#Am I more touch starved than I think I am? Mayhaps | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

fakeloveaskblog · 3 years ago

Note

Hi Logan, how do I even start? Save this number, if you want to. I have been supporting Remy through texts for a bit. They have revealed to me some very troubling things in the past. Things like, their boyfriend kicking their cane from under them as a ‘joke’? Those kinds of things.

Virgil, that's his name by the way, also kind of yells at them a lot at times, and tells them they're worthless except for the use he can give to their body and that nobody else will ever love them. They believe they are horrible. They believe they deserve it. They appear to think their disability makes them only a burden to him and nothing else and while I have tried to convince them to the contrary I honestly don't believe I can when they're still trapped by choice in such a toxic environment.

I have tried to help and give them the tools to better their self-esteem and combat that, and send them nice text messages in general, but that hasn't helped in anything more than a superficial level. If you can do something, anything, or could take their case to someone who can something, I'd really appreciate that.

(Words: 2088)

(Talk of U!Virgil)

Logan: "That is...That is" He took a moment to gather himself "That is even worse than I had estimated"

"This must have been happening the other times we met them too right? And we didn't notice anything. We should have- we-" Patty mumbled out. Her voice was shaky.

She had just gotten home half an hour ago or so, she wasn't even fully out of her cosplay makeup. Logan had immediately pulled her into a hug which wasn't uncommon but he'd held onto her so hard it hurt and he’d been close to collapsing into the hug.

All it took was her asking if he was alright for him to tell her everything. He couldn't keep a secret from her even if he tried.

Now they sat in the couch. Logan had his head leaned on her chest and she had moved her arms around his waist. All they'd eaten was some of the leftover pie from Lo's date a few days ago because both of them were far too worked up to even think about cooking.

Patty pinched the bridge of her nose and tried to think "Okay well if they're being emotionally abused as what we know suggest then...I..is there even anyone we can contact that could help. I mean there's no- there's no evidence right? Or well- it's just- it's their word against Virgil's and if they won't even say Virgil is abusing them then there's nothing!"

"We can kidnap them" Logan pointed out.

"That we can"

Logan sighed “Do you think talking to them would even make a difference? They seem to already hate me so now it’s even less likely that they’ll listen”

“Well honey you can always try. They go to the same therapist as Janus right? So you can just casually ‘run into them’ right?” She gave him a loving kiss “I know my lil smarty-sweetheart can help them”

He sent her a tired smile “I’ll try”

Remy wasn’t as upset from the therapy session as they usually were. It had mostly been discussing how they felt about maybe being poly. They still thought they deserved a smoke break afterwards though so now they sat on bench right outside the entrance, they were on their third cigarette.

They had their head leaned against the back of the bench and was looking up at the greying sky and falling leaves so they didn’t notice when Logan sat down. He kept his distance to not startle them but cleared his throat to get their attention.

“Are you also waiting for someone?” He asked.

They glanced over to him “Girl go fuck yourself with a rake”

“Noted. I will put it in my calender. I for one am here to pick up Janus after his therapy is over for the day. Mayhaps I will show him some more star trek”

“Okay great gal. Then I’m just like waiting for Remus I guess” They pressed the cigarette into their leather jacket to put it out so they could leave as soon as they saw their cru- friend.

Logan inched closer “Is your bruise healing well?”

“Just ‘cause we’re in the same place doesn’t mean we have to talk to each other!” They snapped back.

“Exscuse me, I was simply worried about your physical health”

They rolled their eyes and crossed their arms before mumbling out “It’s fine. It’s whatever. I haven’t done it again so like forget it”

“I am relieved to hear that”

Silence fell over them. Remy refused to look at him. Logan tried to figure out what was the best way to ask them about Virgil.

“....Your boyfriend did not insult you once you came home right?” He asked them in such a soft tone as if any slight wrong saying would make them implode on themself.

“Girl there you go again with your stupid fucking bullshit. I don’t wanna like talk about it!....Not ‘cause anything happened but ‘cause I hate you! You don’t- we don’t- we’re not friends! Why are you just like forcing yourself in on my private life! It’s like- it’s like fucking stalking!”

Logan reached out his hand to comfort them but quickly stopped himself “I am sorry. I don’t know how to best formulate this but I sincerely don’t mean to upset you like, neither do I know how to not upset you. All I know is that I want you to be okay and that if my partner treated me like yours seem to do I wouldn’t be able to stay”

Remy’s hair fell in front of their face as they leant their head in their plams “You don’t get it” They muttered.

“I am sure I don-”

“IT’S NOT THAT FUCKING EASY! It’s not like I have any savings an-and I’m not able to keep a job and without Virgil I have no way to buy medicine and- Like do you just want me to walk out and become homeless and like starve to death? Is that it? Like even if I wanted to leave, which I don’t, It’s not like I have a choice!”

A quiet sniffle came from them. Logan gave them a moment to gather their breathe.

“I...I didn’t mean to make it sound like leaving was easy” Logan murmured “I understand that you have probably been forced to think like you have no choice but to stay. I am aware of how crippling manipulation like that can be”

He leaned closer and even though they didn’t look at him he still sent them his most caring look as he continued.

“But I promise you that there are other options. You aren’t stuck. I am willing to let you stay at my apartment for however long you need and if you aren’t comfortable with that I am sure Janus or Remus would let you stay as well. I can even pay for a motel if that would be better. Depending on what part of your disability is making you unable to work I am sure that could be fixed. For example a wheelchair could help! My point is that you do have a choice, even if it’s very understandably hard to think that”

Remy’s shoulders were shaking. Logan gently placed his hand on top of their bony shoulder. Every vein was visible through their light skin.

At just the hint of his touch they flinched away. They stumbled up from the bench and took a few steps away. They looked at him with reddened eyes.

“No. No. Girl you- you just don’t get it! That’s all!” They spat out, their voice was shaky as well “You haven’t like lived with me. Once you or Remus o-or anyone spends enough time with me you’ll realize what an annoying overemotional burden I am! An-and then I’ll get thrown out! Okay!? So-so it’s not really- I don’t actually have a choice ‘cause I’ll just get thrown out. Virgil is the only who will ever bother to deal with me for this long! ‘cause he loves me! And no one else will love me like he does. S-so just shut up!”

Logan stood up as well and took an unsure step towards them. They looked so weak, as if a single push from the wind would make them crumble.

“It’s okay. I hear what you are saying” Logan assured.

“An-and it’s like- Virgil needs me! And I need him! That’s like how it works! I can’t just leave him! What if- who will calm him down from his panic attacks?! And if I leave what if he gets s-so upset and like anxious he hurts himself! He’s said there was a chance he would!! I can’t risk it! I have to stay! He needs me! I-I need- I can’t- I can’t leave”

Logan nodded along “It’s okay. I understand. I understand”

“You don’t! You’re a idiotic bitch! I hope all your stupid fucking ties get destroyed in the washer!” Remy was close to yelling.

“Harsh but I see your point. To be honest everything you have said has made me even more worried. From my experience a relationship shouldn’t make you feel this way! It shouldn’t make you come up with reasons to stay! It shouldn’t hurt you!” Logan reached out to comfort them once more. “I promise it shouldn’t hurt”

“It’s not hurting me! YOU are hurting me!”

Logan was taken aback. He didn’t know what to say. His arms moved to hang helplessly along his sides. Remy opened their mouth to say something more but then

“Hey uh what’s going on? Are you roleplaying a death match?” Remus stood in the entrance to the building. He glanced between the two of them.

“This idiot is trying to destroy my relationship!” Remy exclaimed.

“While it is not my place to explain the full situation without their permission I can assure you that I am merely worrying for their mental and physical health and I am unsure if their relationship is good for them from what I’ve heard” Logan explained.

Remus barely even hesitated before moving in front of Remy. He moved his arms out and let them lean against him to catch their breathe, like he was a human shield protecting them from Logan.

Logan hadn’t seen Remus angry before and he didn’t look fully enraged, but there was a hint of anger in eyes as he sneered at him.

“Well I’m sorry Loganson but not every relationship is totally perfect and works without any arguments like you and your wife relationship apparently does!” He spat out.

“I can assure you that me and my wife’s relationship hasn’t been argument free but that doesn’t mean I have ever even thought about insulting her like Remy’s boyfriend seemingly ha-”

“You’re not Remy!” Remus snapped “You’re a guy who dresses like a 40 year old math teacher who is losing the children in the divorce! Leave them alone!”

Remy was bordering on cowering behind Remus. Their whole body seemed to shake as a few tears spilled down their cheeks. They met Logan’s eyes.

“If the bullshit you’re saying is true, which it like isn’t but if it was that- that means I’ve spent my whole life being abused” They forced out through tears “How can you Ever you expect me to live with that?”

Logan didn’t have an answer to that. He watched on as Remus placed his hands on Remy’s shoulders and gently guided them to turn away. He bonked their foreheads together and wiped their tears away.

“C’mon beanie-boo I can take you to the amusement park to cheer you up! Or we can find some lsd and get high so you can hallucinate beating the shit out of the stinky Log guy!” Remus exclaimed as they walked away.

A headache began to form in Logan’s head as he slumped back down on the bench. He stared out at the nearly empty parking lot. He didn’t understand what he did wrong.

He wished he could talk to Virgil. He wished he could see him eye to eye and chew him out for ever making Remy feel like a burden, for ever making them feel trapped. A part of him wanted to punch him.

He was so zoned out into the overthinking he didn’t realize how much time was passing until Janus got out from his therapy session. As soon as Jan saw his boyfriend he let up into a shining smile and hurried over to him.

“Hi dear! Aww did you miss me so much you had to come pick me up! How charming!” Janus hesitated before kissing Logan on the lips. It still made him all giggly.

Normally seeing him so giddy would have made Logan overabundant with happiness....but now all he could think about was if he should tell Janus about Remy’s situation or not. They were friends right? Could it help? Would they listen to their friend?

Logan’s head hurt so bad. None of it made sense. There was no logical answer. How Janus reacted could make everything worse. He didn’t want to ruin everything more than he already had.

“Darling? Are you feeling alright? Has something happened?” Janus asked while taking his hand.

“I....I....” Logan looked over to you.

Logan: “I am so sorry to do this but do you have any idea what to do? The human emotion and it’s reactions are so illogical I don’t- I don’t understand- I don’t know what to do. I’m sorry- Should I tell Janus about the suspected abuse or should I lie?”

#mini fic #or like a really long answer #logan sanders #remy sanders #sanders sides

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regalrain · 3 years ago

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Prompts Requested

(I shall one day get to all on here. This list will change as more are added or I complete them)

Hc’s -

how would the egos react to the reader having a crisis episode.. where theyre laughing and crying simultaneously and basically breaking down on such small things..

hmm perhaps a look on how would host react to a gender-questioning reader? or when they feel disphoric and how he tries to help?

Prompt: Illinois x a very touch starved reader. They just melt at his touch. With Lots of cuddling and kisses and hair petting.

your favorite damien and celine headcannons ?

Story-

Hehehhee.....Illy and Illi for Romantic scavenger hunt. Or?? A and B go to a bunch of restaurants and fake propose to get free food. -🤍

🥺👉👈Illy n yancy..... maybe A yancy,B illy? A plans a magical and elaborate date to celebrate their first Valentines Day with B. Little do they know, B hates Valentines Day. ?

Wait ok. Illy yancy. “I hate to tell you this, but I’m allergic to those flowers”

mmmmm that one with “on your knees” screams Cowboys.....cowboy boys......maybe Illi/Yancy first meeting.....mayhaps? (Yes this is a request dkgdkg)

https://regalrain.tumblr.com/post/647223664907042816 this for yanois if your taking requests?

6. The concept: Illi taking Dark, Yancy, and Ahperikaar out on a fun tropical vacation to a jungle. Wants: Gotta swim at a jungle lagoon/lake.....gotta have Ahperikaar/Yancy shenanigans.....gotta have Illi being a little bit of a bastard and eating/trying to get them to eat bugs just to watch Dark and Yancy squirm....

7. Actor and Jims whump

8. Could you possibly write me an unofficial “bad ending” for one of the In Space With Markiplier routes, where the reader goes into a room despite some warnings, and “whoopsie!” all of the Google androids are in there waiting for them? (Under a dumb new name like “G Bots” because Google co DEFINITELY didn’t want to be associated with their killer AI) - I just really miss my murder boys, man;v; Google, come back under a different name </3 (and if possible can I request no “Oliver”? Personal reason)

9. hello-i am unfortunately sad and sick and i wanted to read smth cute to cheer myself up. as always me love some illinois x gn reader maybe where the reader feels down after not being able to keep up with his adventures; (or really when youre so tired you just ca n t do a simple task and you keep forcing yourself to do so)and illy notices and helps. thank you for your time hope you have a nice day/night

Nsfw below cut

Story:

Illinois x werewolf!Yancy smut where Yancy is in heat and also fully transformed.

Illinois x afab Gn!Reader x Yancy - size kink and praise and degradation

“Having fun?” and “I could make you feel better than that pathetic toy.” - With the og Google IRL? Soft dom Googs- Ya gotta have it, sometimes.👌🏻Maybe a sprinkle of condescending praise? No degradation, please- and no names, “daddy, baby, kitten, sl-t,” - Just stuff like “good girl” *insert more praise-y lines I can’t think of* (or- “Good human” to be gn!) This is said voyeurism one <<

Could you maybe do a somnophilia scenario with the og Google blue? Reader’s his owner, and for some reason he just decides to uhh, “explore” some anatomy, while they’re asleep << (y/n or reader- is she/they) and yes indeed he is a cocky bastard ;)

#Regal!For #all in one place for me #I firmly believe in doing it when I have the muse so it comes out better #muse/drive

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aliypop · 3 years ago

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Is Where The Heart Is (Part 2 of Home)

Wordcount:

Warning: Language

A/N: Part two of Home, I wanted to write something for Isabasia / Isabella so here it is

Translation : Ingen bekymringer i det hele tatt / No worries at all

Hold kjeft vær så snill! /Shut up Please!

Beklager / Sorry

"Asgard is a people, but you are my home." That was the last thing that Isabella had remembered aside from Thor's touches and kisses: her mind raced to what could have been if she stayed in Vanaheim instead of following her father to Midgard,

Would she have been forever in love with Thor, or would he have been so unobtainable that she'd have to settle for less? Laying amongst the silk sheets in Tony's bed, she could almost feel his presence the small talks that they'd share weren't about what S.H.I.E.L.D wanted but rather what she wanted and what was behind the big scary hydra agent who worked for Fury on the side, "Jarvis shower."

"Shit..." Isabella mumbled, hearing his footsteps get closer. "You'll never believe the week I had Bella!" Tony smiled, discarding his clothes, "I'm sure it isn't something I could guess..." she covered her mouth, her Vanir accent still there, "Yeah, so it's me capsicle, Banner, and we're talking about the fact that uh Loki green guy kinda handsome almost ruled New York." he poked his head out as she sighed,

"Did I say something wrong..."

"No, it just sounds stressful." Isabella smiled, "Go take your shower. I'll be right here..." she rolled over, nearly melting into the pillows. "You don't have to be... right there, you know." he winked, "Showers big enough for two, and you get Thor's scent off you." Isabella's face went red as Tony laughed,

"Before you say how Jarvis alerted me that you left," he smirked. Isabella winked back at him with her hands up, "Alright, you caught me red-handed." she shifted out the bed and towards Tony, his hands around her waist, careful not to touch the scar that was healing.

Steam formed on the shower doors as Isabella tried to cover herself up, "Issy, it's not like I haven't seen you naked. I mean, it's how we met." Tony kissed her cheek as she laughed, "Well, you were my mission," she blushed as he kissed her neck, right above where Thor did. "I had to seduce you somehow, to either kill you for hydra or recruit you to the Avengers initiative." she shrugged,

"Which you failed to do..." he whispered,

"And what team saved New York from Loki..."Tony got silent, his hands on her waist, "Say it, Stark," she laughed, "Alright, alright, fine, you win." he grumbled, "But you fell in love with me." he gave her a quick peck on the lips catching her towel as it dropped.

"Thor, you haven't eaten..." Astrid looked over from her plate, "If it's about Isabasia... I'd say move on." she shrugged, but Thor couldn't. Of course, it was easy for her to say. She had been mourning Loki's second death gratefully, "Start life on Midgard, after all, you can't be king and... Jane isn't going to wait for you. What do you have to lose."

