#morning glow is long past due. ~ charlie

[sevenciircles]

"If my people are drinking this and dying, I have to drink it. I'm not gonna let them suffer through this. Maybe I can develop an antidote or spread a prevention campaign."

"My angelic and demonic blood combined should protect me! Here I go-"

She took one sip and she's down for the count. Perished.

#morning glow is long past due. ~ charlie #grimpocalyspe 2023 #hello anyone in the world! ~ dash commentary

[meatriarchived]

[ cover ] - for sender to cover receiver with a blanket / jacket / coat as they’re lying down / nosy verse... and if i said he's placing blankets on maria and johnny, | @lifesver

thunderstorms had been hitting hard the last few days. with wind whistling past the walls of the shack, it was surprising that it held so well as rainfall sung along its rooftop. outside the single window was darkened by cloud cover. glow of lightning strike hitting now and again someplace far off brightening the sky and view from the glass, and with it, the inside of the shack.

what the roof over their heads and its walls surrounding them prided in its capability to withstand the elements raging against it, it lacked in keeping warm — even with three bodies inside it.

the still air was chilled, and for the one body who still sat awake at this late hour, sitting at the table, eyes focused on the property outside as it lit up with another crack of lightning, attention was diverted at the sound of stirring atop of mattress around the corner.

johnny had gone to bed long before either of them had after having been woken up at an ungodly hour early that morning to the sound of the phone ringing. to hear mama luda on the other end. 

one of the enclosed animal pens on the hewitt property had partially collapsed due to some rather strong wind gusts, and its roof and wall slanting in on itself caused a large enough gap and spooked the pigs inside and sent them scattering all over. thomas was running ragged trying to find and catch them all while also attempting to fish out the remaining ones left in the enclosure — they could use the extra hands if possible. she was sorry for disturbing their sleep at such an hour.

and yet, the moment johnny affirmed they’d go over and set the phone down, told them both to get up — that mama luda had called needing some help — how quick leland and maria were to kick off sheets and grab sweater and jacket, pull boots back onto tired feet. 

( how strange it was, how they both had grown so fond of the older woman. like a grandmother, like a mother, they both now jumped at the chance to help her when she asked. )

they drove off in the rain, miles down the road til they finally reached the hewitt homestead.

lights all on to welcome them in the dark, mama luda standing out on the front porch, waiting for them as they had gotten out and made their way up the front steps. for her to let johnny know which enclosure it was, how many of the damned pigs were still uncounted for.

that thomas was out there still, and with annoyance in tone when questioned on his whereabouts, that charlie was already gone for the day — didn’t expect him back til dinnertime, and she knew calling him to return home would take him hours to bother.

and so, the three had gone out in the rain, in the early morning hours, to help thomas off in the back field, in the fenced in plot their animals were left to roam in during good weather. searching around for the pigs — slipping in the mud, getting caught in small pits of deeper slush.

maria and leland sprinting with raindrops clouding their vision after the creatures, spooked and panicked as they zig-zagged every which direction while they were chased down and caught, wriggling and squealing in their arms as they’d run them back to the enclosure closest to the home. while johnny helped thomas clear away the destroyed half of the other enclosure, to get in and hand off the remaining pigs inside it.

it took long enough to have done so, and by the time they had them all accounted for — two having been injured, being closest to the fallen walls — the sky had brightened considerably despite the cloud cover still remaining overhead. it was long enough for the three to be iced to the bone, for clothes to be thoroughly soaked.

by the time they made it to the back porch, peeling off boots to not track mud inside, peeling outer layers off, mama luda was ready with three sets of dry, clean clothes for each of them, with towels to dry themselves off. and with pot of soup on the stove, already cooking through and near ready for them to eat and warm themselves up with — and in the meantime, tea and coffee were already mugged and awaiting them when they finished dressing.

they had sat there, with her at the kitchen table with their hot drinks, and moments after, once soup was ready, piping hot yet very much welcomed as it warmed them from the inside out with every bite.

( it still felt a little weird, how at home it felt sitting in the hewitt kitchen with her. like how it was for maria back at her abuela and abuelo’s home in mexico, which felt like a lifetime ago. felt so…foreign now. )

they stayed for a while at the hewitts, keeping mama luda company. helping her patch up a few leaks. johnny disappearing into the basement with thomas for some time while maria and leland stayed above, helping mama luda with other little chores as they waited for the rain to let up just enough for them to make the ride back to the shack.

for johnny to leave them there and go off once again after they had arrived, to start his own chores around the sawyer property, check in at the other house to make sure if anything needed to be done there.

and as they waited for him to return, the two sat at the table in the shack, talking — laughing at the absolute mess they both had been, running around in the mud, sharing disheveled stares and looks of disbelief and exasperation at one other through the sheets of rain falling down. it had been all so hectic.

it was funny to recount moments in all the chaos to one another. of him tripping over one of the larger ones that abruptly turned itself completely around and darted back at him, at his legs without giving him ample time to react. of her grasping onto one in her arms, it twisting and flailing itself so much it whacked her across the face with its head and made her nearly drop it.

they had to find some peace and humor in something, right?

so when the rain had kicked in again, and the sky slowly darkened further as day flowed into evening and then into nightfall, the door unlocked and swung open. they looked away from one another at johnny stepping in and locking it behind him. dinner in hand, for them, muttering that he’d already eaten, he was tired, was going to pass the fuck out.

he set food down on the table in between them, and walked straight to the other half of the shack, changing as he did and kicking off dirtied boots. and then to his mattress, dropped himself down and was out like a light.

the pair at the table glanced at one another, faint smiles passed between them, and they quietly went ahead and ate. keeping voices hushed to not disturb him. about helping around the hewitt home, pointing out other little things they could possibly try to fix or clean up the next time they went over to help. noting how it feels being there, in mama luda’s company — how she reminded them both of their family back home.

how it was… nice? in a way. to have found a small piece of that here. 

( it humanized these people more…made it seem like in any other circumstance? they would have simply been an everyday, normal family. like the flores’, like the mckinneys’. ) 

reminiscing their families. how they used to sit around the table with one another, share stories of their day. of his sisters’ hobbies and school activities. of her mothers’ medical appointments, of caring for her after she’d come home from treatments. of their inside jokes and their fondest memories with them. of wondering how they were doing, what they were up to now.

( silently, they both wondered: do they miss us? are they grieving us? or have they simply moved on now? us simply a passing landmark in their rearview mirrors? )

quiet passed over them.

they watched out the window, as rain snaked down along glass pane. as distant lightning strikes started up once more. maria counted the seconds in between them, one after the other.

like counting sheep.

and before she knew it, she felt a gentle nudge from leland.

with a small smile he motioned with his head to the other side of the shack, murmuring that she should head to sleep, that her head was beginning to droop, and her eyes were starting to close.

maria voices no protest to the suggestion and simply gives a small nod, now feeling the heaviness of eyelids, the ache in her limbs from all the commotion of the morning and she stands up out of the chair, pushing it in as she points out that he should sleep soon, too. and he flashes her another smile and nods, reassuring her that he will - he’s just going to watch he rain a bit longer, and clear the table when hes done.

maria’s brow raises at him, playfully doubtful, but she returns the smile and nods, leaning down and leaving a kiss on his forehead, telling him to not to be up too late, and wishing him goodnight, before turning and disappearing behind the wall beside the table, to their mattress across from johnny’s.

where he listened as she got settled under sheets, and until he no longer heard her shifting to find a comfortable position before she, too, was sound asleep.

the rain was peaceful to watch. in the darkness of the shack. in its silence save for the sound of the rainfall on rooftop, of the wind and rumbles of thunder far overhead. perhaps it was calming enough to entice him to stay awake longer, in spite of how tired he must be.

a stir around the corner catches attention, and leland peeks around wall at maria, curled up tightly into herself on the mattress, wrapped up in sheet. and seeing her shiver realizes just how cold the shack has gotten again. he steals a glance at johnny, and sees he simply dropped himself over his own covers when he had gone to sleep.

his eyes wander up to shelves, with handmade quilts stacked on top of one another above johnny’s bed, and quietly walks over to them. carefully, he pulls one down, unfolding it and looking down at johnny before laying it over atop of him.

maria stirs a little at the sounds made across the room, of fabric unfolding and of his footfalls crossing along the floor. eyelids twitch and lashes flutter lightly, as she can feel herself waking. too tired though to want to open eyes, to lift head and see what he's doing.

leland has paused to ensure johnny isn’t woken up, before maria can hear the sounds of him pulling down another, unfolding it as well. she feels his footfalls as they cross over beside her, hears the sound of his clothes as he leans over the mattress.

she can feel his presence close by as the weight of the blanket drapes against her back.

with a little more care, leland lays it down over her. making sure she’s fully covered, making sure there’s no gaps for the cold air to snake its way through, to make her shiver again.

after glancing back to johnny, she hears him beginning to stand back straight, maria stirs and opens her eyes up at him and hand reaches out and gently stops him — knows if she doesn't, he may end up staying awake longer, exhausting himself further than she knows he already is.

still mostly asleep, face still half buried in pillow, maria softly, tiredly, whispers up at him,

“ lay down…sleep. please, lee. ”

#hope this reads coherent esp with my lil ramble of pigs but heres some lil cuteness in the midst of the dire au c: #[ mf ] ── * 𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄. { no one saved you. } #[ mf ] ── * 𝐀𝐍𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐃. { maria flores. } #lifesver #animal injury / #just in case cause the poor pigs-

[rons-hermiones]

Come Find Me

Come Find Me

by rons-hermiones

Summary: Unplanned, Hermione is forced to spend Christmas at the Burrow due to her grandmother falling very ill. After being ignored by Hermione for weeks, Ron is determined to show her how much she means to him. Just before he gets the chance to tell her, Bellatrix Lestrange shows up with other plans for Hermione. Can Ron get to her before it's too late? (Ron/Hermione Half-Blood Prince AU)

Rating: M for language & dark themes in later chapters.

Chapter Ten

Christmas came quicker then anyone had expected. 

Soon after his talk with Harry yesterday, his mother had walked in on Ron attempting to tackle Bill to the ground, but she soon stopped it and they all ate dinner. 

Hermione was absent for the meal. Ginny said she was pretty worried about the lack of response from her parents so she was going to write again. Thankfully, Molly didn’t push, understanding she needed her space. 

When breakfast came the next day, there was no pressure for them to eat as a whole, the same for lunch. The reason being, is that his mother forced a few of them to see great Aunt Muriel before dinner. 

Ron hadn’t been one the fortunate ones to get out of it. 

Harry and Hermione had no pressure to go for obvious reasons. Anyway, it was for the best knowing how Muriel was. Fred and George decided to open the shop just for the morning in hopes to get last minute buyers and Charlie somehow convinced his mother and the twins to go. 

So just after one o’clock, Ron, Ginny, Fleur, Bill, and his parents apparated back to the Burrow. 

“Merry Christmas dears! We had gone before you woke.” Mrs. Weasley quickly clambered into Harry, pulling him into a bear hug. 

“Merry Christmas.” He said back embracing her, “thanks for having me.” 

“Always dear, always.” She tells him with a kiss on the top of his dark hair. Then Molly whips around and grabs for Hermione, making her drop that book, “and you too Hermione, Merry Christmas.” 

“Happy Christmas Mrs. Weasley, thank you for putting up with me.” She whispered hoping Ron wouldn’t hear. 

She pulled away and kept her at arm's length, brushing some curls from her face, “nonsense Hermione, you’re family and we’re here for you.” 

Soon the brunette's eyes gloss over as Molly pulls away telling them she needs to start on dinner. 

With quick well wishes to Harry and Hermione everyone vacated the room, save for Ron. This being the first time the three of them have been alone together. 

“Happy Christmas Harry,” he turns to the witch wearing an uncertain expression, “Hermione.” He says softer.

Harry stands for a moment, a little unsure of what exactly is about to happen. 

“Happy Christmas Ron.” There’s a soothing quality to her voice, something he hasn’t heard in months. 

They just stare for a few moments before Harry feels the need to break it up, “um you too Ron. Hermione, did you still want Hedwig?” 

She shakes her head, breaking their gaze, “please.” The brunette admonishes lightly. 

“Why do you need Hedwig?” He blurts out before he can help himself. 

She answers nonetheless, “to write to my parents. I haven’t heard from them, but I wanted to wish them a Merry Christmas.” The bushy haired witch replied, lips in a thin line. 

“Oh I’m sorry.” He replied soundly. 

Briefly remembering her conversation with Fleur, she eyed him, trying to get a read. He did seem sincere. 

“It’s okay.” She tries to give him a smile but it falters. 

He notices the attempt and can’t help but beam in return, his chest feels like it’s on fire. 

Seeing this as a good sign, he pushes his luck, “hey I was hoping that-” Ron begins nervously. 

“Here she is!” Harry comes down with Hedwig on his arm, interrupting them. 

“Ronnie, come grab this for me! I can’t reach!” His Mum yells as soon as Harry enters. 

He looks to her apologetically, letting her know he wants to stay. 

And shockingly, she seems to understand, “it’s okay Ron, tell me later.” Hermione said voice both quiet and soft. 

At this he smiled again, liking the fact there was a promise for later. 

...

Dinner, though delicious, went by very fast. With eleven people scarfing down a lovely meal and the promise with gifts after, everyone ate rather quickly. 

Normally the Weasley’s opened presents in the morning, but because of the impromptu trip to Muriel’s they decided to follow up dinner with gifts. 

So far everything had gone off without a hitch. 

Everyone enjoyed the gifts from Hermione. Mr.Weasley had been marveling at the alarm clock for the past twenty minutes as the Muggleborn finished explaining batteries best she could. 

Same goes for Harry, who was able to finally give back the family, dousing them in some of the best Wizarding products. This earned a scolding, yet grateful look from Molly herself. 

Now it was time for Mrs.Weasley to pass out gifts. She always made sure everyone opened them one at a time, in order to revel in their smiles. 

“Here Fleur, this ones for you dear.” Molly says softly, pushing a wrapped present in her hand. 

“You shouldn’t have!” The blonde exclaims a bit breathless at the gesture. 

Mrs.Weasley tuts, “nonsense dear, you’re family now.” 

With watery eyes, she ripped open the paper to reveal a soft jumper. Unfolding it, she held it up to see what it was. At the sight she squealed. 

Fleur turned around the navy blue thing to reveal a large periwinkle ‘F’ sewn onto it. She knew what these meant to her fiancé’s family. 

“Wicked Fleur, we’re twins!” Fred announced holding up his own jumper, a dark green with an orange ‘F’. 

“Hey!” George exclaimed, feigning hurt. 

“Oui Fred! Des Jumeaux!” She said excitedly. 

“Oh that’s just so precious,” Molly gushes, “I have to get a picture.” She’s up and scrambling for her camera. 

“Mum!” Bill exclaims, embarrassed. 

Fleur however is ecstatic, standing up and pulling the thing over her head proudly. 

Hermione couldn’t help but beam at the sight. The first genuine smile she’s felt in a while. She’s so glad Fleur is finally feeling at home here. Since their talk that day she can’t help but appreciate the woman even more. 

“Hey,” a voice low in her ear breaks Hermione’s revere, “I got you something.” 

She turns to find Ron leaning over, blush on his cheeks. 

“Oh.” Is all she manages to say, pretty shocked. She clears her throat, “I uh, I got you something too.” 

“You did?” He asks, surprised. 

“Yeah,” she begins sheepishly, “well it was before...” 

“Right.” The ginger says stiffly, not allowing himself to indulge in such a thing for too long. 

“I do still want you to have it though.” The witch feels the quick need to assure him at the shift in his tone. It’s mad she’s so worried over the littlest things about him, while he’s got her a wreck. 

“Alright well how about we go to the garden, yeah? Away from everyone.” He suggested bravely. 

She contemplates this. Being alone with Ron feels a little dangerous as of late. “I don’t know...” Hermione says after a minute. 

“Please,” he pouts a little, “believe it or not Hermione, I want to do something nice for you.” He tells her with conviction. 

She sighs, unable to turn away those blue eyes, “okay.” The brunette agrees defeatedly. 

A grin works its way onto Ron’s face as he soon pulls a parcel from behind a nearby chair, like he planned it. 

“I reckon we should slip out while they’re distracted.” They peer over to find Fred and Fleur smiling for Molly as Bill looks thoroughly embarrassed. 

So caught up at the scene in front of her, she doesn’t respond, worrying Ron. “What I mean is that I just don’t want anyone to say anything to make you uncomfortable, or I guess that-” he rambles on. 

Easing him, Hermione cuts him off, “I understand Ron, I just need to get it from my trunk.” 

He nods in understanding. The pair stand up and part ways. Hermione to Ginny’s room and Ron to the garden. 

On his way out he runs into Lupin, who practically interrogates him as to where he’s going. His former professor has been nothing but paranoid as of late, thankfully, Tonks eases the man just in time for Ron to slip away. He just hopes Hermione doesn’t have a similar problem. 

And for once, luck appears to be on Ron’s side, as he watches her emerge from the kitchen door just a few minutes later, now donned in a baggy blue jumper to fight off the cold. 

“Hi.” The brunette announces, nervously picking at the ribbon tied snugly around his gift. 

“Hey.” He replies, incredibly soft. 

They just stare at each other for a few minutes, taking one another in. 

When the gaze becomes too heavy, the redhead clears his throat, “wanna go over there? I know how much you like it.” Ron points to an old bendy oak tree just meters away. 

Hermione blushes at this and is more than thankful Ron can’t see as much in the moonlight. Slowly and silently they work their way there. 

“You go first.” He says a bit flustered. 

Nodding, she pushes the present into his arms. As he takes it, he can’t help but note how heavy it is, curious, he eyes her. 

“Well go on.” She teases lightly, he’s missed this from her. 

Eager, he tears open the orange paper and sloppily unties the golden ribbon. 

The first thing that catches his eye is the engraving on top: ‘Property of Ron Weasley’, this beckons him on as he slides off the wooden top to reveal a shiny new wizarding chess set. And sitting on the board, is a small card. 

‘Something to call yours, Happy Christmas Ron. 

Love, Hermione.’ 

He’s not sure how many times he reads it. It must’ve been a while because Hermione eventually breaks him from the daze. 

Love, Hermione. 

“I just thought well, it’s silly, but once in fourth year you told me that you’d never had anything to call your own. You probably don't even remember it now but I-” she rambles, taking his silence as discomfort from the gift and note. 

Love, Hermione. 

“No, I remember,” Ron is soon to assure, “I remember it perfectly well, you uh, you’d told me that you were mine. Just mine.” His ears glow pink, he doesn’t know why he said it. 

And Hermione, she doesn’t know what to say back. Well, she knows what she wants to say, but not what Ron wants to hear. 

But for Ron, in all honesty, a call back to such a special moment for him coupled with the way she signed that card, well it awoke something in him. It wasn’t quiet confidence, more like courage. 

“Look Hermione, there are so many things I want to,” he pauses, “no that I need to tell you, that you deserve to know.” A shaky breath pushes past his lips as he runs a hand through his shaggy hair, “Merlin, I dunno where to start, I guess maybe with-” 

Crack. 

They jumped, Ron’s gift for her, that he had been holding, toppled onto the grass. 

“What was that?” Hermione asks suddenly startled, hand reaching into her waistband for her wand. 

Sensing her unease, he’s quick to calm her, despite his racing heart, “I’m sure it’s just Lupin and Tonks leaving, yeah?” He offers. 

Slowly, she nods, relaxing the grip on her wand. 

Taking another deep breath, he starts to go on again, “look, as I was saying, I just wanted to-” 

Crack.

Suddenly the sound of sloshing water filled the cold air. 

“Ron, I really think we should go make sure everything’s alright.” Her voice was shaking. 

He nodded in understanding, lightly grasping her hand and pulling her back toward the house. Merlin, he was ready to curse whoever the hell interrupted him this time. 

As they approached they found the entirety of the Weasley’s, plus Lupin, Tonks, Fleur, and Harry, with their wands drawn. 

At the sight of Ron and Hermione, all wands were pointed to them. This made the ginger nudge Hermione behind him, her hand still in his. 

“It’s just us.” He announces. 

All wands are lowered. They seem to think the noise came from the pair. 

“But we heard it too. It sounded like apparition.” Hermione soon clears up, putting everyone on edge again. 

Then, as if a product of everyone’s nightmares a shrill cackle fills the air. 

“I killed Sirius Black!” The familiar voice of Bellatrix Lestrange sings from nearby. 

“It’s her.” Harry whispers gruffly. 

“Harry don’t.” Lupin warns fiercely, grabbing at the chosen one's hoodie. 

He seems to respond to this and stays rooted. After all, Sirius was Lupin’s friend too. 

Another set of heavy footsteps crunches atop dead leaves as a low growl permeates the already tense air. 

Ron’s grip on Hermione’s hand only strengthens, as they use their free ones to draw their wands. 

“What do we do?” Ginny stage whispers to the group. 

“Go inside.” Arthur tells his daughter. 

“Dad,” the younger girl goes to protest. 

Her words die in her throat as a shadow makes its way out of the tall grass into the open space around them. 

“Merry Christmas!” Bellatrix shouts in mock cheer and she stands in the open space. 

Hermione can’t help but shutter. She hasn’t seen this mad woman since the Department of Mysteries, since she killed Sirius. But she has dreamt about her. About how she beckoned Dolohov to curse her, the laugh that escaped her as he did. 

“Now let’s see what we have here,” she smiles sickeningly as Fenrir Greyback joins her side, “Greyback I do believe you’re already acquainted with some of these folk, but let me remind you.” 

Hermione swears she sees Lupin tense at the sight of the vicious werewolf. At his creator. Bill is wearing a similar expression. 

“Well if it isn’t my niece!” She says looking to Tonks, “there we have Sirius Black’s best friend, you know him, don’t you Greyback?” She pauses as the werewolf licks his lips, “oh and of course, Sirius Black’s godson! Hi there Potter.” The curly haired witch grins. 

Harry lifts his wand higher, ready to curse her. This does nothing but elicits a cackle from the mad woman. 

“Stupid boy, now where was I? Oh, well, anyone with red hair, now that’s a blood traitor. They go by the name ‘Weasley’ these days.” 

Molly tightens the grip on her wand. 

“What the hell do you want?” Tonks is the one who dares to ask, being most familiar with Bellatrix. 

She ignores her, “ah wait, I almost missed that one.” 

Her dark eyes land on Hermione’s terrified ones. 

“Surprised you’re still kicking around. Thought Dolohov got rid of such filth last spring. No matter, Greyback does filthy blood satisfy you?” She teases, making Hermione shiver. 

Ron’s grip on her, if possible, got tighter, as he raised his wand. Ready to use a more damaging spell then ‘eats slugs’. 

The larger man licked his lips, “Mudblood is usually sweeter.” He claims. 

And not even caring if they were two death eaters, Ron spoke up, “you leave her the hell alone.” He all but growled, tone rivaling Greyback himself. 

“Oh!” She squealed excitedly, “brave boy you got here Arthur! I remember this one well from the Ministry too. Not surprised he cares for such a thing. Look at the lot of you!” 

“Ron.” Hermione warned as he started to step forward. 

“Enough chit chat, incendio!” The witch exclaimed, expelling a ring of fire around the group. 

Then, she begins skipping away, “I killed Sirius Black. I killed Sirius Black.” Her ear splitting voice echoed through the air. 

“Don’t,” Hermione and Ron hear Lupin warn as he grasps at Harry, but it’s too late, he’s running through a small opening in the flames. 

“Harry no!” Hermione yells to the Boy-Who-Lived. 

Running on nothing but adrenaline, worry, and instinct, in one swift motion she pulls away from Ron and races after him. 

“Hermione!” He calls out moving to grasp at her again. She’s too quick, escaping into the tall grass. 

Frantically, he peers between his family and the small opening flickers to a close in the fire. Giving them one last look, he makes his decision. 

“Ronnie don’t.” Bill says weakly. 

“I’m sorry.” Is all Ron says before he’s trampling his way through the hot flames.

#ron x hermione #ron weasley #ron and hermione #rons-hermiones come find me #hermione granger #romione #romione fanfic #hp #hp fanfic #sixth year

[dakotakaiskicks]

Bad Timing- RuLiv

Ruby just wants to tell Liv how she feels, but the universe has other plans.

