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hiddenwashington · 3 years

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the city is still and quiet. the only sounds coming from the wind blowing through the trees as the city sleeps; perfectly at peace. for months now, there has been nothing. no brutal murders, no magical poisons, life has been… almost dull. but as the magic in washington tends to work, the moment you get comfortable, disaster strikes.

as the sun begins to rise, the citizens of washington are awoken by a crash of lightning, a blinding light that quickly engulfs the city. as the light fades, people begin searching their homes, trying to find their roommates, spouses, and friends who have seemingly vanished into thin air. before worry can fully set in, the snarls and growls of something inhuman fill the air. those remaining in the city realize they have far bigger worries than missing loved ones.

as they look out their windows and run into the streets, they see beasts and monsters completely foreign to dc. if one looks closely, they may recognize some of the creatures from the world they were born in, creatures they thought they’d never see again. enchanted corpses crawl up from the river, hellish monsters tear through the streets, soldiers armored in white march across the white house lawn, and creatures cloaked in black float over the rooftops, spreading despair wherever they go. those remaining in dc will need to fight to survive if they wish to see their loved ones again at the end of this storm. it’s time to prepare to fight creatures that most had never experienced before, or ones they were trusting to be locked away in their home worlds. will you team up with fellow citizens to fight? hunker down and pray for it to end? or enter the streets to save those who have never seen these monsters before? whatever your choice is, just make sure you make it through the storm.

for those who vanished, they wake to find themselves on a deserted island. there’s no civilization in sight, no land in the distance, and no way off the island. those who attempt to escape the island by swimming or using their abilities are thrown back to shore by a forcefield manifesting as powerful wind. at first, it seems they’ll be fine, stranded and trapped but, they’ve dealt with worse. seemingly, all they need to do is wait until whatever magical surge the city has conjured up this time runs out. but then it begins to rain, clear droplets that, at first, are easily mistaken as water, but it burns as they touch your skin. as the trapped citizens take shelter from the growing storm, they wonder what exactly they’ve gotten themselves sucked into this time.

after some time, it stops, but the relief is once again short lived as a new disaster begins. every hour, the island is plagued by some new horror. as if on a timer, it cycles through storms, fires, and magical surges, keeping those trapped just as much on their toes as the ones fighting for their lives back home. can they beat the clock, surviving on the island with nothing but each other and the trees to protect them?

once again, the magic of dc has turned dark and frightening; surging at an uncontrollable speed. the more time passes, the longer the storm rages on, the clearer it becomes that the city is changing. allowing unknown entities, and perhaps even more to pass through to this world. the tides are changing, perhaps for the worse.

~~~~~

-- the city of dc is once more plagued by a surge of magic, separating the residents from their loved ones all over again. half the city has been transported to a deserted island off the coast, trying to beat the clock as each hour on the hour a new plague hits them. it can be anything from acid rain to poison fog coming through the trees. they must survive long enough to make it off the island, unable to escape and swim to shore. while the other half is stuck in dc, trapped in the city with no word of their family being safe or not as creatures and beings both familiar and not begin to swarm the streets. they must make it through the storm as these creatures are set on making this city run red with blood. can they outlast the monsters from home and afar? can their loved ones return all in one piece? these questions remain unanswered as the magic surges on, the tides are forever changing. only time will tell what it will look like as the storm finally calms.

OOC INFORMATION

hello, hi, welcome friends!! welcome to hidden’s 12th !! event !! we are beyond excited to be able to bring you yet another labor of love, and chaos from us!! it has been such a blessing to come up with twelve amazing events for all of you and we cannot wait to see how you guys take this one and run! we absolutely love the energy behind it and we hope you guys will as well!! there’s going to be so much to do on both ends of this, and it’s going to be hard hitting from beginning to end!! please read on for all of the rules and information surrounding the event and please as always have fun friends!! we hope you enjoy this as much as we did putting it together!! ♥

DATES :

july 10th - july 20th july 24th

this event will last for one week in character, ten days for us !!

CHARACTER GROUPING :

your characters have been split up randomly between both dc and the island

you can find where you will be on the list here

if you find that too many of your characters are in one group, please let us know and we will break you up !!

LOCATION INFORMATION :

washington dc --

all the information you’re going to need to know while trapped in the city of washington dc

here your characters will face monsters both familiar and not. there is a long list of them that we have taken from a multitude of different fandoms to give a mix of difficulty but also variety.

you can find the full list of creatures here

your characters will have full run of the city as always, they are free to make safe houses, try and save people, run head first into a horde of zombies for the thrill of it. anything you can really think of.

these monsters will not rest, making the streets everyone has learned to call home unsafe and filled with chaos. try to outlast, to out run, and survive long enough to find your loved ones in the fray.

these monsters will not just attack people from the fandoms they are from, they are free game to attack and be attacked by any and all citizens whether you have seen them or not. so be prepared to fight things you’ve never heard of!

the island --

all the information you’re going to need to know while trapped on the island in the sea

your characters have all woken up on a deserted beach, no sign of the city in sight, the only think they hear is the crashing waves against the ocean. it seems safe enough, except for the barrier keeping them all here, trapped with no way off.

through out their time here, the island is a ticking clock, slowly getting ready for it’s next surge, it’s next wave of disasters to strike.

each hour a new trial will happen, you can find the full list of them here

we admins will not be making a post for each time the disasters shift, so, please make use of the random number generator found on the doc. use this to decide which disaster will be taking place during each of your threads. you are free to decide any which one just so long as you use a variety throughout your time on the island.

if we see you only writing with one disaster we will come message you to ask you to shift gears to a different option. we want everyone to enjoy but also get the full experience!!

your characters are going to have to outlast these disasters and survive as they attempt to cause harm to you and those around. stay safe, protect your fellow citizens and best of luck!!

CHARACTER DEATHS / INJURIES :

this island and these creatures are not here for a fun vacation or to be friends. this surge is dangerous and we want to make sure you all are prepared for such. of course, it is always completely optional for your characters to get hurt or die, but we want to give the information in case your characters get into a bind either from the ticking clock of the island or from some monster taking a swipe at them!

as far as injuries go, you are more than welcome to have any of your characters become injured. if it is something minor like a sprained ankle or some cuts, you do not have to message us admins about it. but if it’s more major, like broken bones or major cuts, please make sure you message us admins so we can keep track of it!

now, for anyone looking for death plots, we are going to be limiting the number of character deaths per mun, that way we can keep track of the updates on the main and make sure that people are branching out with different plots beyond death!

the limit will be if you have 5 and under characters, you are limited to 2 characters. if you have 5 or over, you are able to kill 3-4 characters!

if you do plan to kill anyone, please remember to message the main, that way we are able to update the memories statuses of your characters post event!

QUICK HOUSEKEEPING :

one stop shop for all your plotting, posting and tagging questions !!

feel free to begin plotting now! you can post plotting calls, starter calls or anything of the like !! just remember to keep any in character posts saved for the 10th!

please hold any and all non event threads until the event has concluded on the 20th! you are free to pick them up again after, or start fresh with your characters adjusting to yet another magical surge.

you are welcome to have your characters text each other if they are in different groups, but remember the connection is spotty and unreliable. we also want to make sure everyone is focusing mainly on their groups so please, do not over do it. if we see too many text threads, we will have to remove this feature.

please tag all posts (in character , out of character , para , etc ) with hwevent12

please make sure you tag all interactions with which group your character is in : examples like ‘ event : the island ‘ , ‘ the city group ‘ , even just ‘ the island ‘. this way people know which group you are in when interacting!

keep your eyes on the main for any information pertaining to the event as the days trek on!!

as always, this event is mandatory for all members !!

please remember that not everyone has to have their memories altered, and you are free to keep your character either aware/unaware !! but be sure to remember that if they do have their memories altered, this will affect them in the long run after the event as well !!

and as always, have fun, get creative, think outside the box and enjoy the chaos of our twelfth event!!! we cannot wait to see what you all do with this during the event and beyond !! please don’t hesitate to ask any questions, we know this is a lot of information to take in, so let us know if you need any help! and again, as always, please like this when you have read it all! ♥

#hwevent12 #hw: event #hw: ooc #hw: admin #ahhhhh we're so excited for this friends !!!#we hope you are too !!!! ♥#long post tw

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f0rever15elf · 4 years

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Gold Rush

Pairing: Modern!Ezra x f!reader Word count: 6,391 Rating: T+ Warnings: Slight swearing, short description of a brutal injury, mention of medical opiate administration via injection

Find the continuation of the story with Colorado Rocky Mountain High

Summary: It’s been a long time since the precious mineral rush hit the Rockies of Colorado. So when national news breaks of a potential gold vein left untouched in your quiet little town, no one is prepared for the rush that follows. And you certainly weren’t prepared for the man you meet.

A/N: So, I adore Ezra’s vocabulary and accent. I felt like a modern twist on it could be interesting. Someone really needs to control me when I start writing these oneshots xD

Masterlist | Ao3

You would never forget the day you first laid eyes on him. He looked a mess, dirt and soot clinging to his sweaty face. Mud clung to his coveralls, and his hair stood up in all directions having just taken his safety helmet off, a little blonde patch catching your eye. He looked positively exhausted as he lounged on a boulder set off a little bit from the rest of the commotion. The grueling heat from the mid-day summer sun did little to help the heat you felt rush to your cheeks when his warm brown eyes locked on yours. You averted your gaze quickly, scurrying off to finish your work in preparing the food for the new prospectors.

Your little mountain town tucked up in a secluded region of the Colorado Rockies had always been exceptionally quiet. That is, until a kid happened to stumble upon the start of what looked to be a gold deposit. It wasn’t unheard of, the mountains were rich with all kinds of valuable minerals. Hell, some of the towns got their names from the gold and silver deposits that brought them to life. Finding something here though, in your quiet and reclusive neck of the woods, was something your town was drastically unprepared for.

News broke nationally and within a week the town was flooded with prospectors and independent contractors all vying for their piece of the pie. The economic boost for the town was good, but the available resources were minimal, and the town felt the burden. There wasn’t enough room in the one bed and breakfast the town had to house them all, making little tent camps near the edge of town a very common sight.

Naturally, the close knit community rose to the occasion, coming together to make community meals for the visitors. Communal lunches were the most anticipated time for the workers, and they would flock to the picnic tables to fill their bellies as soon as the lunch bell rang. Most were nice and talkative, thanking the town for doing this for them, and promising to go visit the shops when they finished for the day. Some kept to themselves, staying quiet. Others would talk your ear off, but you had to approach them first. It was a strange new normal, but one that was easy to fall into routine with.

It’s been a little over a month now, and prospecting is in full swing. The little bit of gold the boy had found was just the beginning of one of the richest gold deposits this region of the Rockies had ever seen. More and more miners made their way to your town every day, and your new full time job became helping with the meals; making food runs down into the nearest large supermarket or tending to the vats of food that seemed to always be simmering away. But even when you were distracted with all of this hubbub, it seemed impossible to forget the man with the small blonde patch.

Today is a grey day. The clouds thick in the sky promise heavy rains. Yet still the lunch bell rings, calling the prospectors from their mine shafts and tents to come and join the community for food. The man with the blonde patch sits closer today, his usual boulder taken over by two of the newer prospectors whose names you had yet to learn. As you work, you feel his eyes following you, watching you like a hawk as you do your best to ignore it. Quite a few of the prospectors spent time ogling you, but this man’s gaze consistently feels different. Arms full of things to take back to your house to clean, you begin making the trek up the incline that leads to your house when lightning cracks the sky. The resounding rumble of thunder through the canyon scares you out of your wits, and the dishes go crashing to the ground as you lose your footing, stumbling backwards. You close your eyes, preparing yourself to hit the ground, knowing you’d be tumbling for a bit before you could regain yourself, but the ground never meets you.

“Careful there, sunshine.” The voice is honey thick, a deep Tennessee drawl that borders on music as it drips from the lips of the man who catches you. Opening one eye, you look up to see the man with the blonde patch holding on to you, having been the one to keep your from falling down the hill. You open your other eye as well, looking up at him for far longer than you are sure was proper before your cheeks grow hot and you scramble to get your footing again.

“I’m so sorry! The thunder frightened me, I didn’t mean to..I just...I – Thank you.” You blabber as you crouch down to start gathering the dropped and scattered dishes, cramming everything back in the chili pot.

“Not a worry, sunshine. Would have been a mighty rough fall there.” He crouches down to help you gather the dishes, only pausing to look to the sky when the first few drops land on his face. You look up with him and sigh.

“It’s going to be a hell of a storm.” His beautiful eyes turn back to you at your comment, an eyebrow raised. “The season is changing,” you grunt, getting to your feet. “Best to make sure your tent is secure, sir. Else this rain and the wind that will come with it will blow it half way down the canyon.”

“I appreciate the advice, but I do not believe that to be something I need concern myself with presently.” The way he spoke, words pouring from his mouth with such sweetness, was unlike anything you had ever heard. “I haven’t a tent to my name, you see. Just the clothes on my back and tools on my hip.”

“You didn’t bring a…?” Your voice tapers off in concern and confusion as the drops fall more rapidly, the rest of the prospectors dispersing to tend to their own things. “Come inside with me. You stay out in a storm like this you’ll get sick. Come on.” Turning, you begin your trudge uphill again, eyes on the sky as you wait for it to bottom out. The strange prospector follows you in silence, his tools clanking on his belt with every step.

And then it happens.

The sky opens up, the deluge drenching you both and you let out a small scream, sprinting down the street to the safety of your porch, the man hot on your heels. “C-Colorado rain is always so damn cold,” you chatter through clenched teeth, opening your front door and kicking off your soaked shoes. You’re half way to the kitchen when you realize the man hadn’t come in after you. Looking back over your shoulder, you see him standing just outside the doorway, the spitting image of a drenched kitten, conflict clear on his face. “Don’t just stand there, come inside where it’s warm.”

“It would be rather impudent of me to make a mess of your home in such a way.” You wave your hand at his comment, setting the dishes on the counter before returning to him.

“I wouldn’t offer if I wasn’t alright with it. Come on, you’re letting the cold in.” When he still doesn’t move, you roll your eyes and grab his hand, tugging him inside before shutting the door behind you. “You can use my shower to get cleaned up. Go on.” You all but push him down the hall, him protesting in far more words than necessary as you do. “There’s towels in the wicker basket. Use whatever you need.” You turn to leave, stopped only by his hand catching your wrist in his gentle grip.

“Thank you, sunshine.” You look up at him, struck by the sincerity on his face, in his eyes. “I am beholden to your unbridled grace and kindness.” You flash him a shy smile and nod as he drops his hand from your wrist.

“I’ll get you something dry to change in to once you’re done getting cleaned up.” Your voice is soft as you turn, letting him to his business as you go to find him some clothes. It is at this time that you’re beyond grateful that your brothers were so damn forgetful, having left several articles of clothing at your place every time they visit. Humming a low tune, you rummage through their chest of forgotten clothes, pulling out a v-neck you’re pretty sure will fit him along with a pair of gray sweatpants that might be just a touch too short. They were better than nothing, at least. You quickly fold the clothes, setting them in the hallway outside the bathroom door before knocking.

“Sir, there are warm and dry clothes for you in the hall way. I’ll wash your wet ones when you’re out.” Over the sound of the running water, you catch a muffled, loquacious reply. You have only been speaking to him for a few minutes, but he’s already proven to have a more robust vocabulary than most anyone you’d met. Chuckling, you make your way back to the kitchen to get the dishes cleaned up, resuming your humming.

A bit later, you’re interrupted by the sound of a throat clearing. You look over your shoulder to see the prospector there, leaning against the doorway into the kitchen. Relief washes over you when you see the clothes did fit, making a mental note to not tell your brothers that you were giving away their clothes. “Enjoy your shower?”

“The breadth of generosity you’ve show this old man of ill repute is without measure,” sugar sweet words drip from his lips again, bringing a heat to your cheeks.

“Oh please, it’s nothing, really.” You gesture outside to the torrential downpour. “If you have no shelter in this type of weather, it has the potential to bring a rapid end to your prospecting career. The nights are too cold up this high to go to sleep drenched to the bone.” Your eyes rake over his figure, settling on his hair again, sticking out in all sorts of directions after having towel dried it. A smile pulls at your lips before you look back at his face.

“Well, all the same sunshine, I seem to find myself indebted to your good graces.” The corner of his mouth tugs up in a lopsided smirk that makes your heart stutter.

“Well if that’s the case, help me dry the dishes and I’ll call us square.” You grin and toss a towel to him as he joins you at your side. “By the way, I don’t think I ever got your name.”

“How discourteous of me! I go by Ezra. Just Ezra. Pray tell what name such an absolute vision of beauty such as yourself goes by?” You can’t help the giggle that bubbles from your lips as a heat rushes to your cheeks. You give him your name, a nervous air in your voice. He nods, repeating your name back to you and you can’t help the shiver that runs down your spine as your name sounds like liquid gold on his lips. You wouldn’t mind hearing him say it again and again, you think.

“I like that name. Ezra. I think it suits you.” You flash a smile as you hand him a pot to dry. “Tell me though. How have you been here since the rush began, yet still you don’t have so much as a tent to cover your head?” His laugh is deep and rich as he takes the next dish, drying it thoroughly.

“I find it more prudent to be frugal with one’s earnings in such a tumultuous line of business as freelance prospecting. Nature tends to provide what my mortal body needs as far as shelter, so the earnings I amass in mining go towards improving my station.” You nod, turning off the water as you hand him the last plate.

“And you’ve been living this way for how long?”

“By my approximation, I’d say I’m just about at the ten year mark.”

“I can’t imagine the lifestyle is easy…”

“There is an ache that lingers in my bones, no doubt, but the drive to press ever on towards greatness...well, that is what distinguishes those who simply chase a dream of getting rich quick from those of us who yearn for something beyond that which words can describe.” He turns, leaning against the counter to cross his arms, eyes staring off into space. You’re quiet for a moment as you watch him, taking note of the creases on his weathered face. Laugh lines linger along the corners of his lips, and smile lines accent the corners of his eyes. He is beautiful in every sense of the word.

“And when you reach the end of the vein here? Where will you go to next?” His eyes refocus on you and he smiles, pondering the question for a moment.

“I suppose that entirely depends up the riches chanced upon during my toils in your hospitable hamlet.” The way he says riches as his eyes watch you strikes a chord within you, and you have a feeling that it isn’t just the gold he is speaking of. Something about this man bewitched you, and you find yourself struggling to break eye contact with him. His smile is warm and welcoming, but there is something there just below the surface that hints of danger. And it thrills you. Another crack of lightning and rumble of thunder startles you from your trance and you push away from the counter with a nervous chuckle.

“Well, I do hope you’re able to find what you’re looking for here, Mr. Ezra. Please make yourself at home, I’m going to go set your clothes into the wash for you.” You turn and all but sprint down the hallway to the bathroom, Ezra chuckling in the kitchen behind you.

As you start his laundry, you take a moment to compose yourself. Your heart is racing and your hands trembled in a nervous excitement as they braced against the washer. The air around Ezra is different, you think. Something about the man sets him apart from those you had had the chance to speak to so far, and you are determined to figure it out. After calming yourself to a reasonable level once again, you make your way out to join Ezra in the living room. He’s found your meager book collection, helping himself to one of your novels, and the sight of him perched on your sofa with it balanced on his knee looks like the most natural thing in the world.

“Avid reader?” you question, sitting down on the other side of the couch, tucking your feet up underneath you.

“I have been known to indulge when such an opportunity affords itself to me.” He flashes you that lopsided smile that you just can’t help but return before re-affixing his eyes to the text in front of him. You watch him for a time, trying to learn as much about him as you can from his posture, his looks, until your eyes drift to the window behind your couch. The rain blurs the windowpanes, turning the landscape into some abstract watercolor painting and all that can be heard is the sound of the rain accented with the occasional turn of the page as Ezra reads. Relaxing into the couch, your eyes slowly slip shut as you drift off into a peaceful sleep.

When you finally come around, the sun has set and the rains have stopped. The house is quiet save for a gentle fire in the fireplace, one you hadn’t set before falling asleep. A blanket has been delicately draped over you and you smile to yourself. You sit up and rub the sleep from your eyes, searching for the friendly prospector. “Ezra?” Your voice is heavy, still thick with sleep as you stand to look for him. You find him outside on your porch, leaning against the siding as he looks out over the canyon visible from your home. “Ezra? Is everything alright?” He simply nods, not looking over to you. The full moon illuminates his skin in the most radiant of ways, accentuating every curve and plane of his face, brightening that little blonde patch in his hair. It left you near breathless. A shiver runs through you at the crisp mountain air, left cooler after the rains, and you wrap your arms around yourself to cope. Ezra shifts his attention to you.

“You should be inside, sunshine. The cold will do you no favors.” He pushes off of the wall, turning to usher you back inside. You hear it though, the slight sadness in his voice that wasn’t present earlier today. You allow him to lead you back inside, shutting and locking the door behind him before you turn to face him.

“What’s wrong, Ezra?” A flash of emotion crosses his face so quickly you aren’t even sure you actually saw it. But if you did...for a moment he looked almost...pained…

“Nothing, sunshine. The chill of the night just leaves an ache in my bones, is all.”

“You’re lying,” you whisper, stepping closer. Perhaps it was the bleariness of sleep that still lingered with you that emboldened you. Or perhaps it was the tantalizing aura that surrounded him that drew you in. Either way, you find yourself staring up at him, concern shining in your eyes bright as the full moon outside. His smile is forced, you can tell, as he puts his hand on your shoulder.

“Little gem, I promise you, the weight I carry is not something I need burden you with. Your hospitality has been unparalleled, and I will not permit myself to impose on you more than I already have.” His warm, tender eyes search yours, begging for you to listen to him. But stubbornness has always run hot in your veins.

“Didn’t I tell you before?” You reach up and take his hand gently in yours. “I wouldn’t offer if I wasn’t sure. Ezra, what’s wrong?” His hand twitches in yours before he gently pulls away, his smile significantly sadder.

“The life of a reprobate like myself should never tarnish the luster of someone like you, sunshine. I will not give you my sins to carry.” He reaches up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear before smiling and moving past you to lay down on the couch. A glance to the clock shows you’ve well missed dinner time, sitting at 8:30 now. With a sigh, you meander back into the living room, taking a seat on the floor in front of the fire, letting the heat warm your soul from the chilly night air.

“We all have our own sins to deal with, you know.” Your voice is low as you watch the sparks wick up the flue. You can feel his eyes on your back, waiting for you to continue. “Everyone has a story. But the mountains don’t care about that. They don’t care about who you were before you arrive here. They don’t care about blood on your hands or the loss you’ve endured. They were here long before us and will remain here long after you or I return to the stardust we are made of.” You turn your head to look over your shoulder to see Ezra still staring at you, the fire flickering in his chocolate eyes. “The mountains offer you a chance, Ezra. That’s why I’m here...and as fate would have it, it’s why you’re here as well.” You turn your face back to the fire, Ezra staying quiet for some time behind you.

“The life I have taken to isn’t an easy one, gemstone.” His voice is low and gruff, his drawl more prominent. “I’ve done things in this life that I am ashamed to admit. Lost as much as I’ve gained, taken as much as I’ve given. And every single soul I’ve urged on to whatever follows this painful existence torments me every time I attempt a moment of respite.” The sigh from his lips is heavier than any weight you’ve ever carried, and it pains you to know he carries it alone. “I tell myself it’ll all be worth it in the end. That I’m toiling away day in and day out for a greater purpose. But it’s been near a decade, gemstone, and the end never nears.”

“You’re tired,” you whisper, turning around to look at him, taken aback by the shine in his eyes. “You’re tired and lonely. I can’t even imagine how heavy your soul feels carrying everything you do all alone, and still managing to put a smile on your face. Lord knows I couldn’t...not ‘till I came here, that is, and the town helped me bare my burden. Ezra, I don’t think it’s a coincidence you ended up here in our town. I really don’t.” You flash him a gentle smile, standing up to grab another spare blanket from the linen box, handing it to him. “Think about it, okay? Stay here for tonight. This cold is no place for anyone right now.” He takes the blanket from your hand, perplexity painting his face as you smile down at him. “Goodnight, Ezra. I hope the fire keeps the specters at bay for you tonight.” He nods as you turn, heading back to your room after turning over the laundry. He was odd, but you liked him.

Bright and early you hear a rummaging in the kitchen, the smell of bacon permeating the air. Stretching, you stumble from bed, following your nose and growling stomach. Ezra is there in your kitchen in just the sweats he was borrowing, humming to himself as he cooks. The broad expanse of his back is littered with faded white scars, some that looked to be from blades, and some from burns. His humming voice is lovely, you think, smiling as you lean against the doorway to watch him. He seems so at home, you feel it inappropriate to disturb him. It’s when he turns to put a bowl in the sink that he catches you from the corner of his eye.

“Well good morning, sunshine. I beg your pardon but I permitted myself the liberty of preparing a warm breakfast for the two of us.” His smile that pulls at his lips is brighter than last night, and you felt certain the dread that plagued him had passed for now.

“Did you sleep well?” You inquire, moving into the kitchen to pull down two glasses to fill them with orange juice.

“A specterless dream for the first time in what seems like forever, gemstone.” He places his hand on the small of your back as he moves past you to keep you from bumping back into him, setting the plate of eggs and bacon on the table. The touch feels electric, and you find yourself shocked in how much you enjoy the feeling.

“The mountains have that effect on a weary soul,” you smile, bringing the glasses over. “Coffee?”

“That would be magnificent. But I don’t presume that the mountains have much to do with the reprieve I was so graciously afforded last night.” Your smile doesn’t fade as you put the coffee pot on to percolate, taking down two mugs after the fact.

“Pray tell what you think might be the source of such a thing?”

“I do believe it might have a thing or two to do with the enchantress that graces my vision in the radiance of the morning light.” Heat floods your cheeks as the coffee pot buzzes, the smell of fresh brew mingling beautifully with that of the bacon. You pour two cups, handing Ezra his before joining him at the table.

“I’m a simple mountain girl, I doubt it has anything to do with me.”

“You humble yourself far too much, gemstone. A heart of purer gold than the ore I mine, and the shining soul to match.” He holds his mug up in a toast before bringing it to his lips. “Ones like you are few and far between.”

“And ones like you even more so, I would say.” You return his toast before serving yourself a bit of breakfast. “Thank you for cooking, Ezra. It was very kind of you to do.”

“But the smallest thanks I could give in return for such philanthropy as what you have shown me these past twelve hours.” He chuckles, eating rather quickly, a habit that you feel was one developed over the long time spent in his lifestyle. He finishes well before you, standing to clear his plate. “I’ve imposed for far too long, I fear. I’ll change and be on my way. Gold doesn’t mine itself, I’m afraid.” You chuckle and nod, standing to stop him as he moves towards the hallway.

“Ezra, you are welcome here always. Tent or no tent, you’re welcome to kick your feet up on my hearth whenever you wish. And I do mean that.” Your voice is soft as you look up at him, eyes to match. He returns your gaze, a gentle smile working his way across his lips as he smooths your bed-messed hair.

“There is that heart of gold, my little gemstone.” The tenderness in his voice warms you through, and your heart aches when he steps away. “But I won’t impose a moment longer.” His smile stays as he goes to collect his clothes, quickly changing in the bathroom before making his exit, heading back down to the mine.

And so the days continue. The miners would come for lunch and you would help to serve it, each day Ezra staying close to you to keep you company. His honey dipped accent brought you more joy than you thought a simple sound could, and it made the days pass more quickly. In the evenings when he was done at the mine, he would come to your doorstep, leaning against the support as he talked with you, reveling in the laugh he was able to earn from you with his tales. Each night, you would offer him a warm place to lay his weary head, but every night was the same. A polite decline and an insistence that he could not allow himself to burden you more than he already had before he would excuse himself, heading back to the ridge where the trees would keep him company.

The night he doesn’t come to talk to you, you find yourself watching out the window for him, worry seizing your heart. The sky had been boiling as you had finished working in your yard for the evening, waiting on the loquacious prospector to come and keep you company as he had for weeks now. Rain was coming, you could feel it in your bones, a chill gripping you as the night grows colder. As far as you knew, Ezra still hadn’t purchased himself a proper shelter to ward off the rain, and that thought terrified you. No one should be out in such conditions, no matter how much they felt they deserved to be.

Lightning cracks the sky, your worried reflection flashing back at you for the briefest of moments as the bottom opens out of the sky. A Colorado thunderstorm, true to form. A shiver runs through you at the thought of Ezra out in this, and you decide it best to start a fire in the event that he happened to stumble to your doorstep. And no sooner have you worked the fire up to a low roar in the hearth, do you hear a knock at the door. You wrap your knit blanket around your shoulders, moving to open the door, and there he stands looking more akin to a drowned rat than you have ever seen. Lightning illuminates his face and all you can see is pain, sending your heart into a sprint as you reach for him, pulling him inside.

“Ezra, oh my God, what happened? Why were you out in this?” You lead him into the living room, sitting him down in front of the fire to dry him out and warm him through. “Are you hurt, what happened?” He only groans, leaning forward until his face rests against your shoulder, his breathing ragged. Your arms gingerly wrap around him, holding him to you. “Ezra, you’re scaring me, what happened?”

“A-Accident. In the mine. Rock slide. Hurt m-my arm…” He groans and your throat all but closes as your blood runs cold. You pull back gently, cradling his chin in your palm. The way his forehead creases in pain terrifies you before you even so much as see his arm. You pull back just enough to see the blood soaking through his drenched jacket, his arm cradled at an unnatural angle.

“Oh fuck…” You pull back, easing him down as gently as possible as you pull out your phone, cradling his head in your lap. After the third ring, a gentle voice answers. “Dr. Renslier, I need you to come to my house right away. I have an injured miner here. His arm is badly hurt and he’s bleeding through his clothes. I’m scared to move him…” Ezra’s breath hitches as he bites back another groan, guilt settling in his stomach at causing you so much worry.

“G-Gemstone, stop those tears…” He reaches up with his good hand, wincing as it jostles his right arm, to wipe the tears from your cheeks. “An incorrigible man such as myself is undeserving of such acts of affection. Save those diamonds, little gem.” You tilt your head into his touch, fear still paralyzing your heart.

Dr. Renslier was the only doctor in town, a retired surgeon from Denver Medical Center. He was the best of the best during his time there, and decided to take his skills to this little community, settling in with his wife and their three dogs. The town loved him, and he was one of the few people you would trust with your life in a fraction of a heart beat. So when your door opens and you hear his voice calling from the doorway, a wash of relief floods over you. He kneels next to Ezra, already pulling out scissors to cut away the bloodied jacket. The sight this reveals has your stomach turning and you fight to keep dinner down.

“W-Well? How bad is it doc?” Ezra’s usually rich voice is weak and strangled as he battles with the pain. “Give it to me st-straight.”

“It’s...not good. I don’t think...I don’t think we can save it.” Bone protruded through what was left of the skin in multiple places, the breaks jagged and splintered. “Even if we were in Denver I don’t think I could...save this.” He rummages in his bag for a syringe, tapping out the air before squeezing the flesh of Ezra’s shoulder, administering the injection. “That will help with the pain.” He grumbles about the storm as he pulls out a tourniquet, tying it off just below the shoulder. “We need to get him to the office. He’s going to need a transfusion and I need to operate, now.” You nod as you shift out from under Ezra, him already feeling the effects of what you could only assume was morphine, before helping the doctor to carry him to the car. You elect to ride along, knowing he would need help getting Ezra inside before the nurse on duty would take over.

As soon as you are ushered from the operating bay, you stagger to a chair, sitting down heavily as the adrenaline finally wears off. Tears brim and spill over once again before you drop your face to your blood covered hands, sobbing. Eventually, your sobs turn to whimpers turn to pained sniffles before exhaustion overtakes you, succumbing to a fitful sleep. You are awoken by the nurse, a gentle, pity-filled smile on her face. “He’s out of surgery and resting in a bed now. We need to get you cleaned up before you can see him, ok? We have a set of scrubs you can wear for now.” You simply nod, getting up to follow her as she leads you to the bathroom. The scrubs are folded neatly on the bench by the sink and you smile despite yourself.

Once clean and dressed, you make your way back out to the hall, the nurse waiting to lead you to the recovery beds. You feel as if you could collapse in sobs once more seeing Ezra laid up as he is, face pale and IV drip in his arm. Small bandages littered his face and what you could see of his left arm. As for his right...all that was left was a nub just below his shoulder, tied off in a neat bandage. You draw up a seat next to him, taking his hand in yours, drawing circles along the skin with your thumb. You would wait here for him to wake, you decide.

And so you do, falling asleep with his hand in yours. The feeling of his hand twitching in yours is what wakes you, your eyes snapping open to check on him. The groan that slips from his lips sounds so pained. Slowly, his eyes flutter open, squinting at the bright lights of the med bay before they land on you. A smile tugs at those lips of his when he realizes you were still there, beside him, and he squeezes your hand weakly.

“My little gemstone…” His voice is hoarse, but sweet, traces of that honey slowly returning. “Did you stay here the whole time?”

“As long as they would let me, Ezra.”

“You really didn’t nee-” You cut him off before he could finish the sentence.

“I wanted to. Please don’t ask me to leave, Ezra, because I won’t. I’m not leaving your side.” Rich chocolate eyes grow glassy at your proclamation, hips lips pressing into a tight line, but he nods all the same, secretly relieved that you wanted to stay with him.

“You must believe me a damn fool for finding myself in such a predicament.” His voice is tinged with humor, and you flash him a tired smile, shaking your head.

“It was an accident, Ezra. You said so yourself. I’m just relieved you’re alive to joke about it.” You return the squeeze to your hand and his eyes travel down to where you have interlocked your fingers with his. “Ezra,” you say quietly, drawing his eyes back to yours. “I want you to stay with me.”

“Well, I imagine that will certainly be preferable to the minute comforts an institution such as this could afford me whilst I recover as best I can…” His voice trails off, tight at the end of his statement as he looks to what remains of his arm.

“That’s not what I mean,” you whisper, your voice trembling with trepidation. Concerned eyes find yours again, an eyebrow arched. “I want you to stay with me. No more roaming, no more running...stay here. After the rush leaves, I want you to stay. With me.” His lips part slightly as you vocalize a desire he has had since the day he first followed you home.

“Sunshine, I couldn’t possibly be such a burden on you.”

“Dammit you bullheaded man! Listen to me! You aren’t a burden, you aren’t a hassle. Arm or no arm, I want you here, with me. Sharing my home, my life. I want that, Ezra.” You pick up his hand, bringing it to your lips to brush them over his knuckles. “I want you. I want an us…” You clench your eyes closed and you feel him pull his hand away before he lays it against your cheek.

“Gemstone...look at me.” You do as asked, looking up at him with glassy eyes that match his own. “Do you mean it? Do you really want me here? Is that what your heart is singing to you?” You nod, laying your hand over his against your cheek.

“Yes, Ezra, and I think it has been since the day you followed me home. Please, Ezra…” Confliction flashes in his eyes as he watches your face, your tears spilling over once more and he quickly wipes them away with the calloused pad of his thumb.

“No tears for me, little gemstone. I...I’ll stay…” You blink, almost not believing the words that came from his mouth.

“You...you mean it?”

“I do. My bones are tired, gem. My soul is tired. And since you extended such kindness to me that night, my dreams have left me in peace. All I dream about are your eyes which hold galaxies and your musical laugh. And being next to you…” You turn your head to nuzzle his hand, warmth flowing through you as you take in his words before you look back to him.

“We’re not so different then. You haven’t left my dreams, or my thoughts, since that night.” Ezra chuckles lowly before letting out a yawn, sinking back into the pillows. “Rest now, alright? I’ll be here when you wake.” He nods, pulling your hand away from where it holds his to your face, bringing it to his lips to place a feather-light kiss to your knuckles before laying it to rest by his side, his eyes slowly slipping shut.

The gold rush brought many people to your quaint little mountain town; miners and prospectors, dreamers and fighters, men and women with delusions of grandeur and those just trying to scrape by. But out of all of them, all of those you had befriended in your time helping to ensure they were fed, the one most important to you was Ezra. You don’t think it was a coincidence he ended up running to the same town you did so many years ago. The universe worked in ways no mere mortal would every truly understand. But that didn’t matter. So long as you had him by your side, the universe could act however it saw fit. Because with Ezra here beside you, your two weary souls could finally find solace in the cradle of the mountains.