"Her..." Thor looked at Astrid, her eyes knowing the hurt he was going through, "He couldn't care for her as I do..." Thor sighed, "Or give her anything she desired,"

"Then I don't know, go to her, find her in the city of York!" she stood up, throwing her cup down, "That I will!" Thor kissed her,

"You've been a good friend, thank you..."

"Oh... o-of course!" she blushed, watching as he left, "May the Norns be in your favor... Isabasia's going to kill me."

"And then my sister went into this coma-like sleep..." Isabella laughed, "I cried, I mourned her, and then guess what!" she said, her eyes wide as Tony propped himself on the pillow, "I don't think I can guess really," all his attention on her,

"So Loki, who we thought died,"

"The hot greasy one?"

"Yes, Tony, anyway, he's in her dungeon, and well..."

"Well, what..." Isabella's eyes looked towards ragging storm clouds, lightning, and thunder, a deep sigh, "He kissed her, and she was alive. Give me a moment..." she put on Tony's M.I.T. sweatshirt,

"You're not going out there." Tony looked at her, "You can't just go out there. There's lightning and and rain!"

"Ingen bekymringer i det hele tatt." She smiled, racing towards the door. Thor stood there dry as a bone as he held her hand, "Flowers...from Vanaheim." he kissed her hand, "Thank you...would you like to come in?" Isabella asked, placing the flowers in a vase,

"Bella, are you ok- Thor?"

"Man of Iron."

"And I'm leaving now..." Isabella ducked, "Jarvis!"

" Isabella, why is Tall blonde and handsome here?" Tony asked, watching Thor wink at her, "Something you want to tell me?" Isabella began to feel small as she looked between the two,

"It's not what it looks like..."

"You are a not-so-good liar."

"Thor hold kjeft vær så snill!"

"Beklager..."

"ENGLISH BOTH OF YOU!" Tony growled, jealous of the way Isabella touched Thor's arm.

"What happened back on Asgard, clearly something romantic, of course, but what... did you did you two sleep together or some weird Hobbit magic!"

"Tony..."

"And if she were to..." Thor stood in front of her shielding her away from Starks anger,

"I mean, it's her business, but what about us..." he looked at her,

"The party... The nights we've shared."

"Tony... We agreed, no strings attached. You weren't ready and..." she looked at Thor then at Tony, " I am..." she raised her hands, " I want to cut the strings, Tony, I do, but you don't."

"What makes you so sure..."

"You still look at Pepper and reporters, and you kept in contact with that one Wayne guy." she laughed, "But, Thor, he knows what he wants." she smiled as he munched on a pop-tart,

"That is true... Tony, do you have milk?"

"Top shelf in the fridge, big guy." his eyes falling to his ass,

"Asgardian grown, it's even better without any pants." Isabella laughed,

"Why all that trouble, huh..."

"Being starved of attention does it for you... I had affection, but the attention fell on my sister," she laughed, "Coulda been the queen of the nine realms, but she chose Loki..."

"That is... because they were happy together!" Thor smiled, crumbs on his face, "And she knew I liked you. You're sister scares me." he walked over, sitting between both her and Tony, as their eyes met,

" Pop-tart in these trying times?"

"What flavor..."

"Blueberry."

Isabella laughed, "I'll take one too..." she sighed, laying across both their laps, "I couldn't choose which one I'd love more if Hydra wanted to shoot me." she looked up at them both, "And believe me they want to." Isabella smiled,

"So who's it going to be..." Tony asked, growing impatient.

"Well, I'll settle for both of you." she smirked, " And you two can compete with me over dinner, wine, and mayhaps some fun."

"Do you think sending him back was wise..." Loki asked as Astrid laughed, "Darling, what's funny."

"I can't take you as seriously as Odin..." she nearly cackled. As he transformed back into himself, she felt his hands ghost over her upper thigh, "What about now." he whispered. "Well, I could take you more than just seriously..." Astrid smirked, dropping her robe from her body.

#tony x oc #thor x oc #poly couple #astrid sodotirr loki oc #Isabella sodotirr thor oc #thor fanfiction #thor odinson #loki fanfic #loki x oc #Loki Laufeyson #marvel fanfiction #new #new stuff #tell me if you like it #tell me what you think

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xshatteredreflectionsx · 4 years ago

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(Reblogging because I’m happy with this. Ft The Attorney being touch starved AF, the squeakqual)

(So, what do you do when you have Actor on he brain? Write, of course!

I’ve never actually written Actor before, so here’s hoping I got it right =7=b )

The world on the other side of the glass never changed. It was always the Manor, slowly decaying over time. Luxurious drapes and furniture succumbing to mold and vermin. She had seen opportunistic thieves rummaging through the Manor once, ignoring the ghost stories surrounding the place; only focusing on the fact that someone fabulously wealthy used to live there.

The Groundskeeper chased them off, but eventually he too succumbed to time. He died in a rose bed; she thinks. Perhaps the only person who had died and stayed dead, since she hadn’t seen him patrolling the grounds in years. She hadn’t seen him in the Void either, so he must have passed on to an actual afterlife.

(And that wasn’t fair. Why did he get to go, while she was forced to stay in this Hell?!)

She didn’t need to breathe. She hadn’t in decades, but she did so regardless. If nothing else, it was a hollow attempt to cling onto something she had when she was alive. (It she had ever been alive at all. It was getting harder and harder to tell). Stumbling through the darkness, ice and snow still clinging to her shoulders, she hobbled towards the only consistent thing in this world: the mirror. The Manor on the other side remained empty and decrepit. A reflection of herself, mayhaps; a hollow, broken, rotting thing. She pressed her hand against the glass, and stared at the pitiful reflection of the woman she had become. Sickly gray skin scarred with a spiderweb of cracks, expanding from a spot just beneath her ribcage, where a splotch of dark reddish-brown stained the front of her dress. Her left eye had long since crumbled away, leaving only a jagged hole in its place that grew more and more every passing decade. What remained of her face would crumble away soon enough, she surmised. And then? ...Then she’d truly be nothing. Another faceless voice to join in the choir of souls who wailed and begged for a way out.

It was an ending. And she wanted nothing more than for this farce of an existence to end.

The Man Wreathed in Blue had left his cabin sanctuary. The Woman Who Burned Red was nowhere to be found. There was no one left to direct her anger towards. No one to stalk, hunt, blame and curse. Even the Voices seemed to have grown bored of her, tossing her aside like a broken doll in search of something more interesting to play with.

She pressed her forehead against the glass and then, slowly, sunk to her knees.

“You win,” She said, voice barely louder than a whisper. “I’m done playing. Do what you want with me.”

“You’re giving up?” Another voice cut through the Void, confidant and almost musical. “Moira, that isn’t like you at all.”

She didn’t know that name –Moira- but the voice did cause a spark of familiarity to ignite in her chest. She looked over her shoulder. A man dressed in a fine red suit sauntered towards her, casually traversing this endless darkness like it was his own backyard. He stopped a few steps away, the end of his silver-tipped cane thudding against the “ground” with all the weight of a judge’s gavel. He looked over her pitiful state, compassion and sympathy creasing his brow. “Oh, my dear,” He began, his voice almost gentle. “What has he done to you?”

“...Marcus?” She hedged. She remembered... A party celebrating his first successful movie. An extravagant wedding on the coast. And then...

“That won’t do. I won’t abide such formality between friends. Please, just Marc is fine.” He insisted, all charm and charisma. He cocked his head to the side and hummed, “Although, we weren’t as close friends as I would have liked. But that’s in the past! I am glad I was able to find you, Moira.” Marc leaned forward, balancing his weight on his cane. “I want to help.”

“Help,” She parroted, not entirely convinced. Marc nodded, his smile never faltering. “How?”

“Weeeelllll, I have a little project in the works. Several, in fact. But I find myself without a co-star. A one-man show can only be entertaining for so long. That’s where you come in!” With a dramatic flourish, he kicked his cane up into his hand and pointed the head at her. “You’ve always had a certain...” He waved his free hand, searching for the right term, “Je ne sais quoi.”

“No.”

Marc blinked, taken aback by her bluntness. “I beg your pardon?”

“No,” She said again, firmer this time. “I’m not going to be your... your hapless damsel in distress.”

“No, no, no, no! You have it all wrong!” Marc assured, “Those gender roles are woefully out of date these days. We’d be on equal terms. No damsels, no side-kicks, just two old friends having a good time. More to the point.” His voice dropped to a more serious cadence. “What other choice do you have? You won’t survive here much longer,” Marc waved a hand towards her, gesturing to the myriad of cracks and holes across her body. “You’re barely keeping yourself together as it is.”

She glanced away, worrying her bottom lip while being mindful of the large crack that ran across it. Her canine scraped unpleasantly against the edge. If she bit down too hard, she worried it would cause that entire part of her mouth to shatter.

Marc approached her slowly and knelt before her. Gently, he brushed away the hair that fell over the hole where her eye used to be and cupped her cheek. His hand felt cold and almost waxy, but it was the only gesture of warmth and kindness she had felt in decades. She leaned into his touch with a trembling sigh. “It isn’t right, what they did to you. Lying to you, taking what they wanted, and then casting you out to die. I know what that feels like.” His voice darkened to a low, spiteful growl. The edges of his form flickered an angry, roiling red before slowly settling against his skin like a shroud. He took a breath, reeling in his temper, and spoke again in a soothing tone. “You don’t really want to die here, do you?”

Slowly, she lifted her hand to cover Marc’s, preventing it from leaving her cheek as she all but nuzzled into the faint comfort his touch brought. But she was still angry. She was still bitter. Despite what little of her remained in this place, she was still stubborn and not easily swayed by honey-sweet words.

“Why should I trust you?” She probed sharply. “After everything that happened? After everything you did?”

Marc clicked his tongue. “I will readily admit that... mistakes were made. I did, I was, perhaps, too ambitious for my own good. And that caused some-” His hand reached around to the back of her head- she jerked away and grabbed his wrist as tight as she could manage. The popping of her knuckles sounded more like glass cracking. Wrinkles of Concern, empathy, and anger flitted across Mark’s face before he smoothed them away with a breath. “Unforeseen accidents to happen. To me. To you.” He finished. His gaze trailed to the stain on her abdomen. She snapped her fingers to bring his attention back to her face. “I just want to make it right.” Marc said, gently prying her fingers from his wrist. “You won’t last much longer here,” he noted grimly. Hesitantly, as if asking for permission, he reached up to card his fingers through the thick curls of her hair. She could have shattered under his touch right then and there, fingers gently gliding over cracks on her scalp as if to mend them.

A lump formed in her throat- large and tumorous. If she still had the need to breathe, it would have suffocated her. Warmth and longing sprouted in her chest. “I don’t want to die here,” She finally admitted, voice painfully small and fragile. A part of her hated it.

“Then let me help you.” Marc returned softly. “It will take a few years, but I promise you it will be worth it. You just need to trust me.” Marc offered his free hand to her. Trembling, she took it. He gave an award-winning smile and kissed her knuckles gently. It felt like being kissed by a corpse, but it was something. “You won’t regret this, my dear. Just watch, you and I are going to create something wonderful together.”

#(I wrote a thing!)#on borrowed time (da yvonne)#It wasn’t quite you (Actor Mark)#(in which someone actually calls her by her real name)#Actor Mark #wkm DA #female!District Attorney

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fandomregina · 4 years ago

Note

Hi!! Could you mayhaps write something about Douxie's childhood/before Merlin took him in?? There's so many angsty possibilities!! 😜🤘

Oh my, this hurt my heart to make and I am now realizing I might continue this on AO3, but im not sure yet. But yes I’m sorry this took so long because there are so, so many angsty possibilities and this writing style is so much fun. I hope you enjoy! (also, please dont forget to send in anon prompts if you wish!)

Hisirdoux Casperan has been many things. A brother, a friend, a waiter, an employee, a guitarist, and an apprentice. But, before he became the last Master Wizard on Earth, before he came to Arcadia, before spending 900 years traveling the world with his familiar, and even before he was the apprentice to the late Merlin Ambrosius, he was a street rat and even before that, he was a child. Hisirdoux’s story is a long, painful one and to understand where he is now, let us start from the beginning.

The last time he saw his blood family, Hisirdoux was 12. Just as he began to go through all of the awkward stages of puberty, there was one stage that he went through that many pre-teens do not- a magic stage. However, this stage was not temporary like all of the other awkward stages of puberty. It was very much a permanent one.

But before we begin to tell his story, let us go back a few years. Hisirdoux comes from a family of four: a mother, a father, and a little sister. Although his family was not wealthy, they were not completely poor. His parents owned a small farm as many did outside of Camelot’s walls. Hisirdoux helped his parents cultivate the land starting at the age of 7, five years before he was chased from the very land he cultivated. When he was 5, his little sister, Felica, was born. Two years later, however, his mother passed from illness, leaving Hisirdoux and his father to plow the land.

When Hisirdoux was not planting crops, however, he was taking care of his sister, cooking, and cleaning. When his father took the 80% of the food they grew to the market to sell, Hisirdoux and Felica would come along and would each get enough money to buy a singular thing. Hisirdoux would buy Felica’s favorite candy and he would stash his, saving up enough money to buy himself a satchel.

This went on for many years. Hisirdoux cared for the land in the morning, cared for his sister in the afternoon, and cared for his father and sister at night. The only time he was able to care for himself was when the two were asleep and he could climb up onto the roof of their house and look at the stars.

However, it all began to change three weeks after Hisirdoux’s twelfth birthday. He had cut himself on one of the farming tools. Before he could even call to his father that he needed to go inside to wash the wound, it healed. Hisirdoux shrugged it off as him imagining it since the wound never even bled when he cut himself.

The second time his magic presented itself was much harder to shrug off. It was 2 months after the first time and it was the afternoon, so Hisirdoux was caring for his sister. He was making the afternoon snack and left the knife on the edge of the counter. Felica, curious at the age of 7, and wanting to help Hisirdoux make the afternoon snack, reached for the knife. However, she was not tall enough to grab it off the counter yet, so she was only able to touch the bottom edge of the knife. As Hisirdoux turned around, having done so to grab a plate, he put his hand out as the knife fell and towards his sister. Before it reached her, however, it flew to his hand. Panicking, he dropped the knife with a yelp. His sister, still too young to understand what had happened, went back to playing with what little toys the Casperan house had. Hisirdoux quickly decided not to tell his father (or anyone, for that matter).

The third time that Hisirdoux’s magic presented itself was the first and last time his father saw it, along with the entire village 4 months after the first time his magic presented itself. It was the last Monday of the 8th month, so the Casperans and every farmer in the village were in town, selling what foods they had made in the past 4 months. Hisirdoux was buying Felica’s favorite candy when it happened. Just as the two paid and left the stall, a large man with a knife began to yell. He had seen Hisirdoux put extra coins into his newly bought satchel and demanded him to give it over. Hisirdoux, the stubborn boy he is, said no. This angered the man and he charged at the two. Panicking, and wishing to protect his little sister, Hisirdoux stood between Felica and the man with his arms in an x. Douxie felt something come from himself and when he opened his eyes, the man was unconscious nearly 25 feet away. Almost immediately the villagers began to whisper. Then, they began to yell and scream.

“Witchcraft!”

“Magic!”

“Get him!”

