#all the doors are locked and i closed the blinds and the dogs stopped relatively quick but idk i'm fucking STRESSED.

[theoddcatlady]

There's a girl who lives alone in the woods

Down a long dirt road, past a mile or so of forest, there’s a girl that lives all by herself in a big house. All of her relatives have passed, leaving her a treasure trove of valuables and money that she keeps on the property. There’s not even a dog to keep her safe from people who would take those things away.

And when the wrong ears hear all those things, their eyes fill with dollar signs and they decide to make the trek.

They always make the same wrong assumption though-

That I’m really alone.

Four men came to my house last night. I saw one of them carrying a crowbar and another had a gun tucked into his pants. I only closed my curtains and locked my bedroom door. I’ve seen this happen many times and I can tell you exactly what came to pass, even if I wasn’t a witness to all of it.

They enter through the front door. They’re always surprised to see it’s unlocked, but they likely assume it’s because I live so far out and am comfortable in the safety of seclusion. They split up in pairs, not worried about what they’ll do if they find the owner of the house. She’s just a girl, one who stares at the ground when she talks and who trips over her words in a rush to get them out. She’s clearly not very bright and she’s clearly not very strong.

One of my monsters is hiding under the couch tonight. When he saw they were coming he slipped under there. One of their ankles stray too close and he’s pulled under with not even a scream. In the morning the man will wake up in a country where he doesn’t speak the language and with no memory of how he got there, only that there’s a bite mark on his leg and that he’ll never feel safe in the dark again.

He is the lucky one. The monster under the bed is merciful.

The monster in the closet is not.

The one with him assumes that the missing man is pulling a prank, he calls his name and starts poking around for him. He asks the other two (who are going through my grandmother’s music boxes) where their friend went. They have no clue. They didn’t see it happen.

The searcher opens a pantry and out a clawed hand flies, wrapping around his throat and dragging him with. He screams, and screams, and screams until his throat is cut. In seconds all the skin is flayed from his body, landing next to his body in a pile of fleshy ribbons. Eyeballs are squished like grapes. Teeth fall from his jaws and to the ground with a sound not unlike dropping a handful of marbles. He isn’t long in the world, but those remaining seconds are filled with some of the most excruciating pain a person could remotely comprehend.

When the other two throw open the door, they find the whole pantry is soaked top to bottom with blood. The remains of their friend are unrecognizable as such, other than the scraps of his clothing and his crowbar.

The two panic. They split up in their haste to escape.

One runs into the backyard. His mistake.

The monster outside the window lives out there, and he doesn’t really interfere with trespassers unless someone bothers him. And when someone slams the back door open while screaming at the top of their lungs, well… that bothers him, as it would most people I think.

I don’t talk about the monster out there, only that once his target was in sight, the unlucky soul didn’t have the benefit of a quick death. He was dragged into the shed and what happens in there I can’t tell you. I just know that the man won’t expire until at least three nights later and by then he will be begging for death.

The last one, in a blind panic, ran up the stairs to my room. He threw himself against the door once, twice, three times before it gave. I screamed and ran to my corner, my heart thumping in my ears.

The man got up and stared at me. Fear turned to realization that I was the girl in the house, and not only that, I was somehow responsible for the mutilation of his friend. He took out his gun and pointed it at my face, calling me a slew of horrible names.

He stops when he looks at my eyes.

Once blue, now one’s turned green. The pupil is constricted to a pinpoint, the other one looks washed out compared to how bright the other is. He can’t stop staring at my eye.

The gun nearly slips from his hand until I catch it, firmly pressing his hand to the grip. He’s starting to shake, sweat dripping down the side of his face.

I stare at him until he turns that gun on himself, putting it in his mouth before pulling the trigger. Blood paints the ceiling as the body thuds to the ground.

I don’t know what things people see when they look into my green eye, but I doubt it’s anything good.

I go to bed after this, knowing the monster under the bed will clean up after tonight’s debacle. Not the closet monster, he’s always been a real dick about that. The monster outside the window isn’t allowed in the house. He tracks mud everywhere and no one really likes his staring.

It’s good that he cleans though. Because I have to get back to work. I’m working on a book about thieves who think they can rob a girl who lives all alone, only to find out that she’s not alone. And not only that, but that girl is the worst monster of them all.

Because she created the three monsters that live in under the bed, in the closet, and outside the bedroom window.

#my stories

[jefferoni-quotes]

hotter than this heatwave

Jamilton, 13,045 words

I am begging y'all, don't let this flop it took an ungodly amount of time and I am so proud of it. Full fic under the cut.

Also, leave feedback! I love reading what you guys thought of my writing!

Hamilton is hot.

There’s no other way to say it. He’s hot, miserably so. Even with the air conditioner full blast, and a fan directed straight into his face, he’s simply sweltering in the heat. His childish refusal to remove his shirt (even in the privacy of his own home) isn’t helping the sweat cease in their races down his back, and the base of his ponytail sticks to his neck. He grimaces every time he even tries to move, and thus he’s resided himself to the expanse of couch, positioned himself under an open window. But there’s no breeze, none reaching him anyway. If he lifts himself on his shaking arms, and peers out the window, he can see the trees aren’t swaying. The leaves bustle occasionally, but it’s far from the usual dance they perform. He can hear all too clearly conversations, chatter from those subjecting themselves to the summer heat. Perhaps Alexander is more a winter person, ever since he had moved to America he had been, after all, he saw snow, something he thought only existed in movies, and immediately fell in love with the season. Being able to choose if he was to be pleasantly warm, or surprisingly cold during winter was an experience. To have the option of curling up like a cat by the fire, or lying in snow, making snowmen and such. And Christmas dinners- Alexander could go on and on for hours about the wonders of the coldest time of year, alas Hercules would disagree, argue Summer was so much better. But Hercules is Irish, he has enough of the cold to last him a lifetime. Now Hamilton would bet the man wishes he had just held his tongue, because he must be suffering in the heat too. 

Fuck heatwaves, and fuck New York.

He thinks to himself as he throws a cushion across the room in frustration. It hits his air conditioning unit, and before he knows it the apartment is plunged into a volcano. The unit malfunctions, turns off and doesn’t turn back on, even when Alexander shoots up from his languid position and desperately tries to fix it. He beats his fist off the top with pent up frustration, sincerely hoping that magically it would be fixed. Alas, it was not, it gave one last spluttering attempt to turn on before dying with a not so graceful clank. What sin has he committed to be tortured in such a way? It feels as though Satan himself is clawing his way up from the circles of Hell, and has declared Alexander’s apartment his spawn point, where the Heaven vs Hell war will begin. Whatever war is about to commence, Alex is on Satan’s team, as God must have something against him to send this wave of heat his way.

“Fuck!” He yelled, kicking the machine and cursing even louder at the shock of pain coursing through his toes. He clutches his foot, hopping around his apartment like some hurt rabbit and hisses through clenched teeth. He finally jumps his way ungracefully back to his couch, collapsing onto it in one foul swoop. His legs involuntarily give out under him, and he’s almost thankful for it as he half considers stripping out of his shirt, aching for some kind of relief. He starts tugging on the hem of his shirt, mulling over the idea before pushing his own hands away in disgust. A respectable man always remains fully dressed for any occasion. What if a visitor were to come by? He would likely demand their exit from his home, but he would at least like to do so in style.

The rooms are quick to grow stuffy, uncomfortable and as though the walls are too close and getting closer. Suddenly removing any clothing is a thought long forgotten, quickly replaced by the innate desperation to escape the closed doors of his apartment. He scrambles for purchase on the arm of his couch before forcing his muscles to revive and motor him towards the exit. He passes by his kitchen, opens the fridge for a moment just to feel the coolness on his body. He closes the door before all his food defrosts, albeit reluctantly. He would stand there all day if he could. Leaving the kitchen, he examines how his kettle has evaporated of all remaining water inside. There goes Plan B of making iced coffee, or worse, iced tea. Who could subject themselves to the bath water like clutches of cold tea? Disgusting.

He doesn’t stop to grab sunscreen, doesn’t consider sunburn a thing as he grabs his keys and shoves them in the pocket of his ratty cargo shorts. He pushes his feet into sandals, Birkenstocks, brown ones. He half contemplated putting socks on with his sandals, and automatically laughs at how much that would irritate Jefferson if he just so happened to run into him. The man is obsessed with his looks, conceited and vain in every way. Alexander wouldn’t be surprised if the man carries a pocket mirror on him, just to examine his appearance and remind himself of how goddamn gorgeous he is. Because he is gorgeous. Alexander is stubborn, not blind, and even he can admit the things he would give up for a fling with the man. His pride would never allow him to plead Jefferson for a one night stand however, and he knew Jefferson would never come to him, so that fantasy may as well remain just that. A fantasy. 

So he leaves the socks behind, but not because he cares what others think. Of course he doesn’t… simply because socks would just be extra layers. He doesn’t care if people think his hair is a mess, which it is, so he drags his hand through it. The hand comes back damp, and he grimaces, wiping it on the tan material of his shorts. And he certainly doesn’t care that one of the buckles on his sandals is about to break. He glares at it, willing it to sew itself back together. It does not. Hamilton sighs and folds, giving up on attempting to appear presentable. It’s not like anyone else outside looks much better, save for the few teenagers posing on the streets in incredibly short shorts with a Starbucks they probably waited an hour for. 

Alexander practically throws his door open and is met with a pleasurable breeze as it swings, which quickly dissipates into a blast of scorching air, as though opening an oven too quickly. You would think after being born in such a humid climate he would’ve grown used to the hot weather. Apparently, this was a false assumption. He fishes his keys back out of his shorts and locks the door, standing out in the lobby of his apartment complex. 

Now that he’s escaped the confinement of his home, Hamilton doesn’t know what to do. He could run down to Starbucks, take his mind off the heat with an ice cold Frappuccino. However, that would only distract him for a moment, perhaps an hour, until every drop of coffee has been drunk, and he’s left with an empty cup and a smoldering heat once more. And besides, if he's so desperate for an iced coffee then he could just make his own. That idea drains down the gutter, because he doesn't have any ice and there's no way water would freeze very fast in this temperament. He can briskly walk to work if he so pleases, despite being ordered to stay off, but that would require changing into a suit and now that he thinks about it… does his office even have air conditioning? 

A long, broken sigh escapes his lips and he drags a hand through his hair, which has grown ever so slightly damp with sweat. Maybe a walk to clear his head, and if he strolls in the right direction, the wind will hit him perfectly and he should cool down. 

He accepts this as the perfect idea and walks his way out onto the street, practically able to feel the burning tarmac through the soles of his sandals. He hopes there are no poor dogs or felines roaming the streets, or on daily walks on this day. The pavement would be far too much for their paws. Alexander feels which way the warm breeze is flowing and begins to trek directly into it, finding a sense of overwhelming relief at the sensation. (Even if it is relatively brief.)

Alexander’s feet carry him wherever they please, walking him down long streets, past empty stores. He stops to glance into a bustling Starbucks, hears through the glass a man screeching at a barista who is refusing to take his order because, “no shirt, no service.” He continues past, rather glad he had decided not to go inside, as it looks far too crowded, even for a small man such as himself.

His strides are short but swift, floating him along the streets with an air of confidence that he is known to possess. It is undeniably cooler outside, a welcome surprise as a gust of wind blows his hair from his face. He hears the simultaneous sighs of alleviation from the few on the streets, clearly walking around for the same reason as Hamilton. 

Time ticks by and Alexander allows his mind to wander, as it all too often does when he gives it the chance. His thoughts speed past a mile a minute, tempting his brain to consider them longer, grabbing them like falling petals before letting them drift to the ground and blow away once more. 

He passes through Time Square, finding it bustling, more so than he had imagined. However, it’s not ‘Christmas Crowded’, the eloquent name given to Time Square by Lafayette for when the area becomes full at the most amazing time of year. He makes his way past people, brushing shoulders and probably contracting some undiscovered disease off of some of them. It’s New York, he wouldn’t be surprised. He jumps out of his skin when some man behind him traces their fingers up his spine, but when he turns around the person is gone, laughing to their friends. He scowls, half considers shaking his fist and exclaiming about “kids these days!” But he doesn’t, he just shivers despite being roasted alive and continues on his way. 

He spaces out again, wondering about work and then he doesn't know what he starts thinking about. But in his head he can picture a man. A man with a jawline that could cut glass, eyes blacker than the depths of the sea, yet shining as though filled with fire. He can see springy curls, imagines himself running his fingers through the mystery man's hair and cooing as he mumbles his disagreements. He sees a dark complexion, sharp cheekbones, with soft edges. The colour purple is prominent in his clothing, and it takes a moment further for Alexander to identify the male in his mind.

He zones back in as soon as he realises he's thinking about Jefferson. Again. He's thinking about Jefferson in a good way, thinking about doing couple things, about dates. And he grimaces. He convinces himself it's just a fluke, only because he sees Jefferson every day at work. 

He starts checking the watch on his wrist, which is starting to heat up in the sunlight. It’s been almost an hour and forty five minutes since he began walking, and he checks the number on the street. It’s all okay. He can always catch a cab. He looks around and finds himself no longer in the bustling parts of New York, but instead part of a classy suburban area. Rows of white picket fencing and neat little gardens, full of wilting flowers meet his eyes. In the lawns of a few are men and women of all ages tending to the plants, feeding them with water to try and keep them going through the unbearable summer heat. 

All the homes are different colours, some a perfectly average, cream white, others slightly more lavish baby blues. There’s one where the exterior walls are a glowing lemon colour, and it fills Alexander with an unexplained wave of joy. Then again, the colour yellow always has. It feels warm, welcoming, like a friendship long awaited. Something that has awakened the craving in him that demands the enveloping arms of a smothering hug.

A child - probably around eight - runs down the street, being chased by who looks like his friend. The girl racing after him knocks him to the side and he goes down on a patch of grass, flat on his back while his friend stands over him with a look of pure pride. Her curls bob as she jumps up and down beside him with glee, and Alexander observes as the boy stands. They lean against the tree beside them for a moment, before he mutters something and this time the girl takes off sprinting, the boy following five seconds later. He chuckles at the purity of the situation and takes it upon himself to continue his walk. It’s warmer than ever, but he doesn’t care as much anymore. 

The kids race ahead, the girl much further ahead until she stops. Alexander observes from the sidelines as he walks, and the boy taps her on the shoulder. They stand there, childlike joy radiating from their area. 

Alexander breezes past them, halfway down the stretch of street. The houses grow larger than the previous as he continues to walk, yet still feel as homely. An amazing feat really. He can hear the soft patting of his Birkenstocks as they tap off the pavement each time his feet hit the floor. A car trundles past, down the street, at what must be 10 miles an hour, giving kids on the road time to move out the way. He doesn't catch a glimpse of the driver, but he has respect for them nonetheless. 

As he passes a large, pastel green house, a tall woman exits her garden. She’s old, that much is obvious, but she doesn’t live up to the ‘little old lady’ aesthetic. She’s tall, she’s not hunched and the only part that gives away her age is the wrinkles lining her face. She brushes a grey curl from her face, tying back her hair afterwards. She’s mumbling under her breath, something that sounds like, “it starts soon! The concert!” And for a moment he feels awfully bad for her, thinking she has Alzheimer’s or something similar.

She has a thick Southern accent, and reminds him of Jefferson in a way. Her curls are similar, perhaps not as bouncy or as soft looking (in fact the only similar thing is that they’re curls,) but it has the same obvious care put into maintaining their pristine appearance. Her skin tone isn’t at all similar to his however, she’s pale while Jefferson’s complexion is almost tawny in a way. He can’t see her eyes from where he stands, but if they’re anything like Jefferson’s, then they must be dark, and perhaps they sparkle like his does when he gets passionate about what he’s speaking of… And when did he start thinking about Jefferson so much? Why does he know Jefferson’s eyes glimmer in certain lighting, or burn with a fire when they argue? Why is he paying so much attention to the man's pupils, and how they fail to hide the emotions his stone-cold face manages to maintain? When did he begin to study his rival so closely that he noticed all these oddities? Little details; like the way his lips twitch into a soft smile when talking to Madison, or recalling fondly his time in Monticello. Or now his eyebrows quirk upwards whenever Alexander opens his mouth to speak during meetings, conveying his irritation, yet innate fascination with the words flooding the room. How does he know that Jefferson’s curls would be soft to touch, without ever being close enough to feel them between his fingertips. Why does he feel that the man could go pliant with a scratch to the right place of his scalp? Where did all this knowledge come from? The depths of his bustling mind-palace? Or is it some fountain of information that Alexander and few others have access to? Is there some key to access the quirks about Jefferson, a key that he has? Or does he simply have the mould, a fragmented ideology of a key? Has Jefferson personally handed him this key, trusted him with it? Or has Hamilton snatched it from his clutches like a criminal from an off-guard prison warden? To think of it, why does Jefferson - the ever flowing river of confidence - stash his emotions away, hiding them like a gold hoarding dragon in a cave. He sits on them as though a mother bird would protect her eggs. He keeps them unseen to the passing onlooker. Is he scared? The idea is ridiculous. Thomas Jefferson? Scared? Hell would freeze over before the moment Jefferson is frightened. Or is anxious a better word? Why does he covet to know what it’s like to wake up secured in those arms? (God those arms.) Why does his head claw for the intelligence to feel Jefferson? (Whether that be a warm hug or a simple swing of their hands, linked together?) Why is Alexander asking himself all these questions? Why is his brain grasping and reaching for the answers, as though the forbidden apple that he craves a bite of.

Why does he care?

It’s a recurring thought, one that his mind cannot seem to formulate a complete answer to. Perhaps because it’s the nice thing to do? But no, fantasizing about someone’s eyes like some schoolgirl is not a “nice thing to do.” It’s a crush, is what it is. Wanting to know more about Jefferson, seeking the answers to his many personal questions is not simply because it’s a nice thing to do. It’s because he needs the answers. His mind demands he become closer with the man, the vain, uncaring man. He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. Out of all the people his heart could sing a yearning song for, it chose Thomas fucking Jefferson.

Why has his attention been undeniably captured, held hostage, by the Southern fuck?

This one, he can justify. It’s a simple answer really, one that is half the solution to his hundreds of other questions, the ones that buzz in his ears like insistent flies. And it’s two words, one word if you so wish to keep it incredibly succinct. 

His wit.

His brain, his intelligence only matched and rivalled by Hamilton’s own. The way his fingers tap out word after word on keyboards, or scratch out essays upon essays onto paper with pens, pencils, whatever he can get his hands on. His intense expanse of knowledge that spans from American finance, to Shakespearean literature. His ability to argue and debate and speak for hours and hours with Alexander without losing his pace. The way his mind formulates sentence after sentence where he debates and there’s a fiery, yet somehow icy cold, passion in his tone. The fact that Hamilton finally has an equal. Where it’s unlike arguing against Burr, a stone wall of indifference. Jefferson is a stone wall that Alexander knows exactly how to make crumble. And he does. Over and over, yet Jefferson keeps rebuilding, stronger than before. He makes Alexander fight for his right to get his ideas across and as much as if pisses him off… he can’t deny that he loves it. He adores having to work his way up, enjoys knocking away obstacles that continue to respawn. What’s life without a little competition after all? Alexander enjoys hiking, and Jefferson is the ultimate mountain to climb. 

But he wants more. He needs to know more about this mysterious man. He wants to know what it’s like to share sweet moments with him, wishes to be granted passage to his heart. He wants the key to be given to him, not stolen away. He wants Jefferson to trust him. He wants to know his talents, his skills, his hopes, his dreams. He wants to know about his past, his present and his future. Wants to know his real personality, the one he has secured in a vault. Because Alexander is stubborn, this much as already been said, but he’s not stupid. He can see the twitch in his fingers, the brief panic that flashes through the man's dark eyes whenever he has to present in Congress. He can hear the way he stumbles and stammers his way through speeches, as though he’s ready off a particularly shitty script. It’s only when they debate, when they argue with that familiar intensity, that the inferno is let loose.  And Alexander is happy to be consumed in its flames. 

The thoughts are almost enough to frighten him. The way they consume his constantly changing mind until he can think of nothing else. The burning heat in the air has been forgotten, replaced with a searing, white-hot pain through his chest. A heart attack maybe? More likely a soul attack. Hamilton uses his clairvoyance, he isn’t stupid. He knows this crush has been around since the day they had met. Since the first inklings of their argumentative ways. The kindling that sparked a fiery rivalry. One sure to last a lifetime. Well, maybe on Jefferson’s end. Alexander has felt this way, this white hot pain for a while, but now his body registers it and it hits all at once. Like a slap to the face, a punch to the stomach and a kick in the balls. It’s never hurt this much. Not with Aaron, not with John, not even with Eliza. The three most important relationships of his life had never been this intense, and he and Jefferson aren’t even together. Perhaps that’s what caused the pain to harm him so much. The craving of a thing he can’t have.

He gets the same feeling, the same way he felt around his other relationships. With Aaron, it was calm, predictable. It was boring. He needed more, he needed a spark, something he could bounce off of and then melt together. Aaron was grey. Monotone, and straight lined. He was a man who needed something still. He required security and promises to stay the way they were. But Alexander was a storm, unpredictable and wild and fully intent on ravaging the waters, while what Burr really needed was a lighthouse. Someone who was a beacon of light to shine him to the right place. Hamilton could never provide that.

John had been close. He had been orange. Intense, swirling like a fire, like a burning heat. But not enough. He was too quick to back down, to agree and leave arguments unsettled. He didn’t put up enough of a fight, backed down from debates and left Alexander with many more points to push across. They had the same opinions, there was no need for a friendly debate. It just wasn’t enough for him. There was passion, but not in the way Alexander’s heart craved. John needed something grounding, someone to match his intensity with a cute yellow or a fellow orange. And he found that, he found that in Peggy and Alexander was happy to watch him go. He wanted his orange to be happy.

The third person had been blue. Eliza was the sea and the sky. She was beautiful and calm and swaying. She was helpful and loving, quick to input her opinion only to retract it later on. Alexander had thought she was perfect. She was, Eliza was perfect. But Alexander was not. Blue didn’t mix right with whatever colour Alexander was. Blue turned dark and foreboding, into something he didn’t want to experience. Their fire had been wrong, and if Eliza was the ocean, then Hamilton was the smoke on the water clouding her. She needed a similar colour, a green like the Earth whom she could surround and heal. Or another blue to swim with. It appeared Alexander was neither of those.

But Jefferson. Jefferson was different. He was intense and angry and punched out. He was red. A dark crimson that demanded attention at all times. A matching light to Alex’s own. They bounced off each other, before they crashed together in a mess of colours, an abstract painting of similarities. Jefferson was passionate, he had an intensity that matched Alexander’s previously unrivalled one, and he loved it. He loved red. Red was the colour he needed, the colour that felt best in his heart of hearts. And that’s when he knew that he was red too, that he was a candy red. He was bright and flashing and Jefferson was dark and mysterious and together they were perfect. Together they formed a shade of undiscovered colour. 

That’s what Alexander needed. He needed his red. Everyone else had theirs! It was his turn! It was finally his shot to find love, and he had no intentions of throwing it away.

In his time thinking, he’s almost completely forgotten the putrid heat, and the fact that the woman from before is walking down the street just a foot or two away from him. She’s brisk, in a hurry clearly, occasionally checking the time on her surprisingly high class smart-phone. In fact, another person joins him on his venture down the street, the little girl from before, but without her friend. And if he thought the woman reminded him of Jefferson, then this girl is the spitting image of him. Same hair, but longer and tied into puffy pigtails, the same wide and toothy smile as she taps Alexander on the side.

“Hey there, Mr!” She waves, and the first thing he can think is Stranger Danger. Did this girl's parents never teach her the importance of not talking to random people on the streets? “I’ve never seen you round here before, are you lost?” He supposes that he sort of is. He doesn’t know his way home, but somehow he’s not concerned. He can call a cab, or an Uber or Lyft. There are plenty of ways for him to arrive back home. But the fact that she asks him this is evident that this is one of those neighbourhoods. One where “everyone knows everyone.” Which is sweet, but annoying, because now he stands out. He wants to blend in with the crowd for once, but as he looks around, that’s been impossible for a while. He notices everyone out in their gardens or on the streets are white, which is expected at this point. It’s a flaw in the American housing system, one that he should bring up in Congress. Perhaps he could get Jefferson to support him for once, team up even. That’s the dream. 

He hasn’t said much for a few seconds, and the kid looks up at him with large, expectant eyes. “Oh, I’m not lost, no. Just going for a walk,” he nods gently and she seems to understand. He thinks she’s just going to run off after receiving an answer, but she seems insistent to interrogate Alexander a little more. 

She hums to herself, “what’s your name?” She asks ever so superficially, like an employer ready to write someone up for bad behaviour or poor customer service. Alexander knows those write ups all too well, it’s the reason he’s been forced off work today, something he was happy to let happen as soon as the heatwave hit. Work doesn’t have good air conditioning, if it has air conditioning at all. 

“Alexander,” he answers with a flick of his head, casting his glance to the sky. They’re still walking, nearing the end of the street. The old lady has stopped, and the little girl has too, which subsequently has Hamilton stopping. He looks down at her, chin tilted down as she glares up. She seems livid at his name, and he wonders what he’s done wrong until he realises she’s staring directly into the sun as she tries to suss him out. Her gaze is warm and welcoming however, childlike and pure and it’s a nice break from the cool stares he’s used to.

She nods happily, “my name's Patsy, I’m eight,” she grins and turns on her heel, casting one final look over her shoulder. “I’m going to play, if my Pops leaves the house tell him that’s what I’m doing!” She runs off, leaving Alexander wondering who her father is. The old lady is leaning on the fence of the house in front of him, glancing up to an open window. She looks like an NPC in a video game, purposefully placed in a specific spot just for unimportant exposition. Alexander is an expert in certain video games, and if her position isn’t just begging for him to go interact with her. She seems as though she may have some enchanted knowledge to pass down onto him, maybe even a cherry pie recipe if he’s lucky.

He walks over to her side, resting his forearms on the flat tops of the white fence. The house in front of him is painted a soft violet, it’s pretty. There’s neat rows of tulips and petunias in the lawn, which is freshly trimmed so it seems. There are bushes in the middle of the grass, cut into a point. Everything is seamless, blending together. It’s homely and calm, and Alexander smiles. The woman is smiling too. He glances at other things in the garden. Tucked away into the left corner by the porch is a barbecue, and not too far from that a wooden bench. There are thin cushions resting on it, but no one sits there. The lights in the house are off, the windows open along with the curtains. But when he looks in, he sees no one. Then again, he can only see directly into the window and up, so anything at the other end of the room is out of sight. Perhaps he should’ve worn his glasses today, unable to see very far in front of his face. In the driveway is a family car, a blue Chevrolet still spongy with a few soap studs. Newly washed, he notes. 

“It starts soon,” the elder comments, gesturing vaguely to the home before them. So she’s not an NPC. Alexander can’t put his finger on if that’s annoying or perfect, because he doesn’t have to start the conversation.

Yet his interest has been piqued, he was always a curious soul. It gets him into fits of trouble occasionally, but for now it seems as though the only thing he can get out of it is an intriguing talk. “What’s starting?” He asks quietly, tone low. His lips are dry, and he smacks them together to coat them with saliva to hopefully stop them cracking.

“The concert,” she answers, as though it’s the most typical thing in the world. Alexander is about to open his mouth to argue against that fact, to insinuate that a concert happening in someone’s home is ridiculous - (Even if all the Disney Channel movies taught him otherwise.) - but the woman is talking again. “Tommy always plays at three in the afternoon on a Sunday.” She seems transfixed, and every time Alexander tries to speak she hushes him. She holds up her hand to silence him, and it gives him the same feeling George Washington gives him, authority radiates from her and Alex finds himself actually shutting up. It’s two fifty-nine now, and he’s waiting for the music to start from this mysterious “Tommy.” 

He’s impatient, and authority only hushes him for so long. He fidgets, picks paint off the fence and then speaks. “When does it start?” He hisses, bored. Come on, it’s three! Almost at least. 

“I told you, he plays at three.”

“It is three!” Alexander whines pathetically, crossing his arms over. He’s stood still in wait for long enough, and if music doesn’t start in the next thirty seconds he’s going to walk away and never look back. He’s all set to move when the lady grabs him by the shoulder.

She hisses, “it’s starting!” 

And indeed it is. Through the open windows, pouring out the house are the sweet chords of an expert violinist. It’s a harmony, seems sad, longing almost. The melody starts slow, and carefully picks up pace as it goes. He can only imagine who the player is, male or female it doesn’t matter. His mind whirs with ideas, forming the musician in his mind.

Their hands would grip the bow with precision, glide across the strings with a focussed expression. He can see their- no, his, eyes turned down to the instrument, pupils darkening as they get lost in the notes. The violin is balanced on his shoulder, tucked under his chin and his hair falls into his view but he keeps playing. The straight, actually, it’s curly. The ringlets of curls are brushed away quickly, in one movement as he continues to play. 

Alexander spaces out, losing himself to the music. It appears the lady beside him does the same, but he can’t be sure. He tries to put a colour on the tone of it, tries to decipher the meaning behind the song. The violin fades into an instrumental where it’s clear the player should be singing, but they don’t. He tries to picture a face, going as far as to close his eyes and block out everything but his own imagination and the melody flowing to him. It’s like a siren call, coaxing him towards sudden death. And Alexander is all too happy to submit to the urges. 

He finds a face, dark eyes, curls, complexion. Once again he’s picturing Jefferson. Over and over the man comes to mind. He tries to push him away, attempts to imagine someone else standing in the home and playing just for him. But it’s futile. And the song does feel like it’s for him. It feels like it matches the music his heart sings, the yearning harmony that lathers his soul is rivalled by this player. By Jefferson. It’s not like he’s ever going to meet the violinist, so he’s free to picture whoever he pleases. 

He’s sweating, it’s the heat, it must be. His palms that are clenched into fists by his sides are coated in a thin sheen of sweat, his forehead growing damp again. He makes no effort to wipe it away, he lets the heat sweep over him. He allows the flames to engulf him, the chords of the song floating to him still. 

But as soon as it’s begun, it ends. The violin fades out, leaving the music buzzing pleasantly in his veins. The lady smiles, nods and starts to walk off, back to her house. The concert comes to a close, curtains shut and shun all backstage visitors away. But when has Alexander ever abided by the rules? 

His feet march him into the garden, down the lawn and up to the porch. He steps up the stairs, both of them at once. He’s having trouble summoning courage, something that’s rare for him. Typically he isn’t walking up to a strangers home just to congratulate them on their musical talent… that he probably isn’t even supposed to hear. 

It takes Alexander a long minute of just standing there before he swallows his pride and taps his knuckles off the door. There are footsteps, coming closer and as they do he rids himself of the urge to run away. 

He’s almost expecting Jefferson, he’s built him up in his mind and placed him on a pedestal. Or maybe it’s better to say that he’s trying to force the man into a treasure box, as he does with all the things he loves. His mother’s memory goes in there, his pens and his laptop and the pendant necklace from his mother. He’s trying to push Jefferson into the box too, to keep him by his side but he won’t stay. Perhaps it’s impossible to keep a person preserved in a treasure chest, or maybe it’s just Jefferson. He needs room, he needs space to evolve and change and grow and Alexander’s treasure chest can’t provide that. Alexander can though. He just has to let Jefferson stay out of the box. 

Like he said, he’s almost expecting Jefferson to be at the door. But he still gets shocked when it actually is. It actually is Thomas fucking Jefferson standing in the doorway and Jesus he’s wearing shorts and a t-shirt so tight it should be illegal. It’s difficult enough for Alexander to handle when he can practically see Jefferson’s chest through his sheen white dress shirt at work, but this is too much. This man is an Adonis. He’s the sun, Alexander is an icarus and he feels as though he simply has to fly closer. 

“Hamilton!”

Shit, has he been speaking this whole time? Alexander flicks his gaze to Jefferson’s face, and fuck him he’s wearing glasses. Chunky black hipster frames that balance on the bridge of his nose. Christ, he’s in deep isn’t he? 

Jefferson waves his hand in front of Alexander’s face, grabbing his attention. “Hu-uh?” Alexander stumbles out his words pathetically, lighting up red soon after. He goes the same crimson as Jefferson’s shirt, the colour he identifies the man with. He looks like he’s about to slap Alexander across the face if he doesn’t start properly talking soon.

“Are you even listening to me?” Jefferson hisses, venom laced in his tone. He’s like a snake, coiled up into a spring, ready to attack and bite at the next to approach. In his hands (lord, those hands!) he holds a clear water bottle, knuckles white with the ferocious way he grips it. He brings it up to his lips and takes a careful sip, eyes trained like a sniper on Alexander.

Hamilton collects himself, gathering his thoughts, which shouldn’t be as difficult to do as it is. He coughs into his fist, realising how dry his throat is. The aspect of water is welcoming, and he wants to reach out just to snatch the plastic (reusable, how environmental) bottle off of Jefferson to guzzle down the remaining liquid. Alas, he does not. Because that would be weird. 

He still hasn’t answered, thus Jefferson continues with a hiss. “What are you doing here?!” He’s not angry, Alexander knows this. He has seen the man angry. 

One time, he had seen the man in his furious element. The cabinet meeting had just ended, and Jefferson had stormed out after Washington had taken Alexander’s side once again. It wasn’t Hamilton’s fault he was better! Jefferson had stalked towards his office, and Hamilton had followed after him, the cheap fake leather of his shoes squeaking on the polished linoleum. Alexander had continued his argument, much to the dismay of the taller man. Jefferson had tried his very best to slam the door on Hamilton’s face, using all his force (which was a lot) to close it behind him, but Alex managed to stick his foot in the gap and wretch it open, still blabbering away. Jefferson had collapsed into his office chair, held his head in his hands and muttered to himself as Alexander got closer. His voice had stayed a constant, boisterous and accompanied with gesticulating gestures until he lost his cool and whipped Jefferson’s seat around himself. 

“Answer me already! You spit and stumble your way through speeches, I bring out the real you! I bring out the fires! Show me him and argue back!” The animosity had been high in Alexander’s tone, he liked the unabashed Jefferson who fought with him. The man who poured wisdom from his tongue like his mother language. Why he held it back when talking to anyone else baffled him beyond belief. But this meeting he had barely spoken, just shared his points with a quiet voice and sat back down, not bothering to debate Alexander. He was furious, made sure to target Jefferson in some of his words just to try and get a rise, a reaction, anything! But it had not worked, so he resorted to his last lifeline, and followed the man to his office. 

Jefferson snapped his gaze up, and there it was, the fire he so dearly wanted. The red-hot passion that licked at his pupils, threatened to burn Alexander. “You bring out the real me?! No, Hamilton,” he had spat his name like it was some dirt on the bottom of his polished shoes, “you bring out the worst in me! You bring out the angry, tired part of me that doesn’t want to deal with your bullshit!” 

“My bullshit?” Alexander had smirked as though he had won, and in his sense he had. For a moment at least. Because he had gotten a reaction, the thing he craved as much as air. He had gotten his red to reply and that’s all he really needed. He was happy from here on out. But, he could always push it further. So he had. “Care to explain to me what my bullshit is? Is it my financial plan? Is that what it is, Jefferson?” He had remained sickeningly-sweet, words sugary like honey, dripping in the same way. 

Jefferson had laughed, hysterical really. A break from his usual smug laughter. A break Alexander didn’t enjoy very much. He was never one to like breaks, preferred to continue in a way he always had. And he and Jefferson had a dance, a specific way they did things that they had yet to break. A routine that Jefferson was so arbitrarily destroying just with a fit of chuckles. “Your financial plan is a piece of insulting garbage, but that is not what I mean-“ he had scoffed, and rose from his seat, towering over Alexander with a menacing glint. “-You are a parasite to me, you trail around like some sad puppy, desperate for attention! But why me? I stammer through speeches, but alas it’s better than talking a million miles a minute where no one can understand you! You bring out the fire, the hellfire! You make me want to snap you into pieces and scatter you on my lawn like fertiliser. Do us all a favour and get out!”

A little shocked by the imaginative insult, Alexander resisted. “No.”

“No?”

“No.”

Jefferson had him by the collar next, shoving him up against a wall, face so close he could feel the hot breath of his rival on his face. “You talk a big game, Hamilton, yet you forget to follow through. The fire you bring out in me is the worst part about myself and I’d prefer to hide it away,” he had growled, low and rumbling in his chest, “you’re not good enough to lick the dirt off my shoes. You must think you’re so special, yet all you do is hump the President’s leg until you get what you desire. God knows why he takes your side on every political matter.” He had dropped Alexander after that, left him scrambling to his feet. “Get out of my office.”

Scared, but stubborn, Alexander had supplied a retort. “Or what, old man? Gonna make me?” 

Jefferson had grit his teeth together, grinding them so hard Hamilton was surprised they hadn’t faded away. “Or else.”

“All bark and no bite.” Alexander scoffed in return, making his way slowly to the door. He cast a look over his shoulder in time to see Jefferson physically slump back into his chair, looking tense and stressed and he couldn’t help but feel bad. He had felt Jefferson’s eyes on his back the whole time he had left, felt them searing holes through his jacket and burning into his skin. Not that he was complaining though. 

And once again, Alexander peers up at him with wide eyes. “Oh, well um-“ he directs his gaze over Jefferson’s shoulder, “it’s kind of a long story.” He’s hinting quite obviously at his pleas to come inside, and Jefferson must catch on because a hint of realisation casts over his dark eyes, the eyes Alexander spends so much of his time thinking about. 

“I have time,” came Jefferson’s grimy reply. One long finger came up to push his glasses up by the rim, unlike anyone else who would push them up by the bridge. Alexander inadvertently stashed this information away in his treasure chest. He taps his foot in a way that almost feels surreptitious. Or perhaps that’s the incorrect word. Jefferson keeps looking over Alexander’s head, then glancing behind him, eyes darting in all directions. 

Alexander has the sun beating down on his back, and he can see Jefferson squinting in the light. It’s hot again, too hot in all the wrong ways, and Alexander only feels hotter with Jefferson’s eyes on him. “Well- uh- it started because my AC unit broke and-“

“Hamilton, I didn’t ask for a life story,” Jefferson fiddles with the hem of his t-shirt, looking almost nervous. Which was ludicrous! Jefferson? Nervous? That… made a lot of sense actually. His stammering through meetings, his constantly tensed shoulders, the time he had overheard Madison and Adams talking about him a few years back, saying “He was born stressed out about something.” It makes the shuffling around start to add up, how he loses his cool around Alexander and loosens up because he stops thinking. He stops worrying and starts concentrating solely on deconstructing Hamilton’s argument. He feels a little rush of pride at that, that he can get Jefferson to let go. Yet at the same time, it feels like it’s perverse knowledge he isn’t supposed to have access too, which brings him right back around to the key metaphor. A metaphor he’s using so often it’s beginning to lose meaning, and he’s beginning to imagine an actual key, which confuses his head even more than it already is. 

He’s broken from his thoughts by Jefferson speaking once more, “would you like to come inside?” He asks quietly, shifting foot to foot. Alexander steals his gaze downwards, unable to look Jefferson in the face as he processes that question. His rival (whom he’s established as the man he wants to date, and god it feels so much more real when he thinks of it like that), has just invited him into his home. His home that Alexander always imagined to be bigger, more spectacular and less… welcoming. “You could inform me of why you’re standing on my doorstep in broken sandals over a glass of Chardonnay?”

“How am I supposed to say no to that?” Alexander responds almost mockingly, stepping into the home as Jefferson moves aside. He shuffles and a hand goes up to card through his curls, and Alexander wonders if they’re as soft as they appear. He resists the urge to stride over and find out for himself as he steps inside. “I would take my shoes off, but I feel as though barefoot is even more disrespectful.” He hums absent-mindedly.

Jefferson seems to tune back in at that as he flicks his gaze to follow Alexander. “And since when have you cared about being respectful towards me?” His words are sharp, upset almost. It’s strange, but Alexander kind of likes the vulnerability, it feels special. As though Jefferson is trusting him with the real real him. “Just leave your shoes on,” he adds carefully onto the end with a flippant wave and a frown. 

Alexander does just that, but wipes his feet on the welcoming mat Jefferson has placed in his hallway. “What’s your liquor of choice?” Jefferson asks, sauntering off towards his kitchen, voice growing quieter as he walks off. Alexander finds his eyes following his back, watching the way his red shirt clings to the muscles of his back, and he swallows slowly, with intent. 

“I believe I was promised Chardonnay, Mr Jefferson!” Alexander calls after him, taking it upon himself to look around the hallway. It’s cooler inside, thank god, but it’s not chilly. Jefferson knows how to set his AC without breaking it, Hamilton could never relate. The walls are painted a warm brown, framed family photos lining the hall. There is one, where Alexander counts twelve people in the image. The camera quality isn’t great, but all the people in the photo are similar in appearance, the only two who stand out are the ones who look like parents, as their hair is turning grey and there are wrinkles along their foreheads. He spots Jefferson - well, Thomas because he’s managed to figure out everyone in the photo is a Jefferson - rather quickly, he’s the second tallest in the picture, just after the one who looks like his father, but he looks younger, smiling wide at the camera and holding a baby boy on his hip. He looks much too young to have a son, so he must be Jefferson’s brother. 

There's another photo of him cradling a small child in his arms, a newborn, little girl based on the pink wool hat on her head. He looks older than the previous photo, so Alexander deciphers that this is his child. He looks around. There are no children about. He’s smiling wider than he’s ever seen before, down at the baby whose eyes are tightly shut. Alexander grins to himself and ghosts a finger over Jefferson’s face, or at least over the glass. There’s a corner of a woman’s face in the top left, she looks tired. Jefferson does too, bags under his eyes and smile creases by his lips. But he still looks… god, what word can he use?

