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mybutcheredtongue · 24 days ago

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I'll Love You 'til the Grass Around My Gravestone is Deceased

post azkaban sirius black x fem!reader

CHAPTER THIRTY (see full series list here)

warning: bit of an emotional start, sorry

October 31st, 1981

“Hey, love, are you feeling any better?”

After a lot of straining and groaning, you manage to turn your head just enough on the pillow to be able to take in the person who’s just entered the room: Sirius, your husband — and for the past two days, your servant, practically.

You sniffle, one of your nostrils completely blocked, giving a wry smile. “Not at all.” Your voice comes out raspy and it grates against the back of your throat. “I don't know what I did to deserve this but fuck I am never doing it again.”

He chuckles softly, gently stroking your hair out of your face. “Look on the bright side. At least you're not in St Mungo’s.”

“Not yet.” You blink lethargically at him, fighting the urge to drift off to sleep, sighing. “Have we gotten any trick-or-treaters?”

He raises an eyebrow, chuckling. “What are you on about?”

You raise a hand lazily, waving it about in front of him in strange explanation. “It’s a Muggle thing…kids dress up and come to the door…give them sweets…”

Sirius listens while you babble incomprehensibly about Halloween and Muggles, and places a cold wet cloth on your forehead, relieving the immense heat emanating from your skin. You breathe a sigh of relief.

“We don't have any pain relief left,” he says gently, as if he’s worried talking too loud will irritate your body even more. “I’ll pop out and get you some in a little bit.”

You shake your head vigorously, alarm bells going off in your head. “No, no, stay here. Don't leave tonight…have a bad feeling…”

“Probably because you’re sick,” he answers with an amused smile, placing a fresh box of tissues on your bedside table. “I won't be long.”

But you really do have a bad feeling, and you know it's not from the illness. You have a sinking feeling in your stomach of worry, a sense that something bad will happen tonight. You want him to stay by your side just in case.

“No, stay, Sirius, please,” you say weakly, your body betraying your brain as your eyelids get heavier and you have to fight to keep them open. “Please, don't go…something bad will happen.”

He continues stroking your hair soothingly, wiping the cloth across your forehead. “Nothing bad will happen, I promise. I’ll be back before you know it.”

You grab his arm with what little strength you have, your body aching with the movement. “Please, please don't go. I’m being serious, stay here, please…”

He stands up, tugging the covers closer to your body. “Get your rest, love. You’ll feel better when I have your medicine.”

You open your mouth to say more, but this time the words don't come out. You bring a hand to your throat, feeling it burn each time you try to say anything.

“Sirius…”

But he's gone. He's left the room and soon, as your eyelids finally shut over your eyes, you can hear the revving of his motorbike outside and the sound of him driving off into the night.

Bright light when you’re jolted awake by someone shaking you vigorously tells you it’s morning. Your eyes snap open, feeling extremely disoriented, and peer up at the unfamiliar face above you.

“Come on, get up now…”

“Huh…?” You blink, bringing a hand to your eyes and rubbing them, your head pounding. When you open them again, Barty Crouch is wide-eyed, staring back at you. In a mixture of sickness and shock, you let out a string of rattly coughs and he jerks away from you, wrinkling his nose. “Mr Crouch?”

“Get up.”

With effort, you manage to sit up against the headboard and take in your surroundings. You realise that what you had taken for the morning sun streaming in through the windows is actually just the lights in your bedroom, making you squint. Crouch isn’t the only one here — there’s about six other official-looking people — a few other Aurors you recognise from the Ministry.

What the fuck is going on? Are you dying? What was in that medicine Sirius got you?

“Mr Crouch what — what are you doing here?”

“You didn’t hear what happened, then.” He looks back at his co-workers, and they start muttering to each other conspiratorially. Can’t they just leave? Can’t they see you need rest right now? This must be a dream because if it were real Sirius would keep them out of your room.

“You’re going to have to come with us.”

“What?”

Crouch leans to say something to another man, and you manage to catch the end of his sentence: “ — no state to answer questions, we’ll have to take her in.”

You groan, reaching for the water on your nightstand and gulping the glass down. You feel sick, and you don’t know if it’s from anxiety or your flu.

“Where’s…where’s Sirius?” you say, craning your neck to look past the people in case he’s hidden behind them.

Crouch bites his lip and exchanges a glance with the workers, another set of mutterings passing around the group.

“Just…come with us, and we’ll explain everything. We’ll get you a potion for your illness.”

You look around at all the sets of eyes staring at you. One man standing near the back is glaring at you as if you’ve just killed someone.

“No, where is he?” You pull back the covers and feebly swing your legs over the side of the bed, sitting up. “Where the fuck is Sirius?”

The man who’s been glaring at you steps forward from the back of the group to speak to Crouch, though he makes no effort to hide his words. “Stop being so nice, Crouch. Let’s get this over with.”

Crouch looks down at you, frowning, as he takes in your appearance: dishevelled and in your pyjamas, nose and eyes red.

“You’ll need to get dressed.”

You stare around at them, shaking your head. “Not until you tell me what’s going on.”

“You’ll find out. Get ready.”

“Tell me what’s going on or I’m not going anywhere.”

Crouch hisses in frustration but before he can get another word out, the angry man steps forward and produces his wand. “This isn’t a fucking tea party, Barty. Stupefy.”

When you wake, you're sitting in a chair. Blinking rapidly, you take in your surroundings: Crouch’s office. He sits across from you, hands folded in front of him as he stares at you.

“You're awake.”

You groan, your limbs stiff and sore. “Fuck — barely.”

Crouch sighs and looks behind you, and when you turn around you notice Moody standing behind you, leaning on his staff with a grim expression.

“Sir?”

Crouch pushes a tall glass of water towards you across the desk. “Have a drink.”

Your heart is pounding — what is going on? Have you done something wrong? Oh god, what about that paperwork you forgot to file last week? It was a complete accident, you just lost track of time —

“Go on.”

Nervously, you pull the glass towards your lips and gulp it down, grateful for how it soothes your throat. Oddly, you don't feel sick anymore — your headache is gone, your nose is clear and you don't feel the urge to cough and sneeze every ten seconds. They must have given you a potion while you were out. How long were you out?

Crouch waits while you drink and doesn't speak until you've finished every last drop. Then he clears his throat. “Last night, James and Lily Potter were murdered by He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named.”

The monotone way he says it makes you feel like you've heard him wrong.

“What?”

“They were betrayed by their Secret-Keeper. By Sirius Black.”

You don't say anything. You can't say anything. James and Lily are dead? This can't be happening. This is just a nightmare, right? It's a horrible, terrible nightmare. There is no way that in the real world, your best friends are dead. There is no way that in reality, your best friends are dead and your husband is the reason why. Sirius would never do that, you know he would never do that — he wouldn’t even tell you anything about where they were hiding, he would never compromise their safety like that —

“Sirius Black killed Peter Pettigrew and twelve muggles in one blast.”

Wake up, wake up. This is just a nightmare. Your brain is just playing a cruel trick on you — maybe it was the medicine…yeah, that sounds about right. Potions and medicine always make your brain act funny —

“You got all that?”

“No, I – I don’t underst—”

“Harry Potter survived. No one knows how. He destroyed the Dark Lord. They are calling him ‘The Boy Who Lived’.”

This is all too much for you. You don’t understand — what does he mean James and Lily are dead? And — and Sirius is the reason why? And how could Harry survive, he’s barely a year old — it can’t be real. How could they be dead? And where is Sirius? You need to see him, you need to talk to him, you just need him right now —

Slowly, you look over your shoulder at Moody, still standing silently against his staff.

Your lip trembles and when you speak it's barely audible. “Tell me I’m dreaming. Please, please, please tell me this is a fucking dream.”

His magical eye swivels and stares back at you, studying your face. It feels like he’s analysing your face, like the answer is written on your cheeks as plain as day. There are dark, ashy bags under his eyes. His lip is cracked and split on one side, crusty with dried blood. Did he sleep at all last night? Probably not — Moody never sleeps. But this looks different, not the usual after-effects of his insomnia — it’s worse than that.

He shakes his head and your stomach lurches.

This is happening.

Crouch’s expression remains the same. “I have no tolerance for Death Eaters or anyone who aids a Death Eater in any shape or form, Mrs Black, so I am going to waste no time playing nice. Are you, or have you ever been, a part of the Dark Lord’s following?”

“No.”

The answer comes out of you before you can think — you barely even register the question in your head before your mouth is blurting out the word — oddly monotone for your current state: trembling from head to toe, trying your best not to vomit, eyes stinging.

“Did you know of your husband’s involvement with the Dark Lord?”

“No.”

Again, you don’t even realise what he’s asking when the word falls out of your mouth. It’s like you have no control over what you’re saying at all.

“What — what the fuck — “

“Did you ever cover for Sirius when he was spying for the Dark Lord?”

“No.” You stop, hissing in frustration. “No, no — Sirius, he — he wasn’t a Death Eater, he isn’t a Death Eater, he would never — “

“He is,” Crouch says. “Whether you knew it or not, he has been working with the Dark Lord for quite some time now.”

You shake your head, unable to stop yourself from crying. “N-no, no…Sirius was James’s best friend, they were like b-brothers — he would never sell them out like that —”

“Then how did the Dark Lord find out where the Potters were hiding?” Crouch says sharply. “No one knew that information but Sirius. No one was able to reveal that information but him —”

“No,” you sob. “No, no, no, no, no —”

“The sooner you accept it, the sooner you can move on.” Though his words might seem sympathetic and comforting to some, he says them with little to no sympathy whatsoever.

“There must be a mistake,” you sniffle, skin burning from the tears streaming down your cheeks. “That’s not what happened, Sirius, he — he was just gone to the shop —”

A hand comes to rest on your shoulder. “There were witnesses. They saw him kill Pettigrew and those Muggles.”

You shake your head, sobbing. “No, no, no, no, no! T-that’s not what happened, that can’t be what h-happened —”

“Have you ever acted on orders given to you by the Dark Lord, or any of his followers?”

“No.”

Your hand flies to your throat instinctively, as if there’s something wrapped around it that you want to release, and you stare back at Crouch, the light on his desk pulsing in the corner of your eye. Your eyes wander to your empty glass on the desk.

“Did you — d-did you give me fuck — fucking truth serum?”

A vein bulges in his neck, his lip twitching. “Of course I did. Did you expect me to just take everything you say as truth? You’re married to a Death Eater.”

A million different emotions are coursing through you. You feel like getting sick. “Sirius isn’t a Death Eater, he isn’t — and I’ll p-prove it to you, let me show you his arm, he doesn’t have the m-mark —”

“That is no surprise. He was a spy!” Crouch snaps, voice raised. “If he had the mark he would never be trusted by the Potters!”

This is too much. You can’t think in this — it’s too warm in this office, your clothes are sticking to your skin and it's suffocating, your throat is burning, you need some fresh air —

“Where is he?” You gasp. “Sirius. Where is he? Please, let me talk to him, please —”

“He is on a one-way trip to Azkaban,” Crouch spits. “And he will never return. For what he has done, he deserves no better.”

“When can I see h-him?” you say desperately. “His trial, his trial, when is his trial — “

“There won’t be one.”

Your heart feels heavy and you close your eyes, falling back in your chair as you sob. “What? What do you mean there won’t be one?”

“He is a mentally deranged and dangerous criminal,” Crouch says, hatred in his eyes. “We have an eye-witness account for what happened, there is no point in arguing when the verdict is clear. It is a waste of time.”

“No, no, that’s not fair, he deserves a trial just like everyone else.” You’re breathing heavily and suddenly it feels like there isn’t enough air in the room to fill your tired lungs. “You — you can’t just send him to Azkaban like that!”

“I can.”

“But — “

“The man has murdered thirteen innocent people!” Crouch bellows, his face red with anger. “Poor Peter Pettigrew, he was your friend! He tore after Sirius, told him just what he thought of his betrayal, and was murdered for it! Twelve innocent civilians, victims of his sick and twisted mind! James and Lily, betrayed by their closest friend — Harry Potter, betrayed by his godfather!”

His eyes are bulging out of their sockets and his fists are clenched on the desk. The room goes silent but for your uncontrollable sobs and Crouch’s heavy breathing across the desk from you. You screw your eyes shut and silently beg anyone listening to take it all away, to make this day never happen. To turn back time and keep your friends alive. Anything to get rid of this obliterating feeling.

“You got what you wanted, Barty,” Moody grunts from behind you. “Give the girl a break.”

When Moody takes your arm and pulls you out of Crouch’s office, you can barely see straight. You desperately try to process everything that’s going on, but it’s impossible. The very notion that James and Lily could be dead is inconceivable to you. Not your best friend, not your Lily, who promised you’d be best friends until you were old and frail. How could someone so sweet and wonderful, so full of life — how could she ever die? How could someone ever snuff out that perfect, unending light that was her soul? She always told you that your kids would grow up together, that they would be the best of friends just like you were — how can you ever come to terms with the fact that she will never get to see that become a reality? How will you ever adjust to life without James’s grins, without his constant jokes and laughter — who will you and Lily laugh at, how will you watch the way her face lights up when he enters the room if he’s dead?

Workers stare at you as you pass through the halls with Moody, they turn and anxiously whisper with their colleagues, but you don’t even notice. When Moody sits you down in his office, he doesn’t say anything. He says absolutely nothing and lets you stare at the chipped wood of his desk, lets you sob and weep and scream and wail, lets you mutter and babble incoherently.

The next day the Minister of Magic, Millicent Bagnold, gives you more Veritaserum and interrogates you with similar questions to Crouch. You scream and roar about Sirius — you just want to talk to him, you just want to see him — and when it gets you nowhere Moody takes you back to his office and silently lets you stew for hours again.

This routine continues for a week. Every day someone seems to have a new question to catch you out — one that will finally reveal that you knew something, or you helped someone — each new person bringing a fresh glass of water laced with a hefty dose of Veritaserum. You've actually gotten good at tasting the difference between the water they give you and the water Moody gives you, which is clean and potion-less, straight from his hip flask.

When you get home it doesn’t feel like home. You step in the door and cry, hot tears stinging your eyes. You spot a photo on your kitchen counter — it’s you and Sirius, on your birthday. You're sitting at the kitchen table, and his arm is around your waist while you lean into him, a gleeful grin on your face. It sets you off and in a fit of rage you throw it against the wall, shattering it. The second the photo hits the floor you’re filled with regret, and you rush to assess the damage. You try and repair it with your wand but you can’t focus properly on the spell, and spend an hour trying to carefully glue it back together with shaky hands.

You can't do anything. You feel bad doing the things you enjoy, like listening to music or reading a book — Sirius can't do these things in Azkaban. James and Lily can't do these things in death. You have no appetite and the days seem to blur and blur until you have no idea what time it is.

Why did this have to happen to your family?

♡*⁠。♡*⁠。

December, 1995

You don’t think you’ve ever been as excited when Christmas break finally arrives. The last two years have been spent at Hogwarts, and the others at your parents’ house with Remus. Your parents love Remus — he’s like a son to them. And now you finally get to spend it with everyone you love, especially Sirius. However, getting to Grimmauld Place for the holidays isn’t as easy as expected.

A few days before the end of term while you’re helping decorate the entrance hall, Umbridge approaches. “Excited for Christmas, professor?”

It takes you a second to get over the initial shock of her actually speaking to you, and you turn back to your decorations. “Yes.”

“And where will you be staying this Christmas?” she asks. “As Hogwarts High Inquisitor, it is pertinent that I know where all staff are over the period in case I should need to contact them with anything urgent.”

She smiles at you and you resist the urge to gag at the sight of her.