Hisirdoux began to run as the villagers began to chase. With one last look behind him as he entered the forest that bordered the north-western side of the village, he saw his father pick up Felica and turn around to take her home. And so, Hisirdoux ran.

~~~~~~~

Hisirdoux ran. He ran, and ran, and ran until his legs gave out. Collapsing somewhere in the forest as the jeers and shouts of the villagers began to fade. What happened quickly begins to crash down on the boy and he begins to sob.

He couldn’t have magic. He couldn’t be a wizard. He just couldn’t.

As he continues to cry underneath a large tree, the forest soon begins turning dark, signaling that Hisirdoux needs to find shelter. Quickly.

Wiping his tears, Hisirdoux begins to look around for something, anything, that he could use as a shelter for the night. Finding a tree with large enough branches to sit on, Hisirdoux climbs it. Reaching the middle of the tree, just before the branches begin to thin, he picks a branch and sits on it, leaning against the body of the tree. Sighing, he closes his eyes.

Where was he to go? There was a river that ran north and a river that ran south. Hisirdoux immediately chose the one that ran south. He could not survive the cold winters the north faced.

What about food? He could try to sneak into his house when his father was working in the field, but he has no idea how his father would react if he saw him again. Hisirdoux sighs. He would much rather take those chances than to starve to death in a few days' time.

As light begins to pour into the forest again, Hisirdoux climbs down from the tree. It wasn’t the best night of sleep he’s ever gotten, but it certainly wasn’t the worst. Looking around the forest, he tries to figure out where he came from. His family’s farm was south of the village, but which way was south? Looking down, he stares at his shadow. He gasps. He was facing west, so his back was towards the east. That means, to go south, he had to continue to the left of where he was facing.

As he walks south, deciding it would do him no good to run, Hisirdoux wonders how his father is going to react seeing him again if he’s caught. Angry? Happy? Scared? What is he going to tell Felica? Hisirdoux shakes his head. He’d figure that out when it came. For now, he had to continue south and not get caught.

As the forest begins to open up to the fields, he begins to move along the tree line west, staying out of view of the families working their own farms at this time. When he finally reaches his farm, Hisirdoux makes sure nobody is looking when he sprints across the land and to the house. Entering from the backdoor, he makes sure to shut it quietly to not alert his father or sister. Sneaking into the kitchen, he grabs what food he can, making sure to leave enough for his father and sister. Douxie swings his head around, clutching a loaf of bread when he hears the front door open. His father stands in the doorway, staring at him.

“Hisirdoux,” He whispers, walking towards his son slowly.

“Dad,” Hisirdoux cries, running towards him. The two hug tightly knowing it will be their last. “Where’s Felica?” Hisirdoux asks, pulling himself from his father.

“She’s taking a nap.” Hisirdoux sighs with relief. “What were you thinking, Hisirdoux?” His father asks, gripping his shoulders. “They could have killed you.” Pulling him in for another hug, Hisirdoux buries his face in his father��s chest.

“I’m so sorry. I’m not even sure what I did.” Hisirdoux grips the back of his father’s shirt. The two let go of one another.

“You have to leave before they realize you’re back. Take some more bread and a few bottles of water. I’ll get you some coins.” His father quickly makes his way to his room as Hisirdoux packs his satchel with food and water. When his father comes back, he’s holding a pouch with coins. “This should hold you over until you get to the next town for food.” Hisirdoux takes it and gasps at how much is in it.

“Dad, I can’t-” His father puts his hands over Hisirdoux’s.

“I can make more. It’s alright. Now, quickly. Go through the backdoor and follow the river south. There’s a town not too far from here. A few day's journey.” Hisirdoux nods.

“Can… Can I tell her goodbye?” Hisirdoux pleads. His father nods.

Placing the pouch of money into his satchel, Hisirdoux makes his way towards the shared room he and his sister have. Opening the door, he smiles. “Hey, Felica.” The young girl turns from the window to him, smiling.

“Douxie!” She cries, running towards her older brother. He squats down to hug her. “Where did you go?” Hisirdoux pulls away from her, smiling sadly.

“I have to go, Felica. What I did yesterday to protect you is something that’s feared here.” Felica starts to tear up.

“So you have to leave… because you protected me?” She sobs, crashing into her brother again. Hisirdoux tightens his hold on her.

“No, of course not, Felica. I have to leave because of what I am.” He pulls her away from him. “But if I had the chance to go back and redo it, I would do it a million times again to protect you.” He smiles. “I love you, Felica. Don’t you ever forget it, okay?” She nods, wiping her tears.

“I love you too, Douxie.” She hugs him one last time before he stands, placing a kiss on the top of her forehead.

“I don’t think I’ll be back for a while, Felica. So, you have to promise me this, ok? Take care of dad.” She nods.

“I promise.”

“Goodbye, Felica.”

“Douxie, wait!” She yells, scrambling to her bed. Reaching under her pillow, she pulls out a metal bracelet made of metal triangles. “I bought this yesterday after you ran to the forest in case I saw you again. I bought two so we could always be wearing the same one.” She hands it to Hisirdoux. Wiping at his tears, Hisirdoux puts on the bracelet and looks at Felica’s wrist, seeing that she already had hers on. “Don’t you ever forget me, okay?” She sniffed. Hisirdoux reaches down for one last hug.

“Never. I promise.”

Walking out of the room with Felica trailing behind him, Hisirdoux hugs his father one last time before leaving. Sprinting to the forest, Hisirdoux only looks back once he’s safe within the trees. He stares at the figures of his father and sister on the back doorstep before he turns and begins his journey south.

He begins his journey to Camelot.

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yukiwrites · 4 years ago

Text

A Cute, But Loving Mistake

Thank you for the support as always, @soffie101!! I hope you like this ;v;)

It’s a C-A Support chain between her OC Lisette (info here!) and Raphael

Commission info HERE and HERE!

______________________________

C SUPPORT

At the Marketplace.

Lisette: I do wonder if there was a new shipment of Angelic tea, it has been much too long since I’ve shared a cup with-

Raphael: *sniffs*

Lisette: Goodness, is that you, Raphael? What troubles you so, young man?

Raphael: O-oh, Lisette? Hi there! Thanks for the handkerchief, let me just *hoonks* there, thanks.

Lisette: Uh, yes, you are most welcome. Has something happened?

Raphael: *sniffs* Nah, it’s just that I saw this merchant and- look at all this baby stuff! Man, it brings me back to the days my little sister was THIS small and she- *sniffs* she was so cute and tiny and fragile…

Raphael: It just makes me wish to be stronger so I’ll get hired as a knight to protect her even more! Good stuff, this.

Lisette: Oh, my, that IS rather adorable, this baby-sized bib...

Raphael: Right? And those over there even have the Crest of Seiros sewn into them!

Lisette, frowning: Well, that is rather blasphemous, and as such…

Lisette: I do not think my daughter would ever enjoy such things, surely.

Raphael: Aw man, that’s a pity-

Raphael: Wait, your what?

Lisette: Oh.

Raphael: Your daught- MAN, she’s picky for a kid, huh?!

Lisette: No, you have got it wrong-

Raphael: No, no, Big Bro Raph here is an expert in this kinda stuff! Don’t worry, I’ll make sure to find something your baby will LOVE! My sister never complained when I got her new stuff, you know?

Raphael: Well, maybe that one time, or that other time. Maybe that other time too, but- the thing is that I’m gonna help you find something she’ll love! C’mon, let’s go to that spot over there, there are some simpler things like toys and stuff.

Lisette: As I said, it is a misunderstand-

Lisette: Well, perhaps not entirely, however-

Raphael: OH, I get it, you don’t want people to know, right? Don’t worry, we can say I’m looking for stuff to send to my sister! All the merchants here know me so it’s gonna be a walk in the park. Leave it to Big Bro here, alright?

Lisette: *sighs* Perhaps this is going to be harder than I expected...

B SUPPORT

Raphael: Oh man, wait ‘till Lisette sees all this! Her kid’s GOTTA be happy with some of these!

Raphael: Good thing I caught that merchant right before he was leaving. Since Lisette wasn’t near, I just grabbed everything I could, Haha, I can’t wait to see her face.

Lisette, on her own: ...

Raphael: Oh, there she is! Heeeey, Lisette!

Lisette: Hm? Raphael- goodness! What is all this you carry? There are so many bags and boxes and-

Raphael: I know right? I couldn’t stop once I saw all this cute stuff. Look, I’ll show ‘em.

Lisette: W-wait, you’re stacking these boxes on the floor. We’re in the middle of the corridor, there is no need to- oh. Goddess preserve me.

Raphael: Hah! I knew it’d take the words outta you! Isn’t it cute? This here is the box of toys and that one there; I fixed an old lady’s wagon back at the city and she gave me a lot of her daughter’s old baby clothes! You woulda thunk there would be only a few, but the kid had so much stuff! Look at those frills and ribbons, your kid’s gonna LOVE it.

Lisette, blushing: R-Raphael, I beg you to lower your voice, I am rather troubled.

Raphael: Oh! Oh yeah, you never told anyone ‘bout your kid, right? *whispering* Let me just carry this stuff to your room, then.

Lisette,blushing: N-no, please, listen to me: this is not an appropriate gift for a man to give to an unmarried woman, can you understand? Besides, this is too much to-

Raphael: Not appropriate? Really? But I just wanted to help make your kid smile…

Raphael: Then, can you tell me where I can put these without anyone knowing? I promise I won’t do this in an open spot again, but I can’t help but wanting to help you and your kid!

Lisette: I cannot- this isn’t- *sighs* v-very well, Raphael. Thank you for wanting to be of use in such a heartwarming way, I am very touched.

Raphael: Great! You can just tell me where to go so people won’t see us together! I can, oof, carry all these in one go!

Lisette: P-please do not overexert yourself, yes? There is no need for us to walk our separate ways, at least for now. Do come with me to my study to drop all these crates off. Mayhap you can stay for tea? I finally found the Angelic blend for sale last week.

Raphael: Sure! I’m starving after lugging these around, anyway, so we could instead go to the mess hall! I gotta feed my muscles.

Lisette: Heehee, very well, then. I shall ask for the cook to give you extra helpings for being such a thoughtful companion.

Raphael: Oh yeah!

A SUPPORT

Lisette: Mrhm, these texts Seteth summarized are a great source of information…

Lisette: My eyes grow tired, however, so I shall stop here- goodness! It is already this late? I should tidy up these books and place them in their shelves.

Raphael: Oh, there she is! Lisette, heey!

Lisette: Raphael, good day to you. Or rather, good evening. I have completely lost the track of time as I was studying.

Raphael: You’re always going ‘round with a book or the other, right? Here, lemme help you with these ones that go high up.

Lisette: Why, thank you, Raphael. I would have needed to fetch the ladder for those.

Raphael: No problem! Hey, there’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you for a while, but I think now that there’s no one around, I can.

Lisette, sweating: Very well. Go on.

Raphael: How old is your kid? ‘Cause I’ve been bringing you baby stuff since you’re young and all, so she couldn’t be that old, right? But I wanted to give her stuff for her age since my sister sometimes complained that I got stuff for her that was ‘too babey’, so I don’t wanna get it wrong for your kid.

Lisette: Ah, that...

Raphael: By the way, did anything happen to the dad? I haven’t seen anyone dad-like around you so I was wondering if he’d died or something, so that must’ve been really hard for you, right? So young and already with a kid to raise without any dad figure to her.

Raphael: I know what’s like to raise a kid alone -- even though she’s my sister, I was kinda her parent for the most part of her life before we moved in with our gramps, so I wanna help you in any way I can to make sure your daughter doesn’t want for anything!

Lisette, sweat, blushing: I, ah, that was a very sweet and thoughtful declaration, Raphael, however, I, well. There has been a deep misunderstanding for a long time that I have not been able to clear, but… My daughter, as I called her before, was simply a… yes, it was simply a baby wyvern I have been caring for a long while, so I have gotten attached to it- to her- like she was my own daughter.

Lisette: Do forgive me for the misunderstanding, but I have yet been able to find the right time to clear it...

Raphael: Pfft, hahah! Oh man, I got it all wrong, huh? *thud*

Lisette: *gasp* M-my back-

Raphael: I’m glad you don’t have to carry that responsibility all by yourself, then! Raising a kid is tough, especially when you don’t have anyone to lean on.

Raphael: I was about to ask if I could be the father figure your kid would need, but I guess wyverns don’t see men as dads, do they? Haha!

Lisette: Haha… ha. Yes, t-they do not. Indeed.

Lisette, blushing: *ahem* However, I am delighted about your offer and touched by your kind heart, Raphael. I feel that it would be a shame to stop meeting with you now that this misunderstanding has been cleared, so if you would have me, I would love for us to keep strengthening our bonds as allies.

Raphael: Sure! Heck, I wasn’t gonna stop being your friend because of THAT. Besides, I’m sure you’re gonna need me to put more books on high shelves from time to time, right? I’m not leaving you alone!

Lisette, smiling: Thank you once again, Raphael.

Lisette: The mess hall is long closed, but I do have some confectionaries stashed away in my room… Would you care for a cup of tea and some delightful sweets? As a thanks for all that you’ve done up until now.

Raphael: You got it!

#fire emblem three houses #fe3h #raphael fire emblem #fatesona #my writings #support chains #yuki's commissions

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quirkfics · 5 years ago

Text

greeting shadows

commission for the darling @ghost-flakes

word count: 5k

warnings: smut, oral, touch-starved, All the Feels

pairing: Kurogiri x Reader (gender neutral) [[reader has a quirk: spectre!

The public eye never need see Kurogiri. With coordinates or clear sight, he can move himself from place to place faster than a breeze, with no one the wiser. It’s safer that way, to keep his quirk hidden from public knowledge, and Kurogiri takes little issue with it.

But even he craves being able to lose himself in a crowd, to walk amongst the tide of people and exist near others. It’s an itch, a need, that irritates him sometimes, especially as the safest way to go about it calls for rain.

Between an umbrella and a hooded coat, it’s almost too easy to remain in anonymity. Everyone is too eager to get out of the wet to look closely at passers-by - and Kurogiri gets the chance to be near others. To satisfy what he knows is a kind of skin craving, even if he’d rather dissipate than admit it.

“You look like you’re enjoying the rain almost as much as I am,” breaks through his thoughts. At first he assumes he isn’t the one being spoken to, but he glances anyway, expecting to see someone looking past him - and finds your eyes on his.

For a moment, but only a moment, he considers not answering.

“Is my glee that apparent?” He asks, and notes the way your lips part, your eyes growing large as he speaks. He assumes his appearance and demeanor will soon have you turning on your heel.

Kurogiri is incorrect.

“As is your sarcasm,” you reply with a laugh, gently touching your elbow to his forearm. His heart nearly jolts from his chest at the touch, but… Something about you is utterly charming.

He walks away from a short, but thoroughly enjoyable conversation, believing he will likely never see you again. He does his best not to visit the same place twice, and has always kept to overly crowded areas-

But it turns out that Kurogiri is wrong, twice. It's pure chance that he runs into you a second time, in a completely different city, but you capture his complete attention as surely as you did the first. You’re able to slip him your phone number without him knowing, and that is reason enough for Kurogiri to call you.

From the moment the words first passed your lips, Kurogiri found you fascinating.

It’s not the attraction to you that’s a surprise for Kurogiri though, not exactly. Day in and day out, people of all kinds are admired. For their looks, or their voice, or the way they handle a situation. Even Kurogiri has fallen prey to it on occasion - though he can say with certainty that he’s a bit more selective than most. And yet, despite his general lack of time, and his need for obscurity? The yearning for companionship still exists within him. It has always been there, simmering below the surface. Barely enough of a thought to keep shape, lingering in the back of his mind.

No, it’s not the attraction to you that’s a surprise. He finds, and has always found you lovely. The quiet determination in you, the passion in your voice- the way you made a point to greet a nameless stranger. It wasn’t who he was attracted to that made him feel as if he’d misstepped. It was how much.

Even now, Kurogiri feels like a child when he speaks to you, frozen with stage fright when faced with a crowd. Never mind that the audience is a kind and receptive one, he feels stilted and awkward. Idle chit-chat is absolutely abhorrent, as he wants you to think well of him, like him, to want-

He still isn’t sure how exactly this became his reality. Wanting you to want him.

Perhaps, it’s simply that he’s never let himself have that much before. The skin hunger, the desire to touch is almost overwhelming, and the first time your hand slips into his, Kurogiri forgets every single thought he might be harboring. Mist is not the most solid of forms, and while he is solid enough to have a body-

“It almost tickles,” you confess, smiling down at his fingers twined with yours. “Cool, but not damp?” You say aloud, mulling over the words as dark specks of mist dot your skin and vanish.

“I’m not a swamp cooler,” he says, and relishes the embarrassed smile that brings to your face. Never has he been more thankful, and yet fearful at the same time. He wishes you could read the joy on his face, as easily as he does yours - but sharing even that much of himself makes Kurogiri’s chest tight with worry.

“Obviously not,” you say, trying to keep the expression on your face under control. “Swamp coolers are hardly this attractive. And they definitely don’t sound like you.”

The things you say. Kurogiri can’t remember the last time he was around such genuine levity. The last time he felt so utterly unburdened. He leaves your side only reluctantly, and every time he does, the mere memory of you keeps him warm.

