionate smile.

“Same as you did - just not as nicely.”

Joanna giggled, moving to gather her things and head home.

She paused.

“Ben…?”

The tall man looked back at her, having once again turned to stare out the window into the deep black of the Autumn evening.

“… Would you mind walking me out?”

“Those men won’t be coming back, Joey.”

Jo smiled at that. She liked it when Ben called her ‘Joey’.

“I know, it’s just… with all the murders and everything… I’d feel safer if you would.”

Grinning, Ben moved away from the door to grab his own coat, pulling the thick wool over his neat button down and vest.

“Sure, kiddo. Can’t have my best waitress getting chopped up. Who else is gonna tell me my cocktails taste like piss?”

Jo pushed Ben as she joined him by the back door.

He barely moved; but reached over to ruffle her hair all the same.

“No one’s gonna hurt you on my watch Jo.”

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

Tom stumbled through the camp, muttering under his breath in-between long pulls from a bottle of cheap whiskey.

A fine fuckin Friday, if not for that little tussle at the bar.

The forest around him was still; but far from silent. The night was filled with sounds of the late September air whistling through branches, owls hooting as they drifted silently through the pines, and all manner of small nocturnal creatures frolicking through the dry underbrush.

If he’d been a bit more sober, Tom might have heard a pattern of light steps crackling in the brown leaves that coated the forest floor.

But as it was, all he was thinking of was the embarrassment of being chased off by that bartender like a bunch of sissies. Sure, he’d been a big guy; but there were three of them and only one of him.

He was of half a mind to see if the other boys were interested in going down to town to break some windows.

Maybe that cute little bitch of a waitress would still be there - then he could make ‘em really sorry for locking him out.

Chuckling into his bottle, Tom never saw the glint of the sharpened metal before it landed deep in the crevasse between his neck and shoulder; deep enough to sever his spine.

He was dead before he hit the ground.

A large, booted foot pressed down on the corpse, pulling the embedded axe from the sucking, bloody flesh of the evening’s first victim.

Ben gave out a small sigh of disappointment - he would have liked to watch this particular asshole bleed out after how he’d treated Jo; he’d brought the axe down harder than he’d meant to in his excitement.

Oh well, there was nothing for it now.

Hoisting the axe back over his shoulder, Ben sauntered slowly along the wide dirt road towards the logging camp.

He’d circled the area several times that night, making sure to note where he could enter without making a scene, where someone might try to escape into the woods, covering all points of entry and exit until he felt comfortable enough to navigate the tents and bunkhouses in the dark.

This particular camp had been on his mind for weeks now, the undefinable need that always curled near the back of his consciousness whispering about the glorious carnage he could wreak under the cover of trees and night. It was simple good luck that he’d been given a reason to fulfill that urge tonight.

The crisp air filled Ben’s lungs as he approached the first cabin, listening to the small noises of the sleeping occupants.

His heartbeat sped up as he paused by the door - hands clenching and unclenching around the long, smooth handle of his axe.

The door opened and closed quietly as he entered.

Tonight would be a good night.

[hedwigstalons]

SpaceBears - Taking The Plunge

These two have taken up residence in my head and made themselves comfortable.  Far too comfortable.  

This story takes place the day after ‘In the Beginning’ (here) but I think I’ve managed to write it so it still makes sense without reading the original.  It probably helps to know that it takes place the day after Alan and Brandon hook up.

This instalment sticks to a T rating and that’s only really for some language from Gordon *rolls eyes at the aquanaut and his sailor talk*

If you prefer to read on AO3 you can do so here

Thank you to @willow-salix who checked my ramblings despite her own punishing upload schedule - go check out her stuff, she has put out some amazing chapters this week.

xoxoxox

Alan woke to find a heavy arm flung over him and warmth pressed against his back, gentle breaths tickling his neck.  This wasn’t a completely unheard of experience if either he or a brother had dealt with a particularly traumatic rescue; sometimes being the baby of the family had its advantages and he wasn’t too proud to seek out familial comfort to dispel the nightmares.  The difference this time was that neither the room he was in, nor the arm across him, belonged to a brother.  Memories of the day before penetrated through the heavy fog of morning and brought with it understanding.  

Brandon.  The Expo.  The kiss.  Many kisses.  And now here they were, curled up together after falling asleep in front of a movie.

The man behind him was evidently already awake and his stirrings had alerted him to his return to consciousness.  

“Morning rocket boy.  Any chance I can get my other arm back?”

The limb draped across him was removed and Alan rolled away, allowing him to both free the arm underneath him and to face his bed companion who was now flexing his fingers painfully as the blood flowed back.

“Sorry, you should have woken me,” he apologised with concern in his eyes.

