put your emptiness to melody.

ella was a bit taken aback when fionn had asked her to go to ireland with him for a visit. not because she didn't think he truly considered her family, but it was opening up a part of himself that not many people truly got to see. going back home for him, it had to be a bittersweet decision. going back to a place that holds so much love and so much anger at the same time, it's a feeling that ella is all too familiar with. perhaps, it was part of the reason he trusted her so much to go.

and god, is she glad that she did. him getting to show her around a place that, in a weird way, does feel a little familiar to her. ella has snippets of memories, flashes of her mothers beautiful laugh and her father holding her hand as they walked through cobblestone streets. even the sand between her toes feels familiar. fionn offers out a piece of sea glass he had picked up and ella carefully takes it between her fingers. the slightly opaque color and smooth texture feels comforting to her as a smile begins to build at the corners of her lips.

having ella here settles something in fionn's heart he didn't realise was hurting. he feels most himself here, but every time he's come back, since his nan's death, it's felt like something was missing. an ache in his heart, a chill in the air. is home still home if the people who made it that way are no longer there? fionn may not have known ella when they were children, but she still represents the same kind of warmth — same kind of love — that the house and his grandparents and this country does. she's still home. he should have brought her to ireland years ago.

❝ it is, ❞ he agrees, glad the weather is beautiful, today. a little cold, perhaps, the wind blowing his hair into his eyes, but dock beach and the sea it leads to are showing off, sun glittering on the water. ❝ okay. lunch after. ❞ fionn settles down on the sand beside her with a sigh, legs stretched out in front of him. ❝ we could hire a car. ❞ a beat. ❝ you could hire a car, i'm not allowed to drive right now. we could head out into the countryside, go for a wee hike. or at least a drive. it's beautiful, you'd love it. there's probably a dozen villages you'd like to move to. ❞

knox hisses as the peroxide hits the gash in his side. he's lucky fionn agreed not to take him to the hospital. this isn't the worst wound he's ever had to stitch on himself, but it's unpleasant regardless. shaking hands work through the first aide kit fionn had brought out, knox finds a suture kit and sets it aside. it's been a while since he's had to do this, and knox finds that it hurts worse than he remembers. isn't it always like that?

"shit," the word is clenched through his teeth as knox pulls his shirt up higher before sighing with frustration and taking it off. the shirt is dropped to the floor. sweat is beading on his forehead; he's glad fionn's sober but knox finds himself desperately wishing for a strong drink. just something to take the edge off. rather than dwell on that, he pulls the suture kit open and works on getting the needle set up.

hands hesitate as knox is about to start stitching, he takes a deep breath through his nose and holds it a moment before letting it out slowly, "i used to be better at thi-"

❝ oh yeah, i like my men bloody. ❞ he does not; concern has been written on his face since he first saw the state knox was in, and has now etched itself into a furrow between his eyebrows. fionn had agreed, extremely reluctantly, not to take knox to hospital — they're hardly his favourite place, these days, but fionn was a firefighter, not a medic, and is ill-equipped to actually help here — but he's hovering, just in case.

just in case of what, he's not entirely sure, but he's got gauze out for afterwards, and is on hand for...moral support? thank god he's not squeamish, even if he does wince at the size of the needle.

kissing knox was...impulse, mostly. one born of desire he's felt for a while, something fionn has done a god-awful job of pushing down, sure, but a bleeding wound hardly makes for good timing. he knows that.he's not stupid. but he saw knox's hands, with that fuck-off big needle, hesitate, because he was watching them (and not the bleeding gash, thank you), and he wanted to make it better. he can't be a sticking plaster over a wound, he can't staunch the bleeding himself, but he can be something. a distraction, maybe.

❝ no, i just— ❞ he shrugs, stepping back enough that he can pick knox's shirt up off the floor, shaking it out and draping it over a chair. his smile comes a little too easily. ❝ i don't know. you seemed like you needed to get out of your head. but, uh, you're currently still bleeding out, maybe, and i'd really appreciate it if you didn't do that, so—shit timing. sorry. ❞

the sound of the front door unlocking and creaking open startles ella out of her half-sleep. sprawled out on the couch with several open books and papers surrounding her, the redhead blinks her eyes a couple of times to try and orient herself back to where she is. from across the living room, she can see the hands of the clock on the wall reading sometime after one in the morning. jesus, it's late. even for fionn.

half-lidded eyes turn over the back of the couch to look at her brother with a soft smile curving at her lips. ❝ it's awfully late, you know. ❞ perhaps her tone is slightly annoyed, but it doesn't show in her features. it's the weekend, after all, and ella knows she can be a bit of a stick in the mud at times. parties aren't exactly her favorite thing, and especially not the weekend before having this massive sociology paper due. but she's glad that fionn is enjoying himself; as long as it means he lets her know where he is. just in case.

despite his best efforts to keep quiet, the lock is a fickle beast at the best of times, and he has to shove the door shut with his shoulder. fionn's keys do, at least, make it into the bowl so he can find them tomorrow, but his shoes end up in a pile. his jacket misses the hook entirely, and he stares at it on the floor for several seconds before leaving in where it fell. tomorrow fionn can deal with that. ❝ you didn't have to wait up, ❞ he says, slightly petulant, moving to the kitchen. the glass of water he fills, entirely on autopilot, no real conscious thought, is downed almost in one — when did he last drink water? — but he takes longer to assess whether he's hungry before moving to the fridge.

his brain feels like molasses, every thought getting stuck before it can fully form. it's peaceful. it's wonderful.