~~~~~

Tag lists: Permanent: @ahopelessromanticwritersworld, @tangledlove27, @paintballkid711, @lose-eels, @adamdrivercouldchokeme

Tag lists are open! Requests are open!

#Ezra #ezra prospect #ezra x reader #ezra x you #ezra prospect x reader #ezra prospect x you #ezra x f!reader #ezra prospect x f!reader #prospect #pedro pascal #my fic

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c4pricornc4ts · 3 years

Text

Who Would Ever Want to be King? - Chapter One

Also on my ao3: here

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Eret has long decided that his loneliness is worth never hurting people again. He ruined his family, he wouldn't ruin anyone else's.

And so he lived on, and he lived on alone.

Or; two children escape a war that was never theirs to fight and find themselves right where they belong.

Eret lived alone. And not the kind of alone that a hermit or a loner might enjoy, he lived alone not by preference but forced to by his terrible choices.

Betraying the only people who stood by you tends to cause one to find oneself alone. He earned this crown through blood, but not by his bloodline.

Eret Rivera was king, and Eret Rivera was lonely.

He wasn't in complete isolation these past five years, the occasional traveler would stop for the night and tell him stories of the world and update him on the affairs of all the neighboring kingdoms.

He heard of every war, he learned of a place called Pogtopia and how L’manberg and been renamed ‘Manberg’ under new rule.

Sometimes when he hears of these issues, he feels grateful to be alone. He was tired of hurting people, of getting children involved in wars they were too young to understand.

When he betrayed his country, he betrayed war. Becoming a king with nothing to offer but shelter for the wary.

Eret has long decided that his loneliness is worth never hurting people again. He ruined his family, he wouldn't ruin anyone else's.

And so he lived on, and he lived on alone.

He's lying down on his silk sheets, reading by candlelight when it happens. It was storming out, the rain pouring in sheets with the occasional rolls of thunder. Perfect for reading. Not so perfect if you’re outside however.

"Tommy?! Oh God, Tommy?" Someone shrieks from the woods outside. They sound young, and more importantly they sound scared.

Eret snaps the book closed and hurries outside, not caring about his pajamas or the fact he had no shoes on, only grabbing his sword before rushing out the door to find the source.

"Hello?" he calls out. The rain made it almost impossible to see anything. He had to hope someone would reply.

He hears someone gasp, and then the rustle of leaves over the constant downpour. The people were scared of him.

"I'm here to help, this is not enemy territory you've found yourself in." He makes a show of lowering the sword, in case the person could see him.

A few moments later, he sees a brunette in a green shirt step out from the cover of the forest. He looks young, no older than 12. But his body was battered like that of a soldier.

Eret felt sick. He knew the people in that war, either side would've had no qualms with children fighting their battles. He probably was a soldier.

"Help him, please. H-he's not waking up I don't-" The boy is out of breath, even through the rain the king can tell he's been sobbing.

"Take me to him then." He steps forwards, the sword forgotten behind him. There were more important things than a weapon right now.

The boy jerks his head in a nod and starts to walk back into the woods, before long he is brought behind a bush where he sees another boy lying down. His clothes soaked through and his blond hair stuck to his forehead by the rain.

Upon further inspection, he realized the boy was bleeding from a gash on his forehead. It was getting washed away by the rain but there was so much blood it was still noticeable.

That, Eret decided, was definitely not a good sign.

The boy was small, not as small as his friend but still easy enough for Eret to pick up. So he does. Cradling his head gently to avoid further injury.

He turns to the other boy. "We need to get him inside, are you alright?"

The other nods in response, but Eret wasn't expecting anything more. He was shaking so badly he was afraid the younger boy would collapse.

He carries the unconscious boy out of the forest and right through the castle doors. Only glancing back to check on how the other was doing.

He lays the blond down on his bed, and gestures for the other to sit down on the left side.

He'd prepare another room for them soon, but for now he tries not to think about how his sheets were getting ruined by all the blood and dirt.

"What happened?" He was wrapping the gash on the side of the boy's head as they spoke.

"Tommy, he and-and I-- we, we uh well he- h-he tripped and- is he gonna be okay?"

"He's gonna be alright. You're gonna be alright too." The poor kid was scared out of his mind even now that he was getting help. Eret wanted to reassure him, even if he had to make promises he wasn't sure he could keep.

"Tubbo. I-I'm Tubbo. And thank you." The boy smiles but doesn't look up at Eret. Just continues to watch as the bandages wrapped around Tommy slowly turn red.

He goes over to his dresser and gives Tubbo a pair of dry clothes. Before going over to figure out how to get Tommy in something dry before they're dealing with more than a head injury. Tubbo changes quickly and goes to put his clothes on the porch outside the room.

"Are you twins?" Besides their age, they don't really seem to have much in common. Tommy was blond and tall with sharper features than the usual ten year old. Tubbo was short and had brown hair with much softer features. He knows there are thousands of more important questions he needs to and should ask the pair, but those can wait till after the storm.

"No, he's my best friend. I'm from Manberg he's- well he's not. He's from somewhere else I don't-" Eret's eyes darkened. His heart hurts to realize these were children who didn't even know where they were from anymore. He doesn't think he wants to let these two go back to that mess.

"Come help me lift him up, we need to get him in something dry." Tubbo does, he hesitantly takes Tommy's shoulder and helps Eret put a new, much warmer shirt on him. The blond stays dead to the world, which really wasn't good.

They lay him back down and Eret quickly finishes swapping his clothes. Tossing them on the porch with less care than Tubbo had previously shown.

He grabs a spare blanket from under the bed and drapes it around Tubbo's shaking shoulders. Before pulling up a chair beside Tommy for him.

"I'll watch him, you lie down alright? You don't have to sleep but just relax or your body won't warm up." He can't stand seeing the poor boy shake anymore. Children shouldn't suffer like this. He won't let them get hurt anymore.

"What's your name?" The boy lies down on Tommy's right side and props the pillow up so he's facing the king.

"Eret. I’m a king of some sort, I’m not sure if your kingdoms still speak of me.”

“Sometimes Fundy says your name, only when he thinks no one's listening though. Why?”

“I did something bad, I hurt a lot of people. But that’s the past, and everyday I’m trying to make up for it.”

“Once you’re forgiven you don’t need to keep making up for it though.” His eyes close, he’s struggling to stay awake.

“I wasn’t forgiven unfortunately.” He whispers, afraid his voice might waiver if he said it any louder.

“I think Fundy would, he really seems to miss you.” The boy yawns, and this time let’s himself fall asleep.

Eret picks back up his book and settles into the chair behind him. Prepared for a long night. He knows head injuries can be tricky. He’s not so sure he should be letting Tommy sleep right now, but he didn’t have the heart to put the boy through the pain of being awake with this injury.

Around 2 am, Tommy wakes up with a gasp. He tries to sit up to which Eret responds with a hand pushing against his chest. Stopping him from affecting his injury.

“Who the hell are you?” The boy glares at Eret, but thankfully doesn’t try to sit up.

He’s taken aback by how bold the boy is, he wasn’t expecting it after how timid Tubbo had been. Perhaps that’s how the two survived this long. The mean one to get them into trouble, the quiet one to get them out of it.

“I’m someone who is trying to help you. Tubbo’s right there, he’s fine too.” Tommy can’t really turn his head that way and still be lying down so he reaches out and grabs Tubbo’s hand before lifting it up, checking that it's him. Eret assumes it is as Tommy sets down the hand and sighs.

“Thanks, or something.” He grumbles and before Eret could respond he’s already out again.

Eret runs a hand down his face and laughs to himself, what exactly had he just gotten himself into?

#eret #tommyinnit #tommy and tubbo #tubbo #fundy #minecraft fanfiction #dreamsmp #fanfic #c4pricornc4ts #minecraft #eret mcyt

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megabees · 3 years

Text

no need for proclamation | a beauyasha fic

a what-if look at what would have happened if Beau and Yasha began dating during the harp scene in episode 98

alternate title: 5 times the Mighty Nein didn't know Beau and Yasha were dating, and one time it was literally spelled out for them

find it on ao3 or read below

They have a conversation, out there on the beach.

Yasha with her harp, and Beau, muscles unfurled, feeling at peace for the first time in a while.

The ocean brings clarity for them. They who were not raised by the sea find their anxieties pulled out and caught in a riptide, their bodies returned to them smoothed and polished like a piece of glass swept out into the waves. In the dry plains of Kamordah, Beau had never seen the ocean. Its vast blue stares back at her, forcing her to appreciate how big it is, how she is miniscule in comparison. Beau: big and brash, loud and bold, a born leader, finds herself taking peace in the vastness. In the grand scheme of things, the ocean remains the same. She means nothing to the waves. There is peace in this. If nothing matters, she can do what she wants.

Similarly, Yasha grows up in the Moorlands, surrounded by hills and grasses, but the rocks don’t best the constance of the waves, crashing and settling on the shore. For her, someone who struggles so much with desire, with understanding that her mind is her own, the waves show an unstoppable force. A small child can try to stop the waves from their end, but they always come to the shore anyway. Her path may deviate, like the waves occasionally fade, but she comes back to the same place. Her harp, calming. The waves, swelling and settling. Her mind is her own, she takes fate by the hand.

In front of the ocean, two women come to similar conclusions, and they have a conversation.

They leave the beach holding hands, a new relationship formed.

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

The Nein catch on far slower than they realistically should. Yasha and Beau aren’t hiding it, per say. They’re just not making a grand announcement.

That’s how the Nein does things. You keep a secret until someone weasels it out of you, and then it’s known. There’s no need for a proclamation.

Or so Beau and Yasha thought. After the past three weeks, full of longing glances and not hiding the way they act around each other, they’re beginning to doubt the obviousness of their actions.

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

They tried to hint to Jester, that day on the boat making statues for the Traveler, through subtle flirting and glances, but she never noticed.

“You have really good legs, Yasha”, Jester remarked.

Beau catches Yasha’s eye as she says it, gives her a little up and down look. Calculating, as if she wants to know each and every inch of Yasha’s legs.

Heat flashes up Yasha’s face.

“Yeah, the slit was very, uh, high. Helped with moving around.”

Another knowing glance from Beau to Yasha. When Beau thinks of that night, she thinks of two things. Firstly, the Ruby’s singing and the hypnotic way the fish moved around her. Secondly, she thinks of the way Yasha looked in that dress, shades of grey, black and white illuminating her eyes and her lips.

As the conversation gets more intense, Beau can’t help her hand from drifting behind Yasha, using it partly to steady herself on the slow rocking of the boat and partly to just get closer.

Yasha makes a similar move, placing her hand on Beau’s lower thigh, as she once again apologizes for running Beau through with Skingorger.

“It just adds to my aesthetic. Makes me look more interesting.” Beau is so focused on the hand, slowly and comfortingly rubbing her thigh that she almost misses Yasha’s flustered compliment towards.

“You’re already very interesting….You’re both very interesting.”

It’s Beau’s turn to flush. Don’t think she hasn’t noticed Yasha’s propensity to hide a compliment to her within a compliment to everyone. It’s cute.

It’s fun to be in those stages of a relationship, learning those new things about each other.

Jester’s probably too busy thinking of Travelercon, they can keep it lowkey for a little longer.

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

It turns out though, that neither of them is *great* at keeping things low key.

If you ask Beau, it’s Yasha’s fault. Yasha’s too beautiful and talented, and she keeps showing it off. That harp haunts a few of Beau’s dreams.

(Harps require some deft finger skills, if you catch the drift.)

Yasha gets up to perform for the village of Vo, and she’s surrounded by all these people. Beau watches the way her hands shake, how she searches the crowd for a familiar face, and yells out “Freebird!” so that Yasha can find her.

For Yasha, Beau’s a grounding face in the crowd of people. Someone who doesn’t care how she does, who just is there to support her. All of the Nein is, but this song is for Beau.

Caleb lights Yasha up with silent bolts of lightning, mesmerizing the entire village of Vo, illuminating Yasha with her own personal spotlight.

It’s funny, you know. Prior to meeting Yasha, Beau had always hated storms. In the winery, grapes that got too much rain produced thin and watery wine, and when there was a thunderstorm, the workers couldn’t harvest the grapes. It meant her dad was always angry when there was a storm. Loss of profit, and all that.

Once she met Yasha though, a storm signified Yasha for her. Thunder became part of the comforting rumble of sleeping with the Nein, and lightning illuminated how different her life looked from five years ago.

Even when Yasha was gone, Beau hoped every night to hear a storm. Maybe it meant Yasha was returning to them.

So it’s not her fault she’s put in a stupor by Yasha’s performance. That’s her girl.

It unlocks a deluge of feelings in her chest. Beau’s shell-shocked, as the Nein discusses the performance absent of Yasha.

She can’t help but allow herself to chime in.

“That was amazing.”

She makes sure to tell Yasha how amazing it is later that night, in hushed tones wrapped up together.

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

After that, they begin to find their stride in how they act around their friends.

In battle, Yasha has a free pass to be as protective as she wants. Beau’s more fragile than she, and is somehow easily swallowed? Yasha’s confused on how the beasts they keep fighting manage to find Beau in their mouths more than anyone else.

Either way, Beau usually ends up taking more damage than anyone else notices.

Nothing against Jester or Cad as healers, but they tend to focus on the group’s overall health levels, and Beau likes to play off her injuries.

Vulnerability isn’t easy for Beau, so Yasha keeps a watchful eye.

She’s already lost one partner, she doesn’t need to lose another.

They’re traipsing through the forest, and Yasha looks away for one moment, and suddenly Beau is on the ground unconscious.

Nosy Expositor can’t keep her hands to herself, Yasha supposes.

She gets Beau back up, taking lightning damage and healing her.

For Yasha, her healing hands are a way of showing Beau her affection. They symbolize forgiveness, and they symbolize hope. It’s just a way of showing how she cares. Yasha’s not great with words, she speaks through her actions, and she hopes Beau understands.

That being said, as if she’s gonna let her girlfriend get healed by just Fjord.

“It’s not a competition, okay!”

“It’s a competition.”

Fjord’s got nothing on her. She’s there for Beau.

This is re-enforced, of course, when Beau asks Yasha to carry her following the fight. There was a time, when Yasha was just regaining her mind, where Beau asked Caleb to carry her following the fight with Obann instead of Yasha, and while Yasha would never admit it to Beau, it hurt a little.

Carrying Beau is Yasha’s thing. They’ve had this joke running through the time they’ve spent together, and Yasha isn’t a fan of other people trying to butt in on that.

Perhaps she’s a bit protective, a bit jealous of Beau. How is she to not be, though, when she was gone for so long and Beau got so much closer with everyone else. For Yasha, post-Obann was a new fear. The Nein had pursued her for so long, but they also made new friends, and what if the Nein had liked them more than they liked Yasha? It’s hard to feel like part of a group when you’re never there. Plus, she was helping someone raise a terrible god, and killing Beau’s co-workers, and while none of it was in her control, she did it.

The fact that the Nein forgave her? That Beau forgave her and still wants to be with her?

Yasha’s still not sure how she got so lucky.

This thought is reinforced with Beau in her arms as they walk through the forest to face a false god. Yasha loves to be able to help. Jester and Cad might be the healers, but Yasha loves the feeling of Beau’s small, lithe body in her arms.

She just wants to hold Beau forever, shelter her from any oncoming attacks.

It’s with this thought that she misses Beau giving Jester a thumbs up as they venture further into the forest.

Who needs subtlety?

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

When Yasha catches Beau in the air with her new wings, part of her is sure it’s gonna tip off the rest of the group.

It’s so romantic. It was probably a beautiful visual.

Unfortunately, it seems like the rest of the Nein is either being incredibly dense or incredibly respectful, and Yasha’s too held up in her brand new wings to decide which they are.

She flies up and over the mountain with Beau swooning in her arms, and it’s perfect. The sun casts a beautiful golden haze over the island, and Beau’s skin shines in the sunlight.

Yasha might have the wings, but Beau is her angel.

Then the wings disappear and they plummet into a shallow pond.

Yasha’s not thrilled the wings last for such little time, but at least she gets to see Beau soaking wet from the pond, giggly and delighted at the flight.

In that moment, Yasha is overwhelmed with love. It’s too early to say, but she’s been in love before. She knows what that rush feels like, that off balance feeling of “oh shit I’m in deep”.

A small secret, then. Something to unpack on her own time. There’s no need to speed it up, to burden Beau with this until she’s ready.

This love, it can be just hers to have for a bit. She’s allowed to want that.

Beau brings her back to herself, pulling her out of the pond and her own thoughts in one fell swoop.

Holding hands and giggling, they make their way to the edge of the cliffside, overlooking the mountain awash in sunlight. Looking out, Yasha is overcome and she leans over to give Beau a quick peck on the lips.

“I’m happy to have you here with me.”

“Oh? That true, sap?”

Yasha laughs, nodding her head and breaking eye contact, and leads Beau to the edge to point the way down back to their friends.

“We should probably head back, they’re gonna think we’re dead.”

They take a little extra time on the way down though since the Nein hasn’t noticed their other hints. It’s put to good use.

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The day they visit Molly’s grave is when they give up any attempt to be subtle at all. Throughout Rumblecusp and the days after, their relationship has switched from being a complete secret to being something that they could easily explain if asked, but no one has outright asked them if they’re dating, so it just hasn’t happened.

Either the Mighty Nein is very dense or very respectful. Yasha’s sensing it might be half and half, because Caduceus had a very meaningful conversation with her about wanting things and patience, but Jester and Veth keep giving Beau looks when they think she should make a move.

Yasha and Beau talk about it at night. It’s funny to them that everyone keeps dancing around the topic. Neither of them is sure about where they got the idea that they can’t just ask, but it’s fun to just have this to themselves.

Until they go to visit Molly’s...no..Lucien’s? grave.

Yasha has a lot of feelings around Molly and his grave, and she’s not exactly thrilled by Caleb’s suggestion that they dig him up to get some answers to questions they don’t even know yet. Feels almost rude, to take a friend out of the ground to inquire about his personal life.

She mentions it to Beau, in a hushed whisper, and Beau attempts to stop Caleb’s focused energy by hinting heavily at it, but his focus is so intense that he brushes her, and Jester, who picks up on both Beau and Yasha’s discomfort, off.

He gets like that sometimes.

They teleport there, and Yasha is struck by how normal it looks. His coat is still there, though it’s blown off the stake they put in to mark his grave, and for a moment, she lets herself hope that he’s still there.

Beau’s hand finds its way into hers as they watch Veth and Cad dig up the grave, a thread of reality keeping Yasha tethered there, eyes locked onto the now empty grave.

She removes her hand from Beau’s, and instead moves it to the small of Beau’s back, pulling Beau closer to her for comfort. Beau’s body is tiny, but it’s something to grasp as they both figure out what this means for their future.

At one of the lowest moments since she regained her mind, Beau is there with her.

She squeezes Beau’s hand once. Beau squeezes back. They’re ready to tell everyone now.

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They tell everyone in Caleb’s fancy tower, after Yasha decides to throw caution to the wind and make a joke about Beau’s fancy sex mirror above her bed.

Jester and Veth are overjoyed, Fjord and Caleb both want to make sure they’re taking care of each other and won’t mess up the group, and Caduceus just nods happily, though they’re sure he knew all along.

As they sit around the fire, Yasha and Beau link pinkies and bask in the laughter and joy of their family.

Things will be okay.

#critical role #beauyasha #beauregard lionett #yasha nydoorin

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tenmillionwhumperflies · 3 years

Text

Cloudwalker Series Part 15

Avizon whump time- and you can finally meet Orrien (Ore-ree-en) properly.

Warnings: The usual pet whump, with Avizon owning Dyan and Ihuka, but he’s more of a caretaker than a whumper now. There’s an arrow wound to the leg in this one, but that’s all the whump there is.

Master-list Here

Approx WC: 1800

The weather only got worse as they travelled back home. There was hardly any space in the back of the cart but Avizon let Ihuka and Dyan stay there in the dry. The rain was cruel and cold and painful as the wind sped up the droplets. Ihuka had taken to hiding his face in his bandanna and Dyan his face in Ihuka’s chest. Avizon's fingers felt numb. He needed to find somewhere to shelter.

He grimaced, knowing the closest place was Orrien’s little farm was at the other side of the woods to his left. He hoped the man would be generous enough to offer them his barn until the rain stopped. Besides, he did have things to speak to him about, such as his growing conflict with Erix and the cloudwalker’s magic. He urged Secret on, hoping that the thunder and lightning would hold off. At least the trees provided some shelter, but the woodlands were thin.

Avizon glanced in the back, peering through a little hole in the wood to see Dyan and Ihuka were huddled close, keeping warm under their wings. He was glad he’d freed them instead of keeping them wrapped up and restrained. Avizon had told them to get their blankets that he’d bought. The two of them looked peaceful, warm. Dyan seemed to be asleep, but Ihuka was still awake.

He brought his attention back to the path ahead of him and sniffled. He was cold and the rain had soaked through most of his clothes, making him shiver. The wind was biting and loud. He urged Secret on, just a little bit faster. He could tell she liked this situation no more than he did. She made to go right at a fork in the road but Avizon steered her left. “Change of plan, lass,” he mumbled.

It would be another hour until they got to Orrien’s home, but it didn’t take him long to start shivering, for his teeth to start chattering now that the night was setting in well and true. He could barely hold on to the reins. He tried to hide his hands in his soaked sleeves.

Avizon paused, hearing rustling in the shrubbery despite the howling of wind. He turned his head to compensate for his blind eye. He couldn’t help but feel ill at ease. “Ihuka, Dyan, wake up,” he ordered. He heard groans and grumbles. “Are we there?” Dyan yawned. “No, we’re not. Ihuka, I want you at the back of the cart, watch our back.” Dyan translated and Ihuka obeyed, but he didn’t take his blanket off.

“Dyan, at the front. I want you close. Watch my left side- that way. Keep an eye out for any people. Tell me immediately, alright?” “Yes, master.” Dyan climbed out of the cart and ran to the side, heaving himself up on the seat beside him.

Avizon tried to keep his focus as the weather got to him. He blew on his hands. “Would you like me to use my wings and keep you dry, master?” Dyan asked quietly. “No, little bird, I won’t be able to see… but thank you. Keep yourself warm.”

The journey was overpowered by silence, but it wasn’t to last. Dyan yelled out a warning, but Avizon wasn’t able to see the man on his side with a bow. He didn’t see him aim for him or fire, but he heard the swoosh, and felt the heavy jab in his leg. He cried out in alarm, the searing pain quickly becoming noticeable. He groaned and hurled an orb of power in that direction, unlike the man, he didn’t miss. He heard half of a scream, gurgling, then silence.

More men appeared, all ready to kill him. “Heads down!” he bellowed to his birds, flicking the reins, bringing Secret into a canter. The cart shook and rattled badly. Avizon summoned blue fire to his hands and sent it hurtling at anyone he could see. The men soon scarpered and disappeared from sight as Secret tore up the roads.

Avizon groaned, grabbing the reins again. “Steady, girl steady,” he called, easing her back into a trot. She breathed through flaring nostrils and grunted with fear.

“Easy girl.” He winced as the pain in his leg became all the more clear. Dyan stared at his leg, looking in curious horror at the arrow sticking out of his thigh. Avizon bit down on his lip to stay silent as he snapped the wooden shaft. It still drew a curse from him.