The next photo makes his fond smile fall faster than a rock from the top of a cliff. A wedding photo, Jefferson in his mid-twenties, dressed in a suit (that hugs him in all the right places, damn) and kissing a short woman in a flowing white wedding dress. He looks so happy, beaming as his hands rest on her hips. A wave of jealousy crashes over him as he studies the image closer. It’s outdoors, must be in Virginia, and the two newlyweds are standing under an arch laced with pink roses and light pink tulips. He frowns, there goes his chance. But it won’t hit him yet, it only will at around midnight, when he’s emailing Washington where he will pause and scream for a minute as it sets in.

He’s so focused on the wedding pictures that he doesn’t even notice Jefferson coming up behind him. “That’s Martha,” the low voice by his ear makes Alexander jump out of his skin, clasping a hand over his mouth to stop himself from crying out. “Sorry, did I scare you?” He doesn’t wait for an answer and continues to talk, “I thought you would’ve been in the living room, but I suppose I never told you to make yourself at home.” Alexander turns around and chokes on a breath. Because fuck, Jefferson is right there, glasses slipping down his nose, cheeks dusted red and lips inches away from his own. He swallows again, takes a step backwards and hits the wall with his back. 

Jefferson hands him a champagne flute with a bubbling glass of white wine, and Alexander nods in return. "Thank you," he studies Jefferson carefully as he flicks his chin up quickly and takes a step away, giving Alexander room to finally breathe. He quickly glances back at the few photos on the wall, catching a glimpse from his peripheral vision as Jefferson sips from his glass. "Martha was…?" He waits for the other to finish his sentence impatiently. 

"My wife," Jefferson answers with ease, gulping back a small drink. "A million years ago at least." He chuckles. And Alexander doesn't quite understand. Typically, divorcees don't keep photos of their marriage hanging in the entrance way to their home. Apparently the confusion is evident in his expression, because his host keeps talking. "She passed away eight years ago, just after giving birth." 

Alexander bites down on his bottom lip, regretful. He was just thinking about how jealous he was, thinking about going home, calling Laurens or Lafayette and talking shit about Jefferson and his supposed wife. Well he certainly wouldn’t be doing that anymore. “Oh,” he says, rather ineloquently, “I’m sorry.”

Jefferson shrugs, takes another long drink from his glass, like the conversation pains him. It probably does, Alexander realises. “It’s alright, it was a long time ago,” he drawls, making sure to not finish his glass. It’s half full now, and Alexander sips the sparkling liquid. Jefferson clears his throat, looking much like he does during meetings. Uncomfortable, small almost. “Well, can I tempt you to sit in the parlour with me?” He raises an eyebrow, leads them through to a room with windows that are almost floor to ceiling, spar for the comfy looking window seat (covered in a knitted quilt and tartan pillows) that Alexander plops himself down on. The other man seats himself by a small round table, mahogany for the looks of it. 

Alexander wants to speak, as always. His tongue flicks in his mouth, forming words but Jefferson cuts him off. “So, Alexander, tell me, what brought you to my doorstep on this… boiling afternoon?” It doesn’t slip past him that Jefferson uses his first name. The way it rolls with his accent, drawling slow as always until Alexander is hanging onto every syllable. 

His brain catches up with the question after being so hung up on the way his given name sounds on Jefferson’s lips, and the fact that he would love to hear it in other contexts- God, he needs to stop. But the man is right there and- No. “I broke my air conditioning unit, and needed to get out.” He shrugs and takes a slurping drink of Chardonnay, perhaps if he irritates Jefferson enough, he’ll see the fire he wants.

“That doesn’t explain why you knocked on my door,” Jefferson flicks his wrist and places his glass down. Alexander can practically hear the cogs in his brain (that wonderful mind) whirring as he thinks. He can see the intelligent man putting the puzzles pieces together, in order to view the whole picture. He stops to admire his fellow Secretary’s brilliance far too often, and he always has. It’s a constant, a comma in his life where he pauses and admits to himself that Jefferson is smart. And sometimes he hates it. He hates that Jefferson is so so bright, but is full of only stupid things to say. Like he doesn’t learn both sides of the argument before presenting. Or perhaps that’s just how humans work, they’re always going to be biased. 

Alexander coughs into his fist again, seeing Jefferson grit his teeth that he had the audacity to slurp his expensive (probably French, pretentious bastard) wine. “I decided to go for a walk,” he began to explain, as confident as always. “And then I ended up here,” he chewed on the inside of his cheek, “because I heard you playing violin and wanted to come speak to whoever the player was. Didn’t know it was going to be you.” 

Jefferson appears uncomfortable. He finishes his glass in one large gulp and places his now empty glass on the table. He pushes his glasses up his nose by the rim once more, sighing softly. “You say that like it was bad playing.” He said quietly, rubbing the back of his neck. He glances at his empty glass, refilling it with only his eyes and exhaling as it refuses to fill. How disappointing.

“No, no!” Alexander waves his hands in a flurry, almost spilling his Chardonnay on the laminate flooring. Jefferson’s eyes catch the droplet that flies from the glass and lands on one of his quilted cushions. Hamilton is too busy explaining himself to realise. Why is he being so considerate of Jefferson’s feelings? (He has a crush on him, he knows this. He knows it’s because the man looks so much more vulnerable in his own home, in shorts and t-shirt and glasses. And oh fuck he’s staring again.) “I wanted to come tell the violinist how incredible their playing was!” He watches the man who is supposed to be his rival smile, genuine and pure, and his heart soars. Butterflies swarm in his stomach, flapping their wings at a hundred miles an hour. It’s like he can take flight, all because of Jefferson’s shy little grin, watching the way his lips twitch upwards. It’s so different from his other sly, wicked smirks, all teeth and hatred. Is it hatred really though? Alexander doesn’t have the time to ask himself all of these questions again, he’s never going to find an answer. 

"I've played ever since I was a child," Jefferson replies, tapping his fingers off his thighs. As Alexander has established, everything about this man seems to be carved by the gods out of stone and his legs are no exception. 

"Impressive." He isn't lying. Alexander finds it wildly impressive, violin is a difficult instrument to master. He believes Jefferson mutters something along the lines of 'thank you', but he isn't particularly paying attention. He needs more to drink. He doesn't want to have to think anymore, so he doesn't. Instead, he downs his glass. 

“Want a refill?” Jefferson drawls, rising to his feet and taking both empty glasses. All Alexander can do is nod and watch as the man walks off, eyes concentrated on his back and definitely not other places because that would be crude. 

Alexander crosses his legs (sits criss-cross applesauce) on the windowsill seat, fluffing a pillow behind his back and cautiously leaning back to rest against the window panes. He’s almost scared of breaking them, or of the glass popping out. So instead he turns and tucks his knees in slightly, sitting along it sideways to lean on the wall that slightly juts out. He must appear comfortable, because when Jefferson comes back in he laughs carefully. “Made yourself at home I see?” He hands Alexander the glass of Chardonnay, and he notes that in his other hand is the bottle. 

“Yeah, got a problem with that?” Alexander responds sarcastically. Jefferson plops himself down - surprisingly - beside Alexander, in the small space between his feet and the other wall. He hadn’t expected the sudden closeness, and all cognitive thought grinds to a stop when he realises he can smell Jefferson’s overpriced cologne. It’s probably perfume, when he thinks about it. Flowery and reeking of money. But Alexander thinks (after smelling it before, and now smelling it here) that he’ll kill Jefferson if he ever wears anything else. 

Jefferson sips from his glass. “Not at all.” Alexander wants to stretch his legs out, but felt as though he couldn’t do that. Jefferson was right there! What can he do? Put his feet on the man’s lap? … he could do that. He could actually do that. “Whatcha thinkin’ about, Hammy?” He purrs teasingly, raising a curious eyebrow and chuckling to himself. Alexander can’t help but notice the slight flush of his cheeks, the dusty pink across his skin. He eyes him suspiciously, before he finally realises that the man must be a lightweight. Now there’s something he didn’t expect.

“Hammy?” Alexander quirks an eyebrow, suspect. It’s amusing how Jefferson seems to relax that slight bit as he sips his Chardonnay. The slightly older man just nods in return, bringing his glass to his lips and taking another drink. Alexander does the same, swirling the wine in his champagne flute with a chuckle. “Just that I wanna stretch out.” He shrugs and continues to drink, observing as Jefferson’s face scrunches up unattractively. Somehow, Hamilton still finds it adorable. Who would’ve thought he would find Jefferson cute? How strange.

“Then just do it,” Jefferson suggests with a smile, shrugs his shoulders and sips his drink. Alexander is surprised, never would’ve thought Jefferson would allow him to kick his feet up. It feels intimate, like a cute-couple thing to do. He hesitantly stretches his legs out, untucking his knees and placing his feet up on Jefferson’s lap, who hums his approval. 

Alexander sips his Chardonnay, starting to speak. And Jefferson? Jefferson starts to listen. 

Half an hour, and the rest of the bottle of Chardonnay later, the two are on the right side of tipsy. They’re just drunk enough to feel comfortable enough to sit shoulder to shoulder, resting against each other without looking like they’re being forced into the close proximity. Except they are no longer shoulder to shoulder, in fact, they’re closer than that. Alexander has his head on Jefferson’s lap, his glass long forgotten on the table, along with Jefferson’s champagne flute too and the empty wine bottle. Alexander is continuously muttering about the current political climate, ranting quietly while Jefferson listens, occasionally inputting his opinion.

“Are you not gonna argue with me?” Alexander raises an eyebrow. He’s trying to irritate Jefferson, and pokes his cheek to try and agitate him more. But Jefferson doesn’t react, other than blushing an even darker crimson. The colour he is. He’s crimson, but now he’s dull and Alexander misses his booming red. 

Jefferson hums to himself, eyes fluttering shut. Alexander reaches up and pushes the other man’s glasses up his nose by the bridge. Jefferson flicks his eyes open suddenly and stares down at him, catching his wrist in his hand. Alexander feels paralysed, feeling his large palms around his own bony wrist and holding it in a loose grip. He doesn’t answer the question, “it’s so nice outside. Why are we still sitting here?”

“Why indeed?” There’s a ever so slight slur to his words, drawn out a little more than usual. Alexander kicks his feet to the ground, standing so casually it’s like he stays and hangs with Jefferson all the time and not never at all. He turns to face Jefferson, overlooking his features. He’s never had a chance to look at him so relaxed, and he notices how tense Jefferson typically is compared to now. At work, his shoulders are straight, hunched up to his ears and his posture is a horizontal line. Whereas now, he’s a little more slumped, tension gone from his body. It’s a breath of fresh air, one he never thought he would experience and accept so easily.

Jefferson rises to his feet, and typically he would be towering over Hamilton yet now, he doesn’t feel as dominating. Instead, he’s softer, edges aren’t as sharp or predatory. The mirthful glint in his pupils has faded, but the fire still licks at his eyes. It’s a welcoming heat, like the fireplace on a freezing day. And despite the current heatwave, Alexander finds himself wishing to curl up by the fire like a purring cat. “Come on, let’s go sit in my backyard.” 

Alexander expects to trail after him, certainly not for the man to offer his hand to Hamilton. But he takes it, ignoring the way his heart pounds in his chest and the way his head is screaming at him. “You’re holding his hand! You’re holding Thomas Jefferson’s hand! He offered it to you! You didn’t even have to ask!” His pulse races in his ears, as he leads the two of them into his back garden. It’s beautiful, a large monkey puzzle tree in the far right corner, casting a lovely shadow over a section of the yard. Jefferson guides Alexander over to the tree and sits down under it, gesturing next to him. “C’mon, Hammy, I don’t have all day.” Alexander feels his heart flutter again, starting to race at the ridiculous nickname. If anyone else used it, he would be quickly driven mad. It’s all because of this damn Secretary. 

Alexander takes a seat by him, leaning against the bark of the tree and exhaling. It’s warm, but at least vaguely cooler under the tree. Jefferson certainly seems to appreciate it, as the slightly intoxicated man removes his glasses and places them on the trimmed glass next to him, tips his head back until it hits the tree truck and breathes out happily. Alexander eyes the expanse of skin by his neck, and starts to feel like a particularly famished vampire, gazing at the muscles of someone’s neck of all places. But there’s a familiar itch in his fingertips, the urge to have his face tucked into the crook of his neck and just breathe. The thought would be scarier if it wasn’t for the alcohol in his blood. He feels confident, confident enough to lean against Jefferson and carefully hide his face in his shoulder. Not his neck, sure, but it’s close. 

Alexander can feel his counterparts breathing stutter and he gently nuzzles against him, appreciating the muscle under him. “Hamilton, are you alright?” He’s sobered up, the shock of Alexander curling around him like ivy clings to a house seemingly having knocked the wine out of his system. He allows Alexander to wind himself tighter around his body, like it's cold out and he’s the only viable source of heat. It’s not. It’s still absolutely sweltering, evident in the way sweat beads at Jefferson’s brow and Alexander longs to reach over and smooth out the developing stress lines. 

“Mhm…” Alexander hums his answer and buries his head into Jefferson’s neck, finally finally being close enough to him.  Yet… somehow he’s dying to be closer. “I’m great, perfect! Even,” he giggles, the alcohol definitely making him a fun drunk. He’s a lightweight, that’s for sure, but when it hits him, it hits all at once. He’s got a rush of flirtatious courage surging through his veins, hot in his blood. 

Jefferson moves his hand across and gently caresses Alexander’s pink cheeks, observing how he keens into it like a cat. That’s exactly what Alexander reminds him of, a cat. Hissing and violent in his worst moments, yet clingy and desperate for attention in his best. It’s a good thing Jefferson likes cats then. He drags an arm around Alexander’s shoulder, taking in his appearance. Small and (gross, his back is damp) hunched over, tucking into him and smiling, pink lips twitching into a happy grin. He’s so soft like this, vulnerable in a way Jefferson’s never seen him before. He’s intensity is being channeled into a new emotion, and Jefferson knows he’s still red. Still a fiery red, but it’s dragged in a different direction. It’s pulling him into love, and it makes his stomach do flips. Because if he has to be honest to himself, he’s had a crush on this ridiculous gremlin (excuse of a man) politician since the day of their first Cabinet meeting. Alexander could keep up with his thunderous talking pace, and he loves it. He loves it so much. “You’re sure?”

“Well,” Alexander decides it’s now or never, “I suppose there’s a way it could get…” he darts his tongue out and licks his lips, “even better.” He moves an inch away from Jefferson, eyes flickering between his eyes (no longer covered by lenses) and his lips, which look all too kissable. Jefferson doesn’t seem to catch on, just catches Alexander’s gaze with his own intense one. 

“How so?” He raises an eyebrow, arched brow almost judging him. 

“Kiss me,” Alexander breathes, tilting his chin upwards and leaning forward, hoping Jefferson will close the gap. And he does. God he does. He leans down and in, dipping his head and pressing his lips softly to Alexander’s own. They’re soft and insistent and gentle against his own chapped ones. And Alexander finds himself sober, before getting drunk on the feeling of Jefferson kissing him and ha! He’ll be able to rub this in Lafayette’s face later! Suck it, Frenchie! 

Alexander cards his hand into Jefferson’s curls, because he’s scared he’ll never get the chance to feel them again. They’re as soft as they look, springy between his fingers and wonderful to the touch. It’s such a wonderful kiss, their first kiss, and Alexander wants to keep on kissing him forever. Jefferson makes a quiet whimpering noise and Alexander forces himself to pull away before he melts and never does. “Jefferson,” he breathes across his lips.

“Thomas,” the other corrects delicately, a meer whisper before he’s tangling his hand in Alexander’s hair and tugging Alexander back to meet his lips. It’s feverish this time, desperate and needy. The roasting heat must be getting to them, because they’re rivals, are they not? Well, not anymore. Because he’s pretty sure enemies don’t kiss in summer heatwaves, under monkey puzzle trees in their rivals back garden. But they do now, because Alexander isn’t giving this up for the world. Not now. He has his red. 

“Thomas,” Alexander repeats Jeffer- Thomas’s words as they break away again. The name feels heavy on his tongue with the taste of its owner on his lips. Like it should be a sin, a sin to have enjoyed that so much. But he will gladly go to hell if it means getting to experience that intimacy again. The base of his ponytail has started to be tugged out, knotting where his fingers have tangled in the locks. He lays his head on the man’s shoulder, starting to slide half in and half out of his lap. It’s insane, the burning feeling in his chest as he locks this memory away in his treasure box, saving it for a rainy day, just in case this was a one time thing.

Thomas cradles Alexander’s chin in one hand, thumb hooking under his jaw and tilting his head up so that he can look into his eyes. Hamilton could get lost in those eyes, as he has many times. So many times during cabinet meetings he has stared at Jefferson, at those dark eyes and simply dove in, gleeful at the aspect of drowning in them. Only for the man to spout some ridiculous shit and drag Alexander out of the waters, slap him around and take him to his senses. “Yes, dear?”

That voice was going to be the death of him.

“I-“ He lost all forms of cognitive thought, the train must’ve derailed when Thomas pressed their lips together. Because fuck, he can even feel the violin chords buzzing in his veins again and it’s all so much and he loves it. Alexander flicks his gaze around Thomas's face, (he really has to get used to calling him that) kiss-swollen lips, the deep blush across his cheeks. He must look like an awestruck child from Thomas's perspective, because the man chuckles and takes his free hand through Alex's hair, taking it out of the pony tail in one movement. "Red." Alex mutters finally.

"Red?" Thomas repeats with a cocked eyebrow, hands Alexander his hair tie and brings both hands back to his lap. He really isn't sure what Hamilton means. What does red have to do with anything? If he had to put a colour to this moment, he would call it tickled pink. Intense and warm, but full to the brim of love and devotion. Pink.

Alexander nods, presses a finger to Thomas's chest, and another to his own. "Red," he nods, taking his fingers away, instead splaying his palm across Jefferson's chest absent-mindedly. "That's our colours. We're red."

Thomas never imagined he would be agreeing with Alexander so easily. With Martha, their relationship had been a soft pink. The fire was there, buried beneath the surface of dedication and loyalty. It was comfortable, it was perfect. He never needed anything else, because everything he needed was in Martha. But was he pink? Certainly not. She was his high-school sweetheart, the only real relationship he had ever had. He didn't count the many women (and men) in France, they never lasted longer than a night of sub-par activities and a morning of awkward goodbyes. 

"We are, aren't we?" Thomas hummed, eventually pulling himself from his thoughts before he sunk too far. Thinking was a dangerous activity, one he didn't take time to do in fear of never emerging again. 

"But," Alexander continues, and Jefferson's heart sinks. There's always a catch, isn't there? "We're the opposite reds. You're the darker red, most definitely. You're secrets and feelings are locked away, while I display mine like the lights on Broadway." 

Thomas gulps. Never before has he been called out so boldly, or in such a forward manner. Yet Alexander has hit the nail on the head, first try and won the prize so it seems. He softens a little further, slumping against the tree. A low hanging stick swats at his head, and he bats it away with one hand.

"You keep everything behind lock and key… no one else has the key, I don't think," Alexander draws little swirls and patterns with his fingertip on Thomas's chest, the art fading as fast as it appears. He feels the man quiver, trying to hold himself together, and he knows that stone wall he hides behind is breaking. 

He shakes his head in a curt motion. "Ja- Madison has a key," he corrects, inadvertently agreeing with Alexander, "Martha… Martha had a key." He finishes there, hands folding into each other, fingers fidgeting with discomfort. His face contorts as he screws it up, not allowing his mind to drift, forcing himself to stay in the moment. Stay in the tickled pink time. But how do you make pink from two reds?

"I'd like a key," Alexander adds, "if you'd be willing to lend me a spare." He glances up at Jefferson through his eyelashes, shall he offer something in return? The key to his treasure chest perhaps? The place he stores his most prized memories? 

Jefferson chews on his lip. "I think you already have one. Whether we realised it or not… you've always had one." The metaphor is starting to confuse him, muddling with his mind. So many keys, and so many possible doors they could unlock and it's all a bit much. What door should he go through first? None of them have labels, none of them have a clear cut future secured behind them. How does he choose? Maybe he should let Alexander choose for him, go along for the ride.

Alexander smiles. He drapes himself further across Jefferson, kicking one of his legs over both of the man's and leaning into his shoulder, tucking himself there. The hot air, accompanied by the events that just occurred have sobered him almost entirely, but it feels so much better to experience this without the alcohol tainting his memory. "Thank you."

"For what?" Thomas raises an eyebrow, because as far as he's certain, he should be thanking Hamilton. Or cursing him. Cursing him and whatever magical force drew them together. This may just make him believe in fate, in destiny. He wasn’t a Christian, not anymore anyway, but this had him thanking god. Thanking every god for bringing them together. This was good, he could sit under this monkey puzzle tree, feeling the way he is now for the rest of eternity. Not good, no, that didn’t do this justice. Amazing? Fabulous? Stupendous?

"It's a preemptive thank you, since you'll be paying for tonight's date. Say seven o'clock." Alexander smirks up at Thomas, watches as the man chuckles. That laugh, there's a sound he could get used to. And to know he caused it? Fills him with joy. The laugh is like yellow. He doesn't know why, it just is. Colours fit everything, his mother was a deep navy blue, his father a cold icy white. Lafayette is purple, a mix of strength and flowing like the sea, but passionate like red. Hercules is green like juniper, he’s a grounding presence, one that Alexander can rely on to stay strong for them all. Angelica is pink, full of passion, but for some reason she just doesn’t hit that red mark. Washington stands bold in yellow, along with Peggy, but much like Thomas and Alexander, opposite ends of the spectrum. He can’t say why these colours fit, where he got them from or why they are this way, but it just does. It all slots together, everyone in his life has an assigned colour. And he thinks they always will.

Thomas raises an eyebrow. "Alright, I'm sure the neighbour will be fine taking care of Patsy for a bit," he hums. It's nerve wracking, because Jefferson doesn't have a clue if Alexander is alright with kids or not. His brain is screaming at him that Alexander is going to see sense and run, hear the talk of kids and sprint. After all, they're both in their mid thirties, so it's normal for someone their age to have a child. What if Alexander doesn't like kids? God, was this a mistake?

“Patsy? The little girl playing out in the street?” Alexander asks, laying himself across Thomas. He feels comfortable, like himself already, and he feels like this could go places. Because reds match, and opposites attract. They’re just lucky they’re opposite reds. 

“Yeah, yeah, she’s playing with John,” Thomas sighs out his nose, grabbing his glasses and pushing them up his nose. He smiles at Alexander and giggles, actually giggles, a sound that makes Alexander’s heart fly like doves around his chest. “Dress comfy, I hope you like picnics.”

“Picnics?” Alexander raises an eyebrow. “I love picnics.” It’s true. Hell, if they picnic in the back of Thomas’s garden, criss-cross on a blanket under this tree, that could be one of the best dates of his life. 

“I’m glad, it’s my dream date,” Thomas admitted, rubbing the back of his neck, “look at us, getting to know each other already!” He chuckles again, noticing the flush it causes to Alex’s cheeks. Gorgeous. He cups his jaw, watches as the smaller man leans into the touch with a soft purr. 

“You know what’ll make it even better?”

“What, if I bring more Chardonnay?” 

“No!” Alexander bats at his arm playfully.

“Then what?” Thomas asks through laughs.

“If you kiss me again.”

And he does. God, he does.

-

Reblogs > Likes

please this is 13,045 words I spent to much time on this I'm begging yall, if you liked it please reblog it, I dont want this to go unnoticed.

Tag list: (just ask to be added!)

@a-nice-tea-time @skyluni @khiara1776 @beetlejuicebeetlejuicebeeeecause @slushy-sloosh-musical-person @i-can-get-extra-with-my-ships @iss-yaboi @patt0n-sanders @karixx-png @tryingtohealandgrow @justthehopeleft @pufflypuffle @swagdiplomatlightkid

#hamilton #alexander hamilton #thomas jefferson #jamilton #jamilton fanfic #jamilton fluff #jamilton fic #jamilton fanfiction #hamilton fluff #hamilton fanfic #ee #ee writes #ee does writing #ee's writing #ee.txt #fuck this took forever #jefferson #jefferson will be sad #patsy is here for a bit too

[flying-nightwing]

Sparks Must Fly to Start a Fire (2/2)

Hellooooo again people. This is the second part as promised! It concludes the small serie, for a grand total of 12.5k words, which is higher than my average if I’m honest 😂 I had so much fun writing this, thanks anon! I hope it was up to your expectations! Enjoy part 2 xx

Masterlist in bio // pinned

Pairing: Jason Todd x reader

Word count: 7106

Warnings: violence, language, a bit of trauma

Day 9

“... There is no development in the case, all search parties came up with nothing. The GCPD now believes the disappearance of the young woman has a direct link to the major leak of incriminating documents that were shared to the DA’s office. The investigation, conducted by commissioner Gordon, might sound the fall of an empire of organized crime in Gotham if it goes through trial…”

“I was supposed to marry Vitto, today” You spoke up with mild boredom over yet another news story about you. You hadn’t realized time had flown this fast ever since you betrayed your family.

“Oh, oh wow” Jason hadn’t expected that. “Why would anyone do that?”

In the last days you had gotten into a semi-comfortable routine. The bickering was still very much present, but the snark had considerably deescalated. You had now tasted every snack he told you regular people ate, even those energy drinks he seemed to like to consume during long drives. You had even taken a cautious liking to the canned soups, which remained the only thing you knew how to make on a stove. Still, you didn’t escape Jason’s mockery everytime you didn’t know how to do something “simple”. You didn’t think you’d ever escape it, no matter what.

“It’s not like I had a choice” You said as a matter of fact, leaning back on the headrest of the car. “Women in my world are either trophies or mothers, depending on whether or not they’re still in their prime”

“Let me guess, you were to be Vitto’s trophy?”

“Bingo” 

“How old is he, like 50?” He snorted.

“46” You corrected. “Not that it makes any difference”

Jason gagged. “Guess you dodged a serious bullet there”

“God, marrying that manwhore plagued my nightmares for weeks” You chuckled, looking up at the roof of the car. “Hope he rots in jail once this is over”

“Arranged marriage, uh?” He said, sending you a quick uncomfortable glance. Something akin to remorse flashed very briefly across his face, but it was gone as soon as it came. You only nodded. “Sorry about that”

“Don’t be” You brushed off. “That was essentially their downfall in the end. Half of the reasons why I leaked the documents was to prove to my family I am not a chew toy to throw to the dogs. A power grab was out of the question, especially after one of my distant cousins, Alaina, tried and got gunned down. I thought if I was to get killed, I’d go down trying to be better”

Your words were followed by silence, and you realized you had said too much. You didn’t want or need his pity. You cleared your throat and looked away. Soon enough, Jason pulled into a shady looking motel and stopped the car. You glanced in disgust at the overall state of the motel, thinking about how it was definitely the worst one you had stayed in so far, even if you hadn’t stepped foot in yet. The vacancy sign was flashing against the sunset in the distance, and it gave you serious serial killer vibes. 

You grabbed your travel bag from the backseat and followed Jason in. The neons inside were barely functioning, casting a harsh glow on the lobby, if anyone could call it a lobby. The man behind the counter looked up at the sound of the little bell above the door and stood up slowly, showing off the grease stains on his yellowed wife-beater. He gave the impression of being just as crooked as his motel, especially with the creepy grin he gave the both of you, but especially to you. Jason walked up to the counter, unbothered by the general mood of the place.

“Good evening” The clerk greeted with a smoke clouded voice, glancing in between you two. “For an hour or two?”

You grimaced while Jason blinked slowly. Then, he smiled one of his smiles that looked normal, but hid something dangerous when you looked close. You had found yourself on the other end of those more times than not ever since he became your unofficial bodyguard. “Got anything for the night?”

The clerk laughed while you wanted to hit him. Hit them both, actually. 

“I like your style, kid” He wrote something on his clipboard before turning around and grabbing a key from the wall. “That’ll be 60”

Jason took out three 20$ bills from his wallet and handed them in exchange for the keys. Jason however leaned further on the counter. “How thick are the walls in there?”

“You sly dog” He chortled, and Jason joined. “Don’t worry, if your girl ain’t much of a screamer nobody will know what you be doing. Here, take that, if you want some more fun”

“Perfect” His lips curled up as he accepted the flyer handed to him. You caught a glimpse of the bright green paper, announcing some kind of escort service. “Thanks”

“Aight kid, room 141. Have fun”

You forced yourself to ignore the lusty eyes he sent your way and snatched the keys from Jason’s hand, hurrying to the room. “What was that?” You hissed under your breath.

“You’re in a place full of suspicious people” He hissed back. “You gotta act suspicious with them or they’ll single you out” 

“Did you really have to make it seem like I was a prostitute?” You said as you unlocked the door and pushed it open. You stepped in and let him in, before locking again the door behind him.

“There’s nothing wrong with being…” He trailed off as he halted his steps. His frame blocked the sight of the room for you, so you didn’t know what he was talking about. Was it dirty? Were there rodents? “Oh you must be fucking kidding me”

You finally peeked around him, to see only one bed rather than the two queens he usually asked. He had forgotten this time to ask, and the clerk had naturally insinuated you’d want to be together. How could he have not?

“At least it’s a King bed this time” You sniggered. “More space”

“I’m gonna get it changed” He turned around to go back to the reception desk.

“Wasn’t it you who said not to act suspicious?” You raised a challenging eyebrow. “If you go back there and ask for two beds, won’t that ruin all that acting you did over there?”

He spun around once again, facing you with narrowed eyes. He obviously didn’t like you using his logic against him. “Right.” He then side stepped you and went straight to the windows. He closed the blinds and proceeded to check the walls for… Whatever. He looked strange doing it. 

“And right now you’re…” You trailed off, trying to find why he was all but caressing the dirty walls. 

“Checking for cameras” He finished, looking inside a lamp. “Those motels sometimes have hidden cameras and the owners resell the tapes on porn sites”

“Oh god” You reacted, horrified. And he had the audacity to paint you off as a criminal, when those kinds of people existed. You thought you would be sick. He paused, sending you what you thought was a concerned glance--but it couldn’t be--before he returned to his examination.

“That’s why I’m making sure there’s none here” He mumbled.

You nodded, then carefully made your way to the bed. Despite the overwhelming scent of cigarettes latched onto the fabric, the sheet seemed relatively clean, at least for the general quality of the establishment. You dropped your bag in front of the dresser beside you and sat on the edge of the bed as Jason finished his inspection.

“All clear” He announced before taking out his gun from his belt and putting it on the nightstand. “You should rest, we won’t stay here too long. Also, if you can avoid the shower, I’d recommend you wait until we are somewhere else”

“I hate it here” 

“Yeah well, our disastrous stop to Target has kind of tied our hands, princess” He shrugged, like it was your fault you had been found. “So we gotta settle for even less if you don’t want a redo”

“Will you ever stop calling me that?” You glared at him.

“What, princess?” He asked rhetorically, then paused and pretended to think. “No, no I don’t think so”

“You’re insufferable” You scoffed, climbing up further on the bed.

“I wouldn’t get under the covers either” He warned as you were about to pull back the comforter, totally ignoring your comment on his general attitude. “I doubt they’re washing them real good”

You shuddered in disgust as you instead opted for bringing your knees to your chest, hoping the room wouldn’t get too cold during the night.

Day 10

You didn’t if it was your state still clouded by sleep, or the shock that made you see the scene happen in slow motion. 

Jason was waking up, sitting in the bed at a reasonable distance from you as your eyes cracked open. Still, you saw the sequence clearly. His back tensed and his head snapped to the window, then his eyes widened. He reacted in a fraction of second, grabbing his gun on the fly and diving on your side. You had barely the time to register his body colliding with yours that the first machine gun went off. You hit the ground hard, but you didn’t feel anything in the spike of adrenaline and paralyzing fear that surged through you. You could only close your eyes as bullets rained over you, and yet you weren’t even touched by the wood and cotton flying everywhere as his body caged yours in protection. His string of curse was audible above the commotion, which let you know he wasn’t gravely wounded yet. Yet. 

There was a pause in the shooting, but your eyes were still ringing so loud you didn’t hear him call your name at first. You opened your eyes, disoriented.

“Hey, hey stay with me” He hurried his words, glancing over his shoulders. “Roll under the bed, don’t come out until I come and get you, and if they try to get you, hit them with anything you find, aim for the head”

You could only nod as he helped you get under the bed, and for one you couldn’t even be bothered to notice how filthy it was under there. You were terrified for you, but also for Jason who would face those people with a handgun only. You just hoped his skills hadn’t been exaggerated, or else it would be bad news for everyone. 

There was chatter in between the gun fires, but you couldn’t decipher the voices. You counted there were at least six different tones of shout. However, judging by the familiar smugness of the exchange, you could have sworn it was Jason mocking them and not the other way around. It made you wonder exactly what kind of security he had done if he was taking the time to be smug in a one against five fight. Still, you were glad to have him on your side rather than against you.

“Hey”

You jumped and screamed at the sudden face appearing to your left, but let out a breath of relief when you saw it was Jason. He helped you out from under the bed, his glance shifty in between the door and windows. The room was a mess, he was covered in blood you doubted was his, and he was still on guards.

“So, we need to leave now” He said, already picking up his bag and yours. You noticed a second gun now strapped on his thigh and various new weapons in a utility belt. Where he got that was a mystery, but you didn’t question it. He gently pressed you along the bodies dropped at the threshold of the room and in the hallway until you reached the reception desk. You counted seven bodies. The same creepy clerk was cowering behind his desk, a darker stain on the crotch of his pants. Jason gave him an overall look and sighed, shaking his head. Still, he paused in front of him and dropped the bags.

“You son of a bitch” He chuckled lowly, menacingly. “You sold us out, didn’t you?”

He whined in response, confirming Jason’s suspicion.

“How much did you cash on the tip? 3k? 4k?” He taunted further, tsking in disapproval. “Can’t trust anyone these days”

“Please, I needed the money--”

Jason shot two bullets in his head. “Don’t care”

He turned on his heels and grabbed the bags again, bringing you along as gently as he could. You went outside, but he gestured for you to wait at a good distance from the car. He went over and inspected it, taking two devices off from two different places. Bombs, you figured. He threw the first one through the windows of the reception, then the other, he shot while in the air. An explosion went off, shaking your stance on the ground as the motel’s central area went up in flames. 

“Oops, gas leak” He said blandly. “Come on, let’s get out of here”

You climbed in the passenger seat, clutching your now all dusted up bag for support. You needed to hold onto something while you came to terms with the repeated attempts on your life in the last fifteen minutes. Jason drove off, leaving the smoking building off to burn. 

“Sorry you had to see that back in the lobby” He spoke when you were far enough.

“It’s fine” You shook your head. “He deserved it”

He blinked, a tiny bit stunned. “Hey are you okay?”

“Should I not be?” It came out weaker than intended. “I’m way in over my head with this”

“No, no, you did the right thing” He tried to reassure you, or that’s what you thought he was trying to do. Either way, it went right over your mental downward spiralling.

“I should have stayed in my lane” You kept mumbling, flexing your fingers on your bag. “I’d still be doing my thing, away from literal murder attempts in crappy motel rooms”

“Hey hey hey” He lifted a hand up. “May I remind you that you’d be married to Vitto fucking Maroni right now if you didn’t go rogue? That thought alone should give you relief”

You let out an uncontrolled laugh. What has your life become?

“Truth is I don’t know what I’m doing” You admitted, your voice cracking. “All I’ve achieved it to piss everyone off”

“Yeah you did piss everyone off, but so do I on a daily basis” He replied, making your frown in confusion. “Sometimes pissing everyone else is the only way to get things going, y’know?”

You blinked a couple of times. “I literally don’t”

He opened his mouth to reply, then closed it immediately. He then took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts. “All I’m saying is, doing the right thing is an ugly job. It’s hard and messy and fucks with you, but it doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try and do it anyway. I know this is all new for you, and this is a rather harsh welcome party, but you gotta fight through it”

You nodded, casting your eyes on him at last. His skin was reddened by the drying blood on his face and hair, and his clothes were dirty and torn. Amidst the cooling blood, you noticed a steady flow of brighter red coming off a hole in the sleeve of his t-shirt, widening the already big stain around it. 

“You’re bleeding”

He looked down at his side, unfazed. “Oh right, a bullet got me on the initial wave”

“We need to get it out and close the wound” Your eyes found his for a brief second, before his glance returned to the road.

“It can wait” He downplayed it, probably by a force of habit. 

“It looks like it’s bleeding a lot” You insisted.

“I’ll be fine--”

“It’s my fault you’re hurt” You interrupted him. You felt like you had at least to do something for him, especially since he just saved your life twice. Besides, you needed to focus on something else than what had just gone down. “Let me help”

He took a deep breath, then gave a little nod. He pulled over at the next gas station and parked the car, then went to his trunk, picking his first aid kit while you went to ask for the bathroom key. You joined him at the car and went to find the bathroom in the back of the building, locking the door behind you for privacy. You stood beside him as he rummaged through it, handing you a pair of pliers and disinfecting gauzes. You waited for him to take off his jacket, laying your supplies on the counter, then carefully rolled the sleeve of his t-shirt. You grabbed a clean gauze to stop the bleeding, gently pressing on the wound.

“Have you done this before?”

You didn’t see his question come, but you answered nonetheless. “Yes, a few times” You said. “On my older brothers. That’s something we learn, just in case we are the ones to patch up our husbands”

“Is this really how you were treated?” He asked, his voice surprisingly soft compared to what you had gotten so far. “Like a service wife in training?”

“Pretty much” You nodded with a weak scoff. You carefully checked the wound, and the bleeding had almost stopped. You grabbed the alcohol gauze and tore the pack open. “There isn’t much choice but to obey”

He didn’t even flinch when you cleaned the wound. “When I pulled the gun on you the first day we met, you said it wasn’t the first time somebody did that to you” He began, recalling the events from ten days ago. “What happened the other times?”

You put the bloodied gauzes aside and grabbed the pliers, disinfecting them with a smaller alcohol wipe before going for the bullet. “Would you believe me if I said something along the lines of wildly opposing my union to the Maroni family?” 

His lips curled up slightly, but his teeth were clenched as you tried to grab the bullet well lodged in his flesh. You managed to get a good grip on it and slowly pulled it out. You immediately covered the wound again with clean gauze and dropped the bullet in the trash pile. 

“Bullet’s intact, you should be fine” You said, holding the gauze with one hand and searching for a needle and a stitching thread with the other. 

“How old were you when it happened?” 

You paused, staring at his arm. How old were you back then, when your father announced you’d be part of a two-way deal with the Maroni family? Not very old, that was for sure. You pulled the gauze away and sanitized the needle, then passed the thread in the loop. “17, I think”

“You were just a child” It came out more like a statement than a question. You shrugged before beginning the stitches. He still wasn’t flinching as the needle came in and out of his skin,making it easier for you to do a clean job. You finally tied the thread and cut it with the scissors he handed you. 

“I’m sorry I pulled you into this mess” You apologized as you wrapped the wound with yet some other clean gauze and bandaged it. “I… I didn’t plan this through at all. I felt the doors close on me and I acted without even thinking of the real consequences. I thought I would be strong enough to go with it, turns out I’m not”

You had been all bark and no bite, you could see that now. You came in strong, acting like nothing could get to you, like the threat was just an imaginary bound to keep you in place. You made a bold move to cross it, and now you could clearly see how dangerous the waters you were threading in actually were. It wasn’t child’s play anymore, it was real, and you caved under the pressure on your first real trial.  

He turned around as he pulled his sleeve down, facing you. He was in your space, but it didn’t feel like all the other times. His presence wasn’t threatening. “You don't have to apologize” There was something genuine in his eyes. “And to pull off what you did needs strength, even if you don’t realize it yet. Your reaction to almost being killed doesn’t change that fact”

“It certainly doesn’t feel that way”

“Trust me, princess” His little teasing smile returned. “Someone who can hold her own against me like you did is not weak”

“I was just mean” You blinked in surprise, letting out a small chuckle. “I think that’s different”

“See, still arguing” His smile widened. You had known him for ten days, but you had gotten used to him being a certain way. This light and sincere attitude he had now was, to say the least, unusual for you. When he wasn’t constantly sneering, you noticed his features better. His blue eyes carried a kind spark, the type you found in a natural caretaker. The harsh angles of his jaw and cheekbones shaped a handsome face, decorated by little silver scars blending with his freckles. He was like a fallen angel shining through a broken halo, dangerous and protective, but only if you took the time to look past the burned wings. The unflattering white light of the bathroom made him look worn out, but it didn’t change anything to the raw beauty of his face. His bloody knuckles came in soft contact with your cheek, like a feather gliding on a cloud in the sky. His eyes never left yours, and even if they did, you felt like you’d follow them whichever direction they went. 

He was tall, considerably so. He hovered over you like a safety blanket, your own shield from the dangers stalking you outside the door. At that moment, you had trouble understanding how his proximity had once filled you with so much unease you felt like hiding away, because all you could feel now was an all consuming calm. There was however a pulse that was alive, one that was begging you to get closer. He seemed to have felt it too; his movement was slow, letting you more than enough time to back off. As his lips slowly got closer to yours, you know you didn’t want to move away. You filled the distance separating you from him and met him there in a gentle kiss to test the water first. 

It didn’t take long for you to lose control. All the emotion of the last days that had bottled up were let to run wild in between you two like an electric current, surrendering your every sense to him. Your hands went to the back of his neck for support, because god knew you needed it. His arms sneaked behind your back as he pushed further into you, quickening the pace of the kiss and clouding your mind. Tongues battled in a war that was already won, knowing in one way or another he’d be the victor. You could feel all the tension, all the frustration, all the anger and all the guilt coming in strong before burning like dry wood in a bonfire. Were there any versions of this that didn’t end where you were? It seemed impossible. 

You didn’t want to open your eyes just yet when he pulled away, reluctant to even let go. He captured your lips in a couple of kisses before fully letting you catch your breath.

“Well” His voice was barely over a whisper over the panting. “That might be one way to settle an argument”

“Then I might pick more arguments” Your lips lifted in a small grin.

“And I might not object to that” His eyes were bright with amusement. “Besides, I might have gotten around to like that smart mouth of yours”

“Oh, have you now?”