it does, however, require more brainpower than he currently possesses to work out if the container of pasta is microwaveable; he just picks a fork up off the draining board and starts eating it cold. ❝ you're an angel, ❞ he says, bending over the back of the couch to kiss the top of ella's head before he rounds it, half-falling over the arm as he gets himself seated. the pasta, held aloft, survives. ❝ the party was— ❞ fionn shrugs. a party's a party, really. ❝ frat boys are real pricks, though. i gotta stop going to parties with them. fuck, this is really good. ❞

❝ um, yeah. okay. i-i'll be outside somewhere, i guess. ❞ iron man wants to speak to him? fionn doesn't know what some stuff amounts to, exactly, but he would like to reassure himself that a superhero isn't lying dead beneath a trapped building. that a person isn't. because fionn's panic and adrenaline have kicked him into high focus, right now, but there's a person inside that suit. he's not just a figurehead, but someone with a life. and fionn knows all too well what it's like to be buried in a building, praying for rescue; he wouldn't wish that on anybody.

he doesn't linger now, calling out to the people inside; fire department, call out! might no longer be in his day to day vocabulary, and he might be in civilian clothing, but the instinct is still there. a little less authority, without the uniform, but he can hustle people until he comes face to face with the firefighters — one he knows, one he doesn't — and let them take over. fionn waves the paramedics off, drifting to a quiet corner of the cordon, where he sits on a kerb and rubs his face, breathing getting shallower again now he's safe.

his eyes don't leave the roof.

@tremaynes asked: “ Have you always been like this? ”

armand sits across from fionn, in a cafe he hadn't been invited to. it was another night where the human crossed his mind and the only solution was to find seek him out yet again. while lestat might have opened the door to his curiosity, armand found him to be interesting on his own. he still tried to puzzle over their relationship, but popping up without warning was becoming a bit of a hobby.

the reaction was always entertaining.

his chair remains a slight distance from the table, one leg crossed over the other as he watches him. had he always been like this? the vampire cants his head, narrowing his eyes before straightening and considering how to answer it. “ been like what? a vampire? ” oh, his suspicion is that that's not the question. though, he could easily blame the unsettling habits on his nature. others would probably disagree ( but not all ).

what is it about fionn that makes him so fascinating to armand? if it wasn't for the fact that fionn still startles, when he appears out of nowhere, his heart rate rising, it would almost be funny how desperate armand seems to be to talk to him. instead, he's still afraid of the man, still wary of what he wants. given how much it would piss lestat off, fionn's pretty sure his life isn't at risk, but that doesn't change how much he feels like a prey animal, let loose only for the hound to catch up with him. he feels, constantly, like he's being toyed with.

and there's nothing he can do about it. yeah, he could tell lestat it bothers him, but what is that going to achieve, really?

❝ i assume that at some point you were human. though you seem to have forgotten what that was like. ❞ fionn's hands curl around a cup of tea that tastes bitter, now; he'd stopped here after his meeting, because he didn't fancy going back to an empty house, but now he wishes he had. or would armand have invited himself there, too? ❝ no, a weird wee bastard. ❞ it's probably not the first word he'd have chosen, but he also doesn't want to entirely provoke the scary vampire. ❝ i'm flattered you're this obsessed with me, god knows why, but i don't actually like this. or you. ❞

✦ HE WRESTLES WITH THE URGE TO smack fionn upside the head, and staves off it purely because he knows, if he turned to look at his friend, he'd see a worried little divot denting his forehead. he looks, nods to himself, and presses his thumb down into the crease to smooth fionn's furrowed brows down.

“don't,” the word is leaden, heavy with a multitude of things he'd like to say in the moment but lacked the focus to string each word into kind sentences. don't fuss; don't waste time trying to comfort me; don't fucking call yourself a fool when you aren't. and then: “alright.”

alright, because he has always hated to be fussed over, but he could tolerate almost anything if it was fionn asking. he took the handkerchief and dabbed more blood away, not wincing once, and risked another glance at the look on fionn's face to be certain that he didn't find this just a smidgen amusing. that would have been easier than the concern.

fionn looks at teddy — bloody face, bruised fist, rage still sparking light in his eyes — and thinks, i adore you. i would do anything for you. even with the concern he is feeling, even if he wishes teddy would not leap to violence, even if he has wiped blood away one too many times, it holds true. who else loves him enough to fight in his defence? who else loves him? fionn may not know exactly what was said to trigger this fight, but he knows what past ones have been about. and he will, in return, ensure nobody makes teddy have to pay. fionn is no fighter, will take the verbal hits when they come and say nothing about the bruising to his heart, but he's good at talking. and specifically, he's good at talking them out of trouble.

that is for later; now, he shepherds teddy back to his room so he can clean him up, relieved he does not have to bully him into accepting the care.

❝ mm, i do intend to lead a blissful, unmarried life. but one can be rowdy without beating up half the ton, ❞ fionn says, but one side of his mouth lifts. his approach may be less direct, and a mere side effect of his desire to numb himself, but he's aware society mamas are unlikely to want their daughters to marry a man known for drinking and revelry. and since fionn doesn't wish to marry said daughters, everybody wins. he's the third son, anyway, and least favourite; he's hardly a great prospect.

he shuts the door behind them, pouring water into a basin. ❝ sit. please. ❞ some more handkerchiefs are likely to be sacrificed to the cause, as fionn begins to clean teddy's face, gently holding his chin. he's quiet, and he's careful, not wanting to reopen the split lip. ❝ what did he say, ted? ❞