A/N: This is dedicated to @relentlessriott as always, seeing as how she is the undisputed captain of the RuLiv ship.

When Ruby wakes up, things just feel...different. Not usually a morning person, she has a glow about her almost. She was trying to convince herself that is had nothing to do with the blonde sleeping soundly beside her, but that would have been an absolute lie.

Ruby had always felt differently about Liv, but she tried to pass it off as a super close friendship. That seemed to work for the people around them, but the tattooed woman began to be tormented by her feelings. Liv was none the wiser, continuing to be her usual affectionate self, which did nothing to help.

Which brings us back to our current situation: the blond with her arms locked firmly around Ruby’s midsection, and a million thoughts running through the older woman’s head.

‘I’m gonna tell her. Today’s the day,’ she thought, the words repeating in her head like it was her personal mantra. In a way, it was. She had lost count of how many times she had said those words to herself, only to chicken out at the last second. Not this time, though. She was going to tell Liv she loved her if it was the last thing she did. Deciding to not prolong her agonizing thoughts, she gently shook the blonde’s shoulder, rousing her from her slumber.

“Rue? What’s wrong? Are we running late again?” Ruby had to let out a soft chuckle at that question, the younger woman’s penchant for sleeping in causing them to almost miss shows numerous times.

The older woman had gotten distracted by the combination of Liv’s raspy morning voice and adorable bedhead, but quickly shook it off before responding.

“No, we’ve still got plenty of time,” her voice shook slightly as she spoke. “I need to-” They were interrupted by Liv’s phone ringing, her brother’s name popping up on the caller ID.

“Hold that thought,” Liv said, moving to answer the phone.

‘I’ve been holding this thought for years,’ Ruby thought, biting her lip as the nerves crept up on her again. She tried to busy herself by looking at random things around the room, but found herself drawn back to the blonde as she laughed at something her brother had said. She eventually settled for braiding her hair, watching as the varying shades of green intertwined with one another.

The phone call was soon over, but Ruby’s confidence had diminished by then.

“Sorry about that. What were you saying?”

“I was just gonna see if you wanted to go get breakfast before we had to head out.” Maybe if they spent more time together, the tattooed woman could find the confidence to tell Liv how she feels.

“Sounds good, I could go for some waffles right now,” Liv said. As she got out of bed and stretched, Ruby had to avert her gaze to avoid staring at the blonde’s exposed abdomen as she raised her arms above her head.

Both women eventually started getting ready, opting for comfort over style, seeing as how it was still fairly early. Liv was wearing an oversized hoodie with a pair of leggings, and even though most people wouldn’t have thought much of such a casual outfit, Ruby thought Liv looked just as beautiful right then as she did all dressed up. It was then that the older woman realized just how in love she was.

The pair made their way to a diner they had passed on the way into town, Liv singing her heart out to every song they heard on the radio, even if she didn’t necessarily know the words. Ruby was equal parts glad and terrified that the blonde had offered to drive. Glad because she got to sneak glances at the younger woman when she wasn’t looking, and terrified because, well, everyone knows Liv’s skill level when it comes to driving.

They managed to make it to the diner in one piece, and were quickly seated and given menus, though Liv knew exactly what she wanted. Ruby ordered the same thing the blonde had, not sure she would actually be able to eat anything due to the butterflies in her stomach. She was sure she was going to tell Liv this time, she had to! She took a deep breath before getting Liv’s attention, the younger woman looking up from folding her napkin into a paper football to see what Ruby wanted.

“What’s up, Rue?” Liv tilted her head to the side and smiled at Ruby, the butterflies in the tattooed woman’s stomach multiplying tenfold.

“I wanted to talk to you about something.”

“You’re not pregnant, are you? Because the last time somebody said that to me, it was when Sarah told me she was pregnant.”

Ruby had just taken a sip of her coffee as the words Liv said had soaked in, causing her to spit the drink out all over their table.

“What? No! Why would you ask me that?” Ruby was petrified as she cleaned up the mess she had made.

Liv shrugged, crinkling her nose up. “I don’t know what you do when we’re not together. I mean, I know we only have eyes for each other, but still. We’re both grown.”

Ruby knew that Liv was more than likely joking, but little did she know how true the statement was on her end. She opened her mouth to speak again, those three words on the tip of her tongue, when their waitress came out with their food.

‘What the hell does the universe have against me today?’

Liv had all but forgotten about their conversation the moment the plate of waffles had been placed in front of her. While the blonde was stuffing her face, Ruby was simply pushing her food around on her plate, her confidence dwindling once again. The younger woman had finished eating in record time, looking up to see Ruby’s food having hardly been touched.

“Rue, are you sure there’s nothing wrong?” Concern shone in Liv’s eyes, truly worried about her friend.

“Yeah, I guess I’m just nervous about tonight.” That definitely wasn’t a lie. Tonight, they had a tag title match against Nia and Shayna, which in and of itself was nerve wracking. Not to mention Nia’s track record of injuring others. While Ruby was worried about herself, she was moreso worried about the blonde seated across from her. The tattooed woman couldn’t live with herself if Liv got hurt, especially if she was there to witness it.

“I feel you, but you gotta think positive! Win or lose, we have each other, and that’t what matters most,” Liv said, placing her hand gently over Ruby’s which was resting on the table.

Thinking positive was exactly what the older woman was doing. She was positive that she was going to tell Liv how she felt tonight. And she was going to get interrupted this time, she was going to make sure of it.

*Time skip to the match*

When Ruby and Liv looked across the ring, all the saw was Nia’s angry glare and Shayna’s smug grin. Needless to say, they were terrified. They were trying to decide who was going to start the match, but Ruby decided for the both of them when she saw Shayna step out to the ring apron. She was more willing to put herself in harm’s way at Nia’s hands than she would’ve been to risk letting Liv get ragdolled.

The match started out calm enough, Ruby getting a fair amount of offense in on Nia. That all changed when Ruby went for a DDT which the larger woman reversed into a carelessly executed Samoan Drop, slamming the tattooed woman to the mat right on her shoulder. Liv was obviously concerned, and even Shayna cringed a little at the awkward landing. Nia went for a pin, which ruby was barely able to muster up the strength to kick out of.

As the match went on, Shayna had been tagged in, and to her credit, she was much more careful with Ruby. Everything was pretty one-sided, Ruby being too injured to either fight back or make it to their corner to make the tag to Liv. However, after a poorly timed submission attempt on Shayna’s part, Ruby was able to drag herself to her partner and tag herself out of the match. Liv’s first order of business was to go to the opposite corner and punch Nia in the face, effectively knocking her out.

“That’s what you get, bitch!” Liv was angry that the woman had been so careless with Ruby, so she felt she needed to exact a bit of revenge. For her part, Ruby looked shocked, not knowing the smaller woman had it in her to do that.

Shayna had the upper hand for much of their exchange; that was, until fatigue started to set in, giving Liv the opening to land a few well-placed kicks to the Queen of Spades’ legs and midsection. Before anyone realized what was happening, Liv had hit her finished and the match was over.

It hadn’t really sunk in for Ruby until Liv started screaming and crying, the older woman joining in. When the referee handed over the titles, Ruby nearly dropped hers, too busy staring at Liv’s smiling face to pay attention. Their celebration in the ring didn’t last long as Ruby, despite her aching shoulder, grabbed the blonde by the hand and dragged her backstage. Past the crowd of wrestlers in the back waiting to congratulate them, past Charly who wanted an interview, and into...a storage closet?

“What are we doing in here, Rue?”

“I love you, Liv. I’ve been trying to tell you all day, but the universe apparently hates me because we kept getting interrupted. So, I brought you here to tell you, which I realize was kind of dumb because this is probably the least romantic setting-”

Ruby was cut off by Liv kissing her softly, her hand running through the tattooed woman’s green hair. She was almost too shocked to respond, but luckily her brain decided to cooperate with her enough to kiss the blonde back. They eventually had to pull away for air, megawatt smiles on both of their faces for multiple reasons.

“I love you, too, in case that wasn’t obvious.”

Ruby smirked before pulling Liv in again. “I don’t know, I’m not really convinced. I’m gonna need you to do that again.”

The blonde giggled before reaching behind them to make sure the door was locked. “I think I can manage that. But what’s gonna happen when people come looking for us?”

“Well, that’s just bad timing on their part,” Ruby said, kissing Liv once again.

#ruliv #ruliv fanfic #ruby riott #ruby riott fanfic #liv morgan #liv morgan fanfic

[ofsvnlightt]

it’s been a while since i’ve done one of these! update for jester

her memories were up through episode 130 but now they’ll be from 136! instead of doing an in character self para, i’m just going to do bullet points this time. it’s still going to be a very long post though. 🤷‍♀️ 

also, a quick note, i loved using amanda arcuri as jester’s fc because of her blue hair but she had minimal resources and she looked too young for how i picture jester. so now she’s back to laura harrier, who i’ve used previously. and despite her being brunette, jester still has blue hair!! :)

jester’s updated memories, aka a walk through 6 episodes of critical role:

short version:

currently ahead of the tomb takers, the mighy nein arrive at a secret entrance lucien had mentioned and begin their way into another section of the aeoran ruins. setting a trap, they successfully ambush the tomb takers, killing 3 of the 5. lucien and cree get away and now they’re chasing them...again, instead of being ahead like they were.  finally catching up, lucien opens a portal to the astral sea. him and cree jump in, threshold crests in hand, and begin floating toward the cognoza ward. beginning to fight but ultimately avoiding a huge water elemental, the nein also make it through the portal in pursuit of the two remaining members of the tomb takers. they need to stop them from bringing this section of aeor back to the material plane.

loooong version: numbers in parentheses are the ep numbers  

so, where we last left off, the nein were bedding down for the night in caduceus’ home, the blooming grove. (130)

the next morning, caleb teleports the nein to eiselcross. magic is tricky here due to the ruins of aeor, but luckily, they’re only about two days away from their target, the vurmas outpost, where essek is located. (131)

they make it there without issue, and recruit essek for their trip into some of the ruins as well as their eventual fight against lucien and the tomb takers. 

making it to lucien’s secret entrance (thanks to the wildmother) the nein begin their trek into the depths of aeor to try to beat lucien to whatever he’s planning to do to bring the cognoza ward back.

 they almost immediately get attacked by 3 undead ice giants. (132) but they make it out alive, killing two and turning one into a sloth.

as they continue their journey and after some yasha/veth hijinks, they’re still down hp but run into some more monsters, behirs. they defeat them too though. (132/133)

continuing, they come upon a portion of the city. with invisibility from veth and flight from caleb, caduceus checks it out.

finding it safe, the rest of the nein make their way to the center of this ruin, an amphitheater. there, they find a blue dome, with people on the inside, still. frozen in time.

there’s nothing they can do, unable to find the root of the spell or whatever made the dome, so they continue on their way. after a lot of discussion of how to ambush the tomb takers since they’re ahead of them, they back track a little and set a bunch of traps. juster casts the symbol spell halfway down a cliffside, and just below, caleb, beau, and essek set 3 intuit charges.

they then go into caleb’s tower and jester prepares a hero’s feast so they’re ready for the tomb taker’s arrival. caleb takes watch (through frumpkin) outside of the tower but out of range of the intuit charges; everyone else sleeps in the tower, but in the foyer together instead of in their rooms. 

about 5 hours into their night’s rest though, essek gets word from the rangers hidden outside the ruins that there are 5 figures approaching - the tomb takers.

fjord orders to engage, hoping to slow them down a little so the nein can get a full rest. they don’t however. caleb is notified via frumpkin disappearing that the intuit charges went off so he dispels the tower, popping everyone out and waking them up.

they all rush to the location of the charges seeing 3/5 tomb takers unconscious, lucien and cree the only ones standing.

out of frustration and self preservation, cree dimension doors the two of them away.

fjord, yasha, and veth take final blows on the 3 unconscious tomb takers to super make sure they’re dead and can’t come back. veth shoots one through the mouth with her crossbow, yasha and fjord decapitate the other two. (133/134)

the nein then make their way back to the ruin from the day before, following a blood trail left by cree. 

when the trail runs dry momentarily, they continue on their way through the destroyed city. beau and veth scout ahead, coming back to report that they saw bodies of some strange aeoran creatures.

they all backtrack once again, checking out the amphitheater. essek is unable to ascertain anything about the dome as well. finding a somewhat still put together body, caduceus casts speak with dead on an aeor citizen. (ooc: they gain some important information but nothing necessary for how i’m playing jester.)

veth then inspects an automaton that was near the dome. using a scavenged gem from much earlier in the nein’s explorations of the aeoran ruins, she inserts it into the robot, bringing him to life. he’s very damaged and can’t walk, but can speak. jester offers to carry him on her back. caduceus names him charlie.

the group making it to where veth and beau were before, they all see the carnage of the battle that was done here, most likely by lucien and cree. 

stealthily going past it, they continue down the thoroughfare before coming to a wall or giant sheet of rock. following it to the left, beau finds an opening. walking through, they find more spatterings of blood, cree’s most likely. the tunnel opens into a chamber, with a pulsing spire in the middle of it. electrical. 

realizing they’ve been followed by a creature similar to the ones they’d seen earlier, that’d been killed by lucien and cree - an aeoran reverser, they run into the electric chamber and caleb casts globe of invulnerability.  from one of the other hallways, they’re greeted by another experiment, an aeoran absorber. 

they fight the creatures and slay them all, making it out alive. coming to some doors that charlie believes is to the genesis ward, the group lay outside them and take a much needed rest.

before going to sleep, jester scrys on cree. her and lucien are patching themselves up. she curls into a ball (as a cat does, she’s a tabaxi) and rests while lucien, who doesn’t need sleep, takes watch.

waking up, beau and caleb both have a third eye marking - beau’s on her chest, caleb’s on his left palm. (135)

approaching the doors, veth and fjord try to open one but a hinge snaps and it gets stuck. yasha and jester then try, successfully getting the door open. entering, the nein see before them, a wide open area, much like previous places within the ruins they’ve seen. 

however, in the center, this section of the city curves upward, as if there was an explosion of some sort from underground.

beau climbs the crater and looks down, seeing partially ruined and sheered off remnants of a subterranean city.

they all climb up to be with beau and looking down, jester sees a room just a few levels down that looks familiar from her scry.

using rope to climb down into the crater, everyone stops on the first level where there is a records room. caleb is in heaven. yasha and essek stay behind with him while the rest move on.

jester leading the way, they rest begin to climb down to the room she recognizes, but they stop on the next floor down as the rope begins to fray.

when the other three finish, caleb begins to climb down the rope, not knowing it’s somewhat compromised, and it snaps. he casts polymorph, turning himself into a bird, thus making it the rest of the way fine. essek floats down (that’s like his thing), and yasha bamfs out her wings, flying herself down. she then carries everyone down to the third level, the one they want to be on, as said by jester.

they walk down the hallway and come to a chamber where there are three rooms. one reads repair terminal. they take charlie there to fix him, setting him inside a tube. it closes and when it opens, what was once a damaged, half-robot, is now a fully functional one. he introduces himself as devexian.

fjord asks about threshold crests, mentioning the astral sea, and he tells them to go to b9. within the immensus gate, that’s where the planar tethers are. he leaves, wanting to try to recover any allies

exiting the repair terminal, the nein head into the rejuvenation experimentation room. there, they find two tubes, one is damaged. fjord goes into the undamaged one and as a gem glows at the bottom of the tube, he gains the benefits of a long rest. essek ascertains that dunamancy is at work here and takes the gem from the damaged tube and gives it to caleb, for later use.

going back into the central chamber, they are crossed with another creature - this one an aeoran nullifier. a battle begins.

another creature shows up mid fight, but caduceus banishes it. finishing off the nullifier, the nein run back to the entrance (the crater) and since they have no rope, some use fly and others feather fall  (via veth) to float down to level b9, hot on the trail of lucien and cree.

coming to b9, they all land into rushing water. something from far ahead is causing this stream of sorts. (136)

beginning to move forward, beau notices that the shadows aren’t as intense as they used to be. one of the eye markings has given her (and caleb) darkvision. they also now have true sight (can see through illusions) and can speak to others and each other telepathically. 

caleb also reveals that during jester’s scry the night before, sprinkle was chittering in her ear. during this ritual, artagan usually appears to help her out, but this time, even though he was, only sprinkle could be seen. this means that sprinkle has been artagan (almost) the whole time!!!! he’s been inhabiting him. artie then appears and explains that he wanted to be close to jester ever since the iron shepherds incident. (ep 26)

continuing down the hall they come to a closed door labeled t-dock project. opening the door, jester, yasha, and caleb walk down the lead-lined hallway into a small room. investigating it for a little bit, yasha grabs essek, and him and caleb check out the runic circle in the middle of the room. the symbols are a combination of both transmutation and dunamancy. they deduce (with help from journals in the room) that it was used for temporal alteration - aka, time travel.

while the group is semi-split up with some in this chamber, the connecting hallway, and the main hallway, veth and fjord hear (and fjord can see) a monster jump down to their level. after some chaotic planning, the group decides to just walk away and not engage with the monster. 

continuing down the main hallway, stealthily now as to not alert to monster, they come to two more rooms. beau investigates. one in labeled kitchen, the other common area. she sees two aeoran absorbers napping in the kitchen, so she let’s the others know and they head toward the common area. entering, caleb approaches a plaque that reads immensus hall, but gets too close to an unseen intuit charge, setting it off. a trap set by lucien and a taste of their own medicine.

the blast also injures and awakens the absorbers. deciding to run instead of fight, the nein enter the immensus hall and caleb puts up a wall of force to keep the two absorbers and the other monster out. it works to their benefit and the creatures fight each other instead.

descending down some stairs, the water has gotten deeper and underneath, beau spots two more intuit charges. caleb uses dispel magic to disarm them.

seeing another threshold into another room, veth invisibly stealths ahead. entering the room, she sees a ring pillar on a raised platform and two figures darting around the pillar. within the ring is a crackling blue line - the source of the water. she returns to everyone else and tells them.

beau and caleb hear lucien in their minds (he can speak telepathically too....he has nine eyes, where as beau and caleb have 3) saying that he’s set up precautions (intuit charges) but he’d like to chat first.

[enter villain monologue]

cree inserts a tuning rod, lucien lifts a lever, and the thin crackling line opens enough to let out a mass of water. she switches out the rods and lifts the lever once more, the new portal fully opening to the astral sea.

lucien invites them to follow, but as they begin chase, a huge water elemental forms from the last rush of water lucien let out. the group fights a little bit but ultimately circumvents the elemental and jumps through the portal

jester’s the last one and as she jumps through, the elemental grabs her, but with a clutch mage hand move by veth, she pulls the lever on the other side of the portal, closing it and severing the hold the elemental had on jester.

and now they begin/continue their pursuit of cree and lucien, now floating in the astral sea. next stop: the cognoza ward, to stop the two remaining members of the tomb takers in setting the threshold crests and bringing it to the material plane.

and that’s where episode 136 ends! i could’ve/should’ve just gone to 138 to have her memories fully caught up, but we’re close to the climax of this current arc and so much is going to happen in the coming week(s), that i didn’t want to do that. and look at how long this is!!! it’s 52 bullet points and it would be at least 20 more if i added two more episodes.... so i think this is okay for now. :)

if you read all this, snaps and hats off to you. ily

#🍭 little sapphire :: jester #long post #death tw #killing tw #decapitation tw #blood tw #i randomly linked some of the spells and stuff if any of you are curious about them

[imagine-loki]

Atlas: Space, Mars

TITLE: Atlas: Space

CHAPTER NO./ONE-SHOT: 6/12

AUTHOR: fanfictrashdump

ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine narrating episodes of Loki’s life with the Avengers based on the songs from Sleeping At Last’s “Atlas: Space” album. 

RATING: T-M

NOTES/WARNINGS: Welcome to my Sleeping At Last’s Atlas: Space challenge, aka Another writing project I do not have time for, but my brain insisted on doing.

This series will be less like a multichapter fic and more of a one-shot compendium, but that they all interconnect in one way or another. It will revolve around Loki and Becca’s relationship (Taking Turns, Glow, Helmet Heists–don’t worry, more Loki-Charlie stuff will be along) and I will use those one-shots as reference to the timeline. Each chapter will be one song, used as inspiration for the story.

Chapter 6: Mars

Summary: Loki and Becca had already determined (thoroughly) that they were more than just friends (Taking Turns). Loki’s affectionate side lands them both in hot water.

Warnings include: Language, wounds, blood, near-death experiences. Loki instantly regretting being soft and then just being softer. Fluff. Tony is a dad. 

=

We laid our names to rest Along the dotted line We left our date of birth And our history behind

On most days, Loki did not mind having to work with the Avengers. He lived in relative peace, with plenty of books and trinkets to occupy his time. People gave him his space, and did not pressure him to participate in any of their silly bonding activities (though he would be lying if he said that he did like the idea that he was invited, nowadays). He would also be lying if he did not admit that part of his current contentedness was not due to the fact his bed was being semi-consistently warmed by a lovely mortal that treated him like… like he was just another person on their team? There was no awe-inspired gasp at meeting him, no worry that he might crack at any moment and murder them in cold blood.

Becca doted on him, to be sure. It constantly astounded him to feel the gentleness she treated him with–though she treated everyone gently, if a little sarcastic. But, sometimes, there was a special smile or a squeeze of his arm and the carefully constructed wall of apathy around him cracked, holes formed. Through those holes, Loki knew Rebecca saw fondness, even gentleness. She was the one person he didn’t mind seeing that. He was able to let his guard down, if only in private and ask for the soft things he wanted.

So, no, he did not mind working with the Avengers.

But he shouldn’t have let his guard down so easily.

We were full of life We could barely hold it in We were amateurs at war Strangers to suffering

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit.

This mess was all his fucking fault.

He hadn’t mean for this to happen. All he wanted was to give them both a moment of respite within the chaos of the battle. An instant where neither of them were running under a hail of bullets or smudging their hands with the dark elixir of other people’s blood. All he had wanted was to make the roaring around them quiet, just for a second. It had just been a stupid kiss.

Loki had been drafted into an intelligence mission. When he stepped into the Quinjet that morning, he had been expecting a short flight and an even shorter rendezvous around a facility to tinker with a computer or two until he had a neat little cache of facts to bring back. He had been pleasantly surprised, when he climbed in through the hold doors. Rebecca was strapped in to a seat tinkering with a small rectangular instrument that he could not identify with a set of tiny screwdrivers.

We made our families proud But scared at the same time We promised we’d be safe Another lie from the front lines

Glancing shortly around at the other two agents in the jet, he quietly slipped into the seat beside her. Becca barely glanced to the side before the ghost of a smile tugged at her lips.

“I thought we agreed not to take missions together,” he husked into her ear, eyes still weary of the other occupants. While they had agreed to that rule, as well as not revealing the nature of their relationship to the team, it had not been Loki to set the stipulations. “Are you not afraid of being caught out with the big, bad wolf, little lamb?”

Becca’s hands stilled. “Call me little lamb again, popsicle. I dare you!” He fought the urge to guffaw. She did not like to be thought of as small and soft, and she wasn’t, but liked teasing her.

“You were the one to say you didn’t want to go out in fights with me,” he reminded. The fingers of his left hand were tracing a gentle circle over her right hip, nearest him. He smirked as she idly shifted into his touch, almost as if in reflex. “For safety,” he scoffed sardonically.

“Wasn’t my call. Tony wanted you to have back-up in case their security protocols were harder to crack than you could handle.” His lips brushed the edge of her jaw. “Loki.”

“They’re not watching.” He chuckled at her concerned voice, but moved away, settling back into his seat with a princely pose. “And you're–”

With a sigh, she dropped her project and turned to face him. “And I am?” She was attempting to look aggravated, but a bat of his blue eyes was more than enough to bring a flood of red to her cheeks.

“Enchanting.” His voice, merely a whisper, rang like a gong in her ears. Something inside Loki had cracked ever since she freed him of his tub-sized ice prison. There was a vulnerability he had been too scared to display, and had so been shoved into the recesses of his soul, that now burst forth. He was so fantastically soft, delicate in his treatment, yet there was a confidence to him. Playfulness. He hadn’t felt this idiotically free since he was a young lad. “Besides, you know how it makes me feel when I see you being clever.”

