#since her body was too weak to safely carry both twins it was never considered

[blueheartedmayor]

OOC:

#I am having THOUGHTS in work #I remember reading a theory suggesting that while the viewer escaped #they actually did so through what was left of C.eline's body and not Mark's. #since her body was too weak to safely carry both twins it was never considered #so... I think I might have it that by 'default' - meaning not taking anyone else's interpretations into account - #the viewer is still in the mirror; but if/when they escape it would be with the Seer's corrupted corpse #since not only is Mark's body too fragile; Dante's soul is still attached to it so it likely wouldn't co-operate #BUT. If there was a way for Dante to pull that corpse out and take it so the viewer could reclaim their body he would do it in a heartbeat #after all most of his pains are from the OTHER body; not the one he's currently in #(back to work I go)

[nataliedanovelist]

GF - How A Star Is Born ch.IX

Hercules AU, founded by @evaroze, whom this fic is a gift for. I hope y’all like it!

ch.VIII - ch.X

AO3 link

~~~~~~~~~~

Mabel never thought the day would come when Grunkle Ford would ask her to go down to Earth. Sure, she was allowed to go visit as long as she was hidden and back at Olympus at a certain time, but she never thought she would be standing before her father-figure and be asked to specifically go down to Earth, but here she was.

“I… I want you to check on Stanley.” Grunkle Ford asked solemnly. “And Mason, too, for that matter. See if they’re alright.”

“Um… okay.” Mabel was a bit unsure if she dared believe his instructions. “You want me to go down there and pay them a visit?”

“No.” Grunkle Ford said. “I’m sorry, but no. I want to project yourself onto the art of Thebes and see if they’re alright. Bill says Stanley isn’t… with him, but he is very busy thanks to a small war in the Middle East. Do not make yourself known, simply see if they’re both okay.”

Mabel smiled slyly at him. “You want me to spy on our mortal family members?”

Grunkle Ford sighed and nodded. “Yes.”

“YES!” Mabel cheered and punched the air. “Finally, a chance to use my sneaky peaky spy skills!” And she ran out of the temple, tripping and breaking a vase along the way.

And so Mabel went down to Earth, traveling from statue to statue, painting to painting, floor art to floor art, all throughout Thebes. She had never been to the Big Olive and was excited to see the new place and to find Dipper and Stan’s home.

It was well into the night at this point. The stars twinkled and the night air was warm and soothing. Mabel thought he heard a familiar voice filled with laughter, and she looked down the street and grinned widely from the stem of a birdbath. She was ecstatic to see her brother on a date with a beautiful young lady; she decided to follow them and listen carefully. This was also good reassurance that Stan was okay; Dipper wouldn’t have left his side otherwise.

“Wow, what a day.” Dipper sighed. “Dinner by the ocean, that play… oh boy, I thought I had problems.”

Pacifica and Dipper both laughed, but one was having to force it more than the other. Slowly, steadily, Pacifica could feel herself becoming distracted. She had to focus. Her freedom was on the line. Still, as much of a nerd Wonderboy may be, able to tell the measurement of an item by glancing at it and solve impossible equations in his head in a second, he was actually a really nice guy. Getting tired of pretending, she decided to try a bit harder to find Dipper’s weakness so this whole thing could end.

Walking down some steps, Pacifica faked a trip at the last step. Dipper caught her swiftly and Pacifica winced. “Ugh, I think I stepped funny, landed on my ankle wrong.”

“Ouch,” Dipper sympathized. While he may have super god-like strength, that didn’t mean he never twisted an ankle or bent a wrist wrong, a small pain but no damage or hardly an injury. “Here, we can sit for a sec.” And he scooped her up gently and carried her to sit on the edge of a giant water fountain, the same water fountain Mabel was projecting herself into the heart of the small wall, eagerly hoping her twin would at least get a kiss.

“Oh. Thanks.” Pacifica was a bit taken back by his extra effort in manners, but quickly reminded herself that with strength like his picking up a girl was nothing. So she moved on with her plan. “So, do you have any issues with weak ankles?”

“Hm? Oh. No, not really.” Dipper chuckled.

Pacifica giggled alongside him and sat closer. “Really? No trick knee?” She asked slyly. “No bad shoulder?”

Dipper was blushing heavily, a bit uncomfortable with the praise and trying to remain humble as he gave an honest answer. “No, I’m… I’m pretty healthy…” And his smile dropped at remembering that the same couldn’t be said for Stan.

Pacifica rolled her eyes, ready to give up on her quest. Bill would just have to find some other way to kill him. She then noticed how down Dipper appeared, much more so than he had been all night, and before she realized what she was doing, she asked, “Hey, you okay?” Pacifica instantly bit her lip. Why did she say that? And why did she actually care?

Dipper looked at her with heavy eyes and sighed tiredly. “It’s Stan. He’s… He’s not well.”

Pacifica softened a little. “Oh. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Dipper looked up at the stars to make it easier to talk. “It’s just… he… I dunno. I was raised in an orphanage until I was twelve and went looking for him. Stan’s looked after me ever since, and… and he feels like family. I’ve never had one, and… it sometimes feels like he’s all I got.” Dipper was being very careful not to talk about the fact that he had a family waiting for him, but after only talking to Mabel here and there for so long, having never met them in the flesh or been at home, it sometimes felt like Stan was truly the only one there for him.

Pacifica scoffed and stood up to make some distance. “Family isn’t that great.”

Dipper blinked and stood to follow her down the street. “What do you mean?”

“I dunno, people just make such a big deal over families or whatever.” Pacifica complained. “It’s not all it’s cracked up to be. They’re just a bunch of people who would turn their backs on you just as quickly as anyone else.”

Dipper was a bit taken back by the harshness of her tone, but he shook it off to try to comfort someone who was clearly hurt. “That’s not true. Some families, sure, maybe. But not all families are like that.”

Pacifica gave him a sharp look. “How would you know?”

Dipper was a bit hurt by that, but it only made him more determined to change her mind. He took her hand as they were at the doorstep of his home, and he said firmly, “My family might be really small, and kinda broken, but it’s still an amazing family. We look after each other. We care for one another. And… And you could be a part of that.” Dipper bit his lip. Why did he say that? And why did he actually mean it?

It was Pacifica’s turn to be dumbstruck. She shook her clear to try to clear it and said, “I gotta go. Goodnight, hero.” And she kissed his hand, let go, and hurried down the street.

Dipper’s mouth was open so wide a fly nearly threw in, but luckily he coughed it out before he accidentally swallowed it. He brought his lucky hand up shakingly to smile at it, swearing he would never use it for anything ever again. Okay, maybe for one thing.

Mabel, meanwhile, knew that Pacifica liked Dipper and hurried after her, ready to perform a musical number to convince her to admit it and follow her heart and say she was in love, but as Pacifica hurried into the outdoor museum full of art, Mabel felt a chill go down her spine. She stopped at a brick wall-art of the sun and hid herself behind a bush, remembering her grunkle’s orders to stay hidden, just in case.

A small pyramid glowed yellow and with a small poof the triangle with a black toga appeared, smiling (as much as one can without a mouth) at Pacifica. Mabel stared, a little confused; this must be Grunkle Ford’s friend, the one Uncle Fiddleford didn’t seem to like very much. Instantly she could understand why Uncle Fiddleford didn’t like him, but so far Bill hasn’t done anything to learn Mabel’s dislike, so she kept an open-mind and listened.

“Hey-o, Llama, so whatcha got?”

“Nothing.” Pacifica said coldly, her arms crossed.

“Nothing?” Bill repeated.

“Nothing. No weak spot, no bad nerves, no tricks. Nothing. He has no weaknesses.”

Bill growled in his throat, floating back and forth in a pacing kind of way, his black hands behind his back. “No! Everybody’s got a weakness! We just gotta find it!” The demon stopped as he looked at a statue of a couple in love. “Maybe… Ugh, if only Sixer wasn’t so overprotective of Shooting Star. We could use her as bait.”

Pacifica snorted. “Yeah, good luck getting your hands on her.”

“But maybe…” Bill held his… well, he doesn’t have a chin, but he did put a hand to the front of his body in that type of manner. “... there’s someone we can get our hands on.”

“What?” Pacifica asked, not seeming bored for the first time in this entire conversation. “You mean Stan? I guess… Dipper did say he was like family.”

Bill cackled. “Oh, if only he knew.” The triangle gasped and punched his hand with the side of his fist in thought. “Hey! We can use that! Great work, Blondie. Now c’mon, we got a whole galaxy to conquer!” And he swooped himself and Pacifica away in a burst of blue fire.

Mabel had both hands over her mouth to keep herself quiet. She had so many questions and was confused on a few things, but she did know this: Bill wanted to hurt Dipper. Bill wanted to take over the galaxy. And he was lying to Grunkle Ford.

Without another thought, Mabel dashed as fast as she could for home. She accidentally gave herself such bad tunnel vision out of fear and desperation that she didn’t hesitate until she was at the entrance of her shared temple with her great-uncle. The young lady peered his office to find him hunched over his work, finding it hard to concentrate with the fate of his brother on his mind. Mabel didn’t know much about Bill, despite being a fellow god, but she did know that Ford considered him a friend, so this would be difficult news to deliver.

Mabel gently knocked on the column beside her to alert her guardian of her entrance. He turned and smiled genuinely at her. “Mabel, I’m happy to see you’re home safe. How… How is Stanley?”

Mabel winced; she had completely forgotten to check on her long-distance uncle in the excitement of her brother’s date and the harsh discovery. “Grunkle Ford, I need to tell you something.”

Immediately Ford feared the worst. It was too late. He would never see Stan again, and it was all his fault. Mabel sat on the desk and took his six-fingered hands. He bit his lip and braced himself as Mabel looked down, trying to find her words. After a moment or two that nearly killed the immortal god, the young muse asked carefully, “Bill… Is he your friend?”

Ford felt the wind being kicked out of him from the shock. He could have cried, he was so relieved, but instead he laughed and nodded. “Yes! Yes, my dear, Bill is an old friend of mine. If it wasn’t for him, the world would still be in complete chaos. My leadership position, and really the existence of you and your brother, is all thanks to him. He helped me save the world.” He praised.

Mabel looked even more nervous; Ford had hoped that this answer would assure any worry she had, but clearly this wasn’t the case. Before the god could ask what was wrong, the muse said quietly, “I think he only helped you save it so he could have it someday.”

Ford blinked like a confused owl at her. “What… What are you talking about?”

“I… I think… no, I’m sure that…”

“STANFOOOOOOOOORD!”

Mabel and Ford turned to the direction of the call and ran for the exit of their temple. They watched Fiddleford use his super speed to dash to them, pale and stuttering with fear. “HONEY FOGELIN’, SALT-LICKIN’ SKULLDUGGERY! OH, WE’RE IN TROUBLE! OH!”

“Fiddleford, buddy, calm down.” Ford gripped him by the shoulders to give him a chance to breathe and adjust his small glasses. “What’s the matter?”

“We’ve got an army o’ monsters that are practically at our gates!” Fiddleford informed. “There’s only a few minutes until Olympus is overrun!”

“What?! Alert the other gods! Prepare for a counter attack! Go, go!”

“Gone, babe.” Fiddleford said sarcastically with a roll of his eyes and ran as fast as possible as he blew his trumpet loudly throughout Olympus.

“Mabel, sweetie, I want you to go keep an eye on your brother.”

“But…”

Ford whistled loudly and the giant goat, Gompers, came trotting toward. Ford lifted her like a child and ignored her kicking and squirming. “Grunkle Ford!”

“I’m not asking!” Ford growled and gave her a firm look. “I can’t lose you! I just can’t! Now I’m ordering you to go check on M-... on Dipper. Now go!” And he smacked Gompers to make him gallop off the mountain and down to the mortal world.

~~~~~~~~~~

Just a few minutes after Dipper arrived back home, thinking about his amazing date with Pacifica, he decided to check on Stan. After making sure he was nowhere else in the luxurious house, Dipper gently knocked on his teacher’s bedroom door. “Stan? You okay?”

Praying the old man was at least wearing a toga, he carefully opened the door, but was a little surprised to find the bed empty. After a quick look around the lavish bedroom, Dipper concluded that Stan wasn’t here. He closed the door and turned away, wondering if Stan had gone outside for some fresh air, but was suddenly greeted by a high-pitched laughter and the lit torches made of stone were now blue. Dipper looked all over and was startled to find a huge golden triangle with one eye staring at him.

“Hey there, kid, name’s Bill, big guy of the Underworld, nice to meet you.” Bill said, a smooth-fast talker like a chariot salesman.

“Uh, hi.” Dipper greeted with a small, hesitant wave. There was no way the Ruler of the Underworld, the most mysterious god of them all, would be paying him a visit unless it was important or he wanted something.

“So, listen, Pinetree,” Bill said, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and floating alongside him, walking like they were old friends catching up. “I’m an old friend of your great-uncle, Stanford. He’s a fun guy, great god, you’re a lot like him, you know that? Anyway, so, as a friend of the family, I need a favor from you.”

Dipper wasn’t sure what to make of this. This was his first time meeting a god apart from Mabel, and now to be needed by one was a bit confusing. Why now? Was it possible he was on his way to becoming a true hero? Was he almost a god again? Was this a test? He smiled nervously and shrugged. “Uh, sure, what do you need?”

“Oh, boy, look at this guy! A real trooper he is! You’re alright, Sixer Jr!” Bill laughed and clapped his shoulder. “Now, I would be eternally grateful if you took a day off from this hero gig. I mean, c’mon, monsters, natural disasters…”

All hope that this visit was a good thing died. Dipper scowled and shook his head, shoving Bill’s hand off his shoulder. There was one reason and one reason only someone would want him to stop being a hero, even if it was only for a short time. “No way…”

“Not so fast,” Bill said coolly and he locked his own fingers cunningly. “Cuz I have something that might change your mind.” And he snapped his fingers.

Out of thin air an old man appeared in chains, on his knees. “Stan!” Dipper gasped.

“Dipper, what the h-...” And more chains covered his mouth.

Dipper ran for his teacher but Stan was gone before the young hero could help. “Let him go!” He dove for Bill, but only fell through him, like the demon was made of mist.

“Here’s the deal: you give up your strength for the next twenty-four hours,” And Bill snapped his fingers again and Stan reappeared, gagged and trapped. “And Knucklehead here is as free as a bird and safe, we dance, we kiss, we schmooze, we go home happy. Whatcha say, c’mon?”

Dipper stared at Stan, who was shaking his head. The young man looked away and then back at Bill. “People are gonna get hurt, aren’t they?”

“Nah,” Bill dragged, flicking his wrists downward and then instantly shrugging with his hands behind his back. “I mean, maybe, there’s a possibility, it happens cuz, y’know, life sucks. So what?” The triangle joined Stan and cupped his face teasingly. “Isn’t your great uncle more important than they are?”

Dipper opened his mouth to order him to stop, but his jaw fell and his voice was stolen from him. Bill smiled excitingly and asked, “Oo, struck a nerve, did I?” He laughed maliciously. “You seriously didn’t know he’s Sixer’s brother?! Oh, man! This is sad! Ever wondered why he had a grudge against Fordsie? Ever wondered why he even gave a worthless orphan the time of day to begin with? It’s cuz he only barely cared cuz you’re blood. Duh.”

“You’re lying.” Dipper said firmly. “Stan, he’s making it up, isn’t he?” He begged, his brown eyes on Stan, the same eyes that matched his own. “Because… you would have told me if it’s true… wouldn’t you?”

Stan looked away.

“Daw, don’t blame him, kid. It’s not his fault you didn’t inherit Mr. Lightning Bolt’s brains. Now, c’mon, you really wanna lose another pwecious famwy member?”

“OKAY!” Dipper yelled to get Bill to fall silent. There was a moment of pause and Stan stared at his nephew. “Okay… okay… But you gotta swear Stan won’t get hurt.”

“Fine, whatever. Stan won’t get hurt.” Bill said and walked towards the birthmarked hero, leaving Stan alone for a moment. “Otherwise you’ll get your strength right back, fine print, blah blah blah. It’s a deal?” And he held out a hand encased in blue fire.

Dipper hesitated, looking down at it, and that made Bill a little irritated, a dangerous game to play. Bill withdrew his hand. “Y’know I really don’t have time to bat this around, I got places to be, people to see, I need an answer, like, now. Going once, going twice…”

"It's a deal!" And Dipper ceased Bill's hand.

At once, the demon's thumb sharpened, cutting into Dipper's hand and seemed to be sucking the strength out of him. The young man sagged and Stan fought harder than ever to break free, but it was too late. Bill let Dipper go and he fell to his knees like a puppet with his strings cut off. One could say Dipper should have made sure he agreed to only give away his "god-like" strength, rather simply "strength," for this loophole left Dipper far weaker than any man, arguably weaker than an infant.

Bill cackled as he held his three-sided body and wiggled his legs in joy. "Thanks for the favor, Pinetree! Now if you'll excuse me, there's an entire cosmos out there with my name on it! Oh! Right, can't forget." Bill snapped his fingers and Stan was set free from his chains. "The guy ashamed to be your family is all yours, hero."

He instantly ran to Dipper's hunched-over body and rubbed his back. "Easy, buddy boy, I got you. It's okay."

Dipper swatted his hands away and groaned from the effort. "Stan… why… why didn't you say…"

Stan was hurt, but pushed it aside to focus on how hurt his nephew was. He rubbed the back of his neck. "I… I wanted to. Believe me, kid, I wanted to, but… I couldn't."

"Oh, and one more thing. Lil'Llama, thanks for the info." Bill sneered, curling a finger from the shadows to himself, and his slave emerged with her head down in shame. "A deal's a deal, you're free to go."

Dipper stared, heartbroken more so than ever. "Pacifica?"

"Hey, that's the blonde damsel from the river." Stan growled. "Tramp. C'mon, Dipper, let's get you to…"

"Don't." Dipper snapped as he steadily got to his own feet. "I… I can take care of myself…"

Stan withdrew his hand and took a step back, letting Dipper hold himself up by leaning on a column, catching his breath. The proud uncle bit his lip and was distracted from his misery and shame when a big bang could be heard outside.