“Nah, I figured you guys have to catch sleep when you can.  I’ll live.”  Alan was treated to a soft grin as Brandon massaged life back into his arm.  

Finally satisfied that he had escaped pins and needles Brandon shuffled closer to close the gap between them.  He reached out and rested one hand on Alan’s exposed waist where his t-shirt had rucked up and propped  himself up on the other elbow.

Alan felt a warm glow spread through him at the touch and he returned the smile.  Brandon’s hair, messy from sleep, was sticking out at all angles in untidy curls and Alan gently brushed back a stray lock that threatened to fall into Brandon’s eyes.  Yesterday morning this moment would have been unthinkable, the thought of touching Brandon in this way confined to his secret dreams.  To find out the feeling was mutual had been a surprising, yet welcome, revelation.

“Guess we’re giving this a go, huh?”

“Guess so.”  Brandon tilted his head and lowered it, pulling Alan towards him as he kissed his sleepyhead...boyfriend?  He guessed that was the right term now.   It certainly felt right.  Yesterday still felt a bit unreal but here he was, in Alan’s bed, actually getting to kiss the blonde who had been increasingly in his thoughts.  

“I’m sorry about my brothers last night,” Alan muttered sheepishly once Brandon’s warm lips left his, “they can be a bit full on.”  

“S’only ‘cos they care about you.”  

There was something in Brandon’s eyes that Alan couldn’t quite name.  Envy?  Longing?  He wasn’t too sure but the bleeping of his comm put paid to further musings.  He groaned and rolled reluctantly away, sitting up to pick up the device that he knew wouldn’t go quiet until he answered it.

“What’s up, Gords?” he answered wearily as the grinning visage of his brother smirked at him in holographic form.

“Getting a little distracted there?”  The waggling eyebrows left no illusions as to what Gordon could be referring to.

“Look, is this important or did you just drop in to check up on me?” he snapped.  The last thing he needed was yet another brother butting in on his life, it had been bad enough having to listen to Scott and Virgil spell out the rules for his new relationship.

“Hey, relax.  Just reminding you that you’re meant to log your mile time in the pool this morning.  I know Brandon isn’t due to leave yet but you’re back on duty and Scott is still storming round like a thundercloud.  Best not give him anything else to grump over.”

“Sorry, guess I’m just still a bit on edge.”

“Scott and Virg give you a hard time last night?” there was a softening of attitude from Gordon; he knew exactly what it was like to be on the receiving end of a lecture and it was rarely a fun experience.

“Something like that.  Look, gimme 5 minutes and I’ll be there.”

“FAB,” Gordon cut the comm connection and winked out of existence.

Alan turned back to Brandon and found himself apologising yet again.  “Sorry, I only got yesterday off.  I wasn’t really anticipating any of this happening,” he gestured at the rumpled sheets, “or I’d have tried to get more time.  It won’t take me long to do my swim but Gordon’s right, I need to get out there, the last thing I need is another lecture.  Hey, you should come swim too.”

“Uh, I didn’t bring any stuff.”

“That’s okay.  I’ll just comm Gordon and you can borrow some of his, he won’t mind and it’ll feel better than a shower.”

Brandon was definitely feeling in need of something to freshen up, while he and Alan had made it under the covers at some point during the night they were both still in their clothes from the day before.  He really wasn’t keen on the idea of hitting the pool but before he could protest Alan had already called up Gordon and made arrangements for him to borrow something suitable.

Now that he had a deadline Alan was a bundle of energy.  It surprised Brandon just how quickly Alan could go from sleepy and smudgy eyed to alert and bouncing but he guessed years of answering  emergency calls at all times of the day and night had trained the astronaut to immediate wakefulness when required.  In just a few short minutes Alan was ready, clad in swim shorts with a towel slung round his neck, leaving Brandon no option but to follow him to Gordon’s room.  

They knocked and a cheery voice bade them come in.  Gordon had beaten them to it and was already rummaging through his closet for something for Brandon to wear, the two of them were of a similar size and Brandon had no doubt the proffered board shorts would fit.  He supposed he had to be grateful that Gordon hadn’t tried to kit him out in some of the many tiny speedos he knew the aquanaut owned but he still took the shorts only reluctantly.  He sighed and headed off to his guest room to get changed and grab a towel.  

xoxoxox

Once they were alone Gordon rounded on Alan, smirking.

“So, you and Brandon.  How long have you been hiding this from us all?  You do realise you’re probably the only one of us seeing any action at the moment.”