“I’m going to my parents’ house,” you reply, lifting some tinsel in the air with your wand and lining it along a portrait of an elegant woman standing beneath an apple tree.

“How festive!” the woman in the portrait comments.

Umbridge cocks her head with interest. “Your parents? But I have heard that you usually stay at Hogwarts.”

You shrug. “Thought I’d switch it up this year.”

“Is there any particular reason this sudden change was brought on?” she asks, smiling condescendingly.

You pick up the box of decorations with one hand and turn to her. “I miss them.” Before she can interrogate you any more, you march away from her, fixing boughs of holly and mistletoe branches as you go.

You join the rest of the students on the Hogwarts Express back to King’s Cross, taking the time to carefully wrap presents and write cards. It’s a lot of work to get home. You’re not going to risk heading straight to London to Grimmauld Place, not with the chance of being followed — which you expect every time you leave Hogwarts. You go to the house first, pick up some extra clothes, before getting on another train to your parents’ house. You have dinner with them there and trade gifts until nightfall, when you pack up your things again and, disguising yourself as best you can, make your way to Grimmauld Place with Dubh sleeping soundly in your bag as you go.

“Well, you better be honoured that I went through all that zig-zagging across the country just to see you,” you say when Sirius greets you at the door. You don’t think the grin on his face could be any wider when his eyes meet yours. Remus follows him through the corridor, smiling.

“Believe me, I’m more than honoured,” Sirius says, striding forward to place both hands on your cheeks and bring your mouth to his, kissing you desperately. You drop your bags in surprise, chuckling against his lips. When you pull back, his head follows you and you laugh, putting your hands on his shoulders to gently push him back.

“Easy, Sirius, we’ve got company,” you tease, nodding at Remus, who rolls his eyes.

Sirius turns to Remus, grinning. “Can’t let me have a moment, can you?”

He shrugs. “Guess not.”

You give Remus a hug before heading into the kitchen, where Mrs Weasley is busy preparing dinner. There are bags under her eyes when she turns to greet you, the stress of Arthur’s injuries clearly getting to her.

“Let me give you a hand, Molly,” you say, and though usually she would tell you not to be silly, this time she accepts your help gratefully, allowing you to take over most of the workload while she busies herself with setting the table.

Sirius is in a brilliant mood, singing Christmas carols as he sets about the place putting up decorations. You don’t think you’ve seen him this happy in a long time and it calms your anxious heart. He works tirelessly up to Christmas Day, determined to make the house unrecognisable — and he actually manages to do a pretty decent job of turning the dusty old place into a warm, cheerful home. Garlands of holly and gold and silver streamers hang from the chandeliers, and a great twinkling Christmas tree, acquired by Mundungus, hides the Black family tree from view. Mistletoe branches are placed over the entrances to different rooms, and every chance he gets Sirius is pulling you under one to steal a kiss. Even the elf heads on the wall are wearing little Santa hats and beards.

He wakes up early on Christmas Day like a child desperate to unwrap their presents and shakes you awake, much to your annoyance.

“Sirius, this better be good —”

“Just look.”

He points at the window, grinning, and after rubbing the sleep out of your eyes, you turn to look at what he’s pointing at.

There, at the window, is a brand-new telescope, aimed at the sky above. A glittery gold bow has been stuck to the top of it.

“You were complaining about not having your telescope here over the summer, that the one at home is too difficult to transport, so —”

You beam, throwing your arms around him gleefully. “Oh, I love it, Sirius!”

You kiss him, lingering for several moments to relish in the feeling of his lips on yours, unable to fight the smile on your face while you do. You thread your fingers through his hair, giggling.

“How did you even buy it? Don’t tell me you left —”

“I didn’t leave the house, no,” Sirius says with a roll of his eyes. “I sent Remus to get it and gave him the money.”

You smile good-naturedly at him. “Poor Remus.”

He snorts.

You kiss him one last time. “You are the absolute best. I love you.”

He smiles and you pull away to reach under the bed and produce his present, neatly wrapped in red and gold wrapping paper. Curiously, he unwraps it to reveal a small bottle of dark blue liquid, turning it around in his hands before his eyes widen in shock, laughing.

“I — how did you get this?” he says in disbelief. “I thought it would be discontinued by now.”

You beam. “I never reveal my secrets.” You nod at him, smiling. “Go on, test it out. I want to see if it’s actually the same.”

Sirius pulls the cap off the bottle, aiming the nozzle at his wrist and spraying it, rubbing it in with the other before holding his wrist out to you to test. Leaning forward, you sniff and laugh, grinning at him. It’s the cologne he used to wear for years before his capture, he used to say it was his signature scent. The same cologne you remember smelling inside your Amortentia potion in sixth year.

“Perfect.”

He smiles at you, pulling you towards him to kiss you again. “Thank you,” he breathes between kisses, smiling against your lips. “You’re perfect. I love you.”

When you finally disentangle from each other, you get dressed and head downstairs — though not before you’ve thoroughly inspected your new telescope, delighting in the cleanness of it and the crystal-clear focus of the untouched lenses.

In the kitchen, Harry, Ron, and Hermione are peering into Kreacher’s den opposite the pantry and Mrs Weasley is standing at the stove, sniffling when she wishes you both Merry Christmas. You’re about to check what’s wrong when Sirius taps your side, silently shaking his head.

“Percy,” he whispers near-imperceptibly into your ear, and you nod in understanding. Then he raises his voice, “I’ll get the turkey.”

He heads into the pantry and you make your way over to the kids, smiling. “Happy Christmas, guys. What are you up to?”

“I have a present for Kreacher,” Hermione explains, laying a package on top of the rags and blankets in the dingy cupboard, right beside the glass photos Kreacher hoards of Sirius’ family. She frowns. “But he’s not here…I guess he’ll find it later, it’s fine.”

“Come to think of it,” Sirius says, emerging from the pantry carrying a large turkey as Harry closes the cupboard door, “has anyone actually seen Kreacher lately?”

“I haven’t seen him since the night we came back here,” says Harry. “You were ordering him out of the kitchen.”

“Yeah…” Sirius frowns. “You know, I think that’s the last time I saw him, too…he must be hiding upstairs somewhere…”

“He couldn’t have left, could he?” Harry suggests. “I mean, when you said ‘out’, maybe he thought you meant get out of the house?”

Sirius shakes his head. “No, no, house elves can’t leave unless they’re given clothes, they’re tied to their family’s house.”

“They can leave the house if they really want to,” Harry contradicts. “Dobby did, he left the Malfoys’ house to give me warnings two years ago. He had to punish himself afterward, but he still managed it.”

Sirius looks slightly disconcerted for a moment, meeting your eyes, before he shakes his head. “I’ll look for him later, I expect I’ll find him upstairs crying his eyes out over my mother’s old bloomers or something…of course, he might’ve crawled up into the airing cupboard and died…but I mustn’t get my hopes up…”

You can’t help the laugh that escapes you, though Hermione looks reproachful.

“Thanks for the presents, by the way,” Harry says, smiling at the two of you.

You beam back at him, thinking of the book on defensive spells and the treats from Honeydukes you had left at the foot of his bed last night. “You’re very welcome!”

You receive an assortment of different kinds of magical teas from Remus, noting with interest the box of earl grey that apparently makes the drinker see everything in black and white for a few minutes, and the green tea that gives levitation. In return, you buy him a set of expensive oil paints which he delights in, promising that you will be the first person to get a painting made with them.

After you have dinner, the Weasleys, Harry, and Hermione, head to St Mungo’s to visit Arthur along with Moody and Remus to escort them. You had intended to go, but upon seeing the look on Sirius’s face when everyone leaves, you decide against it.

Before they go, you shove two small bags into Remus’ hands. “Give these to Frank and Alice, will you? Oh, and give this to Arthur.”

You hand him a paddle with a ball attached to it by a string — another Muggle game you hope will keep him entertained in St Mungo’s.

“Of course.”

The place is oddly quiet without everyone else, and you feel a rush of sympathy for Sirius at how lonely the house feels without anyone in it. It reminds you of the silence in your home without him there.

But at the same time, it’s nice. You stand side-by-side as you wash the dishes, handing them to him so he can dry them with a tea towel, and relay all your grievances about Umbridge.

“And then she said, ‘I know you’re hiding something…or should I say someone?’ and she smiled — you do not want to see her smile, by the way, it’s unnerving — but she thought she was well clever, as if she’s the first person to ever think that I could be hiding you away somewhere —”

“Well, you are, to be fair.”

“Yeah, but she doesn’t know for sure. She just thinks I am,” you say matter-of-factly, handing him another plate.

The scene is so domestic, that it’s almost foreign to you. You went over a decade without him and strangely, it’s little moments like this that you missed the most. Quiet, everyday things.

“Oh, and Mam and Dad said to tell you they said hello,” you say, smiling. “I think my dad misses you quite a lot — or maybe he just misses having someone to order around.”

Sirius chuckles, plates clinking as he returns them to the cupboard. “He always made me work every time we visited. And it’s not like I could say no, either — don’t want to get on the wrong side of the in-laws.”

“A flawless plan, really.”

He hums in agreement, sighing. You hand him the last few cups and he places them in the press before dusting his hands off. “I suppose I should look for Kreacher, before he decides to turn our bedroom into a shrine for my mother…”

Later, it's revealed that Kreacher had been hiding up in the attic — Sirius found him covered in dust, no doubt searching for more Black family relics.

When everyone else turns in for the night, it's just you and Sirius left in the kitchen. You let out a yawn as he drums his fingers on the table, before his face lights up with intent and he stands up and moves away from the table. Curious, you watch as he produces an old record player and blows the dust off of it, then he carefully pulls the needle onto the record and with a crackle, soft music starts playing.

Sirius extends a hand to you, smiling. “Care for a dance?”

You laugh, looking up at him in disbelief. “Oh, you're not serious…I haven't danced in forever —”

“That doesn't matter. Neither have I.”

He pushes his hand further to urge you, and you hesitantly place your hand in his and allow him to pull you out of your seat and into the middle of the floor. The space you have in the kitchen is limited, but it doesn't seem to bother Sirius at all.

Gentle but firm, he places the hand not holding yours on your lower back, and you place your free hand on his shoulder, your face inches from his.

He starts to lead you in a slow sway, and strangely enough you find yourself moving without thinking, muscle memory kicking in. Sighing contentedly, you slot your head into the crook of his neck. You can smell his new (or old?) cologne on his skin.

“Do you think we would’ve been good parents?” you ask softly. “If we had got the chance.”

You feel the nod of his head as he hums. “We would’ve been the best parents, love. And our kids would be lucky enough to inherit all our incredible genes.”

You chuckle, reaching your hand up to his hair to gently pull at the soft strands. “I think they would get your hair.”

“And your eyes, I hope.”

“They’d be clever.”

“And funny — and they'd all be Gryffindors, no doubt.”

You raise an eyebrow. “They’ll all have my smarts, you know. They could be in Ravenclaw.”

Sirius laughs. “Oh, really? Well, if you were so smart then why weren't you placed in Ravenclaw?”

You shrug, biting back a grin. “I look better in red.”

He gently spins you around to the music, and your eye catches on one of the Weasleys’ scarves on the kitchen counter, red and gold sparkling in the light.

“Everyone would love them,” you say, smiling sweetly. “They'd ace every subject and brag about how cool their parents are.”

“They'd dress cool and have incredible taste in music.”

You chuckle, heart aching at the what-ifs. The what could have happened. “They’d be kind to everyone.”

“But not afraid to stand up for themselves.”

“They'd be like you.”

“They'd be just like you.”

⁠✧⁠*⁠。✧⁠*⁠。

On the very last day of the holidays, you sit at the kitchen table beside Sirius, the room completely silent, as he glares across at Snape. You're not sure, but you think he might be trying to incinerate the man with just his eyes — though so far he has made no progress.

Harry enters the kitchen, looking quite puzzled and nervous to see Snape sitting there. “Uh.”

“Sit down, Potter.”

“You know,” Sirius says, leaning back on the rear legs of his chair as far back as he can and looking up at the ceiling, “I’d prefer it if you didn’t give orders here, Snape. It's my house, you see.”

An ugly flush rises in Snape’s face. Harry sits down on Sirius’ other side, the three of you facing across at Snape.

“I was supposed to see you alone, Potter,” Snape says, a familiar sneer curling his lips, “but the Blacks — “

“We’re his godparents,” Sirius says loudly.

“I am here on Dumbledore’s orders, but by all means stay, Black, I know you like to feel…involved.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” Sirius lets his chair fall back onto four legs with a bang.

“Merely that I am sure you must feel — ah — frustrated by the fact you can do nothing useful for the Order.”

Snape's lip curls in triumph and your fist clenches under the table.

“Asshole,” you mutter under your breath, though still loud enough for Snape to hear, based on the way his eye twitches slightly.

Snape turns to Harry. “The Headmaster has sent me to tell you, Potter, that it is his wish for you to study Occlumency this term.”

“Study what?” Harry says blankly.

“Occlumency, Potter. The magical defense of the mind against external penetration. An obscure branch of magic, but a highly useful one.”

“Why do I have to study Occlu — thing?”

“Because the headmaster thinks it a good idea,” Snape says smoothly. “You will receive private lessons once a week, but you will not tell anybody what you are doing, least of all Dolores Umbridge. You understand?”

“Yes,” Harry says, thumbing the sleeve of his jumper nervously. “Who's going to be teaching me?”

“I am,” Snape answers.

“Why can't Dumbledore teach Harry?” Sirius says aggressively. “Why you?”

“I suppose because it's a headmaster’s privilege to delegate less enjoyable tasks,” says Snape silkily. “I assure you I did not beg for the job.” He gets to his feet. “I will expect you at six o’clock on Monday evening, Potter. My office. If anyone asks, you are taking Remedial Potions. Nobody who has seen you in my classes could deny you need them.”

He turns to leave, his black travelling cloak billowing behind him.

Sirius sits straighter in his chair. “Wait a moment.”

Snape turns back to face you, sneering. “I am in rather a hurry, Black…unlike you, I do not have unlimited leisure time…”

“I’ll get to the point, then,” Sirius says, standing up. “If I hear you're using these Occlumency lessons to give Harry a hard time, you'll have me to answer to.”

“How touching,” Snape sneers. “But surely you have noticed that Potter is very like his father?”

“Yes, I have,” Sirius answers proudly.

“Well then, you’ll notice he's so arrogant that criticism bounces off him.”

Sirius pushes his chair aside roughly and strides around the table towards Snape, pulling out his wand as he goes. Snape whips out his own. They square up to each other, Sirius looking livid, Snape calculated, his eyes flicking between Sirius' wand to his face.

“Sirius!” You say loudly, but he appears not to hear you.

“I've warned you, Snivellus,” he says, face barely a foot from Snape’s, “I don't care if Dumbledore thinks you're reformed, I know better —”

“Oh, but why don't you tell him so?” Snape whispers venomously. “Or are you afraid he might not take the advice of a man who has been hiding inside his mother’s house for six months very seriously?”

You would jump in but before you can even think about opening your mouth, Sirius is biting back at him.

“Tell me, how is Lucius Malfoy these days? I expect he's delighted his lapdog’s working at Hogwarts, isn’t he?”

“Speaking of dogs,” Snape says softly, “did you know Lucius Malfoy recognized you last time you risked a little jaunt outside? Clever idea, Black, getting yourself seen on a safe station platform…gave you a cast-iron excuse not to leave your hidey-hole in the future, didn't it?”

Sirius raises his wand.

“No!” You yell, moving to try and get between them. “Don’t be stupid —”

“Are you calling me a coward?” Sirius snaps at Snape.

“Why, yes, I suppose I am.”