Every meeting, every conversation with you seems like a revelation. Slowly, you’ve become a lantern he finds himself seeking in the dark, a promise of pieces he thought lost, finally returned. He can’t stop whiling away all his free hours at your side, can’t stop thinking about the next time he’ll have the chance to see you, to hear your voice.

More often than not, the two of you take rambling walks through the city in the evening. Sometimes he finds himself distracted, wondering what you would think if he could tell you of his quirk, if he could whisk you away to far off vistas at your slightest whim. You rarely push for answers from him though, far too content to build this strange relationship block, by slow, steady block.

“No,” you insist.

“Why would I lie about that?” Kurogiri asks, eyes focused on a distant street corner. It looks like a cafe, and his brain is two steps ahead, wondering if he should phrase his question in some sort of official sounding way.

“You mean to tell me, you’ve never once had someone eager to catch your attention somehow?”

Kurogiri halts, and has to glance back over his shoulder to find that you’ve stopped - and you aren’t attempting to catch up with him. “Surely that isn’t surprising?” Kurogiri asks, turning back to face you. “There are few who see shadows in the dark and rush to greet them.”

You scoff, jamming your hands into your pockets and narrowing your eyes, content to watch him from a far vantage - at least for a moment. “You sound like you’re quoting a poem,” you accuse, and then shake your head, walking back to his side. “Seriously, though? The figure you cut in that waistcoat, and not one-”

“I suppose there has been one,” Kurogiri amends, and watches you absolutely light up with curiosity. You miss his entire point though.

“Yeah? Tell me about them! I bet they were some kind of fancy globe-trotter. Did they have their own je-”

Kurogiri sighs. “Why must I be attracted to such ignorance?” He mutters, too quiet for you to make out the words.

“Wait- what was-”

“I mean you,” he clarifies. Kurogiri’s mouth goes dry when he takes your hand again, amazed that his heartbeat isn’t echoing down the street. “You rushed to greet a shadow,” he says, and reels you into the circle of his arms. “And you wax poetic about my.. figure.” You laugh, and hug him, but all too soon you take a step back. Kurogiri has to keep himself from clutching at you when you make to walk again, but he doesn’t want to rush you if you’re not ready. If you’re not willing. It doesn’t stop the desperate yearning to hold you though, or the way it’s been building inside him like a dam near to bursting. He leaves you only reluctantly that night, and nearly throws all his caution to the wind when you straighten his tie- but your reasoning for ending the walk is all sound, and he too, has work to finish.

A large part of him knows that all of this is ill advised. He has goals to accomplish, not only for his own sake, but for society and yet it doesn’t stop. He can’t seem to walk away. Can’t seem to want to, not really. Days, and months pass, and each touch of your warm hand in his misty one only seems to reinforce his desire for you. To have you in his life, if not in his bed.

He’s started to dream of your face, gentle with sleep on the pillow next to his, and wonders at the fact that his errant thoughts of you haven’t become a horrible preoccupation. Kurogiri hasn’t neglected any of his duties though, and as his face gives nothing away- Mayhap to assuage his worries, he treats his time with you as an incentive to work all the harder. He wants to hoard each second like a dragon, claws clutching at gold, but it always seems to fly by.

“Sometimes,” you confess one evening, leaning on the stone windowsill of a storefront, “I used to wonder if I saw you purely because of my quirk. Never mind that I’ve never seen other- I thought you were a ghost,” you say with a laugh. “No one else ever went out of their way to acknowledge you-”

And it’s a barb in his chest, knowing why. He is nothing more than a ghost, walking streets where no one knows his face, much less his name. Kurogiri is nothing more than a shadow, with just enough mass to keep people from treading on his toes. It’s the best way, the only way, to continue to accomplish his goals, and yet… He wants people to see you together, to know that he exists, if only as your shadow.

“You did,” Kurogiri says, and feels his heart wrench when you smile. “You’ve always seen me, and I don’t believe you’ve any idea of how much that means.”

You laugh, and then hide it behind a sip of your warm drink, and Kurogiri is almost sure that you’re ready to pull away again, to sidestep the topic of feelings. He won’t force it, but he can’t seem to keep his silence, not for much longer. You’ve no idea about the things he does when he isn’t with you, and he desperately wants to keep it that way.. And yet he still wants to share it all too.

He’s been visiting here enough that he’s sure his presence has been noticed by someone. And it’s only a matter of time, really, before word spreads. Before they say something to you. Part of him hopes they’ll ignore him, realize who he is and who he works for and leave everything be- and yet he also finds himself wondering whether you already know because surely... Surely, someone would have told you. Someone would have said something already. A good Samaritan, concerned for your safety. Perhaps you ignored them, or perhaps they decided they were too scared to speak the words- Either way, Kurogiri isn’t sure he wants to know. He lets the topic die in his mind, lets his feelings take the forefront, all too eager to be shared.

“Everyone wants to be seen, Kurogiri. I- I might understand that a little more than most, is all,” you say, raising your hand. If he hadn’t been watching for it, Kurogiri might not have noticed the flicker of your skin. The way you turned diaphanous, absolutely see-through, for the space of a second. “Like a spectre,” you explain, shaking your hand as if the feeling it left behind was a bothersome one. “People weren’t stumbling into you, but it was almost like they couldn’t. Like you were intangible, or creating some kind of barrier-” You laugh. “I had to know.”

“Tangible to others or not,” Kurogiri murmurs, stepping into your space. Everything within him thrills when your legs spread, allowing him such closeness. “Your touch has always held weight to me.” His fingers close around your wrist, and it’s ridiculously difficult for him not to lean down and try for a kiss. You appear to be receptive to it, the way you look at him, lips parted, leaning into his hold on you- But this is hardly the place, even if the time feels right.

“Romantic, aren’t you?” You rasp, and make to set your cup down on the sill beside you. For a moment, Kurogiri thinks he might be willing to use his quirk, just this once- but his phone buzzes in his slacks, and the only people who have his number are not particularly patient individuals. You blink, eyelashes fluttering against you cheek when you hear the soft buzz of his phone. “Important call?” You ask, and the moment flits away on the breeze.

“Unfortunately,” he says, and barely feels guilty for the thought. He leaves you with a barely-there caress against your cheekbone, and a promise to call you again when he’s free, almost trembling with need as he walks around the corner and warps away.

Though Kurogiri usually displays endless bounds of patience, it’s all slowly falling to the wayside. Each delay leaves him longing for you so badly that his lungs feel bound with iron, and your wistful voice in his ear - when he can spare the time for a personal phone call - does nothing to stem the tide of wanting.

He worries he’ll make a fool of himself when the time finally arrives to see you again. He smooths his hands over his clothes so often, he frets about wrinkling them, and warps to the corner near your home almost ten minutes early, though there is no feasible or potential way he would ever allow himself to be late. His worry is atrociously loud in his head, white noise and anxiety, echoing around in his skull, all the way up until you open up the door.

“Are you early, or am I running late?” You ask, laughing awkwardly as you stand back to let him in. You nearly tremble when he walks by, and Kurogiri has to clench his hands to keep from reaching out to you immediately. “Honestly, I’m a little-”

“I’m afraid my own nervousness got the best of me,” he confesses, and clenches his hands tighter when he thinks about smoothing any wrinkles in his waistcoat. “I am a bit early,” he clarifies, when your eyebrows raise in surprise.

“To think, today is the day I finally see you nervous,” you tease, and the words seem to push back the tension in the air, giving the both of you enough space to breathe. A startled look suddenly passes over your face. “We talked about you stopping here first, but- but we never mentioned after-” You say, and this time Kurogiri doesn’t stop himself. He snags your tense hands in his, reveling in the warmth of you and the way you immediately relax in his hold, and takes a step closer.

“I care little for anything but time with you. If that means a walking tour of the city? So be it. If you’d like dinner, or-” A very small thought in the back of his head says that he should surprise you with food from the other side of the planet. A wiser part of him knows that this is not the moment to display his quirk and it’s… illegal uses, no matter how enticing the idea is.

You free one of your hands to wave it in a placating gesture, but… you're not stepping away. "Those all sound great, but I'm not going to lie," you say, voice a little strained, "it would be nice, maybe, if we could stay? Here, I mean.” You bite your bottom lip when Kurogiri takes your hand back in his, wishing you could see the smile he feels, just standing here with you.

“Of course,” he says, and his hand slides up your forearm- only for you to turn, tugging him towards the kitchen.

“I did pick up that wine you mentioned though. I have a friend- anyway, I owe a favor, but-” You pull away, taking the bottle off the counter and nearly brandishing it at him. Kurogiri takes it, if only to keep it from falling out of your anxious hands.

He suspects you’re ready to go on a tirade of some sort, with nerves so apparent, but he stops you with a sigh and your whispered name, setting the bottle carefully back on the counter.

“I know we haven’t exactly- we haven’t put any kind of label on things, but. There is something here, right? Between us? I never want you to feel rushed or anything, but sometimes I think-” You make a small noise of surprise when Kurogiri finally slips his arms around you, clinging to you, breathing in the scent of you. He has so much he wants to say, so much he needs to, if he wants to keep this, keep you in his life, but for now-

Kurogiri leans back until he can look you in the eye, unsure of what exactly, he intends on saying, but knowing he needs to say it. “I find it difficult to think of anything but you,” he says. The words slip free of him, but as soon as he sees the look on your face, he wouldn’t dream of taking them back. They taste of truth, anyhow, and it’s important that he tells you what truths he can. Any truths he can. “So yes. I believe there is something between us, and I would very much like to follow where this leads, if you’re willing to have me.” He isn’t sure whether it’s the phrasing, or simply the moment, but you choke on a laugh and curl your arms around him again, burying your face against him.

“That’s good,” you say, voice slightly muffled with the way you’re pressed to him. “Did you.. Did you want some of that wine?”

Kurogiri hesitantly strokes a hand over your neck, zeroing in on the way your skin shivers with gooseflesh. He wonders if the mist of his body will be unpleasant to you, too cool for more intimate settings- but you haven’t complained about it yet. “Later, perhaps. I would rather be clear-minded, this evening.” He repeats the action, cool fingers against the top of your spine and shivers himself when you clutch him closer. “I already feel out of step around you in the first place. Alcohol won’t help matters.”

“Me?” You ask with another laugh, lifting your head away to look him in the eye. “Mr.You greeted the shadows feels awkward around me?”

“Indeed. I could say something trite and cliche about stepping into the light, but I fear you don’t appreciate my poetry.”

You gasp, and smack a gentle hand against his shoulder blade, but it’s true. Kurogiri had never once gone seeking out someone of your caliber. If he admired anyone, that was where it began and promptly ended. He had little time to devote to another, little time period, but he had… He had taken the time to get to know you. In small, stolen moments where your hand slipped into his, and you smiled up at him like he meant something to you. In the ambling strolls through rainy city streets, where he felt his heart, more solid and heavy in his chest than ever before, insist that he do something, if only to keep feeling the warmth of you, to keep hearing your voice, to keep- To keep you in his life.

“Lies and slander!” You insist, laughing again, tension fading from your frame, and his heart thuds unevenly. The way you smile, the gentleness of your hands upon him… “I do appreciate your poetry. Tell me then. Am I.. sunlight or- or a moonbeam?” You ask, smile turning wry when his eyes narrow in response.

“I would think starlight a finer partner for shadows,” Kurogiri says, tone nearly reverent, and bends closer when your eyelashes flutter. He wants to kiss you, if you’re willing, wants to wrap you in the mist of his body and feel warmth that goes more than skin deep.

“I suppose shadows can reach far off stars,” you say, voice growing soft. The traces of embarrassment have vanished, leaving behind nothing but tenderness. If it had been anyone else, if it has been only a month sooner, Kurogiri isn’t sure he could have faced the immense amount of emotion in either of you and stayed.

“Reach and catch them fast,” Kurogiri murmurs, voice almost as soft as yours. “Perhaps I might have a kiss?” He asks, close enough to breathe in the taste of you.

You don’t answer with words, though a moment of panic crosses the iris of your eyes. You lean forward to kiss him, eyelids falling closed, trusting him to adjust as necessary. Some inexplicable part of him wants to laugh, but he wants your lips against his far more than that. Kurogiri leans into the kiss, eager for the taste of you, the steady spread of body heat, and presses a glancing kiss against your mouth.

It isn’t like the reel of images he’d stored in the back of his head, the silly hopes and wonders - it’s better. Having you here, listening to you breathe out another laugh before you chase his lips for more? It’s more vivid and thrilling than anything he can summon to mind.

His fears about being too cool to the touch seem to be completely unfounded. You don’t shy from the icy mist of his face, of his hands. You press close to his every caress, and your lips part willingly, tongue hot against his own.

“That was a kiss,” you gasp, pulling away and cradling your suddenly warm face. “I think you’ve been holding out on me, Kurogiri,” you tease. You nerves still betray you though. He spies your pulse thundering in your neck, and wants nothing more than to feel the steady thud of it against his tongue.

“You’ve but to ask,” he replies, and drags a knuckle over the jumping vein in your throat.

“Seriously? How do you do that? You say barely half a sentence and I feel like I should be melting into a puddle on the ground.” You take a step back, and never has Kurogiri felt the acute loss of warmth as he does now.

“You like the sound of my voice?” He asks, and his eyes narrow again as you reach out to tap the edge of a fingernail against a button on his waistcoat.

“You can’t say that you hadn’t realized. You nearly send me into shivers every time you speak. Did you think I was just a very cold individual?”

Kurogiri scoffs, and closes the distance once more, hoping you won’t turn tail and run, or change the subject. “The thought has crossed my mind. More than once, even. Though I thought I might be projecting.”

“Project all you want,” you mutter, glancing down at the floor. “Especially seeing as it’s true. You, uh-” Your hand moves from the button up to his tie, fumbling with it until it’s loose and you can tug him close again. “More kisses, please?”

“Only kisses?” Kurogiri asks, resisting the next gentle tug of his tie. He can’t deny he wants to throw all caution to the wind, but it’s been so long- he’d rather make sure you were entirely sure of it all. Entirely sure of him. The last thing he wants to do is break what little he has with you, especially if you’re not ready.

“Maybe more, if-” You blow out a breath, pausing. “If you’re interested in that too?” You finally ask, your gaze tracing the lightning of his eyes. “Because I am. Interested.”

That's all Kurogiri needed to hear. He let's your next gentle tug of his tie bring him back into the orbit of a kiss. As soon as his mouth finds yours again, dark mist dotting your face, you make a soft, small sigh that has Kurogiri's body lighting up with want. Your hands are gentle, stroking over the line of his shoulders, and Kurogiri wants nothing more than to watch your nimble fingers unbutton his waistcoat and his shirt, watch you arch into his touch- He bumps back into the fridge, and then he realizes you're both simply fumbling about in the kitchen, too enamored with each other to even think of moving.

“Oh,” you say, pulling away to catch your breath, eyes darting around the room. “I haven’t even let you get in the door and I’m already-”

“I’m not complaining,” Kurogiri murmurs. “But perhaps we should find somewhere to sit?”

Neither of you end up sitting. You keep interrupting the conversation for stolen kisses, and swift caresses, stumbling against the wall before he draws you back into the circle of his arms. He can’t seem to stop touching, eager to see your eyelashes fanning against your cheek, and the way you inhale, as if you can taste him on the air. You make it all the way to the bedroom before you lose track of time, of yourselves, shedding clothes and inhibitions smoother than the wine you left closed on the counter.

Kurogiri is careful as he lays you down on the bed, strong, cool fingers trailing down your bare thighs, heart caught fast in his throat as he parts them. He wants to kiss your knees, and draw idle patterns over your hips, he wants-

“Can I taste you?” He asks, voice rough with longing, and doesn’t miss the tell-tale shiver of appreciation that his question brings. You nod your head, slow and measure, and Kurogiri’s grip on your thighs adjusts, tightens as he leans down between your legs. His tongue is warmer than the mist of his body, but still markedly colder than most, and that first touch has you arching, fingers curling into the sheets.

“Kurogiri,” you breathe, and you tremble as he works you over with gentle touches, and strokes and sucking- And then slows, those lightning eyes focused on yours as he halts, all too soon.

“I find myself a little impatient,” he rumbles, sitting up and taking your thighs in hand. He pulls you down the bed, mussing the blankets, and hooks your legs around his hips.