“I haven’t been hiding anything.  Until yesterday I didn’t even know he liked me like that.”  Alan could feel the heat rising in his cheeks.  He should have known he wouldn’t have been able to escape a grilling from Gordon and being alone in the aquanaut’s room left him wide open.  He was sorely tempted to just leave and head to the pool but knew he’d only get the suggestive remarks in a more public space.  And anyway, Gordon had managed to place himself in the way of the door, cutting off his escape route.

“And you’ve already got Scott having kittens over it, I swear he thinks you’re still twelve sometimes.  Only yesterday, huh?  I know Brandon didn’t go back to the guest room last night; quick work there, Al.  Maybe Scott is right to worry about you after all, you dark horse.”  The smirk was joined by more wiggling eyebrows, eliciting a groan from Alan.

“Nothing happened, alright.”  Now he was seriously blushing.  At least Gordon wasn’t treating him like some kid to be wrapped in cotton wool, if anything he was overestimating things.    “Scott caught us making out, that’s all.  And later we just watched some movies.”

“If you say so.”  There was a shrug that suggested Gordon wasn’t entirely convinced.

“I do say so.”

Alan threw himself back on the bed and stared up at the ceiling.  This was all so new to him but evidently his brothers had convinced themselves that he and Brandon were already screwing around.  In reality though he was pretty apprehensive about the whole idea.  He took a deep breath, hoping Gordon wouldn’t laugh at him.

“Um, so what’s it like?  You know...with a guy?”

Gordon was caught off guard, the nervous quaver to the voice showed just how much this was eating away at Alan, while the question itself made him realise Alan had been serious that nothing had happened the night before.  Theirs was a fairly open household so he was surprised at Alan’s hesitance to ask, but, on reflection, he probably would have been nervous too if he’d gone to an older brother for advice.  Sensing this wasn’t a time for jokes and teasing he sat down near Alan’s feet. 

“Aw, man.”  The responsibility weighed heavy on Gordon and he brushed his fingers back through his hair, wondering where to begin.  If he’d bothered to think about it he would have assumed Aan would have gone to one of the other brothers, any of the other brothers, except him.  But then he realised a lot of his preconceptions had been wrong. 

 He’d always pegged Alan as a junior hybrid of John and Scott and with that came the false assumption that his little brother would eventually be seeking advice about girls, not that he was inexperienced there either, mind you.  But Brandon?  Brandon had been a surprise.  He took a deep breath.

“Well, for a start don’t believe everything you see on the internet.  You don’t need to go copying that shit; some of it’s okay for a bit of casual viewing but it’s not how you want to build a relationship.”

Alan sat up with a jolt, wrapping his arms around drawn up knees and staring at Gordon with wide eyed horror.  “You do know John monitors our internet use, don’t you?”

Gordon rolled his eyes indulgently.  “The Eye-In-The-Sky isn’t going to have a watchalong with you if that’s what you’re worried about, and judging from the fact we are even having this conversation about guys says to me your tastes run a little differently to his.  Unless you start looking at something illegal he’s not going to go telling Scott what you choose to jack off to.”

Alan was severely regretting entering into this conversation.  He knew they were all adults but he didn’t really want to be contemplating his brothers’ downtime viewing habits, the whole idea made him a little nauseous.  Sure there had been a little self-exploration but the fantasies had been firmly within his head with his web based activities restricted to the gaming world.  “So, no copying porn.  Got it,” he squeaked.  “Any other pearls of wisdom?” 

“Relax, Alan,” he could tell his brother was getting seriously worked up over the whole affair,  “you’re eighteen, no one is expecting you to be experienced at this stuff and there’s no rush either.  I think Virgil was at least 20 before he started dating seriously.”

“Yeah, well that’s Virgil.  I was asking you.”

“Uh, I’m probably not the greatest example to follow.”  Alan shot him a curious look and Gordon sighed.  “Swim squad wasn’t always the healthiest of places to be, there was a lot of peer pressure and trying to fit in.  I did some things I’m not proud of and as first experiences went, it sucked.  If Brandon’s a decent guy he’ll be happy to wait.”  The memories of changing room fumbles, post-competition hedonism and squad initiations returned in a flood, some good, some bad.  “Hang on, has he been trying to get you to do stuff you don’t want?”  

Gordon’s eyes blazed and Alan was suddenly reminded that, while he may not be as smothering as Scott, Gordon was still a very protective older brother.

“Jeez, Gords no, no he hasn’t,” he placated.  “Brandon’s been fine about it.  I know his reputation in the media is a little...colourful, but he hasn’t been like that with me at all.”