Becca laughed, despite herself. “Jeez, Loki. Cool it with the nerd kink.”

“I can hardly help how attractive I find your mind. Or the stirring it causes,” he quipped back, grin stretching widely at the flush of her face alone.

“For right now, I need you to focus on your mission and not whatever filthy fantasies you’re conjuring. Got it?”

“Very well. Nothing but the mission until I get you alone, once more.”

The small taskforce took to the winding hallways of an underground bunker. They were quiet–stepping lightly, dealing with bogeys as silently as possible, ghosts. Loki was the only one who could get them into the particular location they needed to access. Teleportation, it seemed, a skill that had been mocked as cowardly in the past, was very practical.

At the end of a hallway was an armored door. The two agents that had accompanied them split into adjacent corridors to funnel threats away from the server room. Rebecca was to stay at the door until the moment that Loki needed her, if it even came to that. She nodded at the Asgardian and took a knee in front of the door, lifting a long rifle flush against her shoulder and taking aim. Loki breathed deep, letting his eyes draw closed before he blipped out of existence.

Inside the room, he sat at one of the terminals, with a frown. As a general rule, he disliked computers. They were finnicky, and they often didn’t do tasks exactly as he had asked them. Rebecca, on the other hand, could bend them to her will. More often than not, he would sit in dumb, slack-jawed wonder as her fingers flew over the keyboard, making sense of chaos. He didn’t know exactly how she made those strings of zeroes and ones become fantastic tools of espionage, but she did it, regardless.

He was much slower and only half as clever.

Still, he plugged in the USB Becca had handed him earlier, and began tapping away. It was a tiered process. Every little bit built upon the last, a little like a symphony. If he tried hard enough, he could almost make the monotonous keystrokes sound like the ethereal music his mother loved or the gentle relaxing melodies that Becca preferred to relax to.

“Progress check.”

“You’re going to have to be a little more patient with me, kitten. I’m not as skilled as you,” he retorted, momentarily typing one-handed to answer his comms. “Unless you’re here to whisper dirty things in my ear. In which case, go right ahead.”

“Mission, Loki.”

“I can multitask. I’m not Thor,” he sassed back, though his typing did increase in speed. Over the comms, there was the dull thud of bullets. It wasn’t any of theirs, as they were under strict orders to use silencers. “Rebecca?”

“Loki, I’m going to need you to hurry up, OK? I’ll give you more time.” Her voice was barely a whisper, but he could make out the strain of her aim and the ricochet that knocked the wind out of her.

With a noise of agreement, he bent over the keyboard and doubled his efforts, hoping his concentration wouldn’t leave him until he was ready to leave that room. Worry was gnawing at his chest. Though the sound of guns had diminished, he wondered how long they had until the next wave of attackers was to hit. That same worry lectured him about the very same reasons Rebecca had for not going out into the field together. It was damn near impossible to concentrate when he actually gave a damn for the person watching his back.

“Progress check?”

“Almost done. One more level to crack and I’ll start downloading,” he got out through gritted teeth. Just as he finished his sentence, he clacked the Return key one more time and the clever coding inside the USB starting sorting through the computer files and stealing information. With a flourish, he stood from his post and unlatched the door. Becca started at the sound and turned with a frown on her face. “It’s downloading. You might as well sit inside.”

“Jet had to scramble. They’re circling back in twenty.”

Loki smirked. “So, you’re saying we have twenty minutes?”

Becca glared, resting the rifle on the floor by her leg. “Not the time nor the place, you doofus.”

“Come on! I just cracked through several levels of security protocols, just like you taught me. Don’t I deserve a reward?” He pouted, giving her wide puppy-dog eyes that he knew Becca had a hard time saying no to. “Not even a kiss?”

“I hate you.” Her voice held little conviction.

“No, you don’t.” He riposted, and he truly believed it. Almost reluctantly, she cleared the few steps until she could meet Loki. Their lips brushed together gently. It was like they were shy about coming together and sharing a small intimate moment, even though neither was apprehensive of showing affection. The computer dinged just as they pulled apart. “Just in time. One moment, dearest.”

Our backs against the wall We’re surrounded and afraid Our lives now in the hands Of the soldiers taking aim

He turned towards the terminal and retrieved his device. The sound of shuffling caught his attention before it did Rebecca’s. When he turned, three different people in black uniforms and masks had rushed in. Becca sprang for her rifle, forgotten on the floor a few steps back, only to stop as a gun was cocked and pointed at her head.

Loki pulled his daggers with a flicker of his hands and held them aloft. The second he took a step, though, the gun against Rebecca’s temple was nudged. “No! No. Don’t shoot,” he sputtered, feeling the sentiment foreign on his tongue. He hadn’t cared for anyone enough to plead for their safety.

“Put them down!”

Clenching his jaw, he made a show of lowering his daggers to the floor and kicking them away, raising his empty hands to prove he was unarmed. “Please, take your weapon off of her.”

“Shut up!”

“Just… she is of no consequence. Let her go,” he growled, eyes hard like thunder. Becca was stock still, a bead of sweat running down her forehead and wincing at the cold steel pressed against her head. “I am the one stealing from you, she's–”

“Loki, be quiet, for fuck’s sake!” Becca yelled. One of the men grabbed a handful of her hair and pulled head back until she had buckled onto her knees.

“There’s other agents. At least twenty in the building. I could take you to all of them–”

“Loki!”

“–just let her go free.”

The clap of a gun rang through the small room and Becca’s screams bounced off of the armored walls. Her left thigh was bleeding over her black suit and he could tell she was struggling to control her emotions, lest she break down crying right then and there.

“Next one goes in her skull if you don’t shut up.”

Our questions ricochet Like broken satellites: How our bodies, born to heal Become so prone to die?

Loki’s eyes darkened, breath leaving his chest with the last of his pacifist resolve. Magic swirled within him and in the blink of an eye several copies of himself filled the room. The chaos that followed was blinding and blurry. Guns went off, and blows were exchanged. Clones stabbed at men in dark suits as they came by the droves to bring he and Becca down. Loki took satisfaction in burying his blade deep into their bellies and ripping them to shreds. Becca had managed to grab a pistol and was taking down her fair-share as well.

When the dust settled, Becca was slumped against a tower of drives. There was much more blood on the floor than was warranted for her injury and she was trying to weakly plug the wound with her hands.

“Are you alright?” Loki asked, breathlessly, climbing over bodies to get to her.

“I think it nicked my artery, Loki,” she slurred. Ripping a piece of his cape off, he tied off the wound as tightly as he possibly could and pulled her into his arms. He didn’t care where the other two agents were at the moment, he only cared about getting her back home.

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit.

“How much longer?”

“Twenty five minutes, sir,” the other agent called back. Becca had soaked through the tourniquet he had made and was bordering on delirious from blood loss.

Fuck. This was his fault. He shouldn’t have deviated from their plan. He didn’t have to let her in and distract them both while in enemy territory. It was a rookie mistake, he knew. He had been in battle for thousands of years. How could he have been so stupid? What was his insistence in showing her intimacy?

Why was she so pale?

“Come on, Becca. Focus on me, please.” He whispered, tracing her cheekbones with his thumbs and trying to hold back the tears filling his eyes. “Tell me a story, will you?”

She smiled weakly. “Once upon a time, you were an idiot and got me shot,” she whispered back with a giggle. “Fuck, it hurts so much.”

“I am sorry. I am so sorry, Rebecca,” he chanted, over and over. “Stay with me.”

Though time is ruthless It showed us kindness in the end By slowing down enough A second chance to make amends As life replayed, we heard a voice proclaim: “Lay your weapons down! They’re calling off the war On account of losing track Of what we’re fighting for”

The second the jet had touched down, Loki had gathered Becca into his arms and ran. He barely understood where he was going, but his panic-addled body apparently knew exactly where to go. When he rushed into the medical rooms, Bruce nearly jumped out of his seat to rush towards them.

“What happened?”

“She was shot. The bullet is still lodged in her thigh, but she thinks it nicked the artery,” he spilled, tripping over words as he put her down. “She’s bled through four tourniquets on the ride over.”

Tony had come in, startled out of his lab by the ruckus. He took one look at Becca, pale and sickly looking rather than her caramel-skinned, effervescent self and nearly fainted. Loki was still at her bedside while Bruce and a handful of medical assistants buzzed around her. “Loki, come on. Let them work.”

“I–Stark–she won’t stop bleeding,” Loki choked out, his grip turning white on her hand. Tears were dripping down his face and he didn’t care who was there to witness it. Nothing mattered if she died because of his carelessness.

“I know, but you need to let them work, Lokes.” Tony placed his hands on Loki’s shoulders, forcefully tugging him back. This was the first time he realized just how strong Loki was, as his wiry, tall frame barely moved at Tony’s insistence. He might as well have been a tree rooted to the spot. “Loki. Come on, buddy, we gotta move.”

“She’s still bleeding. I can’t leave her.”

“Look at–look at me!” Loki reluctantly parted his gaze to face Stark. “You’re not a doctor and you’re not a healer. The only thing you can do is let Bruce work his magic and wait until she’s in clear, OK?”

After a moment, Loki nodded and let himself be carted away from the bed.

So we found our way back home Let our cuts and bruises heal While a brand-new war began One that no one else could feel

Tony had managed to wrangle Loki into some armchairs just outside the medical facility and handed Loki a bottle of water and a couple of pills.

“What’s this?”

“Painkiller for the shiner you got and a sedative.” With a frown, Loki raised his hand to his face and pressed onto his right cheekbone, feeling a sharp ache at the action. Shock had kept him from feeling the brunt of what must have been plentiful injuries. “So, what happened?” Loki didn’t answer, kicking back the pills and swallowing them dry. “You get distracted?”

“Distracted? What would I get distracted with?” Loki scoffed, and his stomach turned immediately. The lie tasted bitter on his tongue and Stark gave him a look that told him that he knew Loki was lying. “Why did you send her, then? To prove a point?”

“I sent her because she’s the best and because I hoped you had more sense than to let her presence derail you from a task!”

“It was a mistake!”

“That much is obvious!” Tony roared back. He stepped back, forcing himself to take a deep breath before continuing. “Look, I get it. She makes you feel good, but you can’t just drop what you’re doing while behind enemy lines just because you realized she’s pretty. You’re tough as nails, and can survive the Hulk. She can’t.”

“Do you think I haven’t thought of that every second since I pulled her into the jet? It was my fault! I distracted her! She let her guard down and she might… she might–”

“She’s not going to die. Banner’s going to get her stabilized and she’ll recover enough to give you grief for this for the rest of her days. More importantly, I haven’t given her permission to die, so I don’t think she can legally do that.” Loki chuckled drily, rolling his eyes at Stark’s attempt at humor. It was odd to be comforted by the man who used to want him dead, who said he could trust Loki just about as far as he could throw him. “Your girl is as tough as nails. This isn’t what’s going to take her out.”

“She’s not my girl–”

“You’re right. God knows the only reason you’re together is because she allows it.” Tony did a double-take at Loki’s flushed face and impressive fish-out-of-water impression. “What? Did you think you were a secret? You put in more hours in my lab than Becca does. Who the hell waits for their girlfriend to get to work? Have some dignity!”

Loki scoffed. “What I meant to say was that, perhaps, we shouldn’t be together. I can’t bear the thought of getting her killed because of sentimentality. She's… she’s my best friend and I care for her. I can't…”

Our nights have grown so long Now we beg for sound advice “Let the brokenness be felt ’Til you reach the other side There is goodness in the heart Of every broken man Who comes right up to the edge Of losing everything he has”

Tony put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it encouragingly. “Let yourself feel this way–the pain, the grief, the anger. Let it seep into every last bit of you until you’re sure it’ll destroy you. And then use that feeling as fuel so that it never happens again. Feel this mistake so hard that you never want to make it again. Just letting her go isn’t gonna do that.”

We were young enough to sign Along the dotted line

Now we’re young enough to try To build a better life

Loki stared at Stark for a long minute. He thought of Pepper and the million and one headaches and heartbreaks Tony had put her through and the fact that she remained at his side. Pepper was stronger than Tony could ever hope to be, just as Becca was stronger than him. Pepper was Tony’s moral compass. Becca didn’t complete Loki in that way, but rather allowed him to explore areas of himself that had been ignored. She was personified kindness and easiness. She didn’t stress or worry herself sick, as he did. She was just a light that he had refused to turn on long ago.

“Hey, guys,” Bruce said quietly, interrupting the other two’s staring competition. “Bullet’s out and I got the bleeding under control. She should be fine.”

Tony nodded and patted Loki on the shoulder before retrieving his hand. “Is she sleeping?”

“No, she’s a little keyed up. The sedative hasn’t done much and I’m maxed out. I was hoping Loki could do some hocus pocus on her.”

Loki stared at Tony for a moment more before nodding and slipping into the ward behind Banner. Becca’s eyes were as big as dinner plates and she was practically vibrating in place. Her fidgeting settled a bit when Loki took a seat on her bedside. His fingers dug in to brush her hair back, gently scraping at her scalp and he felt her melt into his touch.

“I’m so sorry.” Bruce covered his noise of surprise with a cough, making Becca laugh. He moved from the chair to the space beside her on the bed. “I swear this to be the last time you come to harm because of my recklessness. I promise you I will take care–”

“I’m not angry, Loki. Settle down.” She fished away a tear making its way down his cheek. “This wasn’t your fault. I knew it was a bad idea. I did it, anyway. Let’s just make it a rule–no kissing on the field.”

“You still want to kiss me?” There was genuine surprise in his voice.

“Do you think I would end our relationship because you were affectionate at an inopportune moment?” When he merely broke away his gaze, rather than respond, she sighed. “You mean more to me than that.” He stilled for a long moment before his fingers resumed their scratching. Becca blinked heavily.

“Sleep, my love. I’ll be here to kiss you when you wake.”

#Loki #Lover #Angst #Others #Submitted fic #submission #Fanfictrashdump #atlas space #mars #chapter 6

[dana-sculy]

Vive Ut Vivas - Chapter Two

→ Chapter One

It’s been 84 years since I wrote the first chapter of this story, I know, sorry it took me so long to continue to write it, hope you all enjoy! To read it in AO3 come here :)

tagging @today-in-fic

In this chapter, different from the first one, we'll see the story under Scully's perceptive. It's also a way to better explore her emotions and inner feelings of the situation. Plus, since in season 11 we came to learn more about Skinner's past and how he also had to deal with trauma, I decided to use that background in the conversations between him and Scully.

Prologue

I remember a time when I was only 5 years old. It was an ordinary day of summer, and mom had decided to take her children for a picnic in the park not far away from our house. She had little pots of everything with too much sugar and more packaging than the space-shuttle. Dad had been away on the sea for a long period of time, and even under the naïve perceptions of myself as a kid, it was possible to see how much she missed him. I don’t know if the picnic was an attempt of cheering the mood more for herself or for us. I should’ve been worried, but instead I just gave her my best smile and pulled out the fresh baked baguettes with brie and cranberry.

The air was warm that day, the beams of sunlight glowed on my skin. Melissa liked to sit close to the flowers and inspect them, under the freshly cut green grass. Charlie and Bill would start fighting with each other any time soon; it was sort of their motto. And that was my cue to go get and adventure by myself.

Looking back today, I wonder how could I and Melissa get along so well together. We were opposites in everything: she was the model, girly girl, who loved dresses, flowers, dolls and the piano lessons mom made sure we attended to. I was never that way. I loved dogs, sports and comfortable pants. I would only come inside home when mom called me with that tone of threat, which is the reason to my abundancy of freckles, due to hours and hours under the sun, climbing trees, running and playing around.

I was the tough child, I guess. Mel was the soft, popular one. That hasn’t changed much now that we’re adults. I still don’t go very well with softness; I keep it under tons of labored layers, deep inside.

This was mainly the reason I feared so badly to come here and stay with my sister. She has always had this thing of hers that somehow goes straight into your heart and sees everything. I’m a private, reserved person, and I like keeping my feelings only to myself. But that never really worked with Mel. Let’s say she would be very good at interrogations.

---

After what felt like an eternity, my tears, which eventually turned into little sobs, finally went away. At some point, Melissa’s tightened her hold on me; there wasn’t much else she could do about the whole situation for now. I ran my fingers through her knuckles, and she released me slowly.

“I guess I’ll be going, Mel.” – I feel terrible for leaving her after such an intimate moment, and especially because I know she’ll have a lot of other questions for me now.

“Work stuff you said, right?” – She sounds discouraged, but not mad, at the very least.

“Yes. Skinner had called me in the morning and he’s expecting me at the Bureau. So… I’d better be on my way.” – I rise from the couch and start to collect my things, stuffing them in my purse. It feels weird, not having my badge with me.

I say goodbye to my sister without turning to look back at her. If I did that, she would find her way into convincing me to stay. Even so, I can still feel her eyes burning on me, absorbing each detail, each movement I do. I close the door quietly and follow my way down the stairs of her building.

---

FBI headquarters  - 3:00 p.m.

There is a feeling: it starts when you enter a place you’ve already been a thousand times before, and yet, when you look around, you feel like it’s not the same, even though nothing’s really changed. You try desperately to find out what is different, but the only thing you find is a bitter taste in the back of your mouth, a feeling of intrusion, as if you were the wrong peace of a puzzle, trying to fit in.

I enter through the front door, the big cement columns threatening to smash my tiny figure as I pass them to go through the metal detector machine.

As the elevator doors open, I feel a sense of relief as I notice it’s empty. I am aware that my abduction has made me quite a popular person in the bureau, as if being part of the X Files division hadn’t already granted me that. Mulder talked with me about how a few people, whose existence he’s never known before, had stopped him at the corridor to ask if Mrs. Spooky had been taken by his fellow aliens, or simply to know what really happened to me.

Being a woman in a field that is predominantly occupied by men has taught me that the standards are never equal when it comes to gender difference. I had to work harder than most of my male colleagues at Quantico to stand out, and now as an agent, I feel more than grateful to be Mulder’s partner, because, unlike the others, he treats me like an equal, recognizing my work as an agent without making me feel less capable due to being a woman, and protecting me when it’s needed without making me feel like I couldn’t handle myself.

The problem in that is that it often makes me forget how mean the rest of the bureau can be. I realize I wasn’t that lucky when the elevator doors open again, now in Skinner’s office floor, and I see a very crowded hall ready to swallow me up.

The loud noise of my high heels coming in contact with the floor fill my ears and I feel my body threatening to throw up all the remnants of the cheap lunch I had back at the hospital. I walk silently, looking straight away and trying my best to avoid the curious eyes that follow me. I hear whispers too, but my ears don’t register any words being said. My mind is way too busy fighting to keep me standing and moving forward. Thank God Skinner’s office is not so far from the elevator itself, and I get there quickly enough.

Arlene’s attention is instantly drawn to the creaking door as I open it, increasing considerably as she recognizes my singular figure entering the precinct. She tries her best to be discreet, though. She even gives me a little smile, embarrassed with the whole situation.

“Agent Scully, you can go inside. Mr. Skinner is already waiting for you.” – with that, she returns to typing in her computer.

Skinner is indeed expecting me as I walk to a chair in his conference table. Different from the others, he doesn’t show any sign of curiosity or pity. I feel immensely thankful for that, so I give him a smile. I’m well aware that the evaluation is merely standard procedure, not to mention that it’s just me and Skinner there, but, still, the knot in my stomach doesn’t subside a bit. I guess after all that’s happened, my mind had gotten a little susceptible to Mulder’s paranoia of breaking The X-Files division, and shutting our careers down along with that. Let’s not think about that right now, Dana. I turn the focus of my mind on taking long, deep breaths.

“Agent, Scully, it’s a relief to see you well.” – Skinner is sincere in his words, as he looks straight into my eyes to show me he means it. – “I hope you understand the need of this procedure. You were under a highly stressful situation and that requires a bureau evaluation, to make sure you’re ready to go back to field”.

“Thank you, Sir, I understand. I just want to go back to work as soon as I can.” – And forget this nightmare, I think to myself. For a moment, I wish Mulder could be here. His crack jokes and sassy faces would certainly help lighten the mood.

I remember Mulder with that thought, how he was worried with me coming back so soon, how he couldn’t help himself in hiding his desire to have my company back, despite that. My memory traces the lines of our office: the dusty shells of stuff Mulder makes sure to keep there, his table, his geek poster I came to like with time, the silly green alien key chain he bought me last summer, while lecturing me about how aliens are actually grey. It gives my heart some comfort to remember something so familiar to me.

“Good to hear that, agent. So, let’s begin, shall we?”

Thereby, Skinner starts to present me a series of routine questions, then about standard FBI procedure, and, finally, questions with, I suppose, a more psychological approach. Turns out it’s not that bad, after all. I feel relieved.

After I give my last answer, he pauses, closing his eyes for a bit. He uses the tips of his long fingers to massage his temples, and then takes a deep breath.

“If you allow me, Dana, I’d like to talk to you, off the record.”

I realize I won’t escape personal interrogations today, so I give him a week nod.

“Listen… Your test shows no reason to keep you away from work. That said, I’m letting you know you can return to work any time.”

“I see a ‘but’ coming” – I attempt to make a joke, but he doesn’t alter his serious face.

“Well, yes, indeed. As your boss, I’ll tag along with the evaluation, but as your friend, I’d like to advise you to go home, Dana. You’ll continue to be paid normally even if you take some more time off, and you really should do that. Go be with your family, go rest and give your body and soul time to heal. Trust me, I know the feeling. Your strength is increasing and your body seems better, so it feels like you’re ready to go back to action, but these wounds, Dana, they’re bigger than they look. They can threaten to unsettle your spirit in the most inconvenient of times, and I wouldn’t forgive myself if that caused another risk to your life, or to agent Mulder.”

He was probably right; I knew it in my heart. But how could I tell him that taking time was consuming me, that it was making me mourn over and over again all the things I lost during my abduction? I could no longer rest unless I was under the effect of my sleeping pills, or drowsy due to my strong medication, because when their effect passed away, all I could see in my mind was the same nightmare over and over again. I must've let out something, because when I turned my eyes back to Skinner’s, he had a bigger frown on his face.

“Don’t fight me on this, Dana. You’re the bravest agent I know, but that doesn’t mean you don’t need help.” – He waited for a response, so I opened my mouth in an attempt of an answer.

“Sir, I appreciate your concern, but I really need to work.” – I sigh – “I need something to focus my mind on. I’ll be careful, plus, Mulder will be there to help me.” – I try to give him my best sad-puppy face. It seems to work.

“That’s not the answer I hoped for.” – Now it’s his turn to sigh. – “But I know you well enough to understand that trying to convince you otherwise won’t make any difference.”

“Thank you for understanding that, Sir.” – As I rise from my seat, he speaks once again.

“Agent, as you’re released to come back to work, I want you to be aware that, due to the circumstances of your case, you’ll have to go through periodic psychological counseling. That is not negotiable, agent Scully, but don’t worry, everything you say during session will remain private, these routine sessions are just to make sure you recover from your experience.”

I nod to him and find my way to the door, but he calls my name when I’m about to leave the room.

“Just one more thing, Dana.” – I turn to him. – “As you return, if you feel like you can’t stand a situation, anytime, my offer stands. Promise me you’ll accept help from the ones closer to you.”

From all the times Mulder and I had to count on Skinner’s assistance, I’ve learned to trust him and to believe in the fact that he really cares for us both, but now, from the way he says this words and the look on his face, I feel like this is more than just concern for me. It feels personal, and I’m inclined to conclude that he’s had his amount of trauma too.

“I promise.” – I tell him and leave, there’s a basement I have to go to.

#the x files #txf #txf fanfic #msr #msr fanfic #my fanfics #foc #mine #dana scully #walter skinner #melissa scully

[hethrewmyheartinthecut]

A Battle Joined • Ch. 3

previous chapter • on ao3 • next chapter

PART I. WHAT HAPPENED TO MRS. SHELBY? (cont.)

THEN • The return of an old enemy causes considerable turmoil in Esme’s life.

NOW • In pain, Tommy makes a rash choice.