“D.Dyan, hold the reins,” he panted. “I’ll tell you what to do as we need. J.just hold them for now. Ihuka? Ihuka, are you alright?” Dyan translated to be sure, and he heaved a sigh of relief when he whimpered he was fine.

“He’s okay, just startled… Master, a.are you alright?”

“We just need to get to Orrien,” he ground out, pushing down on his wound despite how it made him scream. He struggled to suppress a whimper as he sat still, rushing down air. It burned. “Gently pull on the left rein, just to g.guide her head… that’s it,” he grimaced as Secret turned. Dyan screwed up his face in concentration, but it was clear that he too was getting cold, even with his coat.

Things were getting blurry. Avizon wasn’t sure how much longer he could stay awake. When he suddenly found it hard to move his leg, he knew what was wrong. “Venom… blast it all!” He reached down for his satchel at his feet, but his arms were becoming infected with the same heaviness. He fumbled with the cork and gulped down what he could before the bottle fell out of his hands and landed on the floor. He hoped it was enough antidote to keep him alive. Dyan picked it up and offered him it back, but it was empty now.

“‘t’s alright… just drive.”

He struggled to stay quiet as the cart shook him. The cold and the pain and paralysis were a cruel combination. He couldn’t even shiver to keep warm. Dyan kept sending him worried glances, but he had a job to do and he was determined to do it well.

Finally, the little farm came into view. Avizon swallowed thickly, reaching for the reins to bring Secret to a stop in front of it. The paralysis was wearing off, but his legs were still plagued with it.

“H.help me to the door,” he managed.

Dyan told Ihuka and the two of them helped him down. He couldn’t bite back a cry of pain as he reached the floor. His legs buckled and he dropped this knees. The birds strained to heave him back up. It wasn’t easy when he was taller than them by about a foot.

The door opened before Avizon could knock. He must have been a pitiful sight, soaked from the rain, shaking and shivering, weak and limp, draped over the two cloudwalkers so he could even stay upright. Blood slipped down his leg freely.

Orrien was quiet for a moment, taking in the sight of him. He let the magic fade out of his hand, knowing he was not a threat. “Master,” Avizon croaked. “C.could I take refuge in your barn tonight? I… Things didn’t quite go according to plan.”

“Remind me to be angry at you later once I’ve fixed whatever mess you’ve ended up in this time,” Orrien grumbled.

“I.Ihuka… Dyan… b.best behaviour. Do as Orrien tells you. No shaking your wings inside.” Dyan translated everything he said, and it seemed like he said more. “Take the horse into the barn- and please don’t eat any of my livestock,” Orrien instructed, grunting as he took Avizon from them. Avizon had to hold his breath to silence a scream.

The birds were uncertain, but did as they were asked. Dyan reached up and took Secret by the head collar to lead her around. “There’ll be a young lad around the back, his name is Blue. He will look after the horse and both of you. Tell him I sent you.”

“Yes, sir,” Dyan answered shyly. Ihuka nudged Avizon’s arm with his head with a soft whimper. Avizon patted his head. “Good bird… go and rest.” It was clear he didn’t want to go but he reluctantly followed Dyan.

Avizon groaned and let himself relax once they were gone. He let his pain show just that little bit more. Orrien struggled to keep him up, to heave him into his chair by the fire. He eased him out of his soaking coat and shirt. “I’ll get you some blankets. Pants off if you can, lad, I’ll need to see how bad it is.”

Avizon nodded weakly and obeyed. Orrien soon returned with a few blankets and wrapped them around him.

“I’m sorry,” Avizon mumbled. “I realise I’m likely unwelcome.” “You have no reason to be unwelcome. You pushed yourself away,” Orrien said, his face heavy with concern. “You are always welcome in my home.”

Avizon looked at his face as he inspected the wound on his leg with a furrowed brow. Life and age hadn’t treated him as well as they could have. He had deep wrinkles around his blue eyes. The scar on his right eye had faded into more of a white line, but the golden yellow tattoo on his forehead still looked as bright as ever. Magical tattoos tended to keep their radiant glow. The enchanted metal dragon ear piece stared down intently at Avizon, half-covered by Orrien’s shoulder-length blondish grey hair. It looked up and stuck it’s tongue out at him before looking back down at his leg.

Orrien was sprouting a beard, which twitched and moved as he grimaced at the sight of the injury. “What happened?” he asked, his voice deep and rumbling. “Ambush… We were on our way here to get out of the weather, things went wrong. I got shot. I think it had cloudwalker venom on. I’ve taken an antidote, but-” “You’ve made an antidote?” Orrien asked, raising an eyebrow. “Aye… L.look after those two. They’re good birds...”

“I will. Now you need to rest. I can take care of everything. Get comfortable, I’ll send you to sleep.” “N.no…” Avizon groaned. “They could come back-” “Aye, and your limp isn’t going to scare them away. I can deal with them.”

Avizon pursed his lips, “Still…”

Orrien put his hand on Avizon’s feverish brow. “I’ve been fighting since before you were born. I can handle a few more buffoons. Sleep.”

The spell worked immediately, throwing Avizon into unconsciousness before he could stop it.

#Cloudwalker series #whump #arrow wound #avizon #dyan #ihuka #orrien #ambushed #omg you can almost meet Blue!

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potatocrab · 4 years

Text

whiskey & rain

After an Enclave ambush, Rosie and Butch seek shelter from a Wasteland rainstorm. She’s got a sprained ankle, complicating matters, since Butch’s medical knowledge is severely lacking. Her emotions are already running wild as it is. At least there’s a bottle of whiskey to share, and keep them warm, right? Oh, did I mention there’s only one bed?

Butch DeLoria x Rosie Sheridan (Lone Wanderer)

6271 words | [read on Ao3]

Fuck the Wasteland

Rosie had come to the conclusion about halfway through the firefight with the Enclave patrol that ambushed her and Butch on their way back to Megaton from Girdershade. Maybe it wasn’t the best decision to follow the main road, but it was smarter than wandering through the rough terrain and risk running into radscorpions or a deathclaw. The unit was comprised of four Enclave soldiers toting laser weapons—two had been vaporized by her plasma rifle when gloomy clouds appeared in the never-ending sky above their heads and it began to rain.

And it wasn’t like the trickle that soothed her to sleep as it pitter-pattered against the metal walls of her home—no, this rainstorm was the most torrential downpour she’d experienced since leaving Vault 101. Rosie would’ve been terrified, if she wasn’t so distracted by the men in darkened power armor trying to kill her. The rain and flashes of lightning didn’t make her already poor aim any better.

“Damnit,” she cursed, more to herself, glancing over to find Butch focused on reloading his weapon from a crouched position. He hadn’t heard her, and if he had, or could read her mind, he’d probably laugh and tease her for the profanity—so unladylike.

The harder the rain fell—heavy splotches catching on her glasses and distorting her vision further—the more difficult pinning down the last two enemies became. She maneuvered along the rocky ledge she and Butch were using for cover, only to slip on a slick patch of mud. Rosie shrieked, dropping her weapon to the side so she could catch herself before falling face-first against the sharp gravel. Either way, the landing still hurt, her hands and wrists aching with as she pushed herself up. What was worse, she realized, as she tried to stand, was that her ankle was badly twisted—maybe even fractured.

“Ha! Take that, ya’ son-of-a—”

Her companion’s taunting was interrupted by the rapid firing of a laser pistol, the red beams instantly smoldering as they met nearby boulders and pavement. Butch ducked his head down, and only then seemed to notice Rosie’s current state, though his face and expression were hard to see through her fogged-up glasses.

He shuffled closer, and she grimaced as she turned to lean against the ledge. “You shot?”

“No,” she answered. At least she didn’t think so. Bullet wounds were one thing, but energy blasts—even against armor—weren’t the easiest to treat. Especially by somebody with untrained hands. Rosie made a mental note to teach Butch about tending to injuries—she certainly had the medical journals to spare.

She made a feeble attempt to wipe away the rain from her face but it was no use. Instead, she tilted her chin over the rocky hill, gesturing to the sound of the gunfire. “How many are left?”

“One,” Butch answered, grumbling as he inspected his pistol. “I’m outta ammo.”

She resisted the urge to reprimand him for being so carless, always a little too trigger-happy when it came to fighting Wasteland threats. Then again, Butch was never one for discipline. Rosie reluctantly nudged the plasma rifle towards him, and hoped she wasn’t opening a can of expired cram (weren’t all cans of cram expired, she mused to herself).

“Here,” she said, blindly searching for her bag that had been lost in the scuffle so that she could pass him a few microfusion cells. When she turned her head back, Rosie found him too close for comfort, placing her messenger bag in her lap. It had seen better days, the canvas fabric streaked with mud and dirt. “T—Thanks.”

Butch’s face was a little easier to make out in that close proximity, and she paused, struck by the way he looked with the rain in his eyes, caught on his long lashes and shining on his tanned skin. Even his usually coifed hair was now comically flat, drooping down across his forehead and begging for her to reach out and brush away.

“Well?” he prompted, interrupting her thoughts. He picked up the rifle, inspecting it carefully and testing the weight of it in his arms, a smirk pulling at his lips. There was a reason she’d never let him handle it before—it had already gone to his head. “Ain’t got all day, Stitches. Wanna get zapped, or drown?”

Any nice feeling she might’ve been having about him popped like a balloon. Rosie groaned, pursing her lips as she rummaged through the outside pocket of her bag for the ammo casing.

“Don’t be wasteful, these are hard to find.” she expressed, placing it in his open palm. Expensive too, she thought. She gave him a skeptical look, suddenly having doubts. Maybe it would be better if she tried to take the last soldier down, even with her impaired vision and wobbly legs. “Do you know what you’re doing?”

“How hard can it be?” he asked, snapping the microfusion cell into place with a resounding slap. His confidence was not reassuring. He leaned in closer and Rosie winced as the back of her head hit the sharp edge of the cliffside as she instantly backed away. Why was he always doing that? Butch snickered, though it was hard to hear him properly with the howling wind and the echoing sounds of laser beams hitting the rock formations they were hiding behind. “Now, sit pretty while the Butch-man saves the day.”

Rosie would’ve rolled her eyes if he hadn’t just called her pretty. Her hands clenched around the bag in her lap, a lot more thankful for the rain as it soothed her suddenly very warm face. She watched, tilting her head to look over the rim of her glasses to see Butch’s blurry form maneuver along the rocky barrier with the rifle in his hands. He waited, timing the Enclave soldier’s shots until there was a moment of silence, jolting up to return fire. Rosie counted the shots, smiling despite herself when Butch taunted the enemy before shooting off one final round. He’d used less than half the clip—not too bad—for his first time.

“Oh yeah!” he exclaimed, lowering the rifle slightly to pump one fist in the air. “Look at that!”

Despite the aching in her leg, she twisted her body and gradually pulled herself up to stand and lean against the cliffside. Not a few yards away sat a large pile of green goo, still smoldering even as it was slowly mixed into the dirt by the rain. She looked back to Butch, who was far too excited about the vaporized remains. No more energy weapons for him, she quickly decided. Not unless he got proper training—it would go nicely with the stack of medical textbooks she planned to give him, whether he liked it or not.

“Lootin’ time?” he asked, nudging her in the shoulder. Rosie wavered, hissing sharply when the weight shifted painfully along her ankle and foot. Butch’s expression changed, eyebrows furrowing as he looked at her, noticing the way she was hunched over the rockface and favoring her right leg. All the humor seemed to drop from his face, propping the plasma rifle against the rocks before inching closer. “Said you weren’t shot.”

“I wasn’t,” she said, adjusting herself so she could bend her left knee backwards, alleviating the pressure. “My ankle is sprained,” she paused but decided there was no use in holding back her medical observations. “It might be broken.”

Rosie might have laughed at Butch’s deep frown if it wasn’t being directed at her. It was hard to tell if it was one of sympathy, or annoyance. If he had any kind of snide or clever remark to say, he didn’t get the chance, the sky loudly crackling with a roll of thunder as the rain came down even harder. He grabbed the plasma rifle again, slinging it over his back before offering her his arm. She hesitated, looking at his outstretched hand.

“Well?” he wiggled his fingers. “I’m offerin’ to help, so don’t say I never did anything nice for ya’”

Rosie softly smiled, recalling plenty of kind gestures he’d performed since they’d reunited, patched up their differences, and became unlikely friends. After situating her messenger bag across her body, she grabbed his hand, and he moved it to wrap his arm around her middle to keep her propped up against him.

She rested her arm around his shoulder, gesturing to the road. “We just passed an abandoned stop-and-shop. It’s a few clicks west.”

Butch nodded, and slowly the two started their departure from the ambush site, Rosie dragging her foot between them. Halfway to the pre-war gas station, the storm clouds darkened with the evening sky, the rain and windchill causing her to involuntarily shudder. Without a word, Butch pulled away from her, gripping her wrist tight enough so she wouldn’t topple over without his support.

“Wha—”

“I dunno about you,” Butch explained, passing her the plasma rifle and situating it across her back. In return, he took the bag of supplies. “But I don’t feel like freezin’ to death. Slowpoke.”

She was about to say something, anything in rebuttal to the teasing insult when he crouched down in front of her, glancing over his shoulder at her expectantly. “Wha—”

Again, he interrupted her. “What’s it look like? Lemme carry you, it’ll be faster.”

Her instinct was to say no, especially to a piggy-back-ride. She wasn’t a child. But the alternatives; slung over his shoulder or worse—bridal style in his arms—made her shiver. Or maybe that was just the rain again. Reluctantly, she nodded, holding tightly to his shoulders as she climbed onto his back. She shut her eyes tightly, biting down on her bottom lip as to not make a ludicrous sound at the feel of his hands looping around her thighs and knees, securing her around his waist as he stood.

Rosie reflexively tightened her elbows around his neck, daring to peek open her eyes as he moved, briskly walking down the paved road. “Don’t drop me.”

“Don’t choke me,” he retorted, voice strained. “You aren’t heavy, Stitches. Even when soaking wet.”

She remained silent the rest of the trip to the abandoned storefront, a tiny little shop with boarded up windows that sat adjacent to a long-forgotten highway gas-pump. Relics of another time, before the Great War, when people used cars to travel long distances instead of walking them. Would’ve come in handy when getting stuck in the rain, she was sure. Butch lowered her to the ground outside the shop’s entrance, and she leaned against the wall as he pried off the wooden planks that barred the door. Surprisingly, beyond that, it wasn’t locked.

“Plasma me,” Butch gestured for the rifle and Rosie blinked before registering his intentions, slinging off the weapon from her shoulders and passing it back to him. Better him to sweep the building for critters than she. Regardless, she hopped along after him through the entranceway—if she had to spend another moment in the rain, she’d probably cry. Just as she closed the door behind them, and secured the chain lock, Butch called out from somewhere further back in the store. “Nothin’ here!”

Nothing but dust and the remnants of a pre-war convenience store, she observed, glancing at the 200-year-old shelves. Rosie used them for balance as she made her way back to where Butch was standing, the rifle placed on the counter as he observed the set-up of the minimal furniture in the back-area space. There were two chairs, a small table with a stack of magazines, a metal crate and one, twin-sized bed, pushed up against the back wall.

Great.

Rosie didn’t have time to voice her sentiments when the entire shack rumbled with a terrible shake of thunder. The sheer intensity of the sound made her flinch, lunging forward to grasp the filthy shop counter so she wouldn’t fall. Butch didn’t react in the same way—didn’t do anything but turn back to face her with an expression that was stuck between amused and pity.

“Don’t tell me you’re scared,” he said, pushing the bag of supplies off his shoulder and onto the space between them.

Rosie watched his movements carefully, the way he unclasped his Pip-Boy from his wrist before setting it down. She trembled, limping around the counter so she was closer to the chair—she really needed to sit down. Lightning flashed through the cracks in the boarded-up windows and after a few seconds, another boom of thunder resonated through the sky. “You aren’t?”

“Nah,” Butch answered with a shrug, removing his leather jacket and inspecting it with a frown. He shook out the loose rainwater before slinging it over where the plasma rifle was. “Ain’t half as bad as the stuff we’ve seen together, out there,” he pointed in the general direction of outside, still focused on his wet clothing. “Lotsa more stuff to be scared of. Like right now, like I said, I don’t feel like freezin’ to death.”

As if on cue, his words caused her teeth to chatter and an intense shiver to run up her spine. She was certain it was the cold that time, even as he continued to pluck at his clothing, pulling at the zipper of his vault suit. Her cheeks went warm again, and she widened her eyes, unable to decide if she wished her glasses were still foggy from the rain or not. On a list of things she thought she’d see that day, things she wanted to see, Butch DeLoria undressing was not one of them. Or was it?

Damnit—she bit her tongue hard before the curse fell out of her mouth. “What are you—”

He shot her a bewildered glare, zipper down to his waist and open wide at the shoulders exposing the damp, white t-shirt beneath. “Changing clothes, what’d ya’ think? Jesus, Stitches, do you want me to get sick?”

Rosie recoiled, the flush on her cheeks growing hotter at the sight of his shirt, taut against his body, the fabric just translucent enough that she could see the outline of his chest beneath. The moment she realized she was staring, her embarrassment flared and she whipped around, shooting her eyes to the ceiling. What was wrong with her? When did she become a doe-eyed pervert? He was rubbing off on her, in all the wrong ways.

His chuckling could be heard over the sound of more shuffling fabric. “Not the best time to be a prude, chatterbox.”

She immediately pursed her lips to quiet the sound of her teeth, but it hardly helped. Butch scooted the bag her way until it bumped into her arm. Hesitantly she glanced over her shoulder to find him changed into a new, dry shirt, hunched over as he replaced his socks. He wasn’t wearing pants—but it wasn’t like there was a new pair in the bag anyways. Rosie averted her eyes, even if she’d seen him wandering the Megaton homestead in his boxer shorts before. These were completely different circumstances.

The canvas bag was open, the contents thankfully dry due to the waterproof fabric. She dug through the supplies until she found her rolled up set of sleep clothes and a dry pair of socks. When she realized Butch was watching her, she waved her finger in a circle formation. “Turn around. Close your eyes.”

Rosie kept her eyes on him as he sighed but followed suit, crossing his arms as he turned away. She was going to count to ten before even stating to undress, but the cold and reality of her injury started to settle in. Her fingers shook as she removed her Pip-Boy, placing it near Butch’s on the countertop. They continued to tremble as she pulled at the zipper of her vault-suit, pausing to remove the armored bits that Moira had provided all those months ago. She slinked her arms out, quickly stripping the soaked undershirt and bra from her body and replacing it with the dry t-shirt instead. When it came time to shimmy the vault suit down her legs, however, it proved too difficult and she toppled over into the nearby chair with a sharp yelp.

Butch turned around in an instant, and she didn’t have time to be embarrassed by the state of her undress. Not when her ankle was throbbing—with the way her head was spinning, she couldn’t tell if it was broken or not. He approached, and she shut her eyes to save herself from looking at him, knowing full-well the kind of view he had at the moment.

“Gonna let me help ya’, Rosie?”

She never knew what to think when he switched from her childhood nickname to her birthname. It was confusing, but it usually meant he was attempting to be serious, or at least honest. She peeked open one eye and found him staring not at her chest or her lowered vault-suit but at her face—at her eyes. Her chest tightened with an uncertain, but familiar warm feeling.

“O—okay,” she finally answered, swallowing down the nervous bubble in her throat. She pointed at the bag on the counter. “You’ll need the medical supplies.”

Butch grabbed the entire bag before scooting the second chair so it was in front of hers. First, he passed her the folded-up Nuka-Cola blanket that Sierra Petrovita had given her in exchange for Nuka-Cola Quantum. “So you can cover yourself up,” he explained, glancing away. She caught the faintest hint of what she might consider a blush. “Ya’ know, from prying eyes.”

Rosie bit down on her bottom lip so she wouldn’t smile, opening up the blanket and draping it across her lap to cover her exposed underwear and tucked it across her chest for warmth. “Thank you.”

He nodded and looked down at her shoes. “I’m gonna take these off for ya’”

“Okay,” she replied, watching him intently as he unlaced her boots just enough until he could slide her feet out, taking greater care with her left foot. Next came her wet socks, though he didn’t offer her a new pair right away, and it took him tugging on the bottom of her vault-suit to understand why. “I can do it.”

“Sure,” he responded sarcastically. “Is that why ya’ fell over into that chair?”

Rosie didn’t have a response, though she hardly ever had one for his quips. The brainfreeze didn’t help matters. She got the suit down to her knees when he silently convinced her to let him take the fabric from her hands, carefully removing it the rest of the way. Even so, she whimpered at the pain in her ankle, wincing at the throbbing ache.

“Sorry!” Butch’s hands froze mid-air, one grey sock dangling from his fingers as he stared up at her with wide eyes. She gritted her teeth and clenched her hands into the blanket, if only to prevent herself from reaching out to brush the dark hair from his face.

“I’m—” she stopped, inhaling sharply when he moved to grab her right foot, sticking it into the sock for her. “I could’ve done that.”

“You don’t have to do everything, ya’ know,” Butch replied, brows furrowed. She grit her teeth, softly gasping as he adjusted her left foot so it was propped up on his knees. “Let somebody else take care of ya’ every once in a while.”

Rosie silently nodded in response, too focused on the rapid beating of her heart to say anything. He leaned over to dig through the bag, fishing out the metal tin that protected her precious medical supplies, along with the copy of D.C. Journal of Internal Medicine. She leaned over to grab the book before he got distracted by flipping through the pages.

“Betcha been waitin’ to train me on all this medical mumbo-jumbo,” Butch muttered as he opened the medical kit, sifting through the contents with a few fingers. Rosie plucked the thick ribbon she’d been using as a bookmark from the pages and sighed—he didn’t know the half of it.

“I’d rather not be injured,” she said, gathering up her dark hair and squeezing out the remnants of rainwater before tying it up so it wasn’t sticking to her face or the back of her neck. She took off her glasses for a moment, wiping them on the blanket so they were free of any smudges—well, as smudge-free as she could make them. “My ankle isn’t broken.”

“How’d ya’ know that?” Butch asked, glancing up at her as he lifted a stimpak from the case, one eyebrow raised in a silent question.

“Don’t waste that,” she said first, prompting him to put it back with a quizzical expression. She’d teach him about pain management and the reason why not every injury needed a stim later. “It isn’t broken because if it were, I’d be in a lot more pain.”

“Oh.”

She nodded, pointing to the box in his lap next to her injured foot. “The gauze wrap. You’ll have to wrap it tight. Up and over and around the arch of my foot for support.”

Butch gave a curt nod, setting the medical case aside as he gathered the roll of gauze in his hands. At least they were clean from the rain, otherwise they’d have to waste a bottle of purified water tending to injuries. He gave a tentative press to one side of her ankle, holding the weaved fabric in place as he circled it around her foot, just as she’d instructed. His gentle touch was surprising, just as much as his quick learning—even if it wasn’t a complicated procedure.

“Probably would look worse too, huh?” he broke the silence, glancing up for a second before focusing back on his work. “If it was broken, I mean. Like when Wally punched me in the nose, remember that?”

“More,” she responded, and she saw the subtle flinch in his movements, causing her to whole body to heat. She didn’t mean it like—boys and their gutter minds. “Tighter, I mean.”

Her body felt numb, but it wasn’t from the cold. “I—yes. I remember. You sneezed blood all over my lab coat. My dad gave you both a scolding.”

He laughed but swallowed it back almost immediately. “Sorry, Rosie.”

They’d already been down that road, apologizing for whatever had happened in the vault, but it didn’t hurt to hear it again once in a while. She smiled, testing the tension of the bandages once he had finished wrapping them around her ankle.

“I’m sorry too,” she said, continuing before he could interrupt. “I broke your nose the second time.”

Butch laughed again, but this time the amusement lingered on his face at the memory. “Yeah, yeah. I deserved that, though.”

Silence settled between them, and Rosie wasn’t sure what to say or do. Butch offered her the other sock to her pair and she slowly rolled it onto her foot, lowering it to the ground once finished. His eyes flicked down and her eyes followed just as he reached out to gently grasp her wrists.

“Your hands,” he spoke quietly, frowning as he observed the scrapes on her palms. “From the rocks?”

Rosie blinked. “They were sharp.”

Butch rolled his eyes at her simple response, placing her hands down between them as he grabbed the small bottle of alcohol from the medical kit, and a cotton swab. “I think I’ve seen you do this enough to be an expert.”

As he sanitized the scratches, she couldn’t help but study his face, mesmerized by his unnaturally calm and collected bedside manner. Well, chairside manner. He wrapped one hand in a lighter gauze to create a bandage, taping it closed—her other palm only had superficial marks, and they didn’t need to waste medical supplies on patching it up.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” she asked, catching him off guard.

Butch shrugged. “Why shouldn’t I?”

She was at a loss for words again, staring at his face with what was probably a dumbstruck expression. He started packing up the medical tin but pointed to the contents. “Sure ya’ don’t want a stimpak, or a med-x?”

Rosie nodded, remaining silent as he shoved it back into her canvas bag. He handed her the folded-up pair of pajama pants she’d tried to change into and stood up, stepping back to where he’d been standing before with his back turned. She thought about asking ‘what if I need help’ but decided that was too daring, even for her. Instead she quickly slipped her feet into the pajamas, sliding them up her legs beneath the blanket before pushing herself up from the chair. With her ankle tightly wrapped in a makeshift brace, it was much easier to stand and pull up the pants the rest of the way, securing them at her waist with a knot.

“Need me to carry you to bed?” Butch asked, with only the slightest hint of debauchery.

“N—no,” Rosie responded, even if the sudden intrusive thought that penetrated her mind was thrilling. She limped, thankful it wasn’t a long distance between where she’d been sitting and the mattress, which had seen better days. Butch followed, and she flinched at his sudden closeness, sliding away from him as he reached down to snatch the blanket away. “Hey!”

“I’m just—” he shot her an annoyed look as he walked back towards the knocked over shelves and shook out the blanket, freeing it from as much dust as possible. “See?”

Oh. She sat down on the edge of the bed and did the same to the ancient pillow, watching the plume of dirt rise through the air and then to the ground. As unpleasant at it was, she’d slept in worse conditions, and could count on taking a warm, sanitizing shower when she was back home in Megaton. The thought of warm, running water suddenly reminded her of how cold she was and how not even the Nuka-Cola blanket was helping.

Butch reappeared with the bigger, moderately less-dusty blanket and a suspiciously wicked grin. “Lookie what I found!”

He sat down, causing the springs of the mattress to bounce and shift her body closer to his. He draped the blanket across their laps before showing off his prize. In his free hand was a sealed bottle of amber liquid—whiskey. Of course. Out of anything else one could scavenge for in a pre-war convenience store, Butch DeLoria would find the booze.

Rosie sighed, disinterested. Her toes were cold. So were her fingers—and her nose. “Anything else?”

Butch faltered, the flicker of disappointment brief as he passed her a small box—Fancy Lad Snack Cakes. She didn’t have the biggest sweet tooth, but they sure beat some of the other pre-war food they came across sometimes. Plus, snack cakes were one of the few things she actually missed about the vault that she could find on the surface. Stuffed with so many preservatives that after 200 years, they only tasted a little stale.

“No Cola?” she questioned, watching as he peeled the wax off the top of the bottle. She opened the packaging in her lap and plucked free a pale blue miniature cake.

“We gave it all to that crazy lady, remember?” he said, tossing the debris to the floor with the rest of the Wasteland trash. He unscrewed the bottle and flashed her curious look. “Doesn’t alcohol keep you warm?”

“You’re the expert,” Rosie replied, not meaning to sound sarcastic as she chewed on the sweets. Judging by his smirk, he took it as a joke. “Medically speaking, yes. Mild intoxication tends to warm one’s body.”

“Well then,” he chuckled, lifting the bottle. “Maybe we should get mildly intoxicated. Ya’ know, for the warmth.”

Rosie narrowed her eyes at him, knowing exactly what he was doing, trying to talk her into some kind of game. Even if he was technically right. He tilted back his head to take a generous swig from the bottle, wiping his mouth with his wrist when he was done. A momentary—and perhaps very stupid—burst of bravery washed through her.

“Give me that,” she demanded, sounding more like a stubborn schoolchild than the young-adult she was, out to prove herself against her childhood bully turned friend. Friend. She hated that word, and what it meant for them. But she didn’t want to get lost in her melancholy thoughts or feelings—no—she wanted to prove herself. Butch seemed reluctant to let the bottle of whiskey go, swapping her for the snack cakes, watching as she lifted it to her lips before taking a hesitant sip, larger than she intended. Despite the fact it tasted foul, she gulped it down, widening her eyes at the fire that immediately bloomed in her throat, chest and stomach. “Oh—oh God.”

“Ha!” Butch laughed, munching on a tiny cake before reaching to take the alcohol back from her. “You should see your face.”

It felt on fire too. Flushed and warm and—thank God she was finally warm. At least the medical theories were right about that. She pushed a few fingers against her cheeks, knocking her glasses askew. “Is there something on it?”

“No,” he said softly, still staring at her in a way that made her skin prickle with goosebumps. “Ya’ never wear your hair up like that.”

Rosie shook her head, lifting her hands to run her fingers through the ponytail. She thought about pulling out the ribbon when he spoke again. “It looks nice.”

On top of the alcohol, his compliment made her entire body flush with a delightful kind of heat she wasn’t ready to lose. She glanced at his head, smiling at the natural curls as his hair dried. It was endearing to see, knowing how rare a sight it was—maybe she’d have to steal away all his pomade, even if it caused a fight.

He chuckled, noticing her reaction, taking another, smaller sip of the whiskey. Rosie protested, creasing her eyebrows. “Oh no, don’t—there’s germs!”

“I already drank from it,” he snickered at her realization. “You’ve already got my cooties.”

“Ugh,” she responded, pushing her face further into her hand. “Not DeLoria cooties.”

