#((aaaangst))

[flinxypie]

Nightmare of a Memory

Destroyed for what you became …or what you could never be?

Concept for LaLT AU

…I like drawing fire 🔥

[tinylilhollander]

Only heaven and the lilies know

A Hollanov story - Part 15 (Part 14 here)

Irina Rozanov runs away with 12-year-old Ilya to live with family in Canada, so instead of being Shane's hockey rival, he's the boy from the flower shop at the lake, the friend Shane looks forward to seeing every summer when they go to the cottage.The friend he's absolutely definitely not falling in love with. No way. Read it on AO3 (updates on tumblr first)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6| Part 7| Part 8| Part 9 | Part 10| Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15

Despite how much he hated waking up early – especially at the cottage – Shane made sure he got up at five for a long workout in the hockey room, hoping that the exercise would help him shake the anger that sleeping hadn't. If the weather had been better, or if it had been lighter out, he would have gone out for a nature run, but he settled instead for the treadmill, hoping that the rhythmic inhale and exhale of air would help calm him.

He knew it wasn't Ilya's fault that he and Irina were going back to Russia, so it was stupid to be mad about that part (even though he was – it was so fucking unfair), but the fact that Ilya hadn't told him despite knowing for a month… that was harder for Shane to get his head around. They'd been discussing hockey camp on MSN just a week ago – would Ilya still be able to even go? Had he talked about all the shit they'd do together not knowing if he'd even fucking be there?

Shane had so many questions, the most pressing of which was why the fuck didn't he want Shane to know about him leaving?

After an hour of steady, easy running, Shane upped the speed to a sprint for a minute or two, hoping if he got his pulse racing enough, it would quiet the fury he was feeling. Once his muscles were finally screaming at him louder than the thoughts, he began dropping the pace, cooling down until at last he stopped completely. He wiped his face with a towel and wrapped it around his shoulders before lying down on the treadmill. The fury returned as soon as the running stopped and Shane groaned in despair. He'd been planning to go through some drills after his run, but now that he'd stopped he couldn't find the motivation to get up again at all. The running had done nothing for the anger, nor the fear that had started to creep in too.

What if Ilya couldn't come back?

What if this was the last time they'd ever get to hang out?

What if Ilya's dad did something to them?

What if Alexei wasn't the guy he was pretending to be with Ilya?

What if Ilya left him here and forgot about him?

The questions had begun to make him feel queasy, so he sat up to put his head between his knees, worried he might pass out or something.

Why could they never just catch a fucking break?

"My Shane?" came Ilya's voice from the door and Shane's head immediately snapped up. He was still all sleepy and rumpled, with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders in a way that made him look so small and adorable it was unfair. He wondered how it was possible that two things could be so true at the same time: that Shane loved him so much that all he wanted to do right now was pull him into his arms and kiss him senseless about it, and also that he was so fucking mad at him, he wanted nothing more than to throw a puck at his stupid head. Hard.

"Hi," Shane said tersely, trying to take a deep breath so he didn't immediately start yelling.

"Is everything okay?" Ilya looked genuinely worried, but all Shane could think about was the dozen or so times he'd had the same question brushed off the day before.

"Oh, so we're allowed to ask that now? Or is that something only you're allowed to know?" asked Shane, getting to his feet, trying his best to keep his voice level. It was still only about 6:30 in the morning. He could hear Irina showering so he was fairly sure she wouldn't hear anything, but he really didn't want to wake his mom. "I mean, fuck me, I guess."

"Shane, what—?"

Now that he'd started, Shane couldn't stop.

"Your mom told me last night," said Shane. "About how the two of you have to go back to Russia."

"Ah," said Ilya, face going pale.

"Yeah. Ah," said Shane. "It's the kind of thing that would have been nice if my boyfriend told me."

"I was going to tell you, My Shane, I just… I…"

Shane walked right up to him now.

"Were you? Because you had so many chances to yesterday. I could fucking tell something was up and instead of just telling me when I asked, you deliberately pretended everything was fine. I thought we were past that stage, Ilya. Were you just going to lie to me all through winter break and then, what, just drop it on me on the last day? How the fuck do you think that makes me feel?"

"Well maybe this isn't fucking about you this time!" said Ilya, the fear on his face giving way to anger. "Or maybe it is. Maybe it's about how you get to stay here safe and secure with your star position on the hockey team, and your safe little house with your mom and dad in Ottawa, and your friends at school. You're not the one who has to uproot his whole fucking life. Again. You're not the one who has to go home to face that fucking man. No, I'm sure you're going to be just fine here in cozy fucking Canada."

"Jesus fucking Christ, you're unbelievable!" said Shane, knuckles turning white as he gripped the towel around his shoulders. "I'm only mad because I'm fucking worried about you, okay? I'm worried about you and Irina. Everything you've told me about what it was like in Russia with your dad fucking sucks. It sounds terrifying for both of you. So, yeah, maybe I'm not leaving the country, sure. But forgive me if I'm stressed that boyfriend and his mom are going right back to the place they fucking ran from. And forgive me if I'm maybe a little pissed off that my boyfriend decided that I didn't need to fucking know about it for whatever reason."

"Well maybe I didn't want you to worry about it!" said Ilya, carding a hand through his hair. "Maybe I just wanted you to enjoy your fucking winter break."

"So, what, I was going to be less fucking freaked out if you suddenly vanished out of the country without telling me beforehand?" Shane gave a huff of laughter without the slightest a hint of amusement. "I thought you said we were a team now, Rozanov. This is shitty teammate behavior."

"You're the one who called us that, not me," Ilya bit back, and it stung like a slap.