He stood outside his home and his mouth was open as the sky was an unnatural sea of colors and the ocean was raging with waves that seemed to make everything it touched weird. Bushes were coming to life and eating ghosts. Old women were being turned into furniture. Men were going delusional and eating their togas. Stan cringed at the weirdness, and it only got worse when some big goblin-looking monster with Eight Ball eyes was bringing havoc to Thebes.

~~~~~~~~~~

The planets aligning created a weak spot in the dimension, and in the depths of the sea, Bill peered down and could practically see his old minions in the Nightmare Realm. “My friends!” He called, pointing a finger at the weak spot and tearing a whole in space-time. “We finally have a new home, boys! But one guy stands in our way. An obnoxious poindexter with six fingers. So, since I’ve given you guys a stable home, whatcha gonna do about it?”

“DESTROY HIM!”

“Good answer.”

And so, when Fiddleford was disturbed from his nightly slumber on a low cloud outside of Olympus, he screamed and ran as fast as he could to alter his friend and the leader of the gods. Huge monsters scaled the mountain. Flying eyeballs flew like bats and screeched, turning fighting gods into stone and flying them away.

With Mabel gone and no longer terrified for her safety, Ford stood on a tall cloud just inside the gates of his home and shot down bolts of lightning with his golden crossbow. The monsters were sturdy, and while the attacks did slow them down, the battle was not looking good for the gods. Ford caught his breath and was very disturbed when a giant gray-blue loaf of bread with arms and legs but no face broke down the gates.

“What’s our status?!” Ford asked his best friend.

“Everyone’s bein’ turned t’stone!” Fiddleford yelled as an eyebat shined a beam down at him. “Even me!”

“NO!” Ford threw his last bolt at the eyebat, but it swerved out of the way and scooped up Fiddleford’s frozen body.

Ford looked left and right, waiting for an idea to come to him, but he was too clouded with anxiety and worry that he failed to notice the huge, now three-dimensional demon behind him. “Fordsie, I’m home.” A shrill voice sang.

“Bill?” Ford breathed, his eyes narrowing in anger and he shook with rage. He should have listened to Mabel and knew he was behind this. He growled like an angry bulldog and tried to throw a punch, but with a lift of a finger Bill had total control over Ford’s body and made him float lifelessly in front of him.

“Well well, looks like you truly are as dumb as you look. Tell me, did you really think such a powerful being would ever be friends with a six-fingered monster?” Bill laughed evilly and moved two arms close, creating lava and ice to work together to encase Ford in a stony prison. “This dimension is mine, Sixer, and it’s all thanks to you.” He said as Ford climbed and crawled to try to escape, but was steadily being encased, like quicksand. “Now all I need to do is make sure those brats stay out of my way.”

“NO! NO!” Ford screamed. “NOT MY KIDS, YOU CA-...” And he was completely covered.

“I’m the one giving orders now, Freak.” Bill sneered and sat in his new throne the eyebats had made for him, made entirely out of gods and goddesses. “And I think I’m gonna like it here.”

#GF #gravity falls #gravity falls au #gift #fanfiction

[talesofstyles]

In Sickness And In Health

After the birth of their twin babies, Harry and YN’s marriage suffers.

Warning: Contains discussion of Postnatal Depression (PND) / PPD, breastfeeding and smut. Please read only if you’re comfortable.

P.S. This is a spin-off of Mess Is Mine. You don’t have to read it first, but in case you want to give it a go, here’s the link for the I, II and III part!

Having a newborn is hard, let alone two.

When that phase where everything seems magical and everything is just right in the world and you can hardly take your eyes off your precious little babies is over, you’ll begin to realise how much your life has changed overnight. You’ll realise how exhausted you are and that sleep is merely just a myth. You don’t sleep for longer than two hours at a time, and you struggle to find the time to fulfil your most basic human needs like eating and showering, and your social life has gone out of the window without even a wave goodbye.

Of course the excitement will never be truly over. There will always be moments where you look at your babies and pause and think “how did I get so lucky?!”. Maybe when they’re both smiling at you unconsciously in their sleep. Or when you just bathe them so they’re fresh and clean and smells like heaven and you feel like your heart is about to burst looking at two little babies just in their nappies all sprawled on your bed. It may not sound like a big deal, but sleep is one of the most fundamental human needs and if they’re deprived of that, it can potentially lead to a bigger problem.

YN is tired. So is Harry, but she is not only exhausted physically but also mentally, which is so much harder to deal with. Having twins really takes a toll on her body, and her hormones are all over the place. Now so much worse than when she was pregnant. She had a rather flawless pregnancy with the twins, everything was perfect. She carried them up until 37 weeks and five days, which was considered full term with twins, and even though the labour was long, it was all good in the end.

It all started well. The babies were both healthy and strong so they went home along with YN on the third day. Settling in with two newborns during the first few days were chaotic but it was all such a dream. The babies were such good sleepers and both YN and Harry had to wake them up throughout the night so YN could feed them. Neither of them was a fussy eater and both latched on so well right from the beginning, too, which was the thing that YN most worried about when she was still pregnant so she was relieved to know that their breastfeeding journey seemed to be easy right from the start.

But then the babies turned two weeks old, and they hit a growth spurt, which caused them to be fussier than ever. Harry and YN could barely function with the lack of sleep and both of them were frustrated because they couldn’t split their attention with the big kids as well. Everything was crazy and it went south from there. 

The baby boy went back to his usual self after a couple of days, but the baby girl never did. Even now, four weeks later, she is still fussier than ever, and the worst thing is that she is refusing to eat most of the time which is really stressing YN out because she doesn’t know what to do. She never had any problems nursing Finn and Pippa back then. 

It’s 2:45 am, and here’s YN, sitting on a nursery glider that calls one of the corners in their master bedroom as it’s temporary home before they move it to the nursery later along with the babies. Baby girl has been crying for at least ten minutes now, and her crying is getting stronger each minute. YN tries to nurse her while desperately trying to keep her eyes open, but the baby just clenches her fists and keeps crying, pulling her face away from her chest and refusing to latch.

“Oh, come on,” YN sighs in frustration at the wailing baby in her arms. “Come on, please. I know you’re hungry, my love.”

All the crying eventually wakes Harry up, but thankfully not the other baby just yet. At just four weeks old, the twins are still sleeping with Harry and YN in their room because not only it’s safer for the babies for the first six months, they also know that it’ll be easier for them to deal with the babies throughout the night.

“Should I make her a bottle?” Harry offers, sitting up to rub the sleep away from his eyes for a second before he walks towards where YN is sat with their baby girl. “I can feed her. You go to sleep, love.”

“No!” YN whisper-shouts. “I can feed her. I have to.”

“Alright, alright. Just let me try a little bit,” says Harry, shushing her as YN shifts the baby girl into his arms. He begins swaying his hips in place right away to rock her, knowing how much she loves it. She’s just like Anya when she was a baby, loving the little sway and rock in the middle of the night to soothe her back to sleep. However, the little sway and rock doesn’t do the trick for her twin brother who prefers being bounced a little whenever he’s being fussy. “Hi sweet girl,” Harry coos at her. “What’s this all about, huh? What’s the matter? Best tell daddy, yeah? I’ll sort it out.”

The tiny little baby girl in his arms lets out a couple of tiny choked up noises before she calms down and stops crying, showing him her green eyes for a second before closing it again as she lets out the tiniest yawn. She goes back to sleep within minutes in her daddy’s arms, and as much as Harry is glad that he manages to put the baby back to sleep, he is worried about YN.

YN has been struggling to bond with their baby girl ever since she has started to get fussy about nursing, so he knows the fact that he has just calmed her down and put her back to sleep just like that makes her feel even worse. She sighs dejectedly, completely ignoring Harry’s weak “darlin’,” as she stands up and walks away to the bed.

“Darlin’,” Harry tries again as he gets himself into the bed and under the duvet. But she ignores him still, choosing to turn around so her back is on his face instead. 

Harry lets out a heavy sigh. Mumbling a short, sweet, “night, love,” as he turns off the nightlight on his bedside table. Expecting at least just a short “night” from her but all he hears is silence.

***

The sound of keys jingling in the door is no match to the chaos inside. Baby girl has been crying nearly all morning, leaving YN frustrated and exhausted beyond measure. Harry has just got home from doing the school run, and as he walks into their living room, he sees his wife with their baby girl in her arms. He can see how tired YN looks, truth be told he isn’t much better, but he knows that he needs to step in because both of them are frustrated.

“Come on, my love, please,” YN coos at the crying baby in her arms desperately, pushing her closer to her chest to try to get her to latch but she isn’t having any of it. She did nurse a little a few hours prior but YN knows it’s not enough and she needs more. “I know you’re hungry, darlin’, please, just a little bit.”

“Let me make a bottle for her, yeah?” says Harry softly, knowing well that YN isn’t going to take what he suggests happily but he knows they all need it. “I can feed her, you go take a shower or a little nap. Whichever sounds best to you, love.”

“No, Harry, I need to feed her,” YN insists, shaking her head. Her cheeks are getting wet from the tears of frustration mixed with exhaustion. “I have to. I have to be able to.”

Harry runs his fingers through his hair, a little harsher than he’d like, in frustration. Sighing heavily. “She’s hungry!” snaps Harry. “We need to feed our daughter!”

“I’m trying!” YN practically shrieks.

“But she doesn’t want to nurse!” Harry’s voice keeps increasing in volume, stopping to take a deep breath when he sees the look on YN’s face. Not once he has ever talked to her that way before. “Please, just let me try to make her a bottle. This isn’t the time for you to listen to your ego, she’s hungry!”

YN looks up at Harry in silence. He can’t tell what she’s feeling, but surely it mustn’t be good. She stands up slowly, kissing her baby girl’s forehead before shifting her into Harry’s arms and walks upstairs without saying another word. 

Harry warms up a bottle for her from the milk in the freezer and she hesitates a little before she drinks it all up. She’s already asleep in his arms even before he has the chance to burp her, clearly exhausted from all the crying. He takes her upstairs to their room to put her in the bassinet next to her twin brother who has been napping for a little while now and should wake up anytime soon. Doesn’t matter how hard YN and Harry try to make them sleep at the same time, they just won’t.

When Harry walks into their room, YN is sitting on her side of the bed. She’s looking through the window, her back is facing the door. He can see her back tenses a little at his presence. Any other day, any other circumstances, Harry would have just sat next to her, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and pull her close to him to cheer her up. They’re both a massive cuddler so although not always, more often than not, a little hug fixes everything. This is also why they can’t really complain about the fact that the twins are probably the clingiest babies on earth. Apples truly don’t fall far from the trees. 

“M’sorry for raising my voice,” Harry says at last after he puts his baby girl in her bassinet, before sitting next to YN on the bed but still keeping a safe distance knowing that she is probably a little upset with him. “But I’m not sorry for feeding our daughter.”

Much to Harry’s surprise, YN doesn’t even respond. He gets it if she doesn’t want to talk to him, but she has stilled. Not much different than a statue. He thinks she’s at least going to pull her arm away from him or swats his when he tries to touch her but no, she’s not even blinking. Still looking far out through the window. Her body is right next to him, but she is going further away from Harry with each passing seconds. 

***

Next thing Harry knows, she has become distant.

To him, first and foremost. And what breaks his heart the most, to his baby girl too. He didn’t want to believe himself at first but as the days went by, it was getting harder to ignore. He knows that she tries her best to act normal around the other kids, but he also knows that there’s something missing in her and whatever it is, he just hopes they can find it again.

YN is nursing Flynn in their room while Harry feeds Mila downstairs in the living room. After what happened the other day when Harry snapped at her, YN hasn’t tried to nurse her baby girl again, leaving Harry to do the job. As he feeds their littlest, he also gives some snacks for Finn, Pippa and Anya who just got home from school.

“How was school?” Harry asks the three of his big kids as he plops down on the couch with his baby girl on his lap and a warm bottle of milk in his hand. “Did you lot ‘ave a good day?”

“Mhm,” Anya hums and Finn and Pippa just nod, too busy chewing on some microwavable pastries that Harry heated for them.

“Good,” says Harry as he pulls the bottle away from his baby girl’s mouth for a second, giving her a little break. “Got any homework?”

“Anya and I have to write down everyone’s wishes,” says Pippa before she reaches for a cup of apple juice on the coffee table in front of her and takes a sip.

“Wishes?” Harry turns to her, his eyebrows snap together. “What kind of wishes?”

“It can be anythin’!” Anya chimes in.

“So,” Pippa begins, taking a paper and a pencil from her backpack. “What’s your wish papa?”

‘To know what the fuck is wrong with my wife and for her to talk to me again’ Harry says to himself inside his head, but carefully spelt out ‘clean ocean’ for the girls instead.

“Finny,” Anya turns to her big brother. “What’s yours?”

“For mummy to be happy,” he says nonchalantly.

Harry’s heart breaks at Finn’s wish. Trying to sound just as nonchalant, he turns at the seven year old and asks him. “You don’t think mummy’s happy?”

“No,” he shakes his head. “She cries a lot lately.”

“Ooh,” says Anya, tapping the end of her pencil against her head. “That’s a good wish.”

Finn is right, YN does cry a lot lately. Even more than when she was still pregnant with the twins. Harry has asked her ‘what’s wrong?’ countless times but he’s met with silence every time. So he stopped asking.

“Papa, why does mummy cry a lot lately?” Pippa asks him. 

Harry knows that the kids think he has the answer, he always has. He wishes he has the answer for this one. He remembers when he was little, he could just ask anything to his mum or dad and they would always have the answers to everything and he intends to do the same for his children. They’ve got plenty of time later to find out how scary the world actually is and that sometimes, they have to be okay in the unknown. But not right now.

“Mummy’s just tired, my love,” Harry smiles at her. “Sometimes people cry when they’re tired. Just like you when you had too much fun at the park.”

“Mummy!” Pippa cheers in excitement when she sees YN coming down the stairs with Flynn in her arms. Harry’s head snaps right away towards her. “Mummy, what’s your wish?”

“Hi,” YN smiles weakly at her big kids. “My wish?”

“Mhm,” Anya hums. “What’s your wish, mummy?”

“It’s for their homework,” Harry adds, setting the empty bottle down on the coffee table before holding the drowsy baby girl upwards to burp her. “They have to write down everyone’s wishes.”

“Oh,” says YN as she plops down on the couch opposite Harry. That’s the most she has been talking to him. One word—he’s not even sure if ‘oh’ counts as a word but screw it—one syllable. A short, simple ‘oh’ yet it already makes his heart bursts. “I wish, um,” they’re all waiting patiently for YN to finish her sentence. “I wish I could sleep. For a long time.”

“How long, mummy?” Pippa asks her.

“Just long,” YN says absently. “Very long.”

***

“You want some?” Harry says, pouring YN a glass of wine before she can even answer. Not that she’s likely to answer.

Harry slides the glass across the kitchen island, where YN stands on the other end of the counter, staring into space blankly. Without saying a word she glances at him before taking the glass into her hand and begins to take a sip.

“Hey,” Harry says cautiously. “You alright?”

She takes a slug of wine instead of answering her husband. Still looking at one of the walls in their kitchen that is full of frames. A big family photo with all five of them, taken in Positano when they went there for holiday last summer just before YN finds out that she was pregnant with the twins. A few paintings of the kids. One medium-sized classic painting of a village. 

Harry lets out a sigh as they lapse into silence again. The tension is so thick it’s suffocating. He gets some plates out of the cupboard, ladle chicken stew out of the slow cooker and sprinkle it with coriander before putting them down on the table and reaches for cutlery in the drawer. 

“Come on, let’s eat,” says Harry as he brings his glass of wine to the table. 

YN shakes her head. “I’m not hungry.”

Harry lets out another sigh, heavier this time. The food in front of him looks much less appealing than before. “You need to eat, even just a little bit.”

“I’ll eat later when I’m hungry,” YN gulps her wine.

“Why don’t you want to eat together with me?” Harry asks her desperately. “You’re the one who always insists that couples who eats together stay together, so-”

“I’m not hungry,” YN repeats herself absently, cutting him off before she drains the rest of her wine into the sink and putting the glass into the dishwasher. “Just wanna sleep.”

***

The sound of a crying baby wakes Harry and YN up, and after realising it comes from their baby girl, Harry stands up hastily and walks towards the bassinet to pick her up and begins to rock her.

“Hi darlin’,” Harry coos at her. “What’s this about, huh? Something bothering you? You hungry?” 

The usual sway and rock doesn’t work so Harry is pretty convinced that she is hungry. Realising that YN is awake, Harry turns to her. “You wanna ‘ave a go? I think she’s hungry.”

“No, you have it all in hand,” YN says bitterly. “I’m just gonna make it worse.”

“YN, don’t be like that,” Harry says, annoyance clearly shown in his tone. “We’re a team. We’re supposed to be a team.”

“Like what?” YN challenges him, getting just annoyed at him as he is at her. “M’not being like anything!”

“You’re being so difficult!” Harry practically shrieks, making the crying even worse and they can hear a little whimper from the bassinet which means baby boy is going to wake up and cry any seconds now. “I don’t know what to do. We barely talk now and when we do it always ends with a fight. I hate fighting with you!”

He can see the tears making its way out of her eyes and down her cheeks and he feels guilty for snapping at her like that. Her hormones are out of whack and he should’ve been more patient with her. “YN, talk to me, please. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“I’ll sleep with Flynn in the spare room,” YN says as she picks her baby boy out of his little bassinet. 

“No!” Harry shakes his head frantically. “We’re sleeping here, in this room. I’ll take the couch. But we’re staying in this room.” 

YN doesn’t say more, and Harry quickly goes downstairs to warm up a bottle for baby girl before he reappears in their bedroom. He feeds her on the nursery glider, and burp her, before he stands back up to cuddle her back to sleep.

“So, that’s it then?” Harry says bitterly as he sways his hips in place to rock his baby daughter when he realises that YN is still awake. “You won’t hold your daughter?”

YN looks at him and there’s something in her expression that makes Harry feels like someone has just stabbed him in the chest. She looks so sad. Her face missing the warmth and colour that are usually there. “I do hold her,” she responds weakly. “But you said it yourself that I’m too selfish to take proper care of her.”

“I never said that!” Harry whisper-shouts, covering the ear of the baby in his arm as he does so he wouldn’t wake her up again. 

“Yes you did!” YN insists angrily. Fat, hot tears are coming back and rolling down her cheeks. “You said I was willing to starve my daughter just to listen to my ego.”

“Let’s talk outside,” says Harry as he puts baby girl down in her bassinet and roughly takes YN’s hand to follow him out of their bedroom.

“I have NEVER said that to you,” Harry’s loud voice booms in the kitchen, emphasizing ‘never’ as he stares deadly at her in the eyes. There’s a lump in the back of his throat but he ignores it, his annoyance at her for twisting his words gets the better of him. 

“But you did!” YN’s voice is just as loud, but cracks in the end, and the sound of it makes Harry feels as if Chuck Norris himself just kicked him in the balls.

“I didn’t!” He feigns innocence. “I just told you the other day just to let me feed her because she’s hungry. That’s all. And…”

YN feels like the room is spinning. It’s going so fast that she has to grip on the edge of the counter to keep herself from falling. She still sees Harry’s mouth moving but she can’t hear a word. So she walks away from the kitchen. Hastily. Towards the stairs and climbs upstairs, ignoring Harry crying out, “Where are you going? Come back! We’re not finished yet!” not because she intends to but because she can’t hear anything.

***

It can be extremely frustrating to live with someone who’s distant and sad all the time. Especially when there are newborns involved, adjusting to life with a newborn is hard enough. With YN slipping further away from him every day, Harry feels like all the responsibility is weighed upon his shoulders. And he is tired.

The babies are six weeks old, it means it has been four weeks since the last time he had a proper conversation with YN. There, in that couch, the one that he’s sitting on right now. He should be sleeping right now. Sleep when the baby sleeps, they said. But it’s 1:45am. He knows that at least one of the babies are going to wake up any seconds for their next meal. He doesn’t have to worry about baby boy, he still nurses like a champ, it’s their baby girl that he’s worried about. And the fact that her own mother seems to resent her.

Maybe it’s all just in his head. Of course YN loves their baby girl. It’s her own daughter. It’s their daughter. If she can love Anya like her own, surely she’ll love her own baby, no?

Harry feels like their marriage is slipping away, especially now that they’re sleeping separately although still in the same room. They barely talk, and when they do, it always ends with a screaming match. He doesn’t know whether or not the big kids know about the fact that their parents are now basically strangers living in the same house, he hopes they don’t, but they’re smart and it wouldn’t surprise him if they do.

He still doesn’t understand how it all got this bad. Every night before he sleeps, he always makes time to recall the things that happened, thinking probably he has missed something crucial that ruined his marriage, but nothing comes out of it. They were still good, very good before the birth of the twins. And even for the first two weeks afterwards, it was still like a dream. But then the babies start to get fussy, and they begin to not get enough sleep. Was that the thing that ruined his marriage? It couldn’t be, right? They were just tired. They still are. But people don’t get a divorce because they’re tired.

Then he recalled that one time when he was frustrated, they were all frustrated, really. And he said something about the fact that YN shouldn’t listen to her ego. Okay, he admits, he was a little harsh, but in his defence he was frustrated. And in his mind, he wasn’t in the wrong in that situation. He just wanted to feed his daughter as soon as possible because he knew that she was hungry. Was that wrong?