“Might” He corrected.

“Sure” For the first time in what felt like forever, you actually smiled. You slowly retracted your arms from his neck, letting him stand straight again. 

“Come on, let’s get out of here and put as much distance as we can from this motel” He said, but it lacked the patronizing tone it once contained. It was even like he didn’t actually want to leave just yet, but had to, or both of your safety. You shared the sentiment.

You packed the first aid kit and burned the bloody gauzes in the sink, then killed the fire and returned the key to the counter. You drove away shortly after, confident things might just be alright this time.

Day 16

You had circled back to the first place you had stayed in, the little cabin so far in the woods you were almost sure nobody would find you, or at least not yet. 

Jason had told you he had installed security devices on the dirt road to make sure he was aware of anybody driving up, as well as the traps he had set in the woods. Once again, it reinforced your idea that his job experience might not have been a traditional one. You frankly didn’t mind, as you were in no position to judge a potential criminal past. Besides, you believed anything he did couldn’t be worse than what your family or the Maronis did on a daily basis. 

You had woken up when the sun was already high in the sky, and to your surprise Jason had still been there, on his back and staring at the ceiling. When you had turned around on your side, he had mimicked you to come face to face with you, not talking at all. His wound on his arm had stopped bleeding during the night, for which you were thankful for. It eased your guilt to see it was healing well. You had stayed there for what seemed like hours, but it was comfortable. 

“I meant to ask,” He began, his voice soft and husky from the morning. “Why did you go to Bruce with the leak?”

You blinked slowly, tilting your head slightly to the side. “Well, I couldn’t go to the police, it was out of the question. I couldn’t trust any of them to pursuit this case”

“But what made you trust Bruce in particular?”

“I… I like to listen when people talk. Before, it gave me the impression I was part of the family business and not just an accessory, and that way I got to hear bits and parts of the discussions conducted behind closed doors” You began. “More times than not I would hear how Wayne Enterprises projects got in the way of their plans, and how Bruce Wayne would always do something to undermine them legally. So after I stole the intel, there was really one way I was certain would yield results, one person I was certain would have all the interests in the world to see this trial happen”

“That’s…” He trailed off, an impressed expression on his face. “That’s surprisingly smart”

“Surprisingly?” You raised an eyebrow.

“For someone who had no idea how to use a can opener, that is” 

You slapped his chest as he let out a laugh; he was so proud of his joke. “Hey, I learned!”

“I know, I know” He chuckled, reaching his hand and brushing a rogue hair strand away from your face. You had noticed as the days passed that he seemed to favor the little touches and the unspoken rather than obvious and obnoxious displays. You knew he was more of the quiet type when he wasn’t arguing with you, always working in his corner and doing his stuff. It hadn’t really changed ever since the gas station moment, but this time he would steal little glances, brush his hand against yours when he’d change gears in the car, or make sure he took out a bowl for you as well when you made your canned soup. “You adapted better than I thought you would, considering the entire lifestyle change you had to go through in the last two weeks”

“I didn’t have much choice, did I?” You grinned. 

“Nope, not at all, princess” He pushed himself on his elbows and leaned down to kiss you. You smiled onto his lips, welcoming the slow movements of him against you. However, you gently pushed him back after a moment, knowing if he had it his way, you’d stay there for hours. 

“Jason” You said his name when he was visibly trying to distract you again with butterfly kisses on your jaw, only pausing to give you wide, innocent eyes. Insufferable. “I have to go take a shower”

“I’ll come with” He shrugged.

“What?”

“Yeah” He nodded. “Listen. You hired me to protect you, so that’s what I’m going to do”

“From what?” You laughed at his serious tone.

“Water’s cold”

“So NOW you want to protect me from the cold water?” You raised an eyebrow. “That surely wasn’t the discourse you held two weeks ago”

“People change, princess” He sighed exaggeratedly before getting up and walking to your side of the bed. “Come on, you said it yourself, you’ve got a shower to take”

You rolled your eyes, but nonetheless accepted the hand he held out for you. You went to the bathroom and undressed, then managed to get into the relatively small shower, your back to Jason. He was so tall he actually shielded you from the water from the showerhead when he turned the shower on, getting all the burning cold on his back instead. 

“See?” He chuckled. “No cold water”

“But how will I wash myself if the water doesn’t get to me?” You asked, looking at him over your shoulder. He stared blankly at you, like he didn’t think of that.

“Let me worry about it” He dismissed, making you laugh. 

“Alright, alright”

He began slowly rubbing your skin with his wet hands, spreading water indirectly. His fingertips were still cold, but you knew for a fact it was slightly better than the direct flow from the tap. Goosebumps erupted all over your arms and back, both from the sudden change of temperature and his touch. You closed your eyes, enjoying the contrast in between the water and his still warm chest. He wet your hair, combing it with his hands, before he put the shampoo in and made it lather. Immediately, you recognized the smell.

“Is this your shampoo?” You asked, your eyes opening.

“Mhh”

“I thought you didn’t like when people used your stuff” 

“Technically, I’m using it”

“Still!” You replied. “You practically threatened me last time I dared wear your shampoo”

“Truth is” He leaned in, his lips almost pressed against your ear. “It kinda drove me hog fucking wild to have you prancing around smelling like me”

Your eyes widened and the back of your neck heated enough for you to warm the water dripping down your back. You gulped, unable to answer that as it came as a shock for you that you have had another effect on him aside from pissing him off. He chuckled at your lack of comeback, his hot breath fanning your jaw. He slowly rinsed the soap out of your hair, then began washing your skin. His hands massaged your muscles as they went, making you sigh in contentment. At this point, you had backed so much into him you were just as much subject to the direct contact of the water as him, but you didn’t care. 

He trailed small kisses from behind your ears down to your shoulder before pausing there, as if he was hesitant. He lifted his head slightly, and you could see his stare right on you from your peripheral vision. 

“I need to tell you something”

You were surprised by the sudden seriousness of his words, but you tilted your head to show him you were listening.

“I’m the Red Hood”

You blinked slowly, registering his words. Well, that certainly explained things. You even wondered how you didn’t see it sooner, but now that he mentioned it, it had been rather obvious. “... Congratulations?”

You could feel he wasn’t expecting this reaction. “That’s… That’s all?” He stuttered. “You’re okay with that?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” You turned your head to look at him properly. “You saved my life so many times, I am not about to complain how you did it”

“But I did a lot of bad too,” He argued. “Some things that might change your opinion”

“You’re seriously asking me, who comes from a crime family, if I’m okay with you doing crimes?” You deadpanned. His face changed, as if he was reevaluating his entire argument.

“When you put it like this…” He trailed off, nodding. You could however see the relief in his eyes at your acceptance of his double identity. Especially with the kind of job he was doing here with you, you could only imagine how blurred the line in between the two personas must have been at times. 

“Why did you tell me?” It was a gentle question, full of wonder as to what pushed him to reveal to you such an important, personal detail about himself. Your hand sneaked up and covered his still on your forearm.

“I thought you should know” He muttered back, his voice barely rising over the noise of the water hitting the shower’s floor. “You never asked what I did before, or how I took care of seven hired guns at the motel. I wasn’t sure if you just avoided it, or…”

“Don’t worry” You interrupted him softly. “Moral compasses are no issues with me”

His lips reached yours under a freezing rain, your bodies numb to anything but each other.

Day 25

A few days ago Jason received a call from Bruce.

The arrests had been made and the trial date had been set. As you had predicted, they tried to keep the relative information about it under wraps so you wouldn’t be aware it was happening. But fortunately, with Bruce’s quiet oversight of the process, he had managed to relay the details on time. You hadn’t been very far from Gotham when the news dropped, but you were still thankful for the heads up. It had given you time to plan your safe return into the boundaries of the city, staying hidden in another one of Jason’s safehouses until the day came for you to be a witness in the trial.

It was now in progress, it had just started some minutes ago. You were staying in an adjacent room that was guarded by people under Bruce’s paycheck, with Jason laying on a couch behind you, looking at his phone while you were getting ready. You were thankful that you had brought a second designer outfit with you, because you weren’t sure your gray t-shirt from Target with the oversized men’s pants you inherited on your first day with Jason would have looked very professional or credible. You did your makeup carefully with the basic products you had, then took a look at yourself in the mirror. You smothered the creases in your blouse and made sure the belt wasn’t twisted in the loops of your slacks, and sighed. 

Jason stood up from the couch and walked to you, stopping behind you and sneaking an arm around your waist. He snuggled his nose in the crook of your neck and placed a small kiss there. “Am I an asshole for thinking you look better in a 30 bucks outfit?”

You laughed despite your nervous state. He was trying to distract you and you welcomed it. “Not more than usual, no”

He gasped at your rebuttal, but you could see the amusement in his eyes. “Is that what you really think of me?” He asked. “I’m hurt”

“Aw, come here” You pouted, turning your chin over your shoulder. You raised your arm to rest your hand on his cheek and gently pulled him down into a kiss. Your eyes fluttered close when his lips met yours, letting your relish in his comforting presence. You felt your heartbeat slow down as you sighed against his lips, wishing to remain there with him for another hour or so. Alas, the moment was broken shortly after when the door opened. 

“They will soon be--oh” 

You pulled back from the kiss, but Jason didn’t move away at the sound of Bruce’s voice behind you. You could feel he was annoyed at his adoptive father ruining the mood, but at least he wasn’t pissed like you had seen he could be on day one. That in itself was a relief. 

“Am I interrupting something?”

“No, not at all” Jason replied in a clearly sarcastic tone. You stifled back a laugh at the grimace he was doing to mock Bruce. “Perfect timing as usual”

Bruce didn’t answer that. He only closed the door behind him and headed for the desk, leaning back on it. Jason followed his movements in the mirror like a hawk. 

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad you aren’t at each other’s throat anymore” He began, a cryptic smile on his lips. “But I hadn’t expected… Whatever this is”

It was Jason’s turn to sigh as he reluctantly parted away from you. He didn’t go far, however. He stayed by your side like another threat on your life could pop up at any moment. “Shocker”

“As I was saying” Bruce reprised, ignoring Jason’s side comment. “They will call you to the stand soon. I just wanted to check up on you and see if you had any questions or concerns before you go out”

“How solid is the case built?” You asked.

“It should hold” He nodded. “From what I’ve seen, it’s solid in front of a jury. Your testimony will have to be conclusive if we want to catch some Maroni members in the lot, but I’m confident you’ll be stellar”

You gave him a small smile. You knew your father would be there, glaring at you like you were the devil itself, but you repeated to yourself you could go through this. There was no way he would be as intimidating as Jason in the first few days, and you came out on the other side unscathered. He couldn’t hurt you anymore, and soon he would reap what he sowed. 

“How secure will the witness booth be?” It was Jason who spoke this time, his eyes straight on Bruce like he was challenging him to give an answer that wouldn’t be good enough.

“The two guards in front of this room will accompany her in the courtroom” Bruce replied calmly. “There will also be one more guarding the door, and I supposed you won’t be far as well��

He only hummed in answer, but he seemed satisfied with this plan. Bruce checked his watch and stood up, hands in his pocket. 

“It’s time” 

You nodded, exhaling a shaky breath. You exited the room with Jason at your side and the guards behind you. You walked down a few hallways before you stopped in front of the witness booth door. You forced yourself to take deep breaths and visualize the end result. You could do this, you could do this.

“Keep your head high, stay confident” Jason muttered in your ear as the door opened in front of you. “You got this, princess”

With his last words of encouragement, you were brought into the courtroom.

Day 101

“... The sentence of the twelve convicted has dropped this morning on the order of judge Monroe, a little less than three months after the devastating trial that landed a blow on organized crime in Gotham. The twelve men will each serve a sentence ranging from twenty to forty years in a maximum security facility, on counts of attempted murders, first degree homicide, money laundering, drug trafficking and tax fraud. Amongst the convicted is Vitto Maroni, a notable figure in Gotham’s public life…”

You jumped when a loud pop dragged your attention away from the TV. 

Jason was standing there with a proud grin, pouring foaming sparkling grape juice in two champagne flutes. You laughed as he handed you one, plopping next to you on the couch and clinking his glass on yours.

“Cheers to a victory,” He declared. “that wouldn’t have been possible without you”

“Don’t flatter me too much, give yourself some credit” You matched his grin. “You’re at least 20% responsible for this”

“Ah yes, my 20% contribution” He nodded thoughtfully. “Eighteen percent bullets shot, two percent bullets received I recall”

You laughed with him, drinking the fizzy beverage. He lifted his arm, and you crawled under it to snuggle on his side, careful not to spill anything. It had become a habit for you to end up one way or another in his arms, even after the trial ended. He had offered you to move in with him shortly after, when you had tried to give him the ten thousand dollars you had promised him after the trial. Not only had he refused to even look at it, but he gave you back the 5k you had already given him beforehand. He had insisted for you to keep it and invest in whatever you wanted to turn your life around like you wished. 

He had been excited for you when you announced you would enroll in law school, saying your argumentative side would definitely come handy as an attorney.

“I’m proud of you” 

You looked up at him to see a fond glint in his eyes, one that made your heart melt. For all of his rough edges, he was certainly very soft inside. All he wanted was for you to be safe and happy, and you couldn’t ask for someone better to start your new life with. You snuggled further into him as he kissed the top of your head and tightened his arm around you.

“Thank you for being there for me” You mumbled through his clothes. “It means a lot”

“I couldn’t walk away from you even if I wanted to, princess” He smiled against your hair. “You are so stuck with me”

“Good thing I’m not going anywhere, then”

You changed the channel to a movie and spent the rest of the night cuddling on the couch, you wearing his t-shirt and shampoo and him holding you like a treasure. 

#jason todd x reader #jason todd imagine #jason todd fic #jason todd x you #jason todd #red hood #red hood imagine #red hood x reader #dc #dcu #dc universe #dc imagine #dcu imagine #dc universe imagine #batfam #batfam imagine #imagine #red hood x you #outlaws

[whereflowersbloom]

Fly with me

Chapter III: Take a chance on us.

The tower was silent, the rest of the occupants not yet awake. The pale pink light of an autumn morning was beginning to color the horizon. Raven couldn’t sleep. She woke up a bit earlier than usual. She brew a cup of Earl Grey, added a small pitch of milk, two teaspoons of honey. Done. She was sitting quietly, started sipping her tea as she recalled the events of yesterday. She’s always been honest and open with Damian, over the years they became close comrades, friends, things changed though, lately she felt troubled looking at him in the eye. His observant eyes perceive every little detail. Her stomach was in knots and it seemed to be something not even meditation could solve. She found herself losing focus. The reason? Thoughts of Damian consuming her, completely, slowly, like a fire spreading. She had to find a way to fix this.

She heard light footsteps on the kitchen floor. She turned and looked back to find Kori.

“Raven, I’m sorry if I startled you.” Kori’s soft voice said as she smiled serenely.

“Kori, you’re up early. Good morning.” Raven replied weakly, it was evident she didn’t have a goodnight.

“Morning to you. I was sent on a mission to get an ice-pack and a mug of black coffee, for Richard.” She explained as she proceeded to brew the drink for her partner. However the Tamaranian noticed Raven’s bewildered look on her face. “Raven, is something particularly bothering you?” She asked eyebrows knit together in concern.

Raven looked at her for a minute. How was she supposed to explain the situation. It was strange and silly. On second thought, perhaps Kori could guide her, give her an idea of how to handle her emotional conflict.

“I’m not quiet sure how to deal with certain new emotions surging. It’s overwhelming at times.” She confessed.

Kori nodded and took Raven’s hand in her own. “Does these new emotions involve Damian, by any chance?” The older woman carefully inquired.

The dark haired teenager opened her eyes widely in surprise. “How did you know?”

“Call it woman’s instinct.” Kori replied confidently. There was more to it. Raven knew it. She raised her eyebrows in a silent question. “Alright. Richard did mention Damian is going through a similar situation. They had a bonding moment last night.” She gave Raven an apologetic smile, her cheeks flushed.

Raven has never been so mortified in her life and Kori was telling her, Damian Wayne, always calm, collected, disciplined, sure he had a bad temper at times, sharp tongue, but he appeared to be in control all the time. Those fits of emotions she was getting through her empathic powers were also Damian’s. Raven seemed to be notoriously absentminded, lost in her tangled thoughts. But why did they affect her so much?

She felt the weight of Kori’s hand fall on her shoulder, catching her attention, snapping back to reality. “You two have gotten intimately close over the years. Have you considered you are developing romantic feelings for each other?” The alien ex-princess asked pointedly.

She held her breath as she considered Kori’s question. Romantic feelings. It hit her like splashed water on her face. Was Damian romantically interested in her? He did ask her on a date. She was going to meet his family, formally. Oh Azar. She didn’t want to take it too seriously. Because Of her insecurities, she felt inadequate. She wasn’t human like the, after all. Even so Damian wasn’t the type of person to play around, he means his words and actions. When did this start? How? Why her? She wondered how long he has harbored affection for her. And did she like him? Of course, she did, but falling in love was never supposed to be part of her life. Until you met him she thought. In her heart he was unparalleled to anything in the universe. She admired his intelligence, his passion, he’d shown her he could be kind and thoughtful, stood up for justice in a world that was often more focused on doing what was more comfortable. He was also very attentive to her and gentle. She loved those sides of him.

“I have feelings for Damian Wayne.” Raven said quietly, speaking the words into existence, practically falling over the weight of the words she just said.

“Doesn’t it feel nice to admit it?” Kori teased her, smiling warmly.

“Oh, Kori. I have no idea what to do about it.” Raven but her lip, covering her face embarrassed.

Kori nodded, understanding her friend’s concern. “I think it’s something you two should discuss. That’s my advice. Honesty is always the answer in these cases. In my humble opinion.”