"Oh fuck you, Rozanov!" Shane took a step back, breathing heavily. He could feel the tears welling up in his eyes but he refused to let them fall. He was not going to fucking cry right now in front of Ilya. Instead, he pulled a corner of his towel over his face, covertly dabbing away the water that was pooling along his lash line under the guise of wiping away sweat. Once it felt safe, he fixed Ilya with a glare. "I'm going to shower. Fuck off home to the flower shop or Russia or where the fuck ever. No need to tell me about it. Just fucking go."

For a moment, Ilya's face fell and it looked like he might say something. But then, he set his jaw and Shane knew it was fucking over. He was so mad he was shaking as he made his way to his room to get his clothes, but the adrenaline from the fight was already wearing off.

He waited until he was in the shower before he started crying and didn't stop until the water started running too cold to endure anymore.

By the time he got out, both Ilya and Irina were gone, probably picked up by Sergei to go open the flower shop. He heard his mom stirring in her room and darted to his before she saw him awake and the inevitable questions would start. He couldn't handle questions right now.

Shane tried to tell himself that this was good, that maybe they needed the space to sort through everything they were feeling right now.

But as he lay in his bed which now smelled overwhelmingly like the person he loved more than anything in the world, he decided the last fucking thing they needed was space. Their whole problem was space. Always just miles and miles and miles of endless fucking space between them.

As early as it was, Shane decided he'd had enough of this day. Breathing in the inescapable scent of Ilya, Shane let himself fall into an uneasy sleep, hoping things would somehow be magically back to normal when he woke up.

=======

Shane was on the ice, getting more and more frustrated with Ilya. He wasn't fucking talking to him. Or looking at him. They were in the same uniforms, so it wasn't like he was trying to get in Shane's head to throw him off his game. They were literally on the same side. They should have been unstoppable this game, passing the puck between them faster than the other team could react. Why was Ilya icing him out? Why was he putting everything at risk like this?

But the more he yelled at him and checked him, the harder Ilya pretended he didn't exist. Shane wanted to shake him, or punch him, or… something. The fans were mad too. The sound of their anger was punctuated by the sound of them throwing things at the glass.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

It was weird though. The sound didn't make sense to Shane. What were they throwing? It sounded heavier than popcorn, but it was something light enough to not break the glass. He looked over to the crowd, but they were a writhing, unfocused blur. Maybe he needed to open his eyes for a better look. He needed to…

Shane blinked blearily as his eyes fluttered open and reality began to slowly filter back in. He was in his bed at the cottage. Bright white light was filtering through his slightly open curtains, and Ilya Rozanov was looking right at him through the gap as he threw a pebble at the glass.

"Ilya?" he asked, suddenly wide awake as he rushed across the room to pull his curtains open all the way. Ilya was covered in snow as he looked at him with a grim expression. His bicycle was leaned against his hip, and Shane noticed he was shivering violently. "What the fuck are you doing? It's like minus eight today. Did you cycle all the way here?"

"I felt bad about the way we left things, so I've come to say sorry. My Shane, I'm so fucking sor—"

"Don't fucking apologize, asshole!" said Shane. "Come to the front door so I can let you in before you die of hypothermia or something."

Shane felt like he was going to throw up as he raced to the front door. When he opened it and Ilya stepped inside, now shivering so violently he looked like he might shake apart, Shane didn't even care that he was freezing to the touch and damp. He was just so fucking worried about how long he'd been in the cold. He pulled him into a hug, wanting to warm him up right away.

"You absolute dumbass. How the fuck did your family let you leave in this weather?"

"They don't know I'm here," he said. "I knew they wouldn't let me come until later and I had to see you, My Shane. I just had to. I couldn't leave things the way they were."

"Ilya, are you fucking serious?" said Shane still holding him, but pulling back just enough to look at him. He was so angry that there were tears forming in his eyes, but he couldn't bring himself to care. "What if something had happened to you, huh? What if you'd gotten into an accident? You know how people drive down some of these roads, even when it's snowing like this. What if they'd slid on ice and hit you? What if you collapsed and were just lying there in the snow and … Oh god, I—"

"I'm sorry, Shane" said Ilya, tears spilling from his eyes. "Fuck, I'm so sorry about cycling here and about the fight earlier. I just… fuck, I've fucked it all up and you have every right to be mad at me. I get if it's over. I just… I don't know how to fix it now and I didn't want to do this over the phone."

"Wait, are you breaking up with me?" asked Shane, now sure he was actually going to throw up.

"No," said Ilya, face panicked. "God, never, My Shane. I'm worried you want to break up with me."

"Ilya," said Shane, grabbing his face to make Ilya look him in the eyes. "I am so fucking mad at you right now. Both for the argument and for being so stupid with your life. But I promise you that I'm not breaking up with you. I never want to break up with you, okay? I just want to figure out what's going on between us, and I want us to fix it. That's why I'm so fucking angry, okay? The thought of being without you is so… it's too…"

And Ilya just pulled him in tighter, crying into his shoulder, as Shane did the same.

"God, why are we always fucking crying at the moment?" asked Ilya miserably. "I just want to enjoy our time together. Why does life make it so fucking hard for us?"

"True love, right?" said Shane, pressing a soft kiss to Ilya's shoulder. "That's what you said once. If shit gets difficult it's proof that it's true love."

"Right," said Ilya. "I was a lot smarter back then."

"Shut up," said Shane, pulling away from Ilya. "Don't talk like that about yourself, okay? There's a lot going on so I understand why you're struggling, and we can talk about it later. Right now, you're having a hot shower, getting into the warmest clothes I have because I'm assuming you didn't bring any of your own stuff, and then we're going to figure this shit out, okay?"