This is hard. All of this. The babies, his suffering marriage, his three older children who still require a lot of his attention because they’re at that stage where they treasure conversation and playtime with their parents the most. The sleep deprivation. He’s lucky enough to be able to take a six months paternity leave; if he weren’t he would probably just explode.

After their marriage, or whatever left of it, becomes like this, the presence of YN is barely something that fills three of his senses; sight, hearing and smell. He knows that she’s there, with him, living in the same house. They wake up around the same time, they go to sleep around the same time. But it’s just that, nothing more. He knows that she’s there because he sees her pacing around their bedroom holding their baby boy. And that half of the laundry bin in their room filled with her dirty clothes as well as his. Her brown fuzzy slippers at the end of the bed when she sleeps. The delicious smell of coffee that she always makes fresh every morning. The mixed smell of roses and berries that is so uniquely her when she’s sitting or standing close enough to him. The sound of her when she’s talking to the kids, or coos at the babies. Even the soft sob that he hears sometimes in the bathroom in the middle of the night when she thinks that he’s asleep.

Harry misses his wife.

There’s a little routine of them that Harry can’t forget every time he sits on that couch in their living room. It’s one of Harry’s favourites. Usually, after they tuck the kids in bed, they would sit on the couch downstairs before they have their dinner. YN, still in her work outfits, would sit beside him, taking the remote from his hand and resting her head against his chest. The TV is always on, but they rarely actually watch it. After two to three minutes YN usually mumbles, “I’m knackered,” and he’d say “take a little nap, then” before he kisses the top of her head and she’d doze off not long after. It’s never long. Twenty, thirty minutes max, but it’s one of Harry’s favourite moments with her throughout the week. That time at the end of the day when he gets to hold his wife, who somehow still smells so good and looks so beautiful that sometimes still makes his heart skips a beat, even after a whole day of work and a couple hours of herding their small children through their night routines. All of the things that are bothering his mind always seems to disappear somehow. It’s just him, and her, and everything just seems right in the world.

Sometimes, when the frustration takes over, Harry can’t help but wonder if he could just confront her. ‘What do you want, really? Do you want to get a divorce? Just say it.’ Because he’s tired of feeling helpless. He’s tired of feeling like he may have a little hope one second yet having it crushed the next. But when he sees her, he doesn’t have the heart to. 

She’s YN, his wife. He loves her and he can’t lose her. 

***

It’s Thursday, which means it’s James’s turn to pick the kids up from school and takes them to the park afterwards. And since Anya goes to the same school as Finn and Pippa, he always takes her with them too. He knows how much Harry loves his children, and honestly he just likes children in general so he doesn’t have any problems with his ex-wife’s step-daughter.

James and the kids are already at Kensington Garden, and they’re just waiting for Harry who’s coming with the twins. Harry thought it might be good for YN to have some quiet time alone at home for a little before the madness begins again. Besides, it’s good for the twins to get some fresh air. 

It’s not often you hear that someone’s ex-husband and current husband become friends, but somehow James and Harry do become friends. Surely it wasn’t easy at first, both of them had their pride at stake and neither of them was willing to let it go first, but they were both good men, they still are. And they knew that if they could put their ego aside, it would be better for everyone, so they did. 

“Daddy, that’s papa and the babies!” Pippa says excitedly as she points at Harry who’s pushing the double pram into the gated playground area. “Papaaaa!”

“Where?” James looks around before he finds Harry and babies. “Ah! Here!” He immediately waves his hand so Harry sees him. “Hi!”

“Hi,” Harry greets him as he walks towards them. “Alright, mate?”

“Great! You?” James says as he looks down at the prams and coos at the babies. “God, these two already look so much bigger than last week. Hi! Hello!” 

“M’good, thanks,” Harry smiles at him. “They grow like a weed.”

“You look rough mate,” James comments, chuckling lightly. They’ve clearly reached that level of friendship. And James is not wrong, Harry does look like he needs a wash and a good night’s sleep. “I can try to help more with the big kids if you’d like.”

“Thanks, mate,” Harry turns to him, waving at Finn who’s waving at him from the big pirate ship. “I appreciate it.”

“Hey, s’nothing,” James grins at him. “How’s YN? She alright?”

Harry lets out a heavy sigh. “Honestly? I’m not sure.”

“Hey, what’s wrong?” James turns to him, looking concerned. Harry isn’t the type to air his dirty laundry, but this is James. He is YN’s ex-husband. He has known her longer than he has, and they were married for years. If there’s any chance for James to help him, no matter how small, he’s taking it. “Is everything alright? You know that you can talk to me, right?”

“Was it this hard after you had Finn and Pippa?” Harry finally asks him.

“God,” James shakes his head. “Newborns are rough, mate. I remember being so exhausted all the time.”

“Did you and YN fight a lot?”

“We were both cranky from the lack of sleep,” James explains. “So yeah. Do you fight a lot now? By the way, you don’t have to answer this if you don’t want to of course.”

“No, s’fine,” Harry says. “Yeah we do. She’s just so sad and distant all the time and I don’t know what to do.”

“That explains, then,” James tells him. “Finn told me that she’s been crying a lot lately.”

“I swear I’ve tried everything, mate,” Harry sighs in defeat.

“Having a baby is hard, let alone two at once,” James begins. “So maybe she’s still trying to figure it out? I know you must’ve tried your best to cheer her up and all you need to do right now is just to be patient. I’m sure she’ll be alright once she gets the hang of it.”

“S’like,” Harry’s voice cracks and he hates it. “S’like there’s a really huge wall between us. I’ve tried to knock it down, tear it apart, but it just keeps getting stronger.” 

“Look, mate,” James turns to him. “I know YN. She’s one of the kindest, most loving humans out there but I also know that she’s probably one of the most stubborn one too. You can’t tell her what to do. If she wants to open up to you, she will. Otherwise, she’ll just build that wall higher and stronger and if you insist to climb it there’s no way you’re getting out alive. Whatever it is that she’s feeling right now, or that she’s struggling with, you can’t make it go away. All that you need to do is just to be willing to wait this out with her.” 

“Thanks, James,” Harry says. “Really, I appreciate this. Thank you.”

“Anytime, mate,” James smiles at him. “Remember, she’s just lost. She’s not gone. Just hang in there, yeah?”

***

“D’you wanna take a bath wi’me?” Harry looks at YN who’s putting Flynn in his bassinet. The big kids are asleep and the twins have just gone back to sleep with full bellies so it’s not likely for them to wake up anytime soon. “Might be nice, yeah? Been a while.”

YN shakes her head. “M’tired.”

“Please? I’ve missed you,” desperation evident in his voice. “S’gonna be nice. I’m gonna run it for us, yeah? We’ll use that soap, the one that we’re saving for the pope,” he chuckles lightly, hoping that the little Friends reference will make her laugh even just a little. Scratch that, just a smile from her will make him the happiest man alive.

“No!” YN exclaims, a little louder and harsher than she intends it to. “I’m tired Harry, just let me sleep.”

***

It’s 3am, and YN is surprised when she goes to the bathroom and finds Harry sitting on the floor, crying his heart out. His back is against the bathtub, and she immediately sits down next to him on the floor. 

“H,” Harry shoots his head up to look at her as he hears his pet name rolls out of her lips. It has been weeks since the last time he hears that and God, does he miss it. H is one of the three pet names that YN has for him. The other two are darling and knobhead. She rotates those three pet names every day. To this day, Harry still has no idea where knobhead comes from and he’s not sure either about the rotation. What he knows is that every workday, at 7am, she’ll shake his shoulder gently, whispering softly in his ear: “Wake up, H.” Tomorrow it may be: “Knobhead, wake up.” He’ll never know for sure what he gets.

“H,” she repeats herself when she sees that Harry has stilled. “What’s the matter? I’ve never seen you cry like this before.”

For once, she’s met with silence. He doesn’t answer. 

“Is this…” she trails off. “Are you crying about us? Our marriage? Or whatever left of that?” She chokes wetly. 

Harry still doesn’t respond.

“Are you- are you crying because you want-” her breathing is getting harsher as if she’s choking. “You want to leave?”

“I wanted to,” Harry says weakly, admitting. Because he did. He had the thought. Divorce did cross his mind. It doesn’t matter for him whether he had been thinking about leaving for months or is it just five seconds of frustration before he snaps back to reality, he’s just as guilty.

“But I can’t,” he shakes his head. “You’re my wife. I’d chosen you. Can’t run away like a coward, s’my job to bring the smile back to your face.”

“You wanted to leave,” YN says at last, sitting motionless. 

Harry just stares blankly at the cabinet under the sink.

“Harry,” YN says his name so low that it sounds more like a whisper. “Leave.”

Harry shakes his head frantically and YN continues. “This marriage sounds more like work on your part. I don’t know what happened with me,” she wipes away the tears that roll down her cheeks. “I hate to see you like this.” 

“No,” says Harry firmly, still shaking his head.

“If it’s about the kids, don’t worry, you’ll-”

“It’s not about the kids!” Harry says quickly, cutting her off. “It’s about you. I can’t lose you.”

“Harry, I’ve changed,” YN whispers. “I don’t even recognise myself. You deserve better, just let me go.”

“No,” Harry shakes his head again. “I had chosen you, and you had chosen me. We’re gonna make this work, you and I.”

“But-”

Harry cuts her off with a kiss. A deep and passionate one, filled with desperate needs. Much to his surprise, she doesn’t pull away. It has been forever since the last time they kissed like that, and doesn’t matter their circumstances, neither of them wants it to end.

In one swift movement, he has her underneath him on their bathroom floor. His lips never leaving hers unless to take a breath, and even then it’s never long before he returns.

He leaves a trail of kisses down her neck, before pulling the tie on top of her nightdress to leave her chest bare before him. Within seconds he’s got her knees bent and her nightdress hitches up around her waist, his mouth feasting on her pulsing core. He has missed how she tastes.

She still doesn’t push him away when his tongue is buried deep inside her. He’s got both of his hands looped around her thighs before he thrusts one single digit into her. Slowly at first, but then he quickens the pace as it’s getting easier for his finger to pump into her. Not too fast yet not too slow; just a slow steady plunge deep into her heat.

She spreads her legs even more for him as his knee shoves between them. The better access makes him push his finger even deeper before he adds another. He puts pressure on her bundle of nerves with his thumb as his two thick digits make their way into her. It’s a stretch and she hisses as he buries them inside her to the knuckle. 

With a gasp of his name, she falls into bliss. Closing her eyes as he pulls his fingers out of her. He climbs up and kisses her deeply as he takes out his member.

His hard cock curves up towards his belly, ruddy and dizzyingly thick. It has been a while and she forgot how intimidating his size is. He’s fully hard, the blunt tip is angry red and it’s leaking already. It looks threatening, and fuck, even the vein underneath is intimidatingly thick. 

Too many moments later, he finally lets his cock dip down into her core, and she exhales the breath she’s been holding only to squeal when she feels him pressed against her folds. He really takes his time, coating his shaft with her slick before pushing into her again ever so slowly. 

She winces as he thrusts inside her, but it feels amazing. The twinge of pain is easy to ignore with the way Harry feels inside of her and it’s literally just the tip. He lets out a groan, holding steady to give her time to adjust, knowing how much she needs it. 

The second he’s fully in, she lets out a sigh, pulling him even closer to her body. He’s bare and hot inside her, the way he throbs is enough to force her eyes to close.  

There’s a slowness to his movement that seems to translate into a deeper intimacy. There’s no rush, only a desperate need. He takes his time, not wanting it to be over anytime soon.

He’s sliding so deep, right into that pleasure-patch with every drive. She cries out, squirming underneath him as his cock hit painful depths. Her fingers hold onto his arms and she whimpers, unsure if it’s from discomfort or need.

It hurts, no doubt, it’s been a while after all. But his pace is steady and slow, and she knows that he’s taking every moment of her anguish and need. She moans into his mouth, practically panting as he kisses her over and over again, never leaving her lips for too long, nipping and sucking her bottom lip. 

He feeds his cock into her again and again, coaxing her heat open with each stroke. The bump and drag of his member against her walls is nothing short of exquisite and dangerously intoxicating. 

Everything goes white as she reaches her high. There’s no other sound except for the whir of pounding blood in her ears. She’s pretty sure she’s stopped breathing. He kisses her again on the lips, then her forehead, before he reaches for something from the cabinet under the sink to clean her up. He carries her to their bed, kissing her once more before he climbs onto his side of the bed. Mumbling “night, love” as he turns off the light on his bedside table. 

She waits until he’s fully asleep before she wiggles out of his embrace. Scooting as far away from him as she can without falling out of the bed. And then she cries.

***

It’s frustrating to look in the mirror and not being able to recognise your own reflection. 

For the past four weeks, when YN sees her reflection in the mirror, all she sees is that unrecognised woman standing before her. She looks sad and tired. There are two giant bags under her eyes, and she looks so cold and colourless that she thinks that whoever it is in the reflection must be sick. 

She has never felt anything like this before. She is so anxious all the time. Although she is no stranger to anxiety, it has never got this bad. She is tired yet she’s struggling to sleep. She feels tense and irritable, and she has the urge to cry a lot more lately.

She feels terrible for not being able to bond with her baby girl the way she bonds with her baby boy. She tried, desperately, but when her baby girl refused to nurse it made her feel like she’s a failure. She is still feeling that way, especially every time she sees Harry feeding her with a bottle. She has this horrible sense of impending doom, like her babies are slowly starving and it was because she was a terrible mother.

“Harry, I think your wife has postnatal depression,” says the health visitor to Harry after she checks on YN and the babies. Physically, the three of them are doing amazing.

“I had a feeling,” Harry turns to her. “What should I do, then? What can I do to help her? Does she need some prescriptions?”

“Not yet,” she shakes her head gently. “I don’t think it’s very severe. But what you do matters significantly. Her moods and emotional vulnerability will likely get in the way of your communication for now, but keep assure her that you are there for her. Tell her that you know she feels terrible. Tell her she’ll get better and that she is doing the best she can. Tell her that she can still be a good mother even if she feels terrible. Most importantly, tell her that you love her. Your babies love her, all your children. She might not believe you when you tell her that she’s a good mother but tell her anyway. I can schedule a counselling for her but for now, make sure that you make time just for her. Five minutes a day for a start is enough. No babies, no paperwork, no TV, nothing but the two of you. Talk to her. She’ll probably ignore you at first but she’ll talk soon enough. Then you can gradually increase the amount of time you spend together just the two of you.”

“Thank you so much,” Harry looks at her, feeling hopeful.

“M’just doing my job,” she smiles at Harry. “Call if you have a question about it. Remember, just be patient.”

***

Little things matter. 

After Harry got the advice from the health visitor and James, he knows that what he does really matter to help his wife, and he is willing to do whatever it takes for him to get his wife back. Every Sunday morning, he makes a trip to the Farmer’s Market to get her some daisies because it’s her favourite flowers. They take five minutes each day just for each other after all five of the kids are asleep, and although the health visitor was right and YN didn’t even say a word at first, now they begin to talk again and even laugh together even just a little.

They also begin to do the school run together. Fortunately, it’s close enough for them to just walk. Most of the time they take the pushchairs for the babies so they can walk around in the park after they drop the kids at school, but sometimes they just put them in a sling and carry them. It’s also the perfect time for Harry and YN to talk because the babies are the happiest in the prams or in the slings and they always sleep through their morning walk.

Harry knows that it’s probably too soon to say, but Harry feels like YN is slowly but surely coming back to him. They eat together again, they talk, and although Harry isn’t back in bed just yet, he’s now able to kiss her goodnight, which already makes Harry the happiest.

It’s 2:30am, and the babies are up crying because they’re hungry. YN is feeding Flynn on the nursery glider and Harry is about to head downstairs to make a bottle for Mila when YN suddenly stops him. “Harry, wait-”

“Yeah?” He looks at her, thinking that she’ll probably just ask him to get her something from the kitchen.

“Can I try first?”

Harry can’t believe what he hears, grinning instantly. “You want to try to feed her?”

YN nods. “Can I?”

“Love, you don’t have to ask!” Harry says, walking back to the bassinet to take their baby girl out and put her in YN’s free arm so she can feed her as well. She brings the baby closer to her chest and neither of them can believe what they see. “Oh my God-”

“Harry!” YN exclaims excitedly. “She’s latching! Oh my God, she’s doing it!”

“I see it!” Harry looks at her proudly, before leaning down to kiss her head. “My best girl.”

“Harry,” YN sighs happily. Happy tears rolling down her cheeks and Harry quickly wipes it away. 

“Told ya,” Harry grins at her although his cheeks aren’t technically dry either. “It’s gonna be alright, I knew it.”

“I’m so happy right now,” YN tells him, making his grin wider. “But I know that I’m not back to my old self just yet. It’ll take some time.”

Harry leans down to kiss the top of her head now. “Darlin’, just knowing that you’re happy for now is enough for me. I know it’ll take some time, but it’s gonna get better, yeah? Trust me.”

“What if it takes years?”

Harry smiles at her. “I’ll wait it out with you.”

“You say that now, but-”

“In sickness and in health,” Harry quickly cuts her off. “For better or for worse.”

“Harry-”

“I love you. Completely besotted, absolutely enamoured, hopelessly in love wi’you. I don’t care if you don’t believe me right now, I’m telling you anyway because it’s true. I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to remind you how much I love you if that’s what it takes.”

“H,” YN says before they lapse into silence. The pause seems forever but hearing her calling him with that pet name again after a while, he might bursts in happy tears right there right now. “I love you.”

Harry grins at her. Fat, hot tears rolling down his cheeks now and those are certainly happy tears. “Say it again.”

“I love you,” YN smiles at him.

“Again,” he begs. “Please.”

“I love you, H,” she repeats herself. “I take back what I said the other day. Don’t let me go.”

Harry leans down again, trying not to squeeze their babies, and this time to press his lips against hers. “Never.”

#harry #harry styles #harry styles smut #harry styles angst #husband!harry #dad!harry #dad harry imagines #harry styles fic #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles ff #harry styles blurbs #harry styles drabbles #harry styles concepts #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry talk

[weasleydream]

A story of love, pain and shitty parents - part 2

Here is the second part! This one is both longer and darker than the first, and all the end should have been a third part but I hadn’t enough ideas so... 

Tell me if you liked, don’t hesitate to like, reblog and/or give me feedbacks and enjoy!

TW: mention of torture, violence

Masterlist 

Part 1

The summer holidays had just begun - the school year had ended two weeks ago - yet the Burrow was as animated as the first of September. Fred, George, Ron and Ginny were currently packing. Molly was in the kitchen, cooking absentmindedly something for the diner. Her eyes were fixed outside, on the portal, as if it could open anytime. That was what she hoped. The previous week, Percy and Arthur had had a bad argument, a true fight and they both had said terrible things. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was the cause. His return was terrifying, of course, because it meant a war would take place. But Percy, probably blinded by his passion for his work, had called Harry a liar, his father a freak, and had left. 

The magical clock Molly adored made a soft noise. She looked at it quickly enough to see Arthur’s hand directed at “travelling”. A few seconds later, it was on “home” and Arthur opened the door. His face was hard, his jaw still clenching, and Molly knew her husband had seen Percy. It had been the same almost every day after the fight. They didn’t say anything. Only a loud sigh escaped Arthur’s mouth. 

Their children were still upstairs, making a lot of noise. Well, Molly was pretty sure the twins were responsible, but she didn’t say anything. The several booms that could be heard weren’t loud enough to prevent her from hearing the typical sound of someone travelling by Floo Powder, though. She rushed into the living-room, followed by Arthur, with an insane hope that Percy was here. It wasn’t him, but she screamed at the sight in front of her. 

Y/N was here. Her face was covered in bruises, but the most worrying was the cut on her forehead. Blood was flowing on her face. Her right hand tightened compulsively her left wrist. Her clothes were torn, she had multiple cuts and bruises all over her body, for what Molly could see. Her eyes were full of a pure terror, and her voice was broken and trembling when she said:

“Molly, please, help me…”

A few seconds after her arrival passed, and she fell unconscious on the floor. 

The shock that had taken over Molly immediately vanished as she rushed toward the poor girl. She kneeled in front of her, making sure she was still alive, before asking her husband to carry her and lay her on the couch. Arthur did so, clearly disturbed by the state of the girl, and mumbled.

“I’m gonna go get Fred and George.”

He left, leaving his wife alone with Y/N. Weak moans escaped the latter’s mouth when Molly started to clean the blood on her face, revealing a deeper cut than she had expected. Murmuring healing spells, she caught a sight of Fred running downstairs and toward the couch. His face showed a genuine worry. He kneeled next to his mother, trying not to disturb her, and grabbed Y/N’s hand. George arrived too, standing behind the couch, both hands holding tight the back of the sofa. The twins stayed silent as Molly tried her best to ease the unconscious girl’s pain. When her face finally relaxed and she began to snore softly, Molly mouthed “In the kitchen.” and she left the living-room, followed by Fred, George and Arthur. 

They took place around the table, but no one knew what to say, the events of the last half-hour still not fully processed. 

“What the hell happened to her?”

Fred’s voice was lower than usual. He was terribly worried for Y/N and everyone could see it. George stirred next to him. The brothers exchanged a look and they knew they were thinking the same. 

“Boys, if you know something, you have to tell us.” Arthur’s voice was hard. He considered Y/N like a daughter of his own and seeing her like this was awful. 

“Her father.” said George. “It’s her father.”