“Not complaining,” you reply, breathing in deeply as he leans over you. The sight of it, the lithe angles of his shoulders, and the way his hand strokes up your chest- “Not at all.”

“Good,” he says, and laughs when your hips rock. “Is there something you’d like to ask?”

Your open your mouth to speak, hesitant, but his thumb stroking over your hip spurs you on. “Keep talking? The way you speak..” Your eyes close when he shifts, the hard length of him brushing against your thighs.

“How could I refuse?”

He doesn’t move, doesn’t leave your side, but the slightest shift of the sheets has you opening your eyes to him flicking open the top of a small, expensive looking bottle of lube. You wonder- but decide it’s a question for later. You want him too much.

“Everything about you,” Kurogiri murmurs, slicking you up expertly with careful fingers, “is exquisite.” The lube is warm, and you can’t help the jolt of your thighs at the temperature change. “I worried you’d find me too… Cold,” he says, and for some reason, you’re unsure as to whether he means his body, or his demeanor. His fingers curl, and you gasp. “I worried you’d decide against this. Against me, and yet you’ve surprised me at every turn.” His fingers pull out of you, but before you can even mourn the loss, the head of his cock is pressed against you.

You can’t quite find the words, can only clutch at his forearm, and hook your ankles behind him, urging him to press closer. “Please,” you finally get out, gratefully accepting a kiss before he thrusts shallowly into you. At first, he’s as cool as the rest of his body, but every slow roll of his hips, every stroke of your hands over his shoulders has him warming.

You want him to speak, he knows, but Kurogiri can barely summon the breath to keep moving. The heat of you and your eager touch fumbling over his shoulders- He groans, and picks up the pace when you ask for him to speak more, to whisper what he wants in your ear-

“You,” he chokes out, voice rough. “I want you, like this. I want you to say my name, to keep looking at me-” Kurogiri loses track of everything but you. He can’t recall the exact layout of the room or the brand of wine on the counter, all he knows is how good you feel around him, how much like.. How much like a home you are, warm and inviting, and pleased to have his company.

You press an open mouthed kiss to his shoulder and gasp when he bottoms out, fingernails digging into his back, teeth catching his skin. Kurogiri curses. That hint of sharpness has him speeding, gasping, thrusting harder when you cling to him- and then you’re coming, and Kurogiri’s thighs are burning with the tension. He fucks you through his orgasm, legs trembling, but it isn’t until you gasp his name that he realizes how close he is.

“Fuck,” he groans. “The heat of you, the way-” He loses that small shred of control, shuddering as he comes, but before he can say anything else, you’re pulling him back into another kiss. The heat- He half wonders if his mist will burn away with continued exposure to the warmth of you, but he decides then and there that it’d be a lovely way to go.

#kurogiri x reader #bnha kurogiri x reader #bnha kurogiri #bnha reader insert #lemon #ghost-flakes

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dem-obscure-imagines · 6 years ago

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(Not So) Invisible Love

Ben Hargreeves x Reader Fandom: The Umbrella Academy Prompt: Dating Ben Hargreeves hc? Note: Mayhaps I love him? Also I went WAAAAAY OVERBOARD. Oh well. Warnings: None? (Well mentions of death...this is Ben after all…) Word Count: 4.5k

“Klaus, look at what I found at the witch market!”

The ghost-whisperer you fondly referred to as your best friend gasped in horror and held a hand over his chest. “You went to the witch market without me?!”

“I am a witch. Sometimes I go to the witch market. You act like this is surprising news. Besides, I’m the one who showed you that place anyway.”

“But you know how much Ben and I love the witch market…” Klaus looked to the empty seat on the couch. “He said he feels betrayed.”

“Well, tell him I said sorry. You guys can come with me when I go back next week.”

“I’m putting it on my calendar. You better not let me down, Baudelaire.”

“I won’t, I won’t.” You chuckled, sitting on the couch opposite Ben. Though you couldn’t see or hear Klaus’ ghostly brother, your supernatural tendencies made you better at feeling his aura than most. You were one of the first people who’d ever believed he was there in the first place. Maybe that was why Klaus had latched onto you so quickly. Or maybe it was because the two of you related in more ways than one.

You, like Klaus, were one of the children born that fateful day, but instead of being scooped up by Reginald Hargreeves to attend his Umbrella Academy, you’d been shipped off to Baudelaire’s, an exclusive school for gifted children tucked deep into the woods of Michigan. Needless to say, you got out of there about as quickly as you could. Reginald had raised his “children” to be famous, whereas Narcissa Baudelaire had done the opposite, nurturing the gifts of her recovered children in secret, tucked away where no one would find her.

It wasn’t that Narcissa was inherently awful to you or any of the other kids in the school. In fact, you knew she only wanted the best for you, but you’d always craved for something much more normal, which ironically had led you to meeting a man who saw the ghost of his dead brother.

“So, do tell what you found. You’re leaving us hanging.”

“This was on the clearance shelf, so I’m not expecting much, but…” You pulled the potion bottle out of the paper bag and held it up so the boys could read the label. “Tada~”

“Temporary Spirit Sight?” Klaus read, looking at you incredulously. “I already see ghosts.” He looked to the spot where Ben was sitting. “Shut up.”

“It’s for me, silly.” You shook your head. “Unlike the rest of you, I’ve never seen Ben, and considering we’ve been friends for the past year and a half, I think it’s about time I did.”

“Awwww, you hear that, Benny? So sweet.” Klaus put a hand over his heart and then grinned, looking at you. “You should see him, you’ve got him blushing.”

“Cute.” You chuckled, reading over the label and instructions more carefully. “Okay, so it says: Drink the entirety of the potion to feel full effects. When used properly, it grants the drinker the ability to see, hear, and touch spirits around them. Lasts up to three days.”

“So in other words, a little taste of what it’s like to be me.”

“Yeah, that’s what it sounds like.” You shrugged and popped the cork off, giving it a sniff for good measure. “Any thoughts from our ghostly companion?”

Klaus looked to Ben and then back to you. “He said ‘bottoms up.’”

“Here goes.” You tilted the bottle into your mouth, swallowing the contents in a few large gulps. After about a minute, the bottle was empty and you felt very dizzy, pinching your eyes shut. “Ooh ouch. That stings a bit. Pretty sour.”

“You okay?”

“Fine, yeah, do you think it worked?”

“Uh, based on the fact that I didn’t ask that question, I’d say yes.” Klaus grinned, watching as you slowly pulled yourself together.

You blinked a few times, processing what he’d said. If Klaus didn’t ask then that meant…Immediately, you bolted upright and looked to the other side of the couch, where Ben waved shyly, still unsure if you could REALLY see and hear him, or if it was simply too good to be true.

“Ben?” You asked, making direct eye contact with him.

“Y-yeah. Uh, hi. Nice to...finally meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too. Well, officially, that is.” You held out your hand, waiting for him to offer his in return. Hesitantly, he did. Ben didn’t expect much, certainly not to be able to make contact with you, but much to his surprise, his cold hand touched your much smaller, warmer one.

“Oh my God.” Ben gaped, not letting go even after an almost uncomfortable amount of time.

“What?”

“Sorry.” He snapped out of it, pulling his hand away to rub the back of his neck. “It’s just the last time I touched someone was...a long time ago. It’s been a while, that’s all.”

“Sounds like someone needs a hug.” Klaus tilted his head, amused. Ever since you and Klaus met, he knew that Ben had the BIGGEST crush on you. Though your powers were dark in nature, somehow you managed to be one of the brightest people he’d ever met, always happy and optimistic, kind and caring and willing to listen when Klaus came to you with his problems.

“Would you shut up?” Ben hissed at his brother, red creeping across his cheeks and up into the tips of his ears.

“Do you want a hug?”

“I-well, uh, yeah. I do.”

“C’mere.” You stood up and held your arms open. Ben looked at you with wide eyes for a second before he stood in front of you and surrendered to your embrace. It had been so long, so, so freaking long since someone had been able to hold him. He only realized now just how starved for human contact he was. “Wow, you really needed this, huh?”

“You have no idea.” He murmured into the fabric of your old gray hoodie.

***

The more you thought back on your friendship with Klaus, and therefore, your friendship with Ben, the more you could recall all of the little instances in which it had maybe been a little obvious that Klaus’ dead brother harbored more than friendly feelings towards you.

Most notable was a time you’d showed up at the Academy dressed up for your friend’s birthday party and he’d told Klaus to tell you that you looked stunning. There was the time you made tea for the three of you, and he told Klaus to thank you for setting out a third tea cup, even though you were all aware he couldn’t drink it. And in addition, there had been plenty of rainy afternoons when you’d felt his aura lingering near you even when Klaus was out or in another room.

You couldn’t imagine it was all that fun for him to just be there and watch you read, but Klaus told you once that Ben liked reading over your shoulder. After so many years on his own, Ben had become a quick reader, so it didn’t matter what pace you read at, he could keep up.

For the past day and a half, though, now that he was visible and tangible, it had been extremely obvious. Any opportunity he got, he’d touch you. At first, you wrote it off as Ben being touch-starved from his years of death, but then again, did ‘just friends’ really hold hands at every chance they got? They probably didn’t cuddle near the fire with a good book, either…

And it was after catching all of his lingering glances and whispered words when he thought you had fallen asleep against his shoulder that you realized, deep down, that you had harbored feelings for him, too. Sure, maybe a relationship between a witch and a ghost wouldn’t be the most orthodox, but you knew you’d be able to make it work somehow.

You knew that whatever you needed would likely be in one place. And that meant…

“KLAUS! BEN! I’M GOING TO THE WITCH MARKET! THIS IS YOUR LAST CHANCE!”

“I thought you were going to the witch market next week.” Ben noted, materializing beside you.

You slapped a hand over your chest as your heart raced in surprise. “Jesus! You’re gonna give me a heart attack!”

“Sorry. Forgot. Klaus is used to that by now.”

“It’s fine.” You waved it off, laughing. “Where’s your brother?”

“Did someone say witch market?” Klaus popped his head out from the foyer. “Oh, there you are, Ben. I was wondering where you’d wandered off to.”

“Shut up.” Ben glared at Klaus, but his features softened when he felt you slip your hand into his and give it a squeeze, grounding him in the moment. It was easy for him to forget that for this brief little window, you could touch him.

“Well, to answer your question, I WAS going to go next week, but this stuff is supposed to wear off tonight, so I wanted to be able to go together, if that’s alright.”

“That’s...more than alright.” Ben smiled, squeezing your hand back. If he tried hard enough, he could pretend this was a date. A cute little witch date. Granted, with his brother Klaus there, but a date no less.

You all piled into your car, with Klaus letting Ben take shotgun, and in about thirty minutes’ time, you were parked in the parking lot outside. There was an enchantment on the place to make it look abandoned and dilapidated to all who looked on without magic, but as soon as you cast the entry key, the spell was lifted from your guests’ eyes and you all walked in.

There were dozens and dozens of witches manning their own stalls and selling whatever they specialized in. Your first stop was to visit Nancy, the kind witch near the back corner of the store who had a variety of spell books along with other tomes she’d read and decided she didn’t need anymore. You told Ben to go find whatever he wanted and you’d get it for him, and he agreed, thanking you before wandering through the rows of boxes filled with old books. Meanwhile, Klaus was talking to the broom dealer further down the market.

“Nancy, this is an odd request, but, I need something to bring the dead back to life.”

“You sure don’t half-ass anything, do you, (Y/N)?” Nancy chuckled before reaching into the box tucked under her chair. “Now, I wouldn’t do this for just anyone, but I know you’ve got a good head on your shoulders. It’s for your cute ghost boyfriend, isn’t it?”

“My-” You looked over at Ben, who excitedly motioned to a box next to him. You assumed he’d hit the jackpot. “Yeah, it is.”

“Well, this should do the trick.” Nancy handed the book to you and you paid her. “The trick is not to even concern the body in the matter. Easy to accidentally make zombies that way. Instead, you have to help his soul cross over from the spiritual plane to the physical one, which is not as hard as it sounds when you get the timing right.”

“Thank you so much.” You clutched the book to your chest before walking over to see what Ben was so excited about.

“She has the Narnia books.”

“Well then I guess we have to get them, huh?”

“Well, uh, we don’t HAVE to…”

“Right, but they’d make you happy. And you deserve to be happy, okay?” You looked up at him and watched as his expression melted into a smile.

“Okay.” He worked his hand into yours as you bent down and picked up the other books. Once you paid, Nancy helped you get them into a bag, and then the two of you walked over to Klaus, where he was still trying to strike a deal to get a broom.

“Klaus, we can just take mine for a spin sometime.” You told him, laughing as his face lit up. He gasped, spinning around to look at you.

“You’ve had a magic broomstick all this time and you didn’t tell us?”

“Well, if the pointy hat fits…” You shrugged, drawing a laugh out of Ben.

“Aww, aren’t you two awful cozy?” Klaus motioned between the two of you, grinning before turning around and leading the three of you further on through the market. “Come on, I want to see if they have any cool enchanted necklaces.”

***

When you all got back to the Academy, there were only a few hours left before the potion would wear off, so Ben insisted on taking you up to his old room to show you something.

“In here.” He pointed to the closet door so you could open it. You did, pulling it apart to find Ben’s old clothes, back from when he was alive. “I just...when you can’t see me anymore, I just want you to be able to remember that I’m here and that you’re never alone. I want you to have this one.”

Ben poked a black hoodie, his finger phasing right through the fabric. You carefully took it off of the hanger and slipped it on over your t-shirt. It was a bit bigger than what you usually wore, the sleeves covering your hands, but Ben loved the sight of you in his clothes, and couldn’t wait to see you wear his hoodie from time to time.

“Thank you.”

“No, thank YOU. You’ve done so much for me in these three days. I just...I really don’t know how to repay you…”

“Ben, you literally have nothing to repay me for.” You shook your head, looking up at him and trying to memorize his features. In a little while, you wouldn’t be able to see or touch him again for a long time. “I had a great time finally getting to talk to you. I mean, well, without a translator involved.”

“Yeah, I guess from now on, Klaus will have to third wheel…”

“Yeah…” You exhaled a little sigh and reached forward to take Ben’s hand in yours. “This is a really shitty time to say this, and I’m sorry for holding it in for so long, but….I think I caught some feelings for you, Ben. And I just didn’t know if-”

“Oh thank God.” Ben smiled, pulling you against his chest, arms wrapped tight around you. “I’ve had this giant crush on you since, well, the day we met, I guess. The first day, about a year and a half ago.”

“And I know it’s weird, and I’m a witch and you’re...dead. But I’m willing to give it a try if you are.”

“I’d love that.”

***

Operation: Bring Ben Back from the Dead was going to be a lot simpler than you thought it would be. The spell book Nancy had given you said you only needed a few things you didn’t already have, and those could be gathered on a quick trip to the Witch’s Market. Some of them, you didn’t even need to go the the Witch’s Market for.

You didn’t tell Ben about your plan for two reasons. The First was, you weren’t sure quite how he’d react to it. Second, you didn’t want to get his hopes up in case it didn’t work. You did, however, need Klaus’ help for some parts of it. This meant you had to get him alone, which was easier said than done.

“KLAUS! BEN! I’M GOING TO THE WITCH MARKET TO DO SOME GROCERY SHOPPING!!” You hollered up into the big empty house.

“What the hell is a witch market?” A younger member of the Academy, who you could only imagine was Five, walked into the entrance hall, a store mannequin tucked under his arm.

“I’m (Y/N). Klaus’ witch friend. Think of it as like a specialty market, except for witches.”

“Ah.” He nodded, leaving as quickly as he’d come, with Klaus waltzing out in his place. You felt Ben’s presence there next to him, and you smiled, looking to where you were pretty sure you felt him.

“Hey guys.”

“Witch market? We’re so in.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

About thirty minutes later, you, Klaus, and Ben were strolling up and down the rows of merchants, filling your cart with the things from your list. Once you got close to Nancy’s stall, you turned to where you felt Ben and told him he could pick out a book if he wanted to. As soon as you were alone with Klaus, he turned to you accusingly.

“You’re trying to bring Ben back, aren’t you?”

“Is it that obvious?”

“To him, no. Not at all. To me, well, the daffodils on your little ‘shopping list’ there are a giant red flag.”

“Alright, you got me.” You shrugged, surrendering. You turned to the herb dealer and bought aloe leaves, a few cloves of garlic, ivy, and some sage, components of what would become your Drought of Life. “So I’m trying to bring my ghost boyfriend back to life. Can you blame me?”

“Not at all, but I wish you would have asked me for HELP, maybe. Ben’s been following me around for years. You think I don’t want to see him happy?”

“I’ve been TRYING to ask you, but it’s not exactly like I’ve ever gotten the chance without him there.”

“Fair point.” Klaus glanced over his shoulder. “Ghost boy incoming.” Klaus listened to Ben before reporting to you. “He said there’s nothing good over there today.”