"Okay," said Ilya, looking down at Shane's lips for a moment like he wanted to kiss him but wasn't sure if it was allowed. Shane rolled his eyes and kissed him.

"I still love you more than anything, dumbass," said Shane. "I'm just mad. We'll figure it out. But first, I need to stop worrying that you're about to get killed by the cold. Shower. Now."

Shane ran to his room to get Ilya his warmest hoodie, long-sleeved shirt, socks, and sweatpants, and thrust them into his arms before shoving him off in the direction of the shower. Then he made his bed and sat down on it to finally take a deep, steadying breath, trying to calm down. It had been a very weird day so far.

He'd just heard the water start when Yuna rushed through from the study.

"Shane, Irina just called sounding really worried. Have you heard from Ilya at all? She says he was pretty upset about something all morning and now he's just…" She stopped, seeming to notice the sound of the shower. "Is he here?"

"He cycled here, Mom," said Shane, standing up, and even though he'd thought he'd already imagined every possible terrible thing that could have happened to him, he now imagined them not being able to find him at all. Not until days later when it was too late. He must have looked as terrified as he felt because his mom immediately pulled him into a hug.

"Oh, honey, it's okay," she said, standing on her toes slightly to press a kiss to the top of his head. He was almost as tall as her now. "Did something happen this morning when Ilya left?"

He didn't say anything, just nodded against her shoulder.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked. Shane shook his head. "Okay, well, I'm here if you do, okay? I know us Hollanders aren't always the best at sharing when there's something bothering us, but Dad and I are here for you if you ever do want to, okay? You don't have to keep it all inside you all the time."

Shane thought about telling her then, about Ilya and him. Irina knew now, what difference would it make if his mom knew?

All the difference, Shane thought.

He knew his parents wouldn't disown him for it or anything. But his mom would be worried about his hockey, and then he'd have to think about how worried he was about his hockey too, and he couldn't face that worry right now. Not when he was already so worried about Ilya.

"I know, Mom," he said. "And thanks. It's just… I think this is something Ilya and I have to figure out for ourselves. It's just a misunderstanding. A best friends thing. We'll be fine once we talk. Please tell Irina that he's safe. I'm looking after him. And to not be too mad at him. It's kind of my fault too that he ran off without telling her."

Yuna pressed one more kiss to his forehead before pulling out her phone and walking off to call Irina.

Ilya gave him a tight, nervous smile as he emerged from the shower, dressed in Shane's warm and dry clothes. Shane realized he needed a second or two to gather his thoughts before they actually spoke, so he told Ilya to sit and pulled out his hair dryer. He didn't use it a lot – just in the winter when he didn't want to sit around with cold, wet hair. He offered it to Ilya.

"Would you do it for me?" asked Ilya and Shane swallowed as he nodded.

"Just tell me if it's too hot, okay?" he said. He'd never dried anyone else's hair before, but he couldn't imagine that it would be too different. But as he started working on Ilya's hair, he quickly realized how different it was to his. His curls, which were usually somewhat tame and controlled, got so loose and fluffy that it looked like a cloud around his head.

"Oh god, I've ruined your hair," said Shane, worried that the heat might have done something irreversible to it, but Ilya just laughed.

"Don't worry, it's just frizz. I don't usually blow dry my hair because it goes like this," he says. "But today it's different because I really was freezing."

Shane got up to get something from his cupboard, and a moment later, he was pulling a beanie over Ilya's wild mane, making it look somewhat more normal.

"Yeah, and whose fault was that?" asked Shane to Ilya's reflection.

"I really am sorry, Shane," said Ilya, looking for a moment like he might cry again.

"I know you are," said Shane, turning him to face him. "Should we talk about it now?"

Ilya nodded, and Shane pulled him to sit beside him on the bed.

"I'm sorry." He slipped a hand into Ilya's. Ilya frowned.

"Why are you apologizing?" he asked. "You didn't do anything wrong."

"I did," said Shane. "I know how much Russia stresses you out. And even though I was hurt that you didn't tell me about having to go back, I understand why it might be difficult to talk about. I'm sorry I jumped down your throat about it so much."

"No, you were right," said Ilya, leaning forward to press his forehead to Shane's. Shane got the sense that it was so he didn't need to look at him while he said it. "I think… I think I was hoping that if I didn't tell you, it wouldn't be real. I didn't want to see you looking all worried about me, especially because there's nothing I can do about it. I'm really sorry for not telling you sooner. I just… I'm so fucking scared, Shane."

His voice shook as he said it and Shane immediately pulled him into his arms.

"I know, baby, I know," he said, rubbing soothing circles into his back. "I've got you. Through all of it. I know things won't be… I mean we probably won't be able to call and text as much, but we'll still be able to email, right? We won't be completely cut off from each other?"

"I will make sure we can," said Ilya. "I really wish I didn't have to go.'

"Same," said Shane, squeezing him. "But it's not forever. It's just till you guys prove what an asshole your dad is, right? Then you can come home and your mom never has to deal with him ever again."

"Right," said Ilya. "It should be easy. He's such an asshole, it shouldn't take us long if we're there. And then I'll make sure we come to Ottawa to see you when we come back."

"I would like that so much," said Shane. Then he kissed him, slow and soft, making sure to savor and memorize every second of it for later. "I really fucking love you, Ilya."

"I really fucking love you, Shane."