Molly and Arthur frowned and George told them everything he knew, breaking the promise he and Fred had made to Y/N when she had confessed how her father was. As he went along in his story, his parents’ face dropped, Molly’s eyes filling with tears. Sometimes, she mumbled “I didn’t know…” or “How could I be so blind?” but she never interrupted her son. Arthur seemed too taken aback to say something. Fred was silent too, but not for the same reason. He couldn’t erase Y/N’s injured body from his mind. Her moans of pain were still echoing in his ears and if he hadn’t been feeling this urge to make sure she would be okay, he would already be in front of her father to make him regret all that she had endured. 

“You knew all this time and you didn’t say anything?” yelled Arthur, immediately hit in the arm by Molly. 

“She made us promise…” whispered Fred. His voice was like strangled which caused George to look at him with worried eyes. “She begged us not to tell anything. We thought… We thought that now we knew we could help her…”

“She promised she would tell us if anything happened.” added George. 

The twins were slowly understanding their mistake, and the more this realization hit them, the more the guilt crept in their heart. 

“You thought you did right,” said Molly. “It’s not your fault. She’ll be okay, don’t -”

A scream interrupted her. 

Y/N’s pov

The only sound I could hear in the house was the voices coming from the dining room. It happened more and more often that my father received visits from people from the Ministry. Some of them were known for their past alongside He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and as the day passed, I feared the reason for their presence. The rumours said he was back; Harry Potter had affirmed so after bringing back Cedric’s body and I trusted him. As my father was talking with Lucius Malfoy, I made discreetly my way to the kitchen and prepared something to eat. Since Mary had been killed, no one lived in this house except my father and me. 

I held the plate containing my sandwich in one hand as I managed to silently close the door behind me when shouts louder than the others echoed from the dining room. A violent shiver went down my spine as I remembered the last time I had eavesdropped. Nevertheless, I put the plate on the floor and approached the door. This time, I didn’t dare to open it and settled for what I heard. 

“You don’t understand what it means.” hissed my father. 

“I understand very well.” replicated Malfoy. “We both have the same problem. Gaining back his trust won’t be easy, you heard him.”

Someone began to pace, his heavy steps echoing in the room. 

“Our place in the Ministry will be helpful, that’s for sure.” said my father. “But are we sure they won’t be on their guards?”

“He thinks Fudge will be too afraid. He’ll deny everything, the guy loves power too much.”

A silence took place and I heard something that sounded like fabric being removed. 

“It hadn’t burnt in so long…” said my father. 

“You should be more careful with this.” snapped Malfoy. “I believe you killed the nurse because of that?”

“Yes, she’d been too curious.”

I needed to know why he had killed Mary. I decided to take the risk and slowly opened the door. I saw the forearm of my father, the one he used to clench since last year. He had the Dark Mark. My father was a Death Eater. 

At the very moment I thought I would go back in my room, his eyes fell on me. 

“Y/N? Y/N! It’s okay, it’s okay…”

I suddenly opened my eyes. I was sitting on a couch in the Burrow living room. Fred was kneeling in front of me and holding tightly my hands. George was sitting next to me and stroking gently my back, throwing worried glances at Molly and Arthur who were standing in front of us. My sight was blurry and I realized I was crying only when Fred delicately wiped my tears with his thumbs. 

“You have to tell us…” he whispered. 

My voice was shaky and a contained sob muffled it. 

“He’s a Death Eater. I- I saw it.”

The heaviest silence I had ever heard took place as they slowly processed what I had said. I couldn’t bring myself to look at them, an unexplained feeling of shame and guilt flooding in me. 

“Come here.”

Without me realizing, Fred had sat next to me and he pulled me against his chest. His embrace had this fantastic power to make me feel safe even in the worst situations, and this time wasn't an exception. But it only made it all so much more difficult to bear when he let go of me… 

Molly rushed in the kitchen. I was pretty sure she wanted to hide from me, either because of what she was feeling or… Maybe she was, for some reason, afraid because of me? After all, she had just learned my father was a Death Eater. He knew where the Burrow was, he probably knew the Weasleys were close to Harry, maybe she feared reprisals. And if I hadn’t been so scared and so selfish, I wouldn’t have come here. 

“Y/N, you need to tell us exactly what happened.”

I hadn’t seen Arthur was still here. He was now kneeling next to Fred, his hand resting on my shoulder. He was showing a genuine worry and, for a second, I thought about how, in six years, he had become the father I had always wanted. The one that would happily share his passion with me, that would tell me funny stories about members of the Ministry, the one that had managed to keep me a place for the Quidditch World Cup because he knew it was my passion. But just thinking of what had happened dived me in a completely panicked state.

“I- I can’t…” I murmured. 

Arthur shared a look with George and got up. He gently muffled my hair and joined Molly in the kitchen. After his father’s departure, George grabbed my hand and helped me stand up. It seemed to get Fred out of his trance and he jumped on his feet, grabbing my other hand. 

“The diner isn’t ready yet.” said George. “We’ll show you the invention we’ve just finished this morning!”

It was only when we reached their room that I understood something was going to happen. I didn’t feel like doing something as simple as talking, but fortunately for me, these two boys knew me very well. An interrogative look was enough for Fred telling me why bags were cluttering the space. 

“We won’t spend summer here this year. We’ll go to London.” 

The perspective seemed to enthuse him and he started to explain to me in detail how these strange candies worked, helped by precisions brought by George. My brain was prone to such a mental exhaustion that understanding what they were saying necessitated all my will, and the boys were so involved in the mission they had imposed themselves, namely making me forget what had happened previously, that they didn’t notice my repetitive yawns. However, no matter how hard I tried to stay awake, my eyes eventually closed. 

I was lying on the ground. My cheek was crushed on the ground, and I barely could see the empty chimney through my tears. The part of my neck previously strangled by the fabric of my shirt when my father had grabbed it was still painful, but my mind was busy with something totally different. I didn’t dare move, knowing that two powerful Death Eaters were next to me. My father was pacing faster than before, mumbling he knew what he had to do. After a few minutes, during which I was trembling on the floor, Malfoy shouted he could do it for him.

“We won’t kill her. It would arouse suspicions.” he answered. 

Relief flooded in me but disappeared quickly when someone grabbed the back of my shirt and forced me to get up. My father’s face was twisted by a rage he had contained until now. Several wrinkles distorted his expression and the burning glare in his eyes simply terrified me. 

“After Mary, I thought you would have understood not to stick your filthy nose in my business.” he rumbled. “I thought you were more intelligent than that.”

He began pacing again. He was tightening his wand and his head was down. 

“What are you doing?” hissed Malfoy. “She’s close to Dumbledore’s entourage. She can’t stay alive now that she knows who we are.”

“Or we keep her alive and bring her to the Dark Lord.” added my father. 

I caught the look between them and it hit me. They would bring me to wherever He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was hidden, and I would be tortured. I would be killed. Panic invaded me and, in a desperate attempt to save my life, I jumped on Malfoy, tackling him to the ground in the process, and ran toward the door. Everything seemed to go in slow motion as I extended an arm to push the door and for a split second, I was persuaded I would be safe. 

“Crucio!”

This time, I woke up without a scream. Without any noise, in fact. It was the middle of the night, and I was curled up in a ball in Fred’s bed. The moonlight illuminated the room and I distinguished George’s silhouette in his bed. Fred wasn’t here and I suddenly felt guilty; he was probably sleeping on the couch of the living-room. Despite the feeling of safety George’s snores somehow brought me, I got up as silently as possible, suppressing a moan as my sore muscles protested. I limped toward the door and pushed it. The hissing didn’t wake George up, it only made him groan and turn in his bed. 

Once downstairs and done thanking Merlin the twins’ room wasn’t at the upper floor, I headed in the living-room. I wanted to wake Fred up and tell him he should go back to his room: the couch would be enough for me, and I didn’t plan to sleep anyway. However, I found the living-room empty and began to wonder where he could be when I noticed the front door slightly opened. 

The cool air of the night made me shiver as I was looking for Fred. I spotted him sitting on the floor with his back resting against the broom cupboard. His gaze was lost somewhere in front of him, and he was so deep in his thoughts that he didn’t hear me. He jumped when my leg brushed against his arm as I backed against the wall too. 

“What are you doing here, love?” he asked quietly. “You need rest.”

“I can’t sleep.”

It was all he needed to get up and engulf me in a hug. He wasn’t tightening me too hard and stroking my hair gently. I wrapped my arms around him and clenched the back of his shirt in my hands. 

“Come on,” he eventually said. “I’ll bring you back to bed.”

With an arm around my shoulders, he led me in the house. He was heading to the stairs when I stopped. 

“What’s wrong?” he said with a worried voice. 

I was looking at my feet, too ashamed of what I wanted to ask to look at him. 

“I can’t sleep…” I repeated. “Can we stay here?”

“Of course we can.”

The softness of his voice surprised me and I looked up to see a sweet little smile on his face. Fred let himself fall on the couch and made himself comfortable before taking my hand and pulling me toward me.

“Come here…” he whispered.

I snuggled against his torso and rested my head under his. He put his chin on my hair and wrapped me in his arms. The slow movement of his hands on my back helped me relax and his low voice seemed to echo in my ears as he constantly said sweet things. 

If I had stayed awake long enough, I would have heard him whisper in my ear.

“I love you, Y/N… I love you.”

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

The atmosphere in the 12, Grimmauld Place was matching mine pretty well. What my father had done to me had slowly sunk in me, letting me in such a lethargic state that I knew everyone was worrying without being able to react. I couldn’t really eat as I always threw everything up, and I dreaded the darkest hours of the night, the ones during which my nightmares threatened to surface. When I lost the fight against my own body and finally fell asleep, it always ended in the same way: I woke up screaming no more than one or two hours later. 

One day, approximately one week after our installation there, Molly barged in my room as I was sitting on the bed and staring blankly at the wall in front of me. She was followed by Fred, and if I had noticed his excruciatingly worried face, I would certainly have felt guilty. 

“Y/N, dear, do you hear me?” asked gently Molly. 

I nodded weakly, my eyes not leaving the crack in the wall. It was forming a Y, funny isn’t it?

“I want you to drink that.”

Looking up from the letter formed by accident, I turned my head toward her and my eyes fell on the vial she was holding. 

“It will help you sleep, Y/N.” intervened Fred before sitting next to me and stroking my back. “A sleep without dreams, Mum made sure of it.”

I sighed and grabbed the vial, drinking the pink potion before getting any chance to regret it. I immediately felt my eyes closing, my head becoming heavier and my body slowly falling. Fred’s arms caught me and he delicately laid me on the bed. He kissed my forehead, whispered “Sleep well, Y/N” and left. Molly was still next to me, I felt her hand on mine, and as I was slowly falling in Morpheus’ arms I fought for just one more second of consciousness. 

“Thanks, Mum…”

And I closed my eyes, letting Molly wiping her tears away, covering me with a thin sheet and closing quietly the door. 

After almost fifteen hours of sleep, which was an absolute record, I felt better than I thought I would ever feel and the very first thing I did when I opened my eyes was looking for Molly. The curtains of my room were closed and the house was naturally dimly lit, that’s probably why I didn’t notice the sun was getting down in the sky. I was sure I would find Molly in the kitchen, and that’s without paying attention to the noise coming from the dining room that I opened the door. All the Weasley family along with Sirius Black, Remus Lupin and Hermione were here. A few seconds of silence followed, only broken by Fred who precipitately jumped on his feet and walked toward me. 

“How are you feeling, sleeping beauty?” he winked at me, and I smiled genuinely for the first time in a while. 

“Fine, in fact… I wanted to thank you for that, Molly.”

“That was nothing!” she exclaimed before getting up and engulfing me in her best motherly hug. “Go sit down, I’ll bring you a plate. Go, honey!”

Fred grabbed my hand and dragged me to the empty seat next to him. Like a true gentleman, he helped me sit before gaining back his place and leaning toward me. 

“Are you sure you’re feeling well?” he murmured. 

I turned my head toward him and noticed his worried gaze… Just before realizing how close our faces were. There were only a few centimeters between our lips and for a second, I felt the urge to shut this distance down. His lips seemed to be so soft and-

“Oi love birds, not in front of everyone!” exclaimed someone - George probably, even though I hadn’t recognized the voice. Too focused on Fred, I guess. 

Fred and I both jumped and straightened, putting too much distance between us for my liking doing so. Molly arrived at the same moment with my plate and gave me something to occupy my mind and prevent it from making me imagine Fred’s lips on mine. Without caughting any of the amused looks around the table, I started eating, my heart skipping a bit each time my elbow brushed against Fred’s one. After the dinner, Molly summoned a few bottles of butterbeer and animated discussions formed between everyone. I was unable to participate in one of them, though, as I was exhausted. My magical sleep hadn’t been that helpful as it seemed. I felt my entire body becoming heavier and my head slowly leaning on my side - the side where Fred was sitting, of course. 

“Are you tired, love?” he asked quietly. 

I nodded and he wrapped an arm around my shoulders. 

“Come with me.”

I got up and followed him, somehow managing to get upstairs in one piece. Fred opened the door and stepped aside to let me go in my room first… Which I didn’t do. I stopped, suddenly feeling the weight on my heart, the one of the fear, no, the terror of facing another night of nightmares. 

“Y/N?”

Fred put his hand on the small of my back and stepped closer. 

“I’m scared, Fred…” I whispered. 

“I’ll stay with you,” he said in the same tone. When he was next to me, the silence didn’t feel bad anymore. “You don’t have to be scared when I’m with you, Y/N. Never.”

“I know.”

A few minutes later, I was curled up on my side, and Fred was tucking me into bed. He made sure the blanket was all over me to stop my shiverings and he pulled a chair just in front of me. I extended an arm and grabbed his hand, which he tightened gently. 

“Thank you…”

“Anytime.” he winked. “I’ll always be there for you.” he leaned forward and kissed my forehead. “Now sleep, love.”

This time, I heard it. It came in a whisper, when he was brushing a strand of hair off my face, when his touch was burning my skin and relaxing me all at once. 

“I love you, Y/N.”

And this time, I answered, my voice muffled by the fabric of my pillow and my lips forming a tiny smile.

“I love you too, Freddie.”

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

“Are you okay love? Did you sleep well?” Fred spoke up from his seat at the breakfast table, even though he knew the answers. 

It had been approximately a month since we had confessed our love to each other, a month since Fred had taken the habit to stay in my room most of the night, only returning in his when the sun rose. Obviously, George knew that but he had never told anyone, nor had he ever questioned us. Maybe Fred had asked him to, or maybe he knew the both of us well enough to let us figure this out by ourselves, fact is that he had never said anything about this. And I was more than thankful as I didn’t know what was happening. 

I loved Fred and he loved me, we were both sure of that. But the next day, we had done as if nothing had happened, keeping whatever existed between us in the same state as it had always been. I had slowly learned how to be myself again, keeping the abominable things my father had done to me locked in a hidden corner of my head. I spent my days helping everyone with the cleaning of the house, helping Molly in the kitchen or the twins with their inventions, sometimes cracking a joke or smiling quite genuinely. But the scars were still here, both physical and mental, both destructive and above all, both haunting my nights. The only thing that helped me going through the nightmares, which were in fact memories, was Fred. His arms around me, his voice whispering sweet things in my ear, that was my version of a dreamcatcher. 

“Y/N?”

Fred had gotten up and walked toward me without me even noticing. I nodded precipitately, not wanting anyone to worry more than usual, and joined him to eat. Molly put in front of me a plate full of eggs and patted my shoulder longer than usual. 

“I think I’ll leave you alone, no cleaning for today.” She announced after everyone had finished their eggs. “Oh, and remember me to talk to Alastor about the boggart in the living-room.”

The day would have been tranquil if the letters for Hogwarts hadn’t been delivered, and what promised to be a peaceful evening became a little party for Ron and Hermione, the new prefects. Fred and George were busy negotiating with Mundungus and that didn’t really interest me. I decided to leave and wait for Fred in my room. 

“Where are you going?” he asked after grabbing my hand. 

“In my room.” 

“Do you want me to come with you?” He said with a worried gaze, already giving his back to George and Mundungus. 

“No, don’t worry, I’ll wait for you.” I replied with what I hoped was a convincing smile. 

Fred eyes me suspiciously before laying a kiss on my forehead. 

“Call me if you need anything.” he whispered. 

I nodded and left him dealing with George’s jokes, the spot where Fred’s lips had touched my skin still tickling me. I quietly crossed the dark hall, absolutely not wanting to wake up Sirius’ mother’s portrait, and climbed the stairs. 

From where I was, the noise of the discussions in the animated dining room still arrived in my ears, soft voices muffled by the wood and several carpets they had to go through. However, a new sound soon appeared, a sound that seemed to be much closer. It was sobs. Slightly panicking, I considered for a second on calling for someone’s help, but a sob louder than the others indicated to me it was Molly and all hesitation disappeared. Guided by the sound, I found the door of the living-room where she was. 

“Molly, are you-”

And I froze. Molly wasn’t here, but my father was. 

I had immediately recognized his salt-and-pepper hair, and when he turned toward me, his glaring eyes burnt holes through me. My blood seemed to be freezing in my veins, and each heartbeat was painful, seeming so horribly loud that I was sure he could hear them. Hear how terrified I was. 

He said nothing, only looking at me with this insane expression, a vicious smile stretching his lips. With each step he took toward me, I took two steps backwards. The horror that filled my body, which I thought was at its paroxysm, reached its peak when my back eventually rested against the closed door. I was blocked, and he was getting closer. Soon so close that I could smell his breathing. Both my terror and the vapors of firewhiskey caused tears to roll down my cheeks. 

He was just in front of me, still looking at me without saying a word, one hand holding his wand and the other slowly reaching for me. The immense knot in my throat only disappeared when his fingers brushed against my shoulder, and I screamed louder than ever. 

It felt like I wasn’t myself anymore, like I had become a terrorized animal, all shaking and whimpering and curled up on a corner. I was blinded by my tears and didn’t notice that the threatening silhouette in front of me had changed and fallen on the floor like a rag doll. I hadn’t noticed Molly when she had rushed from where she had been hidden by the shadows, and I hadn’t realized that the door shutting open by Lupin had sent me on the floor, just next to the lifeless body that had taken Ginny’s form. 

Someone tried to wrap their arms around me and I screamed louder, fearing that it was him, that he was here to hurt me like he had done so often before. I struggled savagely, hitting whatever my hands and feet could reach, wanting nothing more than escaping the terror that was consuming me. And I kept screaming, my throat burning and my vocal cords weakening, my voice more and more broken as the minutes passed. 

“Y/N! Y/N, it’s me, Fred! Listen to me, please!”

It took a few seconds for me to understand that I wasn’t in danger anymore, and as my voice was dying in a sob, I looked up to Fred to see his eyes full of tears. When our gazes met, he whispered something I didn’t understand and engulfed me in a protective embrace, one of his famous hugs always able to make me feel protected. His arms crushing my bones helped me realize I was okay, and his voice barely controlled managed to soothe me. 

“Here, it’s over now. You’re okay love, you’re okay…”

“Fred, it was- he was here and-”

“No Y/N, it was a boggart. A boggart love, your- he wasn’t really here. I swear he’ll never get to be close to you anymore, you hear me? Never.”

I nodded absent-mindedly, still clearly distraught by what had just happened. I couldn’t help but look everywhere around me, furiously turning my head in all directions just to make sure that there wasn’t any danger. I didn’t pay any attention to all the people present in the room, the only ones who seemed really important being Fred and George, who was kneeling behind me with his hands on my shoulders. 

“I’ll ask Mum to give me a potion.” he said. 

Fred nodded and George left, ruffling my hair one last time before heading to Molly. 

“I’ll bring you back to your room.”

Fred helped me get up and guided me in the stairs. He was silent, his jaw was clenched and he never looked at me. He didn’t step aside to let me enter first and only let go of my hand when I sat on my bed. He kneeled in front of me but kept his head down. 

“I’m sorry Y/N,” he said, finally looking at me. “I should have come with you and-”

“I don’t want you to blame yourself for me not being able to recognize a boggart.” I cut him with a quiet voice. 

He was on the verge of protesting, I knew it, and I didn’t want to hear it. That’s why, instead, I kneeled in front of him, making some room between him and the bed. I grabbed his face and kissed him.

Tag: @pregnant-piggy​

#Harry Potter #harry potter imagines #harry potter imagine #fred weasley #fred x reader #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley x you #fred weasley x y/n

[nashibirne]

Safe Haven 3

Safe Haven

A Maze Runner Fan Fiction

Pairing: Thomas / female OFC

Setting: After the end of 'TMR - Death Cure'

Summary: Thomas is dealing with the aftermath of the events since the glade and learns that falling in love can be painful

Warnings:  (in this or in upcoming chapters) smut/sex/porn, swearing, mentioning of death, traumatic experiences, violence, sexual frustration,  promiscuity, homosexuality, daddy-kink, oral, nsfw, 18+ readers only

Credits: TMR-Characters don't belong to me / are based on the books by James Dashner and the movies. All pictures I used for the moodboards/headers are from pinterest. If I violate any copyright please let me know and I'm going to remove the pictures. I used pictures of Blake Lively for my OFC.

Beta by the lovely @hell1129-blog Danke, Schatz!

Comments, likes and reblogs are very much appreciated.

Please don't use my work or parts of it without my permission.

Previous parts:

1 / 2

In Part 3 Thomas is going to meet his love interest... Hope you enjoy it!