“Good.”  The menacing flare subsided.  “Look, Al, there’s really no need to rush into things.  I’m guessing Virg gave you the ground rules,” he waited until Alan nodded. “Well, listen to your body and listen to each other and it’ll be fine.  And as for what it’s like, well, when it’s good it can be fantastic but that’s no reason to leap in before you’re ready and there might be  some things you never want to try.  There’s more to a good relationship than just bouncing about in the bedroom y’know.  If Brandon’s one of the decent ones he’ll respect that and if he’s not, well, you deserve better.  But it goes both ways too and we all know better than to believe everything we see in the media; just because Brandon’s more experienced than you doesn’t mean he’s going to be up for everything either.”  

Alan nodded.  Gordon spoke a lot of sense and while he was still a bit worried about making a fool of himself he felt a lot more confident than before.  So what if he was a little naive about these things, he and Brandon were friends first and he certainly hadn’t felt pressured last night.

His mind wandered back to the previous night.  Brandon’s tongue warm in his mouth, teasing, exploring, hands tangled in hair, their bodies pressed close.  Then after dinner things had taken a gentler turn, both of them worn out from their long day at the Expo and the emotional rollercoaster they had been on.  A dreamy half-smile played on his lips and his eyes glazed slightly.

“Uh, Earth to Alan?”

“Huh?”

“C’mon lover boy, save the daydreams for later.  Best get you into that pool or Scott will be hunting us both down.”

Xoxoxox

By the time Brandon made it down to the communal areas of the villa Alan was already several laps into his mile.  Gordon was sitting at a picnic table, stopwatch in hand, keeping track of the numbers.  The great glass doors at the front of the kitchen had been opened wide, inviting him out into the sunshine, but he hovered on the threshold, reluctant to step out into the tropical sun and feeling very exposed in his borrowed shorts.

“Hey, Brandon,” Gordon called out when he spotted him, “ol’ slowcoach is going to be at least another fifteen minutes.  Feel free to raid the fridge.”

Brandon retreated into the kitchen, rolling his eyes slightly at the “and grab me some apple juice while you’re there” that was shouted at his departing back but feeling grateful that Gordon didn’t seem to be treating him any differently to usual.  

He was quite grateful the oldest two siblings were nowhere in sight although the sound of the piano drifting down the stairs from above suggested that at least Virgil was in the lounge.  He hoped he stayed up there.  He knew the brothers only had Alan’s best interests at heart but he hadn’t liked being in the spotlight; it was one thing to be the centre of attention on his vlog but quite another to be under the steely gaze of the commander of International Rescue and his equally intimidating second.  He took his time pouring out two glasses of chilled juice and carried them out onto the patio, settling himself on the bench next to the aquanaut.

“How come he’s got to do this swim, I thought you were the one who did the water stuff?” Brandon asked as he watched Alan reach the far end of the pool, do a quick tumble turn then start cleaving through the water back towards them.  Despite Gordon’s criticism the pace looked far from slow to him.

“We’ve all gotta be able to cover for each other and a fat lot of good we would be if we couldn’t swim well.  I make ‘em all do a timed mile once a month to check they’re staying in shape.”  

“Doesn't Scott set the training?”  

“Some of it, but he trusts us to know our own areas best.  Two laps left!”  This last remark was shouted out to Alan who had just reached their end of the pool again.

Gordon picked up the stopwatch and made his way to the edge of the deck ready to record the moment Alan touched the wall for the final time.  Brandon drained his juice and followed, he didn’t have a clue what constituted a good time but he was still keen to see how Alan had done.  The pair stood looking out over the water as Alan tried to put on a burst of speed to the finish.  

“How’d I do?” the voice that floated up from beneath them sounded faintly out of breath.  

“47 seconds slower than last month but you’re still coming in quicker than Virgil.”

A snort.  “Well that’s not hard, he’s not exactly streamlined.  And don’t you dare tell him I said that!”

“Yeah, well, now you’re done - special delivery!”

The last two words, shouted out in his ear without warning, were accompanied by a firm shove to the back.  Utterly unprepared for the two hands that forced him forwards, Brandon found himself falling, the six foot drop over in an instant as he slammed painfully into the water below, the impact knocking the breath out of him.  

Coolness closed over his head as momentum carried him downwards, shutting off his access to life-giving air.  Water filled his nose and mouth, the chlorine taste and tang harsh in his throat.  The bottom of the pool was too far down for him to put his feet down, there was nothing to brace himself against; he was out of his depth and out of air.  Panic set in and he tried to climb back towards the surface, clawing towards the light above him.

Alan watched with a grin as the figure sailed over his head.  He and his brothers all knew it was a risk to stand near Gordon by the pool but it was a lesson Brandon was yet to learn.  He wondered whether Brandon would laugh or curse over his sudden dunking.  The figure hit the water with all the grace of a cinder block and Alan winced, knowing that such a bad landing was bound to sting.  