And maybe there was more they should have said, maybe it wasn't the perfect apology or make-up conversation, but the longer Shane held Ilya the more he could feel his anger evaporating, until he couldn't really remember why he'd been angry at all.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6| Part 7| Part 8| Part 9 | Part 10| Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15

[ltcainemdpd]

Scars

Continued from here. @tealeavesandthorns

Ocean blue eyes watched as Maria's fingers curled around his right hand before bringing it to her lips, letting them linger there for the next several seconds. There was a quiet wonder in his gaze as he watched her, as well as a tenderness that only she knew. That only he looked at her with. A softness reserved only for her. The kind he felt only around her, because of her, and this moment was no different. As they lay here together, tangled up in one another, just the way Horatio preferred it. His arm wrapped under her, warm fingers drawing random patterns along her skin, his lips kissing the top of her head every now that was resting on his chest. She could likely feel his heartbeat against her cheek - strong and calm.

The day had been... perfect. The best word to describe it, really, because it was. From the moment they woke up together, to this moment now and all of them in between. It had been a busy day for all three of them. Starting off with a quick breakfast in the kitchen, then a full day at the zoo.

It was a beautiful day in Miami thus most of the animals were out and active, much to a certain child's excitement. She talked a mile a minute about everything she saw. Every animal moving about in their enclosures, every bird that flew by them - wondering if one had escaped - and even the insects within the bug house. She was fascinated by it all and would share interesting facts she already knew and he'd crouch down to listen. Then she'd ask Horatio to read the information cards attached to the exhibits which he'd do without hesitation. He'd share interesting facts he knew, as well, and though she was absolutely in awe of all of the animals, Horatio was simply in awe of her. He'd smile watching her enjoyment - every smile, every gasp, every giggle had Horatio's smile reaching his shining eyes.

All throughout their adventure, he stayed close. Always standing behind her protectively, instinctively, to keep her sheltered and safe and never letting her wander too far away from them. Though, she was always good about staying close. There was even one point where Horatio lifted her onto his shoulders so she could see one of the animals hidden down below and she was content on staying like that for a few minutes until it was time for the gift shop. He may have gone a little crazy buying her some things - a new plus for her collection, a couple of shirts, a water bottle and even a tiger patterned pair of sunglasses that she begged Horatio to buy a matching pair of. Did he? Of course he did.

The day had come to an end with a filling dinner and dessert and by the time they got home, Maddie was already fast asleep. He put her to bed, kissed her goodnight, and exited her room before joining Maria in the living room for some hot chocolate for heading into the bedroom. The day may have ended, but their night seemed to be just beginning because here they were, all laid up in bed talking. Exhausted as they were from the day, neither wanted to sleep. Neither were ready to sleep.

He wanted to stay up with her for a little while longer, content in just holding her and talking. Pure and utter bliss. That's what he felt in this moment as he watched her with a loving smile on his face, his thumb brushing against her chin. He noticed the way her eyes studied his hand for a second and when he was about to ask what was on her mind, she shared it with him in the form of a question.

He licked his lips and shifted his head just a little, turning his hand so he could see the scar in question. Not that he needed to in order to remember. No. It was a memory he remembered vividly. Impossible to forget.

"His, um, his name was Stewart Otis." His voice is stripped of any warmth when saying his name. She can probably feel his body go still and his muscles tighten underneath her. His eyes almost turn icy, if not for her hand squeezing his to keep him grounded in the moment with her. To remind him that it's just a memory. And he continues on. "He... preyed on children." He knew he didn't have to say more than that. Just the way his tone turned grave was enough. He wasn't going to share any details. God, no. He'd spare her those. But the way his body reacted was telling. Why he cared for children so much, why those cases were always the hardest for him. And the most important. There's a protective fury there, the belief that harming children forfeits any mercy whatsoever.

"I put him in jail and some months later, he escaped." His eyes were focused on his hand that he now held out in front of him, on the memory. "He went after another child, but we were able to find her. Saved her before it was too late." He sounded relieved at that, but he hated how much he was able to hurt her at all. There was that guilt in his eyes, in his voice. "We knew where he was headed and just as we got there, he grabbed another. I chased him to the roof and shot him before he could hurt her." He wet his lips again, his voice a low rumble.

"He was hanging off the edge and he wanted me to let him fall, but I... couldn't." It wasn't in Horatio to kill anyone in cold blood, no matter how much they probably deserved it. Especially men like Stewart Otis. Not only that, but Horatio wanted him to rot in prison, truly rot. Death would be too easy an escape for him, especially because he was asking for it.

"I had one hand on his jacket and reached for his hand with my other and..." he turned his hand to show her the scar again and let out a humorless chuckle. "He cut me twice, but I managed to pull him back over." Broke the man's hand in the process, but Horatio didn't care one bit about that.

He went silent after that, just staring at his hand. The scar, like Maria said, was easy to see. It was deep. Permanent. Not just physically, either. It was an internal scar. A reminder of why he did what he did, why he protected children so fiercely and why he always would.

"I will get out. It's my nature." He remembered Otis telling him with that sickening smile on his face.

"And I'll be waiting. That's my nature."

Always waiting. Always protecting.

But anytime he looked at the scar as a reminder of the people he saved, and vowed to keep safe, he would see the blood, too. The blood that covered both of his hands from the lives that he's taken. And the lives that he failed to save. His thoughts started to take him, the darkness starting to take over his mind, but not as quickly as it usually did. The only thing stopping it, the only reason it fully take him yet, was Maria.

[deadhands69]

I am so sorry for the tomura birthday drabble I just queued.

[toomanystoriessolittletime]

Closer

Summary: Your due date is close and you finally give in and reach out to Frankie to talk over things. But before the talk can happen you run into him. And his son.

Pairing: Frankie Morales x fem. Reader; Marcus Pike x fem. Reader

Wordcount: 1.6k

Warnings: unplanned pregnancy, fluff, angst, implied complications at childbirth, implied character death

A/N: so. yeah. this escalated quickly.

Part of the (Ir)replaceable series

You were getting closer and closer to your due date. And by closer you meant next week.