~~~~~~~~

3

The next morning Thomas woke up early from a night full of uneasy dreams, leaving him nervous, tired and in a foul mood.

"What's up, shank? Why the long face? You're afraid the girls are gonna jump at the new alpha in town instead of swooning over you?" Minho teased him on their way to the beach.

"What are you talking 'bout, potato face?" Thomas snapped.

"Oh come on...the return of the king. I bet Joe Miller is gonna steal your crown. He's older than you, very good looking I heard. Unlike you, dogface." Minho gave him a wink. "The ladies will be all over him and you ain't getting laid no more.”

"Don't worry 'bout me." Thomas shrugged. "I won't come off badly. And what about the other guy, huh? You think he's the ugly twin the girls won't look at?" Thomas asked.

"You mean Kasey?" Minho seemed to be surprised.

"Yeah, sure."

"Well, I don't think Kasey is going to be a problem for you. At least not regarding the girls' attention." Minho said suppressing a grin.

"Really? How's that?"

"You'll see." Minho bursted out laughing, refusing to say anything more.

Half an hour later Thomas knew the reason for Minho's amusement. Kasey was anything but ugly and anything but a man. Kasey Miller was an extraordinarily attractive young woman. Her skin fair but sunkissed, her long wavy hair the color of golden, liquid honey, her eyes light green, shining bright in the sunlight. He'd always considered the romantic idea of 'love at first sight' a big pile of bullshit, but the moment she smiled at him for the first time he was proven wrong - by his heart that skipped a beat before starting to race like crazy, by all the butterflies starting to flutter in his belly, by his knees that suddenly felt like jelly.

While Vince was greeting the home-comers effusively with big bear hugs, Thomas tried desperately to regain control over his rebellious body. He wasn't nearly done when he heard Vince's deep dark voice.

"Come on, guys. Let me introduce you."

Vince spread his arms, nodding at Thomas and his friends. "These are the kids I told you about on the radio. Thomas, Minho, Gally, Brenda and Frypan. And this is Jorge. He's the one who saved their little asses countless times." He pointed his finger at each one of them.

"And here we have Joe, Kasey and their crew: Quincy, Marjorie and Carson."

There was an awkward moment of silence when both groups stared at each other. Joe was the one to break the ice. He made a step forward, waving his big hands at everyone. He was a hunk of a man, tall and handsome, suntanned skin, his dark hair buzz cut, a wild growing full beard covering half of his face, a pair of outstanding, friendly blue eyes looking at them. "Hey, guys. Nice to meet you." His smile was infectious and everybody loosened up instantly. "So you are the boy who fucked WCKD almost single-handed, huh?" he asked, turning to Thomas, nodding his head respectfully.

"Oh no, it was all of us. I couldn't have done it on my own." he answered modestly. "Nice to meet you too."

Now Kasey stepped forward, shaking everybody's hands politely with a friendly smile. When it was his turn, when their hands touched, her pale skin cool against his embarrassingly sweaty palms, Thomas felt like catching fire. He could have sworn his cheeks had the color of deep red tomatoes. "And has everybody settled in well in our little safe haven? I heard you had a really rough time before coming here." she asked. Thomas didn't utter a word, it seemed like he had lost his voice. Clearing his throat he made a weak attempt to give an answer but all that came out of his mouth was a hoarse croaking. Kasey gave him a funny look, probably asking herself if he was making fun of her or if he was just a dumbfuck.

Great, Thomas, he thought, nothing better than a good first impression.

"Yeah, the camp's pretty nice. People are cool, work's good. We're not fucking complaining." Gally obviously didn't have problems talking.

"Work?" Joe asked interested.

"Gally's the head of the construction team. Currently building your library, Kay." Vince smiled at Kasey who gave Gally an excited thumbs up. "Minho is our expert for mapping. He and his team are almost done with exploring the whole island." Vince placed a hand on the attractive, asian looking young man's shoulder.  "Brenda and Jorge over there manage our driving pool and do all kinds of technical stuff. Repairing the most hopeless cases." he carried on. "And Frypan, as you may have guessed, is one of our chefs. He makes the best desserts. I gained at least 5 pounds due to this little fucker." Vince nudged Fry playfully, laughing out loud.

"And what about you?" Kasey asked Thomas, looking him straight in the eyes for the first time. Thomas coughed, taking a deep breath. "Well...I...umm...I'm in Gally's team." he managed to stammer.

"He's my best lumberjack." Gally said, flattering him because he was far from being the best. "We call him Timber." he added grinning. That was a bloody lie and a great example of Gally's strange sense of humor. "No you don't." Thomas protested. "No need to be ashamed, Timber." Minho kept the joke running. Thomas rolled his eyes at his friends

"Timber...well, the name suits you, you look very...strong."

Kasey gave him a warm smile and he knew she was trying to be polite, because he really wasn't a muscleman, but actually she made him feel like shit. The whole situation made him feel small and useless. Every single one of his friends had an important job with lots of responsibility. He was the only exception. But when they had come to the camp he had been so sick of being a leader, of making decisions, of being responsible, reasonable, mature, important. So he'd gladly joined Gally's team as a simple labourer without a second thought, fully aware that he left Vince disappointed, who wanted him to be part of the camp's leadership together with him, Jorge and a handful of the other older camp members.

"So Gally, would you show me the library please? I'm so looking forward to equipping it and opening it as soon as possible." Kasey asked.

"Anytime." Gally said. "We're still working on the roof and the bookshelves, but you can come to take a look whenever you want."

"Okay, I want to see the hospital and the school too." Joe threw in. "Why don't you give us an hour to move back into our shacks and then we'll meet up at the headquarter and you give us a little tour, Vince. There must have been quite a few changes over the last seven months." Joe smiled, shouldering his duffle bag.

"Sounds like a plan." Vince nodded. "We better get going, your arrival has been noticed. We don't have time now for a welcome party" he added, pointing at a crowd of camp members that was on the way to the beach. "Yeah, let's go." Kasey agreed and their little meeting came to an end.

Almost three hours later Thomas heard them coming, when he was standing on a ladder, thatching the library's roof with Gally. Gally climbed down from the roof smoothly, cleaning his dirty hands on his trousers.

"Welcome" he said, holding the entrance door open for Vince, Kasey and Joe. Thomas followed them, his legs wobbly again, listening to Gally's explanations.

Kasey seemed to like what she saw. She was beaming, running around, touching the walls and the half-ready book shelves, chattering about what she was planning for the place like an excited child. When she was talking about all the work that was awaiting her, she seemed a little worried.

"I really gonna need someone to help me with all this. I can never do it on my own. Maybe you can find me a volunteer, Vince?"

"I volunteer!" Thomas blurted out, his heart racing at double speed, his hand shooting up.

"You?" Kasey didn't try to hide her surprise. "I'm gonna need someone who can start tomorrow. And who has a lot of passion and is willing to do not only one job but many. It's not only carrying books around, it's also sorting them through, reading part of them and even writing short summaries for the card index."

God, Thomas thought embarrassed, she thinks I'm a lame-brain.

"Oh, our little Casanova here has a lot of passion and loves all different kinds of jobs." Gally grinned not even trying to hide the innuendo.

Fuck you, Gally, Thomas cursed internally, but he smiled along like a fool anyway.

"Passion for books I mean." Kasey said with a frown, rolling her eyes.

"Yeah, I love books."

"Really?"

"Absolutely." Thomas lied without batting an eyelid.

"Okay. But I wouldn't wanna steal your best lumberjack." she turned to Gally, playing her last trump card.

"Don't worry, we'll be fine. Letting him do such simple work is a fucking waste of potential anyway. He's too smart for a lumberjack." He slapped Thomas on the back, making him stumble forward. "It's high time you start using your brain again, Timber. You seem to become an idiot lately." Gally gave him a friendly wink and Thomas smiled at him thankfully.