“Thanks, Kori. For your words and listening.” Her leader nodded and told her it’s what friends are for. She left the kitchen, deciding to meditate to regain composure. Think clearly before speaking with Damian about their developing bond.

~~~

Hours later, she standing in front of Damian’s door. She tried to gather courage to knock. Anxiety had poooled in her chest. She was about to do it when the door opened, the figure of Damian appearing in front of her. Both looking surprised, to see each other. She couldn’t help but smile, her heart fluttering. Had his eyes always been this beautiful, like two pools of the deepest, richest green known to human kind? His strong jawline. Apparently her presence astounded him.

“Hey, I was about to find you.” Damian said casually. Going back to his neutral expression.

“Oh. Anything you need? I also wanted to have a word with you.” Raven said looking away, feeling heat on her cheeks, her nerves getting the best of her.

“I was going to ask you. Would you mind accompanying me to walk Titus?” Damian muttered serious, masking his emotions. Be in control. Reminded himself.

“Sure. I’d love to. We can talk on the way to the park.” Raven said quietly, almost in a whisper. It’s not the first time they walk Titus together.

The park was relatively quiet for a Thursday afternoon. There were a few joggers. Other dog owners walking their canine friends or more like canines with their humans, because most of the time it seemed like the dogs made the rules. Except Titus. Damian trained him personally, and he proved be obedient and a fast learner.

Damian let Titus off his leash, he did it for a little time on their walks, so that he could get a good run and taste of freedom. He never went too far though. However sometimes he’d come back bringing an abandoned ball or an empty soda can. Damian raised his eyebrows and gave him a look and somehow Titus knew it wasnt a toy to play with. But Raven loves spoiling him, playing with him, giving him secret treats she thinks Damian doesnt know about. He didn’t mind pretending he wasn’t aware of it, if it made her happy.

“Raven” he repeated her name. “Have I done something to offend you?” He asked considering if he did something incorrect. “You haven’t said a word the entire time.”

“No!” She said loudly and feeling guilt, tentatively taking a step forward, closing the distance between them. “Actually, I want to apologize for my behavior these last days.” They were so close, she gulped nervously.

“Apologize? Why? Care to elaborate?” He said firmly, calm. His eyebrows rising questioning her.

“Perhaps I gave you the idea I wasn’t taking your proposal seriously. The date.” She exhaled. Getting a weight off her chest. Those mixed feelings messing with her again. The words stuck in her throat.

“Damian” she said holding her breath, her throat dry, heart speeding. “You like me.” said in a low voice, only Damian was able to hear it. Raven bit her lip painfully once she realized what she just said. Damian’s eyebrows shot up in surprise at her words. He looked at her, analyzing her expression. Choosing his words carefully. He took a step forward.

“Yes. I like you.” He said slowly, his tone firm, direct, speaking with all seriousness. His eyes locking with hers. That was the truth, why deny it anymore? He liked to think he was doing things properly.

Even knowing it, hearing it from him, made her heart soar. Wishing to hear him say it again, and again. She didn’t want to give herself the pleasure to replay the moments in her mind. She had questions.

“But. Why?” He cut her in. He was frowning and suppressing his temper. It was exasperating how blinded she was by her self-doubts. He wanted to make his feelings and intentions clear.

“Please, stop and listen to me.” He pleaded. “How could you not understand why?” concealing his anger at her incomprehension, not understanding all the things she was. Things he discovered everyday about her. Everything she was becoming. He exhaled his frustration. And cleaned his throat.

“I could tell you a million reasons why I harbor romantic feelings for you. It’s something complicated to describe in detail. If you’d let me, I’ll, do it. But I’d rather show you.” He confessed.

He took her hands in his. They were warm, practically engulfing her small, pale hands in his larger, rougher ones. Those precious hands. Hers. His eyes were the same as they had been yesterday burning and filled with desire and passion. Her heart skipped a beat and her mouth went dry. She was breathless at his declaration.

“There’s no one quite like you. There’s only one Raven. The one I want.” Damian murmured, his voice low, soft, expressing all his devotion. “This date is a chance for us to see everything we could be together.” She took a deep breath, found truth in his emerald eyes and nodded silently. Agreeing. She would do it. Take a chance. Damian only sneezed her hands still in his gently.

It was about time for a update and I was inspired. Hope you enjoy it. 🥰🥰😂😂😂❤️💜🙈

@chromium7sky enjoy 🙊🙊

#fly with me #dancing au #slow dancing #alternative universe #damirae #raven x damian #damian wayne #raven roth #ballrom #gala #batfamily #teen titans #koriand'r #dick grayson #garfiend logan #donna troy #jaime reyes #demon birds #bruce wayne #jason todd #tim drake #barbara gordon #fluff #dc universe #dc fandom

[sheeple]

The intern | 6: Morning mess

GIFS NOT MINE. THIS IS ALL FICTION. Genre(s): intern!au / fluff / mild angst Group(s): NCT / Red Velvet Pairing(s): Moon Taeil x fem!reader Summary: The new Elysion Publishings intern is the youngest they ever had. It’s not a problem until she grabs the attention of the IT guy. Warning(s): Age-gap of five years [Masterlist] [Mini masterlist]

“Okay, so, it may not be the cleanest at the moment. I had a busy week and no time to clean”, says Taeil before opening the front door. 

He lets me go in first before locking the front door behind us before taking off his shoes and opening the door connecting the hall and the living room.

A fluffy thing sneaks between the crack of the door and rushes towards Taeil. A big smile spreads on his face as he is petting the walking cloud. 

“Ah~ Bong Bong-ie. Did you miss me?”, he questions the dog while squishing her cheeks. Bong Bong licks his hands as a response while waggling her tail. She really reminds me of Peanut.

Bong Bong suddenly turns her attention towards me and I smile, dropping down to pet her. She walks hesitantly towards, sniffing my outstretched hand. 

Bong Bong looks me up and down, before turning towards Taeil, giving him the ‘are you serious’ look. He nods slightly and Bong Bong turns her head towards me, lunging at me and smothering me with little licks all over my face.

I let out a squeal and fall backwards, my back hitting the door and my butt landing on the ground. Bong Bong stands over me as she sniffs all over my face and especially in my ear.

“Bong Bong!”, scolds Taeil his dog as he off me by her collar. 

As I stand up and brush the dog hairs off my clothes and butt, I say, “don’t worry. I’m used to dog-kisses and sniffles.” I smile and undo the ties of my sneakers, placing them neatly in the reck next to Taeil’s other shoes. 

“Let me grab you an extra pair of slippers. Feel free to roam around, I’ll be right back”, he tells me before speeding off, the sound of footsteps hurrying up a pair of stairs being very loud through the apartment.

I walk further in and look around in amazement. 

When you walk in, you look right at the amazing view the enormous window give of this little part of Seoul. Taeil has his tv-stand against the windows and the couch facing them. 

Behind the couch is a relatively big kitchen for an apartment in Seoul. He has the basic appliances like the fridge, stove, and microwave against the wall as the sink is on the other side in a kitchen island with bar stools, the dinner table behind that.

“Amazing view, right?”, says Taeil with a smile in his voice as he walks down the stairs, which probably lead towards his bedroom. 

I turn around with a big grin. “It’s wonderful. Your house is just great overall.”

His ears turn slightly red as he walks towards me with a pile of clothes and fluffy slippers on top of them. “I also fetched you some clothes to sleep in. The bathroom is next to the front door, left.” He points at the hallway and I smile, taking the pile of clothes from him and I walk towards the bathroom. 

Bong Bong follows me as I get into the bathroom and lays on the floor with her head between her front paws, her eyes following my every move. 

I let out a giggle when I put on the baseball shorts and sweater as they’re a bit too big for me, just like the slippers. 

Once I emerge from the bathroom followed by the fluffy cloud, Taeil already has grabbed a pillow and blankets and made up a makeshift bed on the couch. 

He looks up when he hears the scuffing of the slippers against the floor. He blinks a couple times as he sees me, his mouth slightly agape. 

“Something... wrong?”, I ask concerned and look down, making sure I’m wearing the clothes correctly and nothings crooked or ruined. 

“Yeah... Eh─ no. Anyways, I made you a bed on the couch because I knew if I would offer my bed, you would refuse and throw a fit until you finally would sleep on the couch.”

I giggle and fluff up the pillow. “You know me too well.” 

“Well, if you need something, just ask, okay?”, Taeil says with raised eyebrows as I nod. 

“Actually”, I say and stop him from turning around. “Do you maybe have an extra charger for my phone? I accidentally left mine at home this morning and it’s almost dead”, I say, scratching the back of my neck while pressing on the home button, a huff leaving my lips as I see there’s only twenty per cent left.

“Of course”, smiles Taeil and walks towards the tv-stand, grabbing a charger out of one of the baskets and plugging it in the wall next to the couch. 

“Here you go”, he smiles and gives me the end and I take it, thanking him while plugging my phone in. 

“Goodnight, (Y/n)”, says Taeil with a tired smile before walking up the stairs. 

“Sleep tight, Taeil”, I reply and take place on the couch. 

I sigh deeply and let the events of today replay in mind. A deep blush creeps on my face again as I think of how closely Taeil and I have been today. 

I feel my heart rapidly beat in my chest and lay a hand on top of it. Don’t do this now, heart. I am not ready for that.

Once the first rays of sunshine come through the blinds, they hit my bare legs which peaked out underneath the blanket, spreading a comfortable warmth across them. A wet tongue licks all over my cheeks and I groan, turning away so I lay on my back and I place an arm over my eyes. 

Bong Bong nudges me again and I turn my head, raising my eyebrows at the walking cloud. She looks at me before turning around and walking towards the front door, scratching it as a sign she wants out. 

I let another soft groan and look up towards the second floor balustrade, searching for any sign of Taeil. 

 I get up from the make-shift bed, the blanket falling on the ground next to the slippers. I shove my feet into them and yawn, stretching my arm above my head and crack my shoulder joints, wincing at the sound of my bones popping. 

I walk over towards the stairs and quietly climb up, peering over the edge to see if Taeil’s awake. But what I see is a very cutely sleeping Taeil, curled up in a ball and hugging his pillow. 

I chuckle softly, my mind wondering if he would engulf me the same if we would cuddle. 

No! Bad (Y/n)! Bad thoughts! No time for crushes and fluffy thoughts.

I shake my head, quickly walking down the stairs before I get any more crazy thoughts. 

While pulling on my sneakers, I search around for Bong Bong’s lease and a spare pair of keys to take with me. 

After some snooping around, I find them both and exit the apartment, Bong Bong happily pattering next to me as I push in my earphones and playing some lo-fi playlist, skipping down the stairs as I slide my phone into the pockets of the baseball shorts.

I quickly find the park nearby and walk around, letting Bong Bong do her deeds before returning back.

When I enter again, the apartment is still dark so I just assume Taeil’s still asleep. Jeez, what a sleepy boy.

After releasing Bong Bong from her lease and putting on the slippers again, I walk towards the kitchen and begin to cook up some breakfast for the both of us. 

My phone plings, notifying me I have a message and I look.

I take another peek upstairs and see that he’s still asleep, only this time he lays flatly on his belly, his cheeks mushed against the mattress and hair in his eyes. 

Deciding that I will wait until he’s up to eat, I grab my laptop and get stationed at one of the barstools, pulling my headphones out of my backpack and finishing some freelance stuff I’ve been working on. 

After around half an hour, I think, I hear footsteps coming down the stairs and I look up with a smile. 

“Oh, you’re awake”, he says, his voice coarse from just waking up as he rubs his eyes. 

I giggle softly as I look at my phone for the time. “Only since eight am”, I say and Taeil turns around, looking at the clock which shows that it’s currently half-past nine. 

Taeil frowns. “Something happened?”

I shake my head with a smile. “Nothing big. Bong Bong just wanted to go for a walk.” I look at the dog that lays at my feet and pet her fluffy ears.

His cheeks head up. “I am so sorry. Bbong-ie is a princess sometimes and when she wants a walk, she wants it now.”

A giggle escapes my lips as I slide off my chair, onto my knees and squish Bong Bong’s cheeks together. “And right you are, little princess.”

Taeil is at loss of words as he watches me interact with his dog. In his eyes, the cutest thing ever. 

“You really adore dogs, don’t you”, he says, smiling softly and squads down while scratching behind Bong Bong’s ear, her head leaning to the side.

“Well, I told you I have dogs back home and I just miss them. So Bong Bong gets double the affection I would normally give a dog.” I face Taeil and he nods slowly, probably recalling what I said last night.

“Yeah, a Beagle and a Frenchie, right?”

I nod and get up, feeling the blood slowly flowing back into my legs. “Yup. Also, by the way, I made breakfast.” I point towards the table and he turns around, wonder fill his eyes.

“You... you made breakfast?”, he questions while walking towards the table, looking around the different foods on the table. 

“I hope I made it correctly. To be frank, I have never eaten a Korean breakfast.” I scratch the back of my head. “Google said this is typical so... enjoy?”

Taeil takes place on the table and I sit on the chair in front of him, watching his face carefully. 

“This is... this is absolutely amazing, (Y/n)!”, he exclaims, taking the chopsticks in his hands and immediately digging in. “Holy damn”, he mumbles with a full mouth. “This is so good, oh my god.” He holds a hand in front of his mouth as his eyes roll back in delight. 

A blush creeps on my face and I also begin to eat. My eyebrows raise as it is indeed pretty good. 

“But what do you eat in the morning then?”, questions Taeil when he grabs his cup of coffee. 

“Hmm...”, I hum, “back home I eat a bowl of yoghurt with sprinkles, strawberries in the summer when my mom gets them. Or toasted bread with cheese, if I’m lazy some Nutella or so.”

“Can you function on only pudding?”

As I nod, I stuff a fried egg in my mouth. “I would eat something again around ten so it’s not that bad”, I shrug. 

“At school?” 

A hum leaves my lips. “My first break of the three.”

Taeil smiles and leans with his chin on his hand, a chuckle leaving his lips. “It’s funny how I’ve heard you talk so much about your home and friends, but almost nothing about your parents. Why’s that?”

I lick my lips. “My mom and I are really close. I can talk to her about anything and nothing is too weird. But with my dad...” A sigh leaves my lips. “I love him and he really loves me, we just have similar personalities and that clashes at times.”

Taeil reaches across the table and grabs my hand, rubbing circles on the top. “It’s okay if you don’t want to tell.”

I give him a sad but thankful smile, squeezing his hand before releasing it, running a hand through my hair. 

“Okay, happier subject. What are you going to do today.” Taeil claps his hands together, sending me a smile.

“Firstly, I am going to do my groceries. I’m almost out of toilet paper and cereal. And then, around one, I’m gonna hang out with a friend of mine.”

“Mind if I tag along with you?”, he asks and I raise my eyebrows. “The grocery shopping”, he quickly adds, a chuckle in his voice. 

“Sure, I guess. But we have to drop by my house so I can change in something more appropriate for the public eye.”

Taeil’s eyes look at my appearance in his oversized clothes. “I think you look great.”

I look away with a slight smile. “Yeah sure. I can’t keep walking around in your sweater all day─”

“─I don’t mind”, he cuts me off, a blush tinting his face.

My own cheeks also heat up and I chew on my bottom lip. “We’re... I can’t do that...”, I whisper.

He licks his lips, the air between us awkward before nodding. “Yes, you are right. Let’s just drop by your place so you can change.”

The car ride to my apartment and the walk towards the supermarket has been filled with silence and secretive glances. 

As we’re standing still in front of a red traffic light, I turn towards Taeil and grab his arm. “I am sorry for what I said earlier. You’ve been nothing but nice to me and I screw it by being rude.” I look away and swallow, letting my hair fall in front of my face.

Taeil pushes the veil of thick hair away with a soft smile. “It’s okay, really. I understand. I mean... we’re not together so it was not right of me to suggest such thing.”

The traffic light turns green and we start to walk again with the mass of people, my hands still wrapped around his arm and his hands stuffed in the pockets of his jeans. 

“Well... I mean, it’s not like I would mind wearing your sweaters. It’s just that I was looking like a mess and my words just came out wrongly and...” I bite my lip while searching for his eyes, which are settled on the traffic light.

“You looked beautiful, this morning”, says Taeil bluntly. “You always do.”

My lips part slightly and I blink. I totally lost my ability to speak with his sudden found confidence. My heart flutters and skips a couple beats. 

“Oh. Well... thank you.”

We finally reach the supermarket and I pull out a cart, signalling for Taeil to sit in it. 

“What pfff hahaha no”, he laughs loudly, “shouldn’t I be the one pushing you around?”

I scoff while smiling. “The next time, okay?”

“Oh, so there will be a next time?”, he teases and leans against the cart, a slight grin adorns his pretty face. 

“Just get in, you dork”, I grumble with a heavy blush on my cheeks as he climbs into the cart, sitting cross-legged.

“Off to the life support, my humble carriage pusher”, he jokes, stretching out his arm and pointing towards the alcohol aisle. 

#nct #nct 127 #nct u #nct scenario #nct fluff #nct imagine #nct 127 imagine #nct u imagine #nct 127 fluff #taeil #nct taeil #moon taeil #taeil fluff #taeil imagines #taeil scenarios #fake text #mark #mark lee #nct mark lee #nct fake text

[dramaqueeenamby]

Waves: Summertime [2]

A/N: I lied. I said this was going to be two parts. It’s not. It’s going to be three. 

This part is extremely heavy and includes scenes of domestic violence, partner violence, violent sexual encounters, and should be read at your own discretion. I apologize for the heavy content, but with a character like Summer, there’s a lot of baggage, and it was time to unload that. 

I’ve been wanting to explore the topics covered in this part for a while, but I could never find the right way. This felt right. 

Read part one HERE

Words: 3.5K

Warnings: scenes of domestic violence, partner violence, violent sexual encounters

WAVES

The banging on her dorm door broke her from her trail of thought, thus depriving her of the perfect ending she’d come up with for the abstract. Summer groaned and lifted her phone to see if she’d been so immersed in her work that she’d missed a text from someone asking if they could stop by.

She was instead met with her lock screen, a photo of herself with her mom and grandma.

Frowning, Summer decided to ignore the person. Zanna, her roommate, had gone home for the weekend so it wasn’t a case of the party girl forgetting her key again.

Whoever decided to stop by unexpectedly would learn the hard way that Summer didn’t like surprises.

Scrolling down the document, she glanced at her handwritten outline and searched for the next portion to type.

Rapid and intensive knocking once again ripped her from her controlled focus, forcing her to mutter a profanity.

Accepting that the visitor wasn’t going to leave, she untangled her crossed legs and moved her HP laptop to the side. Stretching, she walked out of her room, past the common area, and near the door.

Looking out the peephole, she instantly rolled her eyes and unlocked the door.

"You don’t know how to call?"

Javon Carter eyed Summer from head to toe. "You don’t know how to dress like a woman?"

Looking down at her outfit, she realized that she was wearing one of Shea’s old shirts and a pair of joggers that she’d "borrowed" from Terry.

She returned her stare to the point guard in her doorway. "Nigga, I’m comfortable."

He turned up his nose, ready to ask who the clothes belonged to as he recognized that they were from a male but remembered seeing her in them before. She said they were her brothers.

"Well, you look fat."

Welcoming himself in, Summer opened her mouth to say something, but nothing came out.

She frowned.

That’d been happening a lot as of lately.

The more and more hurtful things that came out of her boyfriend’s mouth, the less and less she defended herself.

What is wrong with you?

"Why you ain’t answer my call?" Javon asked as he welcomed himself into the kitchen area, opening the fridge to search for what he could eat.

Summer closed and locked the door before crossing her arms as she moved near the dining area. "You didn’t call, Javon."

He paused and chuckled. "Yes, I did, Summer. Don’t tell me what I didn’t do."

The actress in training sighed heavily as she sauntered into the kitchen, past him, to grab a glass to fill it with some water. "Well then, your blind ass must have called the wrong number cause you didn’t ring my line."

Her back toward him, she only heard him say "what the fuck you just say" before her head collided with the stainless steel faucet, forcing it sideways as the cup dropped in the sink, the water spilling down the drain.

"You better watch how you fucking talk to me."

Summer gasped and clenched her eyes shut while grasping at her stomach. The force of his hit crushed her pelvic area into the edge of the counter, creating a brief but sharp pain.

Javon noticed that she was still hunched over but said nothing about her obvious discomfort and instead dismissed it. "It didn’t even hurt that bad." He slammed the door shut and shrugged off his jacket. "You always so damn dramatic."

Finally regaining some of her senses, Summer reacted impulsively, turning around and shoving his back.

"I told you not to do that shit again!"

Javon quickly spun around, his eyes widening by the second. "You crazy?"

Before she could reply, his hand collided with her face. However, Summer was instantly responsive, lifting her right hand, balling it into a fist, and landing it directly in the middle of his face.

Javon dubbed over and grunted out. "You dumb bitch."

"Call me something else!" She threatened, continuing to push and shove him as he straightened up. "You so bad! Come on! Stop being a lil’ pussy!" She egged him on, the unconscious thirst for him to strike her again so that she could defend herself a sickening type of logic that she couldn’t even bring herself to address.

All she knew was that she had to redeem herself.

Unlike she had the previous times he put his hands on her.

The shoves, slaps, and grabs that left her chocolate complexion marred with bruises that carried an abundance of shame.

But for all the wrong reasons.

"Didn’t I tell you to shut up," he growled, snatching her by her hair as he tugged her closer, moving his hands to her waist as he lifted her off the ground.

Summer hit at his strong arms as he dragged her out of the kitchen. A tiny gasp escaped her mouth as his right hand roughly grasped at her breast. "Get the fuck off me, Javon!"

Her protests fell on deaf ears as she was carried into her bedroom. When he saw that her bed was filled with books, papers, and folders, he maintained his grip on her with one arm while using the other to knock everything over. The move caused her laptop to slam shut.

Summer’s eyes widened. "Nigga, the fuck!"

Javon said nothing as he tossed her on her stomach and forced her on her back. Summer sat up on her elbows watching him grab the edges of his shirt as he lifted it over his head.

"I see your ass need to be taught a lesson."

His declaration made her thighs clench, her eyes roaming over his toned chest, smooth melanin naturally glistening without any outside help. Javon caught the way she was eyeing him and smirked.

"Yeah. You like that shit, huh?" He taunted, slowly hovering over her as he smashed his lips on hers, his hand grabbing her clothed vagina. "All that shit you was talking. Where it at now?"

Summer glared and shoved at his shoulders only for him to pin her down as he dropped his mouth to her neck.

"Fuck you," she cursed, her eyelids fluttering as her body betrayed her. Thighs closing together, he moved his hand to keep her from sating herself. "You—"

Her chest lifted as he grabbed her throat, Summer placing her hands over his while his left hand started to yank on the waistband of her pants.

"Imma fuck that disrespectful shit right on out of you." he whispered in her ear. Summer moaned.

She didn’t say anything after that, simply allowing herself to once again fall trap to the sick, toxic, and dysfunctional pattern. She had no idea how she’d ended up in this situation. This wasn’t her. It was wrong. Deep down, she knew that.

She was reminded of it every time she encountered a marking on her body that was the result of yet another one of her violent encounters with her boyfriend.

Boyfriend…..

Even calling him that seemed wrong. He wasn’t worthy of that title. Not even close. And yet she chose him. She accepted the dynamics of their relationship. She allowed herself to be violated, to be belittled, to be abused.

Again

He laid on top of her, forceful thrusts wrecking her body, her hands scraping at his back, moans leaving her mouth as he whispered filthy proclamations into her ear.

She convinced herself that this was normal, that she just wasn’t used to being with someone who wasn’t Alejandro.

Even as tears ran down her face.

"Summer!"

Summer broke from her thoughts to see Mercedes, her manager, staring at her with crossed arms.

“Did you hear anything that I just said?”

“No,” she answered truthfully. Pulling her legs up to her chest, Summer tucked her hair behind her ear and focused on the cotton of her jogging suit. “Sorry.”

Mercedes sighed. “I asked is there any other footage that he could rel—”

“No,” Summer answered immediately.

Mercedes pressed. “Are you sure? None whatsoever? What about photos?”

She hesitated. “Maybe.”

Mercedes echoed her answer. “Maybe?”

Summer ran her hands over her makeup-free face. “I don’t know.”

“How do you not know?” Mercedes continued. “You were with the boy—”

“I don’t remember, okay!” Summer snapped. Silence. Her shoulders dropped. “I-I’m sorry.”

“No.” Mercedes shook her head. “I’m sorry.” The publicist moved to sit on the edge of the sofa and then remembered that this was Helen’s house. She wisely opted to sit on the actual seating area of the furniture. “This has to be difficult for you.”

“I can’t believe he would do this to me,” Summer spoke quietly, her vision becoming blurrier by the second. “How do you do something like this to someone you claim to love?”

“Men are dogs, Summer.”

“Not Christopher,” she defended before dropping her head. “He doesn’t deserve this.”

“He?” The Latina frowned and corrected. “You don’t deserve this. You are the victim here, Summer.”

Summer chuckled bitterly. “That’s one way to put it.”

“That’s the only way anyone should put it,” Mercedes continued as her frustration transitioned into confusion toward just what exactly Summer was feeling and thinking. “Revenge porn is a crime. Not to mention you were a minor when that tape was made. The age of consent in this state is 18.”

Mercedes's logic went in one ear and right out the other. “I was still old enough to know better.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. That still doesn’t take away the fact that you’re the one who’s been done wrong, child,” Grandma chimed as she walked into the living room area. Her hair wrapped in one of her favorite silk scarfs and a mug of coffee in her right hand, she greeted her granddaughter’s manager before going back to the topic at hand. “Now why are you talking so crazy?”

“Because I am crazy, grandma,” Summer defended and placed her palm over her forehead. She sensed a migraine in her very near future. “What seventeen year old makes a whole sex tape?”

“White people,” Mercedes muttered and earned a glare from the matriarch of the Jones family.

“Watch it, heifer.”

“Sorry.”

“Grandma, you know I was wrong. Don’t even sit there and try to deny it.”

“Do I think that you had any business allowing yourself to be recorded while having relations? Absolutely not. It was dumb, foolish, and now coming back to bite you in the ass.” Grandma assessed as she placed her mug on the coffee table, bending over and clasping her hands together. “But does it make me love you any less or look at you any differently? Hell no.”

Summer turned her head and wiped at her eyes as a lone tear fell down her face. “It should.”

Mercedes, while needing as much information as she could to handle this nightmare, recognized that Summer was not in a good place. Not at all. She wasn’t up to discussing legalities. This could wait.

Summer’s manager quietly informed the two women that she would give Summer a call later to talk to her, and bid the two farewell before leaving.

When she was gone, grandma cut straight to the chase.

“You need to get your shit together, lil’ girl. You gon’ let that lil’ Mexican get you down like this? Did your mama and I bring you up to be a punk?”

Summer rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Grandma, please. I don’t need this right now.”

“You’re right. What you need is to be with your husband.” Summer laughed bitterly. “Lil girl, don’t make me smack the black off you. Laugh again.”

“He probably hates me now, grandma. And I can’t say that I blame him.”

The older woman frowned and gradually removed her reading glasses. “Excuse me?”

“We haven’t been married even a whole year, and I’ve already gotten myself caught up in two major scandals, both of which make him look stupid.”

“You talking about that mess with that chinless boy from the Wire?”

The weight of the situation outweighed Summer’s ability to comment on her grams hilarious reference to Michael. “I keep fucking up, grandma.”

“You’re human, baby.” A beat. “Which is why I’m giving you a pass for using that kind of fucking language in my house.”

That actually managed to make Summer smile, the first time that she’d done so since the news broke that Alejandro made good on his promise and shared something so private with the entire world.

It was a madhouse. The internet was on fire. Everyone was talking about everything surrounding the video. Who was the man? When was it made? Were Summer and Chris separating?

Even she didn’t know the answer to that last one.

“Where is she?”

“Isaiah.”

The introduction of two new voices interrupted the conversation yet again as Summer lowered her legs from the seat and sat up, her stomach dropping when she realized who was there.

“You need to calm down, Isaiah.”

“Oh, lord….” Grandma trailed off when the man in question marched into the living room, his concerned wife at his side. Leena sent Summer a sympathetic look but kept her hand on her husband’s arm, hoping the small act of affection helped to pacify him.

Summer’s shoulders dropped. “Zay…”

“A sex tape?” Is the first thing to come out of his mouth. It’s quiet but clear. Just like his anger. “A fucking sex tape, Summer?”

She swallowed. “I can explain.”

“What the hell is there to explain?” He scoffed. “The video speaks for its damn self.”

“Baby—”

“What the hell were you thinking, Summer!” Isaiah yelled, his hand balled into a fist, the disgust in his face stabbing Summer directly in her heart. “How could you be so stupid?”

Grandma stood up. “Isaiah.”

“Naw, grandma! I’m sorry, but Summer knew better! She was brought up around niggas! She know how we operate, and with Alejandro? Who else was your fast ass fucking?”

Leena and Grandma gasped while Summer remained quiet.

Squeezing his bicep, Leena got him to look down at her. “Isaiah, you’re going too far now. She made a mistake. She was young.”

“No, she was a hoe.”

“Now that is enough!” Grandma raised her voice and wagged her feelings in his direction. “You are going to stop this now—Summer!”

The elderly woman called after her granddaughter who sprinted out of the house. She needed to get away. It was too much. All of these voices in her ears, the memories resurfacing in her head. She just needed to get away.

Unfortunately, the only thing that awaited her outside was the source of her current nightmare.

She froze on the porch. “Ali….”

He stood against the driver's side of his car, a cigarette pulled to his mouth before he lowered it, blowing out the smoke.

“Hey.”

So many emotions ran through her head at one time. She wanted to charge at him, yell and scream, ask him how and why he betrayed her as he did, but alas, someone else beat her to it.

“You son of a bitch.”

That was all she heard before shouts of protests and horror filled her ears. Isaiah made a beeline for Ali, tackling him to the ground before he proceeded to rain blow on top of blow. Paralyzed with fear and surprise, she stood there as Leena threw herself into the mix, attempting to plead with her husband.

“That’s my little sister, you sick motherfucka’!” Isaiah shouted, the intensity of his shouts matched only by the depth of his fury. “I should kill ya’ ass for this shit!”

“Zay!” Leena shouted, attempting to pry her husband off of his one time best friend only to be met with steel resistance. Desperate, she looked over at grandma. “Help me!”

Grandma lifted her mug to her mouth and took a sip before waving her hand. “Let the lord use him, baby.”

Leena groaned and looked toward Summer, making her pause. She could see it. The anxiety building up. It was too much.

“Summer…..”

In an ironic twist, Terry and Shea pulled up, both men jumping out of the car to pull their brother off of a once good friend of all of the Jones kinds.

“Zay, what the fuck is you doing man!” Terry hissed, grabbing his irate brother by the collar. “This nigga ain’t worth it!”

“Speak for yourself!”

“Grandma, please.” Shea closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose before sneering at a bleeding and groaning Alejandro. “Get the fuck off our property. You know good and well you ain’t welcome here. You a bold pussy.”

“Summer wants me here.” A beat. “Or inside her.”

Alejandro was silenced by Shea’s knee colliding with his nose, a sickening crack following the hit.

“Say some slick shit again, and I’ll knock ya fuckin’ head off!”

The promise from her twin managed to bring Summer into the moment while also triggering another memory, this time with the man who was hellbent on ruining her happiness.

"Who was she?" Silence. “Ali!”

"What, Summer!" He snapped. Summer noticed the way he increased the intensity of his hold on the steering wheel. "Would you shut the fuck up?"

She stared at him, blinking twice before she reacted instinctively. Lifting her hand, she shoved the side of his head.

"Don’t tell me to shut up!"

Ali’s eyes widened. He glanced at her before shouting. "You fucking crazy? Bitch, you trying to kill us!"

Before she could respond, Summer’s right temple made a hard collision with the passenger window. He’d shoved her so hard that Summer brought her fingers to her head to feel for blood. Her vision was also momentarily blurred.

"You need to calm down, and stop acting so stupid."

"Don’t tell me what to do!" She screamed and grabbed at the handle. "Let me out this car!"

Again, he took his eyes off the road to glance at her. "Bitch, you crazy?"

She ignored him and repeated herself. "I said, let me out!" When he ignored her, Summer’s hand balled into a fist and before she realized what was happening, she reached for his phone in the cup holder and punched it through his car window, tossing it out the moving vehicle.

Ali looked at her with wide eyes, not even paying attention to the blood running down her sliced up hands.

“You fucking bitch!”

Summer gasped as he quickly swerved the car, jumping in front of another car so that he could turn on the nearest street. Summer looked around and saw that he was pulling into the parking lot for a condemned building. Before she could even process what she’d done, she was being yanked out of the car and thrown into the side of it.

“You crazy puta!” He shouted, holding her by the collar of her shirt and slamming her into his ride. “You ever do some shit like that again, and I’ll knock ya fuckin’ head off!”

“Fuck you, Ali!” Adrenaline fueled her as she used both her unharmed and the bloody hand to shove him off her. “I hate you!”

“Oh, you hate me?” He mocked and stepped toward her, coldly whispering. “Well, since you hate me so much, walk your dumbass home.”

Summer refused to show fear, matching his burning stare before he shoved past her, hopped in his car, slammed the door and revved out of the parking lot.

It was only when she could no longer see his car jumping lanes to speed down the road did she fall to her knees and start to wail.

“What’s wrong with her?”

“What’s going on?”

“Call 911!”

“Move!”

Voices transpired all around her, but they were all faint whispers that were lost in the sea of overwhelming emotion. Her thoughts were jumbled, sporadic, and chaotic, much like her breathing. She fell to the ground, staring at the wooden paneling of her mother’s porch. One hand went to her chest.

She felt like she was having a heart attack.

Leena pushed her way through and dropped down to gently cupped Summer’s cheeks. “Sweetie, you’re okay. I’m here.” As the Jones boys watched with panic as Summer continued to violently gasp for breath, tears running down her face, the only thing they could think to do was call for an ambulance.

They knew that Summer struggled with social anxiety, but this was a side that they’d never seen before. Their little sister was a firecracker. She didn’t take mess from anyone. Rarely, outside of sad (and Disney) movies did she cry. Yet, here she stood before them with an episode, unlike anything that they’d seen.

However, they watched in amazement as Leena calmly spoke to Summer, assuring her that she was safe, encouraging her to count to 10, and asking if she had her medicine with her.

“Medicine?” Grams spoke up, suddenly realizing the seriousness of what was really going on with Summer. On the inside.

“Come on, baby,” Leena carefully wrapped her arms around Summer and escorted her inside the house but not before harshly whispering over her shoulder.

“Get Chris here. Now.”

-----

I’m sorry for the wait and that this was so intense, but I’m curious. What are your thoughts? There’s certainly more to Summer than meets the eye....

I wonder how Christopher is going to react to everything. 

How much of Summer’s past do you think she’s shared with him?

With anyone? 

#chris hemsworth fanfiction #chris hemsworth oneshot #chris hemsworth fanfic #Chris Hemsworth #fic: waves

[thatlittlered]

Vows | Chapter Four

Summary: A faithful dog or a broken man… Whatever the case, Sandor has taken vows he does not intend on breaking.

   Like the beautiful bodies of those who died before growing old,

   sadly shut away in sumptuous mausoleum,

   roses by the head, jasmine at the feet -

   so appear the longings that have passed

   without being satisfied, not one of the granted

   a single night of pleasure, or one of its radiant mornings.

 Longings ~ Constantine P. Cavafy

◇─◇──◇───◇────◇────◇───◇──◇─◇ 

Series Masterlist.

When he wakes, the room is dimly lit, a couple of flickering candles almost burnt down to the wick. Everything seems to be covered in smoke and the foul, acrid odor of tallow.

There are stains of dried ale all over his tunic, the watery kind he’s been downing for days, and the straw bed barely beats the comfort of hardwood floors, but he got what he paid for and he’s not planning on wasting every last coin so that the Stark girl will enjoy her privacy.

There’s heavy pounding at the door, the voices outside rising to a crescendo of rage before a man barges inside the room, short and drunk as any, followed by the stocky woman who robs Sandor blind every night for a pint of ale and broth you wouldn’t feed a pig.

“You got the money yet? We gave ya two days, s’time to pay up.”

His head is pounding as he rises from the bed, body aching in every way imaginable and hand twitching at the thought of silencing the scum before him.

The man’s hands get a hold of Sandor’s shirt, and the woman gasps. when he reaches for his sword, heavy metal pulling at his muscles.

“Listen here, pest, you ever let yer filthy hands near me again, you’ll be searching for them outside the city walls. Have I made myself clear?”

“Aye, ser.”

Sandor grunts, half satisfaction, half pain when the rage inside him fades.

“Don’t let me see you again.”

They both scurry away like frightened mice, filthy insects running from his boot.

The entire place stinks of wine and piss, dirt everywhere around him, and suddenly he longs for the comfort of his own chambers. Dark curtains that spare him from painful sunlight, fine selections of wine and peaceful silence, all things that made it his personal heaven until a certain northern girl invaded his life.

Now everything in it smells of rosewater.

They are no longer his quarters. The she-wolf took over with her many braids, silken dresses, and glassy Stark eyes that he would kill for, without knowing why. In her new lair, she takes the time to heal and lick her wounds. As wolves do, away from the eyes of others in fear of proving weak and falling prey to bigger predators.

Sandor allows it.

Within the hour, he’s ready to leave.

A little girl helps him dress, meekly passing him pieces of his armor despite him telling her there’s no need. She’s small and bruised all over, an abstract sculpture of bones that has seen and felt too much. He only lets her help when he sees the fear in her eyes and suspects that should he send her back, she might receive a beating.

When he’s strapping up, she takes the chance to shove her tiny hands into his pockets, quick and smooth as if she’s been trained for this. She walks away with two copper pennies.

He allows it.

◇─◇──◇───◇────◇────◇───◇──◇─◇  

When he reaches the room, the door is ajar and he’s almost angry at how you never fail to make yourself vulnerable. There are threats left and right and you might as well be welcoming them. He moves to knock, he really does, but the wind beats him to it, pushing the door enough so that he might get a glimpse at you.

Suddenly, making his presence known doesn’t seem as appealing.

Your hair lies long and loose, obscuring the lightness of your dress, yet allowing glimpses of skin on your arms in a southern fashion. For once no plaits adorn it and it hangs in all its northern glory – a sharp contrast.

The handmaiden floats around you, hands curling in your locks as she runs a brush through them, tugging a little too painfully at every knot. He supposes a Stark girl’s hair is not made for this.

‘Any word from your brother, my lady?”

You hum and for a moment he deems it the most peaceful sound he’s ever heard from your lips, but it’s sorrowful. You accepted your fate long ago.

“Is there ever? I’m afraid the king is much too occupied with the newest impending threat. I suppose my brother is too small an enemy to consider when Stannis Baratheon is approaching the city.”

Nira gasps, almost dropping the brush and Sandor laughs to himself from where he stands behind the door. The maiden is older than you, yet you outsmart her in so many ways, you might not be quite the little bird he thought you were.

“Do you truly believe it, my lady, that Stannis will reach the capital?”

“Has the world ever known a Baratheon who failed to succeed in their quest? He will reach the city, Nira, for that rest assured. What happens after that, remains to be seen.”

She moves to face you, resting on her knees to grab your hands with a familiarity that surprises Sandor.

His lady wife is good at making friends.

“Even so, the King’s army will hold. The Lannister troops are already flooding the city, Lord Tywin made sure of it. No harm will come to you, my lady.”

Your own hand raises to her face, a gentle cradle of her cheek – a mother’s touch, the kind he’s long forgotten.

“I have no fear of Stannis. My greatest enemies surround me every day.”

“And yet, it seems that your lord husband’s presence has discouraged them.”

“All lions quiet before attacking their prey.”

The door slams then, the force of wind meets the force of man. Nira rushes to check, always mindful of her lady’s safety, but there’s no one there.

Still, the following days pass in relative silence, mindful of curious ears that creep behind closed doors. Nira has seen enough to know the crown has eyes and ears in every corner. Instead, there’s quiet singing when handling your hair and hushed whispers about childhood stories. Everything blurs with your drinking, honey mead, and berries melting on your tongue.

Sandor Clegane is nowadays quite literally, your shadow.

For a man who’s meant to guard the King, he seems to prefer keeping an eye on you. In the gardens, buried amongst roses and greenery, you can sense his presence. In the quarters you’re supposed to share, no one dares enter but Nira and yet, every now and then, you can hear heavy steps in the hallway.

He never addresses you and you feign ignorance in fear of him stopping.

Nira’s words keep coming back to you; he’s your best chance at safety in this city.

  ◇─◇──◇───◇────◇────◇───◇──◇─◇  

Footsteps follow on your trail, the same sound of armor clinking with every step, albeit more graceful, less weighty. You’re awfully used to your loyal guard stomping around court, he makes no effort to conceal his presence.

A smile tugs at your lips, you’re starting to understand Sandor Clegane.

“You can always talk to me, you know.”

A hand appears from nowhere and tightens on your wrist, white-knuckled, strong. You turn to fight it but find your feet dragging along the marble as you lose your balance. He pins you to the wall so effortlessly.

“I’m well aware, Lady Stark.”

His breath stinks and he makes a point of shoving his face as close to yours as possible, all in a way that makes your legs go weak and your stomach churn. No fear, you remind yourself. He’s no big predator, he’s but a snake, lucky enough to find a mouse on the ground. Others would crush him.

“Ser Meryn, I would ask that you remove your hands.”

Gloved fingers grasp your chin, bound to leave bruises.

“I must admit, my Lady, that for a woman broken in by the Hound himself, you seem entirely too merry. Tell me, how is your dog treating you?”

Your body recoils, almost melting to the wall in an effort to avoid the proximity.

“I would also ask that you refer to my husband by his title.”

He laughs, such a disgusting sound.

“You’re in no position to ask for things, little lady.”

“And if you don’t let her go, you’ll be in no position to walk when I’m done with you. Your head will be hanging in the throne room if I have it my way.”

Your gaze turns to Sandor, familiar heavy footsteps approaching the scene. His sword is drawn, his eyes are murderous and for the first time, you realize the day might not end with your blood on the floor.

Trant laughs again and it’s a death wish.

“Now, now, Hound, it’s always good to share.”

“I don’t share, especially not with cunts like you. What’s wrong, Trant? I thought you liked them younger.”

His nose moves to graze against your skin, so close to your lips, tears gather in your eyes.

A friend of Robb’s had stolen your first kiss, pinned you against a stack of hey and touched places you would never have allowed him to. Your brothers beat him to the ground the next day.

Sandor Clegane won’t avenge your honor. He’ll chop off anyone’s hands the moment they touch you.

“I like them broken first and foremost. I’m sure you’ve taken care of that.”

White knuckles from clenching his fist too hard, and gritted teeth from the effort to keep his composure, Sandor’s large form exudes a burning animosity. His face is red with suppressed rage, and when Trant’s fingers make their way towards your chest, everything snaps inside him.

His sword never meets the hideous flesh of your attacker, but his fist does. A blow to the jaw, powerful enough to make the cracking sound echo in the hallway. Then Sandor’s hands are pressing his face into the wall, a great force overpowered by one greater. It gives you the chance to escape.

Your attacker seems light-headed, gripping his shattered nose where blood runs plenty. There’s stillness on both sides. If hatred was visible, the air would be all shades of red, scarlet and ruby, like the stains on Sandor’s glove. Then suddenly movement, so much force in every hit.

Sandor rains blows onto the man as if he means to smash him into the very earth and there’s barely any resistance. He doesn’t want him dead, he wants him smashed, obliterated, nothing left to bury.

The bloodied rat on the ground manages a hit on Sandor’s face and it only works to enrage him further.

You’ve seen him fight before in the tournament, moves sudden but precise when in duel, you’ve heard stories of men who’ve faced his sword, but this is different. It’s raw violence and force, uncharacteristic rage fueling him.

And then he stops.

He looks at you, always with his good side.

“Go back to yer room.”

You don’t move an inch. You know what this means, you know he’s not stopping and suddenly you’re but a youngling again, running around the training ground with Robb and Jon on your heels. Your father calls for them, forbids you from following.

At night you learn about the man whose head your father took before their eyes, a sight he sheltered you from.

You won’t let Sandor do the same.

Trant’s blood will be in your hands, whether you witness it or not. And so will your lord husband’s when word gets out that he pummeled a fellow Kingsguard member to death. You won’t allow it.

“I said, go back to yer room and lock the door. Don’t let anyone in until I tell ye.”

“I will if you come with me.”

The man scoffs, blood dripping from his fingers.

“Don’t question me, girl. I’ve got to finish some business.”

“If you stay, we both know it will be the end of you, one way or another. The things that Joffrey will do-“

“I’m not the one who needs protecting.”

“You will be if you don’t walk away. Just walk away, Sandor.”

It’s the first time he’s heard his name in a while, first time ever from your lips. Of course, he notices.

“I walk away now, he’ll do it again. I stay here and finish what I started, there’s one less cunt in this fuckin’ city.”

“And is that worth your head?”

He stares at you, so openly, his eyes still screaming murder, yet you refuse to relent.

All it takes a swing of his sword, a single move to push it in Trant’s heart while he’s gasping for air.

He turns to him, spitting on that mess of a face he’s created, branding his work, and then walks right past you, grabbing your arm right where the other man had. It hurts but you don’t dare tell him.

You let him drag you all the way to your chambers, smaller feet catching up with his strides.

 ◇─◇──◇───◇────◇────◇───◇──◇─◇ 

 ◇─◇──◇───◇────◇────◇───◇──◇─◇  

He latches the door and sheds his gloves, then as many pieces of his armor as he can. He looks like he’s struggling to breathe and you worry. His face is flushed, angry scars growing paler every moment.

He reaches for the pitcher of mead on your table, a mistake. It’s awfully sweet, disgustingly so, and he spits it out the moment it meets his tongue, knocking the whole thing over in an effort to push it away.

“That’s not fucking wine.”

You move across the room, his hunched form still in the corner of your eye. His face is buried in his hands and he rubs desperately, most likely because the rush of blood in his head feels impossibly warm. That’s when you notice his bare knuckles, cut and bruised and bloodied all over.

You reach for the bottle of wine under the table, one he put there himself, and place it across him where you sit.

“You’re hurt.”

“Just shut up for a while, alright?”

You do as he asks, but your hands still reach for his. Of course, he pulls away.

“Are you fucking deaf?”

You smile, “I’m not talking.”

Sandor’s lips quirk at that. He watches you wipe away the blood, as gently as if tending to a child.

“It’s nothing.”

You only hum in response, following his previous order. The rug is wet and cold against the skin, relieving pain he has not felt yet. For once he doesn’t fight it.

“You should have let me kill ‘im.”

“I told you, the King would have your head.”

He snorts and it’s a sound you’re getting used to, “What it’s to you?”

“I have no wish for blood to be spilled in my name. Especially not yours.”

“You think of it so nobly, little bird. The blood is only in the hands of those who spill it. Guilt will get you killed, sooner or later.”

“So I’m not to hold myself accountable if you’re accused of attacking a fellow member of Kingsguard?”

The quirk falls from his lips.

“I’m not fucking Kingsguard.”

“You guard the King, do you not?”

You make him laugh and a sense of pride fills you. You gather it’s not something many can do.

Silence washes over you as you tend to his cuts, taking the bottle from his hands to pour wine on them plentiful.

“What the fuck are ye doing?

“I’ll get you more wine, but first I need to dress these.”

“They’re fine as they are.”

The look on your face gives away that you’re not backing down. Damn northern stubbornness.

You wrap his knuckles gently, a torn piece of fabric drenched in wine to prevent infections, the way your father taught you. You suppose it stings but Sandor makes no move to suggest so. When it’s done, you consider it, making sure there’s still blood flow. Your lips fall gently on the makeshift bandage in an almost kiss.

He pulls away like it burns.

“I want to thank you.”

“There’s no need, stupid girl.”

“Must you always interrupt me, my lord?”

“’m not your lord.”

“You’re my lord husband and I must address you some way. If not by title, then by name, but if you please, let me finish.”