You, for some reason, hadn’t run into Frankie anymore. And you didn’t know how to feel about it. On one hand you were happy, because he seemed to respect your wishes, on the other hand… 

It was his child you were carrying. Yes, he hurt you, more than you would ever wish to anyone, but he was the father of your child. Your little girl.

God, you wished you could just handle this like every other break up and move on. But you would have to see him at some point. If he chose to have a relationship with this child, your child, that was. You didn’t even know if he told the truth about having told his wife. 

“Sweetheart?” you turned your head, a smile sneaking to your face as you heard footsteps. 

“I’m here,” you called out, your smile widening when you saw Marcus walk on the patio. 

He kissed your forehead before he sat down next to you, his arm coming to rest around your shoulder.

Marcus had turned out to be your biggest surprise. Again.

Yes, he had come home with you, and yes he continued to be a big support for you but there was a voice deep inside in your head that told you every single day that he would leave. 

But it’s been months and Marcus had been to every single doctor's appointment with you. He had gone to birthing classes with you. He had been your rock. 

But you both decided that you would take it slow. 

Not only because you both had been burned in the past, but because you were a hormonal mess and Marcus was scared you would hate him once you had given birth and your hormones were back to normal. 

And while you wanted to laugh as he told you about this fear, you ended up kissing him softly and agreeing to wait. 

Which was why even though you were sleeping in the same bed, you haven’t had sex yet. Much to your (and his) frustration. 

“You really wanna go to the store? I could get what we need,” he asked. 

You smiled, taking his hand. 

“Might be the last time we can go alone to the store together for a while,” you hummed and he smiled. You both rested your hands on your belly that looked like it was ready to burst. 

You felt so fucking huge, you were ready for this pregnancy to be over. 

Lately you had caught yourself wishing it wasn’t Frankie’s baby, but Marcus’. A thought you felt guilty about. But then you had talked to your therapist about it (oh yes, you had started therapy to work though all of those feelings and issues) and they had told you that it was normal for you to imagine this with how you had been hurt by the biological father. 

Marcus had practically moved in with you. He still had his apartment and he still had his job back in Washington. But three weeks ago he had officially asked to transfer to the office here which was only a formality. The FBI was glad to have him here. 

“I can’t believe you’re due next week,” he said.

“Me neither,” you sighed. 

“Have you… Have you thought about reaching out to him?” Marcus asked hesitantly. 

“Honestly?” you asked. He nodded. 

“I think about reaching out every single day. I… Even though he hurt me, he has the right to see his daughter. And I have to…. I have to come to terms with seeing him. If he wants to see his child that is.”

Marcus kissed your temple. 

“Maybe ask him to come over to talk? I could go so you could talk about everything and…” you shook your head. 

“I want you there when I talk to him. You are going to be part of her life too. You will most likely spend more time with her than he will. You… I can’t do this without you,” you said. Marcus squeezed your hand. 

“Tell me when and I’ll be there.”

“Which one?” Marcus held up two different brands of mint chocolate chip ice cream and you pursed your lips in thought. 

“Both?” you said after a while and he chuckled. 

You had texted Frankie, left your phone at home and then went to the store with Marcus. It was almost 10pm and the store was pretty empty. Only a couple of people walking around. You were pushing the cart, which was mostly filled with snacks you had been craving throughout your pregnancy. 

Marcus came over, his hand resting on your back after he put the ice cream into your cart. You grinned up at him and he kissed you, his other hand resting on your belly. 

He was obsessed with your belly, talking to your little girl all the time, telling her goodnight stories when he thought you were already asleep. 

You wondered if Frankie would have been like that too. Was he excited to be a father? And to two children at once? 

You wondered how his wife took the whole affair and second baby thing. You didn’t know if he told the truth when he told you he had confessed everything to his wife. 

You blinked your eyes, getting rid of the thoughts as you pushed the cart forward into the next aisle. 

And suddenly he was there, his eyes already on you when you stopped in your tracks. 

You could hear Marcus say something, but it was like you were under water as you looked at him. But it wasn’t him that had your attention, it was the child strapped to his chest. You only got out of your trace when you felt Marcus hand on top of yours, your knuckles white from the way you were squeezing the shopping cart. 

You felt the familiar panic inside of you building as you looked at Frankie. 

“Sweetheart, look at me,” Marcus tilted your head towards him and you blinked up at him. 

“Do you want to leave?” he asked quietly. You gulped, letting go of the shopping cart to let him guide your hands to his chest. He breathed with you, in and out until you felt the fog in your brain disappear.

“Do you want to leave?” he asked again, his eyes full of concern. His eyes left yours only briefly to look behind you before they were on you again. It was forever before you shook your head. 

“Are you sure?” he asked again, checking in with you. You nodded, taking a deep breath before you turned around again, finding Frankie still at the spot you had last seen him. 

Marcus' hand on your back was grounding you as you slowly made your way down the aisle. 

You were tired of running. 

And until you moved to another city (which was a whole other conversation you would have with Marcus at some point) you did not want to walk around town, scared you would run into the man who broke your heart. 

“Hey,” Frankie said as you stopped next to him. 

He looked…. He looked miserable. His eyes sad and exhausted. And you hated the part of yourself that was happy about it. 

“Hey,” you said back, your eyes wandering down to the sleeping baby against his chest. 

It looked so tiny against him as it slept peacefully, the squishy cheek resting on his chest. 

“Uhm… Hi. I’m…. I’m Frankie,” you watched him reach out his hand towards Marcus, who shook it. 

“Marcus Pike,” he said with a nod, before his hand came to rest on your back again. 

“How… How are you?” Frankie asked and you shrugged. 