NOW

Tommy limped through the back alley to the Watery Lane house on memory alone; the moon, at its thinnest, had been all but eclipsed by clouds, which sent a light rain to earth and turned the alley pitch black. When he was only a few minutes away, and could picture the little back door with its dull brass handle in its place in the darkness ahead of him, the rain suddenly became a full downpour, getting in his eyes, puddling in his shoes, and slicking his shirt as close as if it was a second skin.

He fumbled with the key on both sides of the door. Once he had locked it behind him, he shoved the keys back in his pocket and made a beeline for the kitchen in the dark, feeling for the cabinet handle and then finding the half-empty bottle of whiskey. Finally, he sat himself down at the kitchen table, in the dark, coat on, hat on, shoes on, and had himself a drink straight from the bottle while the rainwater and blood mixed in a puddle beneath him.

He’d be embarrassed if anyone saw this, likely, with injuries no worse than a shallow cut on the abdomen and a sprained ankle, but fuck, it had not been a pretty night and there was no one left to see that his wreckage was worse than could be accounted for by body alone.

Tommy worked the coat off his shoulders, soaked wool thick and unwieldy, then rummaged through its pockets for his cigarettes, still dry in their holder, and his lighter. He lit a cigarette. The exhale, long and slow, soothed him. So did the familiar orange glow that accompanied the smoke.

A quick bandage and a quantity of whiskey later, and he was ready. He called once a day at least. He was beginning to despair of ever getting an answer. Likely, he would likely have to go back up to London and threaten that Wilkes woman again, but that would be tiresome and fuck he was tired enough already.

He hauled himself up out of the chair, walked over to the office, and leaned on the desk, dialing the number he’d memorized, waiting impatiently for it to ring out.

This time, someone picked up.

“Hello?” A woman’s voice, tentative. Fucking hell. He hadn’t prepared for this. He hastily tried to make his voice as unthreatening as possible.

“Hello, is this Ms. Lee?”

Her cautious tone turned decidedly grim. “No, but give me one moment. Rupa!”

There was a bit of a scuffling sound, and then a new woman was at the phone.

“Yes? Is this Tommy?” She was making an effort to sound light, very unsuccessfully.

It was odd, hearing someone call him that when he’d never met them before, had no idea what they even looked like. But still. “Yes.”

“You scared Maisie half to death, I hear. Threatening to cut her up if I didn’t talk to you within the week.”

“My apologies.” He wasn’t sorry. “She was being...uncooperative.”

“What did you expect her to be like, with a man breaking into her house?”

“Usually that makes people more cooperative.”

“Have a lot of experience with break-ins, is it?”

“I think you know the answer to that.”

She paused a moment, shifted, became far more direct. Now her voice was more familiar; it was decidedly not Esme’s, but you could hear how they were sisters in it. “What do you want?”

“I went to London to find Esme. She and I had an arrangement. She was supposed to let me know that she was still alive, and she didn’t. So I’ve been making inquiries.”

It took Rupa altogether too long to answer that. “What do you want to know?”

“When was the last time you heard anything about her?”

“I can’t remember exactly.”

“Try.”

Rupa sighed. “A man came looking for her, six months ago. Said she had disappeared.”

“Luther Sutton?”

“Yes.”

He could practically taste the reluctance coming off her. “What exactly did he say?”

“I can’t remember. He wasn’t much of a talker.”

“Did he seem guilty?”

“Why do you care?”

“I want to know what happened to her. I want to know if he happened to her.”

“He came himself, and only weeks after she’d gone. You’re in Birmingham, calling me seven months later.”

“Enough.” Tommy didn’t need any more of that from her, had plenty of it already. It was nearly intolerable to talk about Esme at all, and to talk about the telegrams, which were in their own way intensely private, was even worse, but he did it. He explained the system.

“Do you see?” he said when he was done, hoping this would mollify her.

“Yes, I see.” She said it terribly flatly. She didn’t seem placated at all. If anything, she sounded more unhappy than before.

“So can you tell me now?”

Rupa sighed. “I’ll tell you everything I know.”

Tommy pushed off the desk and settled into the chair behind it. He lit a cigarette. It seemed to take her a moment to figure out where to begin.

“I would have told you before,” she said. “I would have called you. She gave me your number, in case of an emergency.”

He didn’t have enough whiskey in the house for this.

Rupa went on: “But I thought you already knew. I thought you had her killed.”

Tommy exhaled slowly. “Is she dead, then?”

“I don’t know.”

Due to the distance, he couldn’t press her, couldn’t afford to scare her off. He had to allow the silence, as much as he loathed it.

“Let me start at the beginning,” she said. “Esme called me about a couple weeks before she disappeared, all excited. She said she’d saved enough money to pay back the Favells for the robbery Dad pinned on them. I didn’t believe her. Nobody could make that kind of money with that kind of work. I thought she’d stolen it. Maybe stolen it from you.”

Tommy felt the expectant pause, but said nothing. Esme had money when she left, but Shelby money matters were none of her sister’s concern.

“But the way she talked,” Rupa went on, “she wasn’t happy. She was trying to make a change. She wanted to move to France, and of course I told her she could stay with us as long as she wanted—Paige and I, I mean—” And how odd, Tommy thought, that this woman could talk about her lover this simply and matter-of-factly, but perhaps that was France. “—but she said she wanted to get her own place, and she wanted Dad to come. She had me ask Dad, on her behalf, to come down to London and meet with the Favells on neutral ground, to offer an apology.”

“What neutral ground?”

“I didn’t ask for details. I thought it was ridiculous from top to bottom. They’d never forgive Dad. I knew it had been hard on her, when Dad left, and she was alone to carry the dishonor. Maybe it made her foolish. I thought Dad would see that, but he was just as wrong as she was about it. He went to London two days before she disappeared. And then they were both gone. I thought they had robbed you to pay back the Favells and finance the French house, but apparently not.”

Esme’s father? Fucking hell. Tommy wished he’d brought another pack of cigarettes with him; his last had gone on so long that it singed his fingers and had to be put out in the ashtray.

“Do you have any family friends in London, anyone that—”

“No. Dad had been in France with me, so we didn’t know anyone there, really. None of the other sisters lived there, either. And we’ve avoided other Romani. It’s better that way.”

“Right.”

“I spoke to her only once. Then I spoke to Dad once. He came to the flat before he left and brought his dog, so Paige would look after it. But that is all I know.”

“All right.”

“If you find either of them alive, tell them to come and take the dog. If you find either of them dead, I don’t need the ashes. But call me.”

“I will,” Tommy said.

She hung up.

Right. He was out of whiskey and didn’t have cigarettes at hand. He could detach, but there was work to be done.

Returning to the kitchen, he turned the lamp on, fetched needle and thread and sat once again at the table, stitching himself up. The chest-seizing sensation of the needle piercing his skin was enough to wholly occupy his mind, and by the time he had finished it up neatly with a clean white bandage, he felt nearly numb. There were thoughts—always thoughts—but he felt very little aside from the continuing dull ache in his ankle and the sharper ache in his abdomen. Though it was well past midnight, he ate a ploughman’s lunch as he went over the weekly shop report.

He very much wanted to go to bed, but if he let the puddle stay on the wood of the kitchen floor, it might stain, and he’d catch hell from Polly for that. He fetched the old mop from the back closet and returned. Blood had turned the puddle dark and nearly opaque against the wood of the floorboards. In fact a little trickle of blood was traveling very slowly down the leg of the chair and into the puddle, where it curled in little eddies and whorls, then dissipated, slowly. Finally there was no more blood, and no more patterns, just a still, shining liquid.

Tommy stopped staring. He put the mop down, turned, and went for the telephone.

“Charlie?”

“Of course it’s me, who else would be answering?” Tommy’s uncle replied, voice thick with sleepiness. “Fuck’s sake, what time is it?”

“Listen to me. I need to take a boat to London tomorrow morning. And I need you in it.”

“Can’t you take a fucking train? Or at least take Curly instead?”

“No.” Tommy hesitated, then added: “I’m expecting to have cargo on the way back.”

This time, he hung up first.

THEN

Bang.

Esme opened her eyes, hoping beyond hope to find her room still dark. But no, beyond the half-curtain of her own hair in her face, she saw plenty of warm early sunlight slanting through the window, and besides, she could hear the high-pitched chirping of a couple little black starlings perched outside on the sill.

“Oi.” Without looking, she knew it was Tommy. He kicked the door again, for emphasis.

She groaned. “I know.”

“Then?”

They both know that if he left then and there, with Esme still horizontal, he’d return in a minute only to find her asleep again. Flinging the old green blanket aside, she sat up in bed, turned, and fixed him with a narrow-eyed look of mock anger.

Tommy imitated a yawn, which in turn made her yawn, enormously. His lips twitched.

“Fuck off.”

Tommy did. Or at least he went back to his room, door still open. She could hear him moving around in there, opening closet doors, choosing clothes, getting dressed.

Esme shook her head, got up, and began to dress too. She was smiling, but likely that was the sleepiness.

“To this day, I don't know why I fucking married you,” she muttered.

“Your mistake,” he called back.

“Everyone makes foolish mistakes when they’re young.”

“Is that what you call twenty-seven, sweetheart?”

“Younger than you, darling.”

Esme waited for the next retort, but it never came. Mildly concerned, she wandered across the hall into his room, combing her hair all the while, to find Tommy rifling through his closet, back bare, trousers on, suspenders hanging from them in loops.

He must have heard her footsteps, because without turning round to see her, he said, “Where’s my blue shirt?”

Technically, he had three different blue shirts, but she knew exactly which one he was talking about. “It’s dead. I cannibalized it for dust rags.”

He made a noise of disgust. “Chin Li Foo could’ve got the stains out.”

“Chin’s a professional launderer, not a magician. It was nearly white, and you had blood all up the front. Here.” She reached around him and plucked a perfectly good, relatively unwrinkled white shirt off the rack.

Tommy didn’t look pleased, but put the shirt on as he was told. Esme walked into the hall, threw her comb on her bed through the open door, and headed downstairs, braiding her hair as she went.

Now fully awake, she reflected that on the whole, they were doing oddly well. She had expected some difference after last night’s conversation, a slight withdrawal on his part, perhaps, but for all the world he seemed as if nothing had happened. Perhaps that was withdrawal in its own way. Well, good. She was more than happy to mutually refuse acknowledging that anything had happened.

She put their old copper kettle on the stove for a morning cup of tea, then put on a pot of water and a few eggs to boil for a quick breakfast. A bit of toast would be nice with that. Now, didn’t they have half a loaf left from John’s kids’ baking spree a few days ago? Yes, there it was.

No. Even if they never spoke of it again, and even if he never thought of it again, Esme couldn’t forget it. She could still vividly remember the feeling of the moment, the cold of the night air on her skin after she left the bed, the low rasp in his voice and the expression on his face when he said, So this is it? Weary and vulnerable. I’m asking.

Perhaps Esme had made a mistake. She had made her reply in panic, mostly, knowing that she was exhausted and sentimental herself, knowing that the bed’s shared warmth and weight of understanding him had weakened her…

No. She closed her eyes. No, it had not been a mistake. The wavering she felt was only a human exhaustion.

By the time Tommy got to the kitchen fifteen minutes later with his gun in his shoulder holster and the morning newspaper in his hand, Esme had already finished her tea and toast and eggs, left his on the table, and moved on to washing up some dishes from the night before. Upon finishing the dishes, Esme interrupted Tommy’s article on the Newmarket racing prospect by putting a little brown bag on the table.

“What’s this?”

“Egg salad sandwich, apple, leftover gingerbread. Might be careful of the gingerbread; Katie’s a liberal cook, especially ginger. She says she hates boring food. Detests it. She talks like she ate a dictionary sometimes.”

Tommy looked up at her. “You made me lunch?”

“Might not have time for it later,” Esme said, as if that was an adequate explanation. It wasn’t, and they both knew it wasn’t, but she found she could only shrug.

“I’m seeing Polly before work today,” she said. And fled.

NOW

“Tommy! What a wonderful surprise!”

Alfie sauntered into the room smelling of rum and down to his shirtsleeves, sheened with sweat and clearly just off a bit of work. Tommy found himself sitting up slightly and awakening too. It was not unlike the reaction one might have to being in the presence of a large bear restrained by only a rusty chain. Any other day, and he would have hailed the challenge with pleasure, but just then, he found it nothing but a trial. He would play along, but he knew himself to be in such a weak position that there was no joy in it.

“Sit down, sit down.” Alfie waved a hand at him and plopped down into his own seat behind the desk. “Wot is this, Buckingham Palace? Are you standing on ceremony, mate?”

“I can only stay for a minute, Alfie,” Tommy said, as lightly as he could.

“A right shame, that, cause you could’ve stayed for lunch. There’s a leg of mutton would melt your tongue, Tommy, melt it right out of your mouth. But I understand.” He made a generous, expansive gesture with both hands. “Business is business.”

Tommy settled into the proffered chair and lit a cigarette. Then, with a slow exhale, he looked at Alfie expectantly.

“I’ve been hearing you’re having some troubles, innit,” said Alfie. “The Chinese?” And his face creased into a grin. “Fuck’s sake, Tommy, if you can’t handle them…” He shook his head. “And what’s this about you losing your temper?”

“You’d better check your sources, Alfie. You’re behind on the news.”

“I’m behind, is it?” Alfie was still grinning with his mouth at least, if not with his eyes.

“We’ve more than answered that rebellion. With force.”

“Mm.” Alfie appeared to be considering that. Then, abruptly, he repeated: “And what’s this about you losing your temper?”

“You know how it is, Alfie,” Tommy said. “People can forget who you are if you leave them alone long enough.” He leaned back in his chair and regarded the man opposite with flat eyes. His voice went down a few notes. “Sometimes they need a reminder.”

Alfie took that in, unsmiling. Suddenly, he broke out into a laugh, mad and real at the same time, finger pointing at Tommy in some sort of discovery. “You haven’t killed anyone lately, ‘ave you, Tommy?” Not just discovery, triumph. “I can see it. I can see it.” He stopped laughing. “You’re like my dog, is what you are. Sometimes I have to go on business and I have to leave him locked up in the house for a few days, right? By the time I get back, he’s scratching up the doors, desperate to get out. He’s torn the place to pieces. But you’re a businessman now, innit, and you’re not in Birmingham. Not in the kingdom anymore, so you gotta be civilized. No clawing up the sofa cushions for you. No impulsive little manslaughters. All you can do is sit there and look at me with those fucking eyes.”

Alfie tsked sympathetically. “Poor puppy. Here.” And up out of the drawer came the eternal whiskey bottle. “‘ave yourself a drink.” Alfie filled the little glass generously. Tommy didn’t touch it.

“I didn’t come to talk killing, Alfie.”

“Then why the fuck are you here, mate?”

The rest of this chapter is here on ao3, because Tumblr malfunctions when I post chapters as long as this one. My apologies for the inconvenience.

I worked on this for a long time. I edited some of the scenes several times in an effort to make sure they were the best they could be. This chapter is 16k words. Please, if you enjoyed it, if you want to see more, if you felt one drop of feeling while reading it, let me know.

And thank you so much to those of you who have commented or have sent me an ask or said something. I can’t tell you how many times I have reread some comments when I needed energy to go on. Thank you again, so much.

@b000ks, @lolashelby, @fookingblinders, @peakystitches, @blinder-secrets, @theskinofmyemotions, @sympathyfortheblinderdevil, @imsortoftrash​, @unluckymonaghan​, @peakyrach​, @shelby-gin-limited​, @unicorndreamer1622, @reyloshipper-starwars, @peakyblinderqueen, @prettieparker86, @sameshitdiffernetday, @serpentregalia, @pb-bonniegold, @ladytshelby, @wweavengers​

(lmk if you want to be added to or removed from tag notifications)

#Esme Shelby #Tommy Shelby #Peaky Blinders #Peaky Blinders fanfiction #Esme x Tommy #mine #A Battle Joined #Tommy x Esme #Peaky Blinders fanfic

[the-record-newspaper]

My first love and the truest of all true love stories

                                          Carmel Schmidt Toliver

By JERRY LANKFORD

Record Editor

Sweet Home Alabama was playing in my head in the summer of 1982, as I left Birmingham, Ala., in the window seat of a Greyhound bus on my journey back to North Carolina.

I was 18 and was a troubled young man. I was leaving my sweetheart and first love, Carmel (pronounced Kar male), behind. We had been nearly inseparable since we began our relationship the previous summer in Upward Bound – a college prep club in which we spent six weeks each summer on the campus of Appalachian State University.

Carmel was the prettiest girl I’d ever seen. We were partnered in a canoe during a week-long trip on Lake Watauga in Tennessee and really hit it off. We started dating and quickly fell in love. Our first kiss was on a rooftop in lower Manhattan on a field trip with that club. We were looking across the river into New Jersey and were happy.

A year later I’d wound up in Alabama.

I had ridden to Atlanta with my late brother, Mike, who went there to finalize a divorce. The Lankford brothers slept that night in Mike’s old sky-blue Ford Maverick in the parking lot of an apartment complex in the rough side of town with pistols under our legs. Mike drove me to the train station at daylight, walked me in so I could buy my ticket to Birmingham and waited until I was safely on the train. I still remember his smile as he waved goodbye.

Carmel had been living in Boone with her father and stepmother, Sigurd and Leah Schmidt. She had left by train from Greensboro in the middle of the night to go visit members of her late mother, Eva Slaughter’s, family. My buddy, Mark Brooks, and his girlfriend drove us to the train station because I’d blown up my Chevrolet Vega, and after several wrong turns, we finally found the depot. I walked with Carmel as far as I could before she boarded an Alabama-bound train.

We were happily in love — as much as we could possibly be. It was the kind of love that glows red in your belly and typically consumes all rational thought. It made me sick to see her go.

After a couple weeks, and hours of long-distance telephone conversations, Carmel convinced me I should come to Alabama and that I might want to stay. I knew that would be a hard sell – trying to convince me to move there -  but I wanted to see her badly.

It just so happened that at that same time Mike needed to make his trip to Georgia. He said if I was really serious about running to Carmel, I could save train fare money if I left from Atlanta instead of Greensboro.

If you’ve ever ridden on a train, you likely noticed that they mostly travel through the more industrialized sides of towns, leaving the scenery a little less than pristine. Along my way there was some lush greenness to savor, although there remained an unpleasantness due to very frequent stops, the unceasing bumpy-bump rhythm of the tracks, and the obnoxious porter who flirted continuously with an unwilling lady passenger.

Finally in Birmingham, Carmel met me at the station. One of her family members (I can’t recall which one) drove us to her Grandmother Lorene Slaughter’s home on the outskirts of the city. It was hot and mosquitoes were fearsome.

          Lorene Slaughter

Mrs. Slaughter’s home was an oasis – with a “Welcome Home” feel and filled with love from room to room, and from corner to corner. As for Mrs. Slaughter, she was a pure pleasure to know. She had sparkling eyes and a great head of beautiful white hair. Her food was incredible – especially her homemade pimento cheese that rivaled my Granny Lankford’s. And her soul was huge – speaking in a Deep South dialect I’d only heard in movies.

She took me into her home as part of the family.

Carmel and I each had our own separate bedroom and very generous amounts of cool air blasting from the vents.

There was a little store around the corner where Carmel and I would walk. I'd buy her M&M's and we’d play the big quarter-fed Space Invaders video game machine. There was also a nearby park with a large pond where we would go exploring in the waning hours of those lazy afternoons.

Finally it came time for me to leave. I was missing home and by that time - much to her family’s chagrin – Carmel had agreed to return to North Carolina a couple of weeks later.

We had learned from the Schmidts that some of their friends – Joe and Cindy Pacileo – at that time, were in Gadsden, Ala. That’s about an hour or so by bus from Birmingham. The Pacileos were there visiting Joe’s relatives. They’d offered me a ride in their van from there as far as Boone. My momma, Willa Mae Lankford, said she’d pick me up there. And thus my return home was arranged.

Again, I was parting from my love. I watched her wave goodbye to me until the bus turned the corner and I could no longer see her.

I was heartbroken when the Pacileos retrieved me from the bus station in Gadsden. They are wonderful people. I remember Joe as being a collector of many great paperback Westerns and a great cook who puts raisins in his meatballs. Cindy - whose sweet smile would warm the coldest of hearts - is a well known artist, having created many forests of little sculptured critters over the years. My sister, Ellen, still has one of her tiny frogs.

As we started out for the Blue Ridge Mountains, I remember Cindy handing me their copy of Jonathan Livingston Seagull to read on the way back. It was as if she knew exactly what I needed. I didn’t just read it, I devoured it. I never realized how much that little book would come to mean to me.

It wasn’t long before Carmel returned to Wilkes. We were married in August of that year in Momma’s living room in her home in Millers Creek with a few close relatives and friends there as witnesses. A year later, our first daughter, Jennifer, was born – on Aug. 22, 1983. Anna came on Dec. 22, 1988.

Carmel and I divorced, found other loves and married them. But as years passed, we again became good friends.

My Momma and Carmel truly loved each other. She and my sister, Ellen, also maintained a strong bond. I always loved Carmel, too, somewhere deep down inside — if nothing else but for the fact that she was the mother of two of my three wonderful daughters — the third being Gabriella, who is now 16. Carmel had four more daughters, Diana Pless, and Destiny, Cassidy, Samantha and, stepdaughter, Leslie Toliver.

Carmel’s girls: back, left to right, Leslie, Jennifer, Destiny, middle row: Samantha, Cassidy and Anna. My daughter Gabriella is in front. This photo was taken in 2012. Inset is a photo of Carmel’s daughter, Diana.

Carmel was born on Oct. 9, 1963. She died of pancreatic cancer on Sept. 6, 2014. Hospice had brought her home to Wilkes from Forsyth Hospital in Winston-Salem on a Friday afternoon to spend her final hours with her family. She was surrounded by daughters along with our little grandsons, Sammie and Charlie. Throughout the night, her husband, Ken Toliver – who has become one of my dearest friends – held her hand until she took her last breath the next morning.

That is certainly the truest of true love stories.

Carmel and her husband, Ken Toliver  

Before Carmel died, she told her husband, Ken, that she wanted to be buried near my mother in the cemetery of Arbor Grove United Methodist Church in Purlear. He made sure that she was.

I know it sounds strange – or maybe I’d just never noticed a particular occurrence around here in September — but right after Carmel died, I saw dragonflies nearly everywhere I went. This past September (when I wrote the first draft of this column) I saw the reflection of one hovering in the glass of the front doors of The Record offices as I came into work. I thought it was going to follow me inside.

It is likely that dragonfly that brought Carmel and that period of time of our teenage years back to mind — the memories of my first love, that journey, and a little book entitled Jonathan Livingston Seagull.

I guess at that stage of our youths we are all trying to learn about life and flight.

Carmel, thank you for the two daughters you gave me and the entire beautiful family you helped create. May you always be carried on dragonfly wings.

[sevenciircles]

a new dawn

The sobs wracked through her as she laid against her bed, hair messy and eyes bloodshot.

He had destroyed everything. Everything she had ever worked for. It came in flashes to her even weeks after it had happened. The thunder crackling, the eye appearing in the sky, the smokey haze of red as her hopes and dreams came crumbling down. More than just the Hotel, with the destruction symbolizing just how much she had lost.

The argument between Charlie and her Father had been biblical. The Princess having thrown everything at him in a haze. With her highly emotional state, it was no struggle for the King to defeat the Princess. The Hotel remained destroyed, her friends forbidden from contacting her, her duties as a Princess to come before anything else in her life.

Redemption was supposed to be a phase. An experiment that was doomed to fail. Something to show her that those who came to Hell were truly unredeemable. That she couldn't fix it. That she had to enjoy what she had, the unbridled power she was afforded.

Only, Charlie had succeeded.

One sinner, a newer resident at the Hotel, had been drawn up into the sky in a shining bright light display, demon form shattering like glass to reveal a beautiful angelic one.

It was everything she could have ever hoped for.

When the mortal soul left his realm, Lucifer had been summoned.

Charlie knew that her Father didn't believe in her, in her dream, but what he did...

Destroying her Hotel, forbidding the redemption of souls by Royal Decree. For if Hell became empty of sinners or those who knew that they could go to heaven... there would be anarchy. People would underestimate the Morningstar power. Their absolute authority.

Those who witnessed it...

Silenced.

Snuffed out.

Like a candle that had been pinched between two fingers. What was there, was not.