"Well then, that's settled." Vince said, a big smile spreading on his face.

~~~~~~

#tmr thomas x oc #thomas x mc #tmr thomas #tmr fanfic #tmr fandom #dylan o'brien #the maze runner #tomuary

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

Wicked, pt.8 (DT royal AU)

Summary: A lot can happen in ten days, especially when there’s grief involved

Warnings: ANGST, death, descriptions of murder, indicating smut, very light fluff

Word count: 3757

WICKED - SERIES MASTERLIST

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~                          ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

“He's only five days old and unaffected by death. A little innocent light with so much joy. But that will soon change and I hate it.” Y/N spoke quietly, her bitterness and grief imprinted in every line of her beautifully fallen face and her stern, strained voice. She could hardly stand as she kept her son safe in her arms, close to her chest, to her broken, still beating heart.

“We know who did it, but he’s long gone.” Ethan blinked fast, fighting his own conflicting emotions as he had to come to terms that his call had been the reason why Grayson was in that helicopter in the first place.

“Any word of the body?” Y/N piped up, turning around to meet Ethan’s gloomy gaze, wanting to draw some warmth from his look – he never looked too much like Grayson until she realized she’d never see Grayson again – only in his twin brother and perhaps his son as the little one grows.

Weary, weak, Y/N felt herself nearly stumble, aware she couldn’t carry the baby any longer. The delivery itself was incredibly draining, extremely dangerous and she was convinced she’d die. The pain became unbearable and it felt like her body was breaking down. With the hypertensive episode causing a hemorrhage, the delivery was anything but smooth.

With each contraction came a pain that dominated her entire being. In those moments, for those seconds that stretched into infinity, there was nothing else. Despite it all, she didn’t make much noise, not a single scream passed her lips as she tried to focus on breathing, on staying alive. The awareness she had was only of Ethan’s hand in hers, and when they did talk, touch to gain her attention, she found it so hard.

She couldn’t open her eyes for long, her ears were ringing and she was certain her soul was parting with her body. When she did manage to blink her eyes open, she’d always look to her left – to where Ethan sat beside her. She looked at Ethan and at times, Y/N swore she saw Grayson.

She didn’t even know she was asking for him all along. They told her about it later. They said she called his name out over and over again, like a prayer, like he was her saving grace. She was calling for him, completely unaware he was fighting for his life…and losing.

Whenever they talked about wars and battles, Grayson seemed like a proficient warrior, a man who had great skill and strategy – he seemed invincible.

“Grayson, stop. I’m being serious. If there’s ever a war, I don’t want you on the front lines.” Y/N furrowed her eyebrows and her forehead wrinkled with worry Grayson couldn’t be sure was true. He could never be sure with her, but he wanted to believe she grew to care for him.

“If it were you, Dracovia…Would you stay behind and let your men die on the battlefield?” Grayson rose an eyebrow, aware of her answer before he even asked. She was just as much of a warrior as he is, perhaps even braver than he can ever be. She was the epitome of a brave woman with a touch of wicked. With such beauty to accompany a sharp tongue and even a sharper mind, Grayson knew he was in for a long life of arguing, but every argument would end up right where he is now – in bed with her head on his chest and her pursed lips swollen from his feverish kisses.

“You’re right.” She uttered, nearly ill with having to admit she’s wrong about something. But yes, she was aware she had no right to hold him back from ruling his kingdom the way he wanted. If there was ever a war, she’d want to be with her armies and no one would stop her.

Smiling, Grayson leaned in and pecked her nose lightly, getting a giggle in return.

“Don’t worry my dragon bride, I am quick, I am brave and I am lucky. I’m as lucky in battle as I am in love. I will win and come back to bother you for many years to come.” She couldn’t help but melt at his words, aware he’s wormed his way to her heart but she wasn’t willing to let him know yet. They had this night, this first night after she thought he’d have left her, cast her aside for asking the crown matrimonial.

But he didn’t.

And he wasn’t as invincible as they thought. She always worried he might be too cocky for his own good and it had proven to be true. The helicopter was found two days in, halfway to Dracovia – to her. His body has yet to be recovered although a few sharks they’ve hunted had human flesh in their stomachs…DNK came back as human but it was far too damaged to be properly analyzed.

And there really isn’t some cosmic, instinctual feeling inside you that warns you of such tragedy. She didn’t feel the moment he was in danger nor the moment he passed. In fact, she didn’t feel anything at all. He was just gone and she couldn’t change it, but she could avenge him.

“No full remains. Only the contents of three different sharks we’ve caught…I don’t want to believe it either, but from the black box, we know he was left in the helicopter alone and considering the damn thing was tampered with from what he said…we heard him crash.” Ethan sighed, watching Y/N visibly tense under his unrelenting gaze. He didn’t leave her side since it happened, only when it was time to feed the baby as per request. It was either him or Brooks beside her, especially when she had found out the full truth.

“I’m sorry, but can the prince please accompany me?” Lady Mareen came the next morning after the childbirth was done with and both mother and child were safe. The queen lost a lot of blood and needed a few transfusions, but she was stable and so was her son – the future king of Dracovia and Astros.

“Why?” Y/N questioned before Ethan had a chance to move or speak, her impatience clear in her sharp tone and narrowed eyes, very well prepared to extort some answers if necessary and Mareen knew it. She grew up with the queen…she was there when she was born, of course she knew that her temper is bad and her intolerance for secrets was worse.

“Because prince Ethan instructed me to call king Grayson to come here last night and since he didn’t make it here, I’ve called Astros and they told us the king left immediately the past night. However, the king never arrived and we sent a search party for him that’s just returned with terrible news.” Mareen spoke to her queen, hoping the young woman can take this shock, this incredible pain her husband’s death was bound to cause. Mareen wasn’t blind, she knew the young queen loved her husband despite her claims that she bore no love for him.

“Was it an accident?” Y/N gulped, waiting for an answer she expected.

“We’ve already examined the black box and from what we heard it wasn’t an accident. He mentioned Gandria as well as…his eternal regret about not being by your side…and about his love for you. Those were his last words.”

Y/N remembered when Ethan told her the full truth of Gandria and the real reason why Grayson thought she’d be safer in Dracovia and how he knew she’d fight him on it if he told her the truth. And he was right…she never would have left him had he told her any of it.

“She did what?!” Ethan whisper shouted, his eyes nearly bulging out his head. What he heard was enough to scare anyone, even Brooks.

“She sent her army to the island and they searched for Grayson high and low. She thought he might be alive and held captive, but when they didn’t find any sign of him and when they didn’t get anything by torture, she had them slaughtered in the vilest way possible…she had them burned alive before burning the entire island as well.” Brooks whispered as well, not wanting Y/N to hear them as they met up right before her room – the room she and Grayson shared in Astros.

The queen insisted to be moved to Astros, no one understood why. No one knew she felt closer to him in his kingdom where they shared so many good memories, so much love. No one knew she wanted to come to him after giving birth and tell him just how much she loves him and how she’d do whatever is necessary to mend their relationship. She was ready to step on her pride and honor and give him all the power in the relationship.

She didn’t have a chance to do so and as her grief consumed her, her temper had taken over and she was no longer just a little wicked as Grayson called her – she had become lost in the darkness.

“I never thought she was capable of that.” Ethan lowered his voice, rubbing his chin in thought as he stared at the ground in worry. The woman he knew before this tragedy was soft-hearted despite her previously hatched plans. She was good, sweet, kind, but now? He didn’t recognize her and he didn’t know what to do to stop her if she goes mad and tries to do the same to Astros. Sure, the men and women she had killed were evil, but if she would to kill them, why did she do it in the slowest, worst possible way?

Brooks nodded, licking his bottom lip before catching it between his pearly whites. He didn’t know what to do to help his love, the woman he had served and will serve till his death. He wasn’t entirely surprised she had done this deed, but he couldn’t help but wonder what would become of her when the grief lets her feel the horror of her deeds.

“They shot her husband out the sky and she burned an island for it. It’s the dragon’s way to grieve - with fire and blood.”

Now she sat in their old room alone, lonelier than ever. She sat on the couch he had gifted her, feeling his lingering scent as if he had just left the room after breakfast. Their child slept safely tucked away in his crib, barely sleeping as if he too finally felt the grief of his father’s death.

‘He’ll never know his father’, she realized as tears welled up in her eyes. She always imagined Grayson as the kind of a man who wanted a big family with lots of little versions of them running around and in time, she caught herself wanting the same – perhaps not on the same scale, but she wanted to have more of his kids as time passed and their relationship was more solid and less filled with evil plans and secrets on both sides.

She always knew Grayson wouldn’t live to see his son become a king, a curse all kings share. They can never know what kind of a king their son would be, but she never thought her child would be crowned king in his tenth day on this earth.

“Y/N.” Brooks walked into the room, a little braver, a little more capable of looking at her directly than Ethan. If anyone could understand her wrath and behavior, it was him. He too was a dragon after all.

“You know I performed the ritual for my son already?” She spoke absentmindedly, running her knuckles gently across her son’s cheek, seemingly lost in thought but she just needed to talk to someone and the people she wanted to talk to were all dead, gone with the wind.

“He got a black dragon as his patron…he’s a dragon even though Grayson wasn’t. And we both know a black dragon means incredible beauty and a courageous heart.” Her soft lips curled at the corners, putting on a meek smile on her face, the best she could do. She knew only one person with a black dragon as a patron and he was stood in the room with her.

“He’s a black dragon, yet he’s nameless.” She finally looks up at Brooks.

“Perhaps some traditional Dracovian names? Maybe something to honor his father?” Brooks tilts his head to the left slowly, a lone curl falling in his eye as she shakes her head.

The day after they proclaimed him dead and decided to bury the unidentifiable pieces of flesh found in shark guts, they said, "He was a good king", as if they were glad to be remembering him, that they took some comfort in it. Each of them had stood by, aware of the conspiracy, knowing it would happen and no one did anything about it. In her mind, it’s as bad as watching him be killed, then acting as if it were a noble sacrifice for their sake, that by loving his memory the mourning became a wholesome and wonderful thing. They were cowards; none of them willing to see the difference between honorable self-sacrifice and murder. Guilty men will do that; lock the truth in a cage and warp love into something strange and awful. Loving him meant Y/N would have traded places in a heartbeat, fought until they either both lived or died. And so, for her, the mourning, the grief, wasn't good at all, it was only the start of the longest, darkest night there ever was.

“I wanted him to name him. I…I wanted him to have the honor, but now…” Trailing off, she turned away swiftly to hide the tears she couldn’t keep down no matter how hard she tried. She couldn’t keep them down ever since she saw the clothes she was given for the funeral – the same clothes she saw herself wear in the vision – dark as her heart, but Grayson was never darkness. He was light and he was sunshine and she wanted to wear green, his favorite color, however, she couldn’t ignore Astros and their tradition of wearing black.

But there was no body and she wanted to believe more than anyone that her husband found a way to some shore they might have missed. She wanted to believe her Grayson was just as invincible as he said he is, that he was finding his way home now.

Despite her wishes, Y/N was also a realist. She was aware chances for that ever happening were slim at best, if not entirely non-existent. Today, she’ll bury the leftover pieces of the man she loved so much she didn’t know how to breathe without, but she’ll have to learn. She’ll have to learn to live with the regret of never telling him how much she loved him, for always doing everything the hard way instead of just trusting him. She has much to regret, much to be bitter and angry about, but all those emotions have to be put on hold today. Today she is his widowed queen, even if she was never officially a ruling queen, she was his queen nonetheless.

“Bailey.” She whispered, more to herself than anyone else. She had felt it to be right, fitting for her son to carry his father’s middle name, the same one he had hated but she loved. The only thing she told him she loved.

“Grayson Bailey Dolan.” Y/N whispered as she pressed a tender kiss to Grayson’s jaw, smiling right after for her turned his face with the most perplexed look on his face that she couldn’t help herself.

“My mom wanted me to be a girl. She had three name ideas and those were: Ethan, Grant, Grayson and well…I ended up with a unisex middle name. Never really liked it.” He explained and she hummed in response.

“I quite like it. It fits you well. I prefer it to Grayson.” Y/N smirked when his eyes grew in surprise.

“You really like it?” He exclaimed, sure she’s just messing with him, but it wasn’t on her agenda for the evening.

“Like it? I love it.”

“I believe it to be a beautiful name.” A female voice interrupted her, not really scaring her, rather simply surprising her.

“Queen mother.” Y/N quickly curtsied out of respect for she had never met Grayson’s mother before and despite her being a queen herself, she wanted to show the woman proper respect.

“Never bow to anyone without a crown dear.” Lisa helped her straighten up, her body still hurting from the delivery. She was barely in any shape to be out of bed, let alone attend her husband’s funeral. But Y/N is a stubborn woman, that much everyone knew. She would be there to say goodbye to him.

“You had a crown once too.” Y/N tried to smile, failing miserably as the corners of her lips curved downwards into a deep frown she couldn’t shake. Brooks took it as a sign to let the women speak, but he didn’t leave the room. He was still too worried about her.

“Ah, yes. I was once in love with my husband, lived in a big castle similar to this one and I thought I would die when he was gone. It’s not just your husband that you lose, but their respect, your importance. The people take it all from you and you’re soon replaced by a beautiful young woman they would worship until she meets the same fate.” Lisa smiled softly as she recognized the tears in Y/N’s eyes, encouraging her.

“If you want to cry, you should. No one would see you as anything less if you show you’ve loved my son. He surely loved you.” Lisa turned to her grandson, her gentle eyes soften at the sleeping baby as if she was seeing Grayson again.

“He’s always with you – in your heart, in him. It’s impossible to erase such love. I can see your anger, but if you let it consume you, it would tarnish his memory. Be the woman he fell in love with.”

‘But he fell in love with me as I am, temper and wicked plans and horrible notions of what love is.’ Y/N thought. Grayson knew who she was from their first wedding night and he loved her regardless, flaws and all. But she didn’t want to say it out loud. Instead, she turned to Brooks and gestured for him to come closer.

He offered his forearm for her to hold onto as they walked out of the room, leaving the baby with lady Mareen. Lisa followed, after all she was to be the first in the carriage with Ethan as the ruling family. Ethan would surely be regent until her son turned eighteen.

Walking out the castle, she stopped in her tracks as she saw the procession was ready, just waiting for her. She couldn’t see what the coffin was made of, but she knew it didn’t matter as the Astrovian flag covered it entirely. It was put in the back of a carriage instead of a car, giving him a kingly funeral of the olden times.

She stepped closer, letting go of Brooks with her heart caught in her throat closer she got. It’s an empty coffin with just a few pieces of flesh, but it didn’t lessen the pain she carried. Everyone's heads were down. Maybe it was them showing respect of maybe they were too afraid to look at the grieving widow.

Y/N hated funerals. She had more of them in her short lifetime than most do and the customs were fairly familiar to her. Placing a hand on Grayson’s coffin, she had to admit that there was no point in holding onto hope. If he was alive, he’d have made it back by now. He was surely lost as they think and clinging to him will only cause her pain.

But she still kept her hand on the coffin, leaning down as her lips pressed a kiss to the flag that covered the finest wood. He was a king, they wouldn’t bury what remains of him in cheap wood.

Lifting her head, she opened her eyes and let her tears flow freely. They soaked the material, her heart constricting painfully in her chest.

“Come on. The queen always rides the carriage with the family.” Ethan tried to steer her away, but she wouldn’t be handled. Instead, she looked him straight in the eye and mustered a half-smile.

“I’m no longer the queen of Astros.” She watched the procession start, wanting to walk after, but Ethan stopped her.

“Yes, you are.” His word baffled her, but she didn’t have the strength to fight his grip on her forearm. She looked up in his intense brown eyes and waited for him to say whatever he had practiced to tell her in hope of getting her to either feel better or give into his possible marriage proposal.

But he had something else on his mind.

“I was with our lawyers today and we found his will. Grayson left you crown matrimonial about three months into your marriage. He did it before he went to quell the rebellion.” Ethan spoke clearly yet the words felt too hard for her to understand.

“He did?” She whispered, her heart aching painfully.

“Yes. He did. He loved you Y/N and I don’t think there’s a bigger testament to just how much than that piece of paper.” Ethan wanted to hold her, but he feared she’d push him away again. He didn’t want her to think he’s using his twin’s death as a way to her heart. He wasn’t. He wouldn’t.

Y/N wanted to speak, to say something but words escaped her as she realized how much he truly cared and how he had protected her even after his death, even when he couldn’t really trust her motives were pure.

But before she can piece her mind back up, a chorus of screams and shocked gasps ripple through the people in the procession from just outside the castle and before they know it, Y/N and Ethan find themselves shaking, swallowing a scream as well as they felt the shock and disbelief be replaced with emotions they couldn’t quite understand for the scene before them should be impossible – a mere dream, but it wasn’t.

In the middle of the day, on a black stallion, their fallen king rode into the castle.

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A/N -  any thoughts or theories? Any favorite lines in this one or any previous parts? Get ready for the finale because the next part is probably the last one.

Tags: @graysavant​​​​​ @yaren-ates​​​​​ @beinscorpio​​​​​ @dolandolll​​​​​ @godlydolans​​​​​ @dolanstwintuesday​​​​​ @accalialionheart​​​​​ @peacedolantwins​​​​​ @heyits-claire​​​​​ @graydolan12​​​​​ @gia-kerks​​​​​ @justordinaryjen​​​​​  @dopedoodes​​​​​ @sunshinedolantwins​​​​​ @pitreshawn @melodiesforari​

#grayson dolan x reader #grayson dolan #ethan dolan #dolan twins #grayson dolan royal au #grayson dolan fanfic #grayson dolan series #grayson dolan au #grayson dolan angst #grayson dolan fic #grayson dolan fanfiction #grayson dolan king #grayson dolan king au #king!grayson #wicked

[surviving-sides]

Safe [Zombie Apocalypse AU]

trigger warnings: eye gore, lots of blood, little bit of regular gore, the usual zombie stuff, sympathetic and/or morally gray Remus

xxx

Patton sobbed as she ran.

She knew she shouldn’t have left the salon. She had listened when everything went down- Both over the phone, and through the walls. It didn’t sound like something she wanted to be a part of.

But, well… It was quieter now. And she was hungry.

Just like those things.

Her weak legs carried her faster than she thought possible through the city, but not fast enough. The biters were catching up.

She’d never actually seen someone get eaten. She’d heard it- Heard it so many times. That may have been scarier.

She hiccuped and sobbed as she skid around a corner, only to slam right into a biter. She screamed and fumbled to get the haircutting scissors from her belt. She slammed them into the biter’s skull as it roared and forced its teeth towards her shoulder, but the scissors weren’t sharp enough to get the brain. She struggled to shove it away, screaming and sobbing. Her arms were giving out on her.

She managed to shove it away with a whine, and sprinted down the road just as the fingertips from the hoard pursuing her brushed against her sweater.

The cold only made it harder to run, harder to breathe. Sweat collected in her palms and down her back. She wheezed.

She managed to skid around another corner and dive through an open door to a convenience store. She hid behind a shelf and held her breath as the hoard shambled past, probably wondering where their food went.

She covered her mouth and forced down a loud sob. She was so scared.

Once the hoard had passed, their snarling and shuffling fading to silence, she- as silently as she could -moved to hide behind the counter instead.

She buried her face in her arms as she cried, and though it took her hours, she fell asleep.

xxx

The bell above the door jingled.

Patton’s head snapped up, sleep making her vision blurry.

“And I couldn’t reach my knife,” someone rambled, “so I grabbed the drill, and the ghoul started POURING blood! It was DISGUSTING!”

“That’s… Great, Remus.”

“It was so cool! I went RIGHT through the eye! You’d expect an eye to pop, but it was so mushy!”

People. Living people.

Patton scrambled to stand up, energized by a sudden wave of adrenaline, and immediately fell over. She caught herself on the counter as the one with the stubble drew his knife.

The clean-shaven one whipped around and gasped, handgun in the air. He holstered it and smacked at his twin’s arm.

“Put it down! He’s alive!”

Patton’s heart was racing.

“I thought he was a ghoul.” The one with the stubble shrugged. He had overgrown, black hair and many piercings in his face.

“No, you didn’t,” the other sighed. “What’s your name?”

“P-Patton.” She swallowed. “My name’s Patton.”

The one with the stubble eyed her distastefully. “How long has it been since you ate?”

She wrapped her arms around herself self-consciously. “A few days…”

He glanced around the convenience store dramatically. Amazingly, there were still a few cans and packages left on the shelf. “You blind or something?”

She shook her head. “I just got here last night, to hide from a hoard of biters. I’ve been staying in a salon… I had some food, but I ran out a few days ago. Had to find more.”

“You’ve been in there the whole time?” The clean shaven one asked in surprise.

“I guess so…” Patton blushed. “I kind of lost track of the days.”

“The infection hit three weeks ago,” he said. “Where did all your food come from?”

“There were others. The salon workers, and some people who needed help. They went out to bring food back, but one by one, they just… Stopped coming back.”

When Patton realized she couldn’t hold out from leaving the salon any longer, all she could think of was the names and faces of the people who never returned. She could only imagine what happened to them. She had almost threw up after being out there for a few minutes.

He frowned. “You’re alone?” Patton nodded. “Well, my name is Roman. This is my brother Remus. We’re holed up at-”

“Don’t tell him!” Remus hissed. “Are you stupid?”

Roman glared at him. “Are you insane? He needs help! We can’t just leave him!”

“Yes, we can.” Remus threw his arms out. “If we even had enough food to feed ourselves, we wouldn’t even be here!”

Roman pushed Remus away by his face and said, “A rest stop. We’ve set up camp in a rest stop outside the city. It’s safe, for the most part. You should come back with us.”

Patton was just about to agree, when Remus yelled, “NO!” He bit Roman’s finger, who yelped and yanked it away. “Are you kidding me, Roman?! We can’t take on another person! A squirrel only lasts the two of us, and there’s nothing else out there!”

“Patton is another set of hands,” Roman insisted. “He can help us scavenge, can help you hunt… We’ll get more done!” Roman looked at her. “Patton, what did you do before all this?”

“School,” she said nervously. “I was studying to be a vet. A veterinarian.”

Roman waved at her dramatically. “Medical training!”

Remus gripped his knife and looked at Patton for a minute. Finally, he walked around the counter and got really close.

“If you try anything to hurt us,” he whispered, and it rang out clear through the store, “or steal from us, or are even too loud…” Remus pressed the point of his blade against Patton’s soft tummy, “I’ll gut you.” Patton almost whimpered. She nodded, and Remus smiled. “Good.”

He went back around the counter and started swiping things off the shelves.

“Was that really necessary?” Roman hissed. He snatched something out of Remus’s hands- Some Slim Jims and a pack of cookies. He tossed it to Patton.

They hit her chest and fell out of her hands, onto the counter. She blushed. She was excited to eat, before she registered what they were. Her heart sunk.

“What is it?” Roman asked in concern. “Food allergies?”

“No, well… I’m vegan. Or, I guess I was.” Patton picked up one of the Slim Jims. She was so hungry… “This’ll take some getting used to.” She forced a giggle.

She took a bite, and it was truly disgusting. But it was pretty easy to eat when she was this freaking hungry. She ate the three of them in less than a minute, then ripped open the package of cookies while the brothers cleared out the rest of the store.

Patton was almost too scared to step out of the store, but Roman rested a hand on the small of her back and smiled at her. He promised to keep her safe.

It was Patton’s first clear look at the world after it ended- Without the running and crying and panic. She didn’t like what she saw. Cars were smashed into each other, and bodies… were everywhere. Patton started crying after a few minutes of walking. Remus started whistling a sickeningly happy tune as Roman rubbed her back.

When they got to the rest stop, Patton was swaying in exhaustion. There were two small bathrooms with a stone path between them and a roof on top. The “front yard” was made of stone, and had some wooden benches, a grill, and two smashed open vending machines. The woods were behind it.