The water churned as Brandon’s hands and head broke the surface but only for a moment before his rigidly upright body slid back down into the depths. Another bob up, another slide down; each time the ginger head barely broke the surface.  It wasn’t often that Alan dealt with drowning, the water was more Gordon’s domain, but he knew the signs and his rescuer’s instinct and training kicked in.

“Gordon!” he cried out, hoping his brother was still on the deck above to lend a hand, before pushing powerfully off the pool wall towards his floundering boyfriend.

Gordon, who had already started heading back inside, stopped and turned at the shout.  That wasn’t the sound of a brother in jest; instead the tone was pure mission and his body jolted on automatic response.  The sight that greeted him had him running for the steps that led to the lower pool edge.  Alan had already grabbed Brandon and was attempting to tow him to one side of the pool, a maneuver that was significantly hampered by the panicked thrashing of the figure that Gordon instantly re-categorised as a casualty in need of rescue.

Knowing he would be of more use on the poolside to help lift Brandon out Gordon could only watch as Alan tried to calm the flailing man.  It didn’t seem to be working; Brandon was still exhibiting pure, terrified panic and was clawing at the arms that held him firmly.  At last the pair reached the poolside and Gordon took hold of Brandon, hauling him up onto the deck.  

The change from water to stone as he was bodily dragged over the hard lip of the pool stilled Brandon’s desperate movements, the transition breaking through the panic as something deep inside his fogged consciousness told him he was finally safe.  He lay on his side on the warm flagstones, his body slightly curled in on itself, feeling the sun on his skin.  His throat burned and his breathing was ragged.  A wet cough and his body emptied itself of pool water and apple juice in an action that did the burning sensation no favours but did at least make the breathing earlier.  Only then did he take in the set of knees in front of him, now resting in a puddle of his evacuated stomach contents, and the soothing hand rubbing circles on his upper arm.  Alan.  

Brandon was vaguely aware of the commotion going on around him, shouted commands, running footsteps.  He didn't care.  He had light and warmth and air.  

The bare knees in front of him were exchanged for a pair clad in thick denim.  Another cough and he added bile to the puddle that was already wicking its way up the material as the jeans did their best to absorb the mess.  He probably ought to feel guilty, throwing up over two brothers.

"Brandon?  You got any more left in there buddy?"

As if prompted by the question another retch spasmed through his body but nothing came up.  Brandon flicked his eyes up to meet Virgil's warm brown ones that held nothing but concern and he shook his head weakly.  He became vaguely aware of the bleeping of a med scanner that had appeared from somewhere.

"Scan's clear.  Nothing reached his lungs and heart rate and respiration are returning to normal." This was directed at someone behind Brandon.  "Up you get but take it slow now."  A plaid clad arm was held out but Brandon ignored it, preferring to sit up under his own steam.

"Brandon?"  Alan was back in front of him, placing a steadying hand on shoulders that trembled slightly.

It hurt Brandon to see the worry etched across Alan’s features, worry that was only there because of his own inadequacies.  He dropped his head, unable to meet those clear blue eyes any longer.  The shame burned worse than the chlorine.  

“Alan, go take Brandon to get warmed up.  He’s had a shock so no leaving him alone.  He’ll need to take it easy.  Shouldn’t have to worry about secondary drowning but you know the signs.”  

Alan nodded, more than happy to comply with Virgil’s instruction.  The calm tenderness with which it was delivered gave implicit permission to leave the maintenance tasks that were due his attention.  His original plan had been to take Brandon up with him to Three’s cockpit while he replaced the air filters.  Okay, his real original plan had been to hook Brandon up to a computer somewhere while he worked through his jobs list but that was before yesterday happened.  Brandon, still dazed, was in no fit state to be in his rocket and Alan was grateful to Virgil for picking up on his need to stay close to the redhead who was shivering on the flagstones.

Alan led Brandon towards the villa, one arm protectively around the back of his waist.  Virgil watched them go, lips quirking slightly at the closeness of the pair as they padded back inside.  He knew he would need to square it with Scott about why Alan wasn’t doing his chores but he’d rather do that than try and separate the couple right now.  

Once Alan and Brandon reached the kitchen and disappeared out of sight he turned to Gordon.  The softness had gone to be replaced by the operative who demanded answers over the unexpected situation he had been called to, summoned with the demand for a med-scan.

“So, are you going to tell me what the hell just happened there?”

Xoxoxox

Scott eventually tracked the pair down in the den.  Alan and Brandon were sharing a couch, Brandon’s head nestled on his brother’s chest, his feet up to the side on the seat.  As he entered Scott felt twin sets of eyes turn towards him, the murmuring voices falling silent and he got the distinct feeling he had intruded on a private moment.  Apprehension graced Brandon’s features but Alan’s face hardened in defiance and Scott didn’t miss how the arm around Brandon tensed, holding him firmly and protectively in place.  A declaration.