He grows quiet.

“I want to thank you, Sandor, for everything, but I beg you, don’t fight for me. With what you did to Ser Meryn, all that Joffrey could do to you… I’m good as dead without you.”

There it is, your cards all on the table.

“I won’t turn into some cunt-proper lord just so your noble heart won’t be plagued with guilt, girl.”

“I never asked you to, I only ask that you don’t endanger yourself, certainly not for me.”

The man grunts and turns his gaze from you, which you take as a sign of agreement.

The table shakes when he moves to stand.

You grab his hand again, this time holding it in place.

“One more thing.”

“Spit it out.”

“I would be forever grateful if you could move back in. It’s my understanding that you’ve established a stay elsewhere, perhaps somewhere far more convenient…” He wants to laugh, the rat-filled room where he stays coming to mind, “…but I would feel much safer if you stayed here from now on.”

You can’t help but observe him, the deepest in thought you’ve ever seen him - good hand rubbing his beard.

“I can arrange for a second bed, or I can take the floor, it’s no issue. I only ask that you don’t leave.”

“Is fear worth your reputation, little bird? People will talk.”

“We are wed before the gods, let them talk. There are few things left for them to say about me anyway.”

At morning Nira arrives to find her lady awake, drinking at sunlight. A snoring lord continues his sleep undisturbed, boots half perched on the table while he rests, long and wide, on the uncomfortable armchair.

The stench of wine and sweat mixes with rosewater.

Her lady smiles.

“We are going to need another mattress.”

 ◇─◇──◇───◇────◇────◇───◇──◇─◇   

Tags: @love-and-marij @blackwires @captainbuckyboobear@shxrrybomb @well-aint-that-strange @sunflowersandstringlights @bckybrnesrp @thatcutewerewolf @fallatyourfeet @immortalmurphy @iicelland @dorned @modblink @awolfhasnoname @maxinikins @raindancemaggi3 @rainyforrest @evelynfreakinaddams @cleganegirl @wildmaelstrom @ciccithedreamer @simplybrandielaine @captainmarvelfuckedmeup @the-anchored-sailor-girl @tessimagines @valhalla-ally @cha0tic-neutral @slytherh0e @sister-beehive @doitliketennant @anita-e-taylor @emithefangirl @fandomsfanman @iceinhermind @67impalagirl13 @imalittlebean @podthesquiz @scarstrashywritings @missespiruette @homesoutofhuman @simplybrandielaine @ixybirdflower @0midnightheart @jordancollier133  @footballiskillingme @podthesquiz @queendemonfangirl @my-bitch-loki @moviemaniac888 @mythical-clegane @sugasheart @thehoundsraven @imaginecrushes @all-cool-usernames-taken @sarai-ibn-la-ahad @paradoxical--intentions @pokengirl2 @always-hid @lavieenrosetta @treblebeth @just-dreaming-for-now @lokimysunandstars

Once again, I’m sorry for the names Tumblr wouldn’t let me tag.

Let me know if you want in or out the taglist!

#sandor clegane x reader #sandor clegane #sandor clegane series #sandor clegane imagine #sandor clegane reader insert #series #new series #vows #vows series #the hound x reader #the hound series #the hound imagine #the hound reader insert #game of thrones #game of thrones series #game of thrones x reader #multi-chapter

[elphenfan]

Adam Comes to Visit

This was written over a fortnight of nights where I couldn’t sleep. So, it’s written on my phone.

---

It didn’t take long to find them. In fact, though there should have been quite a lot of obstacles for a boy who had only recently turned eleven, the biggest hurdle turned out to be...well, two things, really, though they both sprang from the same issue.

It was all a matter of not being noticed. Of not having his intentions found out.

Not by his father, who most definitely would put his foot down. Not so much about who Adam intended to visit, really, but going all that way? No, it wouldn’t be allowed, and certainly not on his own.

That brought him to the other problem. Pointing out that he wouldn’t be alone because the rest of the Them was going with him would not only not help the matter in relation to his father but it’d be a lie, too.

Normally, he wouldn’t even have thought to exclude the other three, not in an adventure like this. Something told him, however, that this was one trip he needed to make on his own. At least this first one. Then he could bring the rest of the Them with him next time. Yeah, that sounded about right.

But in order for him to have a chance at going off himself - even by train, it wasn’t as though London was all that close that he could go there by bike  - he would need to find something that would keep the other three occupied for at least a whole day, without him having to organise further or being found out he wasn’t there.

They were bound to find out, of course, but if he found them something good, they wouldn’t be too mad at him. Probably. Especially not if he had something great to tell them and they got to go next time.

One might argue that it would be easier and smarter not to go. After all, what would it accomplish? And yet, he had the deep and certain knowledge that he should. Ought to, even. Besides, he had rather liked them, even if they hadn’t spent much time together. There’d been other things to focus on on that tarmac, after all. Adam wanted the people he liked to be happy. So, there were just those two things that needed sorting, really. He could manage that before Saturday.

It had been a long day already, with too many customers, and Aziraphale was looking forward to some lunch.

If he had to be perfectly honest, there had been two, one of whom was actually looking to sell a book rather than buy - one which Aziraphale was interested in buying which was even more of a rarity - and the other was looking for a bathroom.

Still, the morning had felt rather crowded and he was determined to have a completely quiet afternoon, starting with a good lunch.

Not on his own, though.

No, first he had to go upstairs and wake up the demon that had been determined to sleep the morning away, telling him to go away before he’d even said anything.

As he’d been having a few nightmares through the night, though, Aziraphale didn’t blame him at all, and also knew that he didn’t actually mean it when he said to go away.

He was just starting to make his way up to their flat - Crowley still had his but most of the stuff he had, which wasn’t much, relatively speaking, had migrated to the one they now shared above the shop - when he heard the doorbell jangle and then the door close.

Well, that was odd. He knew he’d locked the door after the last one had managed to get in, and had shut the blinds, too.

“We’re closed,” he called out as he turned and made his way back down into the shop. Honestly, these people, didn’t they -

“I know,” came an answer, in a voice that had yet to break. A voice that he knew. No, it couldn’t be. How could he have - ?

He stopped when he saw, standing just inside the door, golden-brown curls tousled by wind, body slightly slouched, and pedigree mutt by his side, sitting quietly and obediently, someone he wouldn’t have ever expected to see again.

Well, that wasn’t quite true, was it? He had made a mental note to go and check up on the boy at a later date, when things had had a chance to settle a little, both for them and for him. Not to...well, perhaps a bit out of curiosity whether he still had his powers, just a bit. But mostly, it would be to see how the boy was doing.

That said, he most certainly hadn’t ever expected him to turn up here. An 11 year old boy, from Oxfordshire, in Soho, on his own. Granted, he was the son of Satan, the Antichrist, possibly still with some powers intact, but he was also still only a kid who wasn’t used to being somewhere like London.

“Adam,” he said in a sort of greeting, hoping that his voice didn’t betray him. “How lovely to see you. I just...didn’t expect to see you.”

He smiled, warmly.

Adam looked at him without speaking for a moment. Then, he cocked his head a little, thoughtfully.

“You thought I’d forget, too,” he said. It wasn’t a question. “Because I said it would be best if people forgot. You thought I’d make myself forget, too.”

“...Well, perhaps,” Aziraphale admitted. “I certainly wouldn’t blame you if you’d decided to.”

Honestly, he wouldn’t. Adam had seemed rather wise beyond his years when he had argued with the official representatives of Heaven and Hell, but even so, to know you were the son of Satan...that beat most adoption emotional turmoil.

Adam didn’t say anything to that. Instead, he looked around him as though taking stock of his surroundings. Dog stayed obediently by his side, looking up at its master as though he was its entire world. Which in a manner of speaking, he was. Even so, though you had to know what to look for, its hellish origins were still just about detectable.

When the silence had gone on for ages, or about four minutes, Aziraphale broke it.

“Adam, what are you doing here?” he asked. He hadn’t moved since he’d spotted the boy.

For a moment, it didn’t seem like Adam had heard him but then he turned his head to face him. Then he shrugged slightly.

“Dunno. Suppose I just wanted to make sure you were - “ he began.

He was interrupted by the sound of someone bursting through a door and starting to clatter down stairs.

“Angel,” called a voice, his very favourite one, and it shouldn’t sound as lost as it did. It shouldn’t sound lost or hurt at all and pleading should only be a soft and positive thing.

It didn’t help that he followed that up with, “Angel, where are you?”

Technically speaking, he would know where he was. Not just because the bookshop was almost always where Aziraphale could be found these days when he was on his own. No, he’d know because they had both had a strong sense of where the other was in the world for...well, about a millennium, give or take, one which had only grown over time.

That was part of the reason it had been so distressing for Crowley when he couldn’t find Aziraphale when the bookshop had burned. He’d confessed to that in a quiet, unguarded moment. To not be able to find him or to sense him, knowing what that meant, had cracked something fundamental inside of him.

He had tried to play it off cool at the airbase later on, of course, there were others there and it really hadn’t been the time.

To then first see Aziraphale again, sharing a body with Madam Tracy, and then have him there, re-corporated, that had been a huge relief, both at the time and later.

But despite that, the loss had settled itself in and he still had some trouble coping, as was evidenced each time he woke up after a night like this.

Aziraphale had hoped to be the one to wake him, with a suggestion for lunch, in order to avoid that happening.

He opened his mouth to call, “It’s okay, my dear, I’m in the shop”, but before he could, Crowley was halfway down the spiral staircase leading from the upper floor of the shop down to ground level, with a hurried, thumping step until he stopped, quite abruptly.

Both angel and boy looked up at the demon, who was gripping onto the handrails of the stairs as he stared down at them in turn.

“You,” he said, looking at Adam. His sunglasses were absent, as was the norm when they were alone, but Aziraphale could see his hand twitch, as if he wanted very much to materialise some.

That Crowley hadn’t been able to sense Adam - nor had Aziraphale himself, come to think of it - was a definite tick in the box for him not being an entirely ordinary boy, whatever else had happened.

“You,” Crowley repeated. “How the hell did you get here?”

Adam didn’t seem bothered by the question or by being addressed like that. He shrugged again. “Caught a train. Walked. It was easy.”

“You caught a train?” It was Aziraphale asking. Another shrug, this time with a smile. “But you - all the way from - such a lot could’ve happened!”

“Yeah. It could’ve. But it didn’t.” He wrinkled his nose slightly as he said it, as though he was disappointed in that fact.

“Adam, you can’t just...but you can, can’t you?” Aziraphale said, weakly as he realised it. “You can.”

“Nothing’s going to happen to him,” said Crowley, still leaning against the railings. He sounded confident about that and yet, when his gaze shifted from the boy to Aziraphale, he looked worried.

Aziraphale knew how he felt. Despite the obvious evidence that Adam was fine and could apparently handle going from Oxfordshire to London all on his own, with nobody the wiser before he’d gone - that he would’ve gotten permission from his parents seemed more unlikely than anything else - without anything happening, the thought of what could have occurred was horrible to contemplate.

More than that, he was now their responsibility. Regardless of how he’d gotten there, they couldn’t just tell him to go home and leave it at that.

Well, they could, technically, but he knew they weren’t going to. They owed it to the boy, didn’t they? In a way. And he had come all this way, too, to - what, exactly?

“Why exactly are you here?” Aziraphale asked.

“I was trying to say earlier, wasn’t I?” Adam returned, a faint trace of moodiness in his voice.

“Yes, I guess you were.”

“Well?” It came from Crowley.

“I suppose I wanted to see how you were.”

“Why on earth would you want to do that?” They had spent at most a few hours together, which had contained quite a lot of incident. Adam’s focus had been elsewhere. In context, it would make more sense for Madam Tracy to pop in or even Warlock, as absolutely absurd as that concept seemed. Adam only smiled at that, a smile that was full of both understanding and boyish devilment. Nevertheless, it felt...nice. Lovely, in fact. Like a genuine benevolence bestowed upon you.

Crowley looked at Aziraphale again, briefly, his expression...complicated. Then he snapped his fingers, a pair of sunglasses materialising in his other hand.

He could of course just have materialised them already on but that would have deprived him of the opportunity to put them on himself, and that just wouldn’t do, would it?

He looked back at the angel, then, and that small gesture sent warmth through Aziraphale because despite having donned the glasses, when he looked at him, he still took care to look over the top of them, giving Aziraphale a clear view of his eyes. Hiding from the world but not from him.

“Right, then,” he said, choosing, of all things, to vault himself over the handrails as though it was something he always did rather than the first time.

He landed gracefully and looked down at Adam, who stared back, calm but still smiling. “Suppose we had better take you for some lunch, seeing as you’ve come all this way just to say hello.”

“Crowley, we can’t just - we ought to take him straight home. His parents must be worried sick!”

“They won’t be worried any more or less sick if he comes home in half an hour or five hours,” Crowley replied, apparently completely unconcerned. Adam’s smile became almost a grin at that.

Aziraphale gave his demon a slightly disapproving look but then sighed and relented. He might have a point, even if the angel didn’t like it much.

“Alright, then, if you insist. Let’s have some lunch, all three of us. But I am not taking you to one of those bun-places.”

Adam frowned, confused, and Crowley sighed heavily.

“Burgers, Aziraphale. They’re called burgers.”

“Oh. Right. Well, I am not subjecting myself to that,” Aziraphale said, firmly and definitively.

“Well, how about some...sushi, then?” Crowley asked cheerfully. “You ever have sushi, Adam?”

The boy shook his head. “That’s the fish stuff, isn’t it? You’re not going to feed me whales, are you?” he asked, suddenly suspicious as he looked from one to the other.

“Whales?” Crowley echoed, his head pulling back in slight disgust. “Never eaten a whale, don’t plan to now. Far too much brain, for one thing.”

That didn’t seem to convince Adam much. Aziraphale stepped forward, laying a hand on the boy’s shoulder.

“We don’t have to get sushi,” he said reassuringly. “We can go somewhere else you would rather like.” Please don’t let him say burger.

“No, I’d like to, I think,” Adam said, thoughtful. “Just don’t want to - “

“No, of course not,” Aziraphale interrupted. “I know just the place. Well, then, off we go.”

He made a little shepherding motion with his free hand and Adam led the way out of the shop, Dog right on his heels.

Aziraphale and Crowley followed, the angel wondering at the sudden change in the demon’s behaviour, somewhat worried about it. Then he caught the yellow eyes looking at him askance.

He wasn’t unconcerned or chipper.

He was still affected by first the nightmares and then the pained panic of thinking Aziraphale wasn’t there, the trauma of it playing in his mind. Right now, he was trying to hold it together. For his own sake but mainly for Adam’s, who shouldn’t have his day ruined by that.

Not only did Aziraphale’s heart ache at the thought of the trauma he’d inadvertently caused by being discorporated, it ached at the demon’s readiness to suppress it as best he could for the sake of a child. At the same time, his heart swelled for that exact same reason.

Crowley always did have that little soft spot for the kids, didn’t he?

The angel didn’t say anything - they had a boy with them, one who was both bright and rather observant, too, it was hardly the time - but he slid his hand gently into the demon’s, who took it and squeezed immediately. Then he interlaced their fingers. All of this was done without looking at the other, but there was just the faintest hint of colour on the defined cheekbones.

Aziraphale smiled softly at that and rubbed his thumb across the skin it could reach.

Adam was waiting for them out on the pavement, Dog almost vibrating with all the new smells he could detect and therefore only just managing to stay obediently by his master’s side.

“You sure you’re okay with sushi, Adam?” Aziraphale asked.

Adam nodded.

“Right, well, let’s - “

“Take the car,” Crowley interrupted.

“Crowley, you are not driving the boy through London in that - that contraption!”

The demon looked rather affronted. “It’s not a contraption, it’s a vintage Bentley! Which you have been happy enough to get a ride in, too, on more than one occasion!”

“Yes, but - “ He didn’t need to say that with both Heaven and Hell mad at them - and wasn’t that an understatement on the lines of calling James I ‘not overly fond of witches’ or the Titanic disaster a bit of a whoopsie - the chance of getting new bodies if their current ones were discorporated was as good as non-existent.

Crowley seemed to hear what he wasn’t saying. “I’ll drive safely, okay?” he said, looking over at the other, voice quiet.

Aziraphale gave him such a grateful smile that Crowley immediately turned to the boy.

He looked down at the dog, lips pulling back for a moment in a grimace. Then he pushed forward. “Come on, then, let’s have lunch.”

The sushi restaurant Crowley drove them to - Adam had exclaimed ‘wicked!’ when he’d seen the car, even though he had technically been the one to bring it back, and Crowley had preened at the praise - was one that was notoriously difficult to get a table at, though not quite as bad as the Ritz. It also happened to be the one Aziraphale loved best.

When they arrived, and the angel had only had half a heart attack from Crowley’s driving so he had been driving carefully, they were immediately led to the table without comment. Before the waiter left to get their drinks, though, he made a seemingly innocuous comment on how lovely it was to see their son at last. When the waiter had gone,

Aziraphale blinked in utter astonishment at what he’d just heard. Crowley’s eyebrows nearly collided with his hair line.

Of all the things Aziraphale might have expected, that was about the last one. He’d been coming there for years, almost since it opened and they had never ever even so much as -

He looked over, admittedly a little sharply, at Adam sat beside him, looking convincingly innocent.

“What did you do?” the angel said. Another shrug without a further word.

“You did something.” That was Crowley, sat on the other side of the angel. He didn’t sound angry, though, which puzzled Aziraphale. More so because he sounded ever so slightly impressed, though probably nobody else would have picked up on it, and the angel wondered if he had heard that right.

“I can’t help it if people make assumptions, can I?” the boy asked. “Seems to me that if people’s assumptions are helpful, then there’s no need to correct them.”

“It’s still a lie,” Aziraphale pointed out but without much conviction. The boy did have a point and well...it felt rather sweet that he would think of it like that.

Crowley ordered, quite a large amount despite the fact that he tended to let Aziraphale help him finish off most of his serving. Then again, they did have a growing boy to think of.

A random thought of Crowley with toddler Warlock surfaced, warm and golden in its preservation as a memory, and for a moment, just a moment, he had the utterly absurd but somehow still appealing thought of them raising a child of their own, together, without pretence.

It was impossible, of course, and not because they were an angel and a demon. That hurdle was hardly a raised nub in the road at this point. It had more to do with the regrettably short life of humans and having one so close only to have to watch it die, wherever it ended up...

He wasn’t sure he could handle that, and as for Crowley...

The angel emerged from his thoughts to find Adam looking at him. Not staring, per se, but still fixing him with quite the thoughtful, penetrating gaze.

Aziraphale blinked, thrown a little.

Then the food arrived and both angel and demon threw themselves, enthusiastically and almost automatically into explaining and teaching Adam how to eat.

Crowley even went so far as to explain about the different types of fish, then went off on a tangent about deep sea denizens.

Adam, surprisingly, listened attentively and, it seemed, with genuine interest. At one point, he forgot he was eating and had a piece almost to his mouth for a full five minutes as he listened to Crowley talk about bioluminescence, anglerfish and the Kraken.

Aziraphale, for his part, sat between them and ate, content to just listen, a smile on his lips that he couldn’t keep off and wouldn’t want to if he could.

Then Crowley nudged him.

“Hm?”

“A little help here?” the demon hissed. “I can’t remember whether the Kraken’s related to Moby Dick or not.”

“As one is cephalopodean in origin and the other’s a sperm whale, albeit fictional based on a real one, I would rather suspect not. Why are you telling him about this again?”

Had he...what was the way Crowley would describe it? Zoned out a little after all?

“Because he asked.”

Aziraphale was about to open his mouth and say something along the lines of not every question needing an answer but stopped himself as he remembered something.

Questions were never not important to Crowley. He always asked them, didn’t he? ‘What was it he said that got everyone so upset?’ came to mind as one of the big ones. Even when they’d gotten him...well, he had always believed in answering them if possible since. Valued wanting knowledge, really, just as much as Aziraphale even if he hadn’t ended up collecting books.

“Well, yes, okay. I understand.” The words themselves were neutral but his voice was soft and apologetic.

He didn’t see Crowley’s expression change but then a hand covered his where it lay flat on the table. The warmth coming off that thin-fingered hand was wonderful and reassuring.

And it made Aziraphale redden ever so slightly.

“If the Kraken exists, why can’t Moby Dick?”

The angel turned back to their visitor. “I’m not saying it can’t. I’m saying the fiction was based on a real whale. Mocha Dick.”

“What, made of coffee?”

“No, Crowley,” Aziraphale sighed. “After the island. It would hardly be a white whale if it was made of coffee, would it? Are you enjoying the food, Adam? You can say no if you aren’t.”

The boy nodded. “The ones with coats on - “

“ - Seaweed, Adam, they’re called futomaki. Well, those particular ones are.”

“Right. Okay. Well, I like ones with crab in, for one. The crunchy ones are odd, though, and the green stuff burns my tongue. Can I take some home?”

“And what exactly would you use it for?” Aziraphale asked, suddenly suspicious, at the same as Crowley exclaimed, “Of course you can.”

“Crowley, you are not stealing their wasabi supply!”

“Why not?”

“Because they need it!” Honestly, sometimes!

“What kind of excuse is that, ‘they need it’? Who says Adam doesn’t need it more?”

“Adam is not running a business where it’s an - “ Aziraphale stopped. He was being tag-teamed by Adam and Crowley, both looking pleading and innocent at the same time. He sighed. “We will buy him some on the way.”

“Way?”

“Way to drop you home. You are not taking the train back, not on a Saturday.”

“He made it here no issue. Nothing’s gonna happen to him.”

Aziraphale’s mouth worked odd shapes for a moment or two. Crowley may be right but that wasn’t really the point.

“Perhaps not but I would feel a whole lot more comfortable if we brought him back safely.”

The hand that was still covering his on the table shifted to the side so it could squeeze his more effectively.

Adam looked a bit perturbed. For a moment, Aziraphale thought it might be their touching that was the cause and had to brace mentally against the admittedly very small knee jerk urge to pull away. He didn’t want to pull away. Never again.

Then the boy spoke and revealed the real reason. “But I don’t want to go home yet. I’m having fun.”

No, that wasn’t quite perturbed, was it? Or rather, it was more than that, even if he couldn’t put his finger on it.

Despite what he had said earlier, the angel could truthfully say that he shared the sentiment. He was enjoying himself, too, even if he had never considered this, and he wasn’t ready for it to end.

Not to mention the compliment inherent in that statement, of course.

He smiled at the boy. “I wasn’t saying now, either, I believe. Just that when it is time, we are driving you home.”

The look he sent Crowley brooked no argument but he only found a crooked smile and slightly raised eyebrows. Was it something he’d said?

It was only later that he remembered Crowley’s habit of offering a lift when Aziraphale was feeling vulnerable and now the angel had extended that to Adam. Oh.

Right then and there, what he said was, “Well, that was lovely, wasn’t it? Now who’s ready for some dessert?”

“They don’t serve dessert here, angel.”

Aziraphale feigned surprise and disappointment. “Oh dear. I had forgotten. Well, then, perhaps we should save it - “

Crowley got up, in that fluid movement Aziraphale had always admired but had yet to voice said admiration.

“Come on,” the demon said. “There’s a gelato bar close by.”

“Is there? How wonderful!” He got the expected grimace for that but it was rather tempered this time. In fact, he thought he recognised a glint in the yellow eyes.

“Still owe you an ice cream, don’t I?” Crowley said as they left. Quiet. Slightly pained.

“Oh,” the angel said. How could he ever forget? Even if they had been prepared. His heart sank a little. “Of course. I’m sorry, my dear, I didn’t - “

“I was the one suggesting it, angel, it’s not your fault.”

“Why not pick something else, then?”

Crowley didn’t answer, just gave a smile that was closer to a grimace than anything.

“You know I wouldn’t have minded.”

“No but it’s...well, it’s what kids like, isn’t it? Not fancy mousse cakes or salt caramel baskets with liquorice bombs dripped with orange sauce or whatever.”

“They like a lot of things, to the best of my knowledge. But you’re right, ice cream is much better. Hmm...wonder if they have hazelnut.”

Crowley grinned suddenly and Aziraphale felt his heart lift a little again.

The demon slapped a hand onto Adam’s shoulder and his grin was answered in the kid’s smile. “Let’s find out, then, shall we?”

And with that, a small and strange entourage of a boy, his dog - Dog had been told to stay under the table and had obliged, nobody taking any notice of him - a demon and angel set out to gorge on ice cream, the best that they could find.

And if Adam ate more ice cream than he ever had, in flavours he’d previously thought could only happen in America, and Crowley almost drowned a duck as it choked on the the chocolate wafer of his 99-a-la-Italy, which had an actual waffle cone and real vanilla and cream in the soft-ice, that he ‘accidentally’ dropped, and if Aziraphale was doubled over with laughter as the duck retaliated and Dog tried to help, though whether it was Crowley or the duck was never clear, and it all ended in a great pile of duck, dog and demon, all of them covered in ice cream, what of it? How could you ever argue that it wasn’t spending the day well? Especially when you throw in a tour of the more interesting, which often meant gruesome, historical sites nearby.

And if the nightmares and trauma had been pushed out properly, at least for a while, wasn’t it all worthwhile?

“Why don’t you have children? Together, I mean.”

The question came out of the blue, or so it seemed, from the back of the car.

Crowley almost braked hard enough to crash the car due to shock at the question. Aziraphale had to admit he knew exactly how he felt.

He looked at the boy, sat with his dog in his lap on the backseat, calm as anything though they were doing 90mph through the streets, through the rear view mirror, convinced he was pulling some sort of prank or he was talking in his sleep. Something that would be explain why. Not only was he evidently wide awake, it looked as though he was being perfectly serious in his question.

To have to explain...and to an 11 year old...well...

“Well, you see, Adam - “

“What do they teach you at school?” Crowley asked at the same time.

“Nothing. Nothing interesting, anyway. It’s all just dead kings and dead poets and stuff. Planets. Planets were fun. Geometry’s boring.”

“Okay. Very well. And did they, ah, teach you any...biology yet?” the angel ventured.

Adam’s look of incomprehension cleared almost immediately. “Oh. That. I know about that. But what’s that got to do with anything? You’re angels, not humans.”

“I’m a demon, not an angel.”

“Same thing, isn’t it?”

Said angel and demon looked at each other at that. Once upon a time they might have argued with that but now, after everything, there didn’t seem much sense in it. The boy had a good point.

“I don’t see why the same rules have to apply. You have wings and everything,” Adam continued. “Humans don’t have that. I certainly don’t.”

Technically no, even if your father started out as an angel, but normal humans aren’t the Antichrist, either. Aziraphale was about to say that when Crowley beat him to it. Sort of.

“Humans normally can’t do what you can either, Adam. But the...well, it’s not that we’re...it’s not physically possible for us to...” He trailed off, grimacing. The angel knew how he felt.

“There are rules that apply to all of God’s creatures,” Aziraphale tried. “Well, for a given value - the point, however, is that we may be something other than human but we cannot between us have a child, that is, birth one.”

He was still looking at Adam through the rear view mirror but even so, he thought he could see Crowley’s ears slowly turn a deep red, visibly so even in the gathering dark they were driving in.

That caused the boy to pause and frown in thought for a moment.

“You could adopt one,” he then pointed out.

It didn’t occur to either the demon or the angel until much later that Adam had neither at any point questioned that they were, well, together, nor seemed to have any issue with it in any way. It seemed that to him, it was as much a fact as them being supernatural entities and just as natural.

When they did, Aziraphale grinned and Crowley shook his head, smiling.

“I...suppose we could,” Aziraphale conceded in the here and now, albeit it a little slowly, almost hesitantly. “If we wanted to, I suppose it would be possible.”

He realised then that at no point in this unexpected and slightly absurd conversation - didn’t beat the beak sharpening one but then again, little did - had he actually said that he didn’t want a child. Nor had Crowley, come to think of it, which he would have honestly expected.

No, that wasn’t quite fair, was it? He had thought of Crowley with Warlock earlier, hadn’t he? And how good he’d been with him, aside from the attempts to...well, he could hardly be blamed for that, could he? And hadn’t he earlier thought about the demon’s soft spot for children, too? It wasn’t as though it had ever come up between them, was it?

Then again, when they’d taken six millennia of knowing each other, not to mention an averted apocalypse, to get to this point, it was perhaps a bit much to pop that sort of question so soon after.

Would Crowley want to have a child? And the more important question, one together with Aziraphale?

But that still didn’t solve one of the essential questions; how would they cope with having a child, no, their child, grow up and grow old and die, while they remained as they had always been?

A near-collision with another car revealed that Crowley’s mind was also grappling with some stuff and Aziraphale couldn’t find it in himself to admonish him. Instead, he just grabbed hold of a bony knee.

“Do you want to have one?” Adam asked.

“That - why are you asking any of this?” Aziraphale countered, keeping his voice gentle. It was a bit of an effort.

For a moment, it looked as though he wasn’t going to answer at all. Then he shrugged and the angel honestly expected him to say something along the lines of ‘I don’t know’ or ‘just a thought’ or something similar.

Except...he didn’t.

“Because I...” he trailed off for a moment, seemingly thinking it through. “Because I like you.” As though that explained any - except, it did. It honestly did. He was only eleven, after all. Independent and all but still...

“Well, that’s...that’s incredibly kind of you, Adam. Honestly. Thank you. But I...I don’t think that we could bear it.” Another pause accompanied by a thoughtful look.

“Because they will age and you won’t, you mean?”

Well. That was hitting it spot on, wasn’t it?

“Ah. Yes. Quite, I’m afraid.”

“Oh.”

The inside of the car lapsed back into silence. Come to think of it, Crowley had stayed silent for quite a large portion of the conversation. Only his somewhat erratic driving, even compared to his normal reckless one, gave any real indication of what was going on behind those yellow eyes.

Aziraphale found that he desperately wanted to ask his demon what he was thinking but he wasn’t sure what the answer would be. No, that wasn’t right. That wasn’t the reason

There was one telling thing, though whether that  actually made it clearer or not, he couldn’t say; the knuckles were white where they gripped the steering wheel. It didn’t matter, then, did it? His thoughts on the matter, that was. His demon was struggling, whatever the exact reason, and Aziraphale would help him. That was all there was to it.

“Crowley? Would you slow down a bit or, or stop the car?”

“It’s getting late,” the demon replied, and the slight hiss to his voice was another indicator. “We need to get him home soon.”

“Five minutes won’t make a difference. Please?” It wasn’t playing fair, he knew, but he had to say it with his voice since the head wasn’t turned towards him, almost demonstratively so.

Crowley glanced at him, swallowed and then nodded. He wrenched the car into a side-lane and stopped.

Then he turned around to face Adam and even through the sunglasses, it was clear that he was glaring.

“What did you have to go and say all of that for?” he demanded. Or rather, it ought to have sounded demanding and harsh. It had more than likely been intended that way, knowing the way the demon liked to present himself.

What it came out as was nowhere near that, however. In fact, it sounded somewhat small and rather pained.

Adam blinked, a little rattled and confused, but didn’t say anything. Dog, however, sat up and growled at the demon, always protective of its master.

Aziraphale tried to mediate. “Crowley, he wasn’t trying to be - “

“I know that, don’t I?” Crowley retorted. He paused, swallowed and said, far more quietly, “That doesn’t actually make it any better.”

The angel frowned. How could he make it better? It wasn’t a question of if he could because he had to. Somehow.

“Would you...have liked to?” he asked. Perhaps this ought to have been a conversation in private but he also knew that if he waited, they’d both try to dance around it, as they always did. Metaphorically, angels and demons danced as well as anyone. “If it was possible, would you?”

For a very long moment, it looked as though Crowley wasn’t going to answer. He just continued to stare in Adam’s direction. Then he gave a nod. A very small one, granted, and jerky, but nevertheless a nod.

“Oh, my dearest,” Aziraphale murmured, his heart clenching. He didn’t know what else to say.

”I’m sorry,” Adam said. He suddenly looked much more like a kid than the angel could remember he had before. “I didn’t mean to...I just thought...” He trailed off as he looked between them.

Dog had stopped growling and had switched to worried whining instead.

“It’s...fine,” Crowley managed at last. “You couldn’t have known. It’s fine.”

He seemed to shake himself, trying to shake it off as though it really didn’t matter, offering a smile that was a bit too true to his...other shape.

“Crowley...”

“Aziraphale, shut up. Just. Shut the fuck up.” The moment the words, harshly said, were out of his mouth, the lanky body stiffened.

Then his head whipped around to face the angel who was staring at him, wide-eyed and hurt.

“Angel, I’m sorry,” Crowley said, quickly, urgently. “I didn’t - “

“No, no, you were quite within - “

“No, I wasn’t. I should’ve said, I know, I just...” He stopped speaking, reaching out and grabbing both of the angel’s hands, tightly.

Aziraphale caught them gratefully and squeezed them, gently. He then leaned forward and gave his demon a small and gentle kiss on the lips, which the other returned. The novelty and loveliness of being able to do that hadn’t worn off, though to be honest, he doubted it ever entirely would.

After a moment, Crowley pulled away though it felt reluctant.

Adam continued to stare, regret and apology written all over his features.

The demon looked at him again, inscrutably, for what seemed like a long time. Then he huffed a small laugh and pushed the sunglasses up.

“Thank you,” he said.

That added ‘confused’ to the boy’s expression. “What for?”

“If you hadn’t grown up like you had...well, I’m really glad we screwed that one up.” He glanced over at his angel briefly. “And that you came to visit.”

“I really didn’t mean - “

“I know.” He paused. “Six millennia on this planet and you can still learn something.”

“That’s part of the point, isn’t it, my dear?” Aziraphale asked, giving a small smile.

Crowley pursed his lips and nodded. “Yeah. ‘Course. Right, then. Let’s get you home, shall we?”

“You could have said something, you know,” Aziraphale murmured as they watched Adam walk up to his house in the gathering dark.

“About what?” the demon asked. He was leaning up against the side of the car while the angel stood straight up beside him.

“Don’t play dumb with me, Crowley. Please.”

“...you don’t have to be that forceful about it.”

“What?”

“Never mind.” A moment’s quiet where he shoved his hands in his pockets as far as they could go and stared straight ahead of him.

“I tried not think about it,” he said, quietly, though his voice held that same quality it had had when Aziraphale had found him in the bar after returning to Earth, discorporated. “Any of it, really.”

He glanced at the angel out of the corner of his eye. Oh.

“Oh, dearest,” Aziraphale said, equally quietly. He slid his arm into the crook of Crowley’s and pressed close. “I am sorry.”

Another moment’s quiet as they watched the front door open before Adam reached it, both of his parents standing in the doorway. Neither of them looked particularly happy, though the thundercloud was definitely Mr. Young.

Then the demon said, as quietly as before, “It takes two to tango, doesn’t it?”

The only dance I know is the gavotte, but, “Any dance you’d like, my dear.”

Crowley, for the moment sans glasses, blinked. Then his eyes widened.

“Aziraphale?” he queried and the amount of feelings and questions packed into that single word was staggering.

“Crowley,” the angel answered, hoping that he’d managed to convey an answer to both.

It seemed that he had; without a word the redhead untangled one hand from a pocket and wrapped his arm, the one Aziraphale had linked with, around his angel.

“You think we could?” he asked.

“Possibly, yes. I think it’s worth the try, really, however it turns out. You can’t help but get attached, can you?” He nodded to indicate the boy ahead of them but by implication children and humans in general. “Not right now, though.”

“No,” Crowley agreed. “Not just yet.” He turned his head to rest his chin on the other’s slightly bent head, inhaling deeply. The angel smiled, one which grew when he felt the other’s tension slowly leach out of the slimmer body.

At hearing raised voices, or rather, a raised voice, they both turned their attention back to the Young house. The door had closed, as you didn’t have arguments like that out in public, after all. But even so, the angel and demon could hear it quite clearly. Possibly nobody else could.

“Really. To tell him off for being kind and considerate.”

“You told him off when he came to the bookshop,” Crowley pointed out.

“I did not. I just...” Aziraphale made a gesture with his hands “...expressed my concern.”

A slight cock of a head. “Sounds like his father’s doing roughly the same thing, for the same reason.”

The angel sighed. “Well, yes, but - “

The demon pursed his lips slightly then smiled. “No, you’re right. We should definitely go and explain.”

“Crowley...” Aziraphale tried to admonish but it was weak and unconvincing, even to his own ears, and he let the demon strut his way up to the house, following right behind him.

It was Aziraphale who ended up knocking, however. The noises from inside stopped. Then came the carefully measured and restrained footsteps of someone who doesn’t want visitors to know they’re not pleased. Perhaps.

The door opened to Mr. Young’s cautious, skeptical features.

“Hello,” said Aziraphale in the nicest, most disarming and reassuring manner he could. “I am so sorry to disturb at this hour. We are - “

And how should he end that sentence? He hadn’t a clue. Anything he could come up with would either not be within spitting distance of believable or it would put Adam into further trouble rather than help him. Possibly both.

Crowley looked about ready to employ the same method he had with Mary Hodges, formerly Loquacious.

“I know who you are,” said Mr. Young, shortly, frowning at them as though they were being silly, “and I would have thought you would have had better sense than invite Adam for a visit and then let him go all the way to London on his own instead of coming to pick him up in that car of yours.”

There was a hint of admiration in the voice then, from someone who liked a car that was well taken care of.

Both supernatural beings stared, the angel blinking, completely nonplussed by what was going on. They did try to scramble to make it seem like yes, that was it. That was what happened. Definitely. They were on top of it and knew what was happening.

“Yes, quite, and I do apologise. The car had to unexpectedly go into service, you see. Some urchin - “

“Hoodlum,” Crowley corrected, not quite sure that was up to date either but figuring that it would fit within Mr. Young’s understanding of things.

“ - hoodlum, yes, smashed a window and cut some wires. It would’ve been entirely inadvisable to drive and unfortunately, they weren’t done until after lunchtime today.”

He smiled and Mr. Young paused; his expression had lightened a little. “We ought to have come down by train, of course, and have told you beforehand, but - “

Mr. Young sighed, interrupting him. “You don’t need to say anything else. I do know my own son.” He pulled his head back to call into the house. “Adam. Come here. The least you can do is come and say goodbye to your uncles.”

That single word, so very unprecedented and unexpected, especially coming from Mr. Young, knocked the two supernatural beings for six while they were still recovering from the first blow.

In the circumstances, they handled it rather well.

Adam appeared in the door, having obviously been nearby. He looked at his father and the looked between his two ‘uncles’..

“Bye,” he said and held out his hand. Aziraphale took it and shook it, smiling.

“Goodbye, Adam. I’m glad you came to visit us.” He meant it, too. And, well, ‘uncles’, eh?

“Yeah,” Crowley agreed. He didn’t seem interested in handshakes, just looked at the kid. He was grinning slightly, though.

“Well, we’d best be off,” the angel said then, letting go and stepping back.

“Can I come visit again, soon?” Adam asked. He looked at his father.

His father sighed. “You’ll do it anyway, I know.”

Mr. Young looked at the angel and demon for a moment, as though trying to focus on something about them. Then he shook his head, mumbled something about his wife and her relatives and went back inside.

“What did you do?” Crowley hissed.

Adam shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. But this way, you can try it out, if you want.”

“Well, really,” Aziraphale said but the warmth in his voice betrayed him.

“Uncles, huh?” Crowley mused. His  slight grin had turned into a broad smile.

They walked back to the car, having waved goodbye to Adam and his parents.

“Do you think they’ll allow him to grow up?” Aziraphale asked, quietly.

“Dunno. Suppose it depends on whether they discover he still has some of his powers.”

“At least some.”

“Yeah. But probably they’ll just ignore him, if they do notice. Pretend he isn’t there. Or suspicion still slides off of him, of course.”

“But supposing they do discover him and don’t ignore it,” the angel persisted.

“You were the one suggesting we kill him in the first place,” Crowley pointed out. They had reached the car but didn’t get in just yet.

Aziraphale gave a pained expression. “Well, yes. I know. I know. But that was...oh, it doesn’t really matter that it was different, does it?” he asked in a defeated, pained tone.

“Not really, no.” Crowley paused, looking closer at his angel. “That doesn’t mean you were in the - angel, you’re allowed to make mistakes, you know.”

“No. We aren’t.” That they made them anyway was an entirely different matter and they had usually only gotten away with it because Heaven and Hell never saw past the paperwork.

“We weren’t meant to care about the planet, either,” Crowley said, his voice suddenly quiet. Almost soft.

“Nor each other.”

“No. Definitely not each other.” This time, there was no almost about the softness.

The ginger snaked an arm down and around the blond’s waist, pulling him as close as he could. Then, without a further word, he buried his face in soft, blond hair, inhaling deeply. Aziraphale slid his own arms around a slim waist, basking in the warmth, both physical and metaphorical, that came off his demon.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way, dearest,” he whispered into a long neck. Then he saw that little snake tattoo and shifted, carefully so as not to shift Crowley’s grip on him in turn, to kiss it.

The demon didn’t quite stiffen but he did pull back to look at the other. He brought a hand up to touch the tattoo, gingerly.

“Was that - should I rather not have?” Aziraphale asked. He couldn’t recall he ever had before but it had felt the right thing to do.

“Angel...”

“I’m sorry, I - “

He was silenced by a kiss on his lips, equally soft but aching in its sweetness. The angel almost melted into it, clinging onto the other, who was holding onto him in turn.

“Don’t ever apologise for that sort of thing,” Crowley said when they parted, his voice still quiet but no less fierce for that. “Do you understand? None of it.”

Aziraphale nodded, both to what had explicitly been said and what had been implied.

The demon let go of him but only so that he could slip into the driver’s side of the car. The angel slid in on the other side a moment after and they drove off, leaving Tadfield behind.

“If that dog has slobbered on the seat,” Crowley grumbled at some point.

“It doesn’t slobber.”

The ginger raised an eyebrow at him, turning his head to look at the blond. “Is that right...uncle?”

“You have to admit that it was quite a good way of getting out of trouble.”

“Well, yes. Obviously it was. It was also still either lying, twisting reality or both.”

“Yes. Quite.” A pause. “Crowley, do you really think it’s safe, leaving him like that?”

“Safe as anywhere else, I should imagine. It’s not as though either side only has the one exit, is it?”

“No,” Aziraphale sighed in agreement. “But that wasn’t what I meant.”

“You meant that we ought to check in on him regularly. Down here where he lives rather than having him come up to London. To make sure nothing happens.”

“Yes.”

“Need I remind you of how ‘well’ we did last time?”

“Technically speaking, we did very well on the whole look out for the boy.”

“Wrong boy.”

“Well, yes. Technically. But still, we - Crowley, the deer, watch out for the deer!”

“It’s in the field!” Nevertheless, he swerved a little.

“Only because it scampered for its life.”

“You eat venison. With relish. Well, more often with red currant sauce, really, but - “

“That is completely not the point! You can’t just kill - oh, haha. Very funny.”

“What? What did I do?”

“You made that deer run out to prove the point about innocent creatures.”

“Wh - no! I wouldn’t - why would I want to do that? I’m a demon, remember?”

“I thought we were on our side, now.”

Crowley paused. “We are,” he quietly agreed.

There was silence in the car for a few long moments after that.

Then Crowley sighed. “Alright. Let’s do it.”

“Do what?”

“Look after the kid. Make sure nobody gets to him so he can get to grow up.”

“That would be constant vigilance.”

“Nah. Pop in on a regular basis ought to do it.”

“It’s not as though we’re going to get intelligence on what’s planned. It could be at any time.”

“Really? Paperwork loving Heaven is going to do something randomly?”

“Your - Hell might. Chaotic and all that.”

“That’s just the PR line, you know that. Sticklers, the lot.”

“Well, they were angels, I suppose.”

“Exactly. Probably they’ll only remember when the anniversary comes around or something.”

There was a moment’s pause. “Of course, if he still has his powers, or some of them, then he could end up in trouble all on his own.”

“How do you mean?”

“Puberty is right around the corner, isn’t it?”

“Oh, dear.”

“Exactly. Might need a bit more help, then.”

“Yes. Definitely.”

They sat in comfortable silence until they reached the London suburbs.

“So we’re agreed, then?” Aziraphale asked as they raced their way through the still mostly deserted streets. “We check up on him on a regular basis?”

Crowley raised an eyebrow, a hint of a smile playing across his lips. “We are his uncles, after all, aren’t we? We’re supposed to show up at odd times and bring stuff.”

“Yes. Quite.” The angel reached over to place a hand on a bony knee and smiled warmly.

“Thank you,” he said.

“Shut up,” the demon replied but there was no bite to the words. In fact, there was the complete opposite.

Then again, Adam had given him something of what he’d wanted, hadn’t he? Not just Crowley, Aziraphale as well.

They sent a book for Adam when they got back to London.

Aziraphale had meant to bring him back to the bookshop and give him one, on Victorian zoology and the bizarre creatures they’d made and put in their cabinets of curiosity, before they brought him home. It wasn’t the best copy but it would be a start for a curious boy - and it wouldn’t hurt too much to part with it, either.

In the end, he’d plain forgotten in the enjoyment of the day and going to buy the wasabi, and to have to go back would have made them even later getting him home. Of course, he could have miracled it there but...and in any case, the delivery man was quite a decent fellow.

When they did go down to visit, not long after, they got to meet the Them properly, but that is another story, perhaps for another time

Eventually, they bought a cottage not far from Tadfield. They kept the bookshop, of course - to make a book lover choose between two places to store their books when they could have both is impossible - and still spent time there. They were merely...practical about it all.

And if people remarked on the most beautiful, well-tended garden in which one man sat peacefully reading while another sat leaned up against him, apparently basking in the sunlight, they tended towards how remarkable the garden was when neither seemed to be doing much, if any, gardening.

#good omens #go fic #good omens spoilers #Ineffable Husbands #Crowley #Aziraphale #Adam young #fluff #sweet

[tragedybunny]

Empty - An Original Piece of Short Horror

A little bit of something different, here’s a piece I published on Reddit awhile back. 

These are the true events we experienced, as best as I can recollect them.

It started off as a fairly average Saturday for the middle of summer, hot and humid, with a light drizzle falling from the sky. Well, maybe not exactly average as for once we didn’t actually have any plans that required leaving the house. As always, first order of business was to get the coffee pot brewing, then I took the dog out.

I stood under the covered entry way of the apartment building and let Pepper do her business, noting that not one person from the complex was out and about. This wasn’t unusual, we lived on the edge of a small city, and there wasn’t a lot of activity most days, let alone a Saturday morning. Most of the kids seemed to stay indoors most of time. Insert your “kids today” jokes as you like.

After we got back upstairs I made myself a cup of coffee and sat on the couch, putting on Hulu for some mindless morning viewing. In the background, I could hear Chris, my husband start getting up, and the rain starting come to down a bit harder. After a bit he joined me on the couch, cup of coffee in hand.

“Morning!” I smiled cheerfully

He jokingly offered only groans in response.

We sat for a couple of hours on the couch, lazily watching shows. At one point I sent a few texts to my brother, but he never responded. I chalked this up to being the father of a one year old and opened my Facebook feed. This is where things began to feel strange. There hadn’t been one single update since the night before, no statuses, no memes, and no vaguely racist relatives talking about Islam.

I poked Chris to break his attention from the TV. “Hey, is your Facebook feed working? I think the last update broke my app.”

“Oh no, the horror, whatever will you do.” He picked up his phone and tried his. “Hmm, nope, must have been the update.” He shrugged dismissively.