“I’ve been sleeping in the boy’s bathroom.” Roman said. “But I can move in with Remus in the girl’s if you want some privacy-”

“Absolutely not.” Remus laughed. He set his bag on the bench and put his hunting knife in a holster on his belt. “I’ll sleep with her.” Patton had told them her pronouns on the walk over. He winked, and Patton prickled.

“Lay off,” Roman sighed. “You can stay with me, then. I’m less perverted.”

“Boring!” Remus sung. He pulled a few cans out of his bag and stabbed one of them. “I’m gonna cook up some lunch.”

“Here, come with me.” Roman took Patton’s hand and led her to the boy’s restroom.

Inside, Roman had sat around some lanterns, and laid out thin blankets over the disgusting floor. There was a pile of pillows and blankets at the end of the wall, between the sinks and the stalls, where Roman had obviously been sleeping. He had an open suitcase full of clothes, a med kit, some food, and some other stuff.

Roman went to say something, and then sighed with a smile. “You’re exhausted. You should get some sleep.”

“Are you sure?” Patton asked softly. “There’s nothing I can be doing?”

“If you’re going to help us, you should get some rest!” He squeezed Patton’s shoulder. “I’ll come get you when we have some food ready. Just get some rest.”

Patton nodded. Roman smiled and left, leaving her alone. For the first time since the start, being alone wasn’t terrifying. For the first time since the start, she felt safe.

Asks to Patton now open!

If you like my writing, please give it a reblog and consider donating a few bucks to my venmo at maxgraybooks

#zombie apocalypse au #fic #patton sanders #roman sanders #remus sanders #sympathetic remus

[mollymauk-teafleak]

Come Home With Me (part seven)

Second to last chapter! Thanks as always to my indomitable betas, @minky-for-short and @spiky-lesbian

Sorry for this

Please consider reblogging, leaving a comment on Ao3 or donating to my ko-fi

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Mollymauk took a moment to ask himself how long it had been since he’d last held his swords in anger. With the intent to use them to hurt.

However long ago it had been, part of a dark and murky time he deliberately held far away from who he was now, he’d put them aside and promised himself he’d never do it again. A promise half-remembered, half-forgotten was a promise nonetheless.

It had begun to leech back in over the years, as much as he hadn’t wanted it, as much as he’d tried to use drink, sex, various banned substances to keep it all at bay. Drops of ink spoiling the pool, reaching up with insidious little fingers to try and claim him back. But that wasn’t who he was now.

The grip still fit his hand perfectly. Molly flicked his wrist, catching his own reflection in the blade, the carnival glass turning his features blurry and indistinct, coloured incorrectly in the iridescent surface.

Not so indistinct that he couldn’t see the black eye. The split lip. The cracked tooth when he held his jaw open.

All of it made him angry, a sick, thick kind of anger in the very pit of his stomach. He liked his face a lot. It was half his job and more than half of his identity.

But that anger was a weak and feeble thing, a wind barely strong enough to lift a leaf when compared to what Mollymauk felt when he remembered the look on Caleb’s face. So scared, so vulnerable, a child who’d been hurt so many times that he’d stopped asking for a reason. Kissing Mollymauk softly and walking to his death without a shred of hesitation, like he’d expected it.

Like he wasn’t worth fighting for.

With a soft hiss, Molly holstered the sword at his right side, the twin on his left. He swept out of his charred caravan and marched out into the too hot dawn left behind by the rain.

For the first time in a long time, he drank down that darkness in a deep breath. The taste of blood prickled on his tongue and a deeper need for more woke in his chest. And he knew exactly whose blood he wanted.

The anger, a cavernous, yawning anger must have been plain on his face as worry swept over Yasha’s face when she saw him, though only briefly. Her fingers tightened on her own sword’s handle.

“What’s the plan?” she asked, voice quiet.

Mollymauk had always loved that about Yasha. No hesitation, no questions. But she always stuck to the plan.

He set his jaw, feeling a pang of pain from his broken tooth.

“We bring him home,” he replied.

When you knew you had such little time left, Caleb assumed, the small things would matter less.

He was wrong on that count.

On the long, long ride back to Rexxantrum, all he could thing about was how much the chains chafed on his wrists and how stuffy it was in the back of an enchanted carriage with the curtains drawn.

Every time the wheels hit a bump in the road, a rock or a pothole or something he couldn’t see, he’d hear the chains rattle and bite into his skinny wrists even more. They were heavy, he knew that much, he could have done without the regular reminders. He also knew they were inscribed with magic cancelling runes, serious heavy duty ones that Caleb hadn’t even seen outside of history books about far darker times.

That’s who he was then. A fiercely dangerous rogue wizard, using his powers for evil.

There was some irony in that.

“Mollymauk, listen, you can’t just go running into something like this.”

The baron of Whitestone had clearly been pulled out of bed by Nott’s message spell or, if not that, certainly the large flash of purple energy from Gilmore’s transportation spell erupting right in the middle of their parlour.

Shaun had been faster to rouse at the message.

Molly hoped it was because the newlyweds were awake and enjoying each other. He hoped their love still tasted sweet. He hoped it always would.

He hoped he wasn’t dragging them into something they wouldn’t come back from.

Percy caught hold of his wrist, turning him back towards him when he tried to walk away, “Mollymauk…”

“Perce,” Molly shook his head, “You’re kind to offer but I can’t wait for things to be made official. You getting involved now is a hair’s breadth away from an all-out declaration of war. It would be messy and lengthy and we just can’t afford it right now. I have to get to Rexxantrum, get in, get out fast.”

The frazzled looking human pulled his robe tighter around himself, “This man seized a whole troupe of innocent people performing under my name and took off with one of them. I can have him arrested and tried inside a day.”

“I may not even have that long,” Molly says softly, lowering his voice so his tiny militia massing in the parlour couldn’t hear him. A militia that seemed nowhere near powerful enough to take on an archmage of the capital city… “In a day, Caleb could be dead.”

“How do you know he…”

He left the rest of the sentence unsaid, the both of them wishing feverishly he’d never started it. But those blue eyes didn’t yield, Percival ever the pragmatist.

“I don’t,” Molly admitted, eyes flickering downwards, “But if I start thinking like that then…then I don’t know how I’m going to come back. So I can’t.”

After a lengthy sigh, Percy let go of his arm, resigning himself though he clearly wasn’t happy about it, “Get Caleb out. Then come back here, in one piece, and we do things properly. We make sure the bastard never sees the light of day again.”

“Yes sir,” a thin, brittle smile flickered over Mollymauk’s face, then replaced by one more gentle and real, “Make sure Vex doesn’t follow us. She’s good in a fight but I’m not taking a pregnant baroness into a midnight raid.”

Percy managed a short, tired laugh, “I’ll keep her here. I’ll explain its no slight on her fighting abilities.”

Molly gently touched his arm before moving quickly into the parlour. He turned to an anxious, tense looking Shaun Gilmore, sat with his arm around Vax’ildan, and inclined his head respectfully.

“Rexxantrum please.”

Caleb wondered idly if it would be a public execution. Was that the point of the chains? Flavour for the narrative of the dangerous, murderous wizard high on bloodlust and his own magic? A reminder to all of Rexxantrum. This is why magic is kept behind walls of privilege, status and money. Look who keeps you safe.

But the curtains stayed closed as they rolled through the city gates, Caleb only aware of it because he could hear the guard calling them through, hollering at others waiting to enter.

He frowned, even that small action causing pain to crackle through him, with his blackened eyes and swollen lips. How could they be in Rexxantrum already?

Though he supposed he was still thinking in circus time. They took a far more circuitous route, winding their way through all the tiny villages, zig zagging this way and that to visit other towns, circling the mountains, wandering around the lakes.

That and he’d long lost his grip on time, constantly in the darkness, the rocking motion of the carriage never ceasing even a little.

The smell of the smoke was unmistakable though. Smoke and bodies and the reek of water pooling in the street. It was Rexxantrum without a doubt.

Caleb closed his eyes and imagined Molly somewhere warm, with the sun on his shoulders, surrounded by the smell of clean grass.

The city was in darkness though lights still shone in windows like sequins embedded in black cloth.

Part of Molly admired how pretty it was from where he stood up on one of the hills that surrounded the city. He wondered what was behind all those windows. Maybe a pair of lovers who’d both been at work all day, the twinge of desperately missing each other carried in their chests for the long hours apart, finally able to dissipate as they fell into each other’s arms. Each kiss feeling so precious because of the distance that had made them wait, even though they’d both known it was only temporary.

Molly closed his eyes and took a deep breath, tears threatening him, closing his throat.

He let the dark, inky part of him take over a little more. There were no tears in that, just the cold determination and the exact knowledge of what to do.

“We go in through the sewers,” he said, swords clanking when he moved down from the boughs of the tree he perched in like a peacock who’d lost his way, “Quiet, quick, no crownsguard. The house is at the centre of the city.”

His little team, Vax, Yasha, Fjord, Jester, Nott, Beau all nodded and made noises of agreement. Not everyone, a smaller group could move faster and more subtly through dark streets. Shaun would stay up on the hills, the piece of wire ready in his pocket to receive the message, telling him to transport them out or reinforcements in.

It would be a swift journey to their target. Molly knew it’s position well. It was where he met the love of his life, how could it not stand out like a glowing golden pin stuck in the world? It was the first time Caleb’s eyes had met his own, the first time he’d smiled at him and received the first glimpse of the man who would become the most important person in the world to him.

And it was where he was going to get him back.

Caleb didn’t want to cry out but he couldn’t help it. The blow landed so hard and so fierce, it wrung a scream from him before he’d even had the chance to make the choice. The taste of fresh blood burst across his tongue again as his jaw connected with the floor.

“Pick yourself up,” Ikithon snarled, apparently in the cold, echoing room Caleb had just been thrown into.

He did, the only other choice being to lay there on the stone floor. Or rather, he tried, staggering when his aching knees didn’t want to move, pitching forward when his bound hands jerked instinctively to catch himself but failed. He could taste his own breath inside the cloth hood, hot and sour.

But then a hand seized his shoulder and the hood was ripped away, revealing the cavernous basement where they’d held so many training fights. There was only gentle firelight flickering in the sconces on the walls but still it was too much for Caleb’s eyes after who knew how long in the darkness. He winced and ducked his head, tears beading behind his eyelids.

“Don’t you dare cry in front of me,” Ikithon snapped, “Pathetic wretch, I raised you better than that.”

“You didn’t raise me at all,” Caleb forced the words through his bitten tongue and swollen lips, “You can’t say you raised a flower after you trampled all over it and kept it in the dark.”

“Poetic,” Ikithon’s cheeks flushed red, clearly not used to being spoken back to, “Did you learn that among those degenerates and devil bloods who called themselves players?”

Caleb stared up at him, hair strewn across his face, sticking to the dried blood and sweat, “I learnt plenty from them. What love is. What life is. How to ignore every damn thing you ever told me. And whatever you do to me now, Ikithon, you can’t undo that.”

And he smiled.

Ikithon pulled his lips back from his teeth and the wall lamps dimmed to nearly nothing, “I was going to give you a quick death, Bren, for the sake of the years you lived under my roof. But you’ve undone that. You will be begging me to let you die by the time I’m done with you.”

The smile didn’t fade, bloody and bright, “My name is Caleb.”

Whatever Ikithon was planning, it apparently didn’t start yet. He just took his chains and threaded them through a ring on the wall, pulling them taught to yank Caleb’s arms up above his head. And then he left him there.

Only when the shadows closed around him did Caleb feel safe enough to cry.

It was hard, to be held in the very centre of the place he’d been hurt so many times, where mocking spells and cruel words had knocked him to his feet, so often that he had no idea how it hadn’t shattered him completely. It made it hard to stay brave.

He cried for that skinny young boy, all skin and bones, even the memory of a kind family taken from him. He cried for himself as he was now, punished for even trying to seek love in his life again.

He cried for how unfair it all was.

Time slipped away from him again before too long. He didn’t sleep, at least he thought he didn’t, he just sat there and thought about how much he wanted to sleep in a vague, misty way that never did slip completely into fully dreaming. Not with the pain gnawing at him all the time, in a dull toothless way, not just his wound but hunger and thirst too which soon crept up and found him.

Eventually, thinking that he’d lose his mind if he couldn’t grasp the seconds, minutes, hours again, he passed the time by singing. Though tears began rolling down his face and stinging the opened skin there, he sang all the songs he could remember Molly singing. Caleb’s own voice couldn’t compare to his tiefling’s, not by a long shot, he still sang the words, the melodies making him feel closer to everything he’d lost.

He hoped Ikithon could hear him.

There were so many songs, Caleb realised, as he ran through them all. Bawdy tavern songs Molly had only sang after he’d ingested a fair amount of alcohol. Long ballads that brought ancient stories back to life, so many verses that Caleb had no idea how Molly remembered them all and was stunned to find he could remember himself. Sweet, simple folk songs that could be played on nothing more than an old tin tub, designed to stick in children’s heads.

And then there were the songs Molly had only sung for him. Songs where he’d lain back against the pillows, only his lute keeping any kind of modesty, looking half a god in the low light. And Caleb had felt like the whole world was in those songs.

Those songs brought the tears on thicker. His voice cracked and splintered like old wood, now he faded in and out between verses. But he couldn’t stop.

Caleb saved one song for last. The one he knew best and held dearest.

The one Molly had sang to close the very first show he’d ever seen. The song that had made Caleb brave enough to seek something more than misery in his life.

“I was alone so long, I didn’t even know that I was lonely…” he sang, his voice rough and fading, “Out in the cold so long, I didn’t even know that I was cold…”

His fingers twitched listlessly at the empty air, trying to remember how Molly’s fingers moved over the silver strings. The words echoed through the empty space that seemed darker every moment. Or was that his own eyes…he didn’t know any more.

“Say that you’ll hold me forever. Say that the wind won’t change on us. Say that we’ll stay with each other and it will always be like this…”

Caleb’s voice finally crackled and disappeared completely. Deprived of water, deprived of fresh air there was nothing else he could do.

But in his mind, the song continued. And of course it was Molly’s voice that took over.

“I’m gonna hold you forever. The wind will never change on us.”

Caleb frowned. Molly’s voice echoed in his mind, not the way it had in the tent. And it was thick with tears too. Almost like he could see what a sad, broken thing his love had become.

It was soft too, not booming the way it had at the end of the show. It wasn’t for a whole audience, just for the ears of one.

It was almost as if it wasn’t a memory.

“Long as we stay with each other, then it will always be like this.”

Fingers brushed his hair back from his face. A familiar scent reached his nose, one that had no place in somewhere dark and terrible as this.

“You can’t be here,” Caleb rasped, sheer shock making his voice come back, “I told you to let me go.”

“And I didn’t listen,” Molly replied, smiling through his tears, “Are you surprised?”

“I…I didn’t dare hope,” Caleb managed a weak smile in return.

Molly shook his head, pressing a kiss to Caleb’s forehead, unable to say how he’d managed to keep himself from doing it for so long. He’d kiss other places too but they looked too sore and tender, wounds that made the inky anger rise but his relief and love at seeing Caleb alive pushed it back.

“We’re taking you home, Caleb. We’ve come to save you.”

Caleb’s smile faded, “No…Molly, Liebling, you can’t. He’ll never stop hunting me, he’ll never give up. And next time nothing I can do will keep him from killing you all.”

“You can beat him, Caleb, you said it yourself,” Molly looked dismayed, “We’ll get you healed and safe again and next time, you’ll beat him.”

“No…Molly, no…” Caleb shook his head, grasping for a way to make him see, difficult when most of him was crying out to follow him and believe what he was saying.

His heart sank as he realised how many of his family were here. Yasha, looming and powerful, stood at the door. Nott, his dear Nott, crouched over her little piece of wire. Fjord with a thieves lamp, sword glinting in the low light. Vax, half a shadow himself, daggers ready to fly. Jester hefting the axe that made Caleb’s arms ache to even look at, grinning at him, clearly itching to rush forward and hug him. Even Beau, staff rapping restlessly on the ground, eager to hit something though she gave him a crooked smile and a wink.

They’d all come for him.

“Caleb, I know you’re scared, it’s okay,” Molly cupped his face, gently so he didn’t hurt him, “But I will not leave you here with that man. You’ve trusted me before, do it just one more time for me? We will get you home.”

Caleb looked into those red eyes, the lighthouses of his life for the past year. Stranger things had happened surely…if he was willing to fight…

“You troupers really are as stupid as I hoped you’d be.”

Ikithon’s voice was the sound of tipping too far over and edge and falling, gasping for a handhold that wasn’t there.

A glow surrounded the cavern, bars of magic over every surface. Yasha jerked back with a hiss of pain, her hand burning on those that formed under her palm.

Caleb sat up, eyes wide, “No…”

Molly’s swords were free with a sound like an inhalation. His face turned cold, like nothing Caleb recognised. There was no performance in his voice when he spoke, it was truth.

“Come out and die, Trent Ikithon. It’s past time you paid for your sins.”

A shift in the magic of the room and Ikithon stood behind Caleb, wordless and flushed with fury. He reached down, clearly aiming to slit his throat but a sword came flashing out and he was forced to back off. Then the first spell shot out and, after a breath, hell opened up.

The flashes of light, the shriek of metal, the snarl of people determined to kill each other. And Caleb, frightened, panicked, sleep deprived, was in the middle of it all.

So many against just one should have been simple matter of mathematics. But not if the one was an archmage.

It was so frantic, Caleb could only get snapshots of it, fragments coming at him too fast to grasp for more than an instant. Beau staggering back, catching herself on her staff, red soaking into her blue shirt. The firelight catching on the line of Fjord’s hooked sword as he swung it high above his head, shadow creatures surrounding him in an unbroken circle. Vax’s cloak sweeping behind him, looking like wings.

Caleb closed his eyes, wanting to curl up and press his hands to his ears, wanting to stop it all. His friends were dying all around him. And there was nothing he could do, his panic forming tighter chains than Ikithon ever could have hoped to put on him. He couldn’t breathe.

A sound reached him over the clangour. Molly, crying out in pain.

Caleb’s eyes flew open to see Ikithon himself, arm outstretched, eyes like chips of dirty ice. The shadow beasts kept everyone else at bay, no matter how hard they tried. And his fingers closed around Molly’s throat.

One of his swords lay shattered on the ground, the glass broken into long, dangerous shards and each one held the picture in front of Caleb over and over again, a thousand times he had to watch his love dying, a thousand times he couldn’t save him.  

The darkness was thickening, oozing like spilled ink.

Not again. Not again.

Caleb stood, like the chains had never even been there. The shadows were gone, a bright and brilliant light filling the cavern instead. It took Caleb a few moments before he realised the light was coming from him.

It wasn’t like before. Like the time he and Ikithon fought, like the time in the woods with Mollymauk where he lost control. Both of those times he had forgotten the word as soon as he’d said it, like it hadn’t really come from him at all.

But now he knew it. It burned there on his lips. The name of fire.

It crackled up his skin, wreathed his hair, but he didn’t burn. How could he? The fire wasn’t on him, it washim.

Molly fell to the floor, Ikithon’s grasp slackened in a mix of horror, terror and awe. Everyone else was stunned, it was their turn to be unable to move, weapons still held ready even after the shadows were gone. Because who the hell knew what was going to happen next.

Caleb took step after step, like he was relearning how to walk. The pain hadn’t faded, in fact it was fuelling him like electricity, the way a fire consumes wood and paper.

Eventually, it was only him and Ikithon. Caleb realised that he towered over the man now as he shrank back in fear. He’d always been taller than him of course, it had just been a matter of perspective.

Was this what Ikithon had seen every time he knocked Caleb back with harsh words, every time he’d threatened him and forced him down to nearly nothing? Had this made him feel powerful?

Caleb just felt sad.

He tried to think of something to say. A hero would always have a witty quip, one line to cut as sharp as the final blow. But, as he’d already realised, to his dismay and his relief, Caleb wasn’t a hero.

“I have nothing to say to you. You aren’t worth the effort.”

His voice was like the crackling of a fire. He stretched out one hand. And everything in him flowed into Ikithon and burnt him to ash in less time than it would take to strum a lute.

The flash of light was enough to hurt. Orange then red then a harsh white. Mollymauk cringed and covered his eyes with his hand as his heart hammered in his chest, one word over and over. Caleb, Caleb, Caleb…

The whole air smelled of burning, smoke hung in it like wisps of fine gossamer. Black streaked up the grey stone walls, an ashy residue all emanating from one point. Caleb lay in the centre of that point, curled up small like a puppet with his strings cut.

“No!” Molly sobbed, staggering to his feet, clearing the distance between them with something more like an extended fall than steps.

His throat still burned, bruises in the shape of fingers rising there already. It was hard to suck in air but Molly didn’t care about that right now.

Caleb felt so cold when his hands finally found him, turned him over and held him in his arms. It was like all like heat had gone out of him, lost to make that final rush of flame and light. His skin was covered in the sooty substance, his hair steamed gently like the ends of his copper locks had singed but his skin was icy.

And his eyes were blank.

“Caleb!” Molly gasped, voice painful, “Caleb, come on, come back to me…”

Nott’s voice was somewhere in the background through the smoke, calling Caduceus. Jester was already moving forward, her hands glowing with energy through the grey air.

“Caleb, please…” Molly murmured, moving back only as much as he had to so he could let Jester through. Any further from Caleb and he would have broken. “Please, it can’t end like this…”

There was no ink left in him, it had fled when his sword shattered.

All there was left was the song.

#widomauk #rothfuss au #potentially some Stuff in here so if anyone needs anything tagging just ask #kingkiller chronicle #critical role #cr fic #cr: campaign 2 #mollymauk tealeaf #caleb widogast #cr: mollymauk #cr: caleb #the mighty nein #vox machina #pleaseeeeee reblog?

[shamans-of-reeds]

Overgrowth and Dust: Part 1 [RP]

(( Rating: PG-13 ))

(( Genre: Suspense, Mystery ))

(( Cast: @infiniteleftdoesffxiv , @gaillaffxiv , @ritsykitty / @moonlit-nightingale , @the-firetouched and others who don’t have a tumblr or I cannot find it. ))

The Dawn Throne's pennants flutter overhead, the wind tugging them in a rhythmic thwup-thwup-thwup. Overhead a great bird soars, white dusted with a dusky mauve; its screech is something halfway between a chocobo's wark and a dragon's roar. It ignites Dione’s heart.

"Yol," one of their group explains, pointing up and nodding. She looks up too late to see it; a shadow, passing over the pennants, might have been it, though she can't be entirely sure. But the memory of its cry stays with her.

"The tamin' a' th' yol," she murmurs to no one in particular. "In Bardam's Mettle. Why do they want y' t' tame a bird?"

"Proof of fierce of heart." Vachirsukh spoke up in his broken Eorzean. He never had to speak it thus his skill with the words wasn't the best. "Weak hearts can't earn respect." The large Oroniri man was still on babysitting duty for the group but at least they'd returned home.

Home for him at least. He'd taken a few moments to visit his dwelling, his forge, and visit his daughter that had been left in a friend's care. Altani had been sure to stick her stuffed yol plushie into his arms and now he was forced to carry it around, tucked into the sash of his gold fabrics. He didn't have the heart to say no to the young girl.

Vivisha pointedly stays back just enough from the edge of the Throne  and yet she feels drawn to look down and down and over and far, far into the Steppe's sky. What a wondrous place, this Steppe -- full of frights never before felt, but feelings never truly explored.

After a time, she rejoins the group. She clutches her thaumaturge's staff to her chest as if it could keep her from flying away or being picked up by one of the yonder Yols.

"It must be a very tough challenge indeed," she comments quietly. Her usual vivacity is subdued. She is surrounded by unknowns, and is struggling to keep up.

"Only the worthy pass the challenge and proved as warriors of the Steppe." Vachirsukh crossed his arms as he watched the yols soar over the highest levels of the great structure. Their roost was tended up there, as high as could be atop the Throne. It was well-deserved for the fearsome skykin to be as close to the sun as they could!

“<And some are never granted the chance>.” The smooth voice of the Buduga star reader rang out as he approached the group.

Khenbish’s green robes covered far more than any of his brothers. From neck to ankles there was scarcely an inch exposed. His attention moved over the points of life across the landscape of the throne before falling to the edge of the throne.

The blind Buduga strides towards it and stops at the very edge. Pure black eyes gaze over the range he can not see. Aetheric flows were noted and added character to the black landscape he saw, but that was it.