The door opens and the entire Weasley family, plus Hermione, enters the kitchen, all looking very pleased with Mr Weasley walking proudly in their midst, dressed in a pair of striped pajamas.

“Cured!” he announces brightly to the room. “Completely cured!”

He and all the other Weasleys freeze when they take in the scene before them: Sirius and Snape with their wands drawn and pointing into each other’s faces, and you and Harry beside them, watching on in shock.

“Merlin’s beard,” says Mr Weasley, the smile sliding off his face. “What's going on here?”

The two men lower their wands, both wearing twin expressions of the utmost contempt. Snape pockets his and sweeps across the room, saying nothing to the Weasleys as he passes, and pauses at the door.

“Six o’clock Monday evening, Potter.”

He leaves, and Sirius glares after him, wand held tightly in a white-knuckled grip at his side.

“But what's been going on?”

“Nothing, Arthur,” you answer, stepping forward to greet them, “nothing to worry about.” Over your shoulder, you shoot Sirius a reprimanding look, before turning back and plastering a smile on your face. “So, you're cured? That's brilliant, Arthur, really! Great news, honestly…”

“Yes, isn't it?” says Mrs Weasley, leading her husband into a chair, beaming. “Healer Smethwyck worked his magic in the end, found an antidote to whatever that snake’s got in its fangs, and Arthur’s learned his lesson about dabbling in Muggle medicine, haven't you, dear?” she adds, rather menacingly.

“Yes, Molly, dear,” Mr Weasley responds meekly.

Dinner that evening is a cheerful one, though you can tell that Sirius is far from the happy face he's putting on at the moment. When he's not laughing at loudly at Fred and George’s jokes, or offering everyone more food, he falls back into a sour expression.

When you get ready for bed that night, taking off your jewellery, you look over at him.

“I thought you would know by now not to listen to Snape’s goading,” you say. “He only says that stuff to rile you up.”

“I know, I know—”

“Didn't seem like you knew that,” you say, a bitterness lining the edges of your words.

“You heard what he said about James, about Harry,” he mutters angrily. “What kind of person would I be if I didn't defend them?”

“You don't need to defend them with your wand. He only wants to get a reaction from you, and you're giving him exactly what he wants. Leave the wand in your pocket next time. He has nothing on you.”

With a clink, you drop your earrings into the little ceramic plate on your nightstand.

He huffs in disagreement. “He's right about one thing: I’m of no use to the Order sitting here.”

You turn to him sharply, moving forward to sit on the bed beside him. “Forget the Order. Sure I'm not much use to it either, staying at Hogwarts all the time, am I?”

He opens his mouth to refute this but you continue talking before he can say anything.

“You’re of use to Harry. You don't realise how much he needs you,” you say softly, pulling a lock of hair behind his ear. “He really loves you, Sirius, and he is a lot better off now that you're in his life. Nevermind what Snape said — he might be doing the most for the Order, but that doesn’t automatically make him a good person. He is cruel and enjoys ruining the happiness of others. You do not, and for that you are a million times better than him.”

He leans into your touch, sighing. “I would have killed him.”

You snort, laughing. “He would've killed you. You might've been good with your wand when you were twenty, but Snape’s got a decade of practice over you while you were in Azkaban.”

He moves against your hand to press a kiss to the inside of your palm, before falling back on the bed with a loud, exasperated sigh.

“I hate him.”

You laugh. “Me too, Sirius, me too.”

⁠✧⁠*⁠。✧⁠*⁠。

→ all kinds of interaction greatly appreciated! ♡

not to sound like a broken record...but sorry for the delayed upload. also sorry for the sad start to this chapter, hope i made up for it later on :) happy christmas everyone! I can't begin to describe how kind everyone who has read this series has been to me. You have all been absolutely lovely and writing this would not be possible without all your endless support. I love you all ❤️

As always, the biggest hugs and kisses to my taglist loves:

@mothraantics @wholelottalove05 @izuoyarmin @devoid-swanky @carpe000diem @mooonyxoxo @navs-bhat

@hyperspeedo @idkman5335 @elanna-elrondiel @murielisacertifieddilf @penelopied @imgondeletedis @wooyoungsrightsock @jennifer0305 @wolfdragon0424 @lovemesomevesey @aylinnmaslow @boiolay

#harry potter #sirius black #sirius orion black #angst #angst with a happy ending #fanfiction #hp #sirius black x reader #sirius black x you #the marauders #fanfic #hp fanfiction #hp fanfic #wizarding world #romance #xreader #siriusblack

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tubasmiracle · 21 days ago

Text

Ice Cream; Together & Forever

Pairing: Huening Kai x reader

Genre: Fluff, slightly emotional in a sweet way (⁠ ⁠･⁠ ⁠ᗜ⁠ ⁠･⁠ ⁠)

Word count: 713

Author's note: I was all giddy and giggly while writing this, it was really really fun! Hope you guys like it too! Imagining Hyuka in this was... WOW, I became all happy while and after writing this, gave me such a serotonin boost (⁠ᗒ⁠ᗩ⁠ᗕ⁠), I love old married couples and my parents, they make me so emotional but at the same time so hopeful, like wow, it's such a beautiful thing to be able to grow old together.

The sun's rays fell on the dining table translucently through the curtains, looking so soft and evoking some sort of unknown nostalgia. The kitchen was cleaned, and the house was quiet except for the occasional twinkling of the dreamcatcher from the light summer breeze; it was a calming sight for the eyes to see and ears to hear.

The young couple was lying on top of each other on the couch in the living room, napping quietly after all the work they had to do throughout the week.

Kai woke up slightly, feeling rather refreshed but also ready for some more sleep. He saw Y/N sleeping like a baby with soft breathing, getting a cuteness aggression; he almost…almost pinched her cheeks but had to stop himself; he couldn't let himself disturb his love's midday nap.

He looked around at their home and felt a giddy warmth in his chest. What was he feeling? It must have been a lot of things, but most were "contentment" with the love of his life on him, sleeping quietly; they both were safe and sound. They both were happy and content with each other. What more can anyone ask for, if not the safety and good health of their loved one in all regards?

Feeling his feelings, he heard the faint horn… of what? Ice cream vendor! becoming clearer, with ice cream advertisements playing on the speaker. He thought of getting both of them some good ice cream and surprising Y/N; she LOVED loved ice cream. He sometimes even wondered who did she love more, ice cream or him; he pushed the silly thoughts away and gently, as if handling a fragile doll, put Y/N on the couch and got out of it.

He removed the curtains a bit and looked through; the bright light of day made his sleepy eyes close almost in self-defense. He fought through and looked outside again; the ice cream vendor was almost at their place, and he quickly got out of their house, as it was on the ground floor.

He saw the ice cream vendor was already at their complex with children and adults likewise surrounding him for ice cream; he went there too, waiting for his turn. Children were arguing over the flavors while adults were quietly looking at the types and prices, the former having more emphasis. It's summer!

Kai was also looking at the menu when he felt a tap on his shoulder. He looked behind, and there was Y/N, looking like the most beautiful woman in the world. Their eyes shone so bright looking at each other; they were like a ball of sunshine together. Maybe if you squint your eyes enough, you can see it too.

"Kai, why didn't you tell me you were going to get ice cream?" Y/N inquired, though she knew the reason already.

"Oh, you were sleeping, and I didn't want to disrupt your sleep, also, surprise you with ice cream," Kai said, scratching the back of his neck.

"Aww, how on earth are you so sweet??" Y/N said, "What flavors do we have here?"

"There are many; I am thinking of getting mint choco," Kai replied, putting his hand up to his chin as if pondering hard about the flavor; Y/N grinned, knowing very well it wasn't the case; mint choco was his favorite. Y/N looked at the menu thoroughly.

"You sure do. I will be getting, ummm… a triple chocolate truffle cone with an ice cream sandwich on the side!" Y/N said excitedly.

"So is it," Kai said, adorning a sweet smile on his face.

As their turn came, they took their ice creams, and while retreating to their shared apartment, they saw an old couple sharing their ice creams. They looked so sweet and cute together, Y/N was almost brought to tears at the sight, and Kai smiled, adoring them. At the moment, they both had one thought: they wanted this for themselves in the future too, as if the shared telepathy worked.

Kai slid his arm around Y/N's shoulder and sweetly asked, "Love, shall we go to our home?" Y/N nodded, already emotional but excited to share their ice creams and chat about their week together. They aspired to grow together as much as their memories do.

Tag: @tyunderella !!! (⁠◍⁠•⁠ᴗ⁠•⁠◍⁠)⁠❤

#txt imagines #txt fluff #hueningkai x reader #tomorrow x together fanfic #txt fanfic #txt oneshots #Spotify #txt x reader #txt fanfiction #story #fanfiction #tomorrow x together

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candiedcoffeedrops · 5 months ago

Text

Cloud Gazing

Ring Schwarz x Reader (no pronouns used)

Notes: I just wanted to write something sweet and fluffy to take a break from trying to write three other things all at once and this came out. Not a lot to say here, just fluff!

WC: 674 CW: None, but it is written from Ring's perspective. Also, tooth-rotting fluff, but that's it that's all I can think of.

Oh yeah, still no beta. We die like mne.

“Ring! That one looks like a crocodile in a sun hat! See look, that part there is the snout, right? See how it’s open like it’s smiling? Then-”

I sit on the grass beside you, the sun's warmth soaking into my skin as the clouds drift lazily overhead. Your voice, light and full of laughter, fills the air as you excitedly point out shapes in the sky. My gaze follows your outstretched finger, tracing the contours of a particularly fluffy cloud that might indeed resemble a crocodile in a sunhat—if I squint. But my attention inevitably drifts back down to Earth—to you.

I try to focus on the clouds, really I do, but my gaze keeps sliding back to you. Something about the way your eyes light up when you spot a new shape, the way you smile as if you’re discovering a treasure in the expansive blue above, draws me in completely. My chest tightens with a mix of comfort and a kind of yearning welling up within me as I become acutely aware of your proximity. My eyes dart downward, noticing your other hand is splayed on the soft grass, fingers pointed towards me, and my own twitch with the suppressed urge to reach out and touch them. Surely, that wouldn’t be too forward, right? After all, we’re–

Your attention turned to me and I immediately refocused on the cloud, hoping you didn’t notice me staring. But the warmth spreading across my cheeks betrays me, and I silently curse my traitorous face.

Your giggle bubbles up beside me, and I feel the flush intensify. I turn my head, my lips thinning as I try to hide it.

“Caught you looking,” you tease, another laugh escaping your lips. “What’s so fascinating? Do I have something on my face?”

“I–wasn’t…I mean, I was, but–”

Before I can finish, you shift closer with a soft hum, and warmth envelops my hand. I glance down to find our fingers intertwined, your gentle squeeze a soothing balm to my nerves. It’s a simple, sweet gesture, but one that never fails to ground me. “It’s okay. I look at you like that sometimes, too. So, I don’t mind.” Your voice is warm, and your smile is bright. I breathe a small sigh of relief, the tension ebbing away as my own lips curve into a smile.

A silence passes over us, though not uncomfortable and I’m grateful for the chance to collect myself. You return to cloud watching but I remain focused on you. Every once in a while I’ll see your eyes shift to me and a subtle pink graces your cheeks as you point out new shapes in the sky. You bring so much light to everything, even small things like this and it makes me so immensely grateful I found you. You put the sky above to shame.

Your voice becomes a soothing rhythm, lulling me into a sense of calm. I hadn’t realized how tired I was, but now, with the sun warming my skin and you beside me, the tension I’ve been holding onto starts to slip away. My eyes grow heavy, and despite my best efforts to stay awake, and spend time with you, I feel the need to rest.

“Hey,” I begin, drawing your attention to me again with a curious tilt of your head. “May I…lean on you?” I ask, and I know it comes out as more of a nervous murmur than an actual question, but still, you smile softly at me and nod, offering your shoulder. The warmth of your body against mine is comforting, grounding me even as sleep pulls me under. I nuzzle closer, the scent of your hair filling my senses. A soft sigh escapes me as the tension begins to melt away.

The last bit of consciousness I have allows me to hear you hum softly, your fingers threading gently through my hair. “Sleep well, Ring.” You say and I can’t help but smile as I let myself fully relax into a sweet sleep.

Cloud dividers by @drinkthesky

Banner done by me.

@drachonia

#a reader insert for my boy!#putting off writing smut so I wrote this! ta-da!!!#tooth rotting fluff #ikemen villains #ikevil #ring schwarz #ikevil ring #ikemen villains fanfiction #fanfiction #ikevil fanfiction

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intheorangebedroom · 1 month ago

Note

hello, i'm the worst but i was wondering if you could post a snippet of the next chapter of TYBTM, no rush at all, whenever suits you well, but... i just finished my first re-read and cannot get them out of my head right now.

Hey Nonnie 🧡🧡🧡

You’re not the worst, you're the best, and I’m very thankful to you and for you 🧡 Your ask is like fuel, or vitamin D, it's giving me strength to keep going 🥰 I’ve recently been tagged by some lovely writers for the WiP Wednesday game, so thank you, too, @frannyzooey @whatsnewalycat @chronically-ghosted and @evolnoomym 🧡🧡🧡🧡

And Nonnie, here’s a very rough first draft of chapter 6 for you, along with all my love and gratitude 😌🧡👇🏻

“What do you mean, the room is taken? Taken by whom?”

“I’m sorry, sir, I cannot disclose this kind of information.”

Raul’s affected attempt at hotelier’s etiquette has Frankie scoffing into the receiver. Or is it Joachim? No, you said his name was Raul.

“Wait, it’s taken now, but it is booked tomorrow? I just need it on tomorrow. Friday. Just move your costumer to some other room, I’m pretty sure you got plenty of vacancies.”

Why is he behaving like an ass to this poor man who’s only trying to do his job properly? Why is he getting so nervous over this? How does it matter if you’re not in room number 2, this week?

“We have vacancies, but I am afraid I cannot ask the lady to change rooms, sir. She hasn’t specified a date for the end of her stay.”

Frankie feels like a bucket of ice is being poured over his head in slow motion.

“What lady?” he rasps, his throat suddenly parched. “Who’s in there? Is it the– Is it the woman who comes in every week? With me?”

Raul doesn’t answer, but his silence tells Frankie everything he needs to know.

“Alright, thanks,” he snaps, hanging up hurriedly.

An hour and a half later, he’s pulling up into the motel’s parking lot. Lupe has been gracious enough to agree to pick up Lua from day-care, even though Thursday is his day, so he’s got the rest of the afternoon to sort this out.

This is foolish. He, is foolish. Your car is not even here. He’s probably overreacting.

The thing is, his gut instinct tells him he’s not. It’s almost a familiar dread. Like the vision he had on Christmas evening. Your lonely silhouette sitting by the window on the edge of the bed.

He gets out of the truck swiftly, with a quick glance at the reception office, and walks straight to room number 2. The place looks even shittier in the bright afternoon sun. The contours of the low building are pressed flat by the blinding light and the heat. The lime wall between rooms 2 and 3 is streaked with deep, long winding cracks. The paint on the porch’s poles is chipped, it comes off the dried out wood in large, crispy flakes. The hanging lights are rusty and the base of the railing is moldy.

Once more, guilt squeezes his chest tight at the thought that he’s made you come here, week after week. That you tacitly agreed to it, and never said a word. That you kept coming back. Back to this place. Back to him, too.

The door is locked. He rattles the doorknob again, harder this time, more to shake off his own frustration than to achieve anything else, really. The yellow curtains are drawn, and no matter how hard he squints, he can’t see jack shit inside the room.

He’s probably overreacting.

What if he picked the lock? Just to make sure you’re not in here?

“Jesus,” he sighs heavily, running a palm over his face, “the fuck is wrong with me?”