It pained Scott to see their reactions, Alan was clearly preparing for battle, but he probably deserved it; he certainly hadn’t shown much enthusiasm for his brother’s change in relationship status.  He didn’t want a battle. 

 He crossed the room and perched on the low table in front of the couch, hitting the controls on the projector and pausing the movie that the pair were no longer paying attention to.

 “Brandon, Virgil and Gordon filled me in.  Are you okay?"  The concern in his voice was real and he felt the tension in the room drop a little in response.

A nod.

"Good, you gave Gordon a bit of a scare back there."

Alan snorted.  "He's not the one who nearly drowned."  The scared one had been Brandon and it was only his desire to stay close to his boyfriend that was stopping him from going and tearing a strip off Gordon.  It had taken a lot of coaxing to tease out a hesitant confession from Brandon that he'd never learned to swim.  The downcast eyes and mutterings about never having the opportunity left Alan with the distinct impression that there was a lot about his past that Brandon was leaving out.

Seeing the pair nestled so close, Scott wasn't too proud to admit that he owed them an apology.  His attitude towards them had been frosty to say the least and he needed his brother to know he was fine with everything.

"Look, I'm sorry about last night, meeting with the Board always puts me in a bad mood.  Then you guys, well, it caught me off guard.  I took my frustrations out on the pair of you and I shouldn't have."

Whatever Alan had been expecting it wasn't this.

"You're not mad at me?"

"No, I'm not mad at you.  If you and Brandon are happy together then I'm happy."

"Really?" There was still worry in Alan's voice and Scott realised just how much his earlier reaction had had an impact. 

"Really.  I honestly have no problem with it,  you two are both adults and can make your own choices.  I'm not going to get in your way if you have feelings for each other."

"Thanks."  The arm around Brandon loosened slightly, the embrace becoming softer and more tender as the fear of a dressing down drifted away.

"I do have another rule though." Two sets of eyes widened with apprehension.  "I'm guessing we are going to be seeing you here  more often, Brandon, it's only natural that you two are going to want to spend time together.  But we live on an island and we have a pool right outside the door, I'd feel a lot happier if I knew you were a confident swimmer.  Gordon's agreed to teach you."

The fear radiating off Brandon was palpable and Scott couldn't really blame him, just a few hours ago that same aquanaut had thrown him into the pool and left him fearing for his life.

"Do I have to?"

Expecting resistance from Alan, Scott was surprised when his youngest brother piped up in support of the idea.

"S'okay, I'll be there too."  He turned his head and placed a gentle kiss on the top of Brandon's head.  "Scott's right though, it's an important skill.  Gordon won't throw you in again, I promise.  He's actually a really good teacher."

Brandon sat up, looking first at Scott who was calm but clearly viewed this as non-negotiable, then at Alan who gave him an encouraging smile.  He really didn't want to, he'd successfully managed to keep away from the pool so far, water just filled him with dread and today had only compounded that feeling, but he could see it made sense.  It probably helped that none of them were putting him down over his lack of swimming ability.  The Bear couldn't be seen to be taking swimming lessons but perhaps Brandon, in the privacy of a secluded island, could.  He could see it would mean a lot to Alan and even if he didn't want to do it for himself he was prepared to do it for him.

"Okay, I'll try."

"Great.  I don't think we'll do anything today, for a start Gordon's currently sorting Three's air filters," Alan realised Gordon must have already been on the receiving end of a sharp reprimand if he was currently working through his chores, "but next visit we'll make a start.  Anyway," Scott stood up, "I'll leave you to it.  Alan, make sure you keep a close eye on your patient." 

There was a definite smirk as Scott left the room but Alan didn't care, if there was teasing to come later on then he would deal with it.  For now, barring any rescues that got called in, he had permission to stay with Brandon and was intending to make the most of it.  Brandon didn't miss the hint either and by the time Scott turned to close the door the two figures on the couch were nestled back together, the movie left abandoned and ignored.

[thetriggeredhappy]

scout likes sniper but can't help but blush and go awkward when he sees it

me, who saw a very pretty girl with bitchin’ tattoos and temporarily forgot how to speak english for about five minutes today: ha check out this fuckin loser having’ crushes and stuff..... ha what a fuckin goobus

(no warnings)

-

He really did legitimately hate the fact that he always made such an idiot out of himself in front of people he liked.

Like, he had literally no problem just hooking up with people. Absolutely no shame. See someone good-looking, walk up, ask them if they wanna bang, either get slapped or get in a car. He didn’t feel even a little bit bad about it, he was just being really honest about exactly what it was he wanted. And plenty of people respected that he wasn’t one to play stupid games.