So Charlie wept, not just for her dream. But for all of Hell. Who lay unaware that redemption was possible, that a better way was possible, but was prevented by something as finite as power.

Greed.

Sin.

Charlie hiccuped, wiping her tears as she hyperventilated, not able to catch her breath. But she did manage to quell her sobs into silent tears that stained her cheeks as she rose up.

Looking at herself in the mirror... it really was eerie how much she looked like her Father.

Charlie picked up a hairbrush and threw it at the mirror, the shattering glass feeling like something had broken within her.

Almost as soon as she did it, she regretted it. Anger would never solve anything. She sighed, reaching down to pick up the mirror shards when she sliced her hand on an unseen piece. Dropping the shard, she clenched her wrist as she winced and looked at the black blood that stood out stark against her pale skin.

For some reason, the blood hypnotized her. She had seen her Father bleed once, too. He had been pierced by a weapon, the opposite of a holy weapon, a pure demonic one. One forged from the very depths of Hell. A Fallen Angel was still an Angel after all.

Could she really...?

Charlie crossed over to her window, throwing up the balcony doors and looked out at the streets. She saw so much from her castle window. People starving in the streets, victims piling up, victimizers getting away with it all. This was what her Father was preserving. Protecting. This was what he wanted to rule over. A chaotic den of wickedness that had no hope of redemption. Because the once shaker of the status quo couldn't reject what he had worked for.

Her Father had created a new kingdom, one to spite his Father. God. Something that he had succeeded in. The opposite of Eden, the opposite of Hell. Instead of a place of mercy and love, it was vile and cruelty. Where people were forced to suffer for mistakes they could atone for, where those who were truly awful lived on top.

It was wrong.

As the blood dripped from her hand... Charlie looked at the city that was only representative of the larger problem.

Sometimes there was no changing something that was broken so deeply. There was only creating something better, newer. Less broken. A new era that would be to everyone's benefit.

Charlie was aware that deep down, her Father must have thought the same thing. But where he had fallen into the same trap of those before him, Charlie wouldn't. He sought the subjugation of souls, Charlie would liberate them.

So the blood dripped onto the railing, and Charlie made a promise.

One she would not break.

If the system couldn't exist the way it was, then she'd fix it. She'd do whatever it took for her people, for their souls. They had laughed at her, scorned her, destroyed her. Well, Charlie would show them all. She'd show them all a path to a better life, she'd show them that what they had wasn't all there was.

She'd show them a new dawn.

In the end, Charlie really did still think they looked alike.

She had his cheeks, his hair, his smile...

His blood.

The Court stood to the sides, too stunned to approach her. The bloody, beaten Princess who had spent a year preparing for this.

Her red eyes stared at what was once her Father as his eyes slowly lost more and more of their light. A blade of pure hatred and sin sticking out of his heart. A blade that Charlie had put there. She had looked into his eyes as he fell, and held his hand as he exhaled his last breath.

Where would he go? Charlie didn't know.

But she knew everyone there was wondering a different question.

What would she do?

Charlie stood up, blood dripping from her mouth, the same blood that painted the floors of the throne room. Her hands seemingly dyed black.

She looked to the Court, to the witnesses who had seen her act of defiance. Her ultimate rebellion.

On the eve of Extermination, King Lucifer and Queen Lilith were no more.

Charlie let out a breath she didn't realize she was holding.

Between the two bodies of the ones who had given her angelic and demon blood in equal measure. They had birthed their own defeat.

But their act of destruction and hubris had what created their end.

However, there end was Charlie's beginning.

Reaching down, she gripped the cool metal of her Father's crown. Heavy, but not as heavy as it had been when she tried it on as a child.

She placed the crown on her own head, and she wasn't alarmed that it fit her perfectly.

She was born to do this.

Charlie walked towards the throne, and no one attempted to stop her. In fact, as she passed, the Court all bent to one knee. Heads bowed.

Charlie sat down on her Father's throne, no longer feeling his shadow over her or his blood coursing through her veins.

It was her blood. Her kingdom. Her power.

Charlie looked at the red glowing coming in from the stained glass, and she knew that the citizen of Hell would be awakening to an Extermination that would never come.

They would soon echo the words of the Court as she settled onto the throne, still covered in blood.

"All Hail Queen Morningstar! All Hail Queen Charlotte!"

Charlie looked at the sun that was rising, and a smile graced her lips.

It was a new dawn.

#morning glow is long past due. ~ charlie #not canon #just a lil what if #otherwise known as daughter unintentionally follows the same path as father #one she attempted to deviate from #sorry sweetie

[poweredbycoffeeandwine]

It’s Halloween, Kaidan Alenko!

Here is my small contribution of MEHalloween! It’s fluffy, silly, and features my Tavrien Shepard! I didn't use any of the MEHalloween prompts, just one I found, but can't find again to link to... ah well. Hope you enjoy! Kaidan Alenko x Commander Shepard - Pre-Relationship - Fluff - ME 1

After hours of kneeling, body cramped, trying to fix the faulty console in the Normandy, Kaidan stood and stretched. Actively reminding himself to stay calm, otherwise kicking the damn thing was a real possibility. As much as that small part of himself wanted to, his rational thought was to avoid the pain kicking metal would cause him. His weary eyes and hands needed a break from wires and components, and the console would likely short circuit again soon. He was starting to believe the machine was being tampered with.

A loud thump pulled his attention toward the mess table. Shepard stood, hands on hips, eyes narrowed, bottom lip caught between her teeth. A number of crates filled the table, causing him to wonder how long she had been in the shared space. Fighting the idea that she looked ridiculously adorable, surely that was a dangerous line of thought, and approached her. “Commander, do you need any help?”

Her face turned to him, intense blue eyes sparkled, and lips turned up in a full smile. Kaidan worked hard to keep his breath even, and ignore the rising tempo of his heart. “Alenko,” she greeted, “I will gladly accept your help, on one condition.”

“Ok, I’ll bite.”

“What you see here is not fodder for teasing,” came her deadpan reply.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Commander.”

“Great!” she replied ripping the lid off the first crate. Kaidan didn’t know what to think as she began unloading various items from inside. Black fuzzy crows, bats, cats, strings of lights and other decor formed piles on the table.

“Um, Shepard?”

“Yes?” she questioned sorting through a new crate.

He lifted a plastic skull from the nearest pile, eyebrow lifted, and asked, “What exactly are we doing with this stuff?”

“Stuff?” her voice filled with disbelief. “Alenko, don’t tell me you haven’t ever decorated for All Hallows Eve before? I lived on a ship all my life, but mom and I always made time for Halloween. When I was young, crew members played along, and gave me candy door to door. As I got older we settled for popcorn and Halloween vids.”

Kaidan chuckled. “Well, yeah, I understand Halloween, but what are we planning on using these things for?”

Shepard gave an exasperated sigh, and shot him a look full glee, “Well Lieutenant, we are going to decorate the Normandy of course!”

Her enthusiasm, he found, was infectious, and honestly he would do whatever he needed to do to keep the happy glow on her face. She did a lot for the crew, and the Alliance. Holiday fun was well deserved if that was what she wanted. “What do you want me to do first?”

If the looks she gave him earlier got his heart racing, this one nearly stopped it. She grabbed his hand, put a string of lights into it, and beamed at him. “Will you hang these across the entry way, please?”

Kaidan nodded, small smile on his lips, not trusting his voice with her hand still covering his. Searching about, he located a small step ladder, and proceeded to place the lights where she had asked. “Is this about right?” he asked turning his head over his shoulder to look at her.

Shepard jumped, blushed furiously, and answered, “Yup, um yes. That’s - that’s great, Alenko.” Stammering a bit more, and grabbing the first item off the table within reach, she finished, “I’m just going to take this, um, this cat over there.” Her brisk pace took her across the room near the console he had spent the entire morning working on. Kaidan’s face flushed as he turned back to the lights. Had she been looking at his ass? He wasn’t trying to be smug, but he certainly felt, due to her reaction, that she may have been checking him out. That was ludicrous though. Tavrien Shepard would not waste her time on a subordinate like him. He shook his head, and continued working, determined to get over his silly infatuation with his CO.

Time passed; they made small talk, discussing various topics. She spoke more about how she spent holidays aboard ships, and her personal life. He shared a few of his own childhood memories, although he had a hard times remembering those since BAaT. However, with her, it seemed they flowed out easily, the joy back in the memories rather than the pain he had begun to associate with the past. A startling revelation to be sure. He had become so used to being reserved around colleagues.

“So, you said you watched Halloween vids with your mother. Which one was your favorite?” he asked, no longer concerned over personal questions.

“Hmmm,” she paused her actions, looking thoughtful while pressing a single finger to her lips. Kaidan watched the finger in fascination, before remembering his job to hang the paper bats she was making. “I have two, no way to choose between them. First, Hocus Pocus is a classic, and I watched it repeatedly.”

Kaidan remembered watching that vid once. It was older, and had been a favorite of his mom’s. She didn’t make him watch it again, he hadn’t shown much interest. Maybe it was a good time to watch it again. He cleared his throat, “And the second?”

She leveled him with a serious stare, as if determining if he was worthy of the answer. “Okay, Alenko, but again, no teasing.”

“Cross my heart, ma’am.”

“Ok,” Blowing a stray hair out of her face, eyes on the table, she answered quietly, “It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown.”

“Shepard, isn’t that for kids?”

“Yes,” she replied as she put her forehead on the table. “I love it. Nothing anyone can say will ever make me change my mind. Lucy is my favorite. She is snarky, and I wanted to be just like her as a kid.”

“I remember her being very bossy, Shepard.”

She laughed, and he knew he hadn’t ever heard a sound so beautiful. “She was a handful, but she knew what she wanted.”

Kaidan stepped off the small ladder he had been on most of the afternoon. They had decided he should do all of tasks requiring height. He looked around the room, and couldn’t believe all they had accomplished. His family’s Halloween activities revolved around the scarier aspects of the season, all nightmares and haunting, yet Shepard had turned the place into a fairy tale come true. It was downright cute, and he was starting to find a new appreciation for the holiday. “Wow, the place looks great Shepard; but, can I ask you one question?”

“Shoot,” she replied, digging through the last box.

“Well, like I said, you did a great job,” he started hesitantly not wanting to ruin the mood. “But, you know it’s still September, right?”

Shepard walked toward him, laughter in her eyes, and said, “Of course I do.” She plopped something on top of his head, and leaned in to conspiratorially whisper, “I did mention how much I love this holiday.” She turned and walked back to the table collecting crates and packing up unused items. Kaidan was not at all surprised to find a black and green sparkly witch hat perched on his head.

#mehalloween #kaidan alenko #commander shepard #shenko #mass effect fic #me:fic #tavrien shepard #tavrien shepard x kaidan alenko #tavrien x kaidan #mehalloween2017 #mass effect halloween #mass effect halloween spooktacular #halloween: mass effect style #my fic #steph did a thing

[quinzelade]

By No Constraint: Epilogue

SS x Danse

Chapter List

Thanks to my amazing beta, @waiting4morning, for her wonderful work!

Tumblr has apparently changed its linking rules, meaning I can no longer externally link my FFnet or Ao3 accounts if I want my story to show up in the tag search on tumblr. If you want update alerts, please search ‘quinzelade’ on either of these sites and follow me there.

I released chapter 72 on the 8th. Since I’ve posted this so close to the last chapter, I felt it was only fair to let you guys know there’s a chapter before this one that you might want to read. Check the chapter list above for the link.

Major Brotherhood/Danse spoilers.

--

Peaceful Futures

 --

“So what makes you think you’re suitable for this position?” Danse said, scribbling down a few sentences on his form. It was uncomfortably hot in his office, and Danse was tempted to close the interview now. He already knew the outcome. But he’d be damned if he put minor discomfort before proper procedure.

By the book. Always by the book.

“As I said, sir, my dad is the best shot in Sanctuary.”

Danse looked up from his notes and raised his eyebrow. “I’ve known Robert almost twenty years now, and he is a brilliant shot. But you aren’t your father. Tell me about you, Duncan. Why should I be putting Sanctuary’s safety in your hands?”

Duncan went scarlet. Danse almost relented there and then, but MacCready had been very specific with his instructions.

“Dunc’s more than capable, but he’s had it easy. Ridden on my reputation. One day I won’t be here, and then what? Make him work for it, Danse. It’ll do him some good.”

Danse stayed silent and waited.

“W-well,” Duncan managed eventually, fidgeting under Danse’s desk. “I, uh…”

“Do you have a tutor?” Danse said, deciding to offer some kindness. “Have you won any competitions or been in any combat?”

“Oh yeah!” Duncan said at once, seizing the opportunity. “My dad taught me! Ever since I was a kid I could shoot! And I’ve every shooting competition in the settlement in the last five years! And—”

Danse let Duncan rattle off his many achievements, holding back a smile. He’d always intended to give this job to Duncan, had been leaning on MacCready for years to let his son leave his cleaning post and move onto the security team. But MacCready was adamant Duncan worked his way up first.

“We all had to do it. It’s the only way he’ll learn.”

Duncan paused to take in a breath, and Danse held up his hand. Duncan stopped, looking worried.

“I’ve heard enough,” Danse said, straightening up his papers and keeping a straight face. He leaned back in his chair and met Duncan’s eye. He hesitated, then said, “You’ve got the job.”

Duncan made a noise of shock, and a wide grin split across his face. “Really?”

Danse nodded, leaned forward, and held out his hand. As Duncan shook it vigorously, Danse said, “I want you at the barracks 5am sharp tomorrow so we can fit you up in a uniform.”

“Yes, sir,” Duncan said, getting to his feet as Danse did, still grinning from ear to ear. “Thank you, sir! Thank you so much! My dad’s gonna be so impressed!”

“Best go tell him quick then,” Danse replied, and smiled as Duncan nodded and hurried from the room. As soon as the office door shut behind Duncan, Danse walked over to the window shutter and cranked it open. Cool air seeped in, and he gave a sigh of relief. He didn’t like having it open when he was interviewing people. Everything in his office was a private affair.

Some affairs more private than others, a mischievous voice said in his head, and he glanced at his desk with a guilty grin, thinking of Quinn’s last visit here. The memories made his heart beat faster, and suddenly he was eager to go home. Danse opened a button in his collar as he walked down the stairs, still lost in his thoughts. He wondered if Quinn would finish early today, but as he reached the door leading out of the building—mumbling some response or other to the guards acknowledging his departure—he remembered they were due to have dinner with Josh and Emily tonight, on top of everything else he still needed to prepare for work tomorrow. Weariness hit him like a ton of bricks.

I’m not as young as I used to be.

If it wasn’t his back twinging every time he tried to lift something heavy, it was his knees aching during his morning run. He was still in top shape, and proud of that fact, but pride couldn’t stop the effects of age. At least he was aging, though, unlike other synths. A blessing compared to Sturges, who only discovered the truth when it became apparent how young he still looked next to Preston.

Not that Preston cared. He helped Sturges through his identity crisis the same way Quinn helped Danse through his, so many years ago.

“Hey boss,” rasped Mordecai, a tough old ghoul who was a permanent fixture in the security team, “so am I fitting up body armour for the kid tomorrow or not?” Danse nodded, and Mordecai grinned. “You were always gonna—”

“Keep your voice down,” Danse said quietly, glancing around. “I don’t want to knock his confidence.”

“Ah, gotcha.” Mordecai motioned zipping his mouth shut.

Danse nodded, glad his friend had some tact. It was for this reason—and also because Mordecai could swing a bat like nobody’s business—he was Danse’s right hand man.

Danse walked on, responding to countless greetings that always accompanied his evening walk home. As head of security, he’d personally assessed each and every one of them before they’d been given a place in the city—ghoul, synth, and human alike. The result was that everyone knew his face.

It was a nice feeling, being known and respected, although it did add an extra half hour onto his journey wherever he was going.

He walked past the Sanctuary branch of the Valentine Detective Agency, the red, glowing sign just as tacky as Nick’s head office over in Diamond city. Danse squinted at the neon sign and grinned. Piper always complained about it whenever she visited, loudly grumbling to the homeless ghouls she often escorted to the city.

People from all walks of life flocked to Sanctuary these days. People wanting to make a fresh start. People who were outcast from their own settlements for not being ‘human’ enough, or for sympathising with the ‘others.’ People who were simply curious about the settlement open to everybody, and decided to stay.

Quinn had been careful, so careful from the beginning. All were welcome, but that would make Sanctuary a target. And yet, aside from a short-lived conflict with Diamond City, no one ever bothered them. Even the Brotherhood kept away, though Danse couldn’t understand why. After a few years, he stopped questioning it, but always kept himself and his men on guard.

The medical clinic came into view, conveniently down the road from Josh’s home. Josh’s tendency to abandon dinner or run out in the middle of the night sometimes caused bickering in his household, but nothing serious. Emily knew what Josh was like.

So did Danse—Josh was as stubborn as Vivian and Quinn combined, something Quinn seemed almost proud of, despite it causing numerous arguments throughout Josh’s childhood. When both Josh and Charlie had dug their heels in together, it was like a bomb being dropped on the house. Although Danse missed the boys when they eventually moved out, he did love the peace and quiet that came with their absence.

Finally, Danse reached his destination. He paused, listening to the muted voices inside, and then knocked on the front door. The voices stopped at once, and footsteps drew near. The door flew open, and a bear of a man stood in the doorway, with long auburn hair tied back in a ponytail, and kind, crinkled eyes.

“Danse!” Josh exclaimed, dragging Danse into a tight hug. Danse hugged him back, smiling to himself. Josh had never called Quinn and Danse ‘Mom and Dad,’ and they had never pushed him.

Danse grinned up at his son as they broke apart, and turned to see Emily standing next to her husband. She smiled at Danse and kissed his cheek, before beckoning him into the house.

It was clean and tidy, as always. Emily’s work—any surface Josh went near inevitably ended up an explosion of doctor’s tools and patient notes, much to Quinn’s horror. Quinn herself was sitting in the antique armchair near the back wall, directly under the display plaque that held Vivian’s old rifle. Seeing the rifle always gave Danse a twinge of comfort and regret.

Brotherhood through and through.

Quinn got to her feet as he approached and kissed him, resting her hand on the back of his neck. “How was your day? And how did Duncan do?”

“Fine,” Danse replied, dropping himself down onto the sofa in the centre of the room. “On both counts. He starts tomorrow.”

“Like there was gonna be any other outcome.” Charlie walked into the room carrying an armful of Nuka-Colas and wearing a smirk. He moved the bottles around and held one out to Danse. “Here, Dad. Glad to see Mom’s not working you too hard.”

Quinn settled down next to Danse with a roll of her eyes as he took the bottle, and accepted a drink of her own from Charlie. “Always the smartass.”

“Of course,” chipped in Josh before Charlie could answer. “Look who raised us—ow!” Josh was interrupted as Emily whacked him across the arm.

“Don’t speak to your mom like that!” she said, the corners of her mouth twitching as she gave him a forced glare.

“Thanks, Em,” Quinn said, not bothering to hide her smirk.

“No problem.” Emily turned back to Josh and pointed to the kitchen. “Go get dinner, Darling.”

“Alright, alright,” he muttered, pretending to be annoyed, before kissing her on the nose and smiling. He left the room as everyone made their way over to the table.

Emily was a fantastic cook—better than Quinn, though Danse would never tell her. Not that she’d disagree, but some things were better left unsaid. Danse ate his stew while everyone else chatted away. He didn’t really talk at meals, preferring to listen to the conversations of the others and join in only when he had something to say. It was a quirk his family accepted, and when they were at the dinner table, it was rare for someone to speak to Danse first.

Quinn and Emily discussed recipes, while Josh and Charlie went over the plans for the clinic. Thanks to Sturges’ tutelage, Charlie was a fine handyman in his own right, and often filled in for Sturges when he was busy. It meant Josh could get almost any addition he wanted for his building, turning the clinic into a place capable of housing a good chunk of the city all at once. With Quinn’s blessing, Josh employed more staff to help him run it, and eventually hired Emily.

Danse glanced at Emily and smiled. Young love. He remembered being that age, and finding the right person. His eyes trailed over to Quinn and he watched her for a little while. Age hadn’t dampened her fire, and she still looked as beautiful as ever. Aside from the wrinkles, the only real difference was the streaks of grey in her hair. Maybe she had changed more than that, but Danse knew he’d never see her any differently.

When everyone finished, Charlie and Josh cleared the plates away, Josh flapping down Emily’s help and insisting she stay seated. Danse raised an eyebrow at this. Normally Emily bit Josh’s head off at being told to sit down and be waited on, but instead, Emily sat. He caught Quinn’s eye, and she mirrored his surprised expression.

Josh came back into the room and handed out drinks to everyone. But instead of sitting down, Josh rocked back and forth on his heels, playing with the label of his bottle. Emily nudged him with her elbow, and he said, “Uh, I have an announcement to make.”

He stood there for a few seconds, getting redder with every passing moment, until Emily rolled her eyes and said, “I’m—”

“Emily’s pregnant!” Josh blurted out.

Stunned silence. Then Quinn jumped to her feet and shrieked, “Oh congratulations!” She hugged Emily and peppered Josh with kisses, while Charlie leaned over the table and shook his hand. Danse did the same as Charlie walked over to Emily and kissed her on the cheek.

Josh still looked nervous, though. He coughed awkwardly and said, “I know I’ve never called you my parents, but…”

The room went quiet again. Charlie glanced from Josh to Quinn and Danse uncertainly, and Emily took hold of Josh’s hand and gave it a squeeze. Josh nodded, took a deep breath and said, “Well...you’re the closest thing I have to parents. And I’d love for you to be my baby’s grandparents, if...if you don’t mind.”

Danse blinked. “Josh,” he said incredulously, “you don’t even have to ask. It would be an honour.”

“‘If you don’t mind,’” Quinn said with a snort, and hugged Josh tight. Danse saw Josh give Emily a look of relief over Quinn’s shoulder. Emily smiled back.

“Does this mean I get to be the cool uncle?” Charlie piped up, grinning.

“Only if you promise not to teach my kid how to make a gun from scratch,” Josh retorted, shaking his head.

“Well that’s boring.”

“I still remember what happened the first time you made a rifle.”

“I kept all my fingers, didn’t I?”

“Any names?” Danse asked loudly.

“Yes,” Emily said quickly, shooting Danse a grateful look. “Cade if they’re a boy, Yara if they’re a girl.”

“Not gonna name them after your mom or dad?” Charlie asked. Everyone looked from Josh to him, and both men went red. Charlie quickly said, “Sorry, I didn't think—you don't have to answer that.”

“It’s alright,” Josh said with a shrug, not looking at Quinn or Danse. “I just...it didn’t feel right.”

“I’m guessing ‘Cade’ after the Knight-Captain?” Danse said, trying to move the subject on. Josh had always been conflicted when it came to his parents and Quinn and Danse.

“Yeah.” Josh stared at his feet. “You know why.”

Danse did know why. He’d always thought that Josh would follow in Vivian’s footsteps, become a soldier or a security guard. Instead, as he hit his teenage years, he began studying medicine instead. One day, Danse asked why.

“I remember what Cade did for my dad. And my mom. I'll never forget that.”

Danse never forgot it either. He shook son’s hand again, gripping a little tighter this time “You’ll be a fantastic father. You’ll make your parents proud.”

“Thanks,” Josh said with a small smile, finally meeting his eye again.

“But more importantly,” Quinn said, eyeing Charlie shrewdly, “when are you bringing home a nice girl for me to meet?”

Charlie went from red to beetroot. “Mom, I’ve been busy. Sanctuary isn’t going to build itself.”

“Sturges can pick up some of the slack.”

“I have different projects than Sturges. Haven’t worked with him for years.” Charlie rolled his eyes. “You know that.”

“Don’t you raise your eyebrows to heaven at me!”

Josh snickered. “Busted.”

Charlie punched him playfully in the arm. Danse smiled at his sons. Josh was a talented doctor, but none of Quinn’s ambitious plans for the city would have been possible without Charlie. Despite being grounded repeatedly as a child, mini-structures kept appearing in the living room, or Danse’s guns suddenly had new, mysterious ‘modifications.’ Finally, when Charlie tried to upgrade Danse’s X-01 helmet and broke it, Quinn shouted herself hoarse at her son, and then asked Sturges to train him and find a new outlet for his uncontrollable tinkering. The result was Sanctuary’s progress jumping ahead of schedule.