He stands in front of the door a while longer, head hung and hands propped on his hips, so still he can feel the sweat beading on his nape. Eventually, he lifts his cap and combs his fingers through his hair, then turns around and steps down the porch.

He’s halfway to his truck when your sedan appears at the end of the road and turns into the parking lot.

—

NP tags!!! @secretelephanttattoo @jolapeno @juletheghoul @saradika @mrsmando and anyone who wants to share 🧡

#thank you very very much Nonnie 🧡#tybtm ask #i'm afraid this is going to be another very long chapter #i'm trying to understand why i decided to divide this story like that #but i've no idea #ah well #the pilot™️#frankie morales #francisco catfish morales #frankie morales x fem!reader #frankie morales x you #triple frontier #triple frontier fanfic #frankie morales x ofc #WAIT YOU SAID RE-READ??????#omfg #ILY 🥺🧡

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peppymintdreams · 2 months ago

Text

Beach Buddies

Elias x Barista

The sound of waves and the distant cries of seagulls grew louder as Warden drove along the coastal highway, the salty breeze slipping through the cracked windows of the family car. Tara, seated in the passenger seat, had her sunglasses perched on her head, flipping through a guidebook of beachside activities. In the backseat, a three-year-old Elias squirmed in his booster seat, his tiny hands gripping a red plastic bucket and a shovel as he excitedly kicked his feet.

"Are we there yet?" Elias chirped, his voice high-pitched and brimming with energy.

"Almost, kiddo," Warden replied, glancing at him in the rearview mirror with a smirk. "You ready to build the biggest sandcastle on the beach?"

"Yeah!" Elias cheered, bouncing slightly in his seat. "Bigger than the car!"

Tara chuckled, reaching back to pat his knee. "It might take all day to make one that big, sweetheart."

"I don’t care! I’m gonna do it!" Elias declared with all the confidence of a toddler convinced he could conquer the world.

As they pulled into the parking lot near the beach, Elias practically burst out of his seat, his bucket and shovel in hand, ready to hit the sand. Tara laughed as Warden pulled the sunscreen from the bag.

"Hold on, tiger," Warden said, catching Elias before he could take off. "Your mom’s gotta slather you up first."

"Why?" Elias asked, tilting his head as Tara knelt in front of him, squeezing an enormous glob of sunscreen into her palm.

"Because the sun is dangerous," Tara said matter-of-factly, rubbing the cream into his tiny arms and legs with care. "We don’t want you to burn."

Elias scrunched his nose, looking up at the bright sky. "The sun doesn’t look scary."

"That’s because it’s sneaky," Tara replied, her tone playful. She dabbed a bit on his cheeks and then his nose. "There. All done. Now you’re safe to play."

Elias beamed, grabbing his bucket and dashing toward the sand, his chubby little legs kicking up small clouds of it as he found the perfect spot to begin his castle. Warden spread out a blanket nearby, setting up their little camp while Tara watched their son with a fond smile.

For the next half hour, Elias was fully immersed in his work, his face serious as he dug trenches and piled sand into little towers. Tara occasionally helped by handing him shells or smooth pebbles to decorate his creation, but Elias insisted on doing most of the work himself.

When he finally deemed his castle finished, Elias turned to Warden. "Dad! Look! It’s bigger than the car!"

Warden chuckled, pretending to measure it with his hands. "Almost, bud. You’re getting there."

Satisfied, Elias grabbed his beach ball and waddled over to his dad, tossing it at him with all his might—which wasn’t much. Warden caught it easily and tossed it back, making sure to keep it low enough for Elias to catch.

"Go long, champ!" Warden called, tossing the ball just a little higher. Unfortunately, the ball sailed over Elias’ head, bouncing and rolling down the beach.

Elias froze for a moment, watching it go, before deciding to chase after it. "I got it!"

"Not too far!" Tara called, watching him closely as he toddled down the sand.

The ball eventually came to a stop near another child about Elias’ age, who was busy poking at the sand with a stick. Elias skidded to a halt in front of the ball, picking it up before turning to look at the other child, who glanced up curiously.

"Hi," Elias said, holding the ball tightly against his chest.

"Hi," the other child replied, tilting their head.

Elias squinted at them, then asked, "Why are you poking the sand?"

The child held up the stick, their eyes wide with excitement. "I’m looking for treasure! My dad said pirates used to hide stuff here."

Elias’ jaw dropped. "Really?!"

"Uh-huh." The child stood, brushing sand off their hands. "You wanna help?"

Elias hesitated, glancing back toward his parents. Tara waved at him, giving him a reassuring smile.

"Okay," Elias said, dropping his ball and crouching down next to the child. "But if we find treasure, we have to share it."

"Deal," the child agreed, holding out their pinky.

Elias blinked at the gesture, then linked his pinky with theirs. "What’s your name?"

The child smiled. "I’m [Barista]. What’s yours?"

"Elias," he replied proudly.

And just like that, a friendship began, their laughter mixing with the sound of the waves as they dug through the sand, imagining the treasures they might uncover. Tara and Warden watched from a distance, their smiles soft as they saw their little boy happily bonding with his new friend.

#sakuverse #zsakuva #peppymintdreamsproduction #elias zsakuva #zsakuva elias #elias sakuverse #elias x barista #sakuverse elias #elias is a simp #au #baby version #elias x reader #fluff #baby Elias #little barista

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zelphin124 · 10 months ago

Text

SeasonTale - Chapter 6

I'm not super proud of this one... and it took forever to finally sit down and write it, but I hope you enjoy! There will be a poll at the end, so look for that as well. Here we go!

Masterpost

~o0o~

School was boring now.

Summer couldn’t bring himself to pay attention in his education. There was no joy in learning anymore. There was no joy in… well, anything. He had lost all motivation and will to keep going.

But he wasn’t sad either.

He was confused, mostly. After the procedure yesterday, he didn’t even enjoy throwing the ball up for himself anymore. When the kids played without him at recess, he didn’t feel sad either.

Every bit of emotion was gone.

Although Summer wanted to hate it… he couldn’t bring himself to.

He twirled one of his pens in his hand, watching it fly in different directions before the bell rang. Summer had never packed his bags so fast; and he planned to get out of there as soon as he could.

“Summer,” Summer!Alphys inquired. “Could you come here real quick?”

“Ooh Lemon is in trouble,” some of the kids laughed as they ran outside.

Summer couldn’t even bring himself to care about what they said.

“Hey, you had trouble paying attention in class today. Is everything alright?” The teacher asked, sitting at her desk and motioning for Summer to follow suit.

Summer obeyed, but he had to adjust so the sun didn’t block his vision. “Yeup,” he nodded. “Everything is just dandy.”

Summer!Alphys glanced at the desk, her fingers fidgeting with one another. Summer could tell she was worried.

And he envied that.

The way he saw her emotions, and the way they wrestled within her. He wanted that again. He wanted… He…

He couldn’t figure out what he wanted. He was tired, and sleep sounded amazing. It was one of the only ways to get rid of the nightmare that he lived in, but he couldn’t care enough to go and take a nap.

He existed. That’s all he could bring himself to do.

“You know that friend I was telling you about? Who wanted to play catch?” His teacher spoke gently. “He’s here, if you wish to play ball.”

“Sure, that sounds fun,” Summer shrugged, smirking and digging through his backpack. He pulled out the red ball and squished it in his hands.

It didn’t shine like it used to.

“Honey,” Summer!Alphys’ gaze locked with the skeleton’s. “Do you… do you have anything at home that you would wish to bring if you were gone for a long time?”

Summer looked away and stared at the red ball in his hands. “Nah, just this red ball.”

“Okay,” She got up, brushing off her bright yellow skirt. “He’s outside.”

Summer bounded toward the door, carrying his only toy in his hands. He opened the door and looked around. Most of who he saw were others in the school, but he saw someone who he didn’t recgonize before. His eyes squinted at the glorious light the figure held with him.

He was a goat monster of some sorts. His horns blended in with the magnificent crown on his head that glimmered like the stars. HIs yellow eyes were dazzling, and they bore such kindness within them.

Summer thought his cape was dope; its sleek white fabric on the outside completely sealed the night sky inside of the cape, that radiating hundreds of stars and galaxies within it. It changed whenever the creature moved. The only way Summer could compare it to was seeing the sun and stars in the middle of space.

The rest of his clothes were made up of the silky white fabric, with dozens of gold accessories scattered across his body. Chains connected various parts of his wear, and the two shoulder guards made his figure look broad and powerful. It was clear that he was older than most of the adults that Summer saw, but it came with a lot more wisdom.

In his hand rested a long, shining weapon. It had three sides and a pointy thing down the middle. Summer recalled that it was a type of spear that the Asgore monster formed. As a matter of fact, he looked very much like an Asgore.

But the skeleton couldn’t figure out what season he was from.

“Hello young one,” his voice roared like a thousand lions, but was as gentle as the morning breeze. “You must be Summer Sans?”

Summer nodded, his attention fully focused on the monster before him.

“My name is Solstice,” he smiled, giving a soft bow. “Do you want to play catch?”

The kid nodded some more, looking at the red ball and tossing it toward Solstice.

Summer watched as Solstice’s eyes gleamed with delight as he caught the ball. The goat tossed it from hand to hand before tossing it back towards him.

Summer faked a smile as he barely caught the ball. He’d never have a ball tossed back to him, so the angle he usually caught the ball didn’t help him.

“Oh, I did not mean to throw it so hard,” Solstice sighed as he approached the half-fallen over child. “Here, mind if I take your hands?”

“You’re… you’re not going to hurt me, right?”

“Of course not,” Solstice shook his head before looking up at Alphys, who had come out of the building to watch. Summer watched as they communicated with no words, but he couldn’t figure out what they were saying.

For the next hour, Solstice took the time to teach Summer how to catch and throw the ball better and more efficiently. Summer listened to every word and felt a glimmer of hope, despite is apathetic state. They tossed the ball back and forth; the only time they stopped was when Summer accidentally threw the ball into the twisted trees, which Solstice didn’t hesitate to get it out. They rotated a couple of times to keep playing in the shade, as the sun was unbearable in the afternoon.

While they played, Summer finally had enough time to notice the large ocean not far from his school. He caught the ball and pointed towards it. “What’s that?”

“That is the Tidal Sea, my boy,” Solstice smiled. “It contains beautiful waters and coves for miles under its surface. No one knows what’s on the other side.”

“Can we go there?” Summer asked, curious.

“Perhaps we could-” Solstice paused as Alphys motioned toward him. He sighed, kneeling down. His gaze had changed, and it unsettled Summer.

Why did his mood change? Did I do something wrong? Summer began to worry. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you I’ll do better-”

“Buddy, hey, hey,” Solstice smiled at him. “You did nothing wrong, I’m just really concerned for you.” Solstice took his hand and tilted Summer’s face to observe it. “Did Summer!Gaster do this to you?”

“Y-Yeah,” Summer shuddered, remembering how it was done. “But it’s fine, I don’t want to talk about it-”

“It’s clear you don’t want this to happen again to you, huh?”

Summer stared at Solstice. How- How did he know? He thought, shaking his head in response. He would do anything to get away from his dad at this point. He remembered that he cared for his dad…

But that feeling wasn’t there anymore, just like the rest of them. All he wanted to do was avoid physical pain, but he couldn’t find the will to run away again.

“I’m with the rebellion,” Solstice informed. “I save many people like you from your dad and others who are cruel like him. If you allow me to, I’ll make sure you’ll never have to go through an experiment like that again.”

“What do you mean?”

“There’s a place in the mountains that we hold as refuge, we hide there so we can plan our next action of justice, and restore the kingdoms to their former glory.” Solstice explained. “Life doesn’t have to be like this.”

The sun started shining on Summer’s face, warming his bones. “That’s a lot of big words,” Summer smirked, thinking for a bit. Life doesn’t… it doesn’t have to be this way?

“You will learn them all in due time,” Solstice reassured. “I plan to teach you a lot of things.”

“We don’t have much time,” Alphys ran out from the school. “He’s coming, you must decide quickly.”

Solstice locked eyes with the boy again. “This might be the only time I get to speak with you. I wish to help you. Come with me and I’ll keep you safe. If you don’t like it, you can come back. Help us restore SeasonTale to justice.”

Summer could hear traces of his father’s footsteps. He recgonized them anywhere, for whenever he was near, bad things happened. He looked worriedly at the school door before grabbing onto Solstice’s sleeve.

“Please,” he begged. “I don’t want to be in another experiment.”

“Say no more, my boy,” Solstice hoisted Summer up on his back. “Hold on, we are going to get you out of here.”

“He’ll look for me,” Summer shivered as Solstice booked it into the forest, the sun becoming brighter and brighter as they went.

“Don’t worry, he- he won’t find us-” Solstice gasped between breaths.

“Where can we go that he won’t?”

There was a moment of interrupted silence before Solstice answered. He paused once he reached the ocean shore, whistling into the sky. He turned around and pointed inland. “You see those mountains way over there?”

Summer’s eyes widened, seeing the mountains he saw in his dreams. One covered with white shades and clouds that covered the sun. “Yeah?”

The skeleton’s eyes widened even more when he saw a huge creature land from the sky, folding its wings in and snorting out a cloud of smoke. It’s head was similar to a gaster blaster, and his wings and structure were all bone, expect for the inside of its wings and belly, which shined like the night sky.

“Is that a dragon?!” Summer gasped, bewildered that the creatures even existed.

“Yes, and you can pet him later,” Solstice walked toward the dragon and hoisted himself onto it. “Those mountains, we will be going there.”

Summer was too distracted by the dragon to pay attention, but one thing he did know, was that this was far more exciting than anything his dad did with him.

As the dragon took off into the air, Summer gasped and held tight onto the dragon’s neck, looking down at the ground. Everything became smaller as clouds brushed against the child’s face. Summer could see the entire landscape of the known land, including all the other kingdoms he never got to see before.

“Soon, all this land will be free from the Gaster’s hand,” Solstice explained as he steered the dragon towards the colder area of SeasonTale, up in the mountains. “And you can help rule it all.”

“Really?!” Summer smiled as something jolted inside him.

The goat smiled, sighing with relief.

“I promise.”

~o0o~

#seasontale #seasontale story #writing #chapter #utmv #undertale au #sans au #undertale #summer sans #summer alphys #summer gaster #solstice asgore #solstice dragon #WOAH IK THERE ARE DRAGONS #hehe #gosh there's so much here #and no motivation

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thehollowwriter · 8 months ago

Text

RWarnings: Injury, swearing, probably full of mistakes. Word count: 5k+

Key: Regular text is for the present. Italics is for flashbacks, bold is for journal entries

(Pls reblog and leave a comment ❤️)

Lamentations Pt 5

There is a term, more of a feeling, really, that humans use called "walking on air." An elated, fluffy feeling of delight.

I can't "walk" since I don't have legs, but that's a perfect way to describe how I felt when Morrigan kissed me that night. When he wrapped his arms around me and looked at me like I was the only thing that ever mattered to him.

I think about that moment a lot, when dusk settles into night and life slows down for a short moment. I think about how different things were all those years ago, how different I was.

Silas stopped writing and stared at the page for a long, long time. He found himself back in that dim, dingy shop, gazing into those bright, loving eyes. Those eyes... so intelligent, yet so innocent at the same time.

What had he done to deserve Morrigan, really? What could he have possibly done, in his life filled with death, to be blessed with such a loving man?

Silas pressed his pen against the paper again so hard he nearly broke the tip.

I'm... I'm not going to sit here and tell myself I'm a good person. I'm not. I have killed and eaten hundreds of my own kind in my lifetime, and I still do so today.