The issue was that as soon as he got like, more than moderately invested before he could cut to the chase, he was absolutely fucked.

Miss Pauling was a great example. The situation surrounding him first meeting her was such a whirlwind and so weird that he didn’t really get a chance to ask her out, and so he’d just sorta been left to stew on it, and then he got cheesy. Started thinking about all kinds of romantic shit. And that was a complete fuckin’ mess for like, literally years until he found out she was seeing some girl and promptly stepped off because he was a hopeless romantic, not an animal.

And that had like, sucked, but at least he was functional. He only saw Miss P like, on the monthly maybe, and usually just over the phone or whatever and not in person. At least he could spend the vast majority of his time being exactly as much of a doofus as he usually was and not just a hoppy sappy mess.

But then. Oh, but fucking then.

He glanced in his periphery as subtly as he could, popping his gum to try and just for a second act natural, so frustrated with himself over how warm his face had gotten all of a sudden.

It was especially frustrating because like, it had kinda snuck up on him, all the gross heart-fluttery crap that always came along for the ride whenever he got a thing for someone. And he hadn’t really pieced it together for such a long time, but then one thing happened and everything cracked wide open all at once and now he couldn’t even just sit through the team meeting without—

Sniper moved to tug on his own hat idly, nudging his shades up his nose the millimeter or two they’d slid down since he last adjusted them maybe a minute and a half previously, and Scout had to force himself to stop looking at the guy for like ten seconds. And ten seconds was exactly how long he lasted before he was looking over again.

It sucked. Like, he’d gone years and years just kinda letting Sniper do his thing—the guy clearly just wanted to be left alone, didn’t want to be bothered with their shenanigans, so he really didn’t ever see Sniper around much. Barely knew the guy beyond like, some very basic stuff. And he kinda got the impression at first that Sniper was actually just way too cool for him to talk to, a hired assassin from fuckin’ Australia of all places, beyond skilled and into intimidating in his particular practice, maybe a little scary in the few interactions Scout caught him in during battle.

And he was like, more an idea of a person than an actual person, for those reasons. Scout didn’t really think much about what he had to actually be like.

Then one night Scout woke up around 3 AM and couldn’t get back to sleep and he decided to just go grab a snack from the kitchen to try and maybe squeeze a nap in before he was meant to be awake at 6:30, and he’d walked in and seen Sniper standing there.

Sniper was pretty professional in all interactions Scout ever had with him. Only ever showed up in the base proper in full uniform, and while he wasn’t like, Medic or Spy levels of crisp clean-cut, he still always at least looked put-together. But now Scout was confronted with the concept of what Sniper wore for pajamas, something he’d only ever thought about once or twice before, and was now suddenly witnessing.

Sweatpants, apparently, and a sweater. Green and grey, knitted. Socks. No hat or sunglasses, which was weird enough that it actually kind of took Scout a second to understand who he was looking at.

Sniper looked up at him when he walked in, and Scout knew he probably looked like hell, but Sniper didn’t look all that much better. He seemed pretty tired, and Scout watched as he visibly tried to sort himself out, standing up straight and squaring his shoulders a little, leaning less heavily on the counter.

“Uh, sup,” Scout said, and walked over to the fridge, deciding to just kinda play it cool and like he was totally anticipating that someone might be in the kitchen at 3 AM, and also that it wasn’t weird that he was in the kitchen at 3 AM.

“...‘llo,” Sniper mumbled, and glanced back down at what he’d been doing before Scout showed up.

Eating cereal, apparently, the bland wheat garbage that about half the team usually put up with, he and Pyro being the ones who tended to go for the more sugary brands. Scout occupied himself with trying to sift through the over-stuffed fridge for something he could feasibly eat, deciding not to stare.

But the silence was pretty painful. He didn’t like silence, it always felt almost itchy to stand there and not say anything when there was someone like five feet away, so he broke it after a few seconds. “Doesn’t it get hot in that?” he asked, not looking over at Sniper.

A pause long enough that Scout was half convinced Sniper was just going to ignore him, but he did end up speaking. “Gets cold at night. ‘Specially out there, it’s... warmer in the base,” Sniper murmured. “Used to it being warm, besides.”

“Fair,” Scout shrugged, pulled out a container, glanced at it, put it back. “Probably hotter in—“

“Australia, yeah,” Sniper agreed, in a tone that implied he’d heard that a hundred times before.

“It’s summer there right now, right?” Scout asked, pulling out a different container and scowling when he saw Engie’s name on it, begrudgingly putting it back.

“...Yeah.”