“I don’t know, something just feels off.” I got up and stepped into the kitchen dialing my brother. It went to voicemail. I tried my best friend, my dad, and a few other friends. Nothing. “No one is answering.” I reported as I sat back down.

He paused the show. “No one?”

“No one. I mean I didn’t try your mom. See if she answers.”

We had the same luck with his mom and began to dial every number in our contact list until we were down to two, our grandparents’ respective nursing homes. He tried first, only to get the office voicemail in the end. My grandpa had a direct line in his room so I tried that. As it was ringing, I thought I heard someone pick up. I said hello repeatedly, only to be answered by some weird static. “Ok, I’m officially getting a little creeped out.”

Chris rubbed the back of my neck soothingly. “Look, the rain let up. Let’s go knock on some doors and see if we can find a neighbor with a landline. Maybe this is all just network issues.”

“I guess, let me put on some real clothes.”

Our complex has several different buildings spread throughout a pretty decent sized area. I’m pretty convinced the place used to be a condo complex. We knocked on the three other apartments on our side of the building with no luck before moving the other side to knock on the four over there.

I sighed, seeing absolutely no one in sight, and getting slightly wet from the now very light spray of rain. “Let’s go bang on the manager’s door. She said she had a fax, means she probably has a phone.”  Behind me I thought I heard something, causing me to pause for a moment.  It was some sort of metallic screeching, which was gone almost as soon as I realized I was hearing it.

We held hands on our walk to the other building, which isn’t odd for us, but it felt like we were squeezing just a little too hard. We must have pounded on that door for at least five minutes. Other people should have come out of their doors to tell us to fuck off.

I kicked one of the nearby shrubs. “Well, I’m out of ideas.”

“I’ve got one, let’s get back inside first.”

Chris explained as he loaded one of his rifles, and checked his hand gun mags, that we were going to take the guns, and Pepper up to Wal-Mart, and see if we could find anyone. If there was no one at there, we would know something was horribly wrong.

“And why do we need to be outfitted like a small army?” I started to get the dog ready.

“What if there was an evacuation or something that we missed and the only people left are not the kind we want to run into?”

“Fair enough.” We headed out, the rifle slung over my shoulder, Pepper nose to the ground, and Chris leading the way to his car.

As we left the complex it felt like we stumbled into a nightmare. Every street on the way was abandoned, every business seemed empty, and the rain that had become mist hung over it all. A short while later we pulled into the parking lot, which had a few cars in it, but not nearly enough for a Saturday afternoon. Given the circumstance we pulled up right to the door.

“Alright I’m going to go in, you stay here with Pepper. If anything happens, just get back to the apartment.”

“I know how to shoot this thing Chris, I’m coming in with you.”

He kissed the top of my head. “I know that Mandy, but if something crazy happens, it’s easier for one person to escape than two and a dog. Trust me.”

Reluctantly I let him go and settled in to wait, Pepper whining and panting next to me. I tried the radio, working my way through the stations, only to find nothing but static. And then my phone rang.

It was Chris. I felt like an idiot as I realized up until this point we hadn’t tried to call each other.  I answered and was surprised I could hear him, even though it sounded like he was talking under water.

“Holy shit, it’s weird seeing this place empty. You should come in and see it.”

“I’ll bring Pepper, it’ll be like a special family outing.” He snorted as I hung up. I got Pepper and my gun and made sure I locked the door behind me. Which I’ll admit felt odd with no one around, but old habits I guess. As I headed in I thought I heard the same noise as earlier, but it seemed so far off I chalked it up to imagining things. Who wouldn’t be going a little nuts in the current circumstance?

Chris was right, there is nothing like the site of a giant store that should have hundreds of people crammed in it, standing there devoid of life. We met a couple of aisles into the grocery section. He looked a little shaken.  “You ok hun?” I asked as Pepper excitedly explored the shelves.

“Yeah, it’s just, what is happening?” His eyes darted around taking in the emptiness all around us before he let his head come to rest in his hands.

I put my hand up to his cheek. “Hey, come on, what’s the rule? We’re too classy for a meltdown in Wal-Mart.”  We offered each other a weak smile, and he sniffled a bit. I looked down at his feet to find a partially filled handbasket. “Were you grocery shopping?”

He reached down and picked up a box of frozen crab cakes. “Classy enough for you?” For a moment I felt like everything was somehow going to be ok, and that’s when the lights began to flicker.

We stared at each for a moment and this time I was positive I heard that grinding, screeching, horrible sound, because Chris looked at me mouthed three letters. “WTF.”

We took off for the front doors and the lights flickered at even more rapid pace. I fumbled with the keys until I managed to click the unlock button as we dove for the car. Pepper obediently scrambled into the back. We didn’t say anything a few minutes.

“I’ve heard that noise before.” I finally admitted, staring straight ahead. “At the complex earlier, and then I thought I might have heard it as I was locking up the car. I’m sorry I didn’t mention it earlier”

“Don’t be, it’s a fucking noise. Why would you be suspicious? If you told me you’d seen an eldritch horror and didn’t tell me, I’d be a little miffed.”

“Now what?”

He turned his head to the back seat. “We go home and put away these groceries.” I rolled my eyes at him. “Crab cakes for dinner?”

We did in fact have crab cakes for dinner, as we sat on the couch, attempting to piece together where we went from here. We had closed all the blinds in the apartment, and turned on a few lights as possible.  Pepper was close by, laying down but remaining alert. The steady drum of the returning rain did nothing the calm our nerves.

“I think we should get out of here, at least to see what’s going on in other places. Maybe you were right about an evacuation.” I took another bite, but I barely tasted anything.

He shrugged. “We could try, but I’m fully willing to admit something way more out of the ordinary than that is happening here.”

“I’m calling it, we’re dead.  Or maybe it’s all just a dream.” I couldn’t even smile at my fake levity. I knew he was right, knew that something was terribly wrong that was beyond conventional experience.

We decided to pack some supplies and head out in the morning, trying to find a trace of other people. We’d take the highway back to our old hometown, stopping along the way to look for people we knew.

As we lay down for the night the rain intensified into a full blown storm, pelting our window and shaking the trees. Chris wrapped his arms around me as we both resolved to try to sleep. The air was thick with what seemed like menace. And I could almost feel something out there, watching us from the distance.

In the morning we loaded ourselves up with food, water, ammo, and a couple of sleeping bags. Outside, without the rain the silence was even more obvious. There was no birdsong, no barking from the other neighborhood dogs, not even a fly buzzing over the dumpster. I shuddered trying to take it in. I almost asked Chris what the point was, it was clear everything was gone but us. I thought better of it as I took in his sunken bloodshot eyes. I knew things were getting to him as well. Pepper and I got in the car and we off in search of signs of life.

We lived about an hour from our old hometown, a winding state highway our usual route back. A turn off that highway onto a county road lead to the nursing home my Grandpa lived in. We headed down the long drive into the complex of buildings, each one a different level of care, and pulled up in front of my Grandpa’s building. As I’d expected we saw no one around. This time we headed in together, armed and dog in tow.

A cursory search told us the situation here was the same as back home, even the birds that usually swarmed the feeders that sat outside of almost every window were gone. We still entered Grandpa’s room, holding to that small glimmer of hope. We did notice that the bed was unmade, as they were in the several other rooms we checked.

“What do think it means?” I asked Chris, gesturing at the covers.

“I dunno, whatever happened was before the CNAs could make the beds.” He shrugged at the end, making it more of a question than a statement.

Pepper sniffed excitedly at the furniture around the room. She’s been enamored with Grandpa when she’d met him. “Sorry girl, looks like he’s not here.”

My eyes caught sight of his phone, sitting there off the hook. “Chris, look, when I tried to call the other day, I thought there was an answer but no one said anything.”

Chris narrowed his eyes. “It could have been someone else too, let’s stay on guard.”

“Ugh, you’re right. I’m going to search the nurse’s desks, and the offices, maybe there’s something there.” I left the phone where it was, not wanting to betray to anyone we’d been there, just in case.

We spent about an hour rifling through any area we could find connected to the staff, desperate for some clue to have been left behind. All we could find were some duty checklists and sign offs, the last of which appeared to be about two in the morning.

I kicked a rolling chair. “Another damn waste of time.” I shouted at the air around me.

“What?” It was a woman’s voice, not whispered, but like it was far way.

“Shit, Chris, did you hear that?” Peppers ears were at attention.

“Yeah, time to go.”  He started carefully heading toward the exit.

“But it was like it responded to me.” Soundly, it was like the whole world was filled with the harsh grinding sound that had been haunting us. This time instead of fleeing all we could do was stay frozen in place until it passed and left us gasping for air in its wake.

We made our way back to the car in silence, looking over our shoulders, weapons at the ready. Pepper desperately pulling us along, eager to be out of there.

Once we had made it back to the main road we decided to pull over at the nearest gas station to get some water and food and clear our heads. I pulled a notebook from my bag, and began to make a list.

“This is everything we’ve discovered about what’s going on so far.” I explained to Chris. “We need to make sure we keep track of it all, maybe we can figure this out.”

He looked dubious, and I could tell he didn’t want to say what was really on his mind. You can’t figure something out that had no rational explanation. Instead he asked where we were headed next.

We decided the next closest stop would be my brother Aaron’s condo, and few miles from our current location. We set off again after gassing up the car, glad that at least the pumps were on. Again the overcast skies gave way to a downpour that blurred out the world around us, silence consuming us once again.

This time Chris waited in the car as I ran down the walk way and frantically rang the bell. When no answer came I pounded on the door. I ran to his garage and banged on the door. I rang all the neighbors’ bells. I shouted for Aaron, his wife Lisa, and finally with a small cry, baby Sophie. My world spun, and I collapsed to my knees, sobbing. I hadn’t noticed Chris get out of his car, but he leaned down and put his arms around me.

“They’re gone! Everyone’s really gone. Even Sophie.” I couldn’t stand, it felt like I couldn’t breathe. All I could think was my sweet little niece, my family, my poor old grandpa. Chris finally coaxed me back to the car and we headed back towards home, abandoning plans to keep looking for signs of life and the rest of our family and friends.  We knew enough by the point to know we were alone, whatever the cause.

As we headed down the road I looked absentmindedly at my phone out of habit, and then I noticed, I had a blank text from my brother, coming from about the time we’d been outside his condo. After showing it to Chris scribbled it in the list of clues, and tried to detach from everything we’d seen that day. The rain caused the world around us to blur away into indistinct shapes and colors.

By the time we were home the emotional drain left us starving and exhausted. We clung to one another under the covers that night and I prayed, prayed that we’d never wake up.

I honestly couldn’t tell you much about the next couple of days. We spent them in a quiet fog staring at the TV, reading, playing board games, and eating. We didn’t venture outside too often, as the frequent rain had become near constant, now with bursts of thunder and lightning.

We took a trip to a couple of grocery stores, pilfering the fanciest foods we could get our hands on, and stopping by liquor stores for only the highest end booze they stocked. Every time we ventured out, even to let Pepper do her business, we now encountered the terrible shriek, as though its source was drawing closer to us.

“Let’s go to Florida.” Chris looked up from his lobster tail and porterhouse surf and turf. “It’s warm, and we can run around Disney World.”

“But not ride any of the rides. And it’s warm here. Stop being ridiculous.” I snapped, feeling bad instantly. He was just trying to cheer me up. I took another sip of my wine. “Sorry. Just not in the mood for that.”

He was about to reply the apartment was plunged into sudden darkness. I covered my ears expecting the horrendous shriek, instead the room filled voices, our voices. It was like every conversation we’d ever had there was being played back at the same time, fights, laughter, somber tones, and tears. Pepper braked at the other dog she could clearly hear barking. I shouted nonsense into the darkness, I begged, I cursed the universe, I wordlessly screamed. And then the lights came back on.

Chris reached across the table and held my hand. I offered him a weak smile. He sighed. “Every time I think it can’t get weak weirder it does.”

“We’ll at least we’re all together still, it could be worse.” Lightning struck the tree in front of our window, the explosion rattled the windows. “Fuck!” I jumped up to make sure there was no fire.

The tree stood untouched, as though nothing had happened. For the first time in days I truly looked around. There was no evidence that it had rained for days, no pools of water in lawn, no branches scattered by the wind. Everything looked exactly like it was the morning we woke up in this hell.

I called Chris over to confirm my theory but we were again shook by another near lightning strike, this one causing Pepper to whimper from the floor where she was. “Holy shit. It’s getting crazy out there.”

The shriek returned, not deafeningly loud, but it didn’t vanish. The storm began to pick until we were battered by hurricane like winds and blinded by flashes every few seconds. We passed a long few hours playing games and drinking, trying to keep an eye on the storm that would not let up. “What if it turns into a tornado? We’re screwed.”  Chris had turned back to watching to storm.

“Well, we’re already screwed. Besides, wouldn’t we have had a tornado by now if we could have one? This damn thing isn’t natural in the least.”

“Still maybe we should put the air mattress in the bathroom tonight, it’s the only slightly tornado safe room in here.”

I conceded the point and we made camp in the bathroom. The floor space just big enough for our mattress and Pepper. We set up our propane lantern and put a movie on our laptop. We could still hear the storm and the now distant screech, but the noise was no longer loud enough to drive us insane.

I laughed as we settled in. “Hey, this is kind of romantic right? Low lights, a movie, fake camping, I feel like we’re on a date.”

Chris playfully rolled his eyes. “Great, now she wants to get all mushy on me.”

Eventually we drifted off, Pepper already snoring away next to us.  Sometime during the night we both were jolted awake by the loudest strike we’d heard yet, the whole apartment shaking as though the building had been struck. It stopped a moment later. As hard as a I tried to fight to get up and assess what was happening, I collapsed back into sleep.

The next morning I woke up to the sun shining brightly, I was somehow in the bedroom. “Chris!” I shouted shoving him.

“What?” He sat up and took a moment to register where we were. I realized he hadn’t carried me in here. “What the fuck?”

“It stopped raining at least.” My phone buzzed, and when I picked it up I had about a dozen missed calls and texts. “Chris, check your phone.” I began scrolling through my messages.

Dad – “Heard there’s a big storm coming, hope your windows are shut.”

Aaron – “Hey, take care, it looks bad by you.”

Several friends had sent messages of the same nature.

Dad – “Let me know if you’re ok, they said there’s a tornado that way.”

Aaron – “Not cool, answer, call me.”

I nearly shouted when I noticed the phone told me it was Saturday, it should have been Thursday by now. I jumped up and opened the blinds letting the sun stream over us for the first time in days.

Chris and I spent the next half hour returning calls and messages, assuring everyone we had slept through the giant storm and that we must have left our phones on vibrate. Then we had a perfectly average Saturday.

To this day, I still can’t explain what happened to us. I’ve come to believe we somehow lost sync with time. What caused it and what fixed it, I couldn’t tell you either. I’d chalk it up to hallucination, but Chris has the same memories I do, and in my bag I found my notebook with my list of clues. That and my liquor cabinet and fridge were still incredibly stocked. Sometimes though, when I’m outside and it’s still and quiet, I think I can hear a distant screech.

#original fiction #short horror stories #my writing #short horror #writers on tumblr

[blankdblank]

It’s a Head Scratcher Pt 4

Pt 1 - Pt 2 - Pt 3 —- Her is Pt 3 for you @deepestfirefun​

All – @himoverflowers​, @theincaprincess​, @aspiringtranslator​, @sweeticedtea​, @ggbbhehe4455​, @thegreyberet​, @patanghill17​, @jesgisborne​, @curvestrology​, @alishlieb​, @jogregor​, @armitageadoration​, @fizzyxcustard​, @here2have-fun​, @lilith15000​, @marvels-ghost​, @catthefearless​, @imjusthereforthereads​, @c-s-stars​

Hobbit/LotR – @abiwim​, @jotink78​, @pastelhexmaniac​

x Thorin – @evyiione​, @deepestfirefun​, @queenoferebor

...

Suddenly the blinding light turned from white to golden and under the open pale blue cloud filled smokeless sky you panted across the deck of your ship spotting the other ships moving to land on the carriers below in the setting sun. Peering upwards your jaw dropped seeing the roots of the trees were gone, “The roots.”

Amrod, “They’re gone!” He said standing up with his twin both with braids swaying just barely in the gentle breeze.

Patting your chest you found the end of the rope formerly holding Thorin to you now you noticed was gone making you look down and then turn around. Only to let out a shriek making your uncles grab and pull you backwards away from the blue eyed raven haired naked Dwarf climbing up from his side to his knees peering up at you wide eyed in confusion. “Who are you?!”

His lips parted as he looked you all over, lowly asking, “What?” Lowering his gaze his lips parted and he let out a laugh, “I’m me again!” His eyes fell on you again and he patted his chest, “Rin, it’s me!”

Shaking your head you replied, “I’m not overly familiar with naked men. You’ll have to be a bit more specific.”

Reaching back Thorin pulled the chain from around his neck bringing the arkenstone into your view parting your lips. Maedhros stated, “Thorin?”

Thorin lowered his hands to his crotch saying, “I know this is strange, and I completely understand your uncertainty on the circumstances, my nudity for one. Just hear me out please.”

Maglor, “Perhaps, we should clothe you first,” he said shrugging out of his jacket he passed to Thorin, who used it to wrap around his waist with a quick grin, “Come on inside.”

Over the intercom Beren stated, “You all should come see this.”

Turning your head you giggled at Celegorm asking, “Huan didn’t change too, did he?” Drawing out his spy glass to find the dog circling in an empty corner on the deck of one of the ships well below yours docking on the carriers. “Nope, he’s still a massive fluff ball. Napping it off. Better let him rest.” Following your father you entered the ship and made for the piloting deck, on the way Maglor led Thorin into your linen closet to find a set of clothes for him.

Straight to the portal director your lips parted in reading the runes on the top side you shifted to read better, “Lindon, The Shire, Bree-,” turning your head you asked, “Ada? I think we’re back in Aman.” At your side he shifted the 20 sided object now bearing new symbols making him chuckle, “Are we?”

He nodded in Thorin’s return to join you again, “It appears we are. Numenor to Tol Eressea stretching from Lindon around to Rohan.”

Looking up again the men formed a half circle around you in Maglor’s stating, “Now that we’ve clothed our stowaway, perhaps we could hear him out.”

Thorin wet his lips and looked you over as you asked, “You’re a skin changer then?”

He shook his head, “No, not at all. See, first off, my name, Thorin Oakenshield, King Under the Mountain,”

Maedhros, “What mountain?”

Thorin, “Erebor. From what I understand it was formed after you all had died.” The men nodded and he continued, “Erebor was lost, to a Dragon Smaug sixty years ago, and my Company and I had ventured out to reclaim it, and we did. Defending it in a swarm of orc and goblin forces I fell. And I have no idea why Eru decided to turn me into a dog, but he led me to you.”

Maglor, “Why would he send you to us?”

Thorin’s eyes remained on you, “The brown ram on your lower back, Rin, I saw it after you first brought me here, after my bath.” Your lips parted and he stated, “Thorin Battle-Ram Oakenshield, my name. I was killed and sent to my One. I know this is difficult, and you know next to nothing on me past my stubbornness, and as long as you wish to grant me in gaining your trust I understand fully. Just know, that dog or not I would not give up a moment of knowing you.”

After a nod you wet your lips saying, “Perhaps we should get you home then.”

Thorin moved closer looking at the portal map stating, “Would we be able to make a stop first? A good friend of mine, Bilbo, he lives in the Shire. I know he would love to meet all of you, and along the way Lord Elrond would be pleased to see you again, and meet you, especially. Plus, I owe him an apology.”

Peering upwards you heard the alarm sound and you strolled through the room saying in your try to hide your bodies urge to shake in the shock of this discovery and his admission of wishing to court you in the future, “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to meet this Bilbo of yours on the way to Elrond. I’ll change the sails. Make it within the hour.”

Up to the deck they all wandered as Caranthir took the helm to send out word of the new locations complete with full etching of maps sent out on hovering trays to the carriers down below followed by eager messages from those remembering Aman to be eager to meet their surviving relatives or friends. Though all of the others assuming to be with none were curious on how they would be greeted and how they would fit in this world. Yet atop your ship you sat with Thorin in his sharing the details on what he knew of the land of Lindon with a far greater amount of information on the Blue Mountains under you until on the edges of the center of the Shire Thorin caught onto a commotion making him mumble, “What is going on?”

Following his gaze you asked, “Are Hobbits usually this active at night?”

Thorin shook his head, “Not in my experience outside of birthday celebrations and festivals. That’s BagEnd, Bilbo’s home. Something must be wrong.”

Maedhros looked between you and Thorin at your side then said, “We should go down and check on him. To be safe.” Thorin nodded and you, Maedhros, Maglor, Elurid, Elurin and Thorin went down the platform to the main street in the Shire where the commotion grew louder and Thorin rushed ahead hearing the apparent Hobbit in charge posting up a sign saying, ‘Estate sale, 8 am sharp.’

“Estate sale?!” Thorin barked and the man flinched turning his gaze to the puffing Dwarf, “Just who ordered this sale?!”

The Hobbit replied, “Bilbo Baggins has not been seen of in nearly eleven months. Presumed Dead.”

Thorin’s brows dropped and he barked back, “Bilbo is not dead! And you have no right to sell of his things as if they are yours to do so!”

Extending his hand he guided you towards the door automatically luring your family forward through the sea of parting Hobbits while Thorin found the spare key Bilbo had mentioned once and unlocked the door for you to duck inside to oddly cozy tiny home. Once your family had hurried inside Thorin shouted, “All of you clear out! Bilbo is one of my dearest friends and I am not leaving this Hobbit Hole until he returns to claim it! Anyone forcing entry will meet a grisly end!” After tearing the sign down and in half he slammed the door behind him and bolted it.

Still panting he turned to catch your curious grins feeling his scowl dropping at your asking, “Did we just get roped into house snatching? Mr King Under the Mountain?”

Weakly he chuckled and in the sound of the chattering Hobbits hurrying past the open gate the final Hobbit closed behind him stealing another glance at the house slowly lighting up in Thorin’s path to light the long since abandoned fireplaces. Elured stated, “Since the home has been empty for nine months Amrod will bring us down some supplies, no telling how long poor Master Baggins will take in his trip back from Erebor.”

Thorin, “Thank you. But trust me when I say, Bilbo will be eternally grateful for this. He assisted in restoring my kin to Erebor, it would be a poor way to repay him in allowing his to be sold off in pieces due to helping me.” A smirk eased across your lips and you waited for the rest of your family to show up, though not before a knock sounded on the door making him call out, “No trespassers!”

On the other side of the door he heard a clearly female voice stating, “My name is Bella, I’m Bilbo’s sister. I heard you’ve locked yourselves in.”

Thorin eased the door open after unlocking it and let her inside to your curiosity until you could see why, his eyes wandered to her clearly swollen belly making him say, “We have food on the way, though there is some tea in the pantry, if you’d care for some.”

She shook her head and he led her into the sitting room where he dusted off Bilbo’s favorite chair, “Now, I am curious, just what my dear brother has been up to.”

All the details of the journey had been shared only for your group to tense at the mention of the magic ring Bilbo had found left unmentioned until after she had been escorted back home by the young group of Gamgees waiting outside. In your solitude Thorin again found your side asking, “I couldn’t help but notice your tensing in hearing about Bilbo’s ring, might I ask why, all it does is turn him invisible.”

Maglor, “There are very few rings of magic forged of gold limited to invisibility alone.”

Thorin, “It is something of a threat then?”

“I wouldn’t wager if that ring had been found by anyone but a Hobbit the danger of it would be more evident.”

A content sigh in the round of smoking from Thorin using a spare pipe on the mantle hummed along to your father’s tune on the violin. Another cup of tea for you later his eyes wandered to you in the tile of your head to rest against Celebrimbor’s leg beside you sitting awkwardly long off the small couch he was sharing with Celegorm. A deep inhale came from you at the pat on your knee opening your eyes to find Thorin saying, “There are seven beds, if you’d like to choose. My Company had 13 and we all managed to fit snuggly across the spares.” You nodded and stood going with the equally as groggy Celebrimbor to take your picks.

Each room seemed more cozy than the last, with adorably petite yet spacious beds fitting each room perfectly for comfort while allowing plenty of room around it. Removing your boots you collected your bag of clothes brought down earlier and left here in a guess it would be the one you would choose and you changed into your silk pajamas and lowered onto the bed. Tucking up your legs you settled onto the bed still struggling against the whirl of your mind on the appearance of the man formerly trapped as a dog bound to you so faithfully. A stolen glance of your mark in the mirror was had and your fingers traced it with the fingers on your arm resting across your middle.

Closing your eyes again the image of him cast in firelight and wreathed in smoke with a deep rumbling hum of that warming voice of his reminding you of his near constant grumbles and his shouts so similar to his loud barks. There was little space to be found and yet you held an unnamed ache in sleeping alone again. No longer a dog he was shorter than you, yes, but the same size he was as a dog, long wavy raven curls laid down his back and still those adoring heartbreakingly blue eyes.  

That normal stern demeanor of his no more threatening than it was when you had first gotten him from the pound. There should have been more of a change and yet bare on the decks he was revealed to retain a great deal of dark hair covering his broad chiseled body with a strip going straight from his naval under his waistband over the small poof of his belly marking you had indeed fed him ample enough for his comfort. Weeks he had sprawled across you warming you and matching your slumbering hums with vibrating snores you greatly missed, wishing to see if you could find the comfort in his company as you had now his true form had been revealed.

Sleep was just as troublesome for Thorin to find, and after a stolen glance through your open doorway to memorize your slumbering pose and expression his nightly habit of adoring your star speckled glowing skin visible over the covers laying crooked over your diagonal body spread out with a foot dangling off the end. The room across from yours was his and laying out across it he rolled over and forced his eyes shut to rest as to not miss any portion of the day with you.

.

Every inch of his life was laid bare sating the curiosity of you and your family since he had learned so much of you all in your time together. Daily in pairs you would explore, learning more of the Shire, befriending the Hobbits now relaxing with Bella’s confidence that Thorin had been truthful and that Bilbo would return soon. And soon indeed he had returned. The sight of the floating whale hovering over the city brought Gandalf along with him and under the great Oak tree in the front yard you sat reading a book beside Thorin, who loved clarifying terms and names of those inside spreading your smile and deepening his under the watch of Maedhros and Maglor who took to reviving the tiny garden outside. Down the street Bilbo strolled with his walking stick wading through the sea of greetings from his neighbors between glances up at the whale lazily shifting its tailfin to remain aloft which none of the others seemed to pay any mind to.

At the end of the street his chest puffed up and he hurried along faster, “Just who is that in my garden?!”

Gandalf picked up his pace in noticing he was being left behind saying, “Take care, Bilbo. No telling what mischief is afoot.”

At the front gate Bilbo’s hand found the welcoming latch he had dreamed of undoing for nearly a year now, “Excuse you! Just who-?!” His first step inside had him frozen in place finding Thorin smiling widely at him in his rise to his bare feet as you closed your book. Your upwards glance dropped Gandalf’s jaw in recognizing your resemblance right away, though mistaking you for another Elleth and wondering at the odd periwinkle dress you were relaxing in against the trunk of the tree. “Thorin..? You’re alive?!”

“Yes.” Thorin crossed the distance with arms extending to wrap the Hobbit tightly in his arms, the bag from his shoulder dropped along with the small chest of gold freeing his arms to snap around his middle, “Hello Bilbo.” In pulling back his hands shifted to the Hobbit’s shoulders and he smiled again at him.

“How?! I saw you die! I sat with you! We-, buried you…” His eyes dropped to the Dwarf’s neck and he drew out the chain revealing the glowing stone on its pendant, “With, this…”

His eyes snapped up again in the ripple of his name being shared through the house signaling the exit of your full family, all smiling at the famous Bilbo they had heard of, he nods, “Yes. I am not clear on the details, however I am back again and your home is safe.” He glances over at Gandalf by his pony, “Dwalin did not return with you?”

“No, um, I got a letter, my sister is expecting. I returned to, help, and pack.” He looks at you and you smile at him, “Hello. Um,” he holds out his hand, “Bilbo Baggins.”

You offer your hand in return, “Elurin, Daughter of Elured.”

“El-, as in, didn’t Lord Elrond have an Elurin in his family.”

Maglor, “You mean our Nephew? How is he faring? Thorin mentioned he is on our way. Meadhros and I are anxious to see him again. Plus our dear Luthien is eager to see him as well after all we’ve heard.”

Bilbo whispered, “Luthien-…”

Thorin chuckled guiding him inside, “Come, have tea before you collapse then we can explain it all and aid your sister in mending and packing all you wish to move to Erebor.”

Bilbo nodded and Thorin lifted his bag and chest while you shook your skirt settling it over your feet and smiled at Bilbo saying, “Master Baggins, we hope we’ve kept your house well.”

Thorin nodded guiding him inside between Amrod and Amras who ducked back inside, “Yes, we arrived in time to see them pinning up an estate sale sign out front. Saw a quick end to that.”

You giggled behind the pair saying, “Yes, after a slew of death threats they kept clear of your lands.” The silk skirt of yours gave a small poof in settling at his table beside Luthien in a similar lilac gown riddled with a row of bows down the back drawing Gandalf’s eyes from the Elf Lords while Maglor and Maedhros went to wash up. Claiming his own seat your eyes snapped over to him and a grin eased onto his lips in the gentle light of your company, “You must be Gandalf. Thorin has shared so much about you.”

Gandalf nodded, “Forgive me, my Lady, you resemble your aunt Queen Elwing-,”

Thorin left Bilbo’s belongings on the bench in the hall and guided the Hobbit to a chair across from yours leaving the one between you for himself, “Yes, introductions,”

Luthien, “Master Bilbo, I am Lady Luthien,”

Bilbo whispered, “Luthien…”

Then looked to Celebrimbor in his saying, “I am Celebrimbor, son of Curufin, my father was not among us. Though, these are my uncles, Amrod, Amras, Caranthis, Celegorm,” Each bowing their heads to the Hobbit with a steadily growing blush at the famous names, “Beren is cooking along with Turin and Tirion is fishing with some fauntlings alongside Huan.” His head turned at the return of the others, “Yes, and Maglor and Maedhros,”

Through the door your father and uncle entered with baskets of goodies, “We heard a rumor our Master Bilbo had returned.”

Crouching through the doorway they grinned and Gandalf looked between you three and Celebrimbor stated, “Now, for our silver haired trio, Princes Elurin, Elured and his daughter, you’ve met, Elurin, or RinRin as we affectionately call her. Though everyone else calls her Madame Dior.”

Bilbo looked you over and felt his hands fold around the cup of tea Thorin set before him in his taking the seat at your side. Fidgeting his fingers around the cup in his tongue’s flick to wet his lips hastily, “I, um, forgive me, but aren’t the lot of you-,”

Maglor chuckled settling on the ground beside Gandalf saying, “Dead, once yes, among those forbidden to enter Valinor after the Kinslayings we were sent to a set of islands, until such a time when we had earned forgiveness and were sent back here to Aman.”

Gandalf nodded, “Is that where you found Thorin?”

You giggled in a sip of your own cup of tea making Thorin chuckle and shift in his seat to begin sharing the story of his transformation and the lands now part of this world again along with a great number of Elves he might recognize the names of.

.

Helping him pack up his home through the rest of the week along with that of his sister’s upon her agreeing to return with him to Erebor in hopes of an adventure of her own. Trails of Dwarves began to arrive from the Blue Mountains heading for their recovered home and at the confirmation of their safety in the numbers of Elves and Numenor they boarded the ships and enjoyed the flight over all the way to Rivendell. An eager hopping entrance into the main courtyard brought the confused Lady Arwen and Lindir to you after hearing the whispers of those old enough to recognize you. The sound of their approach had you turning with a wide grin parting their lips seeing you and especially the stone around your neck.

Lindir broke the silence, “Queen Elwing?” Bowing his head.

You shook your head, “No, I am her niece, Elurin, daughter of Elured.” You looked to Arwen, “You look a great deal like my great grandmother Luthien.”

Arwen inched closer with a hopeful grin on her face, “I am Lady Arwen, Lord Elrond’s daughter.”

Your grin doubled, “Yes, Bilbo shared a description of your portrait, returned from Lothlorien already?” you glanced around, “Is your father out on a hunt, I wished to meet him for myself before my Uncles steal him away.”

“Ada had marched to Lothlorien not two days past.” You nodded and your grin dimmed a bit, “Troubles with Moria on Lothlorien’s borders.”

In a bounce on your toes you nodded saying, “We will go and meet him then. I promise we’ll be back before long, have proper introductions and a full visit.” You turned, “If you’ll excuse me.” Hurrying through the courtyard you heard the whispers of the confused Elves behind you all dying to their stunned stares up at your ship leading the hovering fleet of metal creature crafts off to Lothlorien.

.

“It seems Elrond is off to Lothlorien’s borders, trouble at Moria.”

Maedhros grinned saying, “Moria it is. Let’s go help our dear Nephew destroy some orc.”

With a chuckle you turned for your room unbuckling your skirt to remove it, straight for your closet you went and hung it up leaving your jacket with it you replaced with your armored jacket and pants you covered with your weapon holsters, especially your tall flat boots you filled with several more hidden weapons.

Seated on the bed you spotted Thorin, who perked up in your step out again fidgeting with the sleeves of his mithril armor cuffs under his layers seeing you offering him his robe and Orcrist you helped him to strap on. “Don’t you go and do anything foolish.”

Thorin chuckled saying, “Coming from the woman who leapt from one flying ship to another,” making you roll your eyes and lead the way to the others in the loading dock. Passing Bilbo seated comfortably in your study with a good book relaxing without the whispers of the ring you had sealed in a protective box to destroy after you had met with Elrond.

.

Swords crashed and into the sea of orcs explosions went off clearing great circles of land in which you all dropped through the open rocky lands to the open front gate. From above concentrated fire was unleashed onto their confused forces while the Elves after a moments pause raced to form lines again to clear the path to their lost friends and relatives. Flashes of silver hair and in the roar of the Balrog exiting the front gates lips parted in your soft whisper triggering an explosion of light from you dwindling the army against you to dust. Wisps of light returned to fade out of the gate it had burst through and clearly inside the once packed kingdom now sat empty signaling Frerin and his kin who had chosen to fight to explore the entrance of the kingdom. All agreed those in the ships decided to remain here under the rule of Thorin’s brother while Thorin joined you and your family in greeting Elrond.

His stunned expression upon seeing his uncles was nothing compared to seeing his twin, Elros who was leading the Numenorean forces who embraced him tightly and pulled back to reveal the points on his ears showing they wouldn’t be parted again earning Elrond’s tugging him into another far tighter embrace. A mistaken utterance of ‘mother’ was quickly righted and you wee properly acquainted with your Nephew who was glad to meet you and his lost Uncles before moving onto the rest of your group.

In his distraction you giggled and turned your head spotting Oropher and the Elf you assumed to be his son, his hands on his son’s shoulders with a wide grin explaining the kingdom he had been sent to after his death. In your move to greet him yourself you heard him saying, “Taule and your sister are aboard our ship.”

“Sis-,”

Oropher nodded in the crack of his voice, “Yes, Marya, who is very excited to meet you and your Legolas, who is back in Greenwood I expect?”

Thranduil nodded and swallowed dryly, “Yes,” he cleared his throat and his eyes shifted to you making Oropher chuckle and extend his hand welcoming you to join them.

“Thranduil, this is Madame Dior, one of my greatest friends, Marya’s too. Also Thorin Oakenshield’s One it seems.” Thranduil looked from you to Thorin at your side and bowed his head, “You are to be neighbors when a courtship can be managed.”

Thranduil gave you a soft grin, “It is a pleasure to meet you. Marya does not battle?”

You giggled making his brow twitch up, “Marya is barely to your knee, King Thranduil, but she is rather fond of dueling with wooden swords. Be prepared for ambushes in the future.” Freeing an oddly relieved chuckle from him at not having missed so much of her life.

Oropher, “Taule and I were quite stunned to have been blessed by Eru with a daughter. We do hope to visit often, and please do not worry about Amon Lanc, Thorin has shared it was lost and we will assist you in restoring it again. There perhaps we could use as a sort of mixing point for our kin and their lost relatives, if you would agree of course. I am but a Steward now, so no butting heads.” He looked to you, “The polls are due in two days still, no putting it off.”

Thranduil looked to you, “Poll?”

You smiled answering, “Uncle Maedhros is campaigning against Tirion and Huan for the Presidency. If he wins it will be his 12,000th year in office. Every century there is a campaign to see who will lead us.”

Thranduil, “Presidency, is that how you refer to Kingship?”

Oropher laughed patting his son’s shoulder, “No, Maedhros refused to take the title of King, so we decided on President instead, same rights, though every century others are free to campaign against him.”

Your head turned hearing your father, “RinRin!”

A whistle and raise of your hand brought their group over bringing Celeborn, having been roped into it in his curious watching. Welcoming hugs filled the area and off to the distant forest you strolled stealing a glimpse down at Thorin asking, “You do not want to go with your brother?”

Thorin stole a glance back at the gates and shook his head, “Frerin and I had different experiences in those halls. He was knocked unconscious early in Azanulbizar, woke in the aftermath. I however witnessed Azog, the white orc, behead my grandfather.” The pain in his voice shifted your hand to timidly fold your fingers around his making him glance up at you with a hopeful grin, shifting his hand to fold around yours in return tenderly. “I will explore Moria, just not yet. It holds too great a weight for me still.”

“That I can understand.”

With a nod he asked, “I don’t believe I ever got to see your palace you mentioned.”

“Oh, it was on the other half of Doriath.” The name turned Thranduil’s head to look at you with lips parted making you flash him a quick grin, “Your Ada and us share the island. I bet it is a great deal changed from how you once knew it, or so he says.” You looked to Thorin again, “Though we do have a winter palace on Gondolin. It is beautiful when it snows. Everything shimmers under the sunlight and it seems to stretch on forever. We skate on the frozen lakes and build castles out of snow. It is the only island that snows, and the music we play, from one sunrise to another,” you giggled making him chuckle in pleasure of seeing your awed grin, “For weeks sometimes, then it just seems to explode. Just bursts of green tearing through the snow, and there are so many colors after you would not believe it on word alone.”

“I doubt there would be anything you would say I would not believe.” He hummed back to you in a loving gaze up at you, “Perhaps, our winter is upon us, if it does not suit your tastes I could manage to request a tour of your Gondolin’s winter to see it for myself.”

.

A great celebration in Lothlorien was prepared for and from the platforms of the ships more Elves came to join their relatives, all pausing in awe of Lady Luthien who greeted them all and hurried to greet Elrond for herself widening his own awed smile as she delved into his life. Though that reaction was nothing compared to Taule’s near tackling hug on Thranduil freeing an astonished laugh and tight hug in return that paused in his noticing Marya swaying on her feet only to tightly hug him when he lowered to greet her. In his arms she nuzzled closer to his chest and fresh shirt thanks to your bout of changing and bathing upon arrival. Lipte however refused to stand aside and wiggled under his arm with tail wagging making him chuckle and lift the pair to sit on his lap in his abandoned seat behind him to speak with his parents more in their settling beside him.

Sunset came with a tour of your ship in the flight to Mordor. Through the darkening skies you sailed awing your first time passengers and to your harpoon canon each Nazgul fell while Elrond and Bilbo did the honors of dropping the ring into Mt Doom then hurried back to ride the wave of the explosions following the destruction of the city. Clear over Gondor while the Tol Eressea ships landed in their island in the distance not far from Doriath that Oropher showed to Thranduil through his telescope spreading his excited grin to visit it once the decided visit to Erebor and Greenwood were through.

*

Loudly Dwalin shouted, “ALL OF YOU JUST SHOVE OFF! KING FILI COMING THROUGH!” His hands shooing a path free while Kili and Gloin carried his chair bound brother with a brace over his fractured leg from his fall on Raven Hill. Just barely were the Elves able to save him and the weight of the repairs on the forges, still badly damaged from Smaug. None of the other Dwarf Lords could agree on any trade deals and none especially wished to give their resources for anything less than a hill of gold it seemed.

Sighing to himself he said, “If Uncle were here he could handle this. Even Dain is being obstinate on lending forces for repairs.”

Kili stole another glance at the rug Gloin warned him of so he wouldn’t trip, “Perhaps Amad could help. She is due in a week.”

Fili sighed, “I had hoped to have it mastered by her arrival.”

Gloin, “You are just crowned, none expected you to master it right off. It is a bit of tradition to be troubling to the new King. They will see reason.”

The group halted at the sounding of horns turning their heads announcing the arrival of guests at the gates. Fili mumbled, “I wonder who that could be.”

Kili, “Do we go?”

Fili shrugged, then nodded with a smirk, “Yes, the Council forces me to wait on answers, they can wait for my arrival. Gloin, for the gates please.”

Gloin chuckled and turned heading for the gates that opened allowing a tall group of Elves through making Dwalin mumble, “What is Thranduil doing here?” The sight of a trio of Hobbits beside him had the Dwarf shouting for a clear path to his One and future in laws.

Straight up to Bilbo he stormed widening the eyes of the Company all pouring into the hall shouting, “Bilbo!”

Dwalin, “How are you back so quickly?” He bowed his head to Bella at her spreading grin in taking in her future brother in law.

Bilbo turned his head and gasps sounded at Thorin’s stepping out from behind you after insisting you entered first, “Thorin brought me.”

Nearing him Dwalin reached out to touch his cousin making Thorin laugh and settle his hands on his shoulders as his pendant slid out stirring even more gasps and whispers, “Hello Cousin, it is me, and quite a tale, though first I should say, it led me to new friends, and my One.” Their eyes turned to the group around Thranduil, who was holding Marya in his arms patting her back in her napping nuzzle against his chest in his head nodding to you beside him. Thorin glanced up at Fili, whose chair was being lowered to its resting legs and he moved closer keeping him from trying to climb off it to pull the boys into a tight hug, “You’re safe. I knew you would be.”

Kili beamed at him, “You’re back!”

Fili smiled saying, “Good! You can handle the Lords!” Thorin huffed and Fili shook his head removing his crown to settle on to of Thorin’s head making him chuckle hearing, “They would never be so unmoving with you.”

Thorin scoffed, “No, they know me, they will no doubt outright refuse to aid us at all.”

Fili huffed, “All the same, we’ve been trying to get the furnaces repaired and no one will budge.”

Thorin wet his lips then peered up at you in your move to peer over his shoulder at the notes Fili had passed him, “Perhaps if it is just a furnace, you could play to their irritations to gain their loyalty.”

Thorin smirked and purred up at you making the company glance between you at his asking, “Irritations?”

“Unless your kin do adore and treasure the company of Elves. Then our aid would make the plan moot.”

Lowly he chuckled then glanced back at Maedhros who said, “If we are to be family, one day, then let us see those furnaces of yours. If it is simple earth and metal it would be no trouble, we have the numbers and supply easily roused. Besides, those visiting Greenwood would require a job of some sort to fill their days.”

Again Fili was lifted and from their hushed conversation Dwalin and his budding family broke freeing Bilbo to show them up to their own apartment in the Royal Wing freeing Dwalin to curiously take Thorin’s side across from you to begin asking questions on the full tale making the others laugh at his transformation.

Sure enough words had spread and while Elves scouted through the ruins of Amon Lanc and you stole a trip to Rivendell to greet Elrond’s family and people in his crafted home Thorin waited longingly for your return treasuring the first signs of your public marker for courtship, a union between your lands and people. Elves aided with the returns of the forges and more ships helped to aid in the travel of Dwarves and Elves across Middle Earth restoring and repairing once lost relics and monuments to their former glory. All the while the Dwarf Lords returned for the proper coronation of Thorin Oakenshield and to pay their respects and pledge their loyalty to him, something they would prove by being uncommonly agreeable to aiding in whatever endeavor he imagined to keep the Elves from overrunning their kingdoms. Yet still no matter their grievances their cold exteriors melted seeing their King so boots over beard in love with his One an your growing return of affections in leaning more about him and his world you were set to be a part of.

.

Early on the morning you were set to return Thorin groggily sat up and in the realization of your impending arrival he hopped up out of bed to hurry to his bath. Grinning madly he scrubbed, dried then dressed, at his vanity however his brows furrowed in the absence of his comb. His turn to look on the ground halted in the swing of his leg around the bench to look on the ground hearing a voice say, “So do I get to comb your hair or are you going to growl and hide in the closet from me?”

A wide smile split across his face in your stroll over from your place on the end of his bed to sit between his legs on the end of the bench, “You alone have the right to touch my hair.”

With a giggle you took in his adoring gaze taking in the moment of you two alone in his quarters at your elbow resting behind you on the vanity, cherishing the sight of you draped so contently beside him in your favored pale yellow gown in a thick and warming velvet hugging you perfectly. In a low hum he asked, “How did you manage to get in? The horns should have sounded.”

Your grin returned and you said, “I might have managed to convince the guards on the overlook not to. Wanted to surprise you.”

His eyes narrowed in a subtle inch closer to you, “Which guards?”

“I did not catch the names of half, though Dwalin and I believe it was Bifur, and Kili was lost in writing another letter to Tauriel I believe. They managed to convince the others.”

Thorin, “Nice to know my kin be so easily swayed to allowing intruders.”

“I believe you should be more concerned with my powers of persuasion than their eagerness to surprise you.” Making him chuckle and wet his lips.

“True, then I imagine it best for me to gain your favor then.”

In a feigned sigh you asked, “Yes, but how ever will you manage that?”

A tender brush of the fingers on his raised hand stroked across your cheek, “I haven’t the foggiest idea.” Closing the distance to plant a chaste kiss on your lips, “Any hints?”

Deeply he chuckled at your nip on your lip, “Mmm.” Timidly your fingers rose to brush along his bearded cheek luring him closer for a second gentle kiss followed by your raising the comb between you at the sounding of the horns. “First, we should see to that hair.” Making him chuckle and turn his back to you when you stood, “If you are in the mood for surprises you will adore Marya’s.” Leaning in after a stroke of the comb your hands met his shoulder deepening his grin, “As one of my greatest friends she does hope to become the very best of friends with you in return.”

He nodded and chuckled again, “I look forward to it. As long as I don’t have to mind Lipte all day again.” Making you giggle and rise up to start on his hair again.

#Thorin x Reader OC #Hobbit #lotr

[writing-ro]

Fictober 19-7: “No, and that is final.”

@fictober-event // Set in a Multi-fandom Fantasy AU where most if not all kinds of fantasy creatures exist alongside humans, though the two cultures stay fairly separate, with many humans being afraid or prejudice against creatures.

Rating: T Fandom: Dragon Age, Characters: Analei Amell (OFC), Aristide Amell, Ships: Analei Amell/Leliana (mentioned) Additional Tags: Secret Relationship Discovered, Disapproving Relatives, Aristide Amell is a Dick, 