I have torn them apart and swallowed every piece until there is nothing but bone to indicate their existence. I've lied, cheated, and stolen whatever I possibly could to keep myself alive.

I am a murderer. A cannibal. A monster.

What is the worst Morrigan has done? Land some kids in the hospital as a teenager and nearly get expelled? Almost kill someone? Almost.

Morrigan, for his smugness and cockiness and aggression, for all his violence and rage, is not an evil person. He is not perfect, but he's not a monster.

I cannot truthfully say that Morrigan's parents' and the other citizens of Atlantica's fear and distrust of me is wrong. I cannot say they are being too quick to judge, that they just haven't taken the time to get to know me.

I fit the Abyssal merfolk stereotype like a glove. I'm the horror story spread when the lights go out brought to life.

I told this to Morrigan that night, after my grandfather had taken his medicine and gone to bed. I suppose you could call it a warning, a flashing sign telling him to leave.

He simply smiled me, sharp teeth glinting and eyes burning with passion and desire, and shrugged.

"I know," He said. "I'm not changing my mind. I love you."

It was stupid. Insane, even. And yet Morrigan spoke as if he were telling me the earth revolved around the sun. Like it was an unshakable fact, something that cannot be changed.

Oh... oh, how I love him.

Morrigan was surprised when Silaa began pulling him upstairs. He had never been on the second floor. For all their time together, he had been limited only to Silas' little shop.

Silas began calling for his grandfather, and the dopey grin that had been affixed to Morrigan's face was briefly replaced with a confused expression, but he schooled it quickly.

"Well, I've horribly misread the situation." He murmured so Silas couldn't hear, perking up when Silas' grandfather swam in with a yawn.

"Mm, Silas, is it time for that awful drink alr-" He stopped short when he caught sight of Morrigan, surpised. "Well, if it isn't our favourite city boy. I'm surprised Silas brought you up here."

He squinted at them, then gasped.

"Are those-"

"Yes," Said Silas, reaching to grab Morrigan's hand. "We are... together now."

Morrigan grinned and clasped their hands together. "I hope you don't mind me stealing your grandson, Mister Emrys, sir."

The old mer laughed and drifted over to them to take Morrigan's free hand in his own. "Why, of course not. You're perfect for Silas, my boy. You should stay the night with us. We can celebrate."

Morrigan's grin widened. "I'd like that, sir."

It was a lovely evening. Morrigan and my grandfather, Emrys, got along well. It made me happy to see them banter with each other.

My grandfather retired to bed after taking his home brewed medicine, bidding us goodnight and leaving us to our own devices.

There was nowhere for Morrigan to stay. No guest room, no lounge. There was the kitchen, my bedroom, and my grandfather's bedroom.

Morrigan didn't mind. In fact, he said he'd be happy to share with me with that grin of his. I considered nipping him for that, but I don't think he was trying to be funny.

It was nice, actually. Sitting together, tails intertwined, talking through the night. Morrigan held me tightly, as if I would drift away from him.

He was very affectionate, as I soon came to learn. Kisses, holding me, complimenting me, and so on. He always asked first, and he always seemed so gleeful every time.

I never expected to enjoy physical affection, but it seemed Morrigan was always the exception. I often found myself melting into his kisses and holding his hand tightly, feeling warm and safe.

Our new relationship altered our routine once again. Now, Morrigan visited as much as he could after his classes, greeting me with a kiss and hugging me gently when our games finished.

Then we would sit close together, our tails curled around each other, and just... talk. We often got distracted, though, finding ourselves kissing roughly and... well, perhaps I should write that down somewhere else.

I was delighted that he came over more. Morrigan's visits were the highlight of my week, after all. There was just one issue I unknowingly stumbled into.

Morrigan knew me well by the time we began dating. Almost too well. He knew my personality, my tics, my likes and dislikes, and so on. But even with our games and our long talks, there are things you miss when you only meet once a week.

I always made sure I was feeling or at least appearing to feel my best when Morrigan came round, even if hunger clawed at my insides and the pain that shot through my body made me feel as if I were being branded with an iron.

I wanted to have fun, and I didn't want Morrigan to worry.

I think I was also too cocky. I put too much faith in my own abilities, even though my health was probably the worst it had ever been.

This overconfidence came back to bite me when Morrigan and I got into a playful tussle one day and... well.... I broke a rib.

It wasn't Morrigan's fault, no. I could never blame him for that. It was mine. I had perfected the art of making myself seem stronger, bigger, or more threatening than I actually was for the sake of my own survival.

My magic was strong, yes, but it wasn't something I used often. It was precious, a resource only used for emergencies, even before I learned what blot was.

Silas winced at the word, then continued writing.

I was so convincing, it seemed, that I overestimated myself far more than Morrigan did.

A sickening crack wiped the smile from Morrigan's face, and he instantly released his pinhold on Silas. He carefully moved and turned Silas over, his eyes wide with horror and concern.

"Oh shit, oh shit, shit shit shit, Silas, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean- oh, Sea Witch, how bad is it?"

"Ngh..." Silas blinked up at the rippling kelp above them, wincing at the mind numbing pain that exploded somewhere around his ribs. "I'm fine. Just a little... ngh, sore..."

Morrigan shook his head wildly, his eyes as wide as saucers. "Darling, no, I heard something break o-or fracture when I pinned you, oh no, what did I do to you-"

Darling. Morrigan said, "darling." Not Silas. Darling.

Silas didn't know why, but that made him incredibly happy, even though the situation didn't really call for such a feeling.

Morrigan, still alarmed, carefully hoisted Silas into his arms. "We need to get you to a- a doctor or a hospital or something-"

Silas' hand shot up to grip Morrigan's wrist tightly.

"No doctors." He hissed, struggling to take in a breath.

"Silas, your rib is broken-"

"And my grandfather will help me treat it. I've dealt with worse. Take me inside."

Morrigan bit back a protest and obeyed, swimming inside and placing Silas down on his bed.

"Just call my grandfather, please," Silas mumbled, wincing.

Morrigan didn't answer at first. He stared at Silas for a moment, tapping his claws together, and swallowed.

"I really think you should go to the hospital."

"No hospitals."

"Silas, you could end up with a pierced lung!" Morrigan snapped, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Look, I never said anything because you seemed fine, and I didn't want to pry into something so personal, but... even without a broken rib, which I will repeat is very bad, you and Emrys should go to the hospital. Should have gone, actually. Long ago."

Silas laughed, taking in a sharp breath at the pain. "Hah, for what?"

Morrigan raked his left hand through his hair and clenched his right one into a fist. "Both of you are skin and bones, literally! I can see your ribs, Silas! That's not normal! Have you been eating anything at all?"

Silas let out a soft sigh. "I... I have a few scraps a day. Eating anything more... makes me throw up. Grandfather as well."

"That's even worse! You need to go to the hospital, both of, you or something-"

"I said no hospitals." Silas growled.

"Why not?"

"Morrigan, please. ...I... I can't. You think a doctor would want to help us?"

I suppose you could call a distrust of doctors a family tradition in a way. Not a single one of us trusted medical professionals, not because we thought they didn't know anything, but because we feared what they could do when given access to us at our most vulnerable.

I trust Morrigan with my life, however. I trust he will protect us and ensure nothing happens while we are in such a strange place.

The first obstacle was convincing my grandfather to go, too. He did not have the same amount of faith in Morrigan as I did. His history ran deeper than mine, after all.

My grandfather's grandmother was a child when our family was forcefully driven out of the Coral Sea and into the Abyss. The horror stories of before and after were passed down to him, and then he passed them unto my parents and to me.

Unlike me or my parents, my grandfather had a clear memory of my great great-grandmother's face when she told him of her experiences. He, young and impressionable, could see the fear glistening in her eyes, the way she seemed to be taken back to those moments, reliving the terror all over again.

There is a little saying, a proverb, she passed down to us. It was short, but it said all it needed to.

"They will hate you with a veil kindness. They will smile at you and fill your veins with poison."

And really, what else would such a saying do other than strike fear into your heart?

My grandfather was horrified at the very idea of going into Atlantica, never mind the hospital. It was the closest thing the two of us had ever had to a fight.

I told him Morrigan would protect us, and if he were to fail, I would make sure we got out and home safe. He needed to get better, or else he wouldn't last the rest of the season.

My grandfather eventually agreed, saying that it was only because he wanted me to recover safely, and then we began our trip to the city.

This experience was well over thirty years ago. My recollection of most of the events is fuzzy, but the little details aren't too important anyway.

What is important is the fact that we ended up staying in that hospital for a very long time, as there was far more wrong with us than even Morrigan could have guessed.

It was a very distressing experience. I was surrounded by doctors and nurses taking my temperature, asking me invasive questions, poking and prodding at me, shining lights into my eyes, and pricking me for blood.

Morrigan had to hold me back from breaking someone's face when they wanted to draw my blood for testing, telling me it was going to be okay and to let them do their thing.

I hated it. I hated it so much. It was a terrifying experience, and it is not often I feel genuine terror. But they... they just carried on, like it was your average weekday. Cold. Uncaring.

It didn't help that I barely understood half of what they said. Medical jargon. Utter nonsense.

Morrigan's doctor, the one he told me he trusted, did her best to make sure I was comfortable. She noticed I was confused and started slowly explaining what they were doing to me.

I don't know if she was genuinely trying to help or talking down to me, but either way, it did help. I felt better understanding what was happening to me.

There was... so much wrong with me. The doctors were surprised I hadn't died of malnutrition, but concluded my magic had something to do with my survival

I could never figure out why I kept throwing up food if I tried to fix my own starvation. It made me angry that I finally had a steady stream of food but couldn't actually eat much of it.

As it turns out, it is because of something called Refeeding Syndrome. Medical complications caused by aggressive nutritional rehabilitation. That is, too much nutrition at once after a prolonged period of starvation.

The best way to treat our malnutrition was by feeding tubes. Slowly giving us the nutrients we were lacking in a controlled environment. Morrigan had to hold me back again, as the idea of these strangers sticking a tube into me and pumping my body full of fluids terrified me.

I can't remember exactly how long we were in that hospital, but I do remember my recovery was slow and painful. Morrigan stayed by my side the entire time, making sure I was alright and using his magic to block my own when it lashed out when I caught sight of a needle.

There was an issue when we realised that neither I nor my grandfather had any form of identification. No ID, no birth certificates, nothing. Just our names, and we had no last name we could recall.

I distinctly remember a nurse muttering, "This is what happens when you leave them to breed down there." Morrigan shot her a look so dark it seemed to make the lights flicker, and she shut her mouth.

When we were healthy enough to move around and eat solid foods again, we had to do physical therapy. It was something that irritated me, even if I was glad to no longer be confined to a bed.

Being led around and told what to do by a stranger like I was a child made me feel the urge to throttle someone. Morrigan... Morrigan calmed me down, though. He was good at that. Rubbing my hand with his thumb and whispering words of comfort to me.

The worst was the psychiatrists. Morrigan couldn't stay with me during those little sessions, and I was trapped alone with a bored shrink who quite clearly didn't want me there.

It was quite obvious how they felt. I was taking up what could have been a free slot. I was taking time away from city merfolk.

They, the psychiatrists and the doctors, and the nurses, thought I was stupid. I know they did. It was soaked into their tones, bleeding out from behind plastic smiles.

Staying there was a terrible experience. I hated it, even if Morrigan's doctor tried her best to make things better. However... I don't regret it.

I still clearly remember looking into the mirror in the hospital bathroom one day and seeing the true colour of my skin for the first time.

It took me by surprise. My whole life, I had been a dull lilac-grey. But in that bathroom, I saw I was a deep flourishing purple. I spent ages tracing my skin and picking at my scales, entranced.

"You look amazing," Morrigan said to me, wrapping his arms around me. "Big I'm just glad you're healing."

My grandfather, who always appeared to be a dull brown-ish hue, was sunset orange. It left the two of us in awe, taking in the vibrant colours indicative of healthy skin.

It's strange how you sometimes only realise the extent of your problems after you've healed or gotten away from them.

When we were finally discharged, I had never felt so alive. My ribs no longer showed, my body no longer screamed with constant pain, and my insides no longer felt like they were being torn apart.

This sudden strength, this sudden joy and energy, made me realise just how much pain I was always in. How sick I was. I was one mishap away from a death that had nothing to do with starvation or being eaten, and I didn't even know it.

I was, unfortunately, instructed to "take it easy" for a few weeks until I could get back to hunting.

I couldn't do that. I had work to do, bills to pay. Morrigan could cover medical costs, but he couldn't also pay for my house and my staff's wages. I couldn't risk so much as a cent.

"It'll be okay, Si." Morrigan said to me with that warm smile of his. "You can still tell your party what to do. You just can't join them."

Morrigan was always optimistic.

My full recovery was much quicker than expected, but still very boring and nerve-wracking. Spending all my time inside, flitting about the shop, or lying on my stone slab of a bed, staring at the ceiling, was mind-numbing.

My grandfather was not so lucky. He still spent much of his time sleeping even though he was healthier now. His health always was much worse off than mine.

"We think Emrys was exposed to an oil spill," said Morrigan's doctor, whose name I can't remember. "His magic cleared most of it, but it still caused erosion on his fins and enlarged his liver."

It didn't help that he was nearing eighty. Merfolk can live much longer than that, but when your body has taken so much damage, that lifespan is cut short.

I looked after him the best I could. Helping him eat, giving him his prescribed medicine, thar sort off thing.

It was pretty miserable. The only thing that made it bearable was the music from the radio and Morrigan's visits.

He brought sweets for us. Can you believe it? Candies. Chocolate. Fron the surface.

"A friend from land sent it down," Morrigan said with a grin, unwrapping a bar and handing it to Silas. "A congratulations and a get well soon mixed together. Don't worry, the doctors said it's okay."

Silas blinked at him questioningly, and Morrigan quickly clarified.

"Oh, right. I told a few friends I'm officially taken... and that my new boyfriend was unfortunately in hospital. They sent this stuff down as good wishes."

Silas hummed, an amused smile crossing onto his face, and took a tiny bite out of the small piece of chocolate he broke off the slab. It was delicious.

Silas' grandfather politely declined Morrigan's offering of chocolate, telling the two to enjoy it and that he was going to lie down for a while.

Silas stared at the chocolate in his hand, and his eyes suddenly felt very wet.

"I don't... I don't think he's going to be with us for much longer." He said softly. Morrigan pulled him into a tight hug, and Silas tried his hardest not to cry.

It's nice to be cared for. Morrigan visited every second day to make sure we were alright. It was annoying to me that he didn't let me fight him, but I understood his reasoning.

When I was finally cleared to hunt again, the first thing I did was challenge Morrigan to a fight. I won, and I'm partially sure be let me, but I don't mind.

He looked ethereal, laughing in delight, covered in bruises and bitemarks, with his hair splayed out on the sand. Happy. Happy I was finally healthy.

This whole experience brought on a new issue. Morrigan had not yet told his parents we were dating at the time. I didn't care whether he told them or not, as it wasn't their business, but it was strange to see him stress over it so much.

I told him if they had a problem, then they weren't worth his time, and he just laughed. It sounded hollow.

He couldn't keep us secret forever, of course, especially since he took time off to stay with me while I was in the hospital.

He eventually told them a few months after I began hunting again. The day he did, he came storming into my shop, not even bothering with our game.

Silas perked up at Morrigan's presence, frowning when he saw the state he was in.

Morrigan was breathing hard, fists clenching and unclenching angrily. There was a raging fire, a maliciousness sparking in his magic that made Silas' skin prickle in all the best ways.

"What happened?" Silas didn't ask out loud, but his questioning and concerned look said all it needed to.

Morrigan looked at him, and his aquamarine eyes burned.