“Well ex-cuuu-see me,” he mocked offense, passing the bottle back with a sideways smile.

She giggled, though her mind was clear enough to register the foreign sound and the fact that she had been talking and speaking in such an uncharacteristic manner. Rosie glanced at the label and took a larger gulp, trying not to sputter at the taste she couldn’t get used to—never again. She stuck her tongue out at him and he laughed.

“Very mature.”

Rosie pointed an accusatory finger at his stupid, handsome face. Why did she like his face? “I’m more mature than you!”

He leaned in with not much of an argument. “Nuh uh!”

“I’m smarter,” she retorted, pushing at his shoulder as he snatched the bottle from her hands. Instead of shoving her away like he used to do when they were younger, he tugged her closer, hand wrapped around her wrist—a much different tactic when it came to teasing. Rosie wasn’t sure what to do, but the words fell from her mouth unprompted. “Cuter too, right?”

There it was, the something stupid she was afraid of saying. All it took was a little bit of liquid courage and suddenly she was brave enough to say something mildly flirtatious. They were so close now, maybe—maybe he’d kiss her—or maybe she’d kiss him. The longer she stared into his baby-blues, the more she felt like she was drowning, or maybe she already had, outside in the rain.

“Rosie,” he spoke her name in a breath and what she wouldn’t give to have him repeat it over and over again until it was the only sound she could hear. His hands encircled hers and she briefly wondered where the bottle had gone. “Your hands are cold.”

“Hmm.”

She titled herself closer, closing her eyes, smiling in a delirious way when her forehead landed against his shoulder. Not quite where she wanted to be, but it was a start. Butch’s voice was distant, but she wasn’t sure why.

“Let’s get ya’ warmed up.”

She didn’t remember falling asleep. When Rosie opened her eyes, the room was dark except for the light coming from Butch’s Pip-Boy. He was sitting in the nearby chair, still awake. She couldn’t tell what time it was, but she couldn’t have slept long.

A sudden bombardment of memories, as clear as day, flashed through her mind, and the most embarrassment she’d ever felt washed over her. In a tipsy—drunken—haze, she’d made a pass at Butch. Tried to kiss Butch. Jesus Christ, she’d never live it down. She’d never leave that bed again, just roll over and smother herself into the dusty pillow. Maybe there was the chance he wouldn’t remember, but she doubted that. Either way, there was no easy way out. Curiosity got the better of her, and she hesitantly poked her head out of the blankets that had been tucked around her body.

“Butch?” she whispered, catching his attention. He glanced up from whatever game he’d been playing, the noises fading away. “Why are you awake?”

“Why are you?” he mimicked her hushed tone, gesturing to the spread-out bedroll on the floor. Though, to her, it looked more like a dark blob without her glasses. “It isn’t dry yet.”

“Oh,” she responded. Rosie chewed on her bottom lip, unable to see his face. “Aren’t you cold?”

“Are you?” he asked back, but it wasn’t condescending.

“A little,” she answered, hiding the truth, snuggling back under the layers of blankets. It was still raining, the howl of wind rattling the store’s walls—it was any wonder she was still freezing. “Don’t you want a banket?”

“Are you offering to share?”

“Yes—wait,” she widened her eyes when she realized the implication. She was only offering him one of the blankets, not— “I’m not—”

“You aren’t?” Butch’s tone made it clear he was teasing her, as he stood to place his Pip-Boy back down on the countertop. “I ain’t gonna lie, been gettin’ a lotta mixed signals from ya’ tonight.”

Oh, he definitely remembered.

“Stop teasing me!” she frowned, even if he couldn’t see. Or maybe he could, now that he was looming over the bed. “Or you don’t get the blanket!”

“What if I steal it anyways?” Rosie didn’t have a response, pouting even more. Butch snickered as he sat down on the edge of the bed. “Come on Rosie, scootch over.”

Hey now—she wasn’t that easy. Even if she’d contradicted that earlier in the night. She glared up at him, focusing on what she could see of his face. Where were her glasses anyways?

“You aren’t sleeping here unless you agree to my conditions,” she started, watching his shoulders slump as he sighed. “No sneaky, wandering hands,” she wet her teeth, a brief flash of what that might feel like causing a lapse in her thoughts and words. “No drooling on my hair, no snoring in my ear, no joking or innuendo, and no teasing.”

“That’s a lotta rules,” he replied, but gradually began peeling back the covers. Rosie slapped his hand away and he dramatically sighed again. “Fine. Gosh, whatever. I agree. Now scoot. I’m freezin’ out here.”

The moment he started to crawl into the bed, the reality of the situation sunk in and she immediately rolled over, curling up on her side as close to the wall as she could get.

Butch hummed, pretending to be put out. “What, can’t face me?”

“I said no teasing!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Butch quietly laughed, adjusting himself beside her.

Despite the fact he said he’d been cold, his body radiated warmth. And even though she’d given him a thorough list of requirements, he quickly hooked an arm around her waist, causing her to seize up. “What are you—?”

“Breakin’ the rules, like I always do,” he responded, tugging her closer. She tried to protest, but he hushed her. “Just be warm. You can yell at me in the mornin’”

His voice whispered around her ear, causing a shiver to run from her head to her toes. Rosie tried—she really did—but the quick beat of her heart and nervous fluttering of her stomach made it hard to relax, even with the heat surrounding her. She fidgeted, shifting her legs and moving her injured foot away, her right foot back until it pushed against his shin.

“Rosie,” he mumbled, sleepily. She went still at the use of her name, never dreaming she’d ever hear it spoken quite like that. He lifted his leg up and over hers, pressing his calf down on her restless foot. “Cut it out.”

Butch’s breathing evened out shortly after that action, and Rosie decided it was time to follow him into slumber. She closed her eyes, settling back into his embrace. His arm reflexively tightened around her, and he mumbled something incoherent in his sleep. She smiled, thinking to herself that she might actually awake well-rested.

Sharing a bed with Butch DeLoria wasn’t something she thought she’d ever do—heck, any of the things that had transpired that evening hadn’t been expected—but now that it had happened, it was something she could certainly get used to. Rosie had to wonder if there would be a next time.

#fallout 3 #butch deloria x f!lone wanderer #butch deloria #rosie sheridan #rosie sheridan fics #this has all the tropey goodness #you want bed sharing and injury patching and getting caught in the rain? I GOT CHU #also giggly tipsy Rosie has heart eyes for a soaking Edwardian wet Butch

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coralstories · 4 years

Text

October 20th: Haunted Building

Day 2 of @dumbassunderthemountain 13 Days of Spooky Writing Event

Dwarf!reader with gender neutral pronouns

Warnings: minor injury, murdered family, but nothing graphic

Word count: 1558

A/N: I know I’m a day late, but I was halfway done yesterday so I didn’t want to leave it unfinished.

(not my gif, found it by DinahRedmon on Tenor)

Kili groaned. “I think it’s broken.”

“Oh Mahal, stop whining, it’s not broken.”

“I think I’m going to die.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Tell Fíli and uncle I love them.”

“Tell them yourself, you big baby,” Y/N laughed.

Kili smiled up at them from where he had fallen on the ground. He sat up and inspected his ankle. It was swelling already. He looked up at Y/N.

“I think I’ll need some help,” he said, his time serious now.

Y/N sighed. They held out their hand and helped him up. He leaned on them until they got back to their campsite, where one of the other dwarves tended to him. Thorin frowned at Kili before pulling Y/N aside.

“What happened?” he asked.

“He fell. Looks like a sprained ankle, it’s a bit swollen.”

“Can he walk?”

“With difficulty.”

Thorin grunted and glanced at the sky. Clouds were gathering.

“We may need better shelter,” he said.

“I can scout ahead with Fíli,” Y/N offered. “Maybe there’s a cave nearby.”

Thorin thought for a moment, then nodded. “Be careful.”

“Of course.”

Y/N grabbed Fíli and told him about the situation. They searched the surrounding area, going as far as a kilometer. Finally, they found a clearing.

“It’s a house!” Fíli exclaimed.

Y/N frowned. “In the middle of the woods?”

“Well, why not? Let’s go see if anyone’s home.”

They marched through the overgrown weeds and knocked on the door. It creaked and groaned as it opened. Y/N and Fíli looked at each other in surprise.

“Unlocked and open,” Y/N said. “That’s not a good sign.”

Fíli searched through the house while Y/N watched the door.

“No one home,” he told Y/N.

Y/N glanced around, restless. The fireplace was cold, there was dust everywhere, and the curtains were frayed.

“I don’t think anyone’s been home for a long time,” they murmured.

They spied a frame facedown on the mantle. They walked over, reached up and picked it up. It was a portrait of a man, woman, and child. A family portrait. Fíli stomped towards the front door.

“I’ll go get the others,” he said.

“Wait, Fíli!” Y/N exclaimed.

“What is it?”

“I, um, I don’t think we should stay here,” Y/N said.

“Would you rather stay in a cave?”

“Yes.”

Y/N’s answer took Fíli by surprise. He walked over to them and put his hands on their shoulders.

“Y/N, there’s nothing to worry about. It’s just an old house. Sure, it may not be completely structurally safe, but it might rain tonight. We need shelter. And my brother needs a place to rest and heal,” he said softly.

Y/N nodded, their eyes falling to their shoes.

“Okay,” they said. “I’ll-I’ll start cleaning up a bit.”

Fíli smiled and kissed their forehead. “Thank you.”

An hour later, the whole Company was settled into the house. Gandalf had taken the biggest bedroom, which surprised no one. Thorin took the other bedroom. That left the rest of the Company to spread out on the floor in the living and dining rooms.

After dinner, they all fell to their beds rather quick. Y/N laid near Kili to keep an eye on him. Y/N was on their side, watching him fall asleep. Once they were satisfied he was comfortable, their gaze drifted to the window above him. They watched a raven prune its feathers before they finally drifted off to sleep.

Y/N dreamed of orcs and dwarves and gold. They dreamed of finally taking back Erebor. Of living in the grand halls they’d heard tales about since they were a pebble. Then, their dreams changed.

There was a little girl playing by the fireplace. She giggled and looked up at her mother, who was knitting in a chair nearby. The mother smiled at her child, savoring the peace. Then there was a crash. They both turned toward the door. The little girl screamed.

Y/N woke with a start. Their heart beat wildly. Their breaths came in short gasps. Y/N looked up and saw the same raven in the tree outside. It was still night, and it was raining. Y/N sighed and ran a hand down their face. They had a feeling they had seen the mother and child before, but couldn’t place it. They wouldn’t be sleeping anymore tonight. They decided to relieve whoever was on watch.

The next morning, Y/N’s weariness caught the attention of the princes.

“Alright there, Y/N?” Kili asked.

“Hm? Oh, yes. I just didn’t get much sleep last night. Are you alright?”

“Yeah, yeah, fine. The swelling’s already going down. Uncle thinks we may be able to leave tomorrow.”

“That’s good,” Y/N said.

They left Kili to go search the second floor. They peeked into the room Gandalf had claimed. There was only a bed, a wardrobe, and a small vanity. All the furniture was made of the same wood. The resident could have been a carpenter. They moved on to the next room. Thorin was downstairs, so they let themselves in. They went to the window and stood looking out at the rain. Thunder boomed in the distance, and there was a flash of light. The raven sitting in the tree caught their attention again. Y/N frowned. They were sure it was the same raven. They shook their head and turned around, examining the room. This bed was smaller, with a desk instead of a vanity. There was a box in one corner. Y/N walked over and opened it. Their eyes widened. It was a toy box. Little wooden horses, men, and carts were scattered among stuffed cloth animals. The dolls were worn, but the care put into making them was obvious. There was a picture in the corner of the box. Y/N picked it up and gasped. It was the same family portrait they had seen in the living room yesterday. The mother and child were the same from their dream. Y/N fumbled with the frame, almost dropping it. They put it back in the box and closed it with a snap. They ran from the room to rejoin the others.

All evening, Y/N tried to ignore their nightmare and the portraits. It must be a coincidence that they dreamed about the same family that lived in this house. They saw the picture on the mantle and their brain simply held onto the family’s faces. Then their mind recreated them in their dream. That must be it. Just their imagination.

Unfortunately, the night brought an encore of their dream. And it only got worse. Y/N woke up with tears in their eyes.

“Y/N. Y/N!” Fíli said. “Are you okay?”

Y/N blinked and rubbed their eyes. They took deep breaths, trying to calm down.

“I’m fine. What happened?” Y/N said.

“You were crying. Were you having a nightmare?” Fíli whispered.

Y/N turned and to him, registering the concern in his voice. They sighed and took Fíli’s outstretched hand. Fíli led them outside, just to the covered porch. He waited patiently for Y/N to open up to him.

“It was about the family that lived here,” Y/N finally said. “I think… I think I know what happened to them.”

“What do you mean? I figured they just died here in their sleep.”

“Fíli, if they died here, where are their bodies? We should have seen some bones in their beds.”

“Maybe their friends came and buried them.”

“Did they have friends? Fíli, we’re miles and miles from any other dwellings. Who was here to bury them?”

Fíli was silent for a moment, thoughtful.

“They were killed. By orcs, I think. I’m not sure. But we have to find them!” “Find them?” Fíli exclaimed.

Y/N quickly shushed him. Fíli squeezed their hand.

“Y/N, where would we even look? You said yourself—“

“The killers took them outside!” Y/N hissed. “They took them outside and then took their food, water and coins. And when they were done, they killed them where they stood.”

Fíli stared at them for a long minute.

“How do you know this?” he asked, his tone dead serious.

“My nightmare,” Y/N said. “I think it really happened. I don’t know how, but I think I’m seeing the past. Their ghosts, maybe. We have to find them and give them peace.”

Fíli looked around and sighed. There were only woods around them for miles. And it was still raining. Even if the family were killed just steps from the house, it would be hell digging through the mud. Then he turned back to Y/N, and saw the pain and desperation in their eyes. Fíli suddenly realized that Y/N felt the family’s pain as if it was their own. Fíli nodded.

“We’ll look for them,” he said. “I can’t guarantee we’ll find them, but I will help you look—“

Y/N sighed. “Thank you!”

“—in the morning!” Fíli said sternly. “Now get some sleep. If you want to go digging around the yard for their bones, you’ll need to be rested.”

Y/N nodded and went back to their bedroll. Fíli took one last look around before following them inside. The raven, still sitting on the tree, watched them.

#13daysofspookywritingevent #middle earth #the hobbit #the hobbit fanfiction #kili #fili #thorin #thorin oakenshield #gandalf #haunted house #ghosts

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delimeful · 5 years

Text

how easy you are to need (2)

warnings: panic, fear, threats of violence, suicidal thoughts, miscommunication

Chapter 2

Virgil woke up surrounded by warmth and the smell of sugar.

It was nice for the few moments it took him to realize where he was and what had happened to get him there. He peeled his eyes open, ignoring the way his whole face felt like a bruise, and found himself… in a small living room? Propped up by a bunch of pillows and nearly smothered in blankets?

His gaze darted around, uncomprehending. He’d expected a cell, at best. Really, he hadn’t expected to wake up at all. What possible reason could these people have for keeping a shifter around? If they felt bad killing him for whatever reason, they should have just left him to bleed out and return to the soil. That was the terrifying and relentless way nature worked.

(Not that he’d cared about the life cycle when he’d seen Patton injured.)

A low sigh made him freeze, and he slowly turned his head to see that there was, in fact, a human in the room.

Patton was curled up in a cozy armchair, a worn storybook sliding off his lap, and one leg tucked up against him. The other was laid straight out on a footrest, the pant leg rolled up and the skin bandaged thoroughly. Virgil stared.

Were these humans insane? Leaving one of their injured in the same room as a strange wolf-

He abruptly realized which form he was in, looking down at his pale flesh, and all the pieces clicked into place. With a sword like his, Roman was a hunter, and there was only one reason hunters kept monsters alive, as he knew personally. His breath quickened, head becoming foggy with panic.

He had to get out of here.

As though summoned by the rebellious thought, he heard light footsteps from down the hall. He tore out of the blankets, scrambling to his feet and noting with mild hysteria that he was wearing soft, button-up pajamas. Patton blinked blearily, looking up at him with confusion.

“What-” The footsteps sped up at the noise, and Virgil grabbed Patton’s arm, yanking him out of the chair and in front of him as another human appeared in the hall’s threshold. Roman, surprisingly with his sword sheathed. He wouldn’t need it yet, though, would he?

Patton stumbled on his weak leg, and Virgil kept his face stone cold as he shifted his leg to subtly support the man’s weight. “Wha- huh?” Patton asked, and Virgil wrapped an arm loosely around his throat, claws hovering above the skin in lieu of an answer.

“Don’t take another step,” Virgil instructed, trying to keep the shake from his voice as he watched Roman take in the situation, “or I’ll bite him.”

The human’s face darkened instantly, as he expected. Humans never took well to their own being turned. “Let Pat go.”

Virgil barked out a sharp laugh, eyes wild. “Not a chance.”

Patton shifted awkwardly on his foot. “Um, kiddo? You don’t have to-”

“Stop. Talking.” Virgil cut him off, not wanting to hear the fear, disgust, faux-sympathy in his voice. He couldn’t afford to let himself soften. “I’m going to move to the door, and you’re coming with. O- Or else.”

“I, um… I can’t walk on this leg. Sorry, kiddo.” Patton apologized sheepishly, as though he wasn’t being held hostage. Shit. How was he supposed to keep him from injuring his leg further without giving away that he was supporting him?

Virgil froze up for a moment too long, and then Roman took a step forward, and he knew his bluff had failed.

“Look, it’s okay, just-” Roman started, advancing, and was cut off by the click of the door handle as Logan stood in the doorway, firewood in his arms. A way out.

Virgil didn’t waste a second, shoving Patton at Roman(who naturally dove to catch him) before charging at Logan head-on. The man blinked, startled, and then sputtered as Virgil knocked all the wood out of his arms before ducking around him and out the door.

There was shouting behind him, but he was already running, ignoring the burn of his wounds until they went numb. Unfortunately, numbness didn’t make for good sprinting. It felt like barely no time at all before he went sprawling, hitting the ground and his vision briefly blacking out.

Once he reawoke, everything seemed to hurt ten times worse, and it had begun to rain. He forced himself up on hands and knees, crawling to the shelter of the nearest thick tree trunk.

He longed for the warmth and comfort of his wolf form, but he knew better than to shift, not when he hadn’t gotten far enough to truly be safe. Not when they could come to reclaim him at any moment. They could track him down, kill him, but he wouldn’t give them what they wanted.

Time passed, his vision occasionally darkening, and then he blinked, and another human stood a few paces away. He squinted, wondering which one of them was sent to finish him off.

“Salutations.” Logan said, crouching to be eye level with him. Virgil didn’t speak. “You’re going to bleed out if you don’t shift back or get those wounds treated.”

That, at least, got a hoarse chuckle out of him. Nice try, buddy.

Logan stared at him expectantly for a moment longer, and then sighed. “I am going to pick you up, and walk back to the house. I’m aware that you panicked and would like to reassure you that we don’t mean you any harm. Quite the opposite, really.”

Virgil didn’t believe it for a second, and when Logan leaned forwards, he bared his teeth. To his surprise, the human simply ignored the threat, wrapping his arms around his shoulders and the underside of his knees and lifting him in one motion. He twitched, and Logan stopped moving.

“I do not want to drop you. Please don’t move, we’ll be back at the cabin shortly.”

Virgil didn’t respond, too busy staring at Logan’s neck, inches away. The human started moving again, as though he wasn’t holding a monster right next to the most vulnerable point of his body. As though Virgil couldn’t lunge forward and tear out his trachea as easy as he’d attacked that bear.

And he was right, wasn’t he? Because Virgil couldn’t. He should, he really should, even if it took harnessing the spite and fear building within him, as a last act of defiance. Even if just to hurt them the way they were going to hurt him, to vent how unfair it was that he saved them and ended up captured, he should close the gap between them and ruin Logan’s life the way his had been ruined.

But he wouldn’t. Even imagining the act made everything in him recoil, because despite everything, he still wanted his humans to be alive and happy and together. He wanted Logan to see the stars and Patton to see his garden’s first harvest and Roman to finally be satisfied with the composition of his songs. He wanted them safe, even if it meant getting rid of a threat like him.

As Logan approached the clearing, he wondered absently if this was what having a pack felt like. It was certainly a bittersweet feeling.

Patton and Roman were out on the porch, the former sat on the edge of the stairs and the latter wearing a groove into the wood with his pacing. Virgil could see his hand resting on his sword hilt, white-knuckled, and felt an astonishing lack of fear. They both looked up as Logan approached, eyes zeroing in on Virgil.

“Logan!”

“Specs! Is he- ?”

“He’s conscious, but many of his wounds are reopened. We’ll need the first aid kit again- ”

Logan’s voice slipped away along with Virgil’s grasp on consciousness, and he was out again.

When he woke for the second time in the cabin, Roman was there.

He was once again laid out on the couch, with mounds of knit blankets tucked around him. It was startling, how different these humans treated him compared to the last hunter. Maybe they figured they’d get more flies with honey. He shifted, and Roman’s head turned at the movement, looking down at him with a surprisingly neutral expression.

He was sat on a throne-like chair next to the couch, and his sword was laid across his legs. He followed Virgil’s gaze down to it.

“Don’t worry, this is for Patton, not you.” He told him, lips turned up at the edges, and Virgil snapped out of his groggy state as though he’d been hit. Patton? Why would- Oh. Oh no.

He leaned forwards, trying to convey the honesty of his next words.

“I- I didn’t bite him. He’s not turned.” Please don’t kill him.

It was Roman’s turn to reel back, eyebrows raised. “No, no! I- I know, it was… It was just a joke. Patton has been trying to hover over you all day, and he needs to be off his feet to recover. He’s not- I wouldn’t-” He sighed, holding up a rag that Virgil hadn’t noticed in his other hand. “I’m just cleaning the blade. On my honor.”

Virgil settled back into the couch, injuries stinging. “Oh.” There was a long pause, in which Virgil steadfastly didn’t make eye contact.

“I don’t know how much you remember, but you’ve been sleeping for around three days, not counting your… brief escapade.” Roman said. “How are you feeling?”

Virgil stared at him for a long moment. Was he serious? “... Bad.”

Roman’s face fell, but anything he was going to say was cut off by Logan entering from the hall, holding a tray of empty dishes. He paused, and then nodded at the two of them.

“Good to see you awake.” He said, passing them by to enter what Virgil assumed was a kitchen. “Give me one moment and I will check your injuries. And Roman, please stop indulging in your self-soothing mechanisms. You’re making our guest uneasy.”

Roman grumbled but finished wiping down the blade and sheathed it as light clinking sounded from the kitchen. Logan returned a moment later, small kit in hand. Virgil eyed it warily, already dreading what he knew was to come.

One checkup later, he was left fairly confused. Logan packed the unused bandages and antiseptic back into the small box, saying something about Patton wanting to visit, apparently satisfied with just… tending to Virgil’s wounds. He hadn’t taken anything from him, not blood or hair or teeth. There was no way Logan, who had mentioned complex magical theory several times in the past, didn’t know about the powerful properties of shifter’s bodies. He exhaled heavily, some of the stress leaving him.

They were just in it for the biggest prize then. That was good, better than he’d expected from humans. It meant he had time. It was just after the new moon, so… he had some time before the full moon hit and he was forced to transform.

They’d try to get him to transform earlier, he was sure, since they were probably as unhappy about a shifter in their house as he was unhappy to be captured. Still, he was nothing if not stubborn enough to resist whatever they threw at him.

If they wanted his pelt, they were going to have to wait him out.

#sanders sides #werewolf au #ts virgil #ts roman #ts logan #ts patton #writing #my writing #werewolf #heyatn #how easy you are to need #taglist coming soon

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braveskyered · 4 years

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Dames 7 - Firsts

It is highly recommended that you read Knights before reading this, otherwise you may miss some context.

Knights is a post-Hellbent fanfic where, while the Mystery Skulls learn the truth of what happened in the cave, reconciliation fails in the long run, and Arthur leaves his old life behind to escape the vengeful wraith. He tries to move on with a new life, but it’s not easy to heal from the trauma.

Knights is seen through Arthur’s eyes, while Dames is seen through the eyes of the other people he interacts with.

This takes place before Part 1.

- - - - - - -

There is always a first for everything.

It would be talking to someone new, reading a new piece of information, trying out a new dish on the menu, watching the premiere of a new show that may or may not be interesting, the list goes on.

Falling in love with someone should probably be included in the mix.

On Elaine’s end, she fell in love with someone for the first time twice. The first resulted in her heart being broken for the first time. The second resulted in her falling in love again for the first time.

Elaine is sure that there are plenty of firsts out there. Not just for her, but for Arthur, too.

She remembered that she and Arthur had first met on a rainy day.

Her first impression of the tall and thin man was mere annoyance when she found him asleep on one of the waiting chairs in Four of a Kind Queens, thinking that he was just a typical bum trying to take shelter from the rain. Elaine remembered Nana Niniane telling her to let the man sleep, and while Elaine didn’t quite agree with her back then, she is glad that she had listened to the older woman’s decision in the long run.

The first time Arthur and Elaine spoke to each other happened because the former’s hamster decided to escape and get her attention, letting them properly meet. That was when she first learned that Arthur knew his way around cars and machines in general. Later that day, she learned for the first time that Arthur had just escaped from an abusive home life and is trying to find a place to live. Even though there weren’t any official openings, Elaine’s grandmother immediately decided to hire Arthur in as an employee.

To this day, Elaine isn’t quite sure why Mama Vivienne made such a reckless decision, but she longed stopped caring about it. In the end, her decision eventually led Elaine to live a happy life full of love and happiness with the occasional bump here and there in between, but what relationship doesn’t have one?

Finding a place for Arthur to stay wasn’t too difficult. Before Elaine had broken up with her first love that she had considered marrying, she had rented out a small apartment for them to stay in until they could find a suitable house in Cantabile for sale. Right after she deposited the rent money, her first love-turned-ex decided to break up with her right then and there and left without saying much. As a result, since Elaine was single again, there was no need for the apartment, but all sales were final with it, so it remained under her name for the next six months. Now, Elaine considered that twist of fate a blessing, as the empty apartment turned out to be perfect for Arthur’s needs.

A few days had passed. Along with Aunt Morgan and Mama Vivienne, Elaine and her parents, Caelia and Tom (whenever he was available) carefully watched Arthur make his progress into getting comfortable working with the family, and at the time, it seemed like he was doing okay.

Nana Niniane also took the time to help out when she can, but for some reason, she chose to keep her distance from Arthur for the time being, as if something had bothered her…

Then one day, Mama Vivienne, Elaine, Caelia, and Morgan had made a startling discovery. All over Arthur’s upper body were scars that ranged from cuts to burns. It was also at that time that they learned that Arthur’s left arm is a prosthetic. It… did explain why Arthur was so insistent on wearing clothes that covered him from head to toe even on the hot days.

Elaine and her family had discovered this when Arthur had accidentally cut his arm somewhat badly on a rusty pipe. Because Arthur didn’t have any official medical record to give them other than his word, this required a visit to the urgent care so he could get a tetanus shot just to be safe. However, in order for the nurse to administer the shot, Morgan had to force Arthur to remove his long sleeve shirt so he could receive treatment, and the resulting sight became ingrained in Elaine’s mind.

Seeing Arthur struggling to remain strong and failing, tearfully insisting that he could handle this on his own since it was his own fault that he had cut his hand, just as how his past scars were also his fault… didn’t settle well with Elaine. She and her family knew Arthur had been abused since he said that he wanted to get away, they just didn’t know the injuries were to this extent.

Everyone wisely decided to not ask Arthur for further details too much, even though they all now have the same desire to find out who his abuser was and see to it that justice would be served. If Arthur’s abuser really is as stubborn to “punish” him as he says they are, then trying to contact any doctor that had treated him in the past would bring an immediate red flag to the abuser.

In the end, Mama Vivienne, with Nana Niniane pulling some strings, settled with having Arthur go through a full physical at the Lady of the Dames Hospital. It took over four hours to convince Arthur, and even then, he only relented after having Mama Vivienne agree to the condition that no one in the family, or the doctors, ask about how he received his injuries.

Everyone knows not to aggravate someone’s trauma.

Three months after they first met, Aunt Morgan had received a call from her daughter Eleanor about a robotics convention just a few hours away from home and invited the family to come visit it with her. Although Elaine didn’t know much about robotics like her cousin does, she knew that Arthur is an expert in the field since he made his own arm, so this might be something he’d want to go to. So when she suggested inviting Arthur to come with them, her family consented with Mama Vivienne even saying that it would do Arthur some good to “get out of the apartment and the shop every once in a while” as she would say.

When Elaine went into the fifth garage that is normally used for private jobs, she found Arthur hard at work doing maintenance on a vintage van, a Volkswagen if Elaine recalled correctly. That van is from a wealthy client, and Mama Vivienne was reluctant to take the vehicle in until Arthur volunteered to do it.

“You’ve tended to a van like this before?” Mama Vivienne asked him.

Arthur rubbed a hand against his left shoulder, a habit he has when nervous, “I-It’s similar to the van that I used to drive for years, although it was a different brand and a few years older than this one.”

After seeing Arthur prove himself that he could help identify the kind of engine needed to replace it so the client could order it, Mama Vivienne became convinced to take in the job.

Seeing Arthur hard at work with his face having a few oil stains smeared on his cheek and shirt…

…Elaine figured it’s just the hot weather outside.

When she saw that Arthur had reached a good spot in his work, Elaine approached him and asked if he would be interested in the robotics convention, which made him look up in interest.

…He should not look this cute.

Elaine looked away and faked a cough in the hopes that Arthur wouldn’t notice her internal dilemma.

Wait, wait, wait. This can’t be right… Am I seriously having a crush on him?! What the hell, I just broke up with my ex three and half months ago. This is too soon! I, I, I mean, Arthur is a nice guy and all, but I--

“Elaine? Are you okay?”