“Almost there. My due date is next week so… Any day now,” you said and he nodded. 

“I… I got your text. I wanna talk. I just….” he ran a hand through his hair. 

“I have to bring him, if that’s okay,” he gestured down to the sleeping child. 

“What’s his name?” you asked softly. 

“Mateo,” Frankie said with a small smile as he looked down. 

“It’s okay to bring him, but why? Can’t you leave him with… with your wife?” you asked. Frankie looked briefly at Marcus before he looked at you before he shook his head. 

“She’s… He came early, got out of the hospital only yesterday and there were complications during the delivery and…” Frankie shook his head, clearing his throat. 

“I can’t leave him,” he said, looking at you. 

You looked up at Marcus, whose hand ran around your back, resting on your hip, squeezing you softly. 

“Come over for lunch tomorrow?” you began to speak. Marcus nodded at you and you looked at Frankie. 

He nodded at you. 

“Okay. We’re… We’re home all day. Just come over around lunchtime. So… So we can talk,” you said. 

“I’d… I’d like that,” he nodded. Frankie looked down at Matteo just as he blinked his eyes open. You smiled softly. He was really cute. 

“See you tomorrow then,” you said and Frankie looked at you. 

“See you tomorrow,” he whispered before he slowly pushed his cart forward and walked away. 

You stood there for a couple of moments gathering your thoughts before you looked up at Marcus. 

“Do you think…?” you whispered. He sighed. 

“It sounded like it….”

Marcus pulled you against his chest, kissing your forehead as tears sprung to your eyes. 

“Let’s go home,” you whispered. He nodded, taking your hand, leaning down to kiss you softly.

He didn’t let go of your hand until you went to bed and you fell asleep in his arms. Safe. 

[dragongutsixofficial]

wip

[leiawritesstories]

blood-soaked gown

*clears throat nervously* Welcome to this You're On Your Own, Kid-inspired oneshot! (@house-of-galathynius it's angst monster playtime)

word count: 2.5k

warnings: language, Arobynn, business talk, drunkenness, violence, blood, miscarriage, angst

enjoy (?)

I looked around in a blood-soaked gown

And I saw something they can't take away

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Remind me why exactly we're here again?" Aelin Whitethorn Galathynius whispered into her husband's ear, slipping him a covert little wink.

Rowan's lips twitched with the effort of keeping his polite expression in place. "The usual--workplace expectation, family expectation, you know the drill."

"Ah, the perils of being born into a disgustingly rich family," Aelin murmured, squeezing his arm. "First chance I get, though..."

"I'll be right beside you," her husband promised. "Gods, I might hate these damn parties worse than you."

She chuckled. "That's because you weren't brought up to schmooze, Ro."

"Poor me," he whispered, his voice dropping low. "Having to sip drinks and serve as arm candy for my gorgeous wife all night long."

"You've got a few more uses than that," she teased, winking.

His smirk set fire to the embers pooled low in her belly. "Allow me to show you just that, my love."

"After the dinner, buzzard," she reminded him, giggling softly at his frustrated grumble.

"Fine," he conceded. "But if this thing drags on...we're leaving."

Aelin grinned. "I'll make my excuses." Smoothing one hand down the fine, lustrous silk of her formal gown, the deep pine hue perfectly paired with her husband's eyes, she redirected Rowan over towards the beckoning circle of her parents and a few of their business associates.

"Aelin!" Evalin exclaimed warmly, welcoming her daughter into the cluster of elegantly dressed, fabulously rich business aficionados. "You look stunning, my dear."

"Thank you," Aelin smiled, painting a charming smile across her face despite the faint nausea lingering in the back of her throat and pit of her stomach.

Probably because Arobynn Hamel was there.

A longtime business associate of her parents', Arobynn had long been known to have near-infinite wealth and almost as much affinity for eyeing young women. Aelin had first been introduced to the red-haired man at a gala she'd attended with her parents when she was fifteen. She'd immediately internally recoiled from his oily leer and the way his hand lingered on hers a little too long. And each time she came to a business function, she grew a little more disgusted by the man.

But his apparently endless wealth was well tied into Ashryver-Galathynius Realty, so she gave Arobynn Hamel the same cool, professionally detached treatment she gave to every other business partner and client with whom she met.

"Congratulations, Ms. Galathynius," Arobynn purred, tipping his whiskey glass at her. Aelin's blood froze solid for a moment, until he continued. "Closing that deal with the Cortlands is a remarkable achievement."

Right. The Cortland deal. Aelin inclined her head, smiling modestly. "Well, after enough time, even the Cortlands realized how much of an asset to their business it would be to partner with us."

The Cortlands were an old-money family who'd long been established in the banking business, and they had been Aelin's clients for several months as they looked into purchasing a new property in the sleek new business district in South Orynth. The only catch? They had been trying their very best to swindle one of the company's associates into buying the property for a ridiculously low price, until Aelin stepped in and told Sam Cortland in very few words where he and his dynasty could shove their offer.

Nearly seven months after the Cortlands had approached AG Realty, Aelin had closed a deal on the property, shaking hands with Sam and restraining her triumphant smirk to a pleased smile. That had been a mere week or so ago, so of course the firm and its associates would be hearing about it.

"I'm sure the Cortlands will be a wonderful asset," she added, flicking a knowing glance at her parents.

Rhoe grinned. "My fearsome daughter."

She chuckled. "Hardly, Dad. People are just scared of a woman who knows what she's talking about."

"Quite the threat indeed," Arobynn offered, his gaze a few shades more than could be considered polite.

Aelin restrained herself from stepping on his foot with her stiletto heel as she made her excuses, noticing Elide beckoning her from a short distance away. "Thank you," she murmured to her friend, giving the petite brunette a quick hug.