“Alright. It was worth a shot.” You shrugged, smiling before you pushed the cart over to the vendor selling copious amounts of candles. You bought twelve white candles of varying heights and widths and added them to your cart along with the rest of the goodies.

Once you crossed them off the list, that left very little to get, the last thing being one of Ben’s used socks, but you had been sure not to put that on your little list. So, after all of you were done, you loaded up your car and headed back to the Academy.

You immediately walked into the kitchen and started brewing. Your cauldron was here because the Academy was the perfect place for making potions, and Grace and Pogo didn’t seem to mind all that much, so long as you cleaned up after yourself and didn’t brew anything dangerous. Once the water was boiling, you waved your hand over the steam a few times, rolling up the sleeves of Ben’s hoodie. You felt his presence behind you, his form molding against yours.

“I miss your voice, Ben.” You whispered to him, imagining his arms wrapped around your waist. “I’ve fallen in love with the invisible boy…”

“Aww, aren’t you two cute?” Klaus walked into the kitchen, holding the socks you needed. He was quiet for a moment, listening to whatever Ben was saying. “He says he’s glad you like his hoodie.”

“Well, how could I not like it? It’s so warm and soft…” You murmured, tearing the aloe leaves into bits and then sprinkling them into the swirling waters, for healing and protection. Next, you chopped up the garlic, and sprinkled that in too, to double the effects. Next came the ivy leaves, for eternal life, though in this case, they would grant him life of any kind. Finally, in went the sage for long life.

You stirred the potion for a while, Klaus and Ben watching. Ben had confessed to Klaus, a long time ago when he’d first told his brother of his crush, that he was fascinated when you did witchy things. It was soothing for him to watch. Klaus grinned at the blissed out look on his brother’s face. The Ghost-Seer was really happy things were going to work out, even if Ben didn’t know it just yet.

Once all of the ingredients had been dissolved into the drought, you picked up the socks, which were still giving you the heavy dark vibes of Ben’s once-living self, and let them melt into the pot, using your magic to help them along until they were no more than another part of the thickening potion.

Another hour or so, you were done. You ladled a few bottles of the drought into glass vials for good measure, and then set them on your brewing rack to cool. If one of them broke, you had extras just in case. Then, thinking about it again, you labeled them with a very large note warning the other people in the house not to drink them or they would DIE.

Klaus looked at you with a question from Ben. “He wants to know if they’re poisonous.”

“No, but I would kill someone if they touched them.” You shrugged and washed your hands in the sink. “You guys have any plans tomorrow at midnight?”

“Do we ever have plans that don’t involve you?”

“I’ll take that as a no.” You laughed. “Meet me in the entrance hall under the skylight.”

Klaus grinned. “We’ll be there.”

***

The hour was steadily approaching. You lined up all twelve of the candles you’d bought in a large circle right under the skylight and lit their little flickering flames one by one with the tip of your finger.

Fire.

Next, you plucked the petals off of the dozens of daffodils you’d bought and sprinkled them into the ring of flames. You felt Ben lingering in the doorway as you did it. The whole house was getting darker, the lights dimmer and dimmer as the witching hour drew nearer. Once the ring was complete, it flashed with light before dying back down.

Earth.

You took off your shoes and socks, letting your bare feet touch the cold white tiles, and as soon as you did, you lost the need to stay grounded to the floor below you, your form beginning to float a few inches in the air. In all the time Ben had spent with you, he’d never seen you do this before. He supposed you were full of all kinds of tricks he didn’t know about.

Air.

The final step would have to wait just a few more minutes, until the clock chimed and the moon was directly overhead.

“What’s going on in here?” Klaus’ gorilla of a brother made himself known and you turned to face him, still drifting in the air.

“I’m doing a spell. It’s important. Please don’t disturb it.”

“I don’t think that’s in our best interest.” Luther bristled, taking a few hulking steps forward.

“KLAUS!” You hollered up the stairs, and a few seconds later, he came down, looking at you with wide eyes.

“You’re floating.”

“Yeah. Explain to your brother the importance of this spell. We’ve only got a few minutes before-” You went silent, centering yourself in the middle of the ring, your legs criss-crossed and your body bobbing ever so gently in the air.

Klaus took Luther aside and explained to him very quietly and desperately just important what you were doing was, and defying all of his expectations, Luther actually listened, standing off to the side with the rest of the confused Hargreeves siblings.

Once the clock struck the first time, you closed your eyes and took in a deep breath. You poured the droplets of the Drought of Life into the air and the droplets floated around you, as unaffected by gravity as you were. You molded them into the base of the ring, using your energy to push the concoction in place. As soon as the ring was complete, the water extended upwards, expanding like a wall of water, translucent as a waterfall, and through the shimmery surface, you could see Ben there, in all of his glory, looking on at you in awe and confusion.

“Ben.” You looked at him, locking eyes with him. You reached out to him, motioning him forward.

“Me?”

“Take my hands. Do you trust me?”

He was quiet for a few seconds, trying to figure out what spell you could possibly be casting that involved him. “O-of course I trust you.”

“Then come here.”

Slowly, he did, taking unsure steps forward until he was standing in front of the wall of water dividing you from him. You let your legs down out of your criss-crossed position and held out your arms for him to take. Tentatively, he reached through the water and took your hands on the other side of it, solid touching solid.

“Come on, buddy…” Klaus murmured, watching as Ben took a step through. And then another. And then another until he had crossed over entirely.

“W-what…” Ben looked down at you in disbelief, unable to put together a string of words. “What did you do?”

Instead of answering, you broke the ring and let the water fall, putting the candles out. Once everything settled, you were standing in the center of the room, looking up at Ben as all of his siblings watched.

“Oh my God…” Allison whispered, eyes watering. “Ben?”

He turned to look at his siblings, who for the first time in ever, were all looking back at him. His eyes widened. “You...I...am I-?”

“Alive? Yes. Yes you are.” Klaus grinned, rushing up to his brother first, as soon as you helped him step out of the broken ring. He hugged him tightly. “Welcome back.”

“I just...I can’t believe it.” Ben whispered, looking at his hands. They didn’t LOOK any different, and yet, somehow, they were. He decided to put them to the test, reaching out to grab your shoulders. Immediately, he made contact with the fabric of his own hoodie, and he pulled you to his chest, tears rolling down his cheeks. “Thank you so much…”

“Don’t mention it.” You shrugged, finally starting to feel the exhaustion of all of the energy you’d burned up. You started drooping like a wilting daffodil, only for Ben to scoop you up in his arms, wrapping your legs around his hips. Your head rested heavily on his shoulder and you smiled sleepily.

“You okay there, flower?” He asked softly, concern etched in his voice.

“‘M fine…” You hummed. “Just drained...Need...sleep…”

***

You woke up to sunshine the next morning, and an arm around your waist, soft snores in your ear. At first, the drowsiness made you think this was still a dream, that the night before hadn’t happened, but when you turned and found Ben’s warm chest, you knew it must have been real. That this was much too vivid to be imaginary.

When he felt you stirring, he woke up, a smile gracing his features as soon as he saw you curled up in his arms. “Good morning.”

“Good morning.” You smiled back, delicate fingers reaching up to trace over the details of his face. “God, you’re so warm…”

“That’s all thanks to you, angel.” He hummed and leaned forward to kiss the crown of your head. “Wouldn’t be here without you.”

“Eh, some witch was bound to meet Klaus and fall in love with his ghost brother. I think it was inevitable, really.”

“Oh definitely.” He chuckled. “But for the record, I’m really glad it was you.”

You smiled and captured his lips with yours, kissing him gently before whispering, “I’m really glad it was me, too.”

#ben hargreeves #ben hargreeves x reader #ben hargreeves imagine #tua #the umbrella academy #the umbrella academy imagine #fluff #non-apocalypse au

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everlarkficexchange · 5 years ago

Text

Unmasked ~ Nineteen

Written by: ~ M ~

Prompt #88

Rating: E (Explicit) This fic will contain consensual sexual content; mild language; discussions of injuries, illness, and amputations in a historical setting; discussions of miscarriage; discussions of minor character suicide; references to non consensual sexual situations.

My thanks to the moderators of @everlarkficexchange for always running an entertaining event, and for playing along with a little fun and mystery. Also my thanks to everyone who offered up their inbox for submissions to give @javistg a break from posting so much from me. Please enjoy the nineteenth chapter of this adventure. Previous installments can be found here. Regards,

~ M ~

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

~~ Chapter 19 ~~

After a restless night, I am dreading breakfast. It feels as though I have lived a lifetime since yesterday, an eon since Peeta left Everdeen. Mary frets over me and how pale I am as she helps dress me. I drag my still tired body down the stairs and into the breakfast room. Madge and I will need to visit Johanna to see to her bandages, and that means I will need a hearty meal to fortify me.

My mind still grapples with the matter of hiding Johanna here at Everdeen and all of the details she revealed to me. A brush fire on the battlefield as Peeta tended to her, a drummer — So then it was while he was caring for Johanna that he was scarred. An enemy soldier attacking them and —

My stomach revolts unexpectedly and I pause, reaching a hand out to steady myself on a convenient piece of furniture in the hall.

She said that Peeta cut the man the way you slaughter a pig. It should not surprise me, this knowledge that my husband who served in the infantry was required to kill a man.

Like slaughtering a pig. With no emotion in her voice. I have seen pigs and chickens slaughtered for the table, I have felled deer and other game. It is a cold, emotionless task. It almost need be, otherwise one would starve. With deer, sometimes the arrow or the musket ball is not enough for a kill. I myself have needed to wield a knife to slice a throat. Yet as I attempt to imagine doing so to a man…

I see eyes. Eyes of so many I have called friend, family, love. And I can imagine no further. The one time my father attempted to teach Primrose how to hunt, she cried over the dead animal and begged him to take it home with us, claiming there was still a chance we might save the poor dear. He was still alive, Prim insisted. She could see it in his eyes! My father had closed the rabbit’s eyes and maneuvered my sister away from the sight, holding her and comforting her while I was left to deal with the task of skinning the beast. I can understand her trepidation now.

Then I think of that day in Aunt Effie’s garden, when Peeta drew a knife to withdraw thorns from my palm. The ease with which he wielded it. My head spins and I take a few deep breaths as I remind myself of the rest of what Johanna said. He was tending to a wounded patient and they were attacked. Mayhaps Peeta killed a man, but it would have been done in defense of himself and of her, for surely the other soldier would have killed them both had Peeta not acted swiftly.

Perhaps it is not the irrefutable knowledge that my husband has killed that upsets me, for I too have killed, albeit for utterly different reasons. They are not the same. Not the same at all. No, I wonder now if what troubles me most is the reconciliation of the gentle man I believe him to be with the callous picture Johanna described. I know my husband. He is no murderer and he is certainly not heartless. How then does he face the killing of another person in such proximity. Surely he must have seen the other man’s eyes? But then the other man must have seen Peeta’s as well.

I think then of the drawings, the way he describes the agony and anguish and guilt of war. Of losing someone in his care… How his drawings draw such focus to the eyes. It stands to reason that he feels a similar mix of terrible emotions in regards to those he was forced to kill.

The reminder helps calm the churning in my middle, enough that I am able to continue on to the breakfast room. I wonder though at my husband never telling me of this in all his confessions of the night. If I am honest with myself, I am upset that Johanna knows more of him than I. How much of that is owing to my newfound knowledge of her sex, I cannot be certain. It did not concern me much when I thought her a man. She has known him for years, she said, whereas I have only known him months.

Perhaps he sought to protect me from the horrors he has committed, or perhaps it disturbs him enough that he did not wish to speak of it. Perhaps we are simply not to the point where he feels at ease speaking of those moments with me. I resolve to do as he has done. Have patience and trust that he will tell me when he is prepared to trust me with this part of his past.

I sit at table and force some egg down my throat. The room is wretchedly quiet and unusually hot given that I am rather early, likely the first to rise today… until Primrose wanders in.

She halts in the doorway and runs her hands over the bodice of her dress. She is so lovely. Fresh as morning dew and beautiful as the rose for which she was named. Her words last night, however, taint the air between us.

“Prim—“

“How is Joe?” Our words overlap and I turn my attention to buttering my toast. I am unaccountably famished for the level of queasiness I feel. Food is simple, usually, and so I keep my eyes on that as I speak.

“He will be fine. Madge and I will see to his wounds. He sends his apologies for his harsh words last night.”

“He was in a great deal of pain, no doubt. Sometimes we are more harsh than we intend to be when we are in pain… are we not?” Prim says this softly and I glance over at her as she fills her plate.

“Yes. I suppose sometimes we are.”

“Katniss, I am…I must apologize. My words yesterday—“

“I mean only to protect you. I do not want you to feel that you have settled in your marriage.”

“Have you settled?” She asks, turning to the table with sparks in her eyes.

“At first I thought I did,” I admit to her. “I did not wish to marry at all, I thought. But I was fortunate. It is a great turn of luck that while my hand may have been forced into marriage, I could not have asked for a better husband. I wished for you to be free as I was not to choose your husband.”

She makes a strange noise and flounces to the table, sitting with an uncharacteristic lack of grace. “Then why can you not trust me to know my own heart and the strength of Rory’s character?”

“Perhaps because you speak so little of him.”

“You did not wish to hear.”

“I do now, Little Duck.”

Primrose arranges her skirts suddenly, perfectly delicate and ladylike. I smother a smile as I think of what Johanna might say of my sister this morning.

“I am not certain it matters now,” she says forlornly.

“Is that the only thing he said on the matter of your season? That it was for the best?” She nods and sniffles. I sigh to myself. “It is not much to go on. Is it possible he meant only that were you to have a season, it would strengthen your feelings for him, at least the certainty of them. If you are truly meant to be with Rory, then a few suitors would not change this. You’ve not interacted with a great deal of gentlemen.”

Primrose considers this as she begins to eat. “I suppose it possible. I would need to be careful in my wording when I ask him if that is what he intended.”

“Perhaps consult with Madge on this, as she seems to have a more delicate way with both words and men than I,” I suggest and she nods, seemingly resolved. I ask her again to tell me of him and listen as she speaks. She paints a rather rosy picture of the man, and while I am glad that she seems to have such tender feelings for her suitor, I cannot help but think that he sounds too good to be real. I do not mention that she has drawn most of her conclusions from his letters. Words are fine things and quite important, but it is our deeds and actions that truly make a marriage.

Slowly, the household awakens. Tasks await me, and I leave the breakfast room shortly after Madge and Maysilee enter it. Although, I am pleased when Prim rises to walk out with me. I do not wish strife between us.

A dizziness sweeps over me as we walk and I once more must use the furniture to steady myself.

“Katniss?” Prim asks as I close my eyes to halt the room from spinning. “Katniss are you unwell?”

“Only tired,” I tell her as she touches me. I draw strength from the contact although I still feel faint.

“Are you certain you do not wish me to see to Joe? You never had much stomach for such things.”

“Nay,” I say and she lifts one brow before leaning close to me.

“You know… I am quite good at keeping secrets.” I stare at her and mull over the weight of her words. Truthfully, her care would be much better for Jo. I could manage, but Prim is a budding, brilliant healer in her own right. The more I think of facing bandages and wounds not yet healed, the worse I feel.

Yet…Johanna has only grudgingly trusted me with her secret. “I have promised to see to him, and he is Peeta’s friend. This task falls to me, Little Duck.”

“Oh very well,” Prim says, and huffs but leans close once more. “At least allow me to make some ginger root tea for you. You look positively green.”

“Green?” I ask and she nods. “Yes, that might be just the thing I need.”

She smiles at this and helps me towards the study. I see to a few tasks and sip the tea when Primrose brings it to me. It does soothe the roiling in my middle. Shortly after the nausea dissipates, so does the feeling of being overheated, just in time for Madge to join me. We gather what supplies we will need, and ride out to the cottage where Jo lives.

“Well I think you for not having the esteemable Mr. Crane visit me,” Johanna says as she opens the door before moving stiffly back to the bed.

Her cottage is humble but tidy. A bottle of orange and bergamot scented oil warms by the fire, one of the products of this very farm. Shirts await mending in a basket and a simple breakfast of egg and roll sit half eaten on a platter next to the chair. There are no delicate or personal touches to denote who lives here, save for the wide brimmed hat Johanna usually wears.