“I-I’m fine. Tickle in my throat,” Elaine turned back to him, “Anyway, I got a call from my cousin Eleanor…”

Although Arthur tried to hide it, Elaine could tell that the man was looking more and more interested as Elaine told him about the robotics convention.

“…and so we were wondering if you want to come with us?”

When Elaine didn’t get an answer while Arthur just stared at her, she wondered if she messed up on something as she struggled to keep eye contact. This is getting a little awkward, she thought.

“I-I’d be happy to. You don’t mind?”

She had to resist the urge to jump when Arthur finally answered. He looked unsure, but there was something about that hopeful smile of his that made Elaine feel something.

“Not at all! If anything, think of it as a date!” Elaine froze with her smile once the words came out of her mouth. Wait. Crap. Frick! Augh! I didn’t mean to say that! Please don’t take that the wrong way, please don’t take that the wrong way, please oh please oh please oh please! …Oh! Wait! “…Ah, between friends, that is!”

Please don’t make this awkward. Please don’t make this awkward. Please don’t make this awkward, please--!

All of a sudden Elaine heard Arthur laugh a little, “I’d like that.”

At that moment, Elaine knew for a fact that she does indeed have a crush on Arthur.

#msa knights #msa dames #msa fanfic #mystery skulls animated #msa #msa arthur #arthur kingsmen #elaine knights #fanfic #fanfiction

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lost-tanuki-whump · 3 years

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Hostage Situation - Part 2c

Prompt Challenge: Hanging by the wrists, Rescue Cast: The Disaster Five Word count: 2.4k

* * *

Leonida didn't have perfect knowledge of the area they were in but decided that she could allow herself to slow down after running in a straight line for over an hour. They were in the middle of nowhere. She'd expected as much, Gren and her had had to walk a long time before finding the building. Their surroundings right now were made up of boulders and rocks and mostly felled trees. It took her a while to find a good shelter for Arkady, because the first she came across was a huge burrow and she wasn't sure what kind of animal she'd have to wrestle out of there, and it definitely wasn't worth the risk of getting her human crewmate involved when he was barely awake. She eventually stopped upon finding a natural pit in the earth beneath the rocky overhang of a boulder that was three times her height. All she'd need was to roll over two thinner slabs of rock and it'd be good against bad weather. Maybe she'd fine a third one to hide them. That would be good.

First things first, however. Leonida crouched in the dirt and pulled Arkady down from her shoulders to lay him in the earth. His blue eyes stared straight ahead and never once alighted on her face, and he didn't stay laid out on the ground the way she'd lowered him there; instead his body slowly curled up in a foetal position like a dying bug, small and tight the way she'd found him in the chest. His dirty hair stuck in clumps againt his wet forehead, long enough now that it nearly reached his eyebrows. He was wet and shivering and his dislocated arm hung uselessly down his flank. The rain had washed out most of the dried blood and where it wasn't dark from bruises or red from open wounds, Arkady's skin was paler than usual. His dark freckles stood out across the bridge of his nose even in the ebbing daylight. Leo noticed that his cheekbones were sharper. He looked sick.

"Arkady," she firmly said. He didn't react.

There was that nasty stab wound at his shoulder from the day before that was still seeping blood, and Leo remembered he'd been laying on his bad side when she'd found him in the chest. Fucking assholes hadn't even been careful about that. Or maybe it had been intentional. Leonida felt her anger rise and forced herself to focus. There was another wound all the way across his back that looked older, more superficial, and it was red and puckered. Leonida remembered he'd gotten that one about a week ago. The rest of the cuts and bruises littering his body seemed to have been healing all right- as well as they could have in those conditions. She laid her hand on his shoulder to turn him over and he resisted, his breaths coming in rapid forced bursts, still staring ahead.

"Okay," quietly said Leo.

She couldn't see any serious wounds on his front from her vantage point, but there was a one somewhere on his body that had stained her suit and she needed to find it.

"I'm going to feel for wounds."

She didn't wait for his assent because she knew she wasn't going to get anything from him in his state. Leonida slipped her hand under his flank and ran it from his hip to his armpit in search of an opening. Arkady shuddered violently when the heel of her palm brushed against one of his thick, jagged scars.

"Hey, it's okay, it's just me. I already know."

He'd started shaking more than before and wouldn't stop. Leonida kept going, there was no point in stopping just because he was having an automatic fear response. All she felt was the way his ribs stood out. She guessed that he hadn't been fed more than she had, and though Leo had refused everything that had been given to her, Arkady would have had no choice but to accept the small piece of bread and the shallow bowl of water. She wasn't that surprised that he hadn't been able to stand after spending a month on that diet and going through all that abuse for two weeks.

Leonida searched some more and finally found a deep cut right below his right collarbone. Her fingertips came away wet with blood and she could see thick pale liquid glistening there as well. She made a face. It had felt swollen and hot, nothing good ever came of that.

Leonida finished her check-up to make sure there weren't worse injuries and decided she'd have to start with the arm. There was a risk of nerve and muscle damage after leaving it dislocated for too long, especially since Arkady had been hung up by his wrists several times for beatings which had likely fragilized his shoulders, and if the damage became chronic no healing pod would be able to fix that. Leo scooted to the side, lifted a leg over his body to immobilize Arkady's shoulder with one foot and grabbed his wrist with her good hand, and didn't warn him before abruptly tugging and twisting his arm back in his shoulder.

Arkady shouted in pain and his arm jerked out of her grasp, and Leo lost her balance trying to get off of him as fast as she could. Her ass hit the dirt while Arkady hid his face behind his arms, starting to beg again just like he had when she'd found him in the chest.

"Proshu, pozhaluysta, ne nado," his voice broke on a sob, "ya umolyayu tebya, ne delay etogo... Ya nichego ne znayu, poetomu, pozhaluysta, ya tebya umolyayu...!"

Leonida knew jack shit about Russian. She only knew that Arkady sounded miserable and desperate and it hurt to see him this way. Leonida quickly got back to her knees to lean closer to Arkady.

"Hey, hey. It's okay, it's me. It's Leo." She gently touched his hand and he violently flinched away, but she didn't take her fingers away from his icy skin. "Leonida Trust, remember? Your captain? You think I'm really annoying."

Still shuddering, Arkady slowly angled his face towards her. His blue eyes were wide and distant, eyebrows pinched in terror.

"Ya umolyayu tebya-"

"I don't know what that means, Arkady," softly said Leo over his pleading. "But I can tell you you're safe here. It's just me and you."

He fell silent and continued staring at her as if waiting for the next blow, cheeks wet from his silent crying. Leo wasn't sure he'd really understood. She'd rarely seen anyone so traumatized in her life and that was saying something. It made something heavy and cold weigh deep inside of her to know that they'd been making Arkady this way while she was only a few rooms over. She took a deep breath to calm herself and then tried to wipe the man's tears away.

He recoiled again and immediately started begging: "Proshu, pozhaluysta-"

"Okay, okay," she quickly said and retrieved her hand. "Not your face. See? Not your face."

Arkady went silent again, his breathing just as unsteady as the rest of him, and continued gazing at her the way she imagined a hunted animal would.

"God... They really messed you up, didn't they," she murmured. "Can you speak English? Do you think you can speak English for me, Arkady?"

He didn't answer. She waited. After too long had passed, Arkady's unfocused gaze started drifting away from her face.

Leo leaned in. "Arkady? Can you say something in English?"

He didn't react, and just like that, he was gone again.

Leonida had seen this in soldiers she'd had to rescue from torture before. Sometimes they were perfectly conscious and awake even after months of nonstop abuse and turned out erratic, angry, scared, or all of the above; sometimes they had to be carried out because they were catatonic just like Arkady had been. Some cracked after a year, others after a week. Mostly, it depended on the kind of shit they'd already had to go through before and whether or not the individual was the "what doesn't kill you makes you stronger" type. Leo wasn't sure exactly where Arkady was situated on that spectrum, but from the things she'd noticed while living with him over the last months, he was definitely more brittle than the average soldier in their twenties. In the end, it wasn't that surprising to her that their captors had succeeded in breaking him.

Leonida stared at her second in defeat. Getting him to talk to her wasn't the main objective for now, she had to tend to the rest of his wounds. She went to kneel next to his shoulder and sifted through the health protocols she'd been taught, and made one of her chest compartiments draw back to take out desinfectant and antibiotic solutions. She couldn't be sure that it was signs of systemic infection he was displaying with his shivering and confusion, even if it could've been only psychological and because of the cold, but she wasn't willing to wait for a fever to break out.

Leonida quickly rubbed desinfectant into his wounds and then tried to make him drink the antibiotic. She'd half-feared that he wouldn't react and she'd have to force him somehow, but as soon as Arkady felt a drop of moisture settle on his cracked lips, his tongue automatically swiped at it and sought out more of the liquid. Leonida was able to simply hold the small plastic bottle in place while Arkady mindlessly drank.

When there was no more left, Leo retrieved the empty bottle and felt guilty when Arkady tried to go after it. Hopefully this behavior meant he'd accept solids too. Leo quickly produced a box of painkillers and pushed one out of its blister to gently shove it in Arkady's mouth. He eagerly swallowed that, too, and then his teeth grazed against Leo's fingers when he tried to find more to eat.

"Sorry, Arkady," she told him as she pulled her hand away. This felt like feeding an animal and it felt horribly wrong. She hated to see the cynical, grumpy technician she'd been trying to befriend reduced to this state. Leo had a feeling Arkady would hate it too, when he came back from this and remembered.

She needed to get him food and water but she didn't even have anything to collect rain. She needed to get him clean clothes, too, and something to sleep in. She'd have to start with making the shelter better protected from the elements of nature and make a fire. He'd survive no matter the conditions as long as she found him food and water soon, but Leo wasn't willing to see his recovery drag because he was cold and half-naked. She hoped that clothes and a warm sleeping bag would help him feel safer, too, and that maybe it would fix what was wrong with his mind. There was no way she could risk going back to the ship when she wasn't sure to have killed all of the hunters in that building, so she'd have to find supplies in the nearest town. Until then, they'd be stuck as they were.

Leo knew she wouldn't be able to allow Arkady as much rest as he needed because they had an opiel to save, too.

Leonida got up and stepped out from beneath the rocky overhang to get what she needed for a better shelter. She didn't go far and never let Arkady out of her sight for more than a few short moments at a time. After half and hour she'd rolled a smaller, blocky boulder to one side and a broken slab of layered rock on the other. It was very crude and left drafts of winds coming in from three places at once but at least Arkady would be hidden in there.

Leonida had wanted to find foliage to cover him with but only found damp pieces of wood; what this place made up for in abundance of rocks, it lacked in any kind of plants. She gathered enough thick branches to ensure a lasting campfire and hurried back to Arkady, dropping it all next to him and then proceeding to gather stones to delimit a zone on the ground in a circle. Leonida piled everything at its center and picked up the two sharp rocks she'd selected to start the fire. Rubbing them together with enough force to produce a spark was a piece of cake for her, getting the damp wood to catch on fire was not.

It took a while, and when it did finally catch on Leonida had to spend twenty minutes waving all the smoke away from Arkady while the wood dried out in the flames. She noticed that Arkady had dug his fingers in the soil at some point and Leo hoped that meant he was getting his bearings. Leo surveyed the fire for a little bit and once she was sure it was strong and steady enough that it wouldn't go out too early on its own, she turned to Arkady and carefully laid her fingers on the back of his hand. He didn't move, but she was satisfied to see that his skin was getting a bit warmer.

"You should sleep, Arkady. It's safe now."

Arkady's empty blue eyes had stayed open the whole time, if only closing to blink from time to time, and his tears weren't flowing anymore. Leo wondered if he'd been kept in that chest after every beating. If they'd somehow figured him out and used his claustrophobia against him to push him over the edge. If his blindfold had always been as damp with tears as when she'd pulled it away, and she just hadn't been able to see it on the grainy quality of the surveillance feed that she'd been shown. Leonida pushed the thoughts away for later, for whenever Arkady would be able to tell her.

"If you could come back in the morning, that would be really nice. It's lonely when you're not grumbling."

He didn't show any sign that he'd heard her. Leo stayed crouched before him in the same position for a while then eventually shifted on her feet to go lay down at his back, carefully keeping a few inches of distance between Arkady's ruined skin and the front of her suit. Leonida didn't emit as much heat as humans did and she briefly thought about the way J complained in winter because the material of her suit got cold. Right now it was warmed from tending to the fire, and she was at least preventing Arkady's back from being exposed to the chill of the windy drafts.

"I hope you're closing your eyes," she told the back of Arkady's head.

He didn't answer, of course, didn't even twitch as his curled-up body continued its steadfast trembling.

Leonida herself stayed awake through yet another night.

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avaruussade · 4 years

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Without you is how I disappear

liogueimei | T-rated | 6.2K words

“You’re alive,” Lio says, his voice barely a whisper. It’s not what he wanted to say, but it’s the first thing that comes out as relief wraps around him and settles somewhere behind his ribs.

“I think that’s our line,” Meis laughs, and Lio doesn’t have the heart to tell them what really happened - not now, when Gueira is crying against his shoulder and tears are gathering in Meis’ eyes. Lio doesn’t realize he’s crying, too, until Meis reaches out and wipes a tear rolling down on his cheek. “I’m happy you’re alive, boss.”

Or in which Lio is hit with a realization over and over again, learning how to live in a new world without his flames while Meis and Gueira share (way too many) meaningful looks.

Read on AO3

After standing there - on top of the ruins that once was the Parnassus project - for a while, Lio realizes how heavy the air is. The rising sun shines through dust and smoke, blinding but cold, bouncing off specks of ash and travelling with the gentle wind.

“Do you think the fire station’s still standing?” Aina asks, coming to Lio’s other side. Galo shades his eyes with his hand as if it would help him see better, squinting as he looks down to the destroyed city.

Lio never lived in the city but he knows it well. He’s driven its streets multiple times, marking down all the landmarks, parks and buildings in his own mental map. He can recall escape routes, detours and tiny, poorly lit alleys that provide excellent hiding spots without having to work his brain too much. All of that has now turned into collapsed buildings and heavy debris, and seeing it creates something heavy inside Lio’s chest.

He realizes it’s mostly his fault.

“I’m pretty sure the station is fine,” Galo says, confident and smiling. He has cuts and bruises all over his body yet he doesn’t seem to be bothered by them.

The wind picks up, making dust dance around them. Someone coughs and Lio struggles to breathe, his lungs suddenly heavy. All the adrenaline is starting to wear off and he’s shivering, unable to see the city remains anymore. His hands curl into fists as he forces himself to inhale, hoping (wishing, praying) that it would unwrap the invisible fingers choking him-

“Boss!”

Lio’s eyes fly open at the familiar voice and he turns around so fast he feels light-headed for a brief moment. He’s running down the hill before anyone else has a chance to react, stumbling on rocks and pieces of machinery. He accumulates way too much speed and is unable to slow himself down before he reaches the bottom of the hill, but he doesn’t have to: Gueira catches him anyway, strong and steady like always.

Lio pulls him into the hug he and Gueira are sharing and lets himself cry. He’s exhausted to his bones and his head feels heavy, clouded with worries and doubts and memories he’d rather forget. In the corners of his mind there are things that weigh him down, trying to pull him into somewhere he hates wandering into, but it’s easy to fight back when Gueira is holding his face in his hands, checking him for injuries, and Meis keeps telling him it’s going to be okay, we’ll be okay.

“You must be cold,” Gueira says, and before Lio can answer he’s already taken his leather jacket off, fitting it around Lio’s shoulders. It’s warm and smells like fire, smoke and something Lio’s unconscious has labelled as home. “It’s a bit chilly out here, isn’t it?”

“So.” The trio turns around, and Lio is quick to dry his eyes on the sleeves of Gueira’s jacket. He knows Galo and Aina saw their tears, yet he’s met with a pair of warm smiles without a trace of pity. “Are you two gonna help too? Lio already promised to lend a hand.”

Gueira and Meis share a look - it’s fast, but to them it’s a whole conversation - before they nod in unison.

-/-

It takes them ages to get to the Burnish trapped inside the pods (or it feels like ages, because it should be a priority yet they drive to the fire station first, getting everyone’s cuts and bruises tended. Lio pulls on a spare T-shirt Galo has stored in his locker and is halfway out of the door when Ignis tells him he can’t go there alone.

It’s frustrating, and Lio snaps at him when he gifts him a Burning Rescue jacket in case he gets cold. Lio never gets cold, and Ignis’ gesture makes his blood boil until he remembers).

They struggle with the pods for a few days: there are hundreds of them, most of them damaged to some degree, locking people inside. Some of the pods only have ashes in them when they manage to pry them open, and the sight makes Lio’s heart drop every time.

When they open the very last pod and only find a pile of ash, Lio’s chest feels so incredibly heavy he has to close his eyes and remind himself how to breathe.

The city is still in shambles, but people are working hard to provide shelter for those with nowhere to go: citizens who got their homes destroyed and all the Burnish. Lio tries to think positively even though the city officials are creating separate shelters for Burnish and other people, because at least they’re protecting them now. Everyone has food and water, and although the heating could be better, it’s something Lio has promised to work on.

Dark clouds have been gathering over the city, and the wind has turned cold. Lio knows he should be thankful they managed to go through all the pods before it starts raining and the Parnassus ruins turn into slippery piles of mud and metal. For some reason, however, Lio struggles to find the silver lining from the ashes staring up at him.

“I’m gonna kill Kray Foresight,” he mutters, his hands curling into fists. Galo gives him a worried frown, and behind his back Gueira and Meis share a look.

“I thought you didn't kill,” Galo reminds him, reaching out and placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. He retreats when Lio turns to look at him, eyes blazing.

“I’m not Burnish anymore, am I?” Lio asks through gritted teeth. It’s not Galo’s fault, and he knows he shouldn’t act like this - the former Governor hurt Galo, too. He kicks the pod in frustration, but it doesn’t ease the choking feeling wrapping around his neck. “I’m gonna kill Kray Foresight with my own bare hands if I have to.”

He kicks the box of steel in front of him again and again, hoping it would stop the burning tears gathering in his eyes. It’s hard to feel anything when his breathing gets caught in his throat and he feels sick to his stomach, the ugly weight residing somewhere behind his ribs only growing and growing no matter how many times he cries and screams in secret.

He’s still kicking when Meis drags him away from the pod, arms around his upper body to keep him where he is.

“You’re going to hurt yourself,” he says, and Lio is too worked up to hear the small waver in his voice.

“Let me go!”

“No.”

“For fuck’s sake, Meis! Can’t you see, I’m- This is-”

“It’s fucked up,” Gueira finishes his sentence, holding him by his shoulders. Lio tries to get out of their hold one more time before he gives in, chest heaving and vision blurry from tears. His entire body shakes with his sobs and he hides away in the crook of Gueira’s neck, two pairs of strong arms grounding him.

He’s exhausted and feels like breaking when Meis whispers it’s going to be okay into his hair.

-/-

In the weeks of reconstructing and cleaning the city up, nothing brings Lio more joy than visiting the Burnish shelter (it’s dumb to call it a Burnish shelter because the mutation doesn’t exist anymore and they’re all just normal humans now, but at the same time they’re the people Lio would still risk his life for, and he craves familiarity).

He tries to visit daily, and sometimes he spends the night, catching up with everyone and helping around instead of sleeping. There are new apartment houses being built for all of them, but until the constructions are done Lio tries to make sure living in the shelter is bearable for everyone. He has a lot on his plate: ensuring his people are treated like they should, assisting in multiple reconstruction plans around the city, and shouldering different legal cases against himself and Mad Burnish (Lio understands nothing of the documents and important papers he’s given, but luckily there’s a resident at the shelter who used to be a lawyer and who’s more than happy to help him).

Most of the time it’s Gueira and Meis who make sure everything is going smoothly and working out for the used-to-be-Burnish, and Lio couldn’t be more thankful for them. Adjusting hasn’t been easy to anyone, yet the duo keeps telling Lio he shouldn’t worry so much. He finds it hard: his people trusted him to make living easier for them, and although things have changed a lot since he joined Mad Burnish and dreamt of a safe haven for all of them, he still feels responsible. He owes his people that much, after everything they went through, partly because of him.

After losing his Promare, Lio hasn’t felt powerful or strong. He’s young and inexperienced in normal life. For years he was just surviving and learning how to protect others, and he’s convinced everyone knows he’s basically nothing without Promare. He puts on a confident and cheerful front when visiting the shelter, but in reality he’s struggling with nightmares and uncontrollable bursts of anger that scare him.

Gueira and Meis tell him it’s normal his mind and body are reacting now when he doesn’t have to constantly be on the run and worry about his fellow Burnish getting tortured by the government. However, a part of Lio secretly misses this old life of his: the flames and their heat, the adrenaline rush of speeding through the city on his motorcycle, Promare’s whispers ensuring he’d never be in a crushing silence alone with his thoughts.

Coping would be a lot harder if he didn’t have Gueira and Meis. Through everything the duo had his back, ready to sacrifice themselves for him, knowing he’d do the same for them in a heartbeat. It’s mutual respect and loyalty, something Lio finds himself appreciating more and more each day. He knows Gueira and Meis have a history together; that it was them against the world long before Lio came into the picture. He became part of their lives easily - they accepted and welcomed him without second thoughts - but sometimes Lio finds himself longing for something the duo has between them. He knows what he and Galo have is special, but they’re still trying to figure out a lot of things and it’s totally different compared to Gueira and Meis.

The blind trust, soft smiles and gentle touches when they think no one is watching make Lio yearn for something he’s convinced he doesn’t deserve.

“Boss!” Gueira is waving to him when he arrives at the shelter. He and Meis are standing outside with some other residents, a loud group of children playing around them.

“I’ve told you, you don’t have to call me that anymore.”

“I know,” Gueira says with a smirk. “How’s it going?”

Lio shrugs. “Fine. Knocked a full cup of coffee all over my legal documents today and had a temper tantrum over it. How about here?”

Meis laughs at him, but tries to hide it. He fails miserably, but Lio doesn’t take it personally.

“The heating is broken again. Or the weather is getting colder and most of us aren’t physically prepared for it.”

“Are you talking about the residents or are you talking about yourself?” Meis chimes in the conversation, and one of the ladies nearby chuckle behind her hand. He wraps his arms around Gueira’s shoulders who pouts, and Lio rolls his eyes.

“Let’s check the heating, then.”

The three of them take a look at the central heating system, as well as every radiator in the shelter (there are a lot of them, because the weather keeps getting colder and the former Burnish find themselves shivering even on the relatively warm days. Lio knows winter is going to be hard for all of them). Surprisingly some of the radiators aren’t working like they should, and when Lio thinks aloud he has to figure out how to fix them, Meis tells him he and Gueira will take care of it.

“You already do so much for us,” he reasons when they step back outside. It’s already getting dark, and the ladies have gone back inside with their children. Lio opens his mouth to argue, but Gueira interrupts him.

“He’s right, boss. And you know you shouldn’t fight him,” he laughs, and Lio crosses his arms over his chest.

“I owe them that much. I owe you.”

“Don’t be an idiot, you don’t owe anyone anything,” Meis says, his tone strict. Lio gives him a hard look but eventually sighs in defeat, not missing the satisfied smirk that visits Meis’ face.

A silence falls between them, but it’s not heavy or awkward. Everything is always so easy and comfortable with Meis and Gueira, and Lio treasures the fact. He was alone for a long time, just him and his Promare, but conjoining his flames with the duo had felt the most natural thing to do back then. He’s happy they still seem to have that connection even though they’re missing the fire now.

Lio sits down on the bench placed next to the shelter’s entrance and watches, almost like he was hypnotized, how Gueira takes something out of his pocket and brightens the darkening night with a single flame. He uses it to light a cigarette and then kills the flame within seconds, but the fire remains on Lio’s retinas, making his heart beat more painfully against his suddenly hollow chest.

“I know it’s unhealthy,” Gueira says when he notices Lio’s staring. “But it helps.”

“Does it?”

“I like the smoke,” Gueira says with a shrug and sits next to Lio. “Have you tried it?”

“No.”

“Do you want to try it?”

“I don’t know.” Gueira hands the cigarette to him, his surprisingly warm fingertips brushing against Lio’s cold ones, and Lio wishes his hands wouldn’t shake as much as they do. He changes a quick look with Meis who’s standing a few steps away and brings the cigarette to his lips.

The smoke brings water to his eyes and the taste makes him cough. He takes another inhale but hands the cigarette back quickly after it. Gueira is laughing at him, and Lio doesn’t try to stop him - he must look ridiculous. However, a part of him understands why smoking might be soothing for someone like them, so he doesn’t judge.

“It’s definitely not for me,” Lio says when he’s sure he’s gotten all the smoke out of his lungs. “Taste’s awful.”

“You get used to it,” Meis says softly, a small smile on his lips. Gueira hums in agreement, laughter still dancing in his eyes. Lio makes a disgusted face that draws a tiny chuckle out of Meis, the sound of it so rare yet comforting it makes shivers run down Lio’s spine. He tries to burn the moment into his mind - how soothing Meis’ laugh and Gueira’s warm hands are - so he’d have something to return to when the night finally falls and he’s forced to be alone in the quiet again.

“Boss?”

“You don’t have to call me that anymore,” Lio mutters quickly, terrified he got caught in the middle of sinking into the dark layers of his mind. He forces himself to focus, and frowns when he sees a small, silver box on Meis’ outstretched hand. “What’s this?”

“Maybe it’ll help you,” Meis says. Lio takes the box and pops the top open. It’s similar to what Gueira had, and with caution he rolls the tiny metal wheel, unable to look away when the lighter produces a wavy flame. He feels the heat of it, but it’s familiar rather than unbearable.

“Why would it help me?” he asks, his voice barely a whisper. It frightens him that Meis saw right through him when Gueira lit that cigarette earlier, noticing how his eyes filled up with grief and longing. The flame goes out and Lio looks up, meeting Meis’ gaze (it’s full of worry and understanding; partly soft and partly so scared it makes Lio’s heart ache).

“We all cope differently,” Meis states, not exactly answering Lio’s question.

-/-

Lio is sitting at the kitchen table in Burning Rescue’s headquarters with Meis and Gueira, going through some of their legal documents (some pages have coffee stains on them), when Galo charges in loudly. He has his usual, wide smile on when he stops next to the table, the trio’s undivided attention on him.

“You’re all coming with us tonight, right?”

“Coming where?” Lio asks.

“With who?” Gueira adds.

“Me, Aina and Lucia talked about going out for drinks when our shift ends, so in a couple of hours. You guys could probably use a little break, too,” Galo says, leaning against the doorframe. He nods towards the paperwork spread on the table, and Lio can’t help but agree with him.

It’s been five weeks since he and Galo saved the world, and although a lot of things and people are still looking for their places, life in Promepolis has mostly returned to what it was before everything went down. There are still reconstructions to do and wounds to heal, but the building for one new apartment house made for Burnish got finished some time ago, and most of them having proper homes now brings Lio some peace. They have some legal cases left to fight as Mad Burnish, but so far things have worked out quite well for them (mostly because of the older gentleman who used to be a lawyer before becoming Burnish, and Lio doesn’t know how they can ever thank him enough).

“I’m in.” It’s Meis who talks first, Gueira nodding enthusiastically next to him. Galo looks at Lio, excitement glimmering in his eyes. Lio gives him a smile.

“We’ll come with you.”

They hit Burning Rescue’s favorite pizzeria first, eating and exchanging silly gossip (Lucia is convinced Ignis and Remi are secretly dating, and Lio finds that absolutely ridiculous). After inhaling their weight in pizza they walk to a bar located on the main street. It’s a cozy one with a long wooden counter and dim lighting. They aren’t the only customers but it’s not crowded either, the atmosphere warm and welcoming. They settle in one of the booths, the seats soft and the table slightly chipped.

“I wonder if it’ll hit differently,” Gueira muses when everyone has their drinks, and the firefighter-side of their table is in the middle of looking at something on Aina’s phone screen. Meis hums, and Lio frowns for a second before he understands.

As Burnish, the fire within them effectively cut the sharpest head off of alcohol. They did get drunk a few times back then, but it usually required a huge amount of liquor for it to really have an effect on them. Lio realizes that he has never really gotten drunk, since he became Burnish relatively young and didn’t exactly have normal teenage years.

What Lio has in the glass in front of him isn’t anything strong, but it burns slightly in his throat. The feeling isn’t foreign or something he didn’t expect, and he finds himself enjoying the light tingle the alcohol creates, slowly easing the freezing cold that has been festering his insides for weeks. It doesn’t get warm enough, but for the first time in weeks Lio can truly focus on something else than the cold: his friends laughing at Lucia’s dumb jokes and silly videos on Aina’s phone, Gueira and Meis sharing ridiculous stories of their mishaps before Lio knew them, and how everyone’s faces light up when Lio struggles to hide his giggles behind his glass and it brings blush on his cheeks (he insists it’s because of the alcohol, but he’s not fooling anyone).

After a few drinks Lio is already feeling the effects, but it’s not unpleasant. He doesn’t turn Galo down when he wants to buy drinks for all of them, and when Lucia calls for a round of shots he has one without second thoughts. What he feels is something he has never experienced before, and a part of him finds it absolutely exhilarating. He has lost some sense of his fingertips, but for once the dark corners of his mind aren’t trying to overpower him.

He doesn’t realize his vision is getting slightly blurry until he really tries to focus on a video Galo and Lucia had recorded earlier, testing some new tech for Burning Rescue. He rubs his eyes and the world sways from side to side, his head feeling like an ocean.

“You okay there, boss?” Gueira wraps an arm around him and Lio leans in without realizing, resting his head on his shoulder.

“Feels… weird.”

“I feel you,” Gueira says with a laugh, ruffling Lio’s hair. It’s something that Gueira loves doing because he knows it annoys Lio, but he lets it slide this time (mostly because it feels nice, but he’s never going to admit that).