Scout finally found a leftover Chinese takeout box that he was at least reasonably sure was his own, and moved over to the microwave, dropping the leftovers on a plate and putting in some random amount of time, aware he’d just be stopping the microwave when noises started happening anyways. He glanced back over at Sniper. Sniper wasn’t looking at him. “That’s a cool sweater, though,” Scout finally said.

“Thanks,” Sniper said into his bowl. “It’s, er...”

There was a very long silence as Scout waited for Sniper to finish his sentence and he didn’t. He popped the microwave open to check on his leftovers. Not warm enough. He closed it again, turned back around. Kept waiting.

Apparently Sniper did decide to finish his sentence eventually. “It’s wool. From... back home,” he said, voice still quiet.

“Huh?” Scout asked, a little confused.

Sniper finished his bowl, put it on the counter next to him. Scratched at the back of his neck. Without the hat it was much more obvious how Sniper’s hair just kinda flipped up in the back, and how unruly the rest of his hair was as well, even deliberately brushed back out of the way. “Family’s sheep farmers,” he finally said.

Scout’s eyebrows rose. “Yeah?”

Sniper nodded. “We don’t... spin the wool, some other bloke does that, but we get to sell the yarn at least. Usually m’parents keep at least a little bit. Mum knits. Gives... gloves and the like to any kids in town.”

“She made that too?” Scout asked, glancing the sweater up and down again. “Jesus, how long did that take?”

Sniper shrugged. “Week, maybe two.”

“That’s pretty cool.” Scout scratched at his arm as a memory occurred to him. “Only sweaters I ever had were hand-me-downs from my brothers, itchy as all fuck. They never wanted to pass down the softer ones.”

Sniper nodded at that. “Makes sense.”

There was a long silence then, in which Scout finally noticed his food was starting to make popping noises and he pulled it out. Mostly hot, some cold bits in the middle, but he grabbed a pair of chopsticks from the drawer of assorted utensils and stirred it around so it was more even. It was just noodles, so it didn’t matter much.

“Late dinner,” Sniper said, almost managing to make it sound like a joke.

“Early breakfast,” Scout shot back, nodding at the cereal bowl and stirring his food around a bit more.

Sniper tilted his head in a vague sort of agreement, going quiet again. Scout started eating, and winced a little at how some noodles were weirdly dry and others were goopy, but hey, beggars couldn’t be choosers.

Silence again, but at least Scout could keep himself occupied with eating instead of thinking about it.

“You know how to use chopsticks?” Sniper finally asked, surprising Scout a little bit. He glanced up.

“Yeah, duh, who doesn’t?” Scout scoffed.

Silence for a second. “I don’t,” Sniper said.

Scout looked up again, befuddled. “Man, are you serious? I learned that when I was like, five,” he prodded.

Sniper shrugged, looking away again. “Just never learnt. Never really had to, didn’t come up.”

“Fuckin’, learn how to use chopsticks, man. What’re you waiting for, a written invitation?” Scout joked.

“Eh. I’ll get to it,” Sniper shrugged again, and rubbed at his eye, and suddenly it hit Scout how much of a human being Sniper was. Standing there in a sweater his mom knit for him, eating cereal at three in the morning, admitting that he just never learned how to use chopsticks.

What the fuck, Sniper was just a regular dude who happened to be in their line of work.

What the fuck.

(He did look pretty good out of uniform, huh—?)

And that was it for him, a series of back-to-back realizations compounding until he realized how good-looking Sniper was, even rumbled at three in the morning under the shitty fluorescents of the kitchen—especially like that. And he felt his face go burning hot, and he dug into his noodles to try and cover it, and he almost choked on his food.

Absolute fucking mess.

And like—now Scout was noticing all kinds of tiny little things. Sniper always crossed his legs at the ankle, left-over right, and his arms right-over-left. He had a bruise on his thumb from jamming it on his rifle, and his shades were crooked a little tiny bit to the left, and his hair was all flippy-uppy in the back but there was this one lock of hair that was especially flippy-uppy. He didn’t put anything in his coffee like an absolute monster but did put just a little bit of sugar on his cereal, apparently. He kept nodding off during meetings but nobody else seemed to notice since he had the shades on and you had to be looking pretty closely and from roughly Scout’s angle at the table to see his eyes were closed, and he didn’t have any other tells besides his jaw being a little tight.

Twice so far he’d been asked by Medic if he had a fever, he was blushing so hard. At once point Demo had dunked on him a little bit about “zoning out” and “thinkin’ about someone special, probably”, and he’d only barely escaped by rolling his eyes and rolling with the joke instead of getting defensive. He’d gotten mysteriously more clumsy in front of the team at large, fumbling and tripping over his words and even stammering sometimes. He was such a goddamn sappy mess.

God. He was so fucked.