The Oronir's tail simply flicked at those words as he lingered on the edge of the group.

"But why a yol?" Dione pipes up again when next they move, her voice pitched to that exact tone of plaintive inquisitiveness well known to parents and elder siblings alike. "I mean, there are lotsa things you could battle or tame. I were wonderin' if there were a meanin' to it."

"It is said that it was the steed of choice for the great Bardam, as depicted in ancient murals." The voice of a Moks-Noykin accent sounded as Sali trailed along with the group, his little sister Ilakha at his heels, cradling her floral staff. <"Friends, I am happy you've come,"> she voiced, then repeating the line in Common.

Himaa Iloh - or what it was - sat eerily quiet on the horizon before them. The sky was clear but the day was frigidly cool, the air incredibly dry. There wasn't even any footsteps or trails to be seen on the hard ground around the former camp. The grass was sparse but tall.

"Sister Dione," Ilakha began gently as she came over to the individual with a smile. "If only you can have meeted him on better grounds... this is my big brother, Sali." The short male gave a nod, his neck-length hair toyed with by the stiff breeze.

"What we're looking for here may or may not be an easy find, given how worn the place is to the elements," Sali declared, then in Auri. "General artifacts. Weapons, armor, traits on any bodies spotted. Ilakha and I will scout the area for any bandits or signs we've been followed. We'll keep in touch over linkpearls."

As Sali got right to business, Ilakha sullenly glanced to group again. "This site is kind of old. Is grounds the Noykin would go to stop raiders from the base of the Tail Mountains. We not knowed anything 'bout them. Just that they is not from here. What we gather, we can take to Bargujin Khatun of the Noykin." The words were also repeated in Auri to the Oronir and the Buduga.

But Khabataaq would be nowhere near that place. There were far to many people waiting for him there. So he waits out in the Steppes some distance he considers far enough from that Dawn Throne, some safe distance, waiting for the time they were set to meet or some announcement over linkpearl. He watches the Throne as if he could see the dots of people in the distance leaving it, an impossible task from this distance but still he watches, locked in some persistent shiver that doesn't seem willing to leave him. It could be dismissed easily as cold, but Khabataaq knows better. It's nerves, it's worry, it's apprehension about their destination and the things they'll find there. It's odd... and wrong, maybe, that his first contact with his old tribe after all these years would be with those long dead. But after he was told what would be happening today, he knew he didn't have much choice, did he?

Dione is about to ask more questions, but instead her attention is fully consumed by the sight of the distant camp. Though she knows that her people are both nomadic and prone to conflict, and that they're investigating a raid, somewhere inside she'd still expected to see... a living iloh, a thriving community. What they approach now is naught but overgrowth and dust.

So caught up is she in her thoughts that she almost doesn't notice her name being called, jerking suddenly as if from sleep. Turning to the short-- but to her, still impressively tall-- male, she nods in return. "A pleasure," she says with a struggling smile, before falling quiet as she listens to his words, her heart only growing more chilled at each one.

Are we looking for bodies of your people, or mine? she fears to ask, and won't. Instead, she plants her feet in the dirt and takes a breath. This too is the Steppe, she repeats to herself instead.

"The feeling is mutual," Sali replied to Dione. "However, it'd be more so if we weren't to traverse a site of the deceased." His weight shifted between his feet, hands migrating to his hips. "About twenty summers ago this was a camping ground for the Himaa. That is, until the Jhungid tribe passed through this area and absorbed those that lived here. Since the Kharlu met with the Jhungid for war south of here an epoch ago, the site has only been used as grazing land for the Noykin. They'd used to camp here in the late bells of summer. Northwest of here are common sites for laying bodies for the bearded vultures and seedkin. For religious reasons, the rest of the iloh was never ransacked."

Ilakha's expression was sullen all through Sali's explanation of the history. Her grip on her staff twisted slightly as she looked about the group. "We doing this to help the living, though," she declared. "Is important we get our finds to Bargujin Khatun as proof the attackers comed from somewhere 'round here like the Tsubegen said is possible, not the Oroq valley."

Dione nods upon that mention of religion, glad at least that that much respect had been offered the fallen. Whatever else we Xaela are, she thinks, we have our honour. "So d' ya want me to take a look around th' northwest?" she asks, growing bolder. "Or investigate th' iloh, if it's untouched?"

Ilakha opted to raise her own linkpearl, pausing at Dione's question. A weary smile was offered. "There is no need, Sister. You just need to look 'bout the iloh today. Is large... er, was large, so am glad there are a few of you here." Just then, she spoke into the linkpearl; contacting Khabataaq. "Brother... we finded Himaa Iloh. I will pin our coordinates to you. Linkpearl will alert you when you getting close." Sali bowed his head to Ilakha before looking to the group, expression stern but gently so. "Does this make sense to everyone?"

Khabataaq jumps at the sound of the sudden chime of the linkpearl. He scowls crossly to himself. Settle down. Calm down. Stop being so jumpy. "<Y-Yes, yeah, I'm... I'm on my way.>" He pushes himself off the ground, gathering the few items he'd taken out of his bag and stowing them away, before trotting off in the vague direction of the Iloh.

She nods again, looking towards the iloh. "Weapons, armor, artifacts. Signs a' who th'... bodies might be, if there are any." Her hand goes to her hip; beneath the voluminous folds of her Dotharli-blue robe twin daggers lie sheathed, should she need them. In an uncharacteristic moment of pacifism, she finds herself hoping she won't.

Vivisha has followed atop her trusty steed, Lalana -- a small 'bo, but one with enough spirit that it eyes any would be predators of himself or his master with sharp, angry eyes. The lalafell, however, is unusually quiet. While her base magickal training is indeed in that of thaumaturgy -- a practice synonymous with death -- she rarely ever had to come face to face with it like this. It's distasteful to come face to face with so much truth, some dark part of her thinks. This is why the high houses employ their own tutors and servants and bo handlers and all the like.

It's prettier that way.

But then, this is the core of the work of diplomacy: Digging in, finding the realness of it. She reminds herself of that as she slides off her 'bo, and puts her sharp ears to work on finding some hint of what has happened. She reaches out to sense the aether of the place, too, to see if there were any recent disturbances.

Sechen glanced over the group already there. Cautiously, she raised a hand. "Haven't missed much, have we?"

Following in quiet tandem with his daughter, Sechen, came another Xaela to the herd. Arav Shono'tsag, tall, muted plum skin, sharp silver eyes and dark blue hair, graying by his temples with feathered locks covering the most of his face. His robes were not tribal, and creased brows hinted at discomfort- Or maybe it was just his face. A wooden staff thudded to the ground as he followed Sechen over. Soon on their way, though, a shrill shriek of a bird would startle him enough to leave his jaw clenched. "Hells take me." He muttered under his breath, trying to relax. The only one chancing to hear this might be Sechen. As they came closer, he glanced around, scanning the group of strangers and taking in a breathe. "<Hello.>" He said, when close enough, at nobody. An extra nod of greeting was sent to Sali and Ilakha, were they to pay attention. He also eyes the lalafellin. Perhaps he is not the most out of place?...

It would take Khabataaq some time to join with the group, and he drops from his brisk pace as he catches sight of the others gathering. More than he thought there would be. And faces he doesn't recognize. Though he supposes that should be expected. He spots the small, recognizable silhouette of Ilakha in the group, and there's a bit of relief then. A few familiar faces then, at least. He feels another pang of guilt, wondering if he should have told Sari after all. But... this was probably for the best. Probably.

He would be wearing simple traveling clothes, something made to be covered in dust and dirt, heavy enough to endure the Steppe's winds but provide little protection to anything other than the elements. No tribe colors. There's a weight to the ex-Buduga's shoulders as he falls in with the rest of the group, hovering just at the edge of the pack, a few fulms away. It's more than just worry, or skittishness, but dread. He tears his gaze away from the ruins to survey those around him, his gaze stalling as it falls upon a familiar Xaela woman. ...Dione? He doesn't realize he's staring, eyebrows arched in surprise.

Dione blinks back at him, eyes widening. "Kha... Khabataaq?" she stammers. "What are you doing here," she's about to say; and yet it's obvious what he's doing here. He, too, is Himaa. --All Himaa, instead of half-Himaa like her. And half a Himaa is no Himaa at all......

The droop in mood isn't missed; perhaps because this isn't like the Dione he remembers meeting all those months ago? This stark contrast to the enthusiastic and fiery girl, suddenly somber and quiet, it makes Khabataaq even more apprehensive. That heavy smile returns - he hasn't worn that in a while... hasn't he? - as he crosses over to stand a bit closer to Dione. He wonders where Rev is, but... some part of him is suddenly nervous to ask. An unnecessary caution, maybe, but it's enough to silence the question. "It's good to see you again," he says instead, tail waving cautiously behind him.

Sali turned abruptly, looking towards his relatives as Ilakha followed the motion as well. "Cousin! Uncle!" Ilakha darted towards them with open arms. Sali would have offered a smile, but the circumstances were a bit serious. "So, you finally come... am sorry is under these conditions. But I telled you what will happen at home. You 'member, right? You guys okay if me and Sali go to scout? Himaa Iloh is empty. Should be okay."

Meanwhile, Sali spoke to the others. "You all know where you are going. Take your time to prepare and head out. I know this isn't easy for a lot of you."

Sechen pulled Ilakha into a hug, patting her on the back, after deciding to ignore Arav's muttered curse. "I think that's a shared feeling, but... We're here to help!" She spared another glance around, her tiny smile faltering. "I think we'll be fine, Ilakha, if, um, you think that's what you should do."

"Well, considering who's here, I'd say we'll have just about any situation handled." A calm voice sounded out from behind the group. Approaching the group with her blade Kioku at her side and a spear across her back, the Malaguld Xaela approached. She nodded to the others who were already around, then turned her gaze to Ilakha. "Though, we will still have to be careful. One misstep could mean larger problems." Akuro stated matter-of-factly.

"Beasts, hunters, warriors from the more aggressive tribes," Akuro counted off on her fingers, "along with anything unexpected happening."

"Oh, that's not a very long list," Vivisha pipes up with unusual, bubbly sarcasm. She looks around, as if shocked she said that out loud. "Ah...don't mind me..."

Warriors from the more aggressive tribes. A concern that Khabataaq could agree on, that much was for certain. His gaze never stayed with the group for long, darting about the horizon as he kept an eye open for silhouettes or watchful hunters.

A backwards glance is given to the approaching Malaguld, just before Arav is given his own hug by Ilakha. "So, the usual." He says the unfamiliars, as he pats his niece affectionately on the head. Then he looks to her. "It's good to see you're well, Ilakha. Is there divided parties already, or are we grouping together on our own terms?" His hand finds its way to Sechen's head, just to make sure she knows he's there. Or to make sure he knows she's there. Either or.

Dione glances up to Khabi, trying to catch his attention with her eyes. If he studies her, he'll see that she's not devoid of fire; merely subdued, in this moment, confronted with her first glimpse in memory of what could have been her home only to find it a ghost town... or possibly a graveyard.

Twenty summers. She's twenty-two. She finds herself wondering about Khabi's age; whether this might have been home for him too.

"Wanna go together?" she asks him, recalling he's no fighter. "I'm armed if it should come to it."

Ilakha glanced up between Arav and her brother warily. "You can pick your partner for investigating. People can also go alone if they wish, but you think is best to stay 'round Sechen, right?"

Briefly, the wind picked up. Metal chimes from somewhere at the edge of the iloh tinkled gently, almost like beckoning. The wind hummed through the holes of the chimes like deeply pitched flutes, not unlike the pillars on the grounds of Ceol Aen.

And it definitely was a concern the other Himaa shared, a same worry that hung between them unspoken. He didn't know where his parents were. But there was a definite fear, a burden that seemed to drag down on his shoulders, that they could have been caught in this skirmish. And even if proof to confirm or deny was a slim chanced thing, didn't he need to try?

A smile at Dione's offer, some of that weight seeming to lift. "Sure, I like that idea. As... As long as you don't mind." A silly question maybe, given the offer came from her, but Khabataaq knew he would be a burden. He may be able to take care of himself a bit better since last they met.... But he has no doubts that Dione was the stronger.

He pauses then, before cautiously asking, "You're here with the Kotodama? You're here to help with their investigation?" Or are you here for yourself, was the unasked question.

Vivisha, for her part, stands close to the many tall individuals near her, afraid of being forgotten in the vast lands. But she turns pointedly to the chiming sound, staring in that direction... Creepy...

"I could use th' second pair a' eyes," Dione states, perfectly honestly, as she makes her way towards the sound of those chimes. "...An' th' company." No, Khabataaq probably won't keep either of them from being wounded; but his presence could be a bulwark, all the same.

She picks her way forward over a land slowly transitioning from green to brown, from the vibrant rustling of winds in grasses to the haunted silence of bare earth. Even the wind seems to die as they approach, and she thinks that, despite all those gathered here today, this is the quietest she's heard the Steppe fall.

"Not with 'em as such, no. But 'ere t' 'elp." She doesn't look back over her shoulder, assuming that he'll follow. "I'm journeyin' around th' Steppe. Lookin' for 'ome, I s'pose-- but not 'ome like this, I..." She waves her hand briefly towards the iloh. "Where I belong, I s'pose. Who I am." A pause. "Why're you 'ere?"

Akuro walked over in the direction of the chimes, deciding to take a look on her own. One hand rested on the hilt of her blade as she approached, not letting down her guard an ilm. If anything tried to go for her, whoever or whatever made the attempt would quickly regret it.

And follow he does. "The same as you, to help the Kotodama," Khabataaq says with a half smile. But that smile fades a bit, because that's not quite true, is it? And he's trying to be better about that.

"Ahm... and... just to be sure. That no one was here." A bit of a blush then, as he looked down towards the ground in search. But his eyes don't see anything just yet, and the search is more of a formality. He's far too distracted.

"My parents, I mean. ...I don't know if they were here when... this... happened. But I know they traveled a lot. ...I know it seems a bit foolish to be looking. Odds are I won't find anything. But... I wasn't sure... if I could not ... you know?"

Dione, however, neither scoffs nor flinches from his words.; only nods, as her eyes likewise scrutinise the ground. "'ow old are you?" she asks bluntly as she continues to walk.

Arav nodded agreement with Ilakha's statement. He was here specifically for Sechen's sake, to begin with. "She is my priority." He said, just to make sure that much was clear. Then his horns were graced with the sound of distant chimes, calling his eyes to their position. There is one person headed in their direction. He decides to remain with his family, but he is watching Akuro investigate, in case anything should go wrong.

A small frown at Dione's question, but it's a thoughtful one, not a stern one. ...Oh dear. That was a question he'd lost the answer to years ago, he thinks. Twenty.... ....twenty.... "Tw... twenty... three? ...Twenty two?" Just like when Sari had asked him his name day, it was information that had become so unimportant overtime, he'd just... lost it.

Khabataq realizes something then, that frown relaxing in sudden worry as his eyes find Dione again. "...You?"

"...Twenty-two," she says softly, with a nod of acknowledgement.  Not a whole lot more need be said.

Ilakha bowed her head to her head to her uncle and cousin, repeating the motion for her brother before going to his side. "Then we'll watch to make sure nobody's followed our trail," Sali replied firmly, but not sternly. "Best of luck, everyone." With that, he and Ilakha turned to set off, the girl scuttling to match her brother's longer strides.

Another breeze crept through the plains as they made their approach, the atmosphere far from welcoming. There was a rustling in the dry grass before a couple of songbirds scattered into the air at the sight and sound of the group. Everything else looked relatively untouched. The backs of faded ghers that were once brilliantly decorated faced the group, two in specific being closest from the left and right. The right one had the door halfway broken off, the splintered remains dangling while the rest was jutted out at an angle. The spiderweb that made up the gap in the door frame was an indication of a lack of recent activity nonetheless. The gher on the left's door - once a vibrant orange - remained shut, its contents within on apparent. All the ghers others faced the same direction as the one of the left; there were at least six in total. On the crowd a long cloth rolled over lamely in the wind, as if to greet the explorers. It was tattered, but carried distinctive colors...

#ffxiv rp #mateus rp #ffxiv story

[oswaldsirius]

I got carried away, anon. But you asked about my baby having babies. How could I not get carried away? I broke it down into some things per each trimester so I hope you enjoy!

First Trimester

Morning sickness is unfortunately a thing and Celeste has it bad.

They do everything they can to help combat it; bland and small meals, much to her great displeasure, are a very common occurrence. Ginger tea is also a staple in the kitchen, and several other places, to help settle her stomach as much as it can. While they do help for a little while, it’s never long enough for her liking.

She’s a pouty mess after every time, weak and wanting cuddles. If it happens in the morning, Sirius will tuck her back into bed and stay with her for as long as he can. If it’s during the day, she will mope and protest anyone’s help but really at that point she doesn’t care who it is. She just wants more cuddles and to be told it’s going to be okay.

Coupled with the morning sickness are the cravings that start to hit her. She’s normally not a picky or fussy eater but things do change.

Peaches are her all time favourite fruit, but Oswald babies do not like them. Each one made her crave a different kind of food, all easily attainable for their father, except the twins. Their appetites ran more toward the exotic and poor Sirius had to turn to less conventional methods to acquire them.

Even though she does stop eating them for a healthier diet, sweets turn her stomach while she’s pregnant. She doesn’t have any of the desserts that are served with dinner, opting instead for whatever fruit the current Oswald baby is craving. It does make her sad because her love for them hasn’t changed, but her stomach is sensitive enough as it is. She isn’t going to attempt to push her luck.

Celeste’s always been a fan of naps when she needs them and being pregnant doesn’t change that.

By the time she’s pregnant, she’s taken on the role of Three of Spades, the medic for the Black Army. On slow days, if someone comes into the infirmary to check on her, she may be tucked into one of the cots taking a nap. Or slumped over her desk if she doesn’t make it that far. Whoever finds her will either drape a blanket over her or attempt to move her to a cot if she looks uncomfortable. They started leaving notes to let her know who had moved her after the first time confused her too much.

She knows he doesn’t nap, but on her days off, Celeste will coax Sirius to cuddle with her. She times them perfectly to coincide with when he should be taking a break and he never says no. They usually have quiet talks about their future, the family they’re starting to build, and once she falls asleep, Sirius whispers how much he loves her and how wonderful she’s made his life. When she wakes up, he’s still there, watching her with a smile and a hand on her belly.

Second Trimester

As soon as she starts showing, she can’t contain her excitement.

Even when it’s the smallest bump, she’s pulling her clothes taut over it to see it in the mirror. Every morning the first thing she does, after getting her morning kisses, is hop out of bed to look in the mirror. She knows she won’t see a change daily but she can’t help it. It’s exciting to actually be able to see the reason why her life is changing and it’s a wonderful start to her day. Especially now that the nausea has mostly passed.

Cradle has many differing views on pregnancy than London. One of the most notable for her is the strong discouragement of wearing a corset for the health of both mother and child. What this then means is she needs an entire new wardrobe to factor in the loss of that garment. Which she now has no problem buying and showing Sirius every new piece she finds. It is a learning experience for her, however, because while she’s proud of her growing bump, having a wardrobe that highlights that change instead of hiding it brings far more attention than she is used to.

When she starts to feel the baby move, no one is safe.

Everyone close to her learns to recognize the face fast, the little shift in her expression that tells you her focus has gone from whatever she was doing to what her body is doing. Or rather the little one inside her. There is a split second before she is grabbing hands to put on her belly to see if someone else can feel it. It’s very startling the first time she does it, but it becomes normal soon enough and everyone almost looks forward to it when they’re spending time with her.

She remembers the first time she felt their first baby move. She’d been a little concerned because she hadn’t felt any movement at all, despite being told that since it was her first it might take a little longer to feel it. She had been taking a break in the office, reading and enjoying being near Sirius when she felt the first flutters. Sirius remembers too because she scared him with the sudden noise she made, but it was easy enough to figure out what was happening when her hands went to her stomach. She didn’t need to call him over before he was kneeling in front of her on the sofa, his hands covering hers for only a moment before she was pressing them to her, asking if he could feel it as well. Even though he couldn’t, he didn’t want to diminish her happiness so he might have told the whitest of lies

Third Trimester

Worried. Worried, worried, worried.

It’s a small thing that happens and neither of them can really remember what it was exactly, but an accident at headquarters makes both pull back and really wonder if the middle of an army is the best place to raise a baby. They both come to the same conclusion that it’s not, but in different ways and at different times. He went ahead and got things going to move them into the smaller Oswald family home in the Spades Quarter; she just got nervous and anxious to the point that she stopped sleeping well. Which led to a long conversation, several visits to the house that was already ready for their soon to be growing family, and one worry put to rest.

She worries a lot about if she’ll be a good mother. It isn’t solely restricted to the latter months of her pregnancy, but it gets stronger the closer the due date gets. She has fond memories of her mother and will always love her, but she knows her situation wasn’t a normal one. She isn’t afraid to love Sirius anymore and doesn’t think it’ll be any different with their child, but she worries. Will she be able to properly take care of the baby? Does she know how to be there for the child in whatever way they need her to be? They pile up inside her and she does her best to talk to Sirius about them, but sometimes words aren’t enough to convince her that everything will be alright.

The belly touching gets worse if that’s somehow possible

Now that she can really feel the baby move, she has no qualms about grabbing the hands of the other officers to press to her belly when it happens. It makes her so happy and she loves seeing the grins that light up the others’ faces. It’s also a habit for some to keep their hand on her belly, for luck they say. She’s positive it’s to try to make the baby kick her more.

Sirius has caught her laying down somewhere in their house, propped up just enough to see her belly comfortably and just watching. The little smiles that cross her face tell him when the baby is moving and he usually joins her, sitting beside her to press a hand to her belly or leaning over to talk to the baby. He has been kicked more than once and neither of them can tell if it was a good or bad reaction to what he was saying. But it’s certainly a reaction.

The final months also bring about problems she hadn’t fully considered until they were right in front of her.

Celeste is a small woman; Oswald babies? Not so small. She tries not to complain because she really is happy that she’s having a baby, but she does feel quite awkward and there might be some whining about it. A lot of whining about it. Sirius is very good at telling her how much he loves her during this period, knowing she needs the boost and that she doesn’t always believe him. It doesn’t stop him from showering her with his love whenever he can though because it isn’t a lie and he’ll tell her as many times as he has to.

Even though confinement is not practiced in Cradle, she doesn’t leave the house much in the final month. For the first pregnancy, it mostly has to do with her due date being in March and Cradle still being very much in winter at that point. She’d much rather stay home where it’s warm, but it can get lonely and she might cling to Sirius a little more in the mornings before he goes back to headquarters. Someone usually spends the day with her or they rotate through guests, but guests aren’t always who she wants to see.

She gives Sirius a run for his money when the nesting mode hits her. He’s more than got a handle on keeping their home clean, especially when simple tasks become difficult for her, but those last couple weeks he’s constantly chasing after her to get her to stop, to rest, to remind her that their home is clean and ready for their baby. It takes some coaxing, but she will listen to him and be content to sit and read or cuddle with him. For a while. The urge will come back and they start the cycle all over again.

#ikerev oc #celeste morreaux #celestial head canons #pregnancy head canons #celestial snippets #my writing #anon you don't know how loudly i gasped when i saw this #thank you so much for this