"You know what she said?" He asked, his voice set to a whisper, almost trembling. "She fucking said 'no'. What the fuck is that supposed to mean? I'm not asking for her permission or- or approval. And dad, Seven damn it, shaking his head like I've broken some fucking rule-"

Morrigan was on the verge of hyperventilating and Silas drifted over to wrap his arms arms around him and press his face into the crook of his neck.

Morrigan stiffened in surpise, then relaxed. He rested his chin on Silas' head and sighed.

"Sorry, darling. They're- my parents- not happy. But I'm not breaking it off so they want to meet you. Next week."

I was never unaware of meeting the family as a custom. It is a custom we even have in the abyss, if you're lucky to find a partner.

However, something that still perplexes me today about both Coral Sea and apparently land culture is the idea that you have to consider your partners family your own, and you must get along at all costs. If you dislike them, you smile and tolerate it.

Perhaps I don't understand it because keeping up appearances and faking getting along was a waste of energy in the abyss. If you didn't like a family member's partner, you could say so and carry on.

That's why I always felt so confused whenever Morrigan complained about his sister-in-law, muttering about how she got on his nerves with her smart alek quips and obnoxious way of talking.

"Then tell her that." I told him, and he looked at me like I was insane.

"I can't say that! She's my sister!'

"She's your sister's wife, not your sister. She doesn't need a free pass."

I think my way of thinking was part of the reason he avoided telling his parents about us for so long. I'm not offended, though. I never was.

There is... a trope in movies and TV I've come to notice. The overbearing in-laws. It's very strange to me, parents who are so obsessive and controlling over their adult children and, by extension, their children's partner.

I found it stupid and unealistic at the time. Who would behave like that? Who would try to take control of a wedding or decide their word is law in someone else's marriage?

Well, the answer to that would be Morrigan's parents.

They don't like me and I don't like them. They are not my parents or my family, not matter how much they insist they are.

I disliked them before I even met them. The snippets of how they treated Morrigan like their trophy I caught onto, the way they seemed to unashamedly hate me already, that was telling enough for me to dislike them.

I was unsure about meeting Morrigan's parents at first. They refused to come to Midway, instead insisting I come to them.

"I'll keep my exposure to the abyss limited to just the butcher, thank you," Morrigan relayed to Silas in a high-pitched voice, mocking his mother. "At least then we'll have a lesser chance of being infected with something."

Infected. Infected, she had said, in a snobbish upper-class accent, at least according to Morrigan. As if I were diseased.

Still, it was best to bite the bullet and just go see them. We made the trip there the next week, leaving at sunset to travel to a suburb near the heart of Atlantica.

I felt uncomfortable the entire trip there. The streets were busy even at night, bustling and noisy, lit with all too bright lights from advertisements and streetlights.

We finally arrived at a quaint house constructed from stone and metal. It was big, at least to me, and quite fancy.

"Hey, mother, father," Morrigan called out, unlocking and opening the front door. "We're here."

"Hello, Morrigan," came an aged voice, feminine and shrill. "And... you."

A small, thin woman with saggy skin and pursed lips stared at Silas with turquoise eyes as cold as ice. Her hair was silvery white, and her skin and scales were pink.

Silas silently stared back until her resolve wavered, and her gaze turned elsewhere, and she gestured for them to come inside.

"They're here, then?" Came a louder, deeper voice. Morrigan's father blinked at them with a pair of bright gold eyes. He was also thin, his skin the same deep green as Morrigan, but it didn't suit him. It was ill-fitting.

"Mother, father," Morrigan said slowly, sounding much quieter than usual. "This is Silas. Silas, this is Cyrus and Kiran, my parents."

Cyrus and Kiran stared at Silas, picking him apart, narrowing their eyes at every scar, every hole in his fins, every little imperfection.

Silas stared back. They were thin but not too thin. They were unnmarred, perfectly comfortable. Well-fed.

Weak. Spoiled. Prey.

Kiran cleared his throat. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Silas." He said, like a liar. "I hope our Morrigan isn't too much for you."

Silas didn't answer, and an awkward silence fell.

"Well," Cyrus said suddenly. "I suppose we should thank you for your services these past few years. Buying from you has been a big help financially."

Silas nodded his head and continued to gaze at them. Morrigan gently elbowed his side, and he blinked.

"Ah- it's... no issue."

The silence descended again, and they all floated there, staring at each other. Morrigan's parents were quite clearly uncomfortable with Silas there, neither coming near him nor looking him in the eyes.

"I must ask," Cyrus said after a while, her icy eyes glimmering. "Why are you dating Morrigan? I didn't think someone like him would pique the interest of... someone like you."

She tried to phrase it so politely. As if it were a mere difference in culture. But Silas knew what she meant.

"Because I love him," Silas rumbled. "That's reason enough, I'm sure."

"W-Well yes, but surely there are other factors-"

"No."

Cyrus looked taken aback by Silas' curt response, exchanging an aghast look with her husband.

"T-That's good, I suppose. Make yourselves comfortable, I'm making a prawn salad for a light meal. Kiran, you can get the wine out, and Keres, stop lurking over there and say hi to your brother."

Another mer, pink with dark blue scales and fins, swam into the living room with a huff. His hair was white with dark blue highlights, and his gold eyes glistened in annoyance.

Morrigan started, looking between this new mer and his parents.

"What's he doing here?"

Keres pulled his lips into an exaggerated pout. "Come on, Morrigan, that's no way to greet your little brother." He said, his voice dripping with manufactured sadness. "I'm just here for a visit to our loving parents. And to meet the lucky guy."

He waved at Silas and grinned. "Hi there. Keres Clearcove. Second oldest of the our clutch. Nice to meet you."

Silas blinked at him, unsure of how to answer, and Cyrus laughed. "Oh we'll let you three chat for a bit." She said, grabbing Kiran and making a swift exit.

"I'm not in the mood for your bullshit today." Morrigan hissed at Keres. "You've said hello, now go away."

Keres raised his hands, looking offended. "Sorry, Your Highness. Forgive me for forgetting my place. Just the lowly brother of special great mage Morrigan."

"That's not what I meant-"

"I'm sure it wasn't." Keres smiled. "Let's not fight in front of your man. Though I doubt it'll affect him much, considering his... background."

Morrigan drew his lips back threateningly, and Silas gently touched his arm. "Calm down. I'm sure Keres knows better than to run his mouth."

Silas stared at the mer in question until he swallowed and nodded his head. "Y-Yeah, of course! I'm not looking for trouble. In fact, I'm here to tell mother and father about a new client of mine."

"Client?" Silas glanced at Morrigan.

"He's a lawyer." Morrigan muttered.

"Indeed I am." Keres said proudly. "While Morrigan here babysits magic wielding brats all day, I consistently work with very high calibre and high paying clients to buy nice things for my children. I recently scored a CEO. Can you believe it?"

Morrigan's eye twitched, and Silas decided against answering.

"Tough crowd. Well, I'll be on my way to hide in my room while you-" Keres pointed at Silas. "-get scrutinised down to the tiniest detail and hounded about babies. Have fun."

He then left as quickly as he arrived, before either of them could respond.

"What a brat," Morrigan hissed, looking more irritated than Silas had ever seen him.

Keres was not wrong, unfortunately. I was, in fact, scrutinised down to the last detail, asked questions that ranged from odd all the way to invasive and rude. The topic of children was briefly brought up, though Cyrus expressed poorly hidden disgust at the idea and recommended adoption instead. As if we were planning to have children at all.

It was worse than the doctors at Atlantica General, I dare say. At least they weren't asking about my fertility since they "wanted grandchildren from their eldest."

Morrigan seemed to be on the verge of either punching someone or slamming his head against the wall the entire time but opted to dig his claws into the dining room table and grind his teeth instead.

Silas couldn't blame him. The fake kindness, the mock sympathy, the plastic hospitality made his teeth itch to bite something. He wanted them to stop lying. Call him a monster if they really wanted. He hated those forced smiles so much

Finally, finally, the conversation was coming to an end, when Cyrus said... something rather odd. And stupid.

"Listen, Silas, you seem... Nice." The lies kept spilling. Flowing out of her mouth like a winding river. "But we don't want you dating Morrigan. It isn't safe-"

"That's not for you to decide." Said Silas, and Morrigan sucked in a sharp breath and nearly tore through the table.

The facade cracked and Cyrus' face twisted into an angered expression.

"Now listen here, I will not have our son bee manipulated by-

"Shut up!" Morrigan snapped, wrenching his hand back and tearing through the table. "If you can't behave then we're going to leave."

"Come now, Morrigan, think carefully about this." Said Kiran. "You know, the merchant's son is a nice young man-"

"I said shut up." Morrigan tugged on Silas' wrist and began making his way to the door. "Come on, Silas."

Morrigan stayed with us that night, fuming silently. He wasn't just angry. He was hurt. Very hurt. I did my best to comfort him, though I don't think it was much help.

Unfortunately, that was not nor will it ever be the last time Morrigan and I clashed with his parents. They're a stubborn pair, hellbent on getting what they want even if they repeatedly fail.

They won't ever truly accept me as Morrigan's husband, and I can accept that. They can continue being hateful cretins, and I will carry on as I always have.

A knock on the door broke Silas from his writing trance. He put his pen down and took in a deep, slow breath. Even writing about Morrigan's parents gave him a headache.

"Coming, Timo." He called, then packed his writing away and left.

...........................................

Guide: Start, Prev, Next

A/N: I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! It really was a wild ride

Tagging: @distant-velleity @br3adtoasty @rainesol @theleechyskrunkly @jovieinramshackle

@galaxies-and-gore @cyanide-latte @cynthinesia @officialdaydreamer00 @krenenbaker

@offorestsongs @kitwasnothere @elenauaurs @boopshoops @inotonline

@1dont-really-know @kazumify @minteasketches @elysia-nsimp @skrimpyskimpy

@casp1an-sea @offorestsongs @tixdixl @poisoned-pearls @the-trinket-witch

@ramshacklerumble @ghostiidasponk @thegoldencontracts @the-banana-0verlord

#silas clearcove #morrigan clearcove #lamentations #twisted wonderland #twst oc #oc x oc #writing

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mrslankyman · 1 year ago

Text

Do I Wanna Know?

Wrote this a while ago - 2,906 Words

Daryl Dixon - Prison Era (Not based on any episode in series)

February 12, 2012

As far as I know today is February 12. That's what Carol tells me. She keeps the days tracked. I guess she does a lot around here.

She's pretty reliable. Rick's been out scouting for a while. We're running low on supplies. Might have to make a trip to the closest town.

I head out of the main corridor of the prison where we've been staying. Pulling my pistol out from my holster and switching it into my dominant hand.

I opened the door that lead outside. The sun hit my face and I squinted. Living in the dark of the prison sure as hell made your eyes sensitive to any bright lights.

I passed Glenn and gave a curt nod. He was heading to the watch post for his daily steak out. I walked up to the fence. Looking out into the field. Only a few walkers today. Better than yesterday. There was a whole hoard out there. Thank god for Daryl. Him and his cross bow. That damn cross bow. He loves that thing more than anyone.

Speaking of the devil the familiar sound of a motorcycle filled my ears. I turned to the gate as Glenn pushed it open. Daryl came riding into the prison. Stopping his bike and taking the keys out of the ignition. He unwrapped the three rabbits he had killed. Of course he was out hunting. When wasn't he doing something? He barely slept because he refused to be useless.

"What ya catch out there Daryl?" Carol asked walking out of the Prison. Daryl looked up at her and held up the three rabbits. "Nice." She smiled and took them from Daryl. Forgot, the cook and the hunter were best friends. I groaned and looked back out into the field. Everyone in the group seemed to have someone.

I was just left out. I joined late and it felt like when you joined a friend group but the kids before had been friends for years. I was always the odd one out. At least I can survive here. That I am grateful for.

"What are you doing just staring off into the field?" A low voice asked behind me. I'd be lying if when I first joined that voice didn't set me off. In a good way.

Now it's just a constant reminder that I'm just lonesome. Daryl never cared for me. I knew from the day I joined. At first he tried to come across as friendly. In his own way. He just said Hello. Which was more than anyone else did. After about a week I guess he got tired of it.

"Yes I am. Does it bother you Dixon?" I asked not looking at him. My voice was laced with attitude. Hoping he got the point to leave me alone. It was what he did best. Ignoring me.

Daryl must've gotten annoyed. At least I assume because I heard him turn away and head inside. I let out a sigh and put my pistol in its holster on my waist. "I hope this shit ends one day." Such an idiotic thought. It was never going to end. The world was over.

-----

"Alright, we need to plan out the group's going out for supplies tomorrow." Rick said as we all sat down to eat. "We need more canned foods, medicine, and first aid supplies. Ammo too if we can find any." As Rick carried on I looked over to Daryl.

He was sitting next to Carol on the floor. They were talking about what I don't know. I rolled my eyes. He was starting to get really close with Carol. It was annoying seeing him make friends. I don't know why but it did.

"Y/N did you hear me?" Rick's voice pierced through my ears. The angry dad tone. I looked up at him. "What?" I asked. "You and Daryl are going out to Greens Burrow to search the market place up there for food." Rick said pinching the bridge of his nose. "Ok everyone else listen up." Rick said gathering everyone else attention again.

I looked over at Daryl. He was looking back at me and chuckling.

I guess me getting scolded is what made a almost 40 year old man laugh now a days. I rolled my eyes and ate my stew.

----

After we all ate dinner everyone headed to their cells to sleep. Besides Rick. He headed out of the prison. I assume to go on watch or snoop around somewhere. I don't really care.

As I headed down the short walk way to my cell I bumped into a broad shoulder. I looked up and groaned. Daryl. "Watch where ya going." He huffed out. I rolled my eyes and went to walk past him. "Annoying asshole." I mumbled under my breath.

A hand grabbed the back of my shirt collar and slammed me into the cement wall. I groaned as a slight rush of pain pierced my head.

Daryl looked down at me. His hand holding my shirt to the wall. He leaned closer his eyes squinting at me. "Wha'd ya call me?" He asked in a low whisper.

I glared at the man in front of me. No way in hell he was talking to me like this. "Wha'd ya think?" I mocked him.

I smirked a little in sanctification as the annoyances crept its way onto his face. "Is the big hunts man mad?" I teased as his hand bunched into fist. I took the opportunity before he could speak to flip our positions.

I slammed him into the wall. Watching as his eyes widen in shock. "Before you go around shoving women into walls.." I leaned into his ear. "Make sure shes not a professionally trained wrestler." His face scrunched up.

I laughed as I let go of him. "Ass hole." I cooed as I walked off to my cell. Completely satisfied for once.

----

"I seriously cannot believe I have to go with you. Rick could've chosen anyone." I complained as I fixed my pistol in my holster.

Daryl was getting his bike ready. "Stop complaining." He grumbled in annoyance. He got on his bike and looked at me. I stared at him confused.

"Get on the fuck are ya doin?" He asked as I still stood there. In utter silence. "I'm not getting on that bike with you." I rolled my eyes.

He leaned his head back in exasperation. I was making this hell for him. I could tell. I kinda liked it.

"I'm gonna leave without ya." He kicked up the kick stand of his bike and revved it up. "Fine! But only because I don't feel like walking." I saw him smirk slightly from the side mirrors on his bike. Our eyes caught each other and he stared at me for a second before looking away.

I walked up to the bike and threw my right leg over the seat and sat down. "You're gonna have to hold on." He said as he revved the bike up again. "I think I can balance." I rolled my eyes. "Sure." He chuckled as the gates opened.

He revved the bike up one more time before shooting out of the prison and onto the road ahead. My body wobbled and I flung my arms forward. Wrapping them around Daryl's waist.