Now Charlie ran his own workshop, and spent most of his time designing new buildings and finding new ways to make every resource count. Sturges still did a majority of the repairs, but the two of them shared ideas, problems, and staff regularly, combining their strengths to keep the city going.

The laughter and talk continued, Josh bringing out a bottle of whisky to celebrate the occasion. Only he and Charlie drank, Emily looking on wistfully with a hand on her stomach while Quinn and Danse politely declined. Quinn drank one shot of Bowmore a year from her now dwindling bottle, around the date she first came into the Commonwealth. Other than that, both she and Danse stayed away from drink.

Finally, Charlie staggered out for some fresh air, and when he didn’t come back, Danse offered to check on him.

The night was balmy, the day’s heat still clinging to the air. The road was lit by the streetlights, but still dark enough that Danse had to squint. He spotted a figure sitting hunched over in the doorway to the school, and went over to investigate. It was Charlie, sitting with his head in his knees.

Had he passed out? As a family, they didn’t drink much—alcohol had been banned in their house until the boys reached twenty-one. Danse crouched down and gave Charlie’s shoulder a little shake, and he immediately looked up, his eyes unfocused.

Danse grinned. “Had enough?”

Charlie blinked up at Danse, and then stared at his hands in his lap. Danse felt the grin slip off his face. Something was wrong.

Ignoring the clicking of his joints and the pain in his back, Danse sat himself down next to Charlie. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing.” Charlie swayed slightly where he sat, and then said in a slurred voice, “No, not nothing. Everything’s fucked up.”

It was rare for Charlie to swear, but Danse didn’t comment on it. Instead, he waited for Charlie to speak again.

Charlie glanced at his father, and then back to his hands. “I guess...I’m just wondering what I’m doing with my life. I’m nearly thirty, and I have nothing to show for it.”

Danse raised his eyebrows. “Nothing to show for it?” He gestured to the pre-war street lights Charlie had personally set up only two years ago, to the school he and Sturges constructed together. “What do you call all of this?”

Charlie shrugged. “That’s just work.”

“Important work.”

Charlie shrugged again in response.

Danse shifted in his seat and frowned. This wasn’t right. Charlie had always been happy and invested in his job, and took Quinn’s teasing about being single in his stride. Danse opened and closed his mouth, trying to find the words. “I don’t...you always—”

“Josh has a wife and a kid on the way. I have no one.”

Ah.

“I know I can’t have kids. I’ve accepted that. But still…” Charlie bowed his head, shutting his eyes.

Danse glanced over to the house. With any luck, the others would stay inside. He turned back to his son and clamped his hand on Charlie’s shoulder. “You can’t rush these things. Some people find the right person early on. Others, it takes years. A relationship isn’t the be-all and end-all, and it won’t always bring you happiness.”

Charlie didn’t reply.

God damn it. Quinn is better at this than me, Danse thought. He tried again. “When I found your mother, I thought I was well into my thirties. She thinks she was at least twenty-nine. Just because Josh managed to convince his poor, unfortunate wife to marry him doesn’t mean you’re falling behind.”

This earned a laugh from Charlie, so Danse pressed on.

“And we were friends first. We both went through hell and back before we finally realised we were right for each other. I’d convinced myself that I didn’t deserve her, and she didn’t want to rush me.” Danse gave Charlie’s shoulder a squeeze. “You might have already met the right person, and you just don’t know it yet. Give it time. When you find them, you won’t care how long it took.” He paused. “As for children...I think we’re proof synths can raise a family just fine.”

Charlie looked up sharply, staring at Danse. Danse smiled at him. After a few seconds, Charlie’s gave a lopsided grin back. “Thanks, Dad.”

Danse nodded. “No problem.” Slowly, he got to his feet, wincing as his limbs clicked and ached again. He held his hand out to Charlie and pulled him to his feet.

Charlie staggered, nearly knocking them both over, and leaned on the school wall. “I think I should go lie down.”

“I think you should,” Danse replied, biting back a laugh. “Stay here. I’ll just tell your mother I’m taking you home.”

“I can walk—”

“Stay here.”

Charlie grumbled, but nodded, so Danse quickly ran across the road and stuck his head through Josh’s front door. Josh was snoring on the sofa, while Emily and Quinn were now talking about babies and pregnancy. Emily seemed nervous about the thought of mood swings and cravings. Danse quickly let them know where he was going, and returned to Charlie.

The journey was difficult, not helped by Charlie’s inability to walk straight, and also being half a head taller than Danse. Eventually, though, Danse managed to deposit Charlie through his front door. Charlie mumbled a thanks, and fell face first on his bed. Seconds later, he was asleep.

By the time Danse left the house, Quinn was waiting for him outside. He considered telling her about Charlie’s worries, but then decided against it. The conversation felt private, something Charlie might even be ashamed of. He could confide in his mother later, if he wanted to. Instead, Danse took Quinn’s hand, and they walked through the silent, deserted streets of Sanctuary all the way home.

When they reached it, they both stopped dead, staring at the front yard. Outside the house was a huge mound of dirt, the back end of a brahmin corpse sticking out of it.

“Oh for the love of…” Danse glared at Quinn. “That’s the third time this week! I’m not cleaning this up!”

He knew damn well he would be the one cleaning this up.

Quinn frowned and investigated the dirt pile, before shaking her head. “I think I need to do some more training with Spuds.”

“You think?”

Quinn kissed him on the cheek. “We can worry about it tomorrow.”

Danse eyed the half-buried brahmin corpse with apprehension, wondering how long it would take for it to smell, and then followed Quinn inside.

“I can’t believe Josh and Emily are going to have a baby! I’m so happy for them,” Quinn said when they reached their bedroom. “And I’m going to be a grandmother. Good god.”

Danse nodded, but the night’s good news was driven from his head as she turned her back on him and removed her pants. His eyes trailed to her lips, her neck, where she loved to be kissed. The curves of her waist and hips, only half hidden by her loose shirt.

She began to talk about work and her plans for the settlement, but Danse was barely listening. He was supposed to be preparing for his own work tomorrow, too. He still had to arrange things for Duncan, sort out the change in the shift pattern, let Mordecai know about...

Danse walked over to Quinn as she continued to talk about her duties, and stood behind her. “Work can wait,” he said, and started slowly kissing her neck. Quinn stopped talking at once, tilting her head to the side as he nipped gently at her skin, his hands sliding up the front of her shirt. She leaned back against him and ran her hand along his thigh, but not venturing any further.

“Tease,” Danse murmured, lifting her shirt up and pulling it carefully over her head. Quinn shivered, and then whipped around, pushing him back. He cried out in surprise, his legs hitting the edge of the bed so that he toppled backwards onto it. Before he could ready himself, Quinn was upon him, straddling him and unbuttoning his shirt, pulling impatiently at his belt buckle until he moved her hands aside and tried to do it himself. This proved difficult, as she began massaging his crotch. She laughed when he gave up, leaning his head back, and closing his eyes.

Quinn undid the damn belt, but then took her time undressing Danse, pushing him back down when he tried to sit up and help. The look in her eyes said ‘wait,’ so he obeyed, trying to control his cravings.

She took him into her hands, moving up and down, her tongue trailing after her fingers. All Danse could do was hold onto her hair, wanting to give something in return, but not wanting her to stop. Eventually, though, she did stop, and Danse took the opportunity to drag her onto the bed, pulling off her underwear and slipping his hand between her legs.

Work could wait, Danse thought idly as Quinn’s breath grew heavy in his ear. For one night, it could all wait.

--

Danse stirred from his sleep. He blinked a few times, staring up into the darkness, and then reached out to Quinn. His hand fell into an empty space, the bed sheets still faintly warm. Danse frowned and propped himself up, squinting. No sign of her. He glanced down to the floor and saw her clothes and shoes were gone. Danse hesitated, wondering if he should just go back to sleep. She’d return. But something didn’t feel right, so he slipped out of bed, got dressed, and headed downstairs. As he suspected, she wasn’t there, and the front door wasn’t locked. There were a few places she might visit without telling him, but only one at this time of night. Biting his lip, Danse picked up his keys, locking the front door as he left, and striding off towards the graveyard.

Since the restructuring of Sanctuary, the pre-war buildings been demolished, including Quinn’s old house. The city’s graveyard stood on the foundations of her destroyed home. Quinn never really said anything about it and avoided the area, except when she went to visit Nate.

The air felt heavy in the graveyard, betraying Danse’s every move. He walked slowly and carefully, weaving in and out of the graves of all those who fell in the battle against Sanctuary. It was pitch black, and the ground was pitted and uneven—one bad step and he could break his ankle. No one would likely find him until morning. With this sombering thought in his mind, he took extra care, heading to the back of the graveyard, where Nate lay.

And Marguerie.

Danse hesitated and shivered. He hadn’t thought about her in over a decade. Old feelings erupted up in his chest, the shame of his failure gripping at his heart. He’d searched for Sarah for months. Years. Went as far as the Glowing Sea and the edges of the Commonwealth, before Quinn finally put her foot down.

“Arlen Glass is no combatant,” she’d said, “and Sarah is a child. If they’ve gone that far, they’re already dead.”

As much as he hated it, Danse agreed with Quinn. And so he’d stopped.

Failure.

He’d promised Marguerie and let her down. Danse visited her grave when he gave up and tried to explain, but it sounded like nothing but weak excuses to his ears. Quinn insisted if Rachel was alive, she’d understand he tried his best. Danse thought if Marguerie was alive, she’d tried to kill him. He kept her holotags and journal, though. Just in case.

Danse shook his head and moved on. Now was not the time to be lamenting over the past. He had to find Quinn. He stumbled and groped his way through the darkness, until he heard the sound of lapping water. He was close. “Quinn?”

“Danse?” she sounded surprised, and he followed her voice until her hand was in his.

“Everything okay?” he asked, squeezing her fingers. Now he was close to her, he could just make out her face.

“Yeah, I just…” She bit her lip and looked down at Nate’s grave. “I had a nightmare about Nate and Shaun, and I just...Shaun never had children. Nate never became a grandfather. And I…” Her voice cracked. “I wanted to visit him. It’s been a while.”

Danse glanced at the grave and back to her. “Do you need to be alone?”

“No.” She slipped her arm around his waist and leaned into him, still looking at the grave. “Stay. Please.”

He stayed.

They stood in silence for some time, Quinn sniffing a little in the dark. Then she squeezed his hand and they carefully picked their way back to the graveyard entrance together. She turned and hugged him, resting her head against his chest. He held her tight, the shaking of her shoulders telling him he should wait. When she pulled away, the street lamps showed the wet streaks on her cheeks. Danse wiped them away with his thumb and kissed her forehead. “Let’s go home. I’ll make you a drink and we—”

In the distance, an alarm sounded.

Quinn and Danse looked at each other. Then, without another word, both of them sprinted to the guard tower. Danse forged ahead, leaving her behind, and raced up the stairs to where MacCready was sat, rifle in hand, Mordecai next to him and peering at a nearby terminal.

“Brotherhood,” Mordecai said before Danse could speak. “They signalled ahead to let us know they were in the area. They’re asking for permission to approach.”

“Permission?” Danse asked, feeling sick to his stomach. Had they been discovered after all these years? The Brotherhood could wipe them off the map without lifting a finger, without batting an eyelid. “It’s odd they’d give away their location to ask us for permission.”

“Permission?” Quinn said as she burst into the room. “Who’s asking for permission?”

“Brotherhood,” said MacCready darkly, returning to peering through his rifle.

Quinn’s face drained of colour. “Brotherhood?”

“They haven’t attacked,” Danse said, trying to sound more confident than he felt. “They’re asking to approach. They wouldn’t do that if they wanted to kill us.”

“Well maybe their tactics have changed, Danse!” Quinn snapped, her voice edging towards hysterical. “It’s been nearly two decades since you were with them!”

Danse agreed with her, but he needed to keep his cool. He turned to Mordecai. “How many?”

“Just the one vertibird that we can see,” Mordecai replied.

“Give them permission to land. Let’s see why the Brotherhood wants to visit our city.” Danse picked up a rifle from the gun cupboard, a visored helmet, and made for the door leading to the city entrance. A few seconds later, Quinn was at his side, a pistol and holster in her hands.

Danse glanced at her as he wedged the helmet on, the darkened visor making it difficult to see in the low light.

“I’m their sentinel, remember?” she said, answering his unspoken worries. Quinn put on the holster and slipped the gun into it. “Who better to talk them down than me?”

She was right of course, but that didn’t soothe Danse’s nerves. Once she’d set her mind to something, though, there was no point dissuading her. He lifted the visor up, leaned forward, and kissed her. “Be careful.”

Quinn smiled. “If they try to force their way into our city, we’re going to throw them out on their fucking asses.”

--

The distant buzz of the vertibird grew louder with every passing second. Quinn stood at the gates of Sanctuary, Danse next to her, her nerves cutting into him like broken glass. She remembered the day the Prydwen left the Commonwealth, and how she’d stood hand in hand with Danse on a bridge into the Boston ruins, watching it go. He’d said very little at the time, and even less afterwards, but Quinn knew what he’d been thinking. His first real home was flying away without him. He had been abandoned. The recovery after that blow had taken some time, even though Danse expected it.

Now the Brotherhood were back, and once again the old pains were returning to Danse’s handsome, weathered face. Quinn stared out into the darkness, hating the Brotherhood. Hating that they could drag up the past with just their mere presence. Danse had worked so hard over the years to get to where he was now, and they could undo it all in just a second. He didn’t deserve this shit.

Finally, the vertibird came into view, dazzling lights scanning the horizon, before settling in a neat spot some way from Sanctuary. Quinn felt herself tense. A figure in power armour got out, landed with a heavy ‘thud,’ and began to walk over, their hands raised in the air. Quinn and Danse glanced at each other. They’d never seen a Brotherhood soldier with their arms held up in surrender before.

As the soldier approached, Quinn recognised the paint work as a paladin’s, which made their behaviour even more peculiar. They slowly put their hands to their head, making sure Quinn and Danse knew exactly what they were doing, and carefully took their helmet off. Underneath was a dark skinned man with a scarred face and a big, bushy beard.

“Sir,” the man said, nodding to Danse. He looked at Quinn with a serious expression. “Ma’am.”

Quinn’s mouth dropped open. “Carson?”

Carson broke into a wide smile and began laughing. “Thank fuck you’re quick on the uptake. I couldn’t keep a straight face for much long—” He broke off as Quinn shoved her pistol into her holster and ran to him, jumping into a hug. He flinched, and then very gently hugged her back, compensating for his armour. “Hi,” he mumbled into her ear.

They broke apart and beamed at each other.

“You look like shit,” she said, tugging at his beard. “Forget how to shave or something?”

Carson rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Tom says the same. I think it makes me look manly. Besides—” he carefully flicked at her hair, “—at least I’m not going grey.”

“Tom?” Quinn said, ignoring his jibe. “You’re still with Kapraski?”

“You sound surprised, ma’am!” came a voice from the vertibird. A tall, stocky man stuck his bald head out from the cockpit and waved enthusiastically.

Quinn waved back, feeling like she was in some sort of dream, but then frowned at Carson. “You brought Kapraski with you? But what about Danse?”

Carson shrugged. “Tom’s known about Paladin Danse the whole time. I told him what happened a few days after you left the Brotherhood.”

“You told him?” Quinn hissed, suddenly angry. “What if it had gone wrong? What if you and Kapraski fell out? What if—?”

“You told Elder Maxson about Rachel,” Carson said coolly. “You told him I knew about Paladin Danse. That could have gotten me and Kapraski killed, or worse. I decided if you could trust Elder Maxson, I wasn’t going to lie to Tom about Rachel. I won’t lie to him. Not even for you, Quinn.”

Quinn stared up at her old friend. Time had given him a backbone. He would never have been so decisive when they’d been on the Prydwen together. She smiled. “It seems being an officer suits you.”

Carson grinned back at her, and the tension passed. “Yeah, I think so too. Damn near shit myself when Maxson brought me into his confidence, but I reckon he only did that so he could keep an eye on me and make sure I wasn’t going to spill his dirty secret on Paladin Danse. Except we both realised I was actually competent when left to my own devices, instead of under someone else’s command. He made me a paladin shortly before he left the Citadel.”

“He left the Citadel?” Danse said, his tone full of shock.

Carson glanced over at Danse and nodded. “Yes, sir. Disappeared for a good while, too. Asked me to help keep things in order during his absence, because he said he would return. He just wanted to make sure power struggles were kept to a minimum, and no radical redirecting of the Brotherhood’s agenda.” Carson pulled a face. “Good thing he thinks ahead. Second he left, all sorts of opportunists came crawling out of the woodworks.” He paused, tilting his head. “Not Kells, though, oddly enough. He didn’t care who was in power, just so long as he could keep flying the Prydwen.”

Carson looked back at Danse—who was still wearing his helmet—and said, “There’s no one else in the area, sir, I promise. You’re safe. We made a solo trip.”

“You would need to refuel,” Danse said, taking off his helmet anyway and scowling suspiciously at Carson.

Carson shook his head. “Doctor Li’s been doing wonders with alternative fuelling methods for the vertibirds and the Prydwen, with the help of the integrated scientists you made Maxson rescue from the Institute. Some nuclear shit I don’t understand, no matter how many times Li explains it to me.”

Quinn blinked, trying to take it all in. Carson was a paladin. Li was still with the Brotherhood, and more importantly, so were the Institute scientists. Kapraski was flying again. Maxson left the Prydwen. Did he really take her advice on board all those years ago?

“I think we need a proper catch-up,” Quinn said, motioning for her guards to stand down. “Come on. We’ll go to my office.”

They waited for Kapraski to wriggle his way out of the vertibird and stump over to them. Quinn saw he had a mechanised prosthetic leg, and once again marvel swept over her as he walked freely to them. His pace was a little unsteady, the weight of his new leg obviously making things unbalanced, but he reached them just fine and grinned.

“Would you mind if some of your men just keep an eye on my ‘bird, please, ma’am?” He looked over his shoulder at the vertibird the same way a father would look at his newborn child. “Don’t want anything happening to her. She’s valuable equipment and our only way home.”

“Sure. Danse, would you…?”

Danse nodded and signalled up for two of the guards to come down to the gates. Carson rolled his eyes. “Everyone used to ask if we were ever gonna adopt one of the squires that lost their parents, but the way I see it, we already have a child in the family.” He looked from the vertibird to Kapraski, and the two of them chuckled.

Quinn smiled, remembering how nervous Carson used to be around Kapraski.

Once the vertibird was secured, the four of them made their way to the mayoral office, Danse keeping unusually close to Quinn and glaring at the two soldiers whenever he thought she couldn’t see him. As they went inside the building, she put her hand on his arm and gave it a small squeeze.

“Relax,” she whispered.

“I’ll relax when they’re gone,” Danse muttered back. If Carson and Kapraski heard him, they didn’t comment, following Quinn and Danse in silence upstairs. Carson got out of his power armour, and they all settled into chairs in her office, while Quinn handed out drinks.

“So what happened with everyone?” she asked as she sat down opposite Carson. “How is Casey?”

“Head of the scribes. Proctor Shingler now,” Carson said, leaning back in his chair. He raised his eyebrow at Quinn’s shocked expression. “What, you never suspected she was a high flyer?”

“Well no, I knew she was smart but…” Quinn shrugged. “The last time I saw her she was barely alive. Even when she woke up I wasn’t sure if she’d ever be the same again.”

“She’s kicking ass at her job. Quinlan was right to pick her as his protégée.”

“Is Quinlan still helping her adjust?”

“No. He died about—” Carson paused, his brow furrowing. “—seven years ago. Suspected heart attack.”

“Oh.” Quinn blinked. She hadn’t particularly liked or disliked Quinlan, but the news wasn’t welcomed all the same. “I’m sorry to hear it. What about the other proctors? Are they okay?”

“Let’s see…” Carson began counting them off on his fingers, one by one. “Ingram’s the same, scary as ever. Working closely with Doctor Li, even after Liberty Prime went bust and no one could fix it again. Kells is still running day to day stuff on the ship, but he’s under Maxson’s thumb now rather than the other way around, and Teagan…” Carson trailed off, biting his lip. “Teagan started drinking when we got back to the Citadel. Died a few years later. He was one of Cade’s last patients.”

The news of Teagan stung a bit more than Quinlan’s, but the mention of Cade took priority. Quinn had been fond of the Knight-Captain. “Cade’s last…?”

“Oh, he’s not hurt!” Carson said quickly, flapping his hands, his eyes wide. “I think after Teagan went, Cade just had enough. Stepped down from his position and began training Field-Scribe Haylen to take his place. She pretty much runs the sick bay now, but Cade advises her from time to time, when she needs him.”

Danse sat up straighter in his seat at the mention of Haylen. “How is she doing? Is she well?”

Carson smiled and nodded. “Yeah, she’s doing fine. You couldn’t ask for a kinder doctor. Knight-Captain Cade seems fond of her—very protective, like she’s his daughter or something. He was with her when she got married ten years ago.”

“Married to who?”

“Knight-Sergeant Karl Hewer. We all still call her Haylen, though.”

The name felt familiar to Quinn, though she couldn’t place why. She looked at Danse, who seemed surprised at this revelation. She saw his lips silently form the word ‘Rhys?’ before he gave a little shrug and sat back in his chair again.

“But things have been really moving forward in terms of technology,” Carson said, swigging from his bottle and grinning lazily. “We’re managing to keep all the dangerous tech under wraps, and the tech that can help improve people’s lives—including our own—is being constantly developed. The Institute scientists have been a great help.”

“How on earth did you manage to keep them?” Quinn asked, still not able to wrap her head around this. “And Li, too? She made it clear the Brotherhood pissed her off.”

Carson simply said, “Maxson.” There was a moment of silence, and Carson went on. “He put his foot down and made sure they stayed. Didn’t make them or anything, but basically persuaded them it was safer working with the Brotherhood than roaming alone in the wasteland. Most of them had never survived in the open before, so they were just grateful for a place to live. Doctor Li and Doctor Virgil took them into their care, closely monitored, and began working on approved projects.”

“Bet the others didn’t like that.”

“Oh god no. They had to have trusted guards assigned to them for their own protection in the end. But over time, things changed. Maxson is a force to be reckoned with, and when the scientists began working wonders for the Citadel and the Capital Wasteland, the mood changed pretty quickly.”

“But you said Maxson disappeared,” Danse interjected, looking interested again. “That he left. What happened to the scientists then?”

“They became my responsibility,” Carson replied. “I made sure they stayed safe, just like I was asked. And to be honest, people were more concerned with Maxson’s absence and the power vacuum left behind than a small group of eggheads. He didn’t tell anyone beforehand. Just sent out some scheduled messages saying he was going to do some private work somewhere, and gave a list of people to run the show while he was gone. I was on that list, along with a few others. But people fought amongst themselves, of course.” Carson grinned. “Lucky for you, really. Everyone was so focused on finding a leader, they disregarded the reports of a potential synth settlement in the Commonwealth.”

Quinn went cold. The Brotherhood knew about Sanctuary?

“Are we at risk of an attack?” Danse said sharply.

Carson shook his head. “If you were, an attack would have happened years ago. But when Maxson came back, he was...different.”

“Different?” Danse leaned forward and frowned.

“I can’t explain it, sir. Just...different. He looked lighter. Like some weight had been pulled off his shoulders. And the first thing he did was drag us all away from hunting down synths and treating civilised ghouls like shit. So, naturally, a mini civil war broke out amongst the ranks. All the hardcore Brotherhood traditionalists claiming Maxson was leading us down a dark path.”

“Like when Owyn Lyons decided to help the common wastelanders?” Danse asked, raising his eyebrows.

Carson nodded. “Yeah, like that. Except Maxson has the power of persuasion that Owyn didn’t. Used the Maxson name and influence to his benefit, and pointed out the codex doesn’t say we have to distance ourselves from ghouls and synths. He said he destroyed the Institute, and that the synths were free of being controlled. They could live their lives like normal humans. Without orders, they were no longer technology being used for experiments and weaponry, just people trying to get by.”

“Did that work?”