It was never a good thing to be called to Great-Uncle Aristide’s office. At least, it never was when Rodrick was sent to collect you. It was a system, Rickon was sent if Great-Uncle had good news or was in a good mood, Rodrick if it was bad. The brothers were identical twins, so those outside the estate had no idea of this little cue, but the family and long term servants had learned the subtle differences between the pair. 

So, when Rodrick entered the library and told Analei to follow, to say she was nervous was an understatement. Entering, she found not only Aristide, but her grandfather Fausten, standing by the fireplace while her uncle worked at the desk. This did not bode well, but she kept those thoughts to herself and off her face. 

“You wished to see me, Uncle?”

Aristide looked up from his papers and nodded. He had the Amell’s traditional blue eyes, a trait that had missed her, and while his hairline was receding, it still had more pepper than salt to it. Her own grandfather was similar, but the affair of Uncle Damion’s near imprisonment and later claiming during the Tribute Festival had left his hair all salt. 

“Yes,” Aristide said, signing his signature on a document and setting his quill in it’s holder. “Have a seat please, Analei.”

Analei did, her nerves spiking higher. Politeness, another sign of trouble. She found herself reviewing her behavior over the last few weeks, trying to find any actions her uncle would not approve of. 

Aristide’s voice cut through her thoughts. “You have been taking several trips out of the city recently.” 

Her heart leapt into her throat, but she did her best to speak around it, willing her face to not pale. “I collect potion ingredients, you should know fresh ones are the best to have.”

“Yet you spend little time making any potions, and I’ve spoken with a few of our potioneers, they say they’ve only rarely seen you delivering herbs for them.”

Shite. How to get out of this? “I don’t give them to the Amell potioneers, I pass them on to a few of the Lowtown sellers. They rarely have time to collect any for themselves, and can’t afford to hire-”

Aristide slammed his hand onto the desk, making her jump and almost bite her tongue. “Cease your lying, Analei. I know the real reason for your visits, about that siren.”

Analei drew in a harsh breath, and bowed her head. “I’m sorry, Uncle.”

“Are you truly?” Aristide stood and looked to the door. Analei fought the urge to see who he was looking at. “Send him in.”

The door opened and she could hear a sharp inhale behind her. One she was very familiar with.

“Jakob, come here,” Aristide said, and Analei’s little brother walked up to the desk, his nerves as visible as the Amell crest on his jerkin. “Tell Analei about your venture out of the city yesterday.”

Jakob took another deep breath and turned so he wasn’t looking directly at either Aristide or Analei. “I was returning from a morning hunt with Mattias and Johann when I spotted Analei on her horse Ilya. I was curious as to what she was up to, so I sent Mattias and Johann on with the excuse of a stone in Donver’s shoe, then rode after her. She rode into the woods for a ways, then tied Ilya to a tree branch and continued on foot with a basket. I followed and heard her call out a name, before a sky siren swooped down and knocked her to the ground. I was about to draw my bow and charge in to attack when I heard laughter instead of screams. I got closer and saw Analei laying on top of the siren, talking. I couldn’t hear what was said, but I saw Analei and the siren kiss, several times, before Analei went to untie the laces of the siren’s dress. I left then and rode home.”

Aristide nodded. “Thank you, Jakob. You may leave now.”

Jakob did, with a short bow to their uncle and without even looking at Analei. He felt guilty, she knew. He always avoided catching the gazes of any he felt he had done a disservice, even as minor as a careless comment shared in private. This certainly explained why he had also avoid her gaze the night before -- she had assumed it was something much more minor and dismissed it. 

“After Jakob told me what he’d seen, I sent Eddard to verify his claim,” Aristide said. “He told me he saw you and the siren, bare as your namedays, in a clearing clearly inhabited by the creature. He kept watch until you prepared to leave, and reported everything to me upon his return.” He leaned forward, placing his hands on the desk. “Does this sound accurate to you, Analei?”

She was found out. More so, Leliana was found out. Analei had to do damage control. “Uncle, I can explain-”

“No excuses!” Aristide sliced a hand through the air. “Do you know how many plans you have nearly disrupted? I had hoped this was simply an enchantment, but Lianne said the disenchantment potion she slipped in your tea had no effect.”

Another puzzle piece slipped into place in her mind. Lianne had a hobby of tea making, and her siblings were the first test subjects of any new blends she made. Analei had thought something tasted off about her first cup that evening, but had assumed the tea just needed more time to steep than usual. 

“After Leandra broke her engagement with Guillaume, it was incredibly hard to get the de Launcets to agree to another betrothal between our houses, let alone for you with their heir. As well, Adria’s own engagement with Saemus Dumar is yet to be confirmed, for all they seem to like each other.” That was an understatement -- a blind man could see how smitten Adria and the Viscount’s son were. “House Amell stands on a precipice. With Damion’s scandal, it will only take one more straw before our family falls from grace. I will not allow you to destroy what our family stands for for some creature-”

“Leliana,” Analei half-whispered the name, like a prayer, but it stopped Aristide in his tracks. 

“What did you say, Analei?” Fausten said, finally stepping away from the fireplace.

“Her name is Leliana.” Analei looked up. “We met at the Tribute Festival a few years ago, after she stopped up a bar fight with her song and I separated the fighters before the spell could wear off. She and I kept meeting in the markets, and then eventually at her home as we became friends, and then yes, lovers. Never once has she ever used her enchantment on me -- she can’t!”

“And why ‘can’t’ she?” Aristide asked. 

“Because it’s impossible for a siren to enchant their true mate. She knew what I was from the night we met, but she never pressured me on it. Never even tried to kiss me until long after I had fallen in love with her.”

“You can not love a creature,” Aristide said. “It would be worse than loving a dog. They do not understand the word.”

“Of course they understand it,” Analei argued, rising to her feet. Her eyes flashing as she felt her magic starting to stir under her skin. “They can love and laugh and cry and hate just as much as any human. More than some humans, even.” That last was a low blow, but in truth, she had many years of anger at the man finally rising to the surface. If she let it, her magic would lash out to hurt him in some way, some payback for years of having to dance to his tune. “Leliana has seen every part of me, and I have seen every part of her. We are mates in all but ceremony, and my wish was to ask for my family’s blessing before going through with it.”

Aristide sneered. “Did you really think I would ever give my permission - let alone my blessing - for you to marry a creature?”

“I said my family, not my relatives.” 

Fausten frowned and looked between her and Aristide, before turning back to the fire. A clear sign, no matter what happened, he would have no part of it. Aristide, meanwhile, looked like he’d been slapped, and it only made him angrier. 

“Very well. You leave me no choice then.”

Before Analei could ask about what, her arms were grabbed and something closed around her wrists. Instantly, she felt her magic drain away, and she almost fell back into her chair before she steadied herself, looking from her sides, where Rickon and Rodrick held her, and her wrists. Silver cuffs five inches long were closed around her arms, and before her eyes, the lock melted into the metal. Runes of magic suppression covered it, as well as one to prevent injury from the cuffs themselves. 

“Escort Analei to her room. As of now, she is only to be allowed out for mealtimes, and a guard must stand at her door and two at her window. Inform Eddard I have a task for him and his best hunters to complete. 

Horror struck through Analei, and she lunged forward, only held back by the brothers, who started to pull her back to the door. “No, please, Uncle, you can’t!”

“A creature has enchanted my grand-niece, I am in my full rights to order them exterminated to break the spell.”

“Please, don’t hurt her. I’ll do anything.” Analei dropped to her knees, and while it caught the brothers off guard, they didn’t free her. “I’ll marry Emile, I’ll bear his children, I’ll never leave Hightown again. Just please don’t hurt her.”

“It is too late for promises I already intend to keep, Analei.” Aristide looked at her like she was something particularly nasty he stepped in. Fausten hadn’t looked at her at all. 

“Grandfather, please!” Analei wasn’t entirely sure what she was pleading for, but aside from a slight twitch of his shoulders, he did not react to it. Tears started to fall and she turned one last time to her uncle. “Please, please Uncle, reconsider.”

“No. That is my final word.” Aristide sat down, picking up his quill and returning to his documents, as if none of the past quarter-hour had happened. 

Rickon and Rodrick hauled her to her feet and finished pulling her from the room. Analei hung her head the whole way to her room, and when the door was locked behind her, she threw herself onto the bed, her sobs soaking the air and her pillow.

#fictober19 #Fictober Fantasy AU #fictober #fandom: dragon age #oc: Analei Amell #char: Aristide Amell

[marsupials-of-mars]

It Surfaces on the First Freeze of Winter (Pt 5)

Logan pulled under the lone roof covering the reserved parking spots at his complex. He paid extra for that spot, but it was something he was willing to treat himself to. His choice was validated further within the next minute, when tiny, sparse crystals of ice started fluttering down onto the pavement. Logan had hardly noticed that it had grown that cold during his drive, though he had noticed the bright grey cloud cover slowly moving overhead and blocking out the once dominating Florida sun. He normally would have been irritated by the snow, which was bound to make driving more difficult and was a signifier that the cold wasn't letting up anytime soon, but he couldn't help but be excited for Roman's reaction to such a phenomenon. He was sure to be bursting with childlike energy and whimsy.

Logan suddenly felt a fresh pang of guilt for leaving Remus in such a freeze, but at least it had its heater. He pushed the idea from his mind, locked his car, gathered his boots, and started toward the apartment.

Just as he passed the back tire, he felt a wet, familiar sensation wrap his ankle. He nearly screamed before he stopped himself, causing his outburst to sound more like a violent hiccup. He whipped around to lock eyes with Remus, curled and tangled into the underside of the car. It had forfeited its Roman disguise in order to fit its shape to the undercarriage. One tentacle had escaped its compact form, outstretched to greet Logan's socked foot.

"Remus?!" He whisper-shouted as to not alert his roommate, who was potentially just a parking lot, a window, and some blinds away. "You can't be here! It's not safe for either of us!"

"-live with- Logan." Remus looked almost smug, seemingly proud of his fantastic stealth skills, overriding his clear misery from being windblown consistently with freezing air. The reality of Logan's anger must have finally been apparent to the beast, who quickly recoiled its tentacle and regained it's Roman form in defense. "-Roman-" it made pleading puppy dog eyes, daring Logan to yell at his roommate.

"You clearly don't know how often I get mad at Roman. Now get in the backseat, I'm taking you back where you came from!"

"-live with-" The creature seemed confident, confusing Logan until it reached out once again and dropped the bright red end of a severed brake line at his feet. It's eyes gleamed with excitement at its brilliant solution. "-companionship. -priority."

Logan stared at the jagged end, riddled with beak marks that perfectly matched the sketches in Roman's book. That was a blow to his paycheck. At least it must have happened after he parked.

"You're insane!"

"-insane!" Remus beamed at what he must have thought was a compliment regarding his cleverness. Or he was legitimately proud of his insanity. Logan rubbed his eyes with a thumb and forefinger, thinking over his options.

"Well... I suppose you'll have to stay here until I can get it fixed. One night at most."

"-early Christmas gift-" It broke into a toothless grin.

"NOT a reward. Not fun. Just a necessity. You'll have to be quiet and out of the way. This is not okay."

"-okay." Remus pouted, finally realizing that his idea was not going to turn out as fun as he expected.

"Now, up the back of my coat. That should hide you while I get you... wherever I can put you."

Remus whined and wrapped Logan's legs to begin its slither up onto his back. The sensation wasn't pleasant, but Logan had gotten oddly used to it, and it helped that the creature had spent fifty minutes drying out at highway speeds, though that was just another spike in his anxiety at the same time. He had to get it some hydration, and fast. Whatever its species, it clearly wasn't built for that kind of journey, and Logan could feel it in the lethargic way it moved and how much weaker its tentacles gripped his body. He felt it nuzzle into the warmth of his back. He sighed and pulled his hood over its head, beginning his trudge to the door.

He fumbled with his key, more focused on the load on his back, but managed to get it open.

He slipped in, trying to move quick but casually to the stairs, until he noticed that Roman hadn't made a peep. He craned his neck to see into the living room and kitchen. No sign of Roman. He pulled his phone out of his pocket to text him.

"Just got home, where are you?" He waited quietly for a reply. He heard Remus grumble softly at the nape of his neck. He jostled a bit to quiet it down. A minute or so later he got a reply.

"A suprise. I'll tell you when I get back, idk how long, maybe a few hours tops. What, you miss me? ;)"

Logan let out a breath of relief.

"Not particularly. It's just really relaxing and quiet over here all of a sudden."

">:P"

Logan smiled and tucked his phone in his pocket. That made things at least a small bit easier, though nothing about hiding an intelligent, five foot, tentacled beast in a two bedroom apartment would be easy either way. He brainstormed how he would pull this off.

First things first, he hauled the miserable, dehydrated creature to the bathroom and let it slip off his back into the tub. He turned on the tap, mixing the water to an acceptable temperature. Remus trilled in delight and began rolling its gelatinous form in the small pool of inch high water that had accumulated at the bottom.

"No splashing! Just wait for it to fill up. You wont be able to move much but you'll be hydrated."

From what Logan could tell, Remus was amphibious, as it could seemingly breathe air, though did become lethargic and withdrawn if out of water too long. He helped Remus wet itself by cupping his hands under the faucet and draining them onto its head and shoulders. Remus tipped its face up into the trickle, its facial tentacles reaching upward and playing with the stream. It let out what sounded like a content sigh.

The water swirled with a brownish-green that escaped Remus's body in a thick cloud. It wasn't suprising, as it had lived its entire life in a swamp, but it still sent shivers of disgust up Logan's back as he realized how often he allowed this filthy creature to climb all over him.

As he washed, Remus's black pattern receded and new, bright green spots swelled on its flesh. If Logan could reliably connect this pattern change with the proceeding of its black pattern when the creature was in distress, he realized it might mean the creature was more relaxed then than it had been at any point since Logan met it. He smiled despite his situation and stroked his hand down its head, its tentacles more appreciative then than possessive.

He took a step back and pondered his options. He suddenly recalled Decan's kiddie pool that he used as a playpen to give his snakes enrichment. If he could come up with an excuse to take it, he could fill it and hide it somewhere, maybe under his bed. His heart beat anxiously as he realized this meant using a chunk out of his couple hours of preparation time for travel, but the house was relatively close, enough to take the bus and not lose too much time. He looked at Remus. He'd have to take it with him. He wasn't about to leave it home alone.

"Okay Remus. We're going on another little trip. I'm going to need you to be very quiet, because nobody can see you, got it? Still and quiet."

"-got it? Still and quiet." It didn't seem too focused, blowing bubbles in the water and sloshing itself back and forth up the sides of the bath.

"This is serious. We could both be in danger if someone saw you."

"-serious. Still and quiet." Remus stopped sloshing and squinted sneakily. It lost its Roman form and compacted in on itself until it was the size of a beach ball. Its eyes peeked out from between two tentacles. Logan blinked at the impressive feat of shrinking nearly four feet.

"Perfect! Is that uncomfortable...?"

"Yeah-" It loosened its grip, growing six inches or so in diameter as it decompressed

"If it's uncomfortable don't do it, you're going to be like that for a while. Wait here a moment." Logan ran out and grabbed his backpack.

He returned to the bathroom and opened the bag wide.

"It's waterproof. Usually that's to keep the contents dry from outside sources but it can work the other way around."

Remus whined and slid out of the tub to examine its new hiding spot. It tucked its head into the main pocket and explored the inner surface with its mustache of tentacles. It looked back up at Logan, curious.

"Logan. -my coat?"

Logan squinted, trying to interpret. "Oh! You'll still be with me, don't worry, this goes on my back so you can be right up against me for warmth, this just makes you easier to carry and hide. It's pretty big for a backpack, so it shouldn't be too uncomfortable."

Remus seemed satisfied and quickly curled into the bag. It poked its head out and chirped as if prompting Logan to hurry up. Logan nodded and zipped up the bag, after somewhat struggling to push Remus's head down. It let out a faint grumble as soon as he was out of its line of sight.

He slung the back over his shoulder, still suprised at how light Remus was despite its size. The lack of bones was helpful. Even still, it was about as heavy as a bag full of textbooks, so quite unpleasant. He hunched his back and felt Remus shift with him.

"Now hush. When I say 'safe', it's okay to come out and make noise okay? I'll check in on you sometimes but no sounds or getting out."

"-okay? -hush." It made a low humming sound as if it were considering something. "-make noise- -sounds- -sounds- -okay?"

"Right now?"

"-getting out."

"You want to get it out first? Okay, but not too loud, we still have neighbo-"

A loud, grating, horrific screech rang out from Logans bag, unlike any noise he'd heard Remus make thus far. He winced and nearly fell over, almost forgetting to stabilize his load weight.

"GOD- REMUS!" He let Remus down onto the ground to allow himself to check the state of his ears. "I said not too loud!"

"-get it out-" Remus wiggled innocently, seeming satisfied with its verbal purge.

Logan stuffed its head down into his bag and zipped it back up. He caught his breath. "Now shush. We're going to be around lots of people."

"-okay." He felt Remus resituate against his back. He pulled out his phone and googled the time of the next bus. He didn't bother relaying the time to his creature as he knew it wouldn't understand what times were.

"The bus should get here in just a bit, thankfully."

He smiled when he heard no response. Remus was taking his vow of silence seriously.

He pulled his sticky coat back on and found his way out to the bus stop at the corner of the apartment complex. Within ten minutes or so the bus pulled up to the stop. There was a hiss and the doors opened, inviting him onto the steep steps, wet from the snow on passenger's shoes. He was careful with each step, slow enough that the door hissed closed behind him before he summited the last step.

He paid and quietly slipped to the back of the bus, trying incredibly hard to not look suspicious. He huddled into the back corner and pulled off his back to unzip it only slightly. He put a finger to his lips as he caught Remus's neon green eyes.

"Logan." Remus echoed loudly, beaming. "-safe- -okay?"

Logan coughed and quickly pulled out his phone. "Yeah, you're safe? Yeah the snow is really coming down now..." He shot a death glare to Remus but let up when he noticed people turning to his scene. "Okay. Thank god. Yeah I'll see you soon." He hung up his fake call and put his phone back in his pocket. To his relief, people began to go back to what they were doing.

He unzipped his bag no more than an inch to catch remus with scolding eyes. The bright green eye blinked up at him, then squinted into a smiling crescent, amused. Logan wrinkled his nose at it before again zipping up his bag.

At the sixth stop, he slung his bag over his shoulder. He slinked up the aisle and out the door, again being careful on the way down.

[babybluebanshee]

Seared With Scars - Epilouge (Mystery Nerds AU)

And here we are at the end, my friends. I'd like to thank everyone who's stuck with me through the frankly insane and arduous undertaking. I keep every single comment that people leave on my stories, and reading yours on this one is what eventually inspired me to get back in the saddle and pick it up again after two years. You guys are pretty damn awesome. I'm probably not gonna do something this ambitious again for a good, long while, but the Mystery Nerds series is far from over. So enjoy the ending, and hopefully we can all venture into the unknown once more very soon.

--

“Although the world is full of suffering, it is also full of overcoming it.” - Helen Keller

---

Helen hesitated only a moment as she slid her key into her front door. She knew, logically, that there couldn’t be anyone from the Society on the other side, waiting for her. There was no Society left. There was nothing to be afraid of in her home. And besides, she had to go in. Her spare pair of glasses were in her nightstand. She needed them. Darryl had graciously driven her all the way back to her house, when he had a family of his own to get back to, just so she could get them and Stan wouldn’t have to leave Ford’s side.

Plus it couldn’t be more than thirty degrees out here and she was freezing.

She had to go inside.

The sight of her keys, still stained slightly with Louise’s blood, made her gut feel things differently.

Darryl spoke up from behind her. “Want me to go in first?” he asked, his voice gentle.

“Thanks,” she muttered. Hot shame pooled in her cheeks for a moment as he walked past her and turned the key, but she stamped it down. Even though she knew that there would not be anyone in her house, she had every reason to be anxious. She wasn’t going to let shame keep her from trying to get better anymore.

And the first step towards healing was admitting that the trauma was there.

Darryl swung the door open and walked in, looking from side to side as he went. He motioned to her, an indication that he saw nothing out of the ordinary. She pooled all her courage and followed him inside, holding her head high.

The house was very much the same as she and Stan had left it. She noticed, with a wry sense of annoyance, that Stan hadn’t even pushed in the dining room chair he’d been sitting in while Darryl patched up his bleeding head.

“You need me to check your bedroom too?” Darryl asked. His tone was one hundred percent serious. Helen had no doubt in her mind that he’d search the entire house, top to bottom, if she’d asked.

“No, that’s okay,” she said. “Go ahead and have a seat. I won’t be too long.”

She started down the hall, her hand trailing down the wall to keep her steady, and immediately, a flash of memory popped into her head, of turning around and finding a stranger in a red hood staring back at her. It was followed by a stab of fear because where was Stan, what had they done to him! She felt Darryl’s presence at her side. She looked over at him and he smiled sweetly at her. He was going with her now, and it seemed like there was no arguing it.

She found that now, she didn’t mind.

There was no one in her bedroom.

There was no one in her house.

She was safe.

She had a friend.

They walked down the hallway together, and Darryl said, as casually as if they did this all the time, “I thought you might like to know the status of our friends, the former cultists. I didn’t want to say anything while we were at the hospital. Didn’t want to be overheard and stir any memories, ya know?”

“Give me details, man,” she said, leaning towards him exaggeratedly. She felt a bit silly, but she needed some silliness right now.

“Well, for starters, Louise is going on extended leave. Absolutely no word was mentioned about her coming back.”

“I would say that I’m sad we’re gonna be stuck with sourpuss Sharon for a while, but Louise did break into my house and punch me in the face.”

“Maybe they’ll actually hire some who doesn’t have staggering emotional issues to replace Louise,” Darryl said.

They reached her bedroom door, and Helen peered in. The only evidence of what had happened to her was a small brown stain on the carpet, less than a foot from where she stood at the door frame.

She had expected seeing that stain would have been what made her crumble. Miraculously, she found it elicited no thought other than she was going to have to call a carpet cleaning service on top of her optometrist and goddammit did Louise have to make her life harder?

And that thought just made her laugh quietly to herself as she crossed the door frame and walked to her nightstand.

“Also Matthews is in talks for his retirement.”

“I knew he and Andrea had been talking about that for a while before she died.”

“Yeah, everything just kinda fell through after that. But apparently his daughters have been pretty insistent. I think what happened kinda brought it all to a head. Liz has got Meg on a flight up right now.”

“Damn. I don’t think Ed’s getting out of it this time if she’s flying up here all the way from New Mexico.”

She pulled open the drawer and there, sitting on top of a pile of dried out pens and pocket change and spare tampons was her spare pair of glasses, slightly dusty with disuse, but at least in one piece. And with a relatively recent prescription.

“Right? But even they’re not playing as dirty as Ruth is right now with Muggins.”

“Oh, Leroy’s in trouble.”

Darryl laughed. “Yep. Ruth was giving him an earful right before I got to Ford’s room. Something about this job of his prematurely aging her.”

“Funny, I thought that was because she drinks grain alcohol out of a measuring cup.”

“Semantics. Point is, they’re leaving. I heard the words ‘timeshare’ and ‘Fort Lauderdale’ right before I got to Ford’s door.”

“Sounds utterly heinous.”

She slid her glasses on, and the first thing that came into view was the phone. Not for the first time since things had died down, she thought of calling the kids. She wouldn’t dream of it right now. A glance at her tableside clock told her it was barely six, and Michael would scream her deaf if she woke him up this early on a Sunday. Maybe later, after she’d gotten back to the hospital and slept a bit more. Had some more time to get her thoughts together.

She still had no idea what she was going to tell them about her battered face. It wasn’t exactly something she could explain away with a tired excuse of “I tripped and landed on my face”. Not even Amanda would buy that.

But really, why did she need an excuse?

She thought back to her conversation with Daisy the night before, the shame she’d felt at causing her daughter to worry for her, over something she’d been certain that she could handle.

She still didn’t want her children to have to worry for her. They didn’t need that kind of burden in their young lives. They needed to worry about school and friends and their hobbies, not if their mother was going to have an emotional breakdown or get into a fistfight with crazy cultists.

But, perhaps, she thought now, that worrying about someone you loved was inevitable. She’d been doing it for almost twenty-four hours now - not just about her biological kids, but about Stan and Ford and Fiddleford. No matter how old they were, she didn’t think she’d ever stop seeing them as more children for her to look after. It was just her nature.

She didn’t want her children to worry about her, but she also didn’t want to lie to them. Her lies about being okay had done everyone more harm than good, even though they’d proven somewhat useful in the end. She still smirked a bit as she thought of Blind Ivan falling for her distressed mother act hook, line, and sinker.

But now she didn’t need to lie anymore. She didn’t need to keep her pain locked up so she didn’t make other people worry for her. She didn’t need to be concerned that everyone would look at her differently. Everyone that she respected and cared about already knew, and they still treated her the same as they always had.

And if Daisy, Scott, and Amanda could be okay after what had happened to them on that awful night almost two years ago, they could handle their mom explaining why she looked like she’s lost a fight with a two-by-four.

She closed the drawer on her nightstand and turned. Darryl was leaning against the doorjamb, turning over a dog tag in his hand. His face was unreadable.

“You okay?” she asked.

He looked up at her like he’d forgotten he was in her house, and quickly said, “Yeah, I’m alright. Just thinking.”

“What about?” She came over slowly, stopping a few feet from him.

“‘Bout what you said to Matthews,” he replied, looking back down at the dog tag. “‘Bout getting help.”

“Yeah?”

“Listening to him, talking about Andrea, not being able to sleep...not being able to do anything…” He gulped heavily. “I don’t want that to be me one day, Doc.”

“It won’t be. Not after all you’ve done. You fought it when no one else would.”

“Well, I wanna make sure. And I’m gonna start by delivering this to Hank’s little brother, first thing tomorrow.” He held the dog tag out to her.

She took it, and read the words punched into the metal.

BLUBS HENRY J. A POS 91-470-441 LUTHERAN

“You might have met Little Daryl,” he said. “He works over at the Dusk 2 Dawn right now, but he’s training for the police academy.”

“His name is Daryl too?”

He gave her a wistful smile and nodded. “Hank always thought it was a riot that his best friend and his baby brother had the same name. So he called us Darryl Little and Little Daryl.” For a moment, he focused on the dog tag, and seemed to be a million miles away from her. It only briefly reminded her of Ed, but she very quickly noted a key difference.

Darryl was still smiling.

When he came back to her, he added, “Hank’s family got the tag he wore around his neck. They let me keep the one from his boot. Been carrying it with me ever since I got home. Twelve years, I been carrying that thing around my neck like a weight. I thought it was good to have, to keep him close.” Darryl paused for a moment, taking in a deep breath, then releasing it slowly. “But maybe it’s become more of a penance than a memorial.”

Helen didn’t reply. She simply handed the tag back to him.

He quickly tucked it away in his pocket. “Little Daryl will definitely get more comfort from it than I ever did,” he said.

“I think that’s a great idea,” Helen replied. “I can give you the names of a few good therapists when you’ve finished that. Especially since I’m looking up mine again come Tuesday.”

“I’d appreciate that.” He sighed heavily. “Stan was right. We are a bunch of sad idiots.”

“At least we know what we’re about.” Helen gave him a warm smile. “Now come on, I told Stan we’d swing by his house to take care of the dog, if that’s okay with you.”

“You had me at dog,” Darryl replied. He jammed his hands in his pockets and followed her down the hallway, to the front door, and out into the sunlight. ---

“So what are we gonna do with all that stuff under the history museum?” Stan asked before he tore off a hunk of sausage with his teeth. It wasn’t Greasy’s, but it would do. He’d never felt more ravenous in his life.

Fiddleford swallowed a mouthful of apple and replied, “I don’t rightly know. We definitely can’t just leave them there, but I don’t feel right watching any of them. Now that I know what the others were using them for, I’d feel...I dunno, like it was a violation of trust or something.”

“Honestly, after the hell they put up through, I think they all kind of deserve a violation of trust,” Stan replied with him mouth full.

“Well, I think I’ve had enough traumatic events to last a lifetime,” Ford said, setting his carton of orange juice back on his tray. “Maybe we could store them somewhere else. Somewhere more safe. The bunker might work, once it gets a bit warmer and all the snow melts.”

“Is the Shapeshifter still down there?” Fiddleford asked, narrowing his eyes in Ford’s direction.

“You remember the Shapeshifter?”

“You guys had a shapeshifter?” Stan said. Just when he thought these two nerds’ adventures couldn’t get any more bizarre.

“I asked you first, Ford,” Fiddleford said. He took another bit of his apple, almost menacingly.

Ford looked downright sheepish as he muttered, “Last I checked.”

“Then we’re not using the bunker, Fiddleford replied, his mouth still full.

“Fiiine,” Ford said dramatically, flopping back against his pillows, the smile was evident in his voice.

Fiddleford’s only reply was to stick his tongue out at him. Stan couldn’t help but chuckle. These two dopes were made for each other.

Then he had an idea. “What about the basement? There should be plenty of room down there once you guys get the portal squared away.”

Ford considered for a moment, and then said, “That sounds plausible.”

“It might not even take that many trips if we take multiple cars,” Fiddleford added.

“Sounds like we got ourselves a plan,” Stan said. He raised his paper cup of coffee to his lips, but at that moment, the swinging door in the hallway was flung open, and another draft barreled down the hall. It’d been happening all morning, a savage draft from the rain-chilled morning practically lowering the temperature of the entire wing. Stan set his breakfast tray off to the side, and reached for his jacket, slung over the back of his chair. “As if this hospital wasn’t cold enough,” he grumbled. “What, do they turn off the heat to make people leave faster?”

He heard the tube hit the linoleum before he ever saw it.

He’d actually forgotten the thing was in his pocket until now, as it rolled across the floor and into his foot.

“What’s that?” Ford asked, attempting to lean forward in his bed for a better look, but grimacing when he put pressure on some broken thing inside him.

“That’s a memory tube,” Fiddleford replied, straightening up in his chair. “They’re what the memories the gun erased are recorded on. Where did you get that, Stan?”

“Ivan dropped it, out at the cliffs,” he replied. “I only noticed it after he went over. Must have had it in his sleeves or something.”

“Who’s it for?”

“Some guy named Preston Northwest.”

“Wait,” Ford said. “The Preston Northwest?”

“I don’t even know how to respond to that,” Stan replied.

“The Northwest family founded Gravity Falls,” Ford said. “They’re the richest family in town, possibly in the state of Oregon. There’s hardly a thing here that they don’t have their hands in.”

“So, what, you think this Preston guy is a member of the Society that we just didn’t catch?”

“I mean, I doubt it, since he’s only about fifteen years old.”

“Why would Ivan want the memories of a teenage boy with him while he escaped?” Fiddleford pondered aloud.

Stan studied the tube a bit more, as it caught the light of the morning beaming through the windows. Despite that, it felt cold in his hand. That familiar, primal repulsion was back. He wanted to throw it out the window, let it smash against the pavement in the parking lot below.

Instead, he held the tube out to Fiddleford and said, “I guess it doesn’t matter. The only person that memory is really gonna be of any used to is currently having his body dredged out of the lake.”

“I suppose,” Fiddleford said as he took the tube. “It’s just strange.”

“Well, we’ll have plenty of time to find out later,” Ford said. “I don’t know about the two of you, but I’m pretty adventured out for a while.”

“That is an amazing point,” Stan said. “It’s been a rough night. I vote this is one mystery that can wait its turn. Whatdya say, Fidds?”

Stan saw the uncertainty pass over Fiddleford’s face as he studied the tube in his hands. A familiar look of concentration was there, signifying that he was trying hard to conjure forth any member associated with the tube, try to unlock whatever it may be hiding from him.

But it was gone in moments as Fiddleford let out a mighty yawn.

“I reckon you’re right,” he said. His eyes reminded Stan of a tired puppy, fighting sleep every moment it could. “These memories aren’t going anywhere for the time being. We can get to the bottom of them another time.”

“That’s the spirit,” Stan said. “Right now, the only thing I wanna get to the bottom of this cup of coffee, and then nap for about six months.”

“Coffee is supposed to do the opposite of making you want to nap, Stan,” Ford chuckled.

“I watched a man jump to his death, Ford. Don’t underestimate my desire to nap right now.”

Ford chewed his lip for a moment, as if he were giving the matter serious thought. “Alright,” he said. “Fair enough.”

---

In the depths of the forest, there was a river. The river fed usually fed directly in the falls, but a small tributary had branched off it over the centuries, and it gathered in a small lake. When it was first formed, it was mostly used by animals as a watering hole. But that was before the town, before people, before time had shrunk it to nearly nothing. Now, it was too shallow for anything, even for winter’s bitterness to freeze it over. It stood stagnant and brown and cold, and not even the most desperate beast touched it.

So there was nothing around for miles when Ivan finally broke the surface with a loud, gulping gasp.

He dragged himself to the bank, ignoring the burning in his arms and legs, from weary muscles that had spent an hour keeping his head above the water before giving out completely. Fortunately for him, he’d lost his strength at the mouth of this lake. He’d simply gone limp and let its current carry him here.

As soon as he felt the dry, frozen earth under his hands, he collapsed, face down in the dirt. He didn’t care that he looked horrendously undignified. There was no one around to see him, and besides, he’d earned a moment of exhausted self-pity. His plans - the Society, the gun, his army - all lay in ruination at his feet. Four months of tireless work and it’d all be destroyed by a gaggle of prying, headstrong fools.

He let an angry fire blaze through him for a minute. It gave him something to focus on that wasn’t his aching face, where he’d been headbutted and punched. Something that wasn’t his wet robe, making his internal temperature drop even faster than if he’d been wearing nothing at all. The rage that boiling in his blood made him forget all that for just a moment.

But it couldn’t last forever. He couldn’t stay out here in these wet clothes and find somewhere out of the cold, or he’d freeze.

This was, after all, only a momentary setback. He wouldn’t be thwarted. Not until he finished what he needed to do.

He rallied all the strength he had left in his body, and pushed himself onto his hands and knees. A powerful shiver nearly knocked him back down, but he ignored it. He wouldn’t be out here for a much longer. From watching McGucket’s memories, he knew that, not far from here, was a system of caves, all connected under the waterfall near Gravity Falls Lake. Inside were tiny little creatures that could make fire if they were struck together. That would suit Ivan’s needs just fine, for the time being.

With a grunt of effort, he pushed himself up farther, going slowly, until he’d gotten back to his feet. He stumbled a bit, his limbs still heavy from the time he’d spent underwater, but he caught himself before he fell. Then he pulled his heavy, wet robe over his head and shucked it off. He tossed it to the ground. Wearing it while it was soaking wet like that would only put him at greater risk for hypothermia. It wasn’t as though he needed it anymore anyway.

As he turned, he saw, over the treeline, a great manor, looming over him, perched high on the hills. It seemed to be looking down upon the humble town beneath it, proud and arrogant and fully prepared to rub the townfolks’ collective noses in its decadence. It made Ivan sick to look at, but he also knew that, with any luck, it wouldn’t be there for much longer.

He began walking into the forest, making sure the manor never left his sight. It was his beacon as he sought his shelter.

The Northwest family had so much to answer for. Not just the ones currently living, but the generations that had come before them. One-hundred and forty years of Northwest blood, building their legacy on lies and deceit and fear, reaping the benefits of their treachery and leaving the weak to wallow in whatever meager fate the accursed family had left them to.

He was going to burn it all to the ground.

---

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#gravity falls #mystery nerds au #seared with scars #fanfic #stanley pines #stan pines #stanford pines #ford pines #fiddleford mcgucket #helen bergstrum #blind ivan #the society of the blind eye #tw ptsd

[lexiseigneur]

Chapter nine: He sees you

The Strigoi roamed the camp and the couple spied. Her binoculars were barely good enough to distinguish blurry silhouettes. At this distance, even Quinlan had to squint to make them out. Finally, the moment of truth. Within moments they would know whether the devices could disturb the mental link between the Master and his creatures. Dr. Goodweather and Dutch Velders had worked relentlessly to create the original device and their brilliant idea would not die with them. It had worked on the Master as well, making him weaker which had enabled Quinlan to shove him in the coffin. Just before that nuclear explosion had ruined everything.

Quinlan had placed the devices to include an isolated corner of the farm in the triangle they formed. If Lexi had done her job correctly, once the machines were activated, that area would become a trap for Strigoi. The Dhampir held the remote designed to activate them. Between two barracks, a blob of color was dragging another. It was headed straight for the triangle.

“Between buildings three and four.” Lexi whispered.

“Yes.”

They exchanged a look and he pressed the button. As she watched, the pale silhouette of the Strigoi stopped walking. The human it had been dragging did not attempt to run away though it could still move. As the seconds passed, it became obvious that this was not a mere coincidence. Quinlan deactivated the devices and the Strigoi walked on. Their efforts had just rewarded them with a first success.

“It works." She whispered.

The Dhampir nodded. No joy, satisfaction or pleasure on his face, just pure determination. Lexi rubbed her eyes as relief soothed some of the tension in her back. Quinlan retrieved the three transmitters. Without another word, they walked to the truck hidden downwind. The end of their mission was near. And it was good. In fact, it was the best news possible under those circumstances. But that final blow stood like a wall.

That wall was too massive for her to glance to the other side. She fought for her future and that of her species but she could not imagine it. When would she be able to look ahead? As the Master was locked in a coffin? Or as that coffin sunk in the frigid ocean water? Probably never. Lexi was quite convinced that she would die that day. That day, Quinlan would shove the monster into that box alone. The task seemed too huge to be achieved without a sacrifice. Lexi had always been a pessimist but even she surprised herself with those thoughts. The woman very much desired to live. He secured the machines in the trunk and distributed drops of blood to their biological components.

“Just another test, to see how far we can stretch the trap area. Then we can start looking for the Master.” She said as he took a seat.

A tentative grin and his eyes closed.

“Victory is within reach…I can sense it.”

Lexi smiled without meaning it. This place was weighing heavily on her mind and she wanted them to leave and never return. It would take an entire day to go back to the bunker since they could not drive at night. The Strigoi tolerated the orange light but they thrived at night. Better leave it to them. Quinlan started the car and they drove away. The sun had almost disappeared at the horizon when he spoke again.

“You are not usually so taciturn.” He remarked.

It lifted her spirit a little that he thought of her as chatty. She really enjoyed silence but he acted like words cost him their weight in silver. A matter of relativity.

“I’m worried about the size of it all. It’s so much to bear. How have you been doing this for so long?”

Quinlan bit his glove off before tucking it away. The warm fingers found her hand and she kissed them. They smelled of leather.

“I focus on what I can do right now. One small achievable task at a time.”

He glanced at her face.

“At this very moment, I search for a secure location…we need to wait for dawn to continue.”

They stopped a few minutes later in a small, deserted town. Anything so close to a camp would have been cleared almost immediately after the fall. Lexi detested those nights in the homes of strangers she knew were long dead. The only redeemable aspect was the instant Quinlan would hug her tight under the cover of a blanket. Only then could she ignore the unfamiliar surroundings and be at peace.

“Lexi?” He said just after closing his arms around her shoulders.

“Yes?”

“You never told me what you did…your work…before the Fall.”

The woman grinned then the longer she thought about it the more amusing it became.

“I studied the reproductive behavior of lizards.”

She peered at his face. A corner of his mouth had lifted and he was frowning.

“What?” He finally said.

Lexi burst out laughing and tried to calm herself but this only resulted in her eyes filling with tears.

“But…the stitches?..All the...”

“I stitched a lot of rats, mice, and even hamsters during my studies.”

Quinlan shook his head. Lexi was ashamed of that fact. Their innocent lives had been wasted away for her to finish a degree she would never use again.

“Why not divulge his information before?”

Lexi grunted as she was sure that her answer would displease him.

“You only asked at the beginning…and I was certain that if you judged me incompetent you would ditch me or even drink me.”

It was his turn to laugh.

“You were mistaken. I had been convinced of your competence and usefulness within hours.”

He kissed her forehead then pulled her chin so their gaze would meet. Mischievous delight transformed his traits.

“I was tempted to drink you regardless… Because of how irritating I found you.”

“Oh!”

Before she could retort some insult he kissed her. Then when she attempted to reply, he kissed her again. Then she gave up and melted into his hug. His caresses were pressing and his desire so commanding. She also wanted him desperately but she felt so very exposed.

“Wait…maybe we should not here…it’s not safe.”

 “You are always safe with me.”

The woman relaxed for at that very moment, she did not doubt those words. She unzipped his vest and they enjoyed each other’s embrace.

During the night, Quinlan shook her awake. The reptilian part of her psyche kicked into hyperdrive. Quinlan would never wake her that way unless…

“Cars are coming!” He yelled.

But she was already in her boots and pulling her pants up. She cringed when he scooped her up and ran to the truck. Last time, he had held her so strongly that her skin had bruised. When she finally managed to lock her seatbelt, he started the truck and barreled down the road. Much, much too fast. Their vehicle was practical and not meant for high speeds. It struggled as the engine roared abnormally.

“Deodamnatus!” Snarled the Dhampir.

The cars appeared behind them at the end of a curve. On the now straight country road, they were gaining on them every second. Panic crept inside Lexi. No car lights. Just like Quinlan, they did not need them. Pondering their identities or motives was futile. They were Strigoi and their goal was to kill them. Elegantly simple.

“Lexi! Stay down!”

She made herself as small as possible in her seat. He peered into the review mirror.

“Brace yourself!”

The truck jolted forward violently as the first car rammed them. Quinlan maintained control of the truck and grunted. There was little he could do and his helplessness was driving her insane. He had lied. She was not safe.

“Do not let them see you! Where is your hood?”

It was in her backpack, in the trunk. To reach it she would have to become visible to the Strigoi. She was struggling for breath.

“If they see you, HE will see you.”

Time slowed and their eyes met. She nodded. His face hardened and he twisted the wheel. The truck flew out of the road and into a dry open field. Before it even stopped completely, Quinlan was gone. She jumped violently when the fire of automatic weapons sliced through the night. The Dhampir was shooting at the pursuing cars. Sudden brightness stabbed her eyes. They had switched on their brights at the incoming Dhampir. They were blinding him. She used the mirrors to observe. He managed to destroy three of the lights but then was swarmed by Strigoi. Lexi trusted him with all her heart but she was not stupid. She prepared her own gun, checking the magazine and removing the safety.

Quinlan had run out of bullets and was fighting with his sword alone. Limbs were flying in his wake. Another vehicle arrived as the Dhampir faced the last two creatures. It was a truck, larger than theirs and resembling a delivery vehicle. A silhouette jumped from the driver’s seat and rushed to the back. The double doors burst open. Then all went so very fast. One of the two Strigoi still standing was fleeing away from Quinlan. Toward the truck. Toward Lexi. She was ready to aim. Quinlan looked at the runner a second too long and was rewarded by a stinger bite. With a growl, he sliced at the offender. The warrior went into a desperate pursuit of the straggler. Because of that, he did not face or prepare for the passenger of the delivery vehicle. This one ran on all fours like a dog. It made noises which were disturbing even by Strigoi standard. As Quinlan killed the deserter, the monster pounced and drove long claws across his midsection.

 NO.

The Dhampir crumbled to the ground.

 He could not die. He could not leave her alone on this wretched planet.

Lexi put everything into the dark room. Nothing was left but her gun and that single target. It was on top of the Dhampir. The creature held the sword between them, preventing Quinlan from swinging it. Lexi opened the car door. It was pushing the blade down and down. She fell to a knee on the cold dirt. The metal was inching closer to the delicate swirls. With both hands on her weapon, she aimed and pulled the trigger. Its head exploded and white pearls shone momentarily in the beam light. Lexi scrambled to her feet and ran as fast as the uneven terrain allowed. Quinlan was trying to get up but fell back down to his knees. One hand held the sword and the other his torn side. She was close enough to see blood pouring from his mouth. He looked at the approaching Strigoi, the driver, then at her. His expression switched from pain to utter horror.

“BORN!” Yelled the creature.

Lexi felt sick. The voice, the burning red eyes and the eerie confidence of the thing. All was so disgustingly wrong. She shot but it kept moving in and out of the light. Her hands were shaking from the adrenaline. “If they see you, HE will see you.” As the glowing red eyes danced, fixated on her, she was certain that this was the Master and that he would one day kill her.

“I can smell that one all over you.” The red-eyed parasite screeched.

Quinlan roared and stood.

“Will you ever learn, my so…”

The blade ran through the Strigoi’s skull and the eyes turned dark again. Quinlan, driven by his momentum, crashed into the rocky earth. The weapon left his hands. That door in her mind was still locked. Instead of running to him, she went to the truck and drove it as close to his struggling figure as she could. Lexi used a sweater from the back seat to pack his wound then secured it with his belt and hers. There was no point looking at it now. They had to leave. His body was heavy but he was still conscious and helping somewhat. She almost drove away but then went back for the sword that she tossed unceremoniously on the back seat.

The truck rejoined the road with the skittering of rocks hitting its metal underside. Darkness was no longer a luxury they could afford. She flipped the high beams on. At that speed, they could be back at the compound in a few hours. But that was a pipe dream. Their only hope to avoid pursuit was the noon light. The real light,  not that cursed ochre glow. Then they would be able to find safety. Those Strigoi could only have come from the human farm. Fly-over country was deserted and she did not know of any other such Strigoi holds around. With all this in mind, she picked a direction and accelerated well beyond her comfort speed. One task at a time.

Throughout the rest of the night and the orange morning, Quinlan came in and out of consciousness. Injuries such as these had seldom occurred in his two thousand years of combat. The wool coat, his denim pants, and the car seat were all soaked in blood. Without medical care, without feeding, he would die. But that could not happen. Because that vermin had seen Lexi. He now had her scent and her likeness. The Master knew she had been with Quinlan that night. Driven by that thought, he willed himself to blurt out a single word.

“Blood.”