Daryl Pov

I knew she wouldn't be able to balance. I felt her arms wrap around me and bit my lip. The breeze of the wind flowing my hair felt nice. But not as nice as this. I'll admit it's been a while since someone has ever touched me like this. Maybe that's why I don't mind.

Or maybe I just wanted to prove her right. I closed my eyes slightly. It was nice to get out of the prison. Even with the dead being all over.

My thoughts slipped to last night. Her slamming me against the wall. Her face as she leaned into my ear. Her voice.. I felt a shiver run down my spine. No I couldn't like this snobby woman. She was also keeping to her self. A strange woman in a now strange world. Not so strange at all If you really think about it.

I'm too hypocritical.

I was and still am like that. Sure I've gotten closer to a lot of our people but I still keep my distance. I opened my eyes. Watching ahead for any walkers or living people.

I could see in my right side mirror Y/N looking around. She looked nice with the wind blowing her hair. A carefree look on her face.

I looked ahead and kept going. All the way to Greens Burrow. Trying my best to ignore the thoughts I had of the woman behind me. I'm just going crazy. This world has changed me.

----

I stopped at the local market. I kicked down my bikes kick stand and waited for Y/N to get off. Once she did I got off too.

She grabbed a stray shopping cart and headed inside. She better not fill that shitty thing up. The two bags on my bike only had enough room for a few things. If we found any.

I shoved open the door. Carts and random shelves blocked the entrance. We climbed over them and got to the main center of the store. Empty shelves and random new papers littered the room.

I looked over at Y/N to ask her what we should do but she was already walking off. Pushing the cart down a random isle all the way at the back of the store.

"Is she dumb?" I asked myself as I followed her. I left my cross bow back at the prison. Fuck. I pulled out my pistol from my holster and lifted it up. Checking each isle as I walked over to her.

This idiot could've been eaten. I guess not everyone is as smart as you think.

Once I finally made it to her I saw the cart. Stock pilled of random canned goods and chips. "We can't take all of that." I grumbled as I lowered my pistol.

"We can just take some and then come back for the rest." She shrugged like it was no big deal. She is starting to really piss me off.

"I do not wanna be stuck running around all day with an idiot." I pinched the bridge of my nose in annoyance. I felt her hand pat my chest and I looked down at her. "Get over it." She smiled but her tone was rather angry.

I shoved her away and headed off down the rest of the isle. Checking for walkers so this idiot of a woman doesn't die.

----

Regular POV

It's been about a week since me and Daryl's run. He has been avidly ignoring me. I guess I really pissed him off when I said this walker with the ugliest fucking face looking like him. I thought it was funny.

Today I was out checking the other cells around the prison. Killing any walkers that I stumbled into or that stumbled into me. I had finally made it to the end of cell block E.

I was going to be late for dinner. Oh well. I headed back to the front of the prison and walked into the main cell block we were all settled in. Just as I thought.

Everyone had ate and there was nothing left. I groaned and mentally cursed Rick for giving me the worst jobs. I lowered my head and started walking up to the stairs.

"Not gonna eat?" A familiar deep voice asked. I looked over at Daryl. He was holding a bowl of stew. I rolled my eyes. "No." I huffed and turned to keep walking.

"Come on and eat. I don't need you to starve." He insisted. Talking to me like he cared.

"Why do you care if I starve?" I sneered. He just gave me a look. The 'you better do what I say.' look. I gave up and walked back down the steps and over to him. He held out the bowl to me and I took it.

"Thanks.." I say unsure. Should I be thanking him or telling him off? He had ignored me for a whole week.

Why do you care about me so much all of a sudden? You ignored me all week." I antagonized him. He just stared at me. Bitting his bottom lip.

"I didn't ignore you. Now good night." He turned away and began to walk up the stairs to his cell. I rolled my eyes and started to eat my stew.

Then it hit me.

He wasn't ignoring me. At least he was verbally.

He would purposely bump into me and give me a rude look. Even if it was his fault. He'd look at me anytime we all ate dinner together. Constantly pick the same time to do guard duty as me. Even if he didn't speak to me.

I shook my head. Maybe I was just over thinking it. We were in a prison after all. With maybe 10 people. It's bound that we bump into each other and have the same shifts.

———

Again. Today I had to check Cell block A. I groaned as I walked down the hall. I was always chosen for the dumb jobs. I headed into a cell unit. Checking each cell for any sign of life .. or death. As I got to the end of the cell block a hand grabbed me and pushed me down to the grown.

"Ah- what the hell.." I looked up at the walker infront of me. It's jaws slammed together as I pushed it away with my hand. Keeping its mouth away from my face and neck. "ah- fuck!" I looked over to my side. My gun had fallen out.

"Shit shit shit! I kicked at the walker. It didn't budge. I tried shoving it off. No use. My arms grew tired and I trembled under the weight of the dead. This can't be how I die. No way.

As the Walker lowered its self. Close enough to take a bite out of my flesh. I swear I could've felt the pain of teeth bitting into my skin. A loud 'phew' echoed and an arrow pierced the Walker through the head. It flopped down. I pushed it off my quickly and scrambled away from it. Catching my breath.

Daryl stood at the end of the corridor. His crossbow in hand. He lowered it and walked over. Pulling the arrow out of the walkers head.

"What are you doing here?" I asked still trying to recover from the shock.

"Saving you. Dumb ass." He grumbled and set his cross bow down. He walked over to me and held out his hand. I hesitantly held my hand out and took his. He pulled me up and I stumbled into him.

He looked down at me as I looked up at him. "I heard you. I was walking around tryna find you to tell ya dinner was done. Since you missed it the day before." His voice echoed in my head. This time it wasn't annoying.

"Oh really? What makes you care so much if I miss dinner? It just mean more food for you. I don't get why you're trying to be so nice to me but stop."

He stared at me. His eyes narrowing slowly. "I just saved ya. Doesn't it prove I are about ya?! Do I have to spell it out!" He yelled flipping his arms into the air and back down.

"Why did you save me? Aren't I just an annoyance to you?" I went on. His hands bunched up into fist. "Maybe you are!" He sneered.

"Good I like being the reason you're so mad." I smirked and pushed him against the wall. He stared at me. Slowly catching onto my game. "Agitating you makes my day." I clicked my tongue in his face at the end of the sentence.

He bit his lip and glared at me. His hands grabbing my sides slowly but firmly. My heart rushed slightly. I pushed the feeling down. I wanted him to make the first move.

"Maybe I like that you agitate me." He added on, pulling me closer by the waist. His voice was deeper now. More low and quite.

I pressed my body against his. My arms wrapped around his neck. "I like that you like it." I whispered in his ear in a slow, low tone. I could feel him growing hard as each one of my silky smooth words touched his ear.

I pulled away and looked at him. I laughed slightly. Who knew a women could make a grown man melt at a few words so easily.

"Maybe I'll-"

He cut me off and pressed me against his chest. "Just shut up and kiss me." He demanded. I smirked and gladly listened. Pressing my lips against his cold chapped ones. His stumble rubbed against my face and I'd be lying if I said it didn't turn me on more.

We stayed like that for a few minuets. Just kissing and saying things I'm sure he wouldn't want the others to know about. Men get embarrassed so easily.

#the walking dead #daryl dixon #twd daryl #the walking dead daryl #daryl fanfiction #daryl x reader #daryl x y/n #daryl x you

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kayann9 · 9 months ago

Text

The Darkest Night

Thank you again to everyone :) This is pure fluff. I always believed that Gale and Tav definitely know they have some feelings for each other before the 'Big Confession' and this is one of those moments. I have a sort of second part to this too.

Set just before Shadow Curse Lands.

Pairing: Gale X F! Tav (Serena)

Words: 1047

Rating: T (a lot of fluff)

The shadows around them seemed to grow heavier than anyone would have thought possible and they hadn’t even arrived there yet. Serena hated the dark. She’d never told anyone that. Her tent was always adorned with a flickering light, just enough to offer her some warmth against the unforgiving gloom. She had long since accepted that darkness was part of her life, part of what she needed, but each time the sun set and the midnight darkness shrouded her like the embrace of Shar, she could not help but feel lost and afraid.

She hid it well.

Always walking straight; always talking; always stepping ahead of the others, but each time a wayward patch of night caught her eye, a shiver erupted up her spine and the helplessness she’d known as a youngster flooded back into thoughts.

The Shadowcursed Lands loomed ahead, and this pervasive sense of dread loomed right along with it.

When they set up camp, it took all of her effort not to listen to her limbs urging her back up towards the Mountain Pass and the glowing vista they were leaving behind. No more lush greenery and bright flowers; no more sunsets and sunrises with the multi-faceted colours of a glowing sky. Serena had never wanted to go to a place less than the next step of their journey.

She rubbed her hands over her face before wandering over to her favourite companion’s tent hoping for some kind of distraction from her impending worry.

“What’re you doing?”

Gale smiled at her. He knew that tone well. The same tone she’d used before they’d traversed the Underdark. Her sing-song curiosity of the things he did made his soul smile.

“Perhaps you should come and find out.” He laughed and made room for her on his bedroll. She’d been in here a few times; enough times for him to make sure it was always kept orderly just in case she visited. Over the last couple of months, he’d tried convincing himself that he was making a fool of himself, but now he was facing down eternity, he could not bring himself to care as much. Instead, he soaked up her attention like the roots of a starving flower desperate to soak up moisture from the rain.

One evening, not long after the fated visit from Elminster, she’d fallen asleep in there as they’d sat and read together. Ever since, he’d spent nights hoping it would happen again.

As she seemingly liked doing, she perched next to him, her chin resting on his shoulder and her eyes looking at the book he held. The kind of physical touch that was typical of lovers. The kind he’d not had in so long. It was difficult not to indulge in and now that he’d made peace with his destructive condition, it seemed silly not to indulge in it for who knew how long he would have left to enjoy it.

Selfish, maybe? Needed, certainly.

Gale had long since concluded that whatever her story was, she needed it as much as he did.

“This is like another language.” He could hear the squint on her face.

“Because it is another language. I found it in the temple. It is Githyanki. I think I have worked out a few of the key terms such as Queen but I am still trying to work out the narrative.”

“Why not just ask Lae’zel?”

Gale turned, his face only an inch from hers as she looked over his shoulder and smiled. “Well, if I were to simply ask Lae’zel, then she would be able to translate this simple passage for me, but I would not have learnt how to translate the myriads of passages encapsulated in those crypts. Imagine the knowledge trapped in these texts. If I can work out the terminology in this one, then I can do it for the others. Of course, the plan is Lae’zel can check that I am correct while we have her here.”

Serena scrunched up her nose and chuckled. “I like watching you learn. Can I stay whilst you uncover the great mysteries of the Githyanki?”

“Of course, you can. You needn’t ever ask permission sit with me.”

Serena did not need a second invitation, especially with the gravity of what hid on the horizon for them. Instead, made herself comfortable leaning against him taking in his warmth like he was the sunshine she was leaving behind.

How she loved watching him as he read and studied; he was so far removed from the people she usually encountered that she had been almost captivated with him from their first meeting. His stories and how he told them with his whole body, his graceful manners misaligned with occasional clumsiness, his over-confidence and uncertainty co-existing oddly together; all of it made her feel lighter. Dare she say, happy? He was her own little slice of daylight amongst an oncoming storm.

“Thunder or perhaps clouds?” The low hum of his voice broke through her daydream.

His brow creased as he grabbed the quill and scribbled on a stray piece of parchment.

She closed her eyes at the scratching on the paper and curled up next to him, tucking her feet underneath her. She stifled a yawn as she leaned into the softness of his side, breathing in the scent of the autumncrocus he’d spent the day collecting. His shirt was soft and without a second thought, she wrapped an arm around his middle before letting her drowsiness claim her.

Gale stilled at the movement but after one look at her peaceful face, the face he’d decided he definitely loved, he relaxed and let his arm drape around her in the same way, his fingers stroking her hair.

“You are more captivating than any language that could ever be spoken.” He whispered into the air, part of him hoping she was asleep but an ever-growing part of him wishing she had heard. “Whatever is causing you the worry you feel, I will make sure I do my best to shield you from it.” He pressed his lips gently to the top of her head.

Carefully, he put the text down, trying his best not to wake her and instead decided to study the subject he was most fascinated by: Serena Tavarnos.

#bg3 #bg3 gale #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 tav #gale bg3 #gale x tav #f!tav

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kinda-thoughtless-critic · 2 years ago

Text

Recruitment at Sunset

(jealous) Jean x Reader

It was a pleasantly warm evening at the survey corps headquarters, fading amber sun rays shone through open windows and avian chitter echoed from the leafy tops of trees outside. A relatively newly appointed Section Commander was at his desk shuffling some documents around. Many a parchment was discarded at a near automated speed, the applicant’s name was scanned and nine times out of ten dummped on a stack towering at the desk’s edge. Another, much smaller pile sat patiently in front of the young soldier.

His long fingers pinching the bridge of his nose as tired eyes forced themselves to squint at less than impressive chicken scratch. A calloused thumb pad sank into the paper, creating creases like that of those framing his features, and he sighed, wishing the setting sun would pause and prolong the day a little longer.

It was then the warm oak door to his office opened with a slight creak of its old hinges, and that wish disappeared through the widening gap. Too quick did bright eyes meet his, curved to the softest gaze, the sheet of paper cropping off a smile. Jean jerked upright at your entrance, only having seconds to swiftly sweep the larger paper pile into the metal bin below and place the one he’d been scanning on the one in front.

You cocked an eyebrow as you drew closer to his desk, the door closing slowly behind.

“These are the applications for your new squad,” he said nonchalantly, handing you a flimsy stack of papers.

You skimmed through the applicants, flipping through the limited number of pages. Impressed by their statements, but disappointed with the lack of choice, after the 5th you stopped. “They’re all female”

“Yeah, that seems to be the case,” he responded, resting his elbows on the desk, light brown eyes piercing in the subdued light, “the top four ones are the people I think you should pick. Bridgette and Lina placed 10th and 8th in their Training Corps a few years back, Winnie was a well respected Garrison soldier and I think it will be good to have one of the new recruits like Piper join your squad and learn the ropes.”

Your smile returned as he pitched his suggestions, noting the stray hairs falling from their carefully combed positions to brush the tips of his nose and cheekbones. “You’ve thought about this a lot haven’t you?”

Jean smiled, softer lines replacing rigid ones, and his expression relaxed. “I’m your superior now; it’s my job.”

“Except on this occasion it isn’t, Commander Hange gave me the okay to choose my own members,” you smirked, “not for my Section Commander to do it for me.”

Jean sat back a bit, running a hand through disheveled locks, “I saved you time. It would’ve taken ages for you to decide on the right ones, so I thought I’d help you out.”

“This doesn’t seem like much.” You flapped the documents for extra effect, then glanced sidelong at the recently filled bin beside his desk. “Unless I am to count the ones you threw away just a moment ago.”

He followed your eyes down and promptly folded his arms. “Those aren’t important.”

“In your opinion perhaps, but not to me,” you said, stalking over to them and fishing them out. Jean frowned, displeasure evident in the reappearing creases gathering around knitted brows as you flipped through them. “So here are all my male applicants.”

“The ones I picked out for you were better suited,” Jean insisted.

You almost laughed. “You sure? Because one of these guys, Isaac Milton, was a Squad Captain in the Garrison.”

“He was stationed at Yarckel,” he countered, “He’s never seen a titan.”

“We’re not really fighting titans anymore. At least, not like before.”

“True, but he’s got little battle experience compared to the veterans I’ve picked, and won’t be as sharp as the new trainees. We don’t know exactly what we’ll be up against. Y/n, I don’t want you getting yourself killed protecting him.”