“It shut a few of the traditionalists up, but more importantly, the neutral majority were convinced, and they kept the more radical people in line. Maxson was careful after that. He went over plans with me, and across the years we’ve been slowly changing things to match Owyn Lyons’ way of thinking—helping out wastelanders and building good relationships with them, y’know? People grumbled, but Elder Maxson convinced them mutual aid were worth the hassle. We protect them, they supply us with food and other things we can’t get ourselves.”

“It didn’t work when Elder Lyons tried,” Danse said, frowning. “Why would now be any different?”

“The change was so gradual, no one really noticed at first,” Carson replied with a shrug. “And when they did, most didn’t care because they were used to it. The ones who protested, Elder Maxson accused of being no better than raiders, stealing from the helpless. He said the Brotherhood were above that: an organisation with a noble cause. But if they wanted to be common raiders, they were welcome to leave.”

Quinn snorted. Carson grinned at her. “Yeah, it’s a load of shit, but sometimes using the right rhetoric works wonders. Our chapter didn’t splinter like Owyn’s, and even the naysayers eventually came around. The only real concern we have left now are the elders in the west.”

“They’ve always been a concern,” Danse said, looking annoyed. “Interfering where they weren’t wanted or needed, causing more turmoil than any other threat in the wasteland.”

Carson nodded. “They’re still an issue, but for the moment aren’t actively working against us. They’re unwilling to openly stand against the last descendent of Maxson, so Elder Maxson is pressing hard on that point to keep things in his favour.”

The news was troubling, but in all honesty, it wasn’t Quinn’s problem. Maxson wasn’t a young man anymore, and the strife within the Brotherhood was his responsibility. The very concept felt liberating.

“And speaking of Maxson,” Carson said, standing up and walking over to his power armour. “He wanted me to give you this, sir.” Carson removed a package and an envelope from the armour, strode towards Danse, and held the package out to him. Danse took it warily, never taking his eyes off Carson. He opened it with great care, and then drew in a sharp breath.

Quinn straightened up and saw a red book and a set of tarnished holotags in Danse’s lap. He picked up the tags, grief rippling through his expression as he held them up to the light. Then his fingers closed around them, and he clutched them tight to his chest, bowing his head. An old memory surfaced in Quinn’s mind like a shipwreck dragged from the depths of a murky lake.

“He kept it?”

Elder Maxson ran his fingers over the deep red book, embossed with peeling silver letters. He picked it up and tucked it carefully under his arm, his expression pained for a second, before a forced blankness took over. Then he took hold of the holotags, glaring at Quinn as she begged to keep them.

“Tags go to the next of kin. These should never have been kept.”

Quinn snapped back to the present as Danse opened the book, the silver embossed letters catching in the low light just long enough for Quinn to read ‘The Tales of King Arthur.’

Danse scanned the page, eyebrows knotted together in concentration as his free hand slowly slid down the open page. Then the his face lit up with something Quinn couldn’t place, and he gave a low laugh before looking up at Carson. For the first time that night, Danse smiled at the Brotherhood soldiers. He closed the book and said, “Tell Elder Maxson thank you, and…” he hesitated, that strange look crossing his features again. “Tell him I have reconsidered. He will know what I mean.”

Carson appeared as confused as Quinn felt, but he nodded and agreed to pass on the message. Then he turned to Quinn. “The Elder has something for you as well.” He held out the envelope to her.

She took it, her confusion mounting, and opened the envelope. Inside were detailed blueprints, far beyond her understanding. She wouldn’t have been able to deduce them at all, if it wasn’t for the fact ‘WATER PURIFIER’ was written across the top in big, bold letters. Quinn blinked, holding them aloft, and looked back to Carson. “I don’t understand. We have plenty of industrial purifiers.”

Carson rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I thought you might say that. This is the mother of all purifiers, decades worth of research from Doctor Li, built upon the back of the original purifier in D.C. This baby is efficient, powerful, and most of all, has low fuel consumption for its size. Elder Maxson thought it might help your thriving community stay self sufficient, and benefit the rest of the Commonwealth in the process.”

Quinn stared at Carson, and then at the blueprints. Her chest felt tight, but it wasn’t with fear or anxiety. She remembered Maxson as he was, an angry, sheltered young man with too much grief and burden on his back, oblivious to his own ignorance. She glanced up at Carson and said, “How long has Elder Maxson known about Sanctuary and the people who live here?”

Carson smiled. “Years.”

Quinn and Danse looked at each other, and an unspoken understanding passed between them. Quinn put the blueprints back in their envelope.

Sanctuary was safe.

--

Paladin Carson and Knight-Lancer Kapraski left not long afterwards. Quinn argued with them, trying to get them to stay longer, but they both insisted they needed to return back to base. Eventually, she relented, hugging them both and telling them to stay in contact. That they were welcome any time.

Danse agreed. He even shook their hands.

Danse stood with Quinn and watched the vertibird leave, their fingers entwined, like the day the Prydwen departed the Commonwealth. Back then, it felt as if a knife had been run through his chest. Now, the wound had finally healed.

When the light of the vertibird disappeared into the darkness, they walked back through the streets of Sanctuary, ignoring the curious faces silhouetted in the windows. The lights went out one by one, and soon the city was asleep again.

Danse turned over Cutler’s holotags in his hands. The book was a treasure, but the tags? After twenty years, he had been reunited with Cutler. The gratitude Danse felt was inexplicable. He had Cutler back.

He had Cutler back.

Quinn stayed quiet the whole way home. She understood. He needed this moment for himself.

When they reached their bedroom, however, she looked at him and said, “I don’t get what you said to Carson. About reconsidering. What does that mean?”

Danse grinned, amused. “Maxson added a personal note inside the cover. Here.” He passed the precious book to Quinn. She hesitated, and then accepted it, opening the book and reading the note aloud.

“Twenty years have passed since we last spoke. Two decades to think over mistakes and regrets, and what could have been. Apologies that were never uttered. Wrongs that were never righted.

In that time, I hope your stance over Sir Lancelot and Lady Guinevere has been reconsidered.

May the rest of your days be peaceful.

Arthur.”

Quinn looked up at Danse and frowned. “I don’t get it. Is he apologising to you?”

“As best he can,” Danse said. When Quinn still looked puzzled, he laughed, taking the book from her and shutting it. “An old joke between distant friends. Don’t worry about it.”

Quinn shrugged and began getting ready for bed for the second time that night, while Danse strode over to the shelf opposite him, where Marguerie’s journal lay. He looked at the old, battered book for a moment, her holotags and Zippo lighter neatly placed atop the worn leather. With the greatest care, Danse set ‘The Tales of King Arthur’ down next to the journal, and put Cutler’s tags down onto the red cover.

Some things didn’t work out. And some things did. Danse hoped wherever Sarah was now, she was happy.

Danse changed for bed and settled down with Quinn, his mind buzzing with the night’s events. He heard her say something about how Hancock was arriving first thing in the morning with his newest bodyguard, but Danse couldn’t focus on the words. He mumbled a response, still wrapped up in Maxson’s gesture, and put his arm around Quinn as she snuggled up to him.

Danse gazed at the ceiling, only faintly aware of the orange shafts of light creeping through their room. His thoughts were a tired, blissful haze. The absence of guilt, it seemed, was a hell of a sedative.

A small, snuffling snort drew his attention back to Quinn. He glanced down to see she had fallen asleep, her breath fluttering softly against his chest. Danse smiled to himself.

“May the rest of your days be peaceful.”

Somehow, he suspected they would.

--

A/N: And that, as they say...is that.

As I’ve said often, I only ever intended for this story to be ten chapters long. Then it took on a life of its own, and suddenly here we are, a year and eight months later, finally at the end. Some might say I took too long, but I honestly don’t care. I set out to rewrite the narrative of Fallout 4, and I’m damned please with the result, and surprised I managed to actually stick to it.

Thank you to all my readers, especially those who left comments. Without you, I probably would have stopped early on. It’s hard to stay invested and motivated without any feedback.

Thank you to one particular reviewer, who helped me fine tune my research on PTSD. You were extremely helpful.

Thank you to all the people who helped me with other research, such as Spanish translations, American police stories and habits, and general betaing.

But the biggest thank you goes to my consistent beta, @waiting4morning. This story would not have taken the directions it did or be of any good quality without her.

And let’s say a congratulations to one of my reviewers, ‘Dodo,’ who recently had a cute lil’ baby girl called Yara! ;)

And finally, if you’re sad about the end of BNC, then fear not. I have other fanfics in the works set in the BNC universe. They won’t be centred around Quinn and Danse, as their story is now over. But Quinn and Danse will crop up and be alluded to. Just not as main characters.

One fic is going to be based around Nuka World and Gage. The other will be based around Hancock himself. I will be writing these fics slightly differently to BNC, in that I’m going to write out the entire fic first and then update on a weekly basis. This will prevent inconsistent updates and save me a great deal of stress. I will be posting the first chapter of my next fic so that you can ‘follow’ it for updates, and then I will begin updating it when I finish writing it.

I deliberately left a few loose ends in BNC to allow me to explore certain characters without revealing what happened to them.

So without further ado, I present...

Making One’s Bones

Read on...

#Fallout 4 #Paladin Danse #ss x danse #sole survivor x danse #fallout 4 fanfic #by no constraint #story #writing

[imagineclaireandjamie]

For FMM- Jamie meets this guy named Murray, that comes from a Scottish family and for the story he tells Jamie he could be a descendant of Jenny and Ian.

Flood my Mornings: Hogmanay 

Notes from Mod Bonnie:

This story takes place in an AU in which Jamie travels through the stones two years after Culloden and finds Claire and his child in 1950 Boston.

See all past installments via Bonnie’s Master List

Previous installment:  Flood my (Christmas) Mornings 

December 31, 1950

“Is it ridiculous that I’m feeling nervous as a girl on the first day of school?” I asked, smoothing my coat with one hand and squeezing Bree’s hand with the other as we waited in the tidy hallway outside the MacAlister’s door. 

“You’ve no reason, lass,” Jamie assured me. I knew he wanted to put his arm around my back, but his hands were full of whisky bottles and Bree’s diaper bag. He did manage to lean in and kiss my cheek. “They’ll take to ye just fine.” 

This particular get-together was long overdue. I’d been delighted to learn about Jamie’s serendipitous meeting with the Irish hurling group, and the subsequent connection with the lone Scot, Charlie MacAlister. Though Jamie had gone several times since to join the game or else get a drink one-on-one with Charlie (apparently a chap after Jamie’s own heart in many ways), the several times we had tried to schedule a family dinner since Halloween, the fates had always seen fit to intervene, with holidays, birthdays, morning sickness, et cetera, et cetera. 

Fitting, though, that at long last, we should be spending this thoroughly Scottish holiday with a thoroughly Scottish (well, Gaelic, collectively) family. 

The door opened with a bang and a roar of “A GOOD NEW YEAR TO YE!!”

Even in the first five seconds of our acquaintance, Charlie MacAlister gave me so strong a recollection of a MacKenzie clansman, I felt like I’d been jolted back into Castle Leoch itself. Jocular, irreverent, fiercely protective and loyal to a fault, those men had alternately vexed and delighted and protected and astounded me with their vigor and kindness and overall enthusiasm for living, in all its forms. 

Perhaps that’s why it didn’t perturb me in the slightest that Jamie’s friend’s choice greeting was to lift me clear off my feet in a massive rib-crushing hug; and even though it was the first time I was laying eyes on the man, I couldn’t help but laugh and hug him back , brimming with warmth and affection at once. “Well, hello to you too!”  I felt Jamie relax behind me: I’d given my permission, so he would not come to my rescue. I thought I could actually sense him grinning.  

“I’m so glad to finally meet ye, Claire!” Charlie boomed as he set me back on the ground, taking me in. “From the way Jamie speaks of ye—” His eyes suddenly lit up and he whipped them up to Jamie with a grin. “Why, ye wicked wee dog, Fraser: ye didna say!!” He threw his head back and roared with, “Meal a naidheachd to ye both!” He straightened to give me a wink. “When are ye due, then, lass?” 

“CHARLIE!!!” barked a red-haired woman behind him, his wife, Saoirse. 

“What? It’s—” Charlie spluttered and made vague gestures between himself and my notably curved belly. “I’m only—” 

“You’re only about making a fool of yourself, Charlie Mac. Keep your mouth shut, if you please?” She gave me an apologetic look that was nonetheless warm and kind. “Please be accepting BOTH our apologies for that great gowl over there.” After greeting Jamie, she turned and swatted her husband hard on the shoulder, her eyes blazing as she said between clenched teeth. “Have you no control over that tongue??”

“I do—and ye tend to like my control of it, lass…” and he bent her head back to kiss her thoroughly. She tried to push him away but she couldn’t resist laughing as his hands roamed and she relented and kissed him back. 

God, this. THIS I’d missed—to see another couple who loved our same kind of irreverence and warmth and informality. Husbands and wives in these times—at least in post-war America—tended to err on the side of reserve in public, bordering on primness. Even Tom and Marian, as dear as they both were to to us, weren’t free with public displays of affection toward each other. Jamie and I tended to act precisely the way we wished and damn whoever should judge us for it, but it was unbelievably refreshing to not be the only ones in the room who would not be scandalized by lewd jokes.

On top of that, “Pregnancy” was considered a rather rude word, in American culture at present. Considering the massive increase in childbearing after the war, this seemed an enormously ridiculous cultural hangup (“be fruitful and multiply, but pretend the penises and vaginas don’t exist”). Those in the family way —as I now found myself—were treated with a delicate, pointed kind of embarrassment, as if to say, ‘look what she’s been doing…Heavens, what if she actually enjoyed it??’ 

I was used to the taboo, of course, having experienced it with Bree, and seen it around me, since; but it was an unexpected kind of relief to have it be so singled out with such joy and goodwill by these new friends. In fact, I was grinning like a prize idiot as I assured them both, “It’s quite alright, really.” I felt a rush of joy and pride at finally being able to share our news. I felt Jamie’s hand resting on my back. “You’ve spotted it right: we are expecting!”

Charlie gave a crow of triumph “I thought you’d been a little shifty these last few months about ‘family’ and things happening next year! When will the wean be arriving, then??”

“Late July,” I said, “or it might be the first of August.”

 Charlie stepped forward to clap both of us on the back, at which Saoirse looked absolutely mortified. I made a point of reassuring her when she leaned in to kiss me on the cheek and offer her own comhghairdeas. 

Jamie accepted the hearty congratulations, grinning like a fool himself, “Let’s keep it between us, aye? We havena told Brianna yet.” He nodded at the children, who were already playing on the living room floor. “Perhaps talk in a wee code if it should come up?”

Saoirse nodded agreement. “Wee Nolan has ears like a hare and a mouth like a magpie.” She gave a pointed roll of the eyes. “Wonder who he could possibly be getting it from…?”

It had all the same modern conveniences as our own house, the MacAlister’s little flat, but something about it—the spices, maybe?—or—no, that wasn’t it….Something about it just felt like Scotland. Like home. 

If nothing else, I could see it in Jamie’s posture and manner. As for my own country of birth, I had rarely felt any great attachment to England that went beyond good tea and rolling hills. Home had been wherever I laid my head that night, and between Uncle Lamb, the war, and my experiences in the eighteenth century, I’d certainly spent more of my life amongst strangers than my own proper countrymen. But Jamie was Scotland, through and through, and even this small taste of it—Americanized and quasi-Irish as it might be—was enough to make him glow with an ease that filled my own heart in the seeing. He was happy with our life in Boston, I knew; blissful, even! To have our family together and safe was all he desired; but something about experiencing that deeper home-ness again was a restorative to his soul, and I thanked God for putting Charlie Mac in Jamie’s path. It was pure delight to see the two of them going on in rapid Gaelic, like brothers.

“They’re like two pups together, aren’t they?” Saoirse said fondly, echoing my silent thoughts as she took a seat beside me on the sofa. 

“Indeed they are,” I laughed, looking at them through the dining room doorway. 

Saoirse was as red-haired as Jamie, freckled and cheery-eyed. “Will you be speakin’ the Gaelidgh yourself, Claire?”

“Very little,” I attempted in that language, my accent horrendous but the words correct, I was fairly certain.

“Very well done,” she replied, laughing before switching back to English, her Irish accent broad and unashamed. “That’s about as much as I know of it, myself. My parents weren’t too keen on my marrying a Scot, but I’ve no regrets. Except maybe Charlie’s tendency to put his fool foot in his fool mouth.” 

“It’s rather endearing, actually,” I assured her. 

Despite herself, Saoirse grinned. “Damn me if it wasn’t one of the things that had me head-over-heels for the idiot.” 

We laughed and settled deeper into the comfy couch, covered over with homey afghans. “So, Charlie tells me you and Jamie met in Scotland, originally? Did ye like it, there?”

“I did!” I paused just for a moment. “Well, to tell it true, a lot of sad things happened there…but we had some of our happiest days, as well,” I added, thinking of those days at Lallybroch before the war.  

“Do you think you’ll ever go back?” 

I thought about that for a long while. “To visit, certainly. When Brianna and—” I gestured to the baby, “are old enough to see and hear the stories, I think.”

“You’d never think of moving back permanently? Seems to be a dream of Charlie’s—It’d surprise me if Jamie had no similar desire.” 

We had indeed talked about it, and I knew Jamie’s very conflicted thoughts on the matter. “Part of him wishes for Scotland, yes—but it’s a Scotland that’s long-gone.”

That surprised her. “How so?”

“Jamie had…a lot of hard things happen to him there. He lost his family, and so doesn’t have anyone left.” 

“Not a soul?” 

“No one,“ I said, feeling the ache of it. I rubbed the baby absently. “So, he misses it, the land and its people and ways, but there isn’t anyone left in Scotland to make it home for him.”

“That’s very sad,” Saoirse murmured, sparing a glance toward the men in the dining room.

“It is. But you see, it’s easier to have our life in America: to keep Scotland in his mind the way it was, rather than feel the ache of it, seeing always what’s missing.”

“Aye, I understand….At least he has his lady—and his little ones.”

We shared a smile, and I wanted to ask her more about her own family, but just then the children descended, Bree, four-year-old Nolan, and little Will, just barely walking. No impromptu migration, this: the pack of them squealed in, chased by their fathers at their heels. 

“You lot are no better than the children!” I laughed. 

“Aye, maybe no’,” Jamie agreed, grinning, “But at least we’re old enough to drink, and they’re not.” 

“I AM!” Nolan insisted. “I’m plenty grow’d up!” 

“Oh, aye, to be sure,” Charlie said with a wink.  “I forgot we had a grown wee mannie in our midst.” He went to the kitchen and returned with an armful of ginger ale bottles. “A man needs a stiff drink.” He cracked open a lid and handed the glass bottle to his son, who looked terribly important at acknowledgment of his maturity. 

Bree was NOT intending to be overlooked. She put on her hips and insisted, “I’M mannie, TOO!” daring Charlie to say otherwise.

Nor did he, bless him. He already had a bottle ready for her. “Here ye go, wee mannie.” 

Bree had never had soda pop before, and she recoiled in surprise at first taste of the bubbly treat, looking as thought she’d rather skip this novelty; but, a true Fraser, she would never admit defeat with Nolan so proudly enjoying his, and so she gamely drank, getting violent hiccups almost instantly. 

“A Hogmanay toast?” Saoirse suggested, rising to her feet to pour some whisky. She offered one to me, but I accepted only a ginger ale.  Many people drank alcohol regularly during pregnancy, I knew (as had I, in the past) but somehow now it made me feel ill to think of accidentally intoxicating the poor thing. 

The toasts flew thick and fast. To our families! To the new year! To a better season on the pitch! To the whisky! And even—

“To our Bonnie Prince!” Charlie said, with an eye to Jamie, making a rude gesture toward the ceiling. “May he sleep wi’ spiders in his grave for the feckless wanker he was.”

“AAA-bloody-MEN!” I intoned with feeling.

“Aye,” Jamie said with a rueful nod as he drank, though he crossed himself.

He promptly choked as Bree squeaked out, “Whatssa WANE-gr?”

Before the rest of us could react, Nolan grinned fiendishly and started in with, “It means a–”

“That’s QUITE enough from you, a blalaich,” Saoirse said sharply. “And what would Great-Gran Murray say if she heard ye were knowing such a word??”

I shook with silent laughter along with Charlie, such that I almost didn’t hear Jamie’s quiet question: 

“…Murray?” 

My belly tightened and I whipped my eyes up to look at him. He’d schooled his face into a mask of control—a sure bellwether of the deep emotional turmoil within him. 

Good Lord…. 

“My mother’s mam. They live together in Cambridge,” Charlie said blithely as he poured more whiskey all around. “The MacAlisters were none too pleased about my Da’s choice, but even they had to admit in the end what a fine woman she was. Strong and certain and wi’ a mouth on her that could wither fruit. Not one to charm royalty, she, but a damn formidable sort, Murrays.”

Formidable.  Like Jenny. 

“From, erm, which part of Scotland, is your mother’s family?” I asked casually.

“Roundabout Inverness, mostly.”

My heart quickened with excitement. Not far at all from Broch Morda. I was opening my mouth to ask more questions, to narrow and ascertain, but then I caught Jamie’s eye, his ever-so-slight shake of the head. I closed my mouth.

Later, after supper, while Charlie and Saoirse cleared the table (refusing our many offers of help), Jamie and I took the children into the sitting room again.  

I took Jamie’s hand. “Why not, my love?” I asked gently. 

He knew what I meant, but he didn’t answer right away, nor did he look me in the eye. He pulled me close and pressed a kiss to my cheek. 

“Does it—” I began tentatively, but he was already speaking. 

“Tis enough to me,” he said, simply, “that they might be.” 

And though it at first struck me as utterly ridiculous, not to wish to know for certain, I did come to understand what he meant, as the evening went on. To KNOW was so final.  Jenny and Ian certainly had THOUSANDS of descendants, and even so, the chances that we’d encountered someone from their direct line was highly unlikely, or at the very least, very difficult to prove. To allow himself to believe–that was the gift, here.

And I could see it in his eyes, the soft contemplation of it, the sense of true brotherhood between he and Charlie now even deeper. The tenderness that radiated out from his face as he knelt to speak to little Will about a toy. I could almost see the thoughts rolling through him.

Might some scrap of this lad owe itself to Ian? 

To Jenny? 

To Ellen of Leoch or Black Brian Fraser?

Aye…it might.

“Bree, a leannan, do ye want to come sit wi’ Da?” 

“No,” she said, shrugging back and rubbing her face, “I wan’ Mama.” 

“Fair enough,” he laughed. “I would want your Mama, too.” 

“Come here, baby,” I beckoned, groaning a bit as I gathered her up against my chest. “Oof, there’s my sweet girl.” I savored the feeling, as I always did, of holding Bree in my arms and the baby in my body. The sounds around us were muffled and distant as we settled into a warm heap of love.

The radio was switched on at 10:00, detailing the new year’s celebrations happening around the country. We’d arrived late in the evening, with the little ones having taken naps late in the day to stave off sleepiness, but the late hour was still wearing on them. Hot chocolate and slices of Black Bun cake at 11:00 were enough to rouse them temporarily, but it still took a great deal to get them all conscious for the big moment as we all got to our feet for the final seconds of 1950. 

5…4…3…2…1!!!!

And as it always did, Auld lang syne began to play. It meant absolutely nothing to Jamie, of course. He had predated Robert Burns and his lyrics, and couldn’t have discerned the tune in any case, but he listened to the words with eager interest. Charlie was drowning out the radio with the traditional scots rendition, though I only knew the same anglicized version that was playing. 

Should old acquaintance be forgot,

and never brought to mind?

Should old acquaintance be forgot,

and auld lang syne?

And for the first time in my life, with my children held close and Jamie’s arm around my back, the song gave me chills:

We two have run about the slopes,

and picked the daisies fine;

But we’ve wandered many a weary foot

since auld lang syne.

We two have paddled in the stream,

from morning sun till dine

But seas between us broad have roared

since auld lang syne.

And both of us had tears running down our faces as we locked eyes. No, we wouldn’t ever forget the things of our past: neither the daisies of our life, nor the weary feet from the trampings of war, nor the roaring seas of tragedy that had indeed once swept us apart.  

And there’s a hand my trusty friend!