“I would not wish his sermons on my worst enemy,” I mutter as Madge directs Johanna to remove her shirt and lay on her stomach.

“I’d wager your ears burn right off when he starts in talking lust and carnal sins. Do those feel aimed at you, Kitten?” I glare at her and Madge hushses her. “S’nothing to be ashamed of. Every man is considered virile for his urges. Why shouldn’t we? How else does one get in the family way?”

“By laying back and just holding on until it’s over,” Madge suggests and Johanna snorts.

“Children are work enough on their own. Making them ought to at least be enjoyable as consolation. I’ve been fortunate in that regard on both ends. Plenty of enjoyment, no children. And you have too, haven’t you, Mrs. Mellark?” I smile at her and saw away at her bandages along the sides. “Hey! Watch it!”

“Oh I am so sorry, Johanna,” I purr and she scowls at me but then starts laughing.

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

After we have seen to Johanna and return to Everdeen, the daily post brings happy tidings for both Everdeen sisters.

For Prim, a letter from Mr. Rory Hawthorne, adamantly expressing regrets over his hasty words and clarifying that he only meant that Prim deserves a season and a chance to be certain of whom she wishes to marry.

“A season full of suitors praising you will in no way diminish my affections for you, and I greatly regret that my last may have given the impression of such,” she reads aloud to Madge and I during a quiet moment. “My feelings will hold steady and patient. Although, I confess that I will be among the first in line, begging a dance or calling for tea, lest you forget me in all the attentions sure to be heaped at your toes.”

While I still hold my doubts in regards to Mr. Hawthorne, the letter does much to soothe my fears for my sister.

As for my fears in regards to my own marriage, a letter arrives from Peeta as well to soothe those. I pocket it and save it for a private moment. I barely manage it with the festival still ongoing, the noises of dancing and happy laughter a backdrop as I stand in a quiet spot, beneath a lantern as the day fades to evening, a brilliant sunset painted across the sky in his favourite shade of orange. I drink in the sight and then scan my husband’s words, smiling and blushing at the opening salutation:

My Darling Wife:

He continues, assuring me that he has arrived safely and fortunately timed, as his friend is most in need of Peeta’s assistance and is grateful for the pair of men who chose to accompany him. I smile at his descriptions of his friend, the farm on which they now labor, and even the men of Everdeen bringing songs from home to the new fields. Other words, however, concern me.

Nights are lonely without you, my pearl. The mattress here is too soft and wide without your warmth. The empty space beside me invites terrible visions. I sleep now in a more rough manner, as I did when my life was ruled by drum beats, the rattle of sabers, and musket fire. On the floor if the nights grow cold, outside beneath the stars and moon should they be balmy. Even then, the sight of the heavens keeps you with me, knowing the same stars I stare upon as I seek refuge in sleep watch over your own nights and dreams. It seems to help for now, as though the return to the routine of sleeping thus banishes the lingering effects of that life.

I close my eyes and send my thoughts across the miles to him, hoping he might feel that I am with him, caring for him, loving him, longing for his return. His words do little to soothe my fears for him as they carry such a sadness to them. Save for the final paragraph, which I know I shall read again and again over the coming days.

I can only hope that our parting moments have not tarnished your opinion of me. I acted in such a base manner, taking advantage of the night and our parting, succumbing to the temptation to treat you so. I beg a thousand pardons from you for my roughness. I am indeed the brute you accused me of, as I must confess that as guilty as I feel for my lack of gentility in those moments, I think of them near constantly, with a powerful fever in my blood. The effect you have on me…my wife, my love, precious pearl…Katniss, I cannot even describe it save to say that every ounce of me longs to return to you, to hold you in my arms and feel your breath upon my neck, your hands…well those I would wish wherever you choose to place them. And indeed, I even long to perhaps repeat our parting moments, albeit in a more gentle manner suitable to your comfort. For now, I must work and hope that I have not destroyed what fragile foundations we have so carefully built together. Until I return to you, I remain…

Your ever loving husband,

~Peeta~

He apologizes. He apologizes for a thing I cannot regret. A thing I think of near constantly as well, also with a frightening fever in my blood that I’ve no idea how to quench without him. I do not know how to tell him that I too am filled with longing. For him. For his return.

I feel as though I hold his very soul with this parchment, much as I do when I peruse his sketches. I envy his ability to so easily express himself and curse my own reticence to reciprocate. Even writing out I love you, Peeta angers me. So hollow compared to the picture he paints with the words in his letters. I crumple the thing into a ball and toss it to the flames.

That does no good in quenching the fever taken hold of me either.

I haven’t his gift for words and can only hope that my scrawled missives might convey my feelings back to him. They seem so paltry compared to his, my letters short scraps of news or remarks on the weather, the festival. I do not know how to convey the depth of my feelings on such thin paper. Not even the ink seems thick enough to carry the right tone, and yet he manages the feat.

The days proceed. Most days bring with them a letter from Peeta. Whenever they arrive, I savor them, drinking in his words, reading them three times or more, until I think perhaps I have an adequate response to send. Adequate but I fear not enough.

Each morning when I wake, I fight fatigue and nauseau. I request the ginger root tea and keep my theories to myself for now. I pass a day waiting for my courses that never arrive, and then another. I begin to hope in the absence – the absence of both Peeta and my monthly cycle – but heeding Madge’s counsel, I hold that knowledge close my heart until I can be certain.

In the meantime, I add his letters to my book, in place of his morning sketches. I dream of that night, and of all the others. That night for which he apologized. Apologized as though I could feel debased or shamed by what we shared. A thing that has led me to a sin most grievous, I fear. My hands now wander in the night as I dream of him and attempt to recreate his touch. He apologizes while I cling to the hope of certainty – the certainty of our happiness should I be correct in my hopes that I am with child. Some days it near destroys me, and then the post arrives.

My mother notes my tea preferences and smiles, soft and content. When my father asks her what has her so pink and lovely, she assures him that it is nothing. Simply the brightness of a fair morning and the pleasure of having two contnent daughters, a bountiful harvest.

After breakfast that day, she requests a moment of my time and embraces me.

“How late?”

“Nearly six days now,” I tell her and she kisses my temple.

“I will have Joe exercise Sagittaria for you.” I blush hotly at that. Johanna will surely know why, but I do not contradict my mother’s bidding. “In a few weeks, we will send for the doctor. Does Peeta know?”

“Not yet,” I tell her and she leans back to caress my cheek.

“Are you pleased?” I manage a nod and then bury my face in her bosom when she embraces me again. Now if only I could summon the courage to tell him how I feel. I should think it would be easier through ink and paper and yet I have had no success with it.

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

I huff angrily in the afternoon sunshine one day, tapping the end of my quill on the desk. Only four days remain in our separation and I have yet to write a satisfactory letter to him. Only the short, rather impersonal things one might send to a cousin or mere acquaintance. Worse, his grow more removed every day. It is as though he slips further away from me the longer I am unable to convey my feelings.

Madge walks by the open study door, her laughter clear and beautiful. Maysilee dances along behind her, singing a silly song, twirling and losing her balance, grasping hold of her mother’s skirts to keep from falling.

Such courage they have in acting as their true selves. Maysilee fears no judgement in her imaginings and games. She finds joy with no caution to temper it. And Madge… Even in her secrets and her scandalous affair, my friend found the courage to seize her desires. Such courage Johanna has in leaving everything familiar to her and building a life of her own, free of the shackles but also the security of her parents.

Such courage it must have taken Peeta to open his heart to me every step of our marriage.

I sit straight and gather my own courage. Perhaps I have not been as brave as I could wish, but I shall begin now. I can be brave with Peeta. He will not discard my heart carelessly. I think of all our nights in the kitchens, in front of the fire, beside the lake, and in the arms of their comforting memories, I write.

My Darling Husband,

This letter should have made its way to you a week past, and yet I struggled to find the courage to put my thoughts to words. I beseech you to sleep in peace, or have you forgotten my requirements of you? I would hate for your lack of caring for your own person to dim our pending reunion. Your apologies are unnecessary and rather insulting. I am made of stronger stuff, as you know. A brute in the night, as long as he has your gentle touch in the day, is nothing for me to fear and nothing for you to regret.

I read back over my words and blush. Fan myself as it has grown quite hot in this room. That is quite enough sentiment, I decide and charge onward with one of my more regular litanies of ongoings at home. I manage one more thing I likely should have mentioned in an earlier letter. A subtle hint that I have come to know his companion, Joe, quite well in his absence. I hear shouts in the hall and hurry to finish.

Until you return home to me, I remain

Your loving wife,

Katniss

“Katniss! Horses! In the lane!” Prim shouts, pausing in the doorway as I sign my name. She smiles at me and I stand. It is good to see this side of her again. Smiling and happy, eager to greet visitors. I am glad of it and leave my letter to finish sealing later.

“We are not expecting the Hawthornes yet, are we? Or perhaps Mr. Rory Hawthorne wishes one more chance to woo you before the season begins,” I tease and she shakes her head.

“Perhaps they shall visit in spring.”

I follow her giddy pace down the hall, as quickly as I can manage as I feel a bit ill at the moment. I rest a hand on my middle and will the feeling to abate. Through the window, I catch sight of man still mounted on a horse. His shoulders and back a familiar, broad shape, encased in a dark green coat. He removes his hat and my breath hitches at the blonde curls that gleam in the sunshine.

“Peeta,” I whisper and hasten my footsteps.

He is home! He is home early! My heart races as I grab hold of my skirts and overcome Prim, through the open doors. A chestnut prances nervously as he announces himself to the footman.

It is the wrong horse.

I halt and Prim collides with me. My smile vanishes.

“Ah! There she is! Mrs. Mellark, do tell these chaps that I am your brother now.”

“Sir Robert,” I manage to say and his strained smile smoothes out. It is then that I notice Delly on a mare at his side. I manage a curtsy to the pair of them.

“Indeed! We came ahead of the coach with our things. It should be here shortly. Surely my brother told you of our intent to visit?” he says and manages to steady his horse long enough to dismount, sweeping into a bow directed at me.

“He did not.”

“Oh,” Robert’s smile falters for a moment and then returns brighter than ever. “I did send word.”

I was almost married to this man. The thought leaps up and claims my attention, unbidden and strangely…unpleasant, and I cannot help but wonder if the last time I saw him, was he proposing to me from behind a mask of lies or was he kissing me from behind a mask of plaster and paint and more lies?

“Peeta is not here presently,” I say, the joy I felt only moments ago now cracks across my chest, in an unnameable mixture of emotions. My head spins and I feel slightly faint as I fight against the very real and evident feeling that I might disgrace myself and purge my stomach of its contents right here on the steps. “I have sent his post on to him.”

“Ah, then the news was lost in the time of transfer no doubt.” He turns to help Delly from her horse and then strides up the stairs and straight to my sister, taking her hand and once more bowing, clearly confident that he will not be turned away, despite the lack of notice. “The lovely Miss Primrose Everdeen, I presume. Indeed your sister has not exaggerated your beauty. Such lovely sisters, I feared my memory might have played tricks but lo! You are as radiant as I recall.”

The last is spoken directly to me, with eyes and teeth shining in a flattering smile. A traitorous flutter disrupts my pulse, although I manage to control it quickly. He still holds my sister’s hand. His wife only now joins us.

“Katniss?” Prim asks and I glance at her wide eyed expression.

“Sir Robert Mellark,” I manage to croak. “Peeta’s half brother.”

“Come now, we are family, Katniss! You will not allow me my fun? You must introduce me as his twin brother!”

I ignore his words and incline my head towards the door. “Primrose, please tell Sae that we have guests. Sir Robert Mellark and his wife.” She thankfully does not question, although the current of unease must be plain to her. She extricates her hand from Sir Robert’s and hurries inside.

“Yes! My wife. She claims to have met you before.”

“Indeed we have met. ‘Tis good to see you again, Delly,” I say and find that I mean it.

“We are not causing you trouble?” Delly asks with a lovely, happy smile that I remember quite well.

As much as this churning, confusing feeling inside me makes me wish to turn Sir Robert away, I know that I cannot deny Peeta’s family a visit, and I would not dream of being rude to Delly. She has done me no injury.

“No, of course not. It is only that Peeta will likely be gone another four days.”

“No matter! We will find plenty to amuse us in the meantime. I believe I caught sight of a harvest festival as we rode in?” Sir Robert says. I nod an affirmative and he offers an arm to Delly. “Excellent. I’ve not been to one in an age!”

“Then by all means, make yourselves at home,” I say, hoping that my words ring sincere, as I am not sure I can distinguish up from down as I follow the man I thought to marry and his wife into my home.

I pause in the doorway and turn back, holding one hand over my eyes to shield them from the sun, squinting through the light and the dirt. There is no other rider in the lane.

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

To be continued…Chapter 21 will post here on the @everlarkficexchange

#springtime edition #late submission #prompt 88 #M

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draw-you-coward · 5 years ago

Note

Three things he was jealous of and one others envied about him, for Ikael?

3 + 1 ask meme

thank you very much for this! i quite like how it turned out :)

ao3

If Ikael were to make a list ofbits of him he wished he could replace with bits of other people, he fears itwould be unending. Not because he can think of countless things, but because nomatter what, there would always be something.

And he’s had ample time to thinkabout… quite a few somethings.

~*~

They are in Amaurot. Thancred isstanding there, arms crossed, calm and confident like none of them are. He is ablaze of white in Ikael’s Light-clouded vision; a beacon of protection withblurred edges.

Ikael cannot make out his face withoutsquinting, and even then his expression is only an outline. He tells Thancredthis, tacking on a question, and Thancred nods and lets Ikael reach out with tremblingfingers.

“I just do not know how you canbe so put-together,” Ikael whispers at him as his fingertips ghost over thefaint creases under Thancred’s eyes. “But I appreciate it. I really do.”

“Someone has to be sure of whatwe’re doing.” Thancred’s words should be smirking, but when Ikael touches hismouth, it is set in a flat line.

He is right; none of them are sure,and so he has risen to take up the task. Because of this, Ikael says, “I thinkI am going to die.”

Thancred’s jaw beneath Ikael’s thumbtightens. It unclenches after a split second, no doubt because Ikael’s touch isseeking and sensitive, but he tucks the reaction under his heart regardless.

Thancred says, “And I say youwill not. As I said, someone has to.”

Ikael closes his eyes, althoughit does not make much of a difference, and hugs Thancred. He is hugged backtightly, strong and secure. Ikael says, whispers, breathes—“Thank you.”

He wishes he could believe what inThancred does. He wishes he could believe in himself.

~*~

Really, Ikael, Thancred hadsaid to him once, in a reassuring and somewhat placating tone, I neverdevoted that much time to my aethercraft studies. I feel foolish next to Y'shtolaand Urianger as well, you know.

Thancred is a damned liar, Ikael hassince decided.

It has been two bells. Two.Bells. Ikael keeps going back to Urianger’s kitchen to stress-bake more mini-pastries,and the three—the three—scholars in the living room that are the source ofhis trouble are consuming all of them without a hint of irony.

“But it is the information thatis stored in the runes.” Y'shtola is punctuating her words with excitedjabs at what is, in Ikael’s opinion, a boring, somewhat ugly stone slab withsome scribbles on it. “That such small things imbued with such littleenchantment can hold so much knowledge…”

She shakes her head, her sharp featureseasing in awe. Urianger nods sagely, holding up a finger as he prepares his verboseaddition. Thancred is watching with that particular expression of his that saysthat he is pretending not to pay attention or care about what is being talkedabout, but is in fact paying a lot of attention and cares very deeply.

“Verily, I understandeth now whythine findings in Rak’tika hath granted thee such zeal,” Urianger says. “Thelight of learning doth shine in thine eyes like a beacon, my dear lady.”

Ikael makes a face at a wall,rolling his eyes. No one notices; they aren’t paying attention to him.

“Charming words from a newly-charmingman,” he hears Thancred say in the background before he tunes their voices outand goes to check on the tea. The shining copper kettle toots pathetically athim. Ikael stares at it balefully.

“Sometimes I feel like the onlypeople that understand me are you and me, Tootoo,” he says.

Toooootoooo, the kettlesays back. Ikael gives it a sigh and a little pat.