“Maybe we should go home?” Meis suggests from Gueira’s other side.

Lio hums. The home he’s talking about is an apartment Meis and Gueira are sharing, because Lio doesn’t have a home. He knows he could get a place of his own from the apartment complex built for Burnish, but he didn’t accept one because there are still families sharing two-room apartments with other families, and their safety is more important to him. Lio has been sleeping on Galo’s couch, on the edge of Meis and Gueira’s bed and even at the fire station. He tells everyone he’ll get his own place as soon as possible, but if he’s being honest, having an apartment with cold walls and endless silence creeping on its every surface is the last thing he wants.

On the other side of the table Aina agrees with a yawn, and they leave the bar. Getting on his feet grows the waves inside Lio’s head and his inability to follow a straight line makes him laugh. Gueira seems to be struggling with walking as well, and Meis finds their staggering hilarious. He puts his arms around their shoulders to guide them, sudden fits of laughter slowing them down even more.

“Will you guys be alright?” Galo asks when they reach the point where they have to go separate ways.

“We’ll be fine. We’ve been through worse,” Meis adds when a hint of worry visits Galo’s face. It seems to convince him, and they wave Galo, Aina and Lucia goodbye before heading down the street.

“Let us know when you get home!” Aina shouts after them, and Meis gives her a thumbs up.

They eventually make it to the apartment building, both Meis and Gueira having troubles with getting their keys into the locks. When they finally unlock the door to their apartment, the three of them sprawl in, trying not to make too much noise since it’s already late. Lio kicks his shoes off and throws his jacket to the general direction of the couch before laying down on the floor next to it, groaning when the lights get turned on. He throws an arm over his eyes and listens how someone sits down next to him, leaning against the couch.

“How’s it going?” Gueira asks, and Lio feels his warm fingertips brush against the back of his hand.

“Everything kinda spins.”

“Do you feel sick?”

“Not really. Do you?”

“A little. But it’ll pass,” Gueira says with confidence, and Lio has no reason to doubt him.

Lio moves his arm and slowly opens his eyes when he hears the kitchen tap running and then Meis walking to them. He sits on the floor between them, handing a glass of water to Gueira. He has another one in his other hand, and he rests it gently against Lio’s forehead. It feels cool and he pouts, making Meis laugh.

“You should drink this,” he reasons, not breaking eye contact with Lio. There’s something soft and adoring in his gaze that makes the bottom of Lio’s stomach warm up in a pleasant, familiar way. It reminds him of his Promare, but there’s also something different in it - one kind of warmth that he has never felt before.

Slowly Lio sits up and takes the glass, looking down. “Thank you.”

“No problem, boss.”

“No, I- I really mean it,” Lio says, raising his eyes to face his ex partners in crime. “You two have always looked after me, not just tonight. It’s… I never thought I’d have something like that. Something like this. Just- thank you. Both of you.”

Lio bites his lip, his heart hammering against his chest. He’s not sure is it the right time to voice his gratitude, but for the first time in weeks he feels safe enough to do so. Maybe he’s a little bit drunk, and kind of having a hard time naming all the feelings he truly has towards the two men sitting there with him, but the warmth within him is comforting in the best way possible.

“We’ll always have your back,” Gueira says, certain and honest.

“You took care of us, so we’ll take care of you,” Meis says with a shrug. He says it easily, like it’s the truth, and the warmth inside Lio climbs up and spreads through his chest. His surprise and confusion must reflect in his expression, because Meis laughs and combs his messy, overgrown hair behind his ears. “Don’t make that face.”

“What face? I’m not making a face.”

“That face you make when you’re about to disagree with me,” Meis says. Lio rolls his eyes and hates how he feels a shiver running down his spine when Meis finishes arranging his hair and places a hand on his cheek. He seems to be deep in thought, something dark yet vulnerable swimming in his eyes when he leans in.

Lio draws in a sharp breath when Meis’ lips ghost over his, and that makes him realize what he’s doing.

“You’re beautiful.” The words escape Lio’s mouth before he has a chance to stop them, quickly whispered into the air between them before Meis pulls away. It’s the truth, something Lio has caught himself thinking more than once, but he never planned to say it out loud. A faint blush climbs on Meis’ face and although he’s avoiding Lio’s gaze, Lio notices it.

“We should go to bed,” Meis says and stands up, Lio and Gueira’s eyes following him. He runs a hand through his hair, a small, ashamed smile on his face. Lio feels his heart in his throat, and when he looks at Gueira, the knowing smirk on his lips only confuses him more.

“Yeah, we should,” Gueira says, getting on his feet. He offers his hand to Lio who takes it after a moment of hesitation. “C’mon, fireball. It’s late.”

Lio spends the night in Meis and Gueira’s bed, the bed’s rightful owners having their arms around him, their peaceful breathing lulling him into sleep which doesn’t get invaded by nightmares for once. He wakes up with a dry mouth and a heavy head, glaring at Gueira who laughs at the state of his hair.

Lio has never been hungover, so he’s not sure if he’s now having one or not. It takes him an hour to wake up properly, and he only really does it when Meis comes into the bedroom, ushering Gueira out of bed so they can go and buy breakfast for them.

“You can stay in bed, we’ll be back in ten minutes or so,” Meis says when Lio throws the blanket away and rubs his eyes.

“No,” Lio disagrees, trying to shake the traces of sleep off. “I’m awake. Is there something I can do to help?”

Meis and Gueira exchange a look, and then they shrug in unison. It would make Lio laugh if it was the first time, but it’s not. If anything it’s amazing how the duo seems to share at least half of their brain function.

“We’re supposed to do laundry today. You can put your own clothes in too, if you want. There are clean shirts in the wardrobe, you can borrow as many as you need,” Gueira says, pointing at the seemingly overflowing closet on the other end of the room. Lio gives him a thumbs up and sends them off with a lazy wave of his hand, making his way to the bathroom when the door closes behind them.

Lio stands in front of the washing machine for a moment before he realizes he has no idea what he’s supposed to do - he has never operated a washing machine before. They didn’t have such luxuries on the run, and in the past weeks Galo had been kind enough to wash Lio’s dirty clothes with his own.

He stares at the selection of numbers on the machine, having no clue what they mean. His eyes travel up on the bottles of detergent placed on top of the machine, and they offer no answers to the questions in his head. One of them says COLOR and the one next to it has WHITE written on its side, but the pile of laundry Lio picked up from the basket in the corner of the room has everything from white to black.

Lio swallows down the panic tightening his throat and tells himself he’s been through worse. He can figure this out.

He separates the whites from the rest (because that’s what the detergent bottles are suggesting, anyway) and puts them back in the laundry basket before stuffing the remaining clothes in the washing machine. He takes the detergent labelled as COLOR and opens it, a faint scent of lavender filling the room. He turns the bottle around in his hands for instructions, but there isn’t any - the only helpful thing being a warning saying do not ingest in red.

Lio bites his lip in hesitation. There’s a lot of clothes in the machine, so it’s safe to assume he needs a lot of detergent as well, right? He stares at the washing machine again, trying to decide where he’s supposed to put the detergent. The machine doesn’t give him any answers, so he takes a leap of faith and pours some detergent as well as a bucket-full of water straight on the clothes inside before shutting the machine’s door. He caps the detergent bottle, turns the machine on and chooses a program blindly. The machine starts whirring, and Lio lets out a breath of relief he didn’t realize he’s holding.

He goes back to the bedroom for a change of clothes. He rummages through Meis and Gueira’s wardrobe and eventually pulls on an oversized sweater that smells faintly of lavender. He sorts his hair out in front of a full-body mirror placed in the corner of the room and then goes back to check on the washing machine only to find the bathroom floor flooded with water and heaps of foam.

This time he’s not able to stop the panic taking over him. He sprints to the machine and frantically presses the button that’s supposed to turn the machine off. It produces a loud, shrilling beep but cuts the power, a heavy silence filling the bathroom. With shaking hands Lio forces the washing machine’s door open, more water and foam escaping its insides and spreading on the floor. The water is cold, wrapping around Lio’s ankles and dragging him on his knees when the first tears run down on his cheeks.

He feels like a failure. Lio Fotia - the leader of Mad Burnish, once one of the strongest Burnish on Earth - can’t even do the fucking laundry without creating a disaster. He’s ashamed and angry, and the hot tears running down his face only makes him feel worse. What would everybody say if they saw him now? Would they still trust him to take care of them? Would they still believe him when he told them living will get easier from now on? Because Lio himself definitely wouldn’t. He hates doubting himself like this, hates how weak and pathetic he has become after losing his Promare. He hates how he can’t sleep properly because whenever he closes his eyes it’s just a dark abyss closing around him, trapping him and leaving every part of his body in piercing pain, slithering between his ribs and cutting off his breathing; and if he manages to fall asleep the nightmares barge in, filled with Kray Foresight and his friends turning into ash and how he accidentally burned down his childhood home at the age of nine. He hates how he tries to adjust to the world he’s now forced to live in but it’s damn hard when he can’t focus on anything because it’s so quiet and so cold all the time and he feels so incredibly lonely.

He cries, his whole body trembling with his sobs, his throat narrowing down when he hears the door opening and closing, Meis and Gueira’s voices filling the otherwise quiet apartment.

“Boss?” It doesn’t take long for them to come to the bathroom since Lio forgot the door wide open. They freeze on the threshold, and judging by the looks on their faces Lio thinks he must look awful.

“I- I’m sorry,” he chokes out, feeling absolutely humiliated. He can’t bring himself to meet eyes with his friends, and stopping the tears becomes impossible when Gueira sits down next to him on the wet floor and pulls him into a hug.

“Don’t worry about it.”

“I’m- I’ve never done this before. I’m so, so s-sorry. I just destroy everything.”

“No, you don’t,” Meis says, his tone strict. He settles himself on Lio’s other side and joins the hug. Gueira’s warm fingers create soothing circles on the back of Lio’s neck, wordlessly telling him that this isn’t the end of the world.

They stay like that until Lio has control over his sobs and his chest doesn’t feel so impossibly tight anymore. Gueira reaches out and captures his tears on his fingertips, his gentle touch comforting enough to calm Lio’s erratic breathing down. Meis runs his fingers through Lio’s hair and pulls it into a tiny ponytail, securing it with a hair tie forgotten on the edge of the sink.

“I’m sorry,” Lio says again, his voice raw from all the crying. “I still have so much to learn about this whole… living thing.”

“That’s okay!” Gueira says, his usual, wide smile back on its place. “We’re here to help you.”

“Maybe Galo will let me sleep on his couch a bit longer,” Lio says with a humourless laugh. “I would flood or burn down my own place in days.”

“Or…,” Meis starts, stopping to change a look with Gueira. Gueira just smiles and gives him an encouraging nod. “Or you could move in with us.”

Lio simply stares, his eyes jumping from Meis to Gueira, and then back to Meis. They aren’t saying anything, not pulling their words back or laughing, telling him they’re just joking. Lio is dumbfounded, the warmth he felt the night before slowly making its way back before his stomach drops.

“I- I can’t. I don’t want to mess up your… thing,” he says. Meis and Gueira have never said anything to him, but Lio isn’t stupid. They’ve never kissed or held hands in front of him, but Lio knows they’re in a relationship. It might not be the most traditional one, considering the lifestyle they were forced to live for years, but it’s there and anyone with eyes could see it without squinting. It’s always the two of them, one kind of package deal, and Lio doesn’t want to come in the way of something beautiful like that.

Meis sighs, puts his hands on each side of Lio’s face and kisses him.

One part of Lio is so surprised that for a brief second he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do (the other part of him expected it, and had been waiting for it to happen, but Lio refuses to indulge in that part of his subconscious). His eyes flutter shut and he relaxes into the touch, not realizing he’s crying until Meis pulls back and dries the tears with his thumbs.

“Hey, it’s alright,” Gueira says, upbeat and confident, pulling Lio against his chest and kissing his cheek. He’s laughing and Lio smiles through his tears, giggling when Gueira leaves a trail of soft pecks all over his face. Lio reaches for Meis’ hand and pulls him into the hug, his happy laugh making Lio’s heart momentarily feel too big for his chest. They are more or less drenched, lavender-scented foam sticking to their clothes, but it doesn’t matter: they can clean the bathroom up, change into dry clothes and prepare breakfast in peace.

Lio realizes that nothing - nightmares, self-doubt or inexperience in life - will be enough to break him as long as the three of them can be together.

-/-

The washing machine scene was inspired by this amazing art!

#promare #liogueimei #fanfiction

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thetunewillcome · 5 years

Text

I'll Think About Tomorrow If I Can Get Through Tonight

Fandom: Good Omens (TV)

Relationship: Crowley/Aziraphale

Rating: T

Warnings: blood, knife wounds, cut wrist

Word Count: 4, 988

Whumptober Prompts: stab wound, shackled, unconscious, muffled scream, secret injury, stitches, trembling, adrenaline, recovery, embrace (@whumptober2019)

Rain pounded like fists on the shop’s windows. The shelves and stacks of books sat in silent darkness, the sign on the door turned to “Closed.” Suddenly, with a small popping noise, Aziraphale appeared, breathing heavily. After glancing around, lights clicking on all at once in every room, he let his eyes fall closed with a tremulous exhale. He was safe. The steady patter of the rain masked the sound of thick golden droplets falling from his left sleeve onto the threadbare carpet. His hands shook. A minute passed.

Eventually, he stepped over to his coatrack and shrugged his jacket off of one shoulder, then gingerly tugged the other sleeve until it slid off his arm. He winced at the sight of the long tear in the blue fabric, running from elbow to wrist, encircled by a dark stain with spreading edges. With a sigh, he took off his waistcoat and miracled away the ruined shirt, deeming it a lost cause. He sat down stiffly on the edge of his armchair. Down the inside of his left arm ran a long, thin cut; he frowned, studying the golden blood flowing from it. “Not good,” he muttered to himself, “but it could have been much worse.” He knew, but couldn’t see, that a matching wound sliced its way across his collarbone and down his chest a few inches. Both burned.

His breath was slowing, evening out, but adrenaline still hummed through his veins and he could not shake the feeling of the blade that had dragged its way across his skin and left these marks. Desperately, he wanted to call Crowley, to hear the comforting coolness of his voice, but he couldn’t let Crowley see him like this. He had saved himself, and he would heal himself, too. If Crowley knew what had happened – well, he couldn’t find out.

Closing his eyes, he laid his fingertips gently on the wound and summoned up healing energy from within him. His skin tingled, but the edges of the cut did not draw together as they should have. Nothing happened. “That’s odd.” Brows furrowed, he tried again: nothing. He thought back to the knife, searching his memory for signs that the blade had been more than simple metal. It had appeared ordinary, though the hands wielding it hadn’t been. For the first time since the averted apocalypse, he wished he could speak to fellow angels. A cut that he could not heal… With a snap, he dressed the wounds, aiming to at least stop the loss of blood. He had time, albeit not an infinite amount, to find the answer. He walked over to his desk, picked up a dusty volume, and began to read.

(Keep reading on AO3 here or below.)

——

“I have to go, Crowley.”

“You don’t have to do anything, angel. Not anymore.” Long frame draped across Aziraphale’s couch, Crowley was trying very hard to appear indifferent to the news he had just received. The dark glasses helped.

“I may no longer receive orders, but I am still an angel, and I must do what I can to help when humans are suffering.” In between sentences, Aziraphale sipped tea from his white mug. “I’ve been inactive for far too long. It’s time I made myself useful.”

Crowley gave a low, dissatisfied noise and turned his head away, apparently staring at the back of the couch or the wall. Aziraphale couldn’t help but smile at how obviously he did not want him to leave. “I will only be gone for a week, at most. Tend to your plants, listen to a few records, cause a spot of mayhem, and I will be back before you even notice I am gone.”

They both knew that last part to be untrue, though neither would admit it. They had barely spent more than a day apart since their world almost came to an end, but there had been no unburdening of feelings, no fevered embraces: just a slow tilt inward, toward the other, one quarter-inch at a time. Since the prerequisite confessions had not yet happened, Crowley could not protest Aziraphale’s departure with anything close to “I love you, don’t go.” Somehow, Aziraphale knew anyway, but in the aimlessness of life without Heavenly direction, he needed a mission to give him purpose again.

“I can help them, and I have to… to know I can still do good, help those in need.”

Crowley made a quiet hum that sounded to Aziraphale like reluctantly-admitted understanding.

“One week, if that, and then, once I return, we should have that picnic that you mentioned last week. Before the weather gets any nastier.”

A moment of silence passed, and then Crowley spoke without turning his head. “May not be a park to picnic in when you finally return. You’re abandoning the city to unchecked demonic forces, after all.”

Aziraphale hid a fond smile behind his mug. “Do spare the water fowl, at the very least. Innocent creatures, you know.”

“No promises.”

——

In spite of his sense of urgency, Aziraphale could barely keep his eyes open as he read. Mind foggy, all the words were blurring together, leaving his thoughts a tangled mess. There was something in this one about cursing weapons, I know it, he thought in frustration. He turned the pages with one hand, his left arm pulled protectively to his chest. The long lines of the cuts burned constantly, but he tried his best to ignore the ache and focus on the words in front of him.

——

Compared to London, Italy felt oppressively hot. Even at night, with the windows of the old school building mostly shattered and a breeze flowing through the room, the air was warm and heavy. Since the closure of the local center, many refugees had taken shelter in abandoned buildings like this one. Others lived on the streets or hid in farmers’ fields. Aziraphale wandered from settlement to settlement, pretending to be a volunteer with an aid organization. He brought food and supplies, listened to the stories of the people who would speak with him, and performed minor miracles of comfort. Days after he left, the people there would discover they had been granted temporary humanitarian protection status.

In the remains of a classroom, Aziraphale knelt in front of a tattered mattress. “All better,” he said as he lightly touched a young girl’s finger, bones moving back into place.

She grinned, and her mother pulled her close and gave Aziraphale a nod of thanks. He tipped his hat, stood, and walked through the maze of blankets and sleeping figures to the door. Before leaving, he silently blessed the poor souls taking refuge here. That night, they all dreamt of happier days, and in the morning, they felt more peaceful than they had in months. Aziraphale wished he could do more – construct homes, forge citizenship papers, bring back their loved ones who had died in the war or in the sea – but at least he could do something. After a few more days here, he would head to Greece, and then home.

As he stepped out into the dark maze of run-down buildings and winding streets, he wondered how Crowley was getting on without him. In the millennia of chance encounters and rare meetings, he had never felt alone without Crowley. He may have thought of him more than he should have, hoped to run into him for reasons beyond thwarting his evil deeds, but being on his own was ordinary. Now, Aziraphale felt alone.

A man at the school had told him a group of other refugees were taking shelter under a bridge a few streets away. Heading in that direction, lost in thoughts of Crowley’s growing presence in his life, Aziraphale failed to notice the figures hiding in the darkness of the alley he was passing. He didn’t hear them fall in step behind him. He sensed nothing sinister until he felt heat encircle his right wrist and hands grab his shoulders. Startled, he tried to shout, but cloth filled his open mouth, a gag tied behind his head.

Aziraphale could fight. After all, he had been a soldier, long ago. He hated violence and avoided it at all costs, but the knowledge of how to take down an enemy slept, dormant, in his core. At this threat, it woke. He pulled himself out of the grasp of the hands on his shoulder and turned, ethereal energy rippling through him. Three men stood in the darkened street, momentarily stunned. Two had knives in their hands. Aziraphale did not recognize them, thankfully. No real threat, then.

He pulled the gag from his mouth with one hand. “Aid may be scarce here, but that is no excuse to resort to violence and theft.”

“We don’t need aid,” one of the men said, stepping closer. “I think you’ll find we have things under control, angel.”

Aziraphale’s eyes narrowed at that last word, hating the sound of it now on anyone’s tongue but Crowley’s, realizing he might be in more trouble than he had assumed. “Demons, then?” They looked very human, but no human would call him that. “I don’t want to have to hurt anyone, and you all know I am capable of it, so if you don’t mind, I’m going to continue on my way.”

They were inching closer as he spoke, and despite his brave words, Aziraphale grew nervous. The one who had spoken earlier said, “You’re not going anywhere,” holding his knife in front of him, and Aziraphale decided a weapon of his own may be in order. He thought to manifest a sword, but his hand remained empty. He tried again. Nothing appeared. One of the demons chuckled at his confusion. Then, he looked down and noticed the source of the heat he felt around his wrist: a metal shackle, glowing sigils carved around it.

As the severity of his situation set in, fear winding around the pit of his stomach and constricting, one of the demons flicked his hand and the chain jumped, clasping around Aziraphale’s other wrist, too. He turned to run, but rough hands stopped him, pulling him into the dark cover of an alleyway. Every instinctual response he had required using the power that was trapped within his corporation by the shackles. He managed one cry for help before they replaced the gag over his mouth, but he knew shouting was futile: the only one who could save him was a thousand miles away. They had no reason to suspect a threat from Hell. They were supposed to have scared them off, won some well-deserved peace for themselves.

The question of why hovered in Aziraphale’s mind as they shoved him back against a wall. Unable to brace himself with his hands chained in front of him, his head hit brick, and he blinked slowly to clear his vision. What could they want from him? He watched as they grinned at each other and walked closer. He looked down at his shackled hands and recalled the last time he had stood in front of demons, powerless, hands restrained: Crowley’s trial, in Hell. Flashes of the terror of that day overwhelmed him. The uncertainty of the mechanics of trading corporations. The fear of slipping up, revealing the ruse and damning them both. The worry that putting an angel in a demon’s body might not actually make holy water harmless. Underneath it all, the knowledge that the last time he had seen Crowley might actually be the last time. All the unsaid words, just waiting for the freedom to be voiced, dying inside them, never heard.

Memories of that day paralyzed Aziraphale. He barely registered the demons speaking to him, holding up their knives threateningly, waiting for reactions he didn’t know he was supposed to give. When he didn’t respond to some question they asked, their apparent leader pressed the tip of his knife to Aziraphale’s throat, and the pain brought his attention back to the present.

“I need an answer,” the demon said. Aziraphale realized the gag had been removed from his mouth, but without knowing the question, he couldn’t respond. “Alright, then,” and his eyes darted from left to right. Aziraphale felt hands take hold of each of his shoulders, pinning him against the wall. The knife trailed lightly down his neck to his collarbone, bowtie untying itself, collar unbuttoning as the demon moved. “Let’s see if we can convince you to tell us.” And the knife dug in, dragging across his chest with a searing pressure. Aziraphale clenched his teeth and bit back a cry of pain.

——

While Aziraphale was off rediscovering his noble sense of purpose, Crowley was busy realizing he didn’t have much of one anymore. As he crossed the street, he momentarily contemplated shutting down the power to the intersection. He could picture the chaos that would ensue, the arguments between motorists who didn’t actually know the rules of the road and relied on lights and signals to keep order. It would amuse him, and it would mean he had accomplished something with his day, but he wouldn’t report it. No one expected his report anymore. Aziraphale could tell himself that doing good was good, regardless of who noticed you doing it, but evil just didn’t seem to work the same way. What’s the point, to push people to make the choices that nudged their souls a little closer to eternal torment? Crowley was a demon, but he wasn’t cruel. Better to just leave the traffic lights as they were and let the humans go on making whatever decisions they would make.

With nothing else to do, and finding himself missing Aziraphale even more than he anticipated, Crowley took the stairs to the shop two at a time, unlocked the door with a flick of his hand, and closed the doors behind him. Embarrassing, hanging around the angel’s place just waiting for him to return, but he didn’t need to know Crowley was ever there. Except, “Wha- Aziraphale? Back already?”

Aziraphale sat at his desk, back turned to Crowley. His hair looked wildly out of place, and he was wearing a dress shirt just a shade off from his usual blue. “Oh, Crowley, hello,” he said without turning, and he sounded tired. Crowley, head tilting in confusion, walked quickly over to him, heart racing.

“Rough trip?” Crowley asked, trying to sound casual, but when he leaned back on the corner of Aziraphale’s desk and took in the sight of him, his face gave away his worry. “What happened?”

Aziraphale took off his reading glasses and attempted a smile. “I’m fine, just a bit worn out from my travels.” He shifted his left arm a little to make sure it was out of Crowley’s sight, hidden by the desk. “Get into sufficient trouble while I was away?”

“Loads,” Crowley answered automatically, eyes searching Aziraphale’s face suspiciously. “Kept plenty busy. Look,” he paused, considering not saying anything before pressing on anyway, “you possessed a human without getting so much as a hair out of place. I don’t believe a few days of miracling canned goods into existence would do this to you.” Crowley waited with a fraction of his usual patience, a knot of worry in his gut.

Aziraphale normally relished when Crowley showed his kind, thoughtful side, but in this moment, he really needed Crowley to believe him and go home. He had apparently fallen asleep on his book sometime during the night; he hadn’t even been conscious when Crowley had arrived. He still needed a solution, and he couldn’t find one with Crowley right there. So, despite the throbbing pain in his arm and chest, despite how muddled his mind was, he put on his most convincing smile and said, “I really am fine, dear. It is kind of you, however, to show such concern for –“

“Nope, not going to work this time, angel.” Crowley, eyes narrowed, leaned forward. “What’s with the shirt? You’ve worn that other one for ages now,” and he reached out a hand to touch the collar. Aziraphale pushed back in his chair, trying to move out of reach, and winced at the pain that shot through his whole left side. “Ah, there, knew it.” A mix of anger and concern on his face, Crowley fell to his knees and waved Aziraphale’s shirt open to reveal the bandage on his collarbone. “Tell me what happened,” he said forcefully.

Aziraphale sighed. “It was nothing. A little run-in with a young man with a knife. I handled it.” He watched as Crowley pushed his glasses up into his hair and started to peel away the tape and gauze. “Just– Crowley, please, it should stay covered so it can–“

A sharp inhale, and Crowley’s yellow eyes grew wide. “For Heaven’s sake, Aziraphale,” he said, voice deadly serious, “if you don’t tell me exactly what and who did this to you…” He trailed off, a finger gently reaching out to touch the blackened blood vessels that bloomed from the cut in all directions.

“Oh, it didn’t look quite that dreadful last night. Hm. Okay.” Aziraphale took a shaky breath. “It was my third night in Italy,” he started.

——

Warmth was spreading over Aziraphale’s chest as blood flowed from the knife wound. The demon, seemingly enjoying the pain he read on Aziraphale’s face, laughed. “So you’re not untouchable after all.” His face was so close to Aziraphale’s that he could smell smoke on his breath. “Good. Very good.” He took a step back and wiped his knife on his pants. “See, we’d heard you were indestructible. Most of our lot is too scared to even talk about you or that sunglass-wearing moron that follows you around.”

They must be young, Aziraphale thought. Too confident, too bold to have spent much time in Hell’s bleak bureaucracy. The hubris of youth. Icarus. Wax wings, too close to the sun. Wheels were coming unstuck, starting to turn in Aziraphale’s mind.

“Imagine what they’ll say when we drag you down there, show them what we’ve done.” The demon tapped the metal cuff around Aziraphale’s wrist with the knife. “Can’t fight back with these on. Can’t heal yourself.” He slid the knife point to Aziraphale’s wrist and pushed it in to the thin skin there. Aziraphale winced. “You feel that, don’t you? They walked you into Hellfire and nothing, didn’t even feel the heat, but this…” With a gesture, the sleeve of Aziraphale’s coat folded up. “When you can’t use your powers…” He lifted the knife and gave a hungry grin. “You’re just another cowardly angel who can’t handle a bit of pain.” Aziraphale looked away and tried to keep his face still as the knife point pierced his shirt sleeve, bit into his wrist and slid slowly upward. Breathe. Don’t look. Think of anything else.

He closed his eyes and thought of dinner, days ago, after he’d told Crowley of his trip. How Crowley had stretched out the meal with dessert and glass after glass of wine. How he had lingered by the door of the shop, not coming in but not leaving either. How his face had flushed when Aziraphale had laid a hand on his shoulder and said he’d miss him and would see him soon.

If he wanted to keep that promise, he needed a way out, and by this point, it was clear Crowley wasn’t swooping in to save the day for him. No matter. Soldiers, regardless of how much time has passed since they’ve stepped foot on a battlefield, never lose their sense of timing. Even with his eyes closed, Aziraphale knew the demon would look to his accomplice when Aziraphale tugged his right arm out of his grip. He knew the knife would slip, and if he lifted his hands just so, it would hit the crack he had noticed in the lefthand cuff, scratching the surface. He knew, then, that it would only take one quick collision of metal against brick to crack it further, breaking the ancient pattern of demonic sigils. The young demons had been too confident, too rash to check the old shackles. With the pattern broken, Aziraphale could release his pent-up energy. The burst of light shone bright enough to be seen from high windows all across the city.

When the alleyway returned to darkness, Aziraphale stood alone. He took a few shallow breaths. He snapped his fingers and his shirt was re-buttoned, his tie retied. As soon as he was sure no one was watching, he closed his eyes and thought of home.

——

As Aziraphale recounted the story of what had happened to him, Crowley choked back angry and bitter words. This is why you shouldn’t have gone. This is why you shouldn’t have been alone. This is why we shouldn’t have let our guard down. Of course we’re not safe. Fury clouded his vision when he heard demons were responsible. He jumped to standing and started to pace. “Names. Who were they?”

“I don’t know. It’s not as if they introduced themselves. I hadn’t seen them before. It’s not important, Crowley. They’re gone.”

He paused. “Gone where?”

“I… don’t know. I sent them away.”

“Not obliterated, then. Not good enough.”

“They won’t come back.”

“You can’t know that.” His hands were clenched so tightly that his nails dug into his palms. He looked at Aziraphale’s tired face and reminded himself there was something much more pressing than revenge. “Fine. Continue.”