"Anything to save you from that creep," Elide returned, flicking the blonde a knowing glance. "Having fun, Whitethorn?"

"Shut up," Rowan mumbled, taking a larger-than-necessary swallow of his drink.

Aelin chuckled, sliding her hand back around her husband's arm. "He always has the time of his life at these lovely little parties." She pecked a kiss onto his cheek. "Love, will you get me a drink?"

Thankful to have something to do besides pretend he could tolerate anybody except his wife and the few friends in the room, Rowan strolled over to the bar, pouring Aelin a glass of sparkling cider. Why she preferred to drink something nonalcoholic at these functions, he didn't entirely know.

Though he suspected it may have something to do with how tense she always was around Arobynn Hamel and his disgusting roving eye.

"Here you are, love."

"Thank you." She stole a quick kiss, making Elide flutter her lashes and coo.

"Aww, look at the lovebirds!"

"Quiet," Aelin laughed, "you and that hulking brute of yours are just as bad."

Elide snickered. "It's not my fault Lorcan's a big old softie."

"Bet that's not what you call him in bed," Aelin smirked.

Her friend's face went scarlet. "Aelin!" she whisper-shrieked, smacking the blonde's shoulder. "No!"

"Girls' night never lies," Aelin crooned.

"And what happens at girls' night stays at girls' night," Elide retorted.

"All right, all right." Aelin raised her drink in concession. "I won't say anything else about you and Salvaterre being all sappy." Out of the corner of her eye, she caught yet another senior business partner motioning to her, and sighed. "Once more unto the breach."

"Do you--"

She shook her head, squeezing Rowan's hand. "It's just Darrow and a few of his associates, you can stay here and keep Elide and Lorcan company."

"Thank the gods," Rowan mumbled.

She just chuckled, kissed his cheek, and strolled over to meet Darrow and the few men with him, greeting the man who'd been her business advisor for many years affectionately. "So you need some young ears, hmm?"

"I'm not a fossil yet," Darrow fake-sighed, the lines around his eyes crinkling as he smiled at her. "We just wanted to congratulate you on the Cortland deal."

"Ah, don't make such a fuss about it," she smiled.

The older gentleman shook his head wryly. "Always downplaying your achievements, young one." He patted her shoulder. "Mrs. Whitethorn Galathynius here managed to rope the Cortlands themselves into a deal with AG Realty, can you believe it?"

"Impressive." Dorian Havilliard's dark brows shot up. "And you managed to do this in under two years?"

Aelin laughed quietly. She and the younger Havilliard--a brilliant civil defense attorney--had been friends since they were young. "Seven months, give or take a few days."

Dorian whistled. "Congratulations, then!" He raised his glass to her. "I argued a case for old Cortland several years ago, and let me tell you, the amount of demands that man had almost drove my partners insane."

"Oh, stop flattering me," she laughed, but raised her glass anyway. "Thank you, Dorian."

He winked. "Anything for the future of Orynth's commercial real estate."

She chatted with Dorian, Darrow, and a couple of others for a short while before Evalin came and stole her away to speak with the senior associates of AG Realty. Aelin caught Rowan's eye as she walked with her mother.

Need me? his raised eyebrow asked.

I'll be fine, she returned. Keep Lorcan from drinking too much, yeah?

Will do, Fireheart.

So Aelin sipped on her sparkling cider and chatted with the senior associates and her parents, discussing a few upcoming clients and whether or not they should accept some of the offers that poured in daily. Most notably, Arobynn Hamel was considering buying yet another property in the industrial district.

What that man wanted with so many warehouses, Aelin couldn't even begin to imagine.

"I don't see any reason why we shouldn't move forward with that deal," Rhoe mused. "He's always been a credible buyer, never misses payments or defaults on anything."

"What about the..." Evalin lowered her voice, keeping their conversation private. "What about that article?"

Two weeks ago, the Orynth Journal, which was admittedly a tabloid at best, had published an article that almost instantly went viral. In it, they claimed to have evidence linking Arobynn Hamel and his holdings in the industrial district to an international drug trafficking ring. Of course, since it was tabloid journalism, the reliability of this "evidence" had to be questioned, but still--was there any truth to it?

When privately questioned, Arobynn had--of course--denied all of it, maintaining his sleek professional exterior and, apparently, putting AG Realty enough at ease that they decided to dismiss the rumors as the workings of the tabloids. Aelin still had her suspicions, given that the man was a certified creep, but she deferred to her parents' judgment. She wouldn't raise too many questions, not unless some new information that cast true suspicion onto Arobynn came into light.

"We agreed that was all tabloid nonsense," Darrow reminded Evalin, though there was a hint of concern buried in his keen gaze.

"I know," Evalin sighed. "Very well, then. We can negotiate the deal with him when--"

"FUCK OFF!" The slurred yell completely shattered the elegant mood of the evening.

Horrified, everyone whirled around, finding Arobynn Hamel with a half-empty bottle of Scotch clutched in his hand, a glazed sheen of obvious drunkenness in his eyes and a sneer on his face.

His yell had been directed at Dorian, who held up his hands in a placating gesture. "No, Mr. Hamel, you misunderstand! I am not--I would never accuse you of anything illicit without proof!"

"Fuckin' lyin' lawyers," Arobynn growled, anger flaring in his posture.

Slowly, Dorian backed away from Arobynn, careful not to say anything lest he set off the drunk man's rage. Just as slowly, a few others approached Arobynn, gingerly offering to make him another drink, to get him some water, anything to defuse the situation.

"Don't fucking offer me water, you cock!" Arobynn snarled, whirling sharply about to rage at Darrow, who'd made that offer.