Her jaw was so tense. The small body was a ball of tightly wound muscles. Lexi glanced at him extremely briefly. Then he almost lost consciousness again when his body shifted due to a sharp turn. They parked in a dark place. It was a wooden carport. The pine beams ran above the windshield. Lexi opened a cooler and took out several bags of blood. With a small blade, she pierced the first one and forced the liquid down his throat. It helped but it was not enough. She repeated the process two more times. The wound was too deep. It still gaped and Quinlan felt how his entrails were only held in place by fabric and belts. He wished he did not know…That she was not a medical doctor. Her lips pressed against his brow for the shortest of moments and their flight resumed.

Painful light was reaching him even through closed eyelids. He moaned but could not turn away to escape it.

“Quinlan!”

Her hands were on his cheeks. Slap! He opened his eyes at the shock of her assault. The frail arms were prying him off the seat. The Dhampir pushed the fuzziness away and forced his legs to walk. They were in a parking lot and the sunlight was only casting short shadows. It was intense and burning him. But then darkness again, another car seat. This one stank of plastic and…nothing. Just plastic. He could only smell and feel his inside move as the car sped away. He drifted again.

The angry light had faded then completely disappeared. She was grabbing him again and he leaned onto her, ashamed of his own weakness. The thin legs were buckling, but still carrying him. When the elevator reached the bottom, he passed out.

Lexi was quite certain that Quinlan had died when the elevator stopped and his weight crushed her completely. Her right knee hit the metal floor. She screamed with the effort it took to lift him off of her. Then she pulled him onto the concrete. He still breathed.

She ran to sickbay and took only three items. Saline, gauze and a medical staple gun. The woman hesitated before unfastening the belt. Nothing you can do can make it worse. He is dying. Inaction or mistake: he died. The result would be the same. It was a relief that his blood was white. The darker organs appeared clearer than they would have with red blood. She doused them with saline, clearing away the silvery liquid.

Was that his liver? It did not matter. There was a cut there and it was the worse bleeder. She forced the outer edges together. The organs were tough, much tougher than the fragile mammals and reptiles she was accustomed to. She stapled it shut until it stopped bleeding, dousing more saline often to get a clearer view.

There were other organs cut but to a much lesser extent. Those would heal on their own. She hoped at least. Lexi started on the internal bag housing his entrails. That tissue was familiar. For years she had sliced through smaller versions of it and sutured them back up. It closed easily. At least the cut had had clean edges. Only little tissue would be lost. Then the muscles were also familiar. There she would have preferred working with two additional hands.

How long was this taking? Lexi poured more saline on the muscles and peered anxiously. It was a mess but it held and did not bleed. She sighed and allowed herself a moment to press an ear against his chest. The beat was weak but steady. Halfway through the skin stapling, the gun ran out. She screamed in frustration and stormed back to the sick bay where she prepared needle and silk thread. Her fingers were crippled by fatigue as she worked.

The skin could not stretch further. There was an open gap the size of her palm. No matter, that had been a very possible conclusion from the start. The tissues had swollen from the abuse. All she could do was pour saline on gauze and pack the wound with it.

Considering his healing speed it would not take long for the swelling to go down.  Lexi lied on the concrete, took his hand between hers and waited. His Dhampir metabolism was insanely fast. She wondered if his cells contained mutated mitochondria to fuel that wonderful healing ability.

A thought struck her. She chuckled. At that very moment, Lexi was certain that she knew how Quinlan had been born Dhampir. She looked at his face and smiled. Maybe they could confirm it once he was better.

It hurt when the small woman peeled the wet compress off. As she stitched the wound, instinctive snarls tore his throat. Fortunately, per her usual, she was efficient and quick. The pain was subsiding and some strength was returning to his damaged shell. Quinlan opened his eyes and stared into the familiar pattern of concrete and steel. The control room had never seemed so inviting, so home-like.

“Lexi…” He whispered.

There she was, ignoring him while she finished her mending. Her main weapon had always been her mind and that calm within. Quinlan knew that without it, he would be dead, rotting in that field. His heart rate picked up. He was so very proud that this was his woman, his Lexi. She was so very precious and had to be safe. The Dhampir whimpered, not from the pain of his flesh but because of what he needed to do. He reached for her knee and she startled in surprise.

“Don’t move too much just yet.” She scolded him but smiled. “I’m going to bring you some food.”

Quinlan smirked at the word. When had blood turned into food in her mind? The tip tap of her footsteps resonated and he counted the seconds. It took her fifteen to reach the kitchen. Forty to warm the frozen bag just enough for its contents to liquefy. Another fifteen seconds to come back. He gulped the cold blood with desperation. The effect was immediate; he was healing. Still useless in a potential fight but strong enough to do what needed to be done.

“How do you feel?” She asked, leaning above him.

It took him a moment to answer as he was committing her face to memory. The jaw had relaxed and the corners of her full lips lifted.

“More blood, please, but first…”

It was much to ask, his tongue was still coated in coppery taste. He expected her to shy away from him because of this.

“A kiss?”

Her expression was so very tender at that moment. Now this, was the image he wanted seared into his brain until his death. The woman caressed his weary face and pressed her lips against his. When their skin separated, he wanted to scream for more but let her go. As the woman turned her back and headed away, he sprang to his feet. Sickbay was bright and ordered. The speed he usually enjoyed was not back yet. But he was still inhumanely fast as he opened the fridge and read the different labels. The general anesthetic was right there on the top shelf. Clearly labeled as such and with instructions in Lexi’s handwriting. He filled a syringe and double checked the concentration to make sure it would not harm her. Footsteps were coming out of the kitchen. In a few seconds, she would have a full view of the floor leading to the elevator. He was standing a few steps behind her when she stopped and stared at the wet spot. Saline and white blood but no body.

“Quinlan?” She called.

That voice. So smooth. Like velvet around his tired soul. Now all he needed to do...

She swirled around as he reached her. No! He did not want to see her face as he did this. The hazel eyes widened when the needle sank into her neck. That surprise turned to anger. Instantly, she was fighting him. Each punch was desperate, just like that regretted day in the gym. No. Please, don't look at me like this. The small woman screamed in anguish.

“No! YOU PROMISED!”

The drug was working but not quickly enough because he wanted to spare her the burn of a brutal injection. The betrayal on her face vanished but her eyes remained fixated on his. The calmness rose from within. Not because of me. Please. Her hand clawed cruelly at this wound. He deserved that. The pain was intense, almost blinding. It emptied the air from his lungs and forced him to push the plunger completely down. She yelped at the burn. Lexi managed a single word before her eyes rolled back and she fainted.

“Liar.”

Yes, he was a liar. He had lied when he had sworn to never touch her like this again. He had lied when whispering that she was safe with him before taking her. And he had lied to himself when he had accepted that imprisonment was sufficient for the Master. Quinlan had wanted so badly for this to be the solution because it meant that he could live on, with her. When she had presented an alternative, without even meaning to, he had said nothing because its significance had not yet struck him.

The memories of the most powerful explosion he had ever heard had been brought forward by his guilt. That summer of 1883, the Krakatoa had almost deafened him. Modern atomic weapons paled in comparison to what nature had already created. Soon, just like the Ancients, the Master would burn.

He could not stay alive while he knew of her. The Master had lapdogs who would remain thinking and plotting even after his control was cut off. They would search for their master and that risk was unacceptable.

The small body was limp in his shaking arms. He sat on the floor, cradling her. So fragile and so precious. For the first time in nearly two centuries, Quinlan wept. He kissed her and her skin soon glistened with his tears. Desperate, he caressed her face, her dark hair, her thin hands. It did not alleviate his torment. His sobs turned to roars as he rocked, holding her against his heart.

“I love you so very much.” He whispered into her ear.

But time was limited. So he made himself get up and tuck her in his bed. Then as quickly as allowed by his weakened state, he gathered all that he needed. The clothes that smelled of her strongest, he sealed into airtight bags. The small coffin, the hard drive and the schematics he shoved into the metal trunk. Another cooler of blood was also packed. His sword was missing but that would be a problem for his future self. Before leaving, he wiped away his blood. The reminder that she had just healed him.

All three devices were secured in the large trunk where he deposited his meager possessions. Of course, she had had her priorities in order. As he drove away a metallic clang caught his attention. The bone-hilted sword had dropped from the back seat to the carpeted floor. Despite the pressure of that night, she had saved something dear to him. Guilt was suffocating.

He drove until he could find more fuel then until the farthest town he could reach. There he stashed the car in an underground parking lot. A shirt she had slept in went inside his pocket. The Dhampir walked the streets to find Strigoi to kill. He would see. He would smell her on him again. Because Quinlan would allow it and that would lead the beast away from her. He would make the Master chase him to hell. At the gates of death, Quinlan would drag that cursed creature through with him.

#quintus sertorius #mr. quinlan #quinlan #the strain #the strain fx #the strain fanfic #the strain fanfiction

[writing-royza]

Tainted Blood, Tainted Soul - Chapter One: Return from the Brink

A/N: Happy… day after Halloween. While y’all are tucking away the spooky decorations and pulling out the holly jolly ones, I’ll be over here posting a new multi-chapter fic on Sunday nights (shhhhhh this one is early, just for you guys) and making things all dark and spooky again!

Just as a heads up, this story is gonna get a little dark and gory by times, there will be adult themes, and occasional language. I’ll warn you in the start of each chapter if these things show up. Other than that… I hope you enjoy.

I do not own FMA.

Chapter One - Return from the Brink

CENTRAL MILITARY HOSPITAL 1319 HOURS, APRIL 7

Afternoon sun streamed through the windows, warming the tiled floor under her feet as she slid cautiously from the bed. The room’s other occupant was in the midst of a post-lunch nap, meaning that if she ever had a chance to break the rules, it was now, while he wasn’t awake to scold her.

Movement on her part was still careful. Riza knew full well that she was supposed to press the bedside buzzer for a nurse’s assistance if she had to get up for any reason, but her own stubbornness and distaste for having to rely completely on others prevented her from doing so.

A solo trip to the room’s tiny bathroom took about five minutes all told with the need for cautious motion, but she forced herself to do it. One hand braced on the counter, she pulled the door open to go back to bed… and nearly jumped out of her skin when she found him standing there. She was careful to recover herself before she spoke; the man might be blind, but he had developed an uncanny way of still knowing exactly what she was feeling. “…Can I help you, sir?”

“Sure,” he answered casually. Too casually. He stood blocking her path, his arms folded over his chest, and the faded grey eyes still somehow managing to stare straight into hers. “You can stop raising my blood pressure by making me worry about yours dropping too low.”

Riza suppressed a sigh. Their third such discussion since arriving here two days ago. “I told you,” she said, forcing the annoyance to stay out of her voice. “I’m fine. I’ve been going to the bathroom on my own since I was very small and there’s no reason why I can’t —”

“No reason,” he repeated flatly, cutting her off. “Like losing an unhealthy amount of blood isn’t a reason.” He took a step closer, one hand reaching forward to feel for and grasp her shoulder. Not strongly, just enough to help him make his point. “Take a look in that mirror, Hawkeye, and tell me what you see.”

The years of following orders caused her to start turning her head, before she stopped with a grimace at the twinge in the left side. Gently disengaging herself from him, she turned bodily toward the reflective glass. “Same as ever,” she reported, knowing it was a lie. “Blonde hair, brown eyes. Ears, nose, mouth… everything present and accounted for.”

“Nice try. I can’t even see and I know you’re lying through your teeth.” His hands rested again on her shoulders, he stepped into the small space behind her. His fingers took up a lock of hair, sliding down the smooth strands, until…. Riza involuntarily bit her lip as his hand stopped, fingers rubbing gently over a spot where dried blood had matted together. It crumbled away under his touch, but not before she caught the dark look that crossed his face.

“Thought we got all that when I helped you wash your hair yesterday,” he murmured.

“Must have missed some,” she said, just as quietly. “But —”

“So that’s one thing I already knew about,” he said, not allowing her time to mount a defense. “We got here, and the ends of your hair on the left side were coated in the stuff. Because of —” His fingers left her hair, moving with heightened caution to the white bandaging that circled her neck and covered her left shoulder. “— this….” He paused a moment, then added, “And with as much blood as you lost, I’m willing to bet you’re white as a sheet.”

She swallowed hard, seeing the guilt starting to seep into his features. Her hand reached up, grasping his where it rested on her shoulder. “Roy, I’m okay,” she tried again, though it was probably useless. She was starting to feel lightheaded, but covered it carefully. “I’m okay, I promise.”

“I know.” His free hand dropped from the side of her neck to circle around her waist, holding her back against him. “I just keep seeing that moment when….” He stopped uncomfortably, then his other hand slipped from under hers to join the one around her waist, and he tucked his nose against her uninjured shoulder. “I’ve never seen your eyes roll back in your head like that. I don’t think I liked it very much.”

“You and me both.” Watching his reflection in the mirror, she threaded her fingers into his hair. A comforting gesture, one of familiarity she hadn’t been allowed in far too long. The lightheadedness was growing stronger, but she smiled anyway. “That was a very nice hug you gave me after May stopped the bleeding.”

His snort of laughter left a patch of warmth on her back. “Sure,” he said quietly. “Nicer than this one?”

She opened her mouth to answer, but stopped when she began to notice a sort of black fuzz in the extreme left of her vision. “…Roy, I need to —”

He was already moving, one arm still around her waist as he carefully guided her out of the bathroom. Just as they had on the Promised Day, he followed where she directed, letting her lean on him until she was able to sit carefully on the side of the bed. Immediately, Riza ducked her head between her knees, taking slow deep breaths as the black fuzz receded.

Roy felt his way into a crouch in front of her, and she could hear the wry smile as he touched her bowed head. “You know, I hate to say I told you so….”

“Then don’t.”

“I told you so.”

Feeling some better, she sat up carefully and his bandaged hand slipped from her head to drop to her knee. He flinched at the unexpected motion, but recovered. “I have had some trouble following orders lately,” she said, taking another deep breath.

“I gave a couple of dumb ones,” he admitted. His expression was focussed, listening carefully for nuances in her tone. His fingers shifted absently on her knee, as if in preparation for something. “But I’m glad you obeyed the most important one.”

His free hand found hers and, after a quick check to make sure the door was closed, Riza guided it to her cheek. “Me too.”

The kiss was gentle, and she knew he was holding back because of the dizzy spell, but she enjoyed it nonetheless. Her hands went to either side of his face, holding him close, preventing him from pulling too far away. Just this simple action of a low-key kiss was proof enough that they were both alive and, if not well, then at least working their way in that direction.

At last, he carefully disengaged himself and climbed carefully to his feet. Riza watched, but did not move to help as he moved cautiously around the end of her bed, walking bent with one hand on the blankets, then the frame, and finally toward his own bed. She itched to jump up and direct him where to go, but that had been another discussion within their first hours here. If Roy wanted to learn to navigate this room while blind, he had to do it himself.

“Did Breda and Fuery say when they’d be back next?” he asked over his shoulder. His fingertips found and trailed over the surface of the rolling bedside table that stood between their beds.

“Not until this evening.” Drawing her legs up, she lay down comfortably on top of her sheets, watching him. “I’m given to understand that Breda is in the process of forging my signature on two Temporary Duty Assignment forms for them, so it’ll look less like desertion and more like poorly managed paperwork.”

Roy dropped to a seat on the edge of his bed, head tilting curiously as he turned toward the sound of her voice. His expression was doubtful. “As if anyone is going to believe you’d misfile paperwork.”

“As long as the paperwork exists somewhere and there’s too much going on here for Administration to be active, no one will press too hard about a pair of supposed deserters,” Riza said. “And with Bradley gone, getting us all permanently reassigned to your office is a matter of one call to the new administration.”

She watched as his face lit up. “That’s right,” he said, breaking into a grin. “All the chess pieces can finally be returned to the board.” He hesitated a moment, his posture giving Riza a distinct impression of a hunting dog with its ears pricked, listening hard. “One second….”

An instant later, there was a knock and the door opened a crack. “Anybody home?” Edward asked, peeking through from the hallway.

“Come in,” Riza invited, sitting up. She was smiling at the sight of Edward, but the expression bloomed fully as the elder Elric pushed the door open and backed inside, towing a shy-looking Alphonse in a wheelchair.

The younger boy smiled uncertainly at her, a painfully thin hand lifting to wave. “Hey, guys. Good to see you… with my own eyes, that is.”

Roy broke into a grin. “I’ve heard that voice before, but without an echo off of metal, I can’t quite place it.” Riza noted that he kept his eyes closed so as not to alarm the boys with the strange greyed-out pupils. “But it’s a damn good sound to hear.”

“And the two of you are a sight for sore eyes,” Edward fired back, grinning. He positioned his brother’s wheelchair beside Riza’s bed, before moving to stand at the end of it. “Did the doctors tell you how long you’ll be in here?

Roy shrugged. “With another transfusion for Hawkeye and some time for both our cuts to really start healing, we should be out of here in a week or so, but we’ll want to get moving quickly. We’ll meet with Dr. Marcoh first, and then head East.”

The spark of realization in Alphonse’s eyes was definite, even though they were still relatively sunken in his gaunt face. “Lieutenant Havoc,” he said softly. “You’re going to him, so that Dr. Marcoh can fix you both.”

“That’s the idea, “ Riza answered. She tugged the collar of the button-up shirt draped over her shoulders, adjusting it a little higher. The wraparound hospital shirt left more of her tattoo exposed than she liked, and she didn’t need the boys to see it and start asking awkward questions. “The trick is getting out of here and then out East in the first place. Travel when you’ve just been released from hospital requires a special permit from the doctor. For active-duty military, that is.”

“We might just end up getting Grumman to sign off on it,” Roy commented thoughtfully.  “He understands how important it is. If worse came to worst, he could override it from his new position.”

Edward’s eyes had gone hard, like shining golden coins that shifted from Colonel to Lieutenant and back again. His voice, when he spoke, was cold.

“You’re going to use the Stone, even though you know what it’s made from?”

The room plunged into an icy, brittle silence. Riza caught herself holding her breath, her own gaze sliding toward the other bed and the man sitting stock-still on it.

“That’s the plan,” Roy answered quietly. “Does it ease your mind if I tell you I have my reasons?”

“Does it prick your sorry excuse for a conscience if I tell you that that thing is made from people?!” Ed snapped, his hands balling into fists. “Or did the Truth take your sense of decency, too?”

Roy’s chin lifted, his eyes opening to stare sightlessly at the boy. Edward flinched, just slightly. “Have you spoken to anyone that was outside the immediate centre of Father’s transmutation during the eclipse? Because I have.” He shifted to sit cross-legged, folding his hands in his lap as his eyes closed again. His voice, when he continued, was grim and serious, but not harsh. “I asked Breda, Fuery, and Havoc what having their souls ripped out was like. I also asked Knox, Marcoh, and Armstrong. I asked them all separately from the others, and they all told me the same thing.”

Edward hadn’t moved aside from the flinch and to cross his arms over his chest. “And what did they say?”

“They said it was like standing in the middle of a hurricane, but instead of wind, rain, and debris, everything was darkness, blood, and above all, pain.” His eyes opened, staring at the blankets. “They said that was the worst part. The pain. And all those souls inside that Stone are feeling that too.”

The blond boy’s lip curled in disdain. “So you think you’re performing some kind of public service by using their energy?”

Alphonse’s voice was serious, but lacked his brother’s anger. “Colonel? I don’t mean to discourage you, but… to help the people imprisoned in the Stone, can’t you just… destroy it? Somehow?”

Riza shook her head, answering on Roy’s behalf. “It’s an intensely hard substance. Harder than diamond,” she said. “Kimblee allegedly had one for years and reportedly kept it hidden by swallowing it and then forcing it back up. The acid in his stomach didn’t even touch it.”

“The only way to destroy it is to deplete it,” Roy broke in again. “Marcoh offered to use it on myself and Havoc, and then he’ll keep it hidden. If there’s one person we know who will keep it safe, only using it when absolutely necessary for the greater good, and maybe passing it on to someone who can be trusted, it’s him.”

At last, Edward’s shoulders started to lower from their high, tense position. His face paled visibly. “...Going back a step,” he said, voice suddenly hoarse, “you said everyone outside the centre of the transmutation… all they felt was… pain?”

Riza didn’t have to ask to know his thoughts had just shot miles away, to Resembool and that house in the countryside. There was another long, silent pause before Edward murmured, “I guess, if it’s already created with no way to reverse it, and being locked in the Stone causes the souls pain… it’s better that it be used for good by someone like Marcoh than someone like Kimblee.”

“Almost anything is better if Kimblee didn’t use it,” Roy said dryly, then smiled. “But I’m glad you understand.”

There was a brief pause, and then Alphonse shifted slightly in the wheelchair. “I have a question,” he said thoughtfully. “If Marcoh wants to use up the Stone, and he’s going with Scar to be a doctor in Ishval, why doesn’t he take it with him? I bet there’s a lot of work there that could be done alchemically and the Stone would go a long way toward —“

He trailed off, seeing that both Roy and Riza were already shaking their heads. Roy’s expression was grim. “The Ishvalans wouldn’t permit it,” he said soberly. “As much as they want to rebuild their homeland, and undo at least some of the damages of the war, they wouldn’t accept help by alchemical means. Their religion forbids the use of it, citing it as an affront to their god.”

“And unfortunately, I suspect the same would go for alkahestry,” Riza added. “It’s enough like alchemy that even though someone like May Chang worked closely with Scar for months, the rest of the Ishvalan people would resist her help.”

Ed nodded, then said, “Makes sense. A self-reliant people like them would naturally prefer to rebuild using their own hands and their own methods.” He broke into a grin. “And you know what? I get it. Al and I are the exact same way.”

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

Riza had disobeyed doctor’s orders once again, moving to sit with her knees drawn up on the wide windowsill as the sun sank down below the urban horizon of Central. Roy lay on his back crosswise over his bed, eyes open toward the ceiling, his fingers drumming absent rhythm patterns on his ribs.

“There’s something I don’t get,” he said aloud, after the comfortable silence had stretched for more than twenty minutes.

Looking over from her perch, Riza smiled at the sight of him. That position, the way his forehead furrowed in thought, how his mouth pulled tight and to one side in a silent ‘hmm” of puzzlement…. How many times had she seen him do this as a teenager? All of it was identical, fifteen years later. “And what’s that?”

“I was talking a little with Fullmetal while you were getting battlefield treatment for the blood loss, before they shipped us over here,” he said, not moving. “I wanted to know what had happened with Selim — sorry, “Pride” — and find out if there were more Homonculi we were going to get stuck hunting down.”

A phantom feathery feeling tried to claw its way across Riza’s limbs and up her back; she shivered, and it disappeared. Those shadows…. “And?”

“Ed said that Pride had started to try and possess him, like he had done with Al… and that he managed to reverse the connection and alchemically invade Pride instead.” He lifted a hand, one finger raised to forestall the comment her mouth was opening to make. “Believe me, it gets weirder.” He paused to make sure she wasn’t about to interrupt, then continued. “He’s not clear on how he did it, but somehow he tore away everything alchemical that had been Pride the Homonculus and left this tiny little baby-like thing, smaller than Envy at that little worm’s smallest. And he just left him down there, until he could go back after Father was gone.”

Riza hadn’t so much twitched a muscle since he had lifted his finger. Now, she stirred uneasily. “And… when he did go back?”

“…He said he took the thing to Selim’s mother.” He was quiet another moment, slowly worrying the inside of his lower lip with his teeth, then added, “And all of this leads me to believe that Pride was created differently. `Something like the Stone was introduced in utero, and what was born was a full-fledged Homonculus.”

“So that when it was taken away, Selim reverted as close as he could to the state he’d been in when it was given to him.” Riza’s voice was barely above a whisper. Another shiver crawled up her spine.

“I guess? With that sort of thing, when we don’t know anything about it, it’s hard to know for sure. But that’s not what really bothers me.” His frown deepened. “If Fullmetal blasted away the Homonculus part of him… where did it go? What happened to it?”

Riza shook her head, looking back out the window. “To be perfectly honest, I don’t know and I don’t want to know. This is all getting too dark and gruesome for my taste.”

“…Sorry.” He rolled over to lie on his stomach, propping himself up on both elbows. “Not being able to see gives me too much time to think. Far too much.”

“And time in hospital doesn’t help,” she agreed. Slipping down off the window sill, she moved to sit beside him on the bed with her legs folded, still looking out the window. “At least from here, we’re too far away to see the damage to Headquarters,” she commented. “It was nothing short of a mess.”

“I’d believe it, given the number of times I tripped over rubble before we left,” Roy muttered. The fingers of one hand fidgeted absently with the bandaging wrapped around the other. “Do you think we’ll get out in time to help with the cleanup at all?”

“I would imagine so.” Still staring out at the darkening city, she reached over, absently beginning to thread her fingers through his hair for the second time that day. “They won’t even start for a few days, until someone steps forward to take charge and that person can organize the work crews. Even after the rubble is cleared away, there’s going to be months upon months of rebuilding and restoration.”

They sat together, just close enough that they could spring apart if the door opened unexpectedly. After some minutes, Roy said quietly, “What you see out the window…. Can you describe it to me?”

“I can try.” Riza took a moment to find a starting point. “We’re on the third floor, on the west side of the building, looking toward Headquarters. It’s far enough that all I can see is the top floor. In between are two- and three-storey buildings, but what stands out are the chimneys. There’s lots of those, silhouetted against the sky. The sun has gone down, but it isn’t fully dark. The streetlights are just beginning to turn on, so the highest point in the sky is black, fading to pink and orange, and finally the yellow glow in the streets.”

“Sounds pretty,” he commented. “And maybe like all that prose-writing in high school Literacy comes in handy.”

She smiled, but didn’t answer right away. After a moment she said, “When you get your sight back… what happens then? I know you have plans, but you haven’t said anything specific, aside from ‘help fix Ishval.’”

Roy’s smile was enigmatic. “I haven’t fully shared my plans because I haven’t fully made them.” He tapped his temple with a forefinger. “They’re still percolating. But when I know, you’ll be the first person I share with.” He turned toward the edge of the bed, and the box of effects he had abandoned when the Elrics had arrived. “In the meantime, I forgot there was something I had to show you.”

Riza watched, curious but silent, as he sorted through the clothes he had been wearing when they were admitted. Careful, exploring fingers found his uniform jacket by virtue of the gold braiding under the right sleeve, then searched out the left inside breast pocket. She thought perhaps he was trying to find his watch… but what he pulled out was small and white.

“I made the comment earlier that I could finally return all my pieces into play on the board,” he said quietly, turning back to her, “but since the transfer, there’s been one that I’ve kept with me.”

He fumbled for her hand, found it, and pressed the little object into it. Riza thought she might already know what it was, but still smiled as she looked down at the white queen piece nestled in her palm. On the base, written in Roy’s distinctive - though tinier than usual - hand was a name.

‘Elizabeth.’

He was sitting perfectly still, head cocked the tiniest bit as he listened for her reaction. Riza shifted to face him, then leaned forward, hugging him as tightly as she could without injuring either of them or setting off either her wounds or the dizziness again. He returned the embrace just as fiercely.

“I missed you,” she said quietly into his shoulder.

“I missed you, too, Whiskygirl.” His words were half-whispered into her hair, his hand protectively on the back of her head. Strands clung to the rough bandaging, but neither of them cared. For now, it was all right. “Glad to have you back.”

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

MEADOW STREET, CENTRAL CITY 0247 HOURS, APRIL 8

Night was when the hunting was best, he had decided. No one stirred out of doors, thinking they were all safe in their beds, oblivious to his passage in the dark streets. He stuck close to the inner edges of the sidewalks, in the shadows, his dark eyes roaming the streets, seeing as easily as though it were day and moving as quiet as a prayer.

He slunk past the front walk of a residence, looking up at the windows on the second floor. Even from the street, he could smell the soft scent of childhood: the talcum powder, the gentle soap for sensitive baby skin, even the milk, cookies, and toothpaste on the child’s breath from its bedtime snack and teeth-brushing. The man paused, still looking up. His nose hadn’t been this sensitive in the… in the before.

He stepped close to the wall, feeling the hunger in him writhe at the subtle child smells. It would be effortless to scale the bricks before him, to get past the window, to lean over the bed and —

The man growled to himself, the hunger raging as he forced himself to turn away. One puny toddler would not be enough to sate him. The hunger was always with him now, always hovering just out of sight in the darkest recesses of his being. Scents, sensations, and sounds called it forth into a near-unstoppable force that seemed to scream in his mind, feedfeedfeedfeedfeedFEEDNOW.

Lots of things were new to him. The hunger, the ridiculously sensitive sense of smell, the surety in himself that most would call cocky — no, that had been there in the before.

Stalking away from the house, hands jammed into the pockets of his dark suit and shoulders riding high as he fought the hunger, he bared his gritted teeth. How much of a monster had he become that he had contemplated taking a mere child? Not enough, he reminded himself firmly. Not nearly enou—

The thought screeched to a grinding halt at the same time his feet froze in midstep. He turned slowly, looking back at the house, eyes wide with the light of a new idea. The child would be nothing… but a child had to come from somewhere. A child had parents.

There was a roaring in his ears, blocking out the sounds of the natural world, and he found himself moving automatically as the hunger took over. He fell back into it, let it swallow him whole and watched the entire scene unfold.

His hands effortlessly gripped the rough bricks of the house and they seemed to flow under him as he climbed easily, lizardlike, to the second floor. He hung there, staring through the glass at the sleeping boy in the little room beyond, watching the flesh of his left hand crowd in against the wooden frame. The disjointed words of the hunger ran through his mind, sounding sibilant in the roaring. Slip slip slip right through inside get in get in easy now the smallest crack the smallest hole not safe not safe you’re never safe….

And then he was inside. The tiny form under the sheets didn’t move, didn’t stir, didn’t wake as he leaned low over the little bed. The small pouting mouth hung open milk cookies toothpaste with childlike snores issuing from it. The nose was small and button, the eyelashes long and a dark honey blond that matched the boy’s hair. The man reached out, the long index finger of one hand trailing gently, almost tenderly down the child’s cheek.

The boy’s eyes opened sleepily, and the man’s mind stretched out…. Instead of screaming at the sight of a stranger in his bedroom after midnight, the boy smiled drowsily and uttered a soft “Hey, mister….” like he might have to a friendly oldster on the street.

It didn’t take long. Five minutes after he slipped inside the windows, the man started for the bedroom across the hall, where a man and woman slept peacefully. He went to the woman’s side first, eyes glittering coldly in the dark as he took in her sleeping form in its innocently pale pink nightgown, her honey-blonde hair liketheboyliketheboyliketheboy splayed over the pillow behind her.

He didn’t bother to wake her, or her husband when it was his turn. Half an hour after first breaching the house, he slipped down the stairs to the kitchen. The man was almost entirely himself again, and could feel the stain, could feel the drying wetness on his lips and chin and neck. The suit was going to be a lost cause, but he didn’t care. The blood wouldn’t show against the dark fabric, not to anyone he happened to pass on his way back.

The man washed his face and neck at the kitchen sink, wiping down the metal faucet and blotting his face with a clean white towel. He was turning to leave when the previous day’s newspaper, abandoned on the table, caught his attention.

‘AFTERMATH: BATTLE OF CENTRAL,’ the headline shouted. Underneath it, in smaller letters, ‘Several leaders in conflict remain in hospital.’

He skimmed the article, abandoning the towel on the tabletop. Edward and Alphonse Elric were expected to recover, Gen. Olivier Armstrong and Maj. Alex Armstrong were recovering privately at their family residence, and — oh ho, this was interesting…. Col. Roy Mustang and 1st Lt. Riza Hawkeye had been treated for mild to serious wounds and were recovering in hospital.

That name. His lips curled back involuntarily from his teeth, and the freshly satisfied hunger twitched deep in the pit of his belly. How he would like to… would love to…. Goodness knew there were times he would have loved to just wrap his hands around the man’s throat, but to… oh, yes. This would be so much better, so much more delicious of a revenge. Literally.

He was surprised to realize he was panting, the rage and his newfound gift combining to make him nearly aroused with the desire for revenge. He wondered if the wounds inflicted on Mustang were the mild or serious ones… he hoped for the serious. It would make him all that more docile when the man came for him. And if just the thought of revenge brought him nearly to the point of sexual need, then perhaps in the aftermath of it, he would exact another type of revenge on that pretty little Lieutenant that always followed Mustang around. He’d never liked her anyway.

Grinning with this new plan, he turned toward the window… and realized he had spent much more time standing here, lost in thought, than he had realized. Sunrise was still an hour away, but his hypersensitive vision could see the sky beginning to turn grey instead of night-black. He would need to hurry.

The hunger settled back into its hiding place, waiting to be called forward again. Revenge would have to wait.

#fma #fmab #Roy Mustang #Riza Hawkeye #royza #royai #fma fanfiction #royai fanfiction #tainted blood

[the-quackson-claxon]

Intermittent Snow and Interrupted Words | H.O.

Author’s Note: So I’ve been working on this since like... November. Because I’m a procrastinator. But I really hope you guys like it. I’m also starting a new taglist because I can’t remember who was on my old one so fun times lmao.

Summary: It’s wintertime at the Hollands’ house, and there’s a world of words waiting to be said.

Word Count: 2845

The snow fell in indescribable amounts overnight; dozens of snowflakes cascaded down every second through the cold, crisp dark of the early morning hours. Those that fell in the beams of light streaming from the street lights gleamed and shimmered, sparkling as they twirled towards the ground.

As the sun slowly began to rise over the horizon, the sunlight caught the fragments of frozen water and scattered the blinding light every-which-way. The ground was coated in a blanket of pure beauty, serenity hanging heavily in the air.

This was the sight that greeted the couple that sat together in a window seat of the Holland’s house, gazing out at the fresh, white world. Sweater covered hands clutched mugs of tea, which he had so sweetly made them before they settled in. Her back was pressed against his chest, and a soft, knit blanket covered the both of them. The pair was spending the holidays with Tom, and had decided that it would be easier to stay at the family’s house.

She leaned her head back onto his shoulder, closing her eyes and sighing in contentment, letting a smile take over her features. When she opened her eyes, it was only to turn her head to meet his gaze and receive a smile in return.

“Haz,” she spoke, breaking the sweet silence that had graced the room, “I love you, you know that, right?”

Harrison let out a soft chuckle. “Of course I know that, love. How could I not?” He shifted his mug into one hand and wrapped his now free arm around her waist, pulling her into him. “And I love you too. Way more than you realize is even possible.” She protested this fact, but Haz was no longer listening, having buried his nose into her hair.

“--and there’s no way you could possibly love me more than I love you; I know exactly how you feel, thus you are wrong.”

“La la la I’m not listening,” he sang out quietly under his breath.

She rolled her eyes. “You’re so fucking childish sometimes.”

With a grin on his face, Harrison looked down at her. “You’d better get used to it, love, because it’s not changing anytime soon.”

She very carefully set her mug down beside her and shifted herself in his arms so that she was perpendicular to him, legs curled so as to rest on the edge of the bench but arms laced gently around his neck. Harrison’s grin softened into a loving smile as they simultaneously leaned in for a kiss, and Haz reached out and carefully placed their mugs on the nearly-out-of-reach table beside them. One of his arms wound its way around her waist while the other gently held her face to his, caressing the lock of hair that framed her cheek and tucking it behind her ear.

Harrison slowly pulled back to look at her, resting his forehead against hers gently and looking into her eyes fondly before pressing the softest of kisses to her nose. “Y/n?”

Before she could respond, they were briskly interrupted by the little terror named Paddy running into the room and yelling for the two of them to “get your fucking coats on because we’re going out to play in the snow.” He dashed out of the room just as quickly as he had arrived, Sam calling after him from another room for him to watch his language. The teen poked his head back through the doorway a moment later. “By the way, Tom’s pretending to throw up because you guys are so gross,” he said, before disappearing again.

Harrison groaned, a little upset with Paddy for having interrupted the peaceful moment, but Y/n had already jumped to her feet and was holding out a hand for him. “C’mon, Hazzy.” Once he was standing, her arms wrapped around his waist and her face pressed into his shoulder. “I love you most,” she whispered. Haz was able to feel the smile tugging at her lips as she spoke, but before he could continue their dispute, she had already sprung away from him and was tearing off in the same direction that Paddy had gone.

-----

It had started to snow again, small flakes spiraling down from the barely-grey clouds. The day outside had passed quickly, and it was full of fun times. Haz and Harry had their cameras with them, but both quickly got pushed to the side as a snowball fight began, courtesy of Paddy--big surprise.

After hours out in the powdery white snow--with a quick stop for lunch--the sun was starting to slip down in the sky. While Tom--and the rest of the Holland family--went inside to warm up, Haz and Y/n stayed out for a little bit longer, leaning against the edge of the snow fort that had been constructed earlier. Their fingers were intertwined, Harrison’s thumb stroking the back of her hand slowly as he watched her gaze out over the yard. She turned her head to look at him, a smile gracing her face when she found him already looking at her.

Their lips met not long after, moving tenderly together, the kiss interrupted with the occasional smile from one or both of them. Her gloved hands were cupping his cheeks, and she could feel the fabric of his hat against her forehead, but neither of them minded. Haz pulled back to look at her for a moment, staring intently into her eyes as if deliberating something before he leaned back in and kissed her softly. “Y/n, I love you so much. So, so fucking much darling. And I-” His words were cut off as Tom pulled open the door leading from the house outside and called for them.

“Come on lovebirds, dinner’s almost ready and there’s homemade hot chocolate if you want it!” The boy stood there for a moment, catching a glance of Harrison’s irritated face before returning inside. Haz sighed in exasperation, closing his eyes and resting his forehead against his girlfriend’s shoulder. She smiled at him, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck and pressing a kiss to his hat-covered head.

“I love you too Hazzy. Just as much as you love me, if not more. Trust me.” She paused to kiss his head again. “Come on, let’s go get warm. Don’t want our drinks to get cold.”

Harrison nodded slowly before lifting his head and looking up her. “Yeah- yeah, our drinks.” He gave her a small smile before getting up from the ground and holding his hand out.

She looked at him in concern as she took his hand and pulled herself to her feet. “Harrison, are you okay? What’s wrong baby?” Her only response was a shake of his head and a smile shot in her direction that was almost convincing.

“I’m fine, no worries darling.” With that, he turned and began weakly tugging at her hand and walking towards the house. “Come on, we don’t want to keep them waiting.”

----

The rest of that night was spent sitting around the fire with Tom and the rest of the Holland family, playing a variety of card and board games. It wasn’t until the next night that the group decided to go outside; this time, it was to a nearby park. Tom and Paddy had Tessa on her leash, and the twins were with Nikki and Dom.

Gripping Y/n’s hand in his tightly, he refused to let her leave his side--not that she was complaining. After about fifteen minutes of watching the boys play with Tess, the light brown haired boy leaned over to whisper in her ear.

“Let’s go for a walk, just the two of us.” He accented his words by softly nuzzling his nose against the girl’s cheek and placing a kiss there. Y/n smiled and nodded in response, kissing him softly and standing with him. The pair started toward an area of woods a short distance away. Harrison slung his arm securely around her shoulders, and she leaned into his warmth slightly. They walked in a comfortable silence, her studying the stunning world around them and him intently gazing upon the gorgeous girl beside him.

Together, they entered the woods, walking a relatively short distance in before Haz stopped them in a relatively clear spot just out of sight of the tree line. Y/n looked at him in confusion, but he was too busy nervously examining their surroundings to notice at first. After a moment spent looking around at the snow covered branches, his gaze shifted to his girl. “Y/n, listen. I know I’ve said this so much recently, but I love you. I really really love you, so much. So /so/ much.” He paused to take a breath and gather his bearings, but it was long enough for the girl to break in.

“I know that Harrison, you know I know that. I love you too. Why- why did you have to take me all the way out here to tell me that?” His arms had wrapped around her waist, and her hands were placed loosely on his chest as she looked at him quizzically.

He took another breath in, avoiding her gaze, until he finally looked into her eyes. “Y/n, I- god, this is so much harder to say than I’d thought it would be.” He shook his head to clear it. “I never want to spend a day of my life without you, Y/n.”

She smiled at him, leaning into him slightly before replying. “I know, Harrison. I feel the same way, baby.” It was obvious to Harrison that she hadn’t grasped what he was trying to say. It took him another couple breaths to work up the courage to say the words, but he did.

He opened his mouth to speak, but just as he did, Tessa came running through the trees with Tom hot on her heels. “Tess, Tess no!” Y/n broke away from Harrison to crouch on the ground and beckon the dog to her.

“C’mere, you sweet girl. You know you aren’t supposed to run off like that Tessa darling, you know better.” She rubbed at the pups ears before grabbing onto the leash and handing it to Tom with a smile. She turned her head towards her boyfriend, the same smile on her face only to have it drop when she saw him glaring at Tom. “Haz?”

At the same time she spoke, Harrison did too. “God Tom, can’t you keep a handle on your dog?” His words were harsh, snapped and bitten.

Tom looked over at him shocked. “Excuse me? I didn’t mean for her to get loose, H. She saw you guys and took off and the leash slipped out of my hand. It’s not my fault.”

“Whatever.” An eye roll accompanied the word, and he turned and walked away. “I’m going back to the house.”

Y/n watched him storm away in confusion, stunned by the mean words the boy had spoken to his best friend, and even more at the sudden change in demeanor. She made no move to follow him, knowing that if he was upset, he needed a chance to cool off before she tried to reason with him.

“I’m sorry Tom, I don’t know what got into him, really. He was fine a minute ago, I swear.”

Tom gave her a small smile. “I believe it.” He pause for a moment. “You guys were in the middle of something, weren’t you?”

Her shoulders lifted and dropped before she spoke. “I mean kinda. He was being really sweet and saying how much he loved me, but other than that…”

He nodded at her. “Yeah, I figured. Listen, start walking back but take your time--maybe take the long way back or something. That should give him a bit to not be as mad, but you need to talk to him. Without any of the rest of us there, trust me.”

Y/n nodded and, acknowledging that Tom probably knew better than she did, decided not to question it. Doing as he said, it took her about half an hour before she walked in the front door of the Holland house. She called out Harrison’s name softly, not entirely sure where he was. She didn’t receive a response, though, so she started towards the place he was most likely to be--the room they had been sharing during their stay.

She opened the door slowly, and the boy sitting on the bed with his head in his hands started, obviously not having realized she was in the house. “Hey Hazzy.”

Y/n hadn’t moved any further into the room, unsure if he’d want her there, but Haz immediately opened his arms for her. Within seconds, she was wrapped in his embrace and combing through his curls with her fingers to try and calm him. “Harrison, love, please talk to me. What’s wrong, baby? I need to know what’s wrong.”

He shook his head, refusing to meet her gaze. “It’s just not working. Everything I try, it always goes wrong. Someone interrupts me, or there’s a mess up or-” He broke off as his voice cracked, betraying exactly just how close to tears he was. “I just can’t help but think that it’s fate’s way of saying it’s not right. And that breaks my heart.”

Y/n was confused now, so completely confused. She cupped his face in her hands, trying to get him to look at her. “Harrison, what- what’ve you been trying to do? I don’t understand, baby.”

Haz let out a single, humorless laugh as he tried to hold back his tears. “I’ve been trying to propose.” He finally met her gaze with these words. “I’ve tried to propose to you three times in the past two days. And several times before that too. Every time, we got interrupted, or someone got something wrong, and it never worked. I even tried attaching the ring to Monty’s collar, but it fell off. I finally had you with me, just the two of us, and I was so close to asking. If I had only just spit it out instead of being nervous about it, I would have had time. But no, Tom and Tessa had to show up and ruin it.”

Through his entire rant, the girl sat staring at him, shock etched into her features as everything clicked into place. The endless I love you’s, the clinginess, it all made sense. And as he continued to ramble, afraid to stop talking, she kissed him. His words were cut short by her lips on his and her hands in his hair. When she pulled away, she was holding back a smile and tears simultaneously. “Well what’re you waiting for now, you div. It is just us, after all.”

His eyes widened as he looked at her, searching her gaze with is own before scrambling in his pocket awkwardly for a moment. When his hand emerged, it was grasping a black velvet box--one he’d been carrying around for at least a week. “I-I’m sorry I haven’t managed to get this on your finger sooner,” Haz shifted nervously. “I really don’t know what to say. I’ve been working it up in my head, scripting it out, and now- it’s all gone. All of it. Ah fuck.

“I guess I just want you to know how much I love you. I want you to know that you’re my world, my sun, everything. And that I love you more than Monty and Tom combined--well okay that’s maybe not entirely true because I love you in a different way than the two of them. If I took my romantic feelings for the both of them and added them--wait. That makes even less sense, what the fuck is going through my head.” He’d shake his head, trying to clear it of the thoughts that all pressed for his attention. “I love you. So much. Will you marry me? Please?” His voice cracked slightly on the final word, looking at you hopefully.

She hardly noticed that there were tears slipping down her cheeks as the girl replied. “Haz, you are such a fucking div. Yes, I’ll marry you.”

His gaze would light up, and it seemed as though an invisible weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Harrison looked at his girlfriend--fiancè--with so much love and adoration, shock decorating his features. “Wait, really? You mean that?” With a nod of her head, Haz let out a joyous laugh before leaning over and kissing her passionately. “I love you so much,” he’d mumble before opening the box and pulling the ring out, fiddling with it between his fingers. “I really hope you like this.”

He slipped the ring onto her finger before placing a kiss to the knuckle. “It looks prettier on your finger than it did in the box. I guess presentation really does matter.” As his gaze met the girls again, she smiled softly. She was happy. She’d found her soulmate.

#harrison osterfield #harrison osterfield imagine #harrison osterfield x reader #harrison osterfield fluff #Kyli's writing