Aziraphale finished explaining. When he came to the part about his arm, Crowley returned to his side, rolled up his sleeve, and uncovered that wound, too. It also had blackened around the edges, as if something was spreading from the blade’s contact. Crowley, eyes betraying his stress, paled at the sight.

As soon as Aziraphale finished talking, Crowley stood and held out his hand. “C’mon. Couch. You should lie down.”

Aziraphale shook his head. “I’m fine here. I need to keep looking.” He gestured toward the books on his desk. “One of these mentions demonic blades, if I recall correctly.”

Rolling his eyes, Crowley waved his hand at Aziraphale. “You’re not in any state to be reading. Couch.”

“For goodness’ sake,” Aziraphale sighed, but he started to stand. “It stings a little but it’s not…” He swayed on his feet, the room suddenly spinning around him. Crowley grabbed his good arm and steadied him. “Thank you,” he muttered as Crowley led him over to the couch.

Once he laid down, Crowley kneeled next to him on the floor and pulled his shirt open enough to see the chest wound properly. “Feels warm,” Crowley said to himself. He touched the skin next to the cut. “You should be able to heal anything… except Hellfire, but this wasn’t… You’re sure the knife didn’t have any marks on it?”

“Not that I saw.” Aziraphale let his eyes fall closed, comforted by Crowley’s attention. Beads of sweat dotted his forehead. “It looked ordinary.”

Thinking, Crowley gently set his hand over the cut. “Feels like a burn, almost.” Visions of bladesmiths forging longswords slid into the forefront of his mind. “It is Hellfire,” he said, excited to know the cause and then immediately terrified of what it meant. “Must be. They used it to make the knives, or heated them with it, something. I can feel it.”

Without opening his eyes, Aziraphale raised his eyebrows. “Makes sense, I suppose. As you said, anything else would have healed by now.”

“Angel, this is…” He swallowed. “You… I can help, I think. I’ll try. It may hurt.”

“I trust you,” and Aziraphale placed his hand over Crowley’s where it rested on his chest.

Crowley’s mouth opened but no words came to his stunned mind. He shook himself and closed his eyes, too. This had to work. He had never healed an angel before, but he had been one, once; his wings had been white before Hellfire had burned them. It should be as simple as calling that darkness back to him, out of Aziraphale’s veins and into his own.

A whimper from Aziraphale. Crowley clenched his teeth and pushed on. His fingertips grew warmer, started to tingle. Aziraphale shifted uncomfortably, breathing uneven and quick. Come on, out, Crowley begged, knowing if he couldn’t pull the fire from him, he would lose him, and that loss would consume Crowley, too. That much had been proven the last time he thought he’d lost Aziraphale to fire. Come on, and it came, burning up his fingers into his hands, then dissipating. Aziraphale groaned in pain and then fell quiet. Crowley’s eyes flew open. “Aziraphale?” He kept his hand in place, still pulling the heat from the wound, but Aziraphale’s limply slid off of his. “Aziraphale? Can you hear me?” No answer, but he could feel a heartbeat under his palm. Fast, but present. Just unconscious, then.

When Crowley finished with the first wound, he moved on to the second, watching Aziraphale’s chest rise and fall as he worked. In the end, neither wound felt warm to his touch anymore, and Aziraphale’s heart slowed to a normal rhythm. Sure no Hellfire remained, he stitched the cuts with a wave of his hand and let his heavy head fall forward onto the couch’s soft surface.

——

He woke to fingers moving gently through his hair. He kept his eyes closed for a moment longer, enjoying the sensation, until the events of the previous night came flooding back and he jerked upright. Somehow, he still sat next to Aziraphale on the floor; the couch must have held him in place as he slept. Aziraphale, smiling a little, was pulling his hand back to him. “Morning,” he said. “Or, well, it may technically be afternoon now. I can’t see the clock from here.”

Crowley looked questioningly at him, noticing the color had returned to his cheeks. “I feel much better.” He started to unbutton Aziraphale’s shirt, but Aziraphale stopped his hand. “I finished your work this morning when I woke. All healed, now, thanks to you.” As if he didn’t understand, Crowley stared at him for a second, then continued to struggle with his buttons. “Do you not believe me?” Aziraphale snapped his shirt open so Crowley could see the unblemished skin there. “See?”

Relief swept over Crowley’s face. With grateful reverence, he skimmed fingertips over the area where the wound had been and noticed Aziraphale’s breath catch, his face flush. It hit Crowley then, the foreign, unintentional intimacy of the moment, his hand hovering over Aziraphale’s bare chest. Age-old reminders about boundaries, speed, rules and punishments rushed to his consciousness. He withdrew his hand with the speed of someone who had held a lit match a second too long.

As he started to stand, seeking to put back the distance normally between them, Aziraphale stopped him with a hand on his cheek. Fingers on the back of his neck held him in place; a thumb swept over his jaw. “You saved my life,” Aziraphale said. “Again. Your power and your cleverness astound me every time.” Crowley, like one staring into the sun, was overwhelmed by the admiration in Aziraphale’s eyes and had to look away. “Before you say it, yes, I should have told you right away. I had hoped to avoid frightening you, and I worried you would try to go after them if you knew.” At that, Crowley’s eyes snapped back to Aziraphale’s. “You can’t. You must promise me you won’t.”

“I–“

“Crowley, please.”

“If I don’t take care of them and they come back–“

Aziraphale withdrew his hand nervously. “Then we’ll handle them then, but seeking them out is foolish and you know it.”

Unwilling to admit it, Crowley narrowed his eyes and said nothing.

In that silence, Aziraphale realized what he’d have to concede to earn Crowley’s surrender. He had said it a hundred times already, in other words, in gestures and glances and questions, but not like this, never like this as it would have meant destruction for them both. Now, Aziraphale could see only salvation in the confession, so he searched deep within himself for where he had hidden those words away and dragged them up into the air at last.

“I love you. You know I do. I have, for such a long time.” His hands trembled, though there was strength behind his words. Crowley stared at him, not breathing, unblinking. “And now, finally, we are able to speak openly, to spend time together without worrying who will take notice. I am asking you not to jeopardize that by putting yourself in harm’s way. Please. It was all I could think of in that alley, how I had counted on more time with you and how I might not get it–”

Crowley silenced him with a light press of lips. After a stunned second, Aziraphale returned the kiss, cradling Crowley’s face in his hands. Immortal as they were, he had learned that forever was not guaranteed. Still, the kiss felt like a vow of tomorrows, that whatever time they had would not be wasted in silent doubt or reckless action. When Crowley finally broke the kiss, he only pulled back far enough to say “I promise” and see the hopeful smile dawn on Aziraphale’s face.

When he returned his lips to Aziraphale’s, it was to promise more. I won’t go after them, the kiss pledged. I won’t waste a minute of this fluttered in the desperate tangle of his fingers in Aziraphale’s hair. I will stay right here threaded through the moan that escaped him when Aziraphale took hold of his tie and pulled. I will save you, every time lay in the force with which he took Aziraphale’s hand and interlaced their fingers, bringing palm to palm. He promised until his mind lost hold of any word except Aziraphale’s name, and even then, his name sounded like a covenant on Crowley’s lips, guaranteeing more days spent like this, safely in each other’s arms, holding nothing back.

(Check out my Whumptober 2019 Masterlist here.)

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jarienn972 · 5 years

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Only a Little Superstitious - Chapter 21

I've been trying to make the most of some free time while waiting for a pinched nerve in my neck to heal and since I haven't been able to do too much else, I used that time to do some writing. Part one of my latest short story was posted yesterday and today, it's time for this tale to get a much needed update as well!

We left off with our team making preparations for the hike into the mountains and now, the time has come. Will Emma find what she's seeking when they reach the cavern? Hope you enjoy this latest installment!

From the beginning on Tumblr: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20

AO3 FF.net

They drove east, towards the rising sun, in near silence, Carlos at the wheel with Grandmother sitting anxiously by his side, clutching tightly to her backpack. Emma rode in the back seat with Killian's head slumped against her shoulder. As they gained elevation, Emma stared out of the rear window of the SUV at the silvery-orange glow made by the fading lights of the Phoenix metroplex against the low-hung storm clouds. The storm would be upon them soon and while it was making Grandmother nervous, it was precisely what Emma was counting on.

By the time Carlos made the turn off of Highway 60 to begin their ascent into the mountains, the peaks rose before them in silhouette, haze obscuring the morning sunlight. The patter of raindrops began to strike the windshield as Carlos eased the SUV off of the dirt and gravel service road about a half an hour later in a desolate section of Lost Dutchman State Park. The precipitation was light now, but heavier thunderstorms were forecast for later that morning, highly unusual for this time of year in Arizona, but Grandmother sensed a decidedly supernatural influence affecting the weather. She had long feared these storms. No Navajo wanted to be caught unprepared in a lightning storm, yet her young friend was certain that the fury of the storm would help boost the land's natural magic. So, while Grandmother remained leery of the storm, she'd waited her entire, long life to witness the manifestation of magic and there was no way she'd miss out on this.

Emma clung tightly to Killian who had fallen asleep about halfway into their trip up the mountain. He felt warmer than when they'd left Grandmother's mobile home and there was no doubt now that the influence of the dark magic was strengthening. They knew it was a huge risk coming out here in the first place, but now, the states were even higher and even though Killian had regained some movement, he still wasn't going to be able to hike out to the cavern that Carlos had described. Their Park Ranger friend had assured them that he had a way to transport Killian up the mountain since a wheelchair would be useless in this terrain.

So now, as the vehicle came to a stop, Killian shifted slightly in his sleep, causing Emma to instinctively draw him in even tighter to herself, her fingers inadvertently coming in contact with the cold steel of his hook. She pulled her hand away abruptly, the coolness of the steel such a sharp contrast to the warmth of his skin. Just a little while longer, she reminded herself as she willed him to hang on. As soon as she opened that portal, help would be waiting right on the other side. She'd already made arrangements with Regina to have Dr. Whale and an ambulance prepped and ready to go. The only thing she couldn't control was the exact timing and the precise location they'd end up in so the crew in Storybrooke might be waiting around a while.

"This is as far as we can go by car," Carlos announced as he slid the gearshift into Park and turned off the engine. "The cave is about a mile and a half northeast of here. The terrain is gonna be a little rough, but it's passable as long as the harder rain holds off a while."

"What about Killian?" Emma asked, still uncertain what the Ranger had planned. "We can't exactly carry him that far…"

"Don't worry," Carlos insisted. "As I've said before, I've got that covered." He had already clambered out of the driver's seat, making his way around to the back of the SUV to raise the rear hatch. Emma couldn't make out what he was digging out, but she watched as he maneuvered a few items around to uncover something that had been wedged diagonally across the rear storage compartment and shoved partially under the rear seat of the oversized SUV. He made his way back around the side of the vehicle where Killian was seated dragging some sort of metal contraption that looked a bit like a basket she'd seen helicopter rescue teams use, yet not quite the same.

"What the hell is that?" Emma queried as Carlos tugged the rear door open.

"Just the product of a little Native ingenuity," Carlos responded with a wide smile. "There are so many places out here that are difficult to access and sometimes, it's even hard to find a place for a rescue chopper to land in an emergency, so my squad devised a slightly modified rescue transport for use in those inaccessible places. It's basically a re-purposed basket from one of those helicopters, redesigned for use on land. We took the basket and covered it with surfboard foam to help minimize the impact then we added a harness that's worn by the rescuer. It uses the rescuer's upper body strength to drag the victim to a safe location where a chopper can land."

Emma looked over the contraption as Carlos placed it flat on the ground next to the vehicle and began unfastening the safety straps and unfurling the harness. "That's ingenious," she replied, impressed by the thought that had been put into this device's creation, although she wasn't certain how Killian was going to react to actually laying in the modified basket.

"It won't work well if it gets too muddy though," Carlos warned, "so we'd better get moving…"

With a couple of gentle nudges, Emma roused her husband from his slumber and explained briefly how they intended to bring him up the rest of the trail. While Killian wasn't exactly keen on being strapped into a narrow, foam-encased basket to be dragged like a plow, he recognized that he had little choice in the matter. Emma wasn't going to leave without him and his best chance to survive was to be with his wife when she opened the portal and return to Storybrooke. With no way to permanently remove the dark magic welling within him here in Phoenix, he had little chance of getting well unless he made it home.

Not knowing what else they might encounter in this wilderness, Emma tucked her service weapon into its holster at her hip. Magic or no magic, it would take down a predator if necessary. She hoisted the backpack onto her shoulder as she tried to ignore Killian's grumbles of protest while Carlos fastened the nylon straps across Killian's thighs, waist and shoulders. In deference to the injury, Carlos left the strap that would have crossed Killian's wounded chest unfastened, but tucked the ends at his friend's side so they wouldn't drag. Carlos then donned the vest-like harness that attached to the basket via four webbed nylon straps while Grandmother tentatively exited the SUV and slung her own pack onto her back.

They were well stocked with supplies – water canteens, nonperishable food and a supply of Grandmother's herbal remedies tucked into a traditional first aid kit. In the event Emma wasn't able to open a portal home, they needed enough provisions to make it back to the city – a prospect that Emma was trying hard not to contemplate as she placed one of the packs between Killian's feet on the "sled", the term Carlos used in reference to his modified rescue basket.

"We'll be home soon," Emma promised him as she pressed a kiss into Killian's rain-dampened forehead.

"I know, Swan," he replied with a pained smirk. "I'm certain you'll get us home."

"And Regina promised that help would be waiting there for us."

"Aye, Love," Killian smiled up at her, the melancholy in his normally bright blue eyes belying the forced nature of his obviously forced façade. He was trying hard to remain hopeful for her sake as much as she was attempting to remain positive for his, even though neither remained entirely convinced.

The ascent toward the cavern progressed far slower than Carlos' solo trip the previous morning. He was managing the additional exertion of towing the sled far better than Killian was faring though. The uneven, rocky trail was agonizing to Killian, every bounce sending shockwaves of pain through his chest. He was battling to remain conscious, gritting his teeth and doing his best to anticipate the bumps, but he was failing miserably at the latter.

With additional breaks necessary, the hike took a little over an hour, but Carlos' pace quickened as they neared the site of the cave. The rain was beginning to fall steadier now with rumblings of thunder off in the distance hinting at what was to come so they needed to find someplace safe, away from the elements. Grandmother had noticed a rock outcrop with a protective overhang not far from the cavern they sought which would allow them some shelter while Emma and Carlos scouted the cave. Carlos shed the harness as he tugged the sled into the still dry sand beneath the overhang and then directed Emma to a spot further up the trail where the cavern would be found. He and Emma then headed off in that direction, hoping to reach the spot before the deluge began, leaving Grandmother to tend to the aching Killian.

The old woman knelt beside the basket, unfastening all of the straps before extending her hand to help her injured young friend sit up. Killian couldn't help but find it somewhat ironic that he was struggling to catch his breath after no real exertion on his part while Grandmother was barely winded from the strenuous hike. It seemed as though there was more to admire about this wily old woman at every turn, he thought as he watched her shrug off her backpack to retrieve the modified first aid kit. She located it quickly and wasted no time snapping it open, rifling through the contents to find herbs to help ease Killian's scarcely veiled pain. At last, she withdrew a tiny, circular pouch tied with a bright orange scrap of yarn along with one of the water canteens.

"Here," she began as she untied the yarn and thrust her fingers inside the pouch, withdrawing a pinch of the crushed herbs and spices that she offered her patient. "This will help with the pain. Normally, I would brew it into a tea, but we've neither the time, nor the facilities…" She pushed open his painfully clenched fist and placed the portion of herbs into his palm. "It's a tad bitter. You'll likely taste the clove and the turmeric, so I'd recommend swallowing it all quickly. I'll hold the canteen so you can wash it down with some water."

Killian managed a half-smile as he brought his trembling hand to his mouth and tipped the mixture onto his tongue, features contorting involuntarily as the noxious substance hit his taste buds. He forced it down as best he could while the old woman chuckled before unscrewing the cap from the canteen and bringing the welcome relief of water to his lips - before the bitter medicine triggered his gag reflexes. He gulped down two mouthfuls of water in attempt to rinse away the taste, but had to stop himself when he nearly choked from swallowing too fast.

"Bloody hell," he barked once he felt he could breathe again. "If I didn't know better, I would swear that you were trying to poison me!"

"Perhaps poison would taste better," Grandmother teased as she replaced the canteen's lid and stowed it away inside her pack. "Let's get you out of that basket and further under the rock before the lightning hits. No use tempting fate…"

"Aye," Killian agreed, bracing himself for what this would entail. Grandmother crawled around behind him, holding the sled steady as he shifted his weight to the right, against the side rail, so that the basket would tip enough for him to slide his backside onto the ground. Once he was seated on the sandy dirt, Grandmother slid the basket out from beneath his legs. He paused for a moment to catch his breath while the old woman stood up and walked around to his left side and then wrapped her aged fingers around his left bicep.

"Push with your right arm as I pull. We need to make it about two feet further to be safe from the coming storms." Her explanation of what they needed to do wasn't going to make the process any easier. He drew back his right leg as best he could, planting his heel into the sand and hoping for some leverage, assuming he could get his leg to comply and push backward at the same time. It took a couple of tries as Grandmother didn't quite have the strength that Carlos or even Emma possessed, but the old woman surprised him. "Good," Grandmother stated, praising both of their efforts. "Now, rest a bit."

Killian certainly wasn't about to argue with her. While it seemed to have been only minimal effort on his part, moving just that span of inches rendered him exhausted. He leaned his back into the rock wall behind him, drawing his fingers through his rain-dampened dark locks as he struggled to end the burning in his lungs. "Thank you," he said at last, but the old woman shrugged it off.

"No thanks are necessary," she replied as she lowered her weary bones to the ground at his right. "Not many of my generation have lived to witness a childhood dream come to pass. I've spent a lifetime awaiting the appearance of the white witch and as this fantastical story progresses, at times, I feel I should be thanking you."

Killian chuffed at the thought of that. "You've seen nothing yet," he laughed, forgetting for a moment how uncomfortable his chest would feel later, but Grandmother was all business.

"Rest," was her simple order and he didn't dare disobey.

"This is the cave I was telling you about," Carlos announced as he and Emma approached the narrow opening in the mountainside. "I mean, its really just a crack, but the glyphs carved inside here are some of the best preserved in all of the Southwest." Emma reserved judgement for the moment, sweeping her flashlight's beam around the interior before stepping inside, mainly to ensure that they didn't have any critter company. When her light caught the wall that Carlos had raved about, she immediately understood why he took such pride in this. The ancient carvings covered the entire wall, telling a story that time had long forgotten but yet it still resonated with her, perhaps a reminder of her own storybook heritage.

"Wow," was the only word she could manage as she studied the glyphs, instantly recognizing the ones that adorned the dagger's handle. "Any idea what all of this is supposed to say?"

"Unfortunately, no one from any of our People really knows, and as you can see, the panel isn't complete. You can see there on the end where the cavern narrows that portions have eroded and some have even fallen away," Carlos explained as he pointed at the rubble piled at the bottom of the petroglyph wall. "And there's also been additional damage from too many overzealous visitors over the years which is why we decided to close this trail off so we could preserve this piece of history. So little remains of what my ancestors recorded that we have to try and preserve every bit that we can."

"Of course," Emma smiled, even though Carlos wouldn't be able to see her face in the dim light of the cavern. "This was their story, and it's also your story."

"Exactly. I just wish that I could read the message they left behind," he lamented, his own flashlight also focused on the glyphs, aimed directly at the swirl one they believed referenced a portal. "They were trying to tell us something about their lives, and somehow, that swirly thing you call a portal was important enough to be the center of all of this."

"Well, if they did have access to a portal that allowed them to travel periodically to another realm, maybe even multiple realms, I can understand why it would be an important part of their lives, but it doesn't explain why that knowledge was lost."

"If I had to take a guess, it was probably because my People lost their belief in magic, in gods and in everything supernatural that had once been such a huge part of our culture. We became as cynical as everyone else instead of clinging to what made us special…" He paused for a moment to contemplate the words that had just rolled off of his tongue, but Emma picked up on why he'd stopped himself.

"For a moment there, I thought I was listening to Grandmother," Emma commented on his heartfelt reply.

"Maybe you were," he chuckled. "I think I was channeling her there for a second, but honestly, maybe it just finally clicked. Maybe I finally understand what she's been trying to tell me all of these years…"

"Believing in magic is sometimes a hard thing to accept," she stated, recalling her own experience.

"So, on the subject of magic – is it here? Can you feel it here? Is it something you can see or touch?"

"There's something here," she replied, beginning to feel a familiar tingle beneath her skin. "I'll need the storm to strengthen a bit more though so I can draw from it as well, but to answer your question, yes – there's definitely magic in this land, but it isn't anything you can see or touch. It was explained to me once as an emotion, or rather an extension of emotion. You just have to feel it to know it's there."

"So, what are you going to need to open up that portal?"

"First, I need a place to fuse the pieces of the dagger back together. I need somewhere that's preferably flat and not flammable because I'm going to try to redirect some of that lightning to do it. Later, I'll have to summon a lot more power from the storm to actually open up the portal…"

"I'm guessing we're going to need to be outside in the rain to do that, huh?"

"Afraid so. Your ancestors may have told their story of their experience with the portal on this cave wall, but I don't think they actually opened it in here." Exiting back out onto the trail, Emma's eyes drifted upward, scrutinizing the darkening clouds. "Do you know of a flat rock surface anywhere close to here?"

"Yeah, there's an outcrop of boulders a little further up the trail, maybe a hundred yards from here. Come on, I'll show you…"

Sure enough, a pair of mostly flat boulders lay ahead, just off the well-trodden path. The surface would work perfectly for her needs, Emma thought as she lowered her backpack onto the ground, crouching to remove both the bubble wrapped dagger and the plastic specimen jar from the hospital that contained the severed tip. Taking care not to cut herself, she unwrapped the ornate knife and placed it atop the wet surface of the boulder. She then unscrewed the lid from the tiny jar and tipped the metal triangle onto the rock next to the dagger, aligning the broken piece to match the jagged break on the blade.

"Okay," she began, pushing herself upright and brushing her soggy blonde locks away from her face. She took a deep breath as she was suddenly reminded of when she'd unified another set of blades... "Sorry, this is bringing back some not so pleasant memories… Let me try to concentrate…"

Carlos hung back a few steps from the boulders as Emma tried to clear her thoughts and focus only on her magic. She'd long known how much her own powers were tied to her emotions and right now, they were all over the place. She ignored the raindrops crashing atop her head as she raised her right hand and positioned it directly above the blade with her fingers spread wide, now feeling the familiar warmth building. The Park Ranger who'd known her only a few days watched in amazement as Emma's palm began to glow with a brilliant gilded white light, far brighter than the beam of his flashlight and maybe as bright as the flash of lightning that illuminated the western sky. He didn't dare look away as he noticed that the tip of the dagger was now glowing as well and there were sparks flickering as the piece drew closer to the blade it had once been a part of. He jumped back a step as a bolt of light shot up from the ground, followed by a deafening clap of thunder that even had Emma leaping away to avoid being struck, but as the light faded and their eyes fell upon the boulder's surface, the dagger's blade was once again intact.

"Holy sh…!" Carlos started to exclaim, but he immediately censored himself, returning to stunned silence at what he'd just witnessed. He'd never in is life imagined seeing real magic, not those parlor tricks performed by men in dark suits pulling rabbits out of hats. What he'd just seen was nothing like that and he found himself glancing back and forth between Emma and the repaired dagger as she tentatively touched the handle to see if it was safe to retrieve. "That was so not what I expected…"

"Didn't go quite as I expected either," she admitted as she wrapped her fingers around the handle and raised the dagger to get a better look at the re-formed blade. "Now, let's get back to Killian and Grandmother and see if we can get this thing to open that portal." Swinging her pack back up onto her shoulder, Emma admired the blade with a glint of pride in her eyes. She'd been able to summon the magic necessary to re-form this blade so she sure as hell could do the same to open up that damned portal.

But that proud moment didn't last long as a distant cry echoed off of the mountain just as another thundering blast came from above.

"That was Grandmother's voice!" Carlos shouted anxiously. "Something's wrong…" Emma tucked the dagger away and drew her weapon, unsure of what sort of predator awaited them as they sprinted toward the overhanging rock where they'd separated, running as quickly as the rain-slickened earth would allow.

#cs ff #cs fanfic #cs fan fiction #captain swan ff #only a little superstitious

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fearofaherobrine · 6 years

Text

Roleplay Server Log #331

"Winston Vs Endrea, Little Dragons”

[Winston] As the sky grows darker he is standing in the grass in front of Lies house, sword drawn and head cocked ever so slightly to listen for the slightest of sounds-

[Doc] is walking back with Ever and Karla, they weren't far away so Xe's just holding s crackly bit of statick to discourage any mob nonsense.

[Karla] That skeleton seems to be having an issue....

[Doc] Pulls out the translation egg- Winston? Are you okay?

[Ever] is just nervously watching for mobs with a new stone sword in one hand.

[Winston] - I am quite well Doctor, but I would be much appreciative if you were quiet...

[Doc] oh.... - Xe looks around nervously-

[Karla] I presume you can understand him?

[Doc] Quietly- he says SSHHH!

[Winston] Suddenly finds himself facedown on the ground as Endrea sweeps by, eerily silent as she grazes the top of his head before slamming him with her tail with a slight laugh-

[Ever] Holy shit! Is that a dragon????

[Karla] is peering upward - are we in any immediate danger?

[Winston] Rolls sideways quickly to avoid a blast of void energy from Endrea-

[Doc] scoots them quickly over by the wall where it's more sheltered. - I don't think so, that's Endrea. She's Lies associate, old friend of the family.

[Endrea] Lands with a thud and gives Winston a growl-

[Winston] Hurries closer to strike at her with his sword-

[Ever] Why are they fighting???

[Doc] I'm not sure, but I'm presuming it's not serious because she seems to be toying with him...

[Winston] - She is!

[Endrea] - Oh come now Winston, you were the one wanting to spar

[Doc] well you are the size of s teddy bear compared to her right now....

[Winston] - Yes, and I'd be an ant compared to her full size- He raises his sword to block a swipe from Endrea's claws

[Karla] That is a very large dragon...

[Doc] She's the biggest overall on the server.

[Ever] She's so cool looking!

[Endrea] Suddenly grins-

[Winston] - Endrea? I don't think I like that look...

[Ever] is a bit too excited to root coherently for one or the other.

[Doc] That is certainly a griefer smile...

[Endrea] - Artemisia- She surges into her full size and slams Winston into a wall- I win

[Ever] HOLY CRAP.

[Doc] Runs to Winston to make sure he's okay, with his new arm and all

[Endrea] Backs off so Winston isn't pinned-

[Karla] is still just watching her with a slight grin

[Winston] His new arm is damaged- Well that was a good spar

[Doc] Well it looks like another trip to the blacksmiths for you... - Xe wags a finger at Endrea teasingly- bad dragon!

[Endrea] Jokingly huffs- I am not

[Ever] Is sneaking closer to Endrea-

[Doc] winks- picking on defenseless skeletons. Shame shame!

[Endrea] - Oh believe me, he's far from defenseless

[Karla] she's a magnificent creature and he is equally brave or foolish or a mix of both, haha.

[Doc] Oh you mean because of the wither effect? Does that work on you?

[Endrea] - Not really, but he can do the same sort of blasts that a full wither can

[Doc] Really? Winston.. I had no idea. Is that normal for all your type where you came from?

[Ever] touches the tip of Endreas tail ever so slightly.

[Winston] - No, it's one of the perks the Master gave me, I simply did not use it because I did not wish to anger the mistress by ruining her front yard [Endrea] Quickly turns and focuses on Ever-

[Doc] Niiiice. It's good to be a right hand guy. Oh... Sorry.

[Ever] Yikes. - is perfectly still, his little cat ears flat in his spiky hair and his tail all poofy.

[Endrea] Snorts at him before focusing on the now dark sky as Ashe flies back from the library, aiming for the landing pad-

[Ever] Follows her gaze and gasps. Ashe is easier to see since he's white- it's another one! But littler!

[Karla] Ah, one of the many hatchlings I presume?

[Ashe] Lands and it's obvious he's carrying books in the bags on his back-

[Endrea] - Ashe, you look like you brought the whole library back with you

[Karla] He can read as well?

[Doc] He's very smart, even good at chess and Winston? My offer of a gift still stands, have you given any thought to what you would like?

[Winston] - Ah, no, I haven't, I apologize for that

[Ashe] Switches to his human form- Some of them are for Willow and Oak to!

[Doc] That's okay, it's not like there's a time limit. Just don't forget entirely! Haha.

[Endrea] Moves closer and nuzzles Ashe a little- Your siblings are inside, why don't you go join them?

[Ashe] - Yes mom

[Ashe] Climbs down from the roof and goes inside-

[willow] -is jumping on endrea's bed-

[oak] -is just watching-

[Ashe] - Willow stop that, you'll mess up the bed

[willow] but it's bouncy

[oak] hi big brother

[Ashe] - Hi Oak. Willow, it's mom's bed, yes we all sleep on it, but we shouldn't mistreat it

[willow] -she stops but is pouting about it-

[Ashe] - Thank you, I brought you guys some books

[oak] -runs over to ashe- I want to see

[willow] what books?

[Ashe] Opens one of his bags and dumps some of them on the bed- See for yourself

[willow] -looks though the books as oak looks over her shoulder-

[Ashe] - Pick whatever ones you want to read

[willow] -picks a book that look like the people on the cover are on an adventure-

[oak] -picks a book that has a family on it-

[Ashe] - So did you two do anything exciting while I was gone?

[Willow] no I still want to go on adventure

[oak] we where running around the house playing tag

[Ashe] - Maybe mom will let you go on am adventure with your next growth spurt Willow. Besides, you two still have to learn how to fly first

[willow] then I would be able to fly anywhere

[Ashe] - Well, within reason

[willow] -pouts again making oak giggle-

[Ashe] - It won't be long before mom starts your flying lessons anyways, and that in itself well be an adventure

[oak] yea flying adventure

[willow] yea it will be an adventure

[Ashe] - Do you two remember when I was learning?