And give me a hand o’ thine!

And we’ll take a cup of kindness yet,

for auld lang syne.

And as we moved toward the front door for the first-footing, I kissed my trusty friend, and didn’t need to see any dark stranger outside to know that 1951 would be the best year of our lives. 

#Anonymous #;mod bonnie #Flood my mornings

[sleeplesspensieve]

Remedy For Guilt - XXV

Summary: The daughter of Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange is a Healer who finds herself not only haunted by her past but also questioning her choice in career. When Lyra Lestrange’s old headmaster offers her a position as Defence Against the Dark Arts Teacher she finds herself thrown into an adventure involving a secret affair with a colleague, discovering the cure for a disease and dealing with students cursing themselves. Who knew that being a Hogwarts Professor was such a rollercoaster?

Set in the school year of 1990-1991 with the prospect of a sequel, or two, on the horizon.

Rated: E for graphic sex scenes in THIS and later chapters. Over 18′s only please.

Word Count: 3425

Multichapter Fic (Expected to be around 30-35 chapters with a planned sequel which will take place during the Harry Potter Books)

Chapter Twenty Five - Cursed

Despite the fact that Lyra was on the front page of every magazine and newspaper for the week following the award, she still managed to carry on with teaching as per usual. Of course, there were the occasional questions about her life that would pop up but Lyra would redirect them to their work, if not they’d lose 5 house points. That was enough to deter the questions and keep her students focused on their school work.

Each day seemed to go by so quickly in anticipation of the school holidays but Lyra still had one more lesson she was looking forward to teaching before school broke up. She had planned for Anneli to come in and guide her seventh years in the art of curse detection and breaking, seeing as her parents owned a shop and she was well versed in the topic. It was also a good excuse for her to catch up with one of her old friends.

Lyra headed early into Hogsmeade that morning and met with Anneli, having a quick breakfast before making the walk back to Hogwarts.

“Wow,” Anneli said as they cleared the forest, “It’s that castle then?”

“Yep,” Lyra replied.

“Goodness,” her friend commented, “It’s way bigger than Durmstrang, wouldn’t you get lost?”

Lyra laughed, “Of course, it doesn’t help that there’s an enchanted staircase but you get used to it.”

“Enchanted staircase?” Anneli repeated, “You’ll have to show me that.”

The pair of witches made their way to the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, Lyra taking the route via the enchanted staircase. Anneli stared in wonder and watched the students flawlessly move about on the stairs but when it came to her turn she was quite apprehensive, holding onto Lyra’s hand as she navigated the steps.

They arrived at Classroom 3C with just enough time to spare for preparation. They placed a small weakly cursed artefact on each desk for students to practice on. Soon enough, the seventh years began to file in and take their seats.

“Morning class,” Lyra said as they settled in, “I have a special treat for you today. For our double period we will be covering Dark Magic artefacts and to help me out I have invited my friend Anneli.” She gestured towards her friend and the class gave her a warm round of applause as a welcome.

“Thank you,” Anneli said as she stepped forward, blushing slightly and giving a half bow.

“Anneli’s family have run a curse breaking shop in Switzerland for several generations,” Lyra explained, “So she is our go to expert in curse breaking today and later on she will be guiding us in curse detection and removal techniques which you will practice on the objects that are sitting there on your desks.

So over the past six years of studying Defence Against the Dark Arts you would’ve covered information about Dark Creatures you may encounter and spells that will aid you in combat but cursed objects have not been touched upon. This is due to the degree of magical ability needed to deal with dark artefacts as well as the potential harm these objects can inflict upon you. Now, you’re all NEWT students so I expect you all to be mature enough to handle this and I can assure you this will be on your test at the end of the year so you all best pay attention during this lesson.

Some of you may sense the darkness the objects in front of you possess and some may even feel the temptation to touch and play with it. This is all a part of the compelling nature of the Dark Arts. Now, if you do play with it, not to worry, I have enchanted it with a light curse that will give you a shock if you touch it.” Lyra paused for a moment and watched a student’s curiosity get the better of them and touch the object.

“OW!” they yelled as they sprung out of their seat.

Lyra’s brow furrowed and rolled her eyes before continuing, “This is to teach you to not touch dark and mysterious objects you may encounter on your travels, you should treat an artefact with caution and never directly touch it. You all learnt the levitation charm in first year for a reason. If you have any doubt that an object may or may not be cursed, use it.”

She walked towards a cabinet that stood tall next to her desk and displayed an eclectic mix of objects, all of which she had pinched from Lucius’ own collection of Dark Magic artefacts. “Now, I know many of you have been wondering about the objects that reside in here,” she said as she drew her wand and unlocked it. “In here is a variety of Dark Magic artefacts that have been collected during travels or purchased from collectors. You will notice a running theme and I hope by the end you can point it out.”

Using a levitation charm she brought out a necklace on a stand that sat on the middle shelf of the cupboard, “This is a beautiful piece of jewellery, don’t you think? Anneli, could you tell me what’s wrong with it?”

Anneli drew her wand and orally cast two simple spells, an identification one and a curse detecting one. “It seems pretty normal,” she shrugged, “A necklace that claims to invigorate you.”

“Would you put it on?” Lyra asked.

Anneli’s eyes narrowed, casting another detection spell which caused the object to glow green for a brief second. “I’d rather not suffocate,” she said.

Lyra smiled, “This is a necklace of strangulation. It identifies as a necklace that will benefit you but in fact will tighten around your neck and not be unable to be removed unless you’re rather strong, use oil or a curse removal spell.”

Lyra pulled out each object one by one and described its use whilst Anneli would demonstrate identification and detection spells. There was a black ring that granted the wearer invisibility but was unable to be removed and slowly consuming the person’s skin with darkness until their arm fell off; a bloodied cape that increased the strength of one’s magic at the cost of their humanity; a genie lamp that would trap the person who rubbed it inside until they were wished to be free; two masks that were of the face of an animal which would give a special ability but would be unable to be removed after a minute and slowly turn the wearer into that animal; an Idol with a soul of a Wizard inside it that would possess the one who touched it; and a mermaid music box that would make you fall asleep as long as it played but if opened underwater would call mermaids to you. Each object was laid out after their description on Lyra’s desk for students to have a look and try out some spells on them for themselves towards the end of the lesson.

The lesson continued with Anneli teaching the class a few essential curse detection and removal spells which they all practiced on the objects on their desks. There was a brief question and answer session with Anneli about her career. Charlie Weasley gushed about his older brother who had moved to Egypt two years prior and was learning to be a cursebreaker for Gringotts, the Wizarding Bank. The conversation attracted the attention of one student, Ian Reis, who also aspired to become a cursebreaker. Their discussion went well into the recess between second and third period with Lyra ducking out of the classroom to snag a small bite to eat for the two witches. When she returned, Anneli was halfway out the door of the classroom, still speaking to the student.

Lyra smiled as she approached, “Still chatting away I see.”

“Sorry, Professor Lestrange,” Ian said.

“Don’t be sorry,” she said, “I’m glad I’ve been able to introduce you to someone in the field you’re interested in.”

“I really appreciate it,” he replied, “I should let you two eat before the next class.”

“Do feel free to owl me any questions, Ian,” Anneli said as she drew her wand, summoning a business card. “Always open to giving advice to any future cursebreakers.”

Ian grabbed the card and smiled, “Thank you Anneli and Professor Lestrange. I hope you two have a good day.”

“Thanks,” the two witches replied as he walked off.

“That was a lot of fun,” Anneli commented on the time that had passed as the pair walked down the hall and ate the small snacks that Lyra had foraged from the staff room. “You have a real knack for teaching.”

Lyra laughed, “You think so?”

“Yeah,” she replied, “You have a lot of knowledge to give. Are you going to stick with it or return to Healing?”

“I still don’t know,” Lyra sighed, “I mean, I won an Order of Merlin for my work as a Healer and there’s still so much to learn in the field. I feel like teaching is something you do when you know it all and you’ve gone out and actually learnt all there is to know.”

“Oh yeah, I understand,” Anneli replied.

“Sort of only did it as a favour to Dumbledore,” she said, “And because I just felt a bit lost when it came to healing but it’s definitely reignited my passion for it.”

“Then you should do it,” Anneli said with a smile, “Follow your passion.”

“How about you?”

The witches chatted briefly, Lyra showing off more of the Hogwarts grounds before they returned to her classroom. As they approached it they heard a commotion from inside, the second year students had already entered the classroom as the door was left unlocked.

“Holy hell!” she heard a male student yell, “I can see all the way to the Quidditch pitch! Even into the Forbidden Forest!”

Lyra pushed the door open and there was Fred and George Weasley wearing a cursed mask each, the artefacts had been left on the table. Fred was looking out of the window, wearing a brilliant blue mask covered in feathers whilst George was standing at the front of the classroom, wearing a red dragon mask breathing fire.

“Fred and George!” Lyra yelled, “You take that off this instant. No one touch anything else on the table.”

She glanced around the room and counted the students, quickly discovering one was missing along with another object, the black ring. “Lee Jordan, you better make yourself visible now!” she shouted.

“I can’t take it off,” George said, pulling at the mask.

“Neither can I,” Fred said.

Lyra walked briskly towards George, quickly casting a curse removal spell and pulling off the mask. Anneli did the same to Fred but instead the mask wasn’t coming off. She tried a couple more times as Lee Jordan reappeared and Lyra quickly removed the ring with a spell.

“Lyra, it’s not working,” Anneli said in a panicked voice.

“What do you mean?” Lyra said rushing towards Fred who was starting to panic.

“I can’t see!” he shouted as his hands pulled at the mask, “I can’t see! Fuck, Professor, sorry but I can’t see.”

His irises were clouded, white as though he had gone blind. Frantically, Lyra attempted the curse removal spell she had used on the other two boys and it also didn’t work. “Shit,” she exclaimed, her head beginning to tick over what she could do. “You try to remove the curse while I go get Severus.”

She ran upstairs to her room and flooed down to Severus’ office. She ran out, bursting into the potions classroom, “Severus, I need you. It’s urgent.”

Severus remained composed, striding towards Lyra with confidence as he said, “Class dismissed, I expect you all to go and write an essay on the history of Wolfsbane. Leave my classroom as you found it.”

Once they were out of earshot Lyra quickly explained, “Fred Weasley got cursed by an artefact.”

“How?”

“I didn’t put the artefacts away after the lesson,” Lyra said, “Anneli was talking to a student and I left her there to grab morning tea and when I came back she was outside and I just forgot that they were still out. I thought she put them away, I should’ve done it myself. Fuck, I was so careless, Sev.”

“Were they one of Lucius’?”

Lyra didn’t respond, her look alone was answer enough to Severus. He entered the fireplace first, Lyra following after him as they flooed back up to Classroom 3C. As they hurried down the stairs they noticed the students gathered around Fred in a circle as he lay unconscious on the ground.

“I’m so sorry, Lyra,” Anneli said.

#rfg #ill fix the tags later #just want this shit up

[fireninjadagger-blog]

Give Me All Your Hopeless Hearts

Synopsis: Frank didn't plan on befriending the art and music kids at school and he especially had no intentions of falling in love with Gerard Way. All he wanted was to get through the year as quickly and as painlessly as possible.  Frerard: Classic high school setting but I'm fairly certain this combination of characters has never been done before. My Chemical Romance, Tonight Alive, Set It Off, PVRIS, Panic! At The Disco, Paramore, Fall Out Boy. 

Chapter1: September 15th

       "This will be your class schedule," the secretary says handing me a printed form. I take the warm paper from her hand and scan it. Well, at least they got the guitar class I wanted and I was also given the early release I was promised. Though I didn't ask for math, history, or English but this is a school so I can't really complain there. I got what I wanted and looks like my study hall is the first hour. Good, I'm not a morning person. "Is there any other questions you have that I could answer for you?"        I glance up from my schedule and look at the woman. "No, that's all, I guess," I mumble.        "Well then, welcome to North Shore High," she says with a cheery smile. I stand and fling my bag over my right shoulder then shuffle out of here. I guess I should be going to class but I don't really want to. Due to the untimely cross-country move, I'm already coming to school two weeks after it started, making my transition a hell of a lot bumpier. As if the new kid from New Jersey dropping into a sea full of prissy teens living their whole lives in upstate Cali wasn't bad enough. I'd be worried I'd get jumped for standing out so badly but I have to remember I'm not at home anymore where not constantly looking over your shoulder is a death sentence. The worst thing that could happen here is you tan too dark for your eyebrows or someone else bought your $750 dollar shoes and you can't wear them anymore to be "original".        I know I'm just being spiteful here and I'm sure not everyone is as bad as I built them to be in my head. But I fought a one-man war about this move and tragically lost. I don't know how I planned on spending my summer but moving from New Jersey to California was definitely nowhere on the list. My top three would be catching up on sleep, finally relaxing, and saving up to buy an electric guitar. Turns out parents' job rearranges everything. When my mom and dad sat me down to tell me, I was expecting them to inform me they are finally getting a divorce. They've been fighting over the years and it kept getting worse and worse. I know deep down they don't love each other anymore like how they did when I was younger and I felt it coming soon, I felt in my heart. The fact they shouldn't be together is the only thing they could ever agree on in the past 10 years. But turns out they still haven't gotten around to the divorce so instead, both of my parents move to California and they drag me along biting and clawing the whole way there. How could I possibly move across the country and not be angry? I knew they were both offered jobs over in LA but I'm in school and my life is in New Jersey. I didn't want to go but I didn't get a say in the matter. After doing everything I could, I knew there was no way I could opt out of this move or convince them otherwise. So I lost the war but I did win one battle and it was the battle of my life. I managed to compromise and at least get to finish my sophomore year before the move.        I told my friends I was leaving but none of them took it as hard as I did. They were "bummed out" but nowhere near as distressed as I as. It seemed to constantly slip their mind I was leaving too because I had to keep pointing it out every time they talked about "next year" with me. I wasn't going to be there next year and they didn't seem to care. It was in that moment I realized you're not supposed to care much about your friends. I mean, the lot of us never really been close. We were all very different. Charlie and Luke were on the football team, Patrick was the super nerd in all the computer, science, and math classes, Darin was I dare say the delinquent of our group as well as the player. Then there's me: the metalhead who likes music too much for my own good. Friends aren't much of anything besides something to pass the time. I could never define friends until now.

       I climb up to the second floor and roam the halls until I come across the room number. The door is open and the teacher is sitting in the front at his desk typing on the computer while the class is working or diligently napping. A few kids have their earbuds in while writing homework assignments, some kids are talking to their friends next to them but a majority of them are either on their phones or burying their face in their desk asleep.        I walk up to the teacher's desk and he looks up at me. "Ah, you must be the new student," he says getting up and greeting me. "Frank Lero is it?"        "It's Iero actually," I correct.        "Oh, my bad," he says. "Well, welcome to our school. I'm Mr. Cee and this is your study hall. I know it's the first period of the day so you won't always have work. If that's the case, I don't mind you on your phone or relaxing before you go to your other classes. I also don't have assigned seats, you can find a place. And if you ever need to go somewhere else like a computer lab, library, any other class, just sign out with a pass and you're good."        "Okay, thanks," I say and awkwardly shuffle away from his desk and glance over at my options of open seats. A few kids noticed my arrival and are glances at me. Others are too busy to realize which is all for the better I'd say. Then I spot an empty seat in the very back of the room on the same side as the door. That's a good place. I head over to the empty seat and ask the girl with glowing hair next to it if it's taken.        "Huh?" she says still laughing at whatever funny thing her boyfriend or wannabe boyfriend said to her.        "Is this seat taken?" I ask again.        She brushes her neon, scarlet hair out of her face and looks up at me still giddy. "Oh, no. You can sit there," she says. I drop my bag off my shoulder and grab the strap before it thuds to the ground and I sit down. The girl starts giggling again and the guy with dark hair shortly cropped on the sides with longer bangs falls over on his desk. I roll my eyes at those two and put my music in. I just want to get through the day and then the week. I just want to get through this year and repeat for my senior year. I don't care anymore, I just want to get through high school in one piece and then I'm done. I don't ever have to deal with this again, I'm free. I just want to be invisible and make this as painless as possible. No time to bother making friends, I doubt any of them are worth it. There's no such thing as real friends. Just people to pass the time. I turn on my phone and look at my text messages. The last text I received was from my mother this morning. The standard "have a good day at school! Here's our address in case you forgot so you know how to get home" My dad hasn't texted me recently and my friends all forgot about me already. I've tried texting them in our group chat but they started talking about hanging out together, which I clearly can't do anymore. Then Patrick said they should make a group chat with all of them but not Frank and use it for when they hang out so I don't feel bad. I guess they started using the one without me and never went back. I tried texting them, both on the big one and individually. Some of them haven't responded, Patrick hasn't even opened my texts to read. The ones who to respond only send one-word replies and kill the conversation quickly. I eventually left the group chat and stopped trying a long time ago. I've come to see they don't text me, to begin with, which is why I no longer have friends and maybe never had any in the first place.

       After a period of sitting there contemplating my life while listening to Smashing Pumpkins, I make my way down to the music hallway for guitar. I really hope that this class is better than the last one, something to do but hopefully even less interaction with people other than a teacher. Sitting in the corner by the door, I notice in the back the same girl and guy from my study hall are here except they're with more friends. There's five of them all together. Another guy wearing a hoodie and two more girls with a unique hair. The brunette has really long hair down to her waist and it's wavy. The side of her temples are shaved completely and she wears all black and grey schemed clothes. Grey tights, black boots, dark grey skirt, light grey blouse and a very classy jacket. Then the other girl sitting next to the fancy lady is dressed similarly to the neon-haired girl. She too has ripped skinny jeans, converse, some sleeveless shirt that requires her to wear a black tank top underneath and a flannel tied around her waist. The five of them all sit in a tight circle laughing together and playing really obnoxiously on their instruments. Part of me really wants to start shredding Metallica because I know how to but I don't think that would be a good idea. Remember, low profile and invisible.

       History goes by. Gym goes by. Lunch is a real adventure trying to find somewhere to sit and then I have a brilliant idea of going down to the empty guitar room during my lunch period. No one is in here so no one can bother me. I'm almost done with the day when English comes around and I have an aneurysm. I go up to the teacher and instead of keeping her cool like the other teachers have, she makes a huge scene after the bell rings.        The last of the kids walk into class as the bell rings and they're all still talking when she pulls this stunt. "Class, we have a new student today." Everyone quiets down and starts looking around the room. I pull my hood over my head and try to avoid eye contact. Oh god... "Frank? Please stand up so we can all meet you." By now, a majority of the class knows I'm the new kid intruding on their lives. I reluctantly stand and pull my jacket down. I'm now showing the whole class how short I am. If I was a girl, I'd be average height except I'm a guy and I am pathetically small. "Introduce yourself to the class," the teacher says with her preppy voice.        "My name is Frank Iero," I reply.        The teacher waits for me to continue but I just stare at her wanting permission to sit back down. "Tell us where you're from and something about yourself so we get to know you."        This is not part of the plan. I'm just supposed to pass by here invisibly and unnoticed until I'm free. I don't want people to know who I am. I just want to hide. "I'm from Summit, New Jersey and I like the color red," I say flatly. There are some whispers going around over the fact I'm from Jersey.        "Oh, that must be exciting over there. Did you like it?" the teacher asks.        "Yes. And then I was dragged here to this land of sunshine." The teacher looks at me slightly uncomfortable sensing my attitude.        "Well, thank you, Frank. You may sit down." My knees collapse as soon as the words leave her mouth and I retreat back underneath the hood of my leather jacket and do my best to become invisible. God, that was utterly humiliating. I could have just died on the spot right there. Hell, dying on the spot right there would have been better. Man, this is a train wreck. I just want to go back to Jersey. I may not have had friends but I fit in with the people there. Everyone listened to the same music and it was a passion we carried deep in our blood. We fought for what we loved and we lived as though we'd die tomorrow. People were crazy, everyone was crazy and everyone was okay with being crazy. There was violence that made you fearful and knowing one wrong mistake may get you killed prevented the idiots from surviving. Everyone around had common sense and we weren't stupid. Knowing while walking home you might get shot made sure you never took anything for granted. We all sounded the same and we were never pointed out for how we pronounced words and we never pointed out when someone we knew spoke differently. I missed it back there. I don't belong in California.        The period is almost over when someone taps my shoulder. I uneasily turn around to see the girl from my guitar class wave at me. It's the girl with the flannel around her waist and sitting next to her is the other girl who dressed as if she just might go have tea with the queen of England at any moment. "Hi," she says cheerfully.        "Hi?" I say unsure and give a small wave.        "So you're new here, huh?" she brings up as a conversation starter. I really wish she didn't feel the need to talk to me for the sake of talking to the new kid.        "Yeah," I answer hoping to end the conversation.        "My name's Jenna and this is my-," Jenna looks back at the girl and gives a nervous laugh, "my friend Lynn."        "Hi," I respond towards Lynn.        "Yeah, well, I noticed I had a lot of class with you. Our friend Hayley said you sit next to her and Brendon in study and I saw you also in my gym class. You seem to be hanging by yourself so I wanted to ask you if in guitar tomorrow you wanted to sit with my friends and me."        "Oh, um, that's-wow-really nice of you," I say, sitting up. "Um, I guess if it's cool with them."        "Oh, totally. They're super chill. And Hayley and Brendon said they wanted to talk to you but you had your earbuds in so you didn't hear them.        "I didn't know they were," I say. "I didn't really want to bother those two, couples tend to get annoyed with others intrude I thought."        Jenna and Lynn start giggling. "Oh, no. Hayley and Brendon aren't dating. No, they're like brother and sister. And Brendon is dating someone else," Lynn explains.        "Oh, okay," I note. "So, I'll see you girls tomorrow then?" I ask.        "Definitely," they say in unison and then look at each other laughing. I smile warmly as the bell rings and I head to my math class. I resume my undercover op of remaining invisible however I kind of wished Jenna or Lynn were here, especially Jenna. They were really nice to me and Jenna seems like we'd make good friends. I can tell just by the way she dresses. And she's really nice, I don't know. God, what's gotten into me? One nice person makes an effort of being kind to me and all of a sudden, I'm hoping she's my best friend. I need to keep it cool, in case this is just getting to my head.        My math class ends and I don't have homework considering I used to be a year ahead of math at my old school and they put me in honors juniors math, which is technically the class I took last year. This is way too easy for me but all the better to get an easy A. My early release is after math class so when the bell rings, I walk out of the school. My phone had my new home address typed into google maps so I knew how to get back from here. On my way out, I see Jenna again with more of her friends. The girl she's with looks like her twin. It's not Hayley or Lynn but another girl. I think Jenna has a twin because this girl has the same 90's punk rock style cut and platinum, bleached blonde hair. They look like they both have an off style of Joan Jett's hair but bleached to an almost white. They also both have ripped skinny jeans, Jenna's grey and the other girl's blue. They have the converse, tied flannels, and sleeveless tops. The two of them walk together in front of the rest of them. Only one of the guys is familiar. I don't think it's the Brendon dude so it's the other one in guitar class. There are two more guys walking side by side. One wearing sports clothes and looks like a preppy athlete, the other kind of looks like me almost. Long, black bangs covering his face, wearing a leather jacket with the hood up and his bag hastily slung over his left shoulder. The only real difference between me and this guy walking out with Jenna and her friends is he's a few inches taller and he's carrying a bulky sketchbook.

Continue reading here! Hope you enjoyed :) Wattpad and Quotev: @.FireNinjaDagger https://www.wattpad.com/story/108061102-give-me-all-your-hopeless-hearts-frerard-high

#frerard #frerard fanfiction #frerardfanfic #high school au #au #otp #my chemical romance #fanfiction #mcr #tonight alive #jenna mcdougall #cody carson #set it off #paramore #hayley williams #panic #brendon urie #fall out boy #patrick stump #wattpad #quotev #bands #bandsau #cross over #cross over fic #fic #pvris #lynn gunn #jenna x lynn #lynn x jenna

[sevenciircles]

And she stopped another one. For the third time this month. And it wasn’t even the 2nd yet.

“These assassination attempts are getting BORING. I’m the Princess of Hell give me more credit than a gunshot or poisoned fruit punch.”

#morning glow is long past due. ~ charlie