CRASH!

In his clumsy turnaround, Arobynn smashed the bottle of Scotch against the bar top, littering shards of broken glass atop the bar and leaving him with a broken bottle top clutched in his hand.

"Mr. Hamel--"

As if realizing he now held a weapon, Arobynn brandished the broken bottle at Darrow, all semblance of sanity drained out of his wild eyes. "Fuck off, Darrow."

"Arobynn." Aelin broke into the tense standoff, matching the drunk man's crazed look with her steel will. "Put down the bottle, gods dammit!"

"Don't tell me what to do, bitch," Arobynn snarled.

Aelin's glare intensified. "You want your new warehouse, don't you?"

A brief, charged moment of silence.

"Bitch," Arobynn hissed, but he released the bottle.

CRASH. It shattered all over the floor, shards splintering up into the air and clinking in discordant symphony against the polished marble flooring.

Aelin winced as something bumped into her stomach--probably just a stray elbow as everyone around Arobynn collectively rushed backwards, out of range of the glass. Behind her back, she gave the prearranged signal to her parents, clasping her fingers together.

Call security.

The building's security personnel were in the room only minutes later, swiftly and efficiently subduing Arobynn and escorting him out, most likely to spend a night in the loving embrace of the Orynth Police Department.

"Everyone all right?" Aelin asked, brushing her hands against her gown, feeling the oddest sticky-wet sensation. Huh. Probably liquor from the mess.

Nods and murmurs of "yes, I'm okay," rippled through the guests.

Until Dorian gasped sharply, his sapphire gaze trained on Aelin's stomach. "Fuck!"

"What?" She glanced down at her gown, wondering what the hell had gotten into her friend.

And gasping, the color draining from her face.

Apparently, it hadn't been an elbow bumping into her, but a stray shard of broken glass.

Her breath breaking, shuddering, Aelin touched her fingertips to the warmth spreading over her stomach and pulled them away slowly, almost unable to believe the dripping crimson stain. Blood, some faraway part of her brain realized. My blood.

And as her legs quavered and failed beneath her, Aelin Whitethorn Galathynius could only form one thought. Her eyes shot across the room to a lock onto the pine green gaze latched onto her, her heart constricting at the sheer depth of shock and pain etched into her husband's eyes.

“Rowan…”

The only thing she could think, the only thing keeping her rooted to the ground as she splayed one hand over her stomach, over the thick dark pool of blood welling there, the scarlet stain seeping into the fine silk of her evening gown.

“Rowan….I’m pregnant.”

And then everything went black.

~

Aelin blinked awake slowly, like she was rising up from a bath of molasses, her head fuzzy and disoriented. Slowly, the room around her came into focus--an IV coiling out of her arm, the steady beep of machines tracking her heart rate and pulse and oxygen level, the slightly uncomfortable bed, the cotton fabric against her skin, the firm warm pressure of Rowan's hand in hers.

She was in the hospital.

"Rowan," she croaked, her voice a bare rasp, turning her head to meet his broken gaze. "Ro..."

"You're going to be okay, Fireheart," he rasped, not bothering to try and mask the tears choking his face, his voice.

Ignoring the agony that sliced through her whole self, she gripped his hand and swung herself out of the bed, suddenly desperate, flattening her other hand atop her stomach. "Our baby, Rowan," she gasped.

Her husband's veneer of calmness cracked, splitting down the seams, and his shoulders heaved with a choked sob. "They--Aelin, they said you--miscarried." He could barely get the last words out.

"No." She shook her head, dropped his hand, wrapped her arms around her middle reactively, protectively. Her whole body screaming with the effort, with the pain, she took one searing step after another until she reached the mirror over the sink and stared into her pale, shell-shocked reflection.

Familiar heat bloomed at her stomach, her disoriented stumbling having torn her stitches, letting the deathly rose of her blood bloom across her abdomen. The blood seeped through the bandages, through the thin cotton hospital gown, soaking her hands with the heat of her own life.

Words failing her, Aelin stared at herself in the mirror, captivated and horrified by the broken, bleeding woman who stared back, a chasm of unspeakable pain yawning in her eyes.

And as the nurses who'd come rushing when Rowan pressed the call button caught her, murmuring soothing words into her ear, and injected something that slowed her pulse to drugged sleep into her IV drip, Aelin tilted her head back and released a scream that clawed up and out of her throat from the shattered coffin of her womb.

They can't take my child. The last thing she remembered thinking before the pull of the sedative claimed her.

They will never take my child.

~~~

A/N: if you thought bit at the end resembled Rhaenyra in HOTD no it didn't ;))

~~~

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[tanaleth]

Miego series continues!

This broody one-shot takes us to 3-2. ☕

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Excerpt:

He'd never have said he cared much about color before he lost it. Bold colors, soft colors, they were just… there. That's what he'd have told you.

Well, something was better than nothing. And of all the things he'd lost, "color vision" ranked pretty low on the list. One of the innumerable things he'd taken for granted.

The other inconveniences of the visor grated, but he adapted. He learned to look straight ahead if he wanted to see clearly and to blink more often so his eyes didn't dry out while he was wearing the stupid thing. He learned not to panic when he woke up in darkness. He even started dreaming in black and white… most of the time. 

There was still an unending stream of faceless medical professionals eager to see him. Doctors, residents, nurses, and technicians all blended together. Most tried to keep his expectations low, but others tried not to discourage him. The words "damned by faint praise" came to mind more than once when he was lauded for performing some basic act of personal maintenance.

It was a test of will not to tell them all to fuck off. Because of course he did it himself. Who else was there?

Shorter Godot:

Read the rest on AO3.