[willow] I think so maybe

[oak] no

[Ashe] - Laughs a little- Well, just remember that you'll probably land in your face several times

[willow] I want to fly now -starts running around the room- I would be able to discover new places.

[Ashe] - It takes practice Willow

[willow] -is still excitedly running around the room think about all the adventures-

[oak] willow seem too excited

[Ashe] - Yeah, but there are two rules you absolutely need to remember

[oak] what are they?

[willow] -is now running around ashe-

[Ashe] - First of all, never approach wild mobs, and secondly, do not get into water

[oak] okie dokie

[willow] -has made her self dizzy and is now laying on the floor-

[Ashe] - Did you catch all that Willow?

[willow] yes but can you tell the room to stop spinning

[Ashe] - No, but it will stop on its own, I promise

[oak] -starts reading his book-

-Outside the patter of rain is beginning-

[Endrea] Looks upwards- Oh, rain

[Doc] You should go inside. Don't want you to get wet.

[Karla] Why?

[Ever] Urgent whisper - Water hurts enders!

[Karla] Oh.

[Endrea] - There is no need to worry so much Doc, this small amount won't hurt me, but I suppose I should go inside and get Willow and Oak to sleep

[Doc] Come on then- Xe ushers Karla and Ever inside as well. The air lights up for a moment and there's a crash of thunder.

[Karla] That's a tad violent.

[Doc] Shrugs- It storms a lot here. But It's only a few minutes walk into a different biome where it doen't rain at all.

[Lie] Is cleaning up after the dinner- Oh good, your back. Wouldn't want you guys to get too wet out there

[Endrea] Shifts to her human form and goes inside. She acknowledges Lie before going upstairs to her room-

[Winston] Comes inside as well- Mistress, good evening

[Doc] You missed the sparring match Lie. Wither skeleton vs giant dragon. Very dramatic.

[Lie] - You missed the near murder fest in here, CP being forced to sit through a civil dinner with his family

[Doc] Chuckles- Oh dear... No injuries I hope?

[Ever] Little yawn-

[Karla] I think this one has tuckered himself out.

[Ever] Hehe... can I borrow a bed?

[Lie] - Sure, do you wanna sleep in this room or the storage room?

[Ever] Don't care. I like the sound of the rain.

[Lie] - Then there's some beds right over there, fair warning though, you might get woken by young dragons in the morning

[Ever] That sounds.... AWESOME. - He leaps into the bed and snuggles down-

[Karla] Smiles - I think you've made his good day complete Lie.

[Lie] - Well it did start kinda shitty

[Doc] You should have seen him building. He was happier then a Steve with a bag of diamonds.

[Lie] Laughs a little- Well I'm heading up to my bed and space heater. If you need me in the morning, I'll either be tending the animals or harvesting vanilla

[Karla] Then I suppose I'm allowed to choose a bed as well?

[Lie] - Of course, if you want to move it closer to Ever just swat it a couple times and you'll be able to pick it up to move it

[Karla] Thank you for your hospiltality Lie.

[Doc] I guess I'll head home then. I'm sure my own mate and kiddo are wondering where I am.

[Lie] - Be safe Doc

[Yaunfen] Charges into Deerheart and Doc's bedroom and flops on the bed- BONZAI!

[Deer] Yelps and sits upright quickly, absolutely naked- Yaunfen!

[Doc] Whoof! - Xe's instantly awake-

[Yaunfen] Look what TLOT gave me! - Xe's holding a giant rainbow flower that looks like a bird of paradise with different colored parts-

[Deer] - Yaunfen, it's very pretty, but please don't shake it around

[Yaunfen] Oh sorry! - Is still really excited.

[Doc] Sleepy yawn. - Why are you up so early?

[Yaunfen] Archen decided to crow a little...

[Deer] - And where's waffles?

[Yaunfen] Asleep on the bathroom rug - points down to the one across Deerheart's study. Opposite their own room.

[Deer] - Ah, okay. Are you ready for a new day?

[Yaunfen] Sure!

[Doc] I'm not sure I am....

[Yaunfen] Awww, come on mada, get up!

[Deer] - We can have a nice warm breakfast, maybe visit the village?

[Doc] Did you feed Waffles?

[Yaunfen] I'll go do it now! -Heads back downstairs-

[Deer] - Do you want to eat here? Or in the village?

[Doc] I'm ambivalent.

[Lh] Sneaks out from under the bed and bats at Deerheart's hand-

[Deer] Moves a little to rub his chin- I think the other cat is hungry too

[Yaunfen] Scrambles back up the ladder a bit awkwardly- Mama! Mada! Waffles grew! - The cat is now twice the size of Lh and showing a distinct white patch on their back in addition to the speckly texture-

[Lh] Mow???

[Deer] - Oh my...

[Doc] That's a big kitty....

[Waffles] Weird growly meow-

[Deer] - I think we need to go hunt some more...

[Yaunfen] They look so cool. Good morning Lh!

[Lh] Hops onto the bed and hides behind Deerheart.

[Deer] - And keep the cats seperated

[Doc] Hunting chocolate chickens and marzipan pigs has a certain kind of charm, doesn't it?

[Waffles] Puuuuurrrrrrrr

[Deer] - Maybe bring some home to breed too...

[Pinwheel] Is under Lies massive tree. Her feathers are a mess, she's weak and hungry, and her skin is covered in sores from the previous nights rain-

[Sammn] Is stomping nearby, angrily muttering under her breath, glancing around till she spots the darkened area under Lie's tree. Cursing softly, she heads over.

[Pinwheel] Raises her head a little and gives a small, weak, hiss-

[Pinwheel] Her venom is completely spent from keeping mobs away from her all night

[Sammn] Stares into the darkness for a moment before holding up a hand, whispering "Lux". Her hand lights up like glowstone. - Pinwheel?

[Pinwheel] Shrinks back a little- Go away

[Sammn] stops, kneeling down. - Your hurt, little one. Why are you hiding out here?

[Pinwheel] - To be alone

[Sammn] sighs and sits down - Alright, understandable, I guess. I take it, things with Crim did not go well.

[Pinwheel] - He confuse me

[Sammn] I imagine. I found him all the way across the long sea bridge, wandering around. He was confused and upset too.

[Pinwheel] - He called me a baby! I'm not a baby!

[Sammn] - frowns, looking at her beaten-up condition - Yes, you are no longer a infant, but you are still young. In fact, both of you are still young. As such, there are many things that neither of you understand. Do you know why he called you that?

[Pinwheel] - ... No...

[Sammn] Well, I only know his side of things, but I can guess it was from the way you reacted to his present. And, maybe to his attempt to apologize. He was very upset and sad about it, I've never seen him cry before.

[Pinwheel] - But I did what he wanted! I didn't break it! Even though I wanted to!

[Sammn] That's very nice of you, Pinwheel. But, the fact you had to stop and consider not breaking his present is why he reacted. You do realize he cares for you? I think his crying was because he thought he hurt you.

[Pinwheel] - But he no like me anymore...

[Sammn] - smiles - Pinwheel, he reacted like this BECAUSE he likes you. A lot. Enough that even upset, he was worried about you .

[Pinwheel] Hunkers down a little, the unfamiliar feeling of guilt rising as well as her hunger pains-

[Sammn] It's ok Pinwheel, as I said. You are young, things like this are confusing to full adults. - watches her - Do you still like Crim?

[Pinwheel] Nods-

[Sammn] - nods - Well then, I can promise he still cares about you. Especially if he's not stalking you. You probably told him to go away, and since he didn't listen the first time, he is trying to listen now.

[Pinwheel] - Oh...

[Sammn] - shakes head and digs through inventory - I'm sorry I don't think I have anything you can eat, only apples & bread. I think a potion would hurt too. Is there anything I can do for you?

[Pinwheel] - No, I'm fine- Stomach growl

[Sammn] That may be, but you defended yourself last night. You need food to heal up and be strong. Will you let me help?

[Pinwheel] Unsure noises-

[Sammn] - stays put, waiting - Would you like to go find Crim?

[Pinwheel] Perks a little- Maybe...

[Sammn] - slowly stands, dusting off dress - Well then, you will need your strength and health, as it may take us a bit to find him. Can you walk?

[Pinwheel] Defensively- Yes!- As she stands it's obvious she's in a lot of pain

[Sammn] Pinwheel, part of growing up, is knowing your limits and when you need others help. If you'd like, I'll let you crawl on my back instead of hurting yourself more. We'll go get some food, rest a little, then head out to look for Crim. Sound good?

[Pinwheel] Is very uncertain- But we need to find him now...

[Sammn] To go find him, you need to be in top shape. What if you have to help fight something? Now, you may not be able to, if we get food in you, you will be strong and fit, more than a match for the anything silly enough to mess with you.

[Pinwheel] - ... Okay

[Sammn] - kneels down and waits for her to climb on -

[Pinwheel] Tries, her sharp little claws pricking at Sammn's back, but she doesn't have the strength currently to pull herself up-

[Sammn] - winces, but keeps quiet. Slowly scoops her up as gently as possible - I hope this will be alright, Pinwheel. If anything hurts, let me know and I'll let you take a break. Otherwise, let's go get you some food.

[Pinwheel] - Everything, got caught in falling water

[Sammn] - slowly heads off - Ah yes, the rainstorm. It was a nasty one, so much lightning everywhere, I had to dodge a few strikes. I'm sorry you got caught out in that.

[Pinwheel] - It hurt a lot...

[Sammn] I can imagine, it looks painful. But, once you have some food, you should heal up and hopefully, no longer hurt.

[Pinwheel] - There blue pills

[Sammn] Blue pills? Who would have those, Doc maybe? - changes direction toward the castle -

[Pinwheel] - I think big one has to

[Sammn] Ah, so Endrea. Alright... Let's go find Miss Big Dragon.

[Endrea] Is outside watching her children play-

[Sammn] - comes huffing up - Ah, there you are, Endrea. Surprising how such a large dragon can be hard to find.

[Endrea] - Sammn, and, Pinwheel?

[Pinwheel] - Fooooood!

[Endrea] - And some medicine as well it looks like

[Sammn] Yes, I would say so. She menchioned something about blue pills. - carefully puts Pinwheel down -

[Pinwheel] Stays curled up in a ball-

[Endrea] - Yes, Ashe's old pills. They're dry so they don't harm us ender dragons

[Sammn] Figured as much. She got caught in that storm, then had to mess with some mobs. - gently puts a hand on her back - Come on, sooner this is done, sooner we can go looking.

[Endrea] - Who are you looking for?

[Sammn] One small red dragon, of the many legged variety.

[Endrea] - I see, well I'm not certain where he is, but let me get you that medicine and food- She shifts to her more human form and goes inside before returning with a few dry pills and several bottles of void energy to feed Pinwheel

[Pinwheel] Perks at the sight of the bottles-

[Sammn] moves aside -

[Endrea] Kneels down next to Pinwheel and offers a pill first- This is more important, besides, feeding will take some time unless you want to be sick

[Pinwheel] - No, food first

[Endrea] - That's not how this works Pinwheel

[Karla] Is quietly watching from a shadow, leaning against the house. - Hello Sammn...

[Pinwheel] Whines but after a bit more persuasion takes the pill-

[Sammn] jumps slightly, instinctively drawing her knife - Oh... you. Wait, when did you arrive here?

[Endrea] Carefully begins pouring the void energy, but only giving Pinwheel the tiniest of trickles-

[Karla] Yesterday. An old foe showed up and trashed my abode. Lie was kind enough to take myself and Ever in.

[Sammn] relaxes, tucking away the knife - Indeed, nasty turn of events, but glad both of you appear no worse from it.

[Pinwheel] Whines loudly as Endrea stops the flow of food-

[Endrea] - Pinwheel, you haven't had a good feeding in at least a week, too much at once and you'll get sick

[Karla] How is your... unwanted passenger? Have you coaxed any more information out of it?

[Sammn] No, not yet. I wanted to take some precautions first, so I've had to run some experiments. This world lacks some items that mine has, so I've had to find alternatives. I think I've almost finalized things.

[Karla] Can I be of any assistance? - wanders closer and looks at Pinwheel -

[Pinwheel] Growls at Karla-

[Endrea] - Pinwheel that's enough

[Sammn] Possibly, but I am assisting Pinwheel with an issue first.

[Karla] No hurry. I think we're going to be here for quite some time. Cp and I had a bit of fun before leaving... - eyes Pinwheel- She's rather angry isn't she?

[Pinwheel] Suddenly lunges at Karla, extending her fangs and aiming to dig them into Karla's leg-

[Karla] Moves, but is not quite fast enough, the little dragons fangs stick in her thick leather boots - Ach!

[Sammn] Pinwheel, please don't attack others. She's won't harm you.

[Endrea] - Well at least we know she's out of venom

[Pinwheel] Is a bit stuck-

[Sammn] tries to carefully pull Pinwheel back - Hold still.

[Karla] Stays perfectly still- Umm?

[Pinwheel] Is eventually freed and her fangs are clearly visible-

[Endrea] - Judging by the fact that she's out of venom, it may be awhile before you can go and find Crim. Would you like to leave her here while you gather supplies for your journey?

[Karla] You have a bit of a temper, don't you little one? And the head of a snake...

[Sammn] May be for the best. - kneels down by Pinwheel - Rest up, get your strength back. As soon as you wake, I'll be here and we can go look. Alright?

[Pinwheel] - But Cri!

[Karla] And she talks?

[Endrea] - I believe the Mistress said she has Pit viper venom

[Karla] How deliciously deadly. It appears I'm lucky both for my thick boots and her apparent exhaustion.

[Sammn] I'll go check his room, maybe he's hiding there. I promise, we'll look for him. But you need to be healthy first.

[Pinwheel] - Fine...

[Endrea] - We'll try some more food in a little bit Pinwheel, alright?

[Karla] Her name is Pinwheel? - She addresses the little dragon directly- I am Doctor Emmerich. Karla will be sufficent. Charmed to meet you.

[Pinwheel] Hisses at Karla-

[Endrea] - She really only likes her friend Crim

[Sammn] - standing - Thank you Pinwheel.

[Karla] I appreciate someone who is choosy with their company as well.

[Pinwheel] - Don't like you

[Karla] Any particular reason child?

[Pinwheel] - Just don't- Huffs and looks away

[Endrea] - She is a stubborn one

[Sammn] - watches both of them, fingers twitching -

[Karla] Then she and I have another thing in common. Sammn? You seem unsettled...?

[Endrea] - Go ahead Sammn, I can watch her for now. And if she does get some venom back we have the antidote

[Karla] What kind of recuperation were you planning for her to restore her venom?

[Endrea] - Just some rest. She'll probably need another pill too to deal with the water sores

[Sammn] - nods to Endrea before looking at Pinwheel - Alright. Rest up, I'll go look around for Crim and maybe grab a few things. I'll be back soon.

[Karla] Is she also one of your adopted children Endrea?

[Pinwheel] - You better!

[Endrea] - Oh no, those three playing in the grass are mine. Splender is Pinwheel's guardian

[Sammn] I said I promised to help you. I keep my promises, always .

[Karla] Does he know she's injured?

[Endrea] - I don't think so...

[Karla] Shouldn't we let him know then?

[Endrea] - I believe I saw him leave the server last night, so he may not even be here

[Pinwheel] - Just get back soon

[Karla] Then she's fortunate to have others looking out for her.

[Sammn] - nods- I'll be back shortly.

[Endrea] - Everyone looks out for everybody else here

[Karla] Inclines her head towards the village- even in there? I presume there are people living in those walls?

[Endrea] - Yes, even the testificates. They are almost entirely gay as well

[Karla] What's a Testificate?

[Endrea] - This games version of a villager, but they don't look like the players

[Karla] I have... poor luck with villages... I'm in no hurry to find out if this time will be any different. Perhaps I could help with... Pinwheel?

[Endrea] - You may get along better with the testificates than you think. All of them know what it feels to be shamed and ostracized. But if you prefer to help with Pinwheel, then I suggest you grab the antidote from the green house

[Karla] Still looks unsure- I would rather assist you. What am I looking for?

[Endrea] - A rainbow colored fruit, if you need help I think the Mistress is in there now

[Karla] Nods and heads that way. She ventures cautiously into the greenhouse and the lilleep makes a noise to alert Lie to her presence.

[Lie] Looks out from behind a taller plant, she's climbed up onto one of the counters to pick some of the overly abundant vanilla- Oh, Karla! Do you need anything?

[Karla] Endrea asked me to come find an antivenom plant to conteract Pinwheels bite.

[Lie] - Pinwheel's here? Uh, the tree is just to your right, if the fruit is ready, it should just break off into your hand

[Karla] Yes, she took a bite of my boot. - She lifts the fruit gently and three in sucession snap easily off in her hands.

[Lie] - Well if your not screaming in pain or dead then I guess she's out of venom?

[Karla] It's that potent? Hmmm...

[Lie] - Just ask Doc the next time you see them, they've been bitten a few times. Splender luckily is immune to her venom, he gets bit constantly

[Karla] Any tips for not being bitten?

[Lie] - Give her her space, she gets overstimulated very easily, but she also like scratches along her neck fluff

[Karla] I shall remember that then. Thank you Lie- She heads back to where Endrea is-

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larryrickard · 4 years

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lets get personal.

i know this is supposed to be an ask meme but i’m fucking bored & no one ever sends me them, so. also i’m kinda pissy rn unfortunately so forgive pls some of my answers lol

01: 6 of the songs you listen to most?: idk. mostly i listen to everything on random anymore, and only in my car. the only song i’ve listened to on repeat recently has been ‘stupid love’ by lady gaga. 02: If you could meet anyone on this earth, who would it be?: speaking of which, lady gaga. 03: Grab the book nearest to you, turn to page 23, give me line 17.: the only book near me would be all the books, as in my bookshelf. unless you count my kindle, in which case there would be no line 17 because of the font size. sorry. 04: What do you think about most?: idk. whatever my current obsession is i guess. 05: What does your latest text message from someone else say?: “And you don't have to cook it”. 06: Do you sleep with or without clothes on?: with. i don’t like being naked and don’t understand those who do. also i get cold. 07: What’s your strangest talent?: i don’t have talents. 08: Girls… (finish the sentence); Boys… (finish the sentence): are soft and beautiful. meh, have to earn my trust. 09: Ever had a poem or song written about you?: a song, yes. 10: When is the last time you played the air guitar?: a very long time. it’s not a thing i ever do lol. 11: Do you have any strange phobias?: i don’t think so. my phobias are pretty standard. 12: Ever stuck a foreign object up your nose?: when i was a kid, yeah. plenty. once my parents had to hold me down and tweeze a chewed up wad of juicy fruit out of my nose. i fucking love the smell of that gum. three year old me may have been stupid but, hey. i was being economical. also i blame it on my parents for, you know, giving a fucking toddler some gum. 13: What’s your religion?: don’t have one. former christian, which is gross. don’t indoctrinate children, please and thanks. 14: If you are outside, what are you most likely doing?: walking to or from my car. that’s about it. :/ 15: Do you prefer to be behind the camera or in front of it?: behind. no one deserves to see my face. rip to everyone who sees me in person on a regular basis. 16: Simple but extremely complex. Favorite band?: jars of clay, jimmy eat world, the elms. 17: What was the last lie you told?: that i’m not in debt lmao. the only time i’ve lied to my psychiatrist :/ 18: Do you believe in karma?: no but sometimes i wish i did. so many people deserve their comeuppance. 19: What does your URL mean?: doesn’t really mean anything, he’s a character from the flash. 20: What is your greatest weakness; your greatest strength?: all sorts of things? and idk. 21: Who is your celebrity crush?: lady gaga, angelina jolie, carlos valdes, idk if shane madej is a ‘celebrity’ but him, brie larson, michael sheen... idk, i don’t really have “crushes” but those are the first ppl to come to mind. 22: Have you ever gone skinny dipping?: nope. and no thank you. 23: How do you vent your anger?: lol. 24: Do you have a collection of anything?: funko pops? but not seriously. i mean. i have a lot of them bc i love a lot of characters and there are some pretty fuckin dope funkos. but it’s not my goal in life to have a huge collection or anything. at least i can say i have less than a hundred of them lol. (less than 75.) 25: Do you prefer talking on the phone or video chatting online?: ew, neither. but if i had to choose, phone. bc, you know. my face. 26: Are you happy with the person you’ve become?: lmfao no. i mean, i’m better than the person i used to be, that’s for sure. (see: indoctrinated as a child, including your typical conservative bullshit like racism for starters.) 27: What’s a sound you hate; sound you love?: so many. i have misophonia. and people chewing + mouth sounds is definitely a big one. love? idk??? music? rain? my cat’s cute lil meow? 28: What’s your biggest “what if”?: what if my thyroid issues were discovered earlier on instead of a year or more after they started. my childhood doctor was Not Great. it took her two weeks to figure out i had a sinus infection. i was in the fourth grade. still bitter about both of those. 29: Do you believe in ghosts? How about aliens?: no, ghosts aren’t real. aliens yes. not the stereotypical ones, but in a “given the size of the universe it’s literally impossible that we’re the only life out there” way. 30: Stick your right arm out; what do you touch first? Do the same with your left arm.: right, the cat. left, air. 31: Smell the air. What do you smell?: nothing? it’s my house/room, so to me it smells like nothing. 32: What’s the worst place you have ever been to?: uh... i’ve no idea? 33: Choose: East Coast or West Coast?: west, obviously. 34: Most attractive singer of your opposite gender?: no such thing as ‘opposite’ gender. of a different gender, though? lady gaga. 35: To you, what is the meaning of life?: who the fucking fuck knows. literally know one knows, though tbh. they just think they do. 36: Define Art.: lmfao how would i know. i don’t have a creative bone in my body so i should be the last person to comment on the subject. 37: Do you believe in luck?: nope. i hope it’s obvious by now that i don’t believe in fictional things. 38: What’s the weather like right now?: cool. cloudy. typical oregon winter weather. i want rain tho :( 39: What time is it?: 3:04am. 40: Do you drive? If so, have you ever crashed?: yes. and yes, several times. three. two totaled cars. the last one is the only one that was actually my fault, though. driving too close after it rained. don’t do it, folks. 41: What was the last book you read?: the diviners by libba bray. currently reading a short history of nuclear folly by rudolph herzog. fascinating, but kind of depressing af. 42: Do you like the smell of gasoline?: no. 43: Do you have any nicknames?: hal (to a very select few bc 99% of the time i hate it, so fuck you if you call me this without permission), hals, hallie bird, hallie strawberry. 44: What was the last film you saw?: i honestly don’t know. haven’t done a whole lot of movie watching lately. maybe the fall (2006). (please watch this movie, it’s so gorgeous and lovely.) 45: What’s the worst injury you’ve ever had?: i’ve never had a serious injury. well. i take that back, i guess. in my first car accident i was stopped and rear-ended at like, 40mph. so i’ve had back issues since i was 18. usually it’s fine but sometimes it’s bad and sometimes i can set it off really easily. idk if that counts as “serious”, though. lots of people have back problems. 46: Have you ever caught a butterfly?: i don’t think so? 47: Do you have any obsessions right now?: i guess buzzfeed unsolved and watcher. and ‘stupid love’ by lady gaga lol. good omens, as usual. 48: What’s your sexual orientation?: asexual. 49: Ever had a rumour spread about you?: yes. thankfully only a few (that i know of, anyway). 50: Do you believe in magic?: no. 51: Do you tend to hold grudges against people who have done you wrong?: yuuup. they deserve it. 52: What is your astrological sign?: taurus. 53: Do you save money or spend it?: spend it :|| every paycheck i tell myself i’ll be better at saving it, but............ 54: What’s the last thing you purchased?: preordered chromatica by lady gaga. 55: Love or lust?: if i had to choose, love. lust and all that stuff is gross. 56: In a relationship?: nope. shocker, i know. (this is sarcasm. it is no shocker to anyone as to why i’m single.) 57: How many relationships have you had?: just the one. 58: Can you touch your nose with your tongue?: nope. 59: Where were you yesterday?: work on my day off for a staff meeting, and then my psychiatrists’ office. 60: Is there anything pink within 10 feet of you?: a few things, yes. 61: Are you wearing socks right now?: yes. almost always. 62: What’s your favourite animal?: cats, then birds. mice are p adorable, too. i miss having them. i haven’t had mice since middle school or early high school i think :( i’d love more but my current cat would definitely try to eat them... same with a bird. i’ll probably never have a bird :( 63: What is your secret weapon to get someone to like you?: be sarcastic and love stupid puns and bad jokes? 64: Where is your best friend?: one is in ohio and the other is in massachusetts. 65: Give me your top 5 favourite blogs on Tumblr.: no idea lol. i haven’t been on here much recently, and i’m never caught up anyway. and i don’t usually pay attention to who is posting/reblogging. 66: What is your heritage?: mostly german. the rest is other typical white stuff that i can’t remember. some irish? either way idc. 67: What were you doing last night at 12AM?: uh, rewatching some buzzfeed unsolved for the 100th time? and playing with my tamagotchi? 68: What do you think is Satan’s last name?: he doesn’t exist so idc. 69: Be honest. Ever gotten yourself off?: nope. also, Nice™. 70: Are you the kind of friend you would want to have as a friend?: incredibly doubtful. 71: You are walking down the street on your way to work. There is a dog drowning in the canal on the side of the street. Your boss has told you if you are late one more time you get fired. What do you do?: go to work. i love my job way too much. i’d probably try to get someone’s attention if there was anyone around, and/or call animal services. (there are no canals around here anyway and i don’t walk to work and ain’t gonna.) 72: You are at the doctor’s office and she has just informed you that you have approximately one month to live. a) Do you tell anyone/everyone you are going to die? b) What do you do with your remaining days? c) Would you be afraid?: who tf knows, i hate this shit. i’d really rather not think about it bc it stresses me out. i probably wouldn’t tell very many people tho. try to find someone to take my cat :( i sure as shit wouldn’t leave her to my parents :( and i wouldn’t want to leave her in a shelter. she’s already done that once and it makes me too sad. 73: You can only have one of these things; trust or love.: trust. you can’t have love without trust, though... 74: What’s a song that always makes you happy when you hear it?: ‘sweetness’ by jimmy eat world, ‘fade to grey’ by jars of clay, ‘thunderhead’ by the elms, ‘bad romance’ and ‘g*psy’ by lady gaga (latter is... i hate the name but the song is so fucking catchy, ugh), ‘torn’ by natalie imbruglia, ‘bring it all back’ by s club 7, ‘... baby one more time’ by britney spears, ‘where’s the love’ by hanson, ‘who do you think you are’ by the spice girls, ‘as long as you love me’ and ‘everybody (backstreet’s back)’ by the backstreet boys, ‘black balloon’ by goo goo dolls, ‘spark’ by tori amos, ‘last beautiful girl’ by matchbox twenty, ‘push it’ by garbage, ‘i want you’ by savage garden, ‘minority’ and ‘she’ and ‘basket case’ and ‘macy’s day parade’ by green day... how’s that lol. 75: What are the last four digits in your cell phone number?: not giving out that kind of personal information lmao. 76: In your opinion, what makes a great relationship?: i wouldn’t know. 77: How can I win your heart?: you probably can’t. idk anyway. 78: Can insanity bring on more creativity?: sure, but lack of insanity is a better way to go. don’t perpetuate the bullshit notion that you need to be suffering to create Great Art™. 79: What is the single best decision you have made in your life so far?: idk. i haven’t made very many. 80: What size shoes do you wear?: 10 in women’s. 81: What would you want to be written on your tombstone?: i’m going to be cremated and you probably should be, too. just don’t get embalmed, k? 82: What is your favourite word?: fuck. 83: Give me the first thing that comes to mind when you hear the word; heart.: ‘alone’ by heart. 84: What is a saying you say a lot?: idk. someone who spends time around me irl would have to tell me. 85: What’s the last song you listened to?: ‘stupid love’ by lady gaga on repeat. 86: Basic question; what’s your favourite colour/colours?: blue. then green, and in no particular order, black, grey, purple. 87: What is your current desktop picture?: it’s boring, just the default mac catalina background lol. i was having issues choosing a background and was getting way too fucking picky, so i just said ‘fuck it’ and have been using this one for months. 88: If you could press a button and make anyone in the world instantaneously explode, who would it be?: donald trump. 89: What would be a question you’d be afraid to tell the truth on?: idk? how much in debt i am? lmao. 90: One night you wake up because you heard a noise. You turn on the light to find that you are surrounded by MUMMIES. The mummies aren’t really doing anything, they’re just standing around your bed. What do you do?: assume i’m having a night terror or am hallucinating. and be scared. 91: You accidentally eat some radioactive vegetables. They were good, and what’s even cooler is that they endow you with the super-power of your choice! What is that power?: hopefully teleportation. 92: You can re-live any point of time in your life. The time-span can only be a half-hour, though. What half-hour of your past would you like to experience again?: maybe when i met carlos valdes & got a picture with him. he’s super sweet, is living sunshine, and gives amazing hugs. 93: You can erase any horrible experience from your past. What will it be?: so many :/ idek where to start tbh. 94: You have the opportunity to sleep with the music-celebrity of your choice. Who would it be?: i’m sex-repulsed so no thank you. also, gross question. get a life. 95: You just got a free plane ticket to anywhere. You have to depart right now. Where are you gonna go?: new zealand. 96: Do you have any relatives in jail?: yes, my cousin bc he murdered my dad ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ 97: Have you ever thrown up in the car?: no. 98: Ever been on a plane?: many times. 99: If the whole world were listening to you right now, what would you say?: indigenous people aren’t history, they still exist. shut the fuck up and listen to them. build a time machine to go back in time and prevent colonisers. just straight-up kill them, we deserve it.

#me

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