You sighed, clutching the stack close to your chest. “I’ll need his leadership experience- plus he was in the top 20 after graduating.”

“Leadership experience like choosing which barrel to sit on while you drink away the shift playing cards?” His words were sarcastic but his tone nothing short of sincere, this combined with the intent gaze he fixed you getting up and walking round made for a dangerous combination. He took back the stack with without resistance. “Hange and Levi are giving you a squad because they know what you can do. You’re more than capable of leading them.” He let the pile land with a thump on the desk and rested a hand on it, leaning his tall frame towards you. Attentive. “Have faith in yourself.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his immediacy, amber rays highlighting the precise curve of his smile, sheer softness in this gaze. The musky scent of imported cologne played annoyingly with your senses, threatening to distract your thoughts.

With a huff, you gently shoved his shoulder. “I’m fully capable of your promotion.”

He let out a soft chuckle, allowing his body to sway slightly with the impact. “Alright, then maybe you’ll get the next position that comes up.”

Shaking your head, as if you could brush off the natural half smile clinging to your cheek, you reached around his arm to pick up the lighter stack. Both of you knew he wouldn’t stop you if you really wanted to choose differently, but you were never going to. His judgement was more than reliable, had saved your life multiple times, for the longest time you never questioned trusting it. That said, you weren’t going to make it easy for him. “Is there a reason the only ones you approved were female?”

Jean took his hand off the tall paper pile, subtly hiding it from view as his lower back leaned against the desk. “Nope. They’re the best here.”

“Really?”

“Absolutely.”

“Fine,” you reached up to jiggle his bearded chin. He allowed it, for a moment, before playfully batting your hand away. Turning on a heel you made your way to the door, “I’ll go with these four, so they better not disappoint, Horseface,” finally calling out as you left, “Actually to be on the safe sight, keep those ones on file for me...”

A heavy sigh juxtaposed your friendly wave goodbye, followed by a quiet grumble seeing your fleeting figure, taking away what little light had been left with it.

~~~

Thanks for reading!

Masterlist

Burden of Duty (Jean x Reader angst)

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samcarpentersgirlfriend · 1 year ago

Note

i have a request for wes hicks, so make a fic where it’s wes last day and like they have a date and all before he gets killed and then after the reader finds out he’s dead the next day, if that makes sense 💀

sorry this one took so long!!

YOU’RE ALL I WANTED || WES HICKS X READER𖤐₊˚.

summary: above

word count: 3k

warnings: fluff to angst (non happy ending), swearing, use of y/n + y/n/n in some places,

⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . * ꙳ ✦ ⊹

“Can I open my eyes yet?”

“Nope.” You dont have to be able to see Wes to know that he’s smiling that boyish smile of his.

“But Wes, I can’t see.”

“Huh, it’s almost like that’s the point,” he replies sarcastically, laughing when you swat at what you guess is his arm. “Come on, we’re almost there, I promise.”

“You said that five minutes ago!” You all but whine, a pout on your lips. You were willing to humour whatever Wes was planning, but if you had to stumble through darkness any longer, the anticipation was probably going to kill you. You’d gotten out of the car what felt like an eternity ago at a place you didn’t recognise, and Wes had been leading you ever since then. And you had no idea where you were heading - or what you even were supposed to be doing.

You open your mouth to speak once more again, but before you can, Wes takes his hands from over your eyes with a flourish.

“Surprise?” He says hopefully, pointing towards something that you can’t quite see yet. It’s a beautiful day today, and you squint as your eyes adjust to the bright light. But once you see it, you can’t hide the grin that appears on your face.

“Wes!” You gasp, “You shouldn’t have!”

It’s a cliché thing to say, you know that, but he really shouldn’t have. He’s led you to a field - a beautiful one, with flowers of all kind blooming off to the side - and in front of you lays a blanket with all your favourite snacks upon it. Fruit bowls, chips, cupcakes - the fancy ones that Wes knows you love even though they’re totally overpriced. It’s completely and utterly perfect. And without a doubt, the most thoughtful thing anybody has ever done for you.

You tell Wes as much as you throw your arms around him and and press a kiss to his temple, and you don’t miss the adorable way that his cheeks flush in response.

“It’s nothing,” he says nonchalantly, even though this whole thing must’ve took a hell of a lot of planning and most definitely not nothing. “Honestly. And you deserve it - all of it.”

He says that casually too, like it doesn’t fill your chest with warmth and make your heart skip a dozen beats. It’s like Wes doesn’t realise that he’s too good; too good at this whole date planning thing, too good at being your boyfriend - too damn good in general. You’ve only been together for a couple of months, but honestly? It’s the happiest you’ve been in a long time. It’s like you’re in a constant state of bliss with Wes, your whirlwind romance lighting up your days in way that puts the sun to shame. Texting with him alone is enough to make you practically giddy, so being here with him now is your own little idea of heaven.

“So,” you ask in between a bite of a cookie once you’ve sat down,“what made you think of all of this? I mean, it’s seriously like something out of a movie!”

“Just wanted to do something nice for you.” Wes replies with a smile and a shrug. “I didn’t know what, but then I remembered this place. I haven’t been here in years, but it hasn’t changed a bit.” Wes pauses, and you notice his expression falter for a moment. “I used to come here when my parents argued - when I needed to clear my head, you know? I don’t know, it’s probably stupid, but…”

Wes trails off awkwardly, dropping his gaze. You know that his parents aren’t together - haven’t been for years - but Wes barely talks about his sorry excuse for a father. In fact, you think this is the most he’s ever spoken on the issue to you.

“Hey,” you say gently, pressing a hand to Wes’ cheek and carefully turning his head so that he’s looking at you once more. “It’s not stupid. Not in the slightest. I get it. It really is a beautiful place.”

Wes nods and his eyes gain their light once more, and he places his hand over yours. Wes had never really been big on public affection, but it seemed as if the two of you were the only people around. It doesn’t matter anyway - it certainly feels like you are. You could stay here forever like this, the sun on your skin, legs messily interlocked. It’s all you’ve ever wanted.

“Thank you for this, for today.” You say quietly. You’re still trying to make sure that you remember it all - the food strewn across the blanket, all of the different types of flowers and all their different hues, the smell of strawberries and your boyfriends’ coconut shampoo - it’s something you never want to forget. In fact, when the two of you pull way from each other, you take out your phone and snap a picture of the setup just in case, before taking one of you and Wes too - the two of you smiling, the photo slightly blurry but still somehow perfect.

Even though you’ve been out for most of the day, you still can’t help but be disappointed when the sun sets and the two of you have no choice but to leave - especially when Wes’ mom tells him it’s way past his curfew and sends him one not - so vaguely threatening text about the dangers of staying out past dark.

Still, it feels as if you’ve barely stopped smiling today - but you haven’t had much reason to. Even as Wes drives you home, his free hand loosely interlaced with yours, you still can’t shake the butterfly feeling in your stomach. Maybe it was just the “honeymoon” stage of your relationship, but it felt like it was so much more than that. Maybe this was just how dating Wes was going to be - constantly feeling like you were on cloud nine. You’re more than okay with that.

“You know, you don’t have to to walk me to my door,” you tease as Wes exits the car when you reach your destination what feels like far too quickly.

“I want to,” Wes responds simply. “Besides, you never know what could be hiding in the bushes.”

“It’s a thirty second walk,” you laugh, letting him trail besides you nonetheless. “But thank you, my knight in shining armour.”

Wes simply chuckles. “Thanks for coming today. I had a really great time with you.”

You frown in disbelief. “Are you kidding? Thank me for coming? Wes, you set up this whole thing? I need to be thanking you. I loved it - I love you. It was more than perfect.”

Wes’ eyes widen ever so slightly, and you belatedly realise that you don’t think you’d ever said those words out loud before - I love you. Not because you didn’t mean them, but because you were worried that you’d look too eager, too desperate. It wasn’t something you said early on in a relationship, it just wasn’t.

Oh, to hell with it. You meant what you said, societal rules be damned. You love Wes, love spending time with him, love the way he makes you feel. Love his beautiful blue eyes and his infectious smile and just how damn thoughtful he is. You love Wes Hicks, plain and simple.

And by the way he wraps his arms around your waist and presses his lips to yours, you’re left to assume that he feels the same way. Well, you don’t even have to assume, not when he tells you as much when he pulls back, tells you that he didn’t want to scare you off by saying it before and isn’t that just ironic?

The whole thing almost makes you forget that Wes has to leave, and you can’t contain your sigh when he reminds you that he’s already late back. “I’ll text you when I’m back,” he assure you, “promise. I love you, okay?” Now you were both ready to say it aloud, you had a feeling you’d be hearing those three words a lot from now on

“Love you too. Night, Wes.”

Wes simply grins as he walks away and gets into his car, sparing you one last glance before he waves and drives away. You stare at his empty spot on the road for a minute, before you realise that staring into the empty sidewalk in the dark probably makes you look like a complete creep and make your way inside your house and up to your bedroom.

You receive your promised text almost twenty minutes later, just after you’ve climbed into bed. It reads:

wes: at home now

wes: are you still awake?

y/n: yeah

y/n: glad you’re home safe ♡

wes: thanks baby

wes: I’ll call you in the morning, okay?

y/n: okay

y/n: night wes

wes: goodnight y/n/n

wes: sweet dreams <3

Sighing in contentment, you put your phone down onto your bedside table and flick off your lamp. It’s like the events of today have suddenly caught up with you all at once, and you feel your eyes start to flutter closed, consciousness slowly slipping away. You briefly wonder if you’ll dream tonight - although you doubt anything your sleeping mind could conjure would top your date today.

⊹₊┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ✿ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈₊⊹

It feels as if you’ve only just closed your eyes - although the light shining through your curtain tells you otherwise - when you’re awoken by the sound of buzzing. It’s strange, you think to yourself, you didn’t set an alarm - although you cast your mind back and remember that Wes did say that he would call you in the morning.

Blinking blearily, you pick up your phone to see that it’s not ringing at all. No, instead you’re greeted with a plethora of message notifications from all sorts of social media platforms. That’s even stranger; your phone never blew up like this, especially not this early on a Sunday morning. It freaks you out a little bit, but you’re more curious than anything.

Especially when you see some of the names of the senders. Liv. Amber. Chad. Tara. Mindy.

Your boyfriend’s friend group. That’s not to say you’re not friendly with them, but they were still definitely more Wes’ friends than they were yours. And they rarely messaged you - especially not all at once.

And from what you can tell - all your of them are basically saying the same thing.

liv: oh my god

liv: i heard the news and I can’t even imagine how you’re feeling right now I’m so sorry

chad: hope your doing okay after everything

chad: i get if you need space but if you need anything, you can call me.

tara: i know there’s nothing I can say to you to make this better but god I’m sorry, if you need anything, we’re all here for you, always.

Your eyebrows knit together in a confused frown. I’m so sorry? Sorry for what? Everybody was sending you well wishes, but you had no fucking clue why. Had Wes broken up with you without even knowing? No, he couldn’t have. Not after yesterday. Why go through all of that effort to dump you the next day? It didn’t make sense. None of this makes any sense.

You decide that the only way to clear any of this up is to call Wes yourself. Sure, it was still early, but he was a light sleeper and the ringing of his phone would be more than enough to wake him. You unlock your phone and click on his name in your contacts and wait expectantly for him to answer.

Except he never does.

“Hey, this is Wes. I’m probably doing something, so, uh, leave a message.”

Groaning in frustration, you try again. And again. When Wes doesn’t pick up the forth time, you send him a message instead.

y/n: call me right now

y/n: it’s urgent

y/n: you need to explain everything to me now

Unlike usual, typing bubbles don’t appear within a minute. Not even after five. Sure, this is probably all just a misunderstanding that Wes will clear up for you when he’s awake, but if he’s done what the ugly voice in the back of your head is telling you that he’s done, then he owes you answers immediately.

Growing frustrated, you start to type a reply to Tara, asking her what the hell is even going on, but your phone chooses that exact moment to die and power off. It makes you want to scream.

You feel sick. You feel stressed and irritated and like you desperately need to punch something. You find your charger and connect your phone to the wire, bouncing your leg as you anxiously wait for it to turn on. You need answers.

Within the space of a minute, it feels like centuries have passed. And it’s not doing anything to help your nerves. In an effort to calm them, you reach for your remote and turn your TV on, flicking through the channels until one catches your eye.

BREAKING: TWO FOUND DEAD IN WOODSBORO - SUSPECTED COPYCAT ATTACK.

Your initial thought to that headline is again, really? You still remembered seeing almost the exact headline when those two highschoolers tried the same thing almost ten years ago. Your second thought is much more macabre. What if it’s somebody you know? It had to be: Woodsboro wasn’t a huge place, everybody practically knew everybody anyway. It was bound to be- no.

No.

It couldn’t be.

It’s all starting to make sense now, but you desperately wish it wouldn’t. Wes’s friends messaging you with their condolences. Your phone blowing up. Wes not picking up his goddamn phone.

No.

You turn up the channel, wishing the fucking reporters would just get to the damn point already and tell you what you needed to know. You listen to them ramble on about how horrifying and utterly tragic the whole thing is but you’re only half listening - will only be half listening - until they utter that name. His name. You need your phone to turn on. You need to call Wes, hear his voice so you can laugh and tell him how paranoid you were and how much he scared you. How much you need him. You need to breathe.

But you can’t. You’re feeling like you’re suffocating and it’s stupid because you don’t know anything, not yet, except you do. You can feel the dread deep in your bones, the horror in the out of your stomach. It’s Wes.

Like some twisted coincidence, it almost at that exact moment when two pictures pop up on the screen. You don’t hear the accompanying words, not over your sob. Because it’s him. His yearbook picture, the one that hung in his living room, the one you helped him get ready for and assured him he looked absolutely beautiful in. His mother’s is the second, the same picture that was on her badge. The badge she was so proud of.

No. It isn’t true. This is all some twisted nightmare and you need to speak to Wes and he’ll tell you everything’s okay because he always does and your phone is finally on thank God and you call Wes again and why won’t he pick up he needs to pick up and you can’t breathe-

The tears streaming down your face make it hard to see anything. You don’t want to look anyway. Not at Wes’ smiling face because he’s not smiling, not anymore. He’d never smile again, you’d never hear his voice again, because he was dead. Wes, your Wes, who was the kindest person you had ever met and had never done anything to anyone, was dead at the hands of some psychopath fulfilling his sick fantasies. It’s not fair. None of this is fair.

You can’t wrap your head around it. Wes is - was - so alive. You saw it, in every crease by his eye when he smiled and the way his whole body shook when he laughed and the way he kissed you like it was the most important thing in the world. He was the most important thing in your world.

A world that was plunged in darkness now, because how were you supposed to live out the rest of your life after Wes? You knew how happy your felt with him, how much you adored him and felt adored, and how were you supposed to carry on knowing you’d never feel that again. You can’t. All you can do is cry, your body shaking with the efforts of your sobs. It isn’t fair. It isn’t fair. It isn’t fair.

Your phone starts buzzing once more, and although know it’s not him, can’t be him, you can’t help but check anyway.

Your naïve hope is stupidly misplaced. Of course it isn’t Wes. Just an influx of messages from family and classmates whose names you only half recognise telling you how sorry they are. You don’t fucking care. Sorries don’t bring your boyfriends back to life. They won’t let you be able to hold him again, tell him how much he means to you. How much you love him.

You can’t deal with them. Not now. You go to turn off your phone, and it freezes for a second on your lock screen before fully shutting down once more. The lock screen you changed on the car ride home yesterday, the one where you’re looking to the camera and Wes is looking half to the side but it’s okay because he’s still smiling nonetheless.

Still alive.

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