When he returns to the livingroom to serve the now-famous faerie tea, it is to an odd sort of atmosphere. Y'shtolais smirking a little, Urianger looks, if Ikael would ever dare to attribute theword to him, almost smug as he settles into his armchair, and Thancred isadjusting his choker and… Is he blushing?

“Uh, tea’s ready,” Ikael says unnecessarily,laying the tray down on the table.

Thancred clears his throat, quickand polite. Ikael stares at him.

“Thank you, Ikael,” Y'shtola saysdemurely, some hidden amusement in her voice the source of which Ikael is notprivy to. “Come sit with us; I think we can all agree it is best if we switchsubjects to something more, ah…”

“Anything!” Thancred interrupts. Heclears his throat again. “Er… what about that coeurl of yours, Ikael? Is she doingwell?”

He smiles, all friendly lying teeth.Ikael keeps staring at him.

~*~

“No, really, your tail is sofluffy!” Ikael runs his fine-toothed comb through the fur once again, gently separatingthe strands that have clumped together. “I wish mine grew out like this.”

“I-is that so? Well, I’m… I’mflattered! And I… I think your tail is quite perfect the way it is, Ikael.”

G’raha’s face is turned away fromhim slightly at this angle, but Ikael can still tell from the flush creeping uphis neck and the twitching of his ears that he is embarrassed. Ikael coos athim, squeezing the base of his tail gently to calm him.

For some reason it doesn’t seemto work, but Ikael stops paying mind to G’raha’s reactions, narrowing his focusto his combing. The poor dear had tripped and fallen into a mud puddle andgotten his tail so terribly, terribly dirty. Ikael is sympathetic.

“I will lend you the oils I useto clean my tail,” he says. “And—you say you do not have any?—I will look forlong-furred blends in the market and get them for you. Now, there is a specificorder and process to this, G’raha! You have to do it correctly or it will notwork; I will help you.”

He stops combing to wag hisfinger knowingly, and then starts to push out the dried mud with his fingers; thispart he has reached is too matted to comb. Poor dear, Ikael thinks forperhaps the seventh time.

Still. If Ikael hadgorgeous soft fur like this, he would take extra special care of it. Hewould spend all of his money on it too—he has quite a bit now, because he hasbeen away from the marketplace for a while, and he is itching to spend it all.Oh! Mayhaps he can buy things for G’raha’s tail and treat it as if it were hisown. Yes…

“Thank you, Ikael, that is… beyondany length I would expect you to go to for m—for my tail.” G’raha ducks his head,ears dipping. Ikael hums at him—poor dear.

“No problem!” he says amicably. Hedoes not know why G’raha is acting so self-conscious, but he hopes he will notbe like this for too long. After all, this is the least Ikael can do.

~*~

Thancred is at a loss insituations like this.

Y'shtola is hiding her gaze fromhis, holding her arm with hunched shoulders and a lack of confidence that isjarringly unlike her. Thancred does not like it—she should never be this upset,and curse that damned Ascian for making her so—but he does not… know what to doabout it.

He knows what to do with Ikael,but Y'shtola is not Ikael. And neither is Thancred, as much as right now he wisheshe were. Ikael would know what to say, what to do. Would know how to comfortwithout stepping over any unsaid boundaries, would say the right words andsound more genuine than Thancred could ever hope to.

For a while Thancred was jealousof this in a bitter sort of way, but he feels nothing but shame for that now. Heregrets the biting feeling in his chest he used to have when he would see Ikaelgive affection—to Ryne, mostly—so easily, so instinctively. All he hasto do is smile and she lights up. All he has to do is hold out a hand and Thancredhimself turns to him like a flower starved of sunlight.

That part should terrify him,honestly. But it does not.

He steps forwards, never moreaware in this moment than he has ever been of the distance between himself andanother person. Y'shtola’s face turns towards him, and Thancred extends a carefulhand, says, “May I—”

“Yes,” Y'shtola replies quickly,before he can finish his sentence. Thancred’s superficially teasing smile is cutout by his relief, and he pulls her to his chest before their eyes make contact—howeverunnecessary that may be.

She is tense, but she… relaxes, Thancredthinks. He is too busy noticing how this feels, how different Y'shtola’spresence and form both are to Ikael’s. The ties on the back of her dresscriss-cross over her bare back, exposing it, and Thancred wonders for a strangeand guarding second whether Runar has ever held her like this, touched that bareand defenseless skin.

The thought causes him to strugglewith the very weird urge to… offer her his coat or something, so he says todistract himself, “You know, you’re not that much shorter than Ikael.”

It is probably the wrong thing tosay. Y'shtola stills for a second, then replies in a decidedly flat tone, “Yourpowers of observation never cease to amaze, Thancred.”

Her head is remarkably close to Ikael-hugging-head-height.Thancred eyes her furry white ears as they twitch and fall lax, a thoughtcreeping up on him.

As if she can sense it, Y'shtola starts,“Don’t you dare—”

Too late. Thancred scratchesbehind one ear playfully and lightly at first, not wanting to risk her wrath. Y’shtolatenses once more, but then she melts into him with a quiet, almost vulnerable sigh,and Thancred tries his best not to show his shock. He had never expected that shewould allow this level of intimacy from him—but he quickly adjusts, tighteninghis arms to a more comforting pressure and rubbing the base of her ears ingentle, circular motions that he knows Ikael at the very least likes very much.If Y’shtola is letting down her defenses, no matter how unexpected, Thancred isnot going to take the matter lightly.

“You are… very good at this,” Y'shtolamumbles into his shoulder, sounding somewhat surprised herself. Thancred makesa noncommittal noise.

“I am just doing what I do with Ikael,”he answers truthfully. “You aren’t going to cry on me now, are you?”

“Ah, never mind,” says Y'shtola. “Yourmouth ruins what your body has accomplished. Hmph. I am certain you are used toit being the other way around.”

Thancred’s rubbing hand stills.She has to know what she sounds like, she has to. But he cannot check tosee if she is smirking or not, with her head angled inwards like this. Which is…probably something she is aware of. Is she doing this on purpose? Thancred feelsas if she is.

“Unfortunately, myself and mylackluster abilities are what you have to depend on right now,” he decides toreply, matching her dry tone. “But if you want me to stop…”

He makes as if to move away, and herhand clenches briefly and tightly in his coat. Smiling privately, Thancred readjustshis arms around her.

Y'shtola’s head bows furtheragainst his shoulder. “… I hate you,” she mutters after a tired second.

Thancred presses his lips herhead, light and brief. Something in that gesture—the sheer meaning of it—makeshis heart hurt for a second, as the longing he had had to tug her close to himand hold her forever after she had fallen in the pit resurfaces and floods himwith the strength of a tidal wave. He closes his eyes, opens them, inhales deeplyand pulls back on the exhale.

Thancred is not different from Ikaelin how much he cares. Because he cares deeply. So deeply, so much thatit hurts. Sometimes, it feels like an ache in his chest that will never leave. Thancredcan never not be aware of it, so strong are the feelings in his heart.

But maybe Ikael can teach him howto be better at showing it.

~*~

#ikael #thancred #y'shtola #urianger #writing #drabble #shadowbringers spoilers #ty sm for the prompt!! <333 #glyphenthusiast #ask #what happened when the archons were in the living room is ... Undisclosed #let's just say thancred's choker was harmed in the making of this drabble

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sunkisse-s-blog1 · 6 years ago

Text

how skz comfort honey pt II

summary: maknae line found a gloomy honey.

pairing: honey and maknae line.

genre: fluff/angst.

eras: “I am NOT”, “I am WHO”, “I am WHO”, “pre Clé 1: Miroh” and “Clé 1: Miroh”, respectively.

notes: hey sweethearts, I am so sorry for keeping you guys waiting. but FINALLY!!! so, differently from part 1, I am putting the scenarios in chronological time. I might have disappointed by those “comforts”, but Honey is not someone who cries easily… so I tried to match both her personality with the personalities from the boys in my au (also their relationship). bye

Jeongin and Honey were at school, break time just started and the younger left to buy them sandwiches. Reminding himself that Hwamin only liked tuna or cheese sandwich, and it could never have any sort of greenery. She ended staying in their class, finishing her homework so she could help I.N later. What Hwamin didn’t expect, though, is to someone break the bubble she was involved, a sheepish touch on her shoulder. Usually, no one stayed in class during the break, which was the was the reason the maknaes from Stray Kids always made their very own picnic there. The one who called her was a petite girl, a few inches smaller than Hwamin. She was wearing the school’s long sleeves uniform, but Honey could see the long fingernails pricking her pale skin “Get out of Stray Kids” she demanded with a hoarse voice, accusatory. “You are fat and a whore, how could you think you can approach boys like that?” “W-What?” the pen propped stiffly in her hand dropped, as the gush of words came out from the other girl. “What’s the point of being pretty? We already have Hyunjin, you can’t even dance properly. Also, Jeongin was mine before you appeared” she hissed, moving towards Honey with a frightful look. Hwamin likes to think everyone has their own beauty. Deep inside, even the worst villains you could think might have a charm, something good. But, bright people also have their obscurity. Hwamin never spoke up to anyone unless she was joking around and the very rare times she got mad, she would lock herself in her room, until all those bad intentions were gone. However, a fury boiled in her with the saying of the tiny girl. “I’m sorry. But, firstly… Hyunjin isn’t a beautiful face. He is an immensely talented and kindhearted person. There’s no such thing as a beautiful face in our group, we are all truly capable of everything” she boomed, standing on her feet “Besides, Jeongin isn’t an object and no one owns him. Watch yourself before talking about people you don’t know, even more, if they are my friends… Furthermore-” a thunderous sound came from the class’ door, scaring both girls. “Hwamin” Jeongin wailed, running to Honey and taking her by her arm “Come here” he ran out of the class, the girl following him with struggle, trying to match their steps. They reached the school’s backyard, deepening, even more, their route, as they found a place outside the crowd of students “What was that, Nini? I was in a very one-sided argument, which I was surely winning” babbled the tawny-haired girl, stuffing her chest proudly. However, before she could proceed with her rant about how Jeongin should let her continue the little argument with the one she claimed a petty little girl, she felt a stiff but undoubtedly affectionate hug involving her "Jeonginie? What are you doing?“ her hands travelled to the boy’s back, dearly. “I w-was there the whole time, yet… I couldn’t protect you because I was so scared she might hurt you” he sobbed, snuggling his face against Hwamin “Just like before, I’m was too coward to p-protect you” Rubbing his back tenderly, Hwamin cupped the taller’s face in her hands, squeezing his cheeks “You are not a coward” she shushed him before he could ramble “You are the bravest kid I know, also you have the sweetest heart ever and could never hurt someone’s feelings, that’s why you remain quiet. Moreover, I’m able to protect myself and my boys at the same, I am a hero, aren’t I?” he nodded, glossy eyes and glistening streams of tears. Hwamin wiped off with the back of her sleeve, smooching his forehead gingerly. “I will grow to protect you someday, Minmin” “Mayhaps you will very soon, peanuts” she wrapped strands of his hair around her finger “Can we eat our sandwiches now? I’m starving” “Oh, I dropped them!”

Seungmin was uncomfortable. Counting with the fan standing in front of him, Hwamin was ignored three times in a row. Usually, it didn’t happen in fansigns. But ever since rumours started to appear about her, those unpleasant incidents became quite often. “Pardon me…” Seungmin tried to search for words, the fan looking at him with curiosity “I was wondering why are you skipping Honey?” “Oh” the girl answered nonchalantly, blushing red at his attention to her “I don’t like bullies” something boiled in Seungmin, his ears getting red from the sudden anger “I think…” he tried to maintain his composure “Bullies are the one who spread rumours about those they don’t know. And it’s even worse when you believe them” “Honey is a precious piece of our team. And I would appreciate very much if you start to spread true stories within our fanbase” he continued caustic, the girl now turning into a stuttering mess before leaving, flustered and all.

Later that day, Seungmin found Honey beaming, running around and humming. She used to be always like that, but the rumours got her to become quiet. Seeing her enjoying herself, clicked something in his mind "What about this repulsive behavior?“ he chuckled. "Nothing, it’s just something I found…” Seungmin ruffled her hair, leading the latter to giggles playfully “Don’t let rumours hurt you” “I did not!” “Yeah, yeah…”

Honey was swinging her legs in the air while she played on her phone, but a playful voice took her attention “Honie” she felt an extra weight on her improvised bed (lots of blankets placed on the floor of the waiting room) A filthy rumour started to spread on the internet, claiming that Honey bully the boys, mostly due to her pranks and jokes within the group. She usually talked down with them in variety shows, which was totally approved by the boys, they thought it was so entertaining. But, their new fans usually couldn’t get it as a joke, leading to rumours being spread. They were recommended to ignore, however, the boys could never really let that be. Jisung approached Hwamin gingerly, knowing how much the girl hated others worrying about her. “Hannie” she chirped, clinging onto him instantly “Where are the others?” “They went to the convenience store” he took the girl’s hand with his, caressing it with his thumb “But I told them you want a cheese stick” “Oh, you know me so well, Hanie” she beamed, teasingly. Jisung and Hwamin are known as a comedic duo, two dorks always joking and messing around. But, there are hours when they would just stare at each other, as their own special talk. “You look like a silly donkey” she jeered, joking. “And you are a dwarf rabbit” “That’s not even a thing, besides… You are not that much taller” “I still taller than you” “Congratulations at being the tallest dwarf” she rolled her eyes, punching Jisung slightly. “Yah!” His hands went to the side of her tummy, tickling the girl and pinning her carefully. Honey gasped, trying to get off from his torture “I’m w-warning you, Han Jisung” she stuttered, giggling. “I’m older, you can’t talk to me like that!” Jisung reminded her, although he was laughing just as much as the girl “I like when you are laughing as you mean to” “Uh?” “You are the kindest person I have ever met, Honie” the older squeezed her cheeks until she groaned of annoyance. Although she had a grin adorning her face.

“Hyunjin, can you stay behind Honey? They are saying that some creepy are taking pictures laying on the floor, and Hwamin is wearing a skirt today. Also, I have to take care of Jeonginnie, he isn’t feeling well” Chan whispered to Hyunjin at once, as the others rushed out of the car. Hyunjin nodded, taking his suitcase from their manager as he waited for Honey to get out. Honey had a patterned skirt embracing her figure, the scalding weather leading her to wear more of her little pieces of cloth, as Hyunjin liked to call it. “Hey” she glimpsed at him, sticking out her tongue playfully almost than instantly “Brat” Hyunjin flicked her forehead, waiting for the boys to line up, managers keeping their sides along with bodyguards. There was a huge crowd, both their fans and freaks, the latter just waiting to shoot every step of them. “I have never ever seen so many people in an airport” Honey quavered, trying to look unbothered. She hated those mini events because, although she could interact with their lovely fans, sometimes things went wrong. She never feared ghosts or spooky things, what genuinely makes her panic is pretty much every man with a camera, they all looked like stalkers to her. “Be careful” Hyunjin warned, almost reaching Honey’s hand. But he knew she would probably punch him right on his nose. However, the girl never heard him, and she really wanted to show something to Jisung, who was walking quite far from her "Don’t wanna” she sang in her mischievous tone, running playfully away from him. Then, everything happened like a shot. Flashes caught Honey unwarned and muffled screamings that got clear to her after a while.

“You are looking like a pig” “Jerk your hips, Honey” “Piggy thighs”

Honey felt an abrupt grip on her arm and before she could slap the soul out of the moron who dared to touch her, she recognized Hyunjin’s voice “I told to stay with me” he seemed pissed off in so many ways that Honey almost apologized “I’ll buy you ice cream if you hold my hand in a not disgusting way" Honey intertwined their pinky fingers, glossy eyes from the sudden overwhelming feeling, not even noticing the taller's face boiling crimson, being both flustered and pissed. He hated when those freaks ended letting Hwamin gloomy.

"Dummy” “Shortie”.

Nesting herself in a pile of silk blankets, Hwamin could feel as her lips started to bruise, biting them roughly so she could hold her will to burst in tears. It’s had been an awful day. She couldn’t keep herself from reading all the mean comments towards her, even though they became quite unusual nowadays. Perhaps, for hiding her bad feelings deep inside, everything now seemed like a trigger.

The boys were all gone. Honey recorded her lines before everyone so she could have her own little moment. Promising she would never cry in front of any member, Minho being her only exception.

“Honey?” a soothing voice called her, leading the girl to quickly wipe her tears away. But she still had tousled hair and puffy eyes. Causing Hwamin to hide her face, rubbing herself against the blankets, as she heard a cracking sound “Are you here?” he popped through the door, looking for the switch “Look what I found” his voice was almost a chirping sound, he seemed so bubbly that the girl snuggles herself even more in her duvets.

“I’m not here” came from a muffled sound. “Yes, you are” he sat on the edge of her bed “What happened?” Then, he heard sobs and his world crashed down. Hwamin was quivering slightly, as he could see by his poor lighted sight “H-Hwamin?” Felix turned the girl around promptly, just to find her puffy eyes filled with plump tears “Tell me what happened!” he could feel his heart pounding against his rib cages violently and he embraced the girl with his arm, stiffly placing her on his lap. “Why are they so mean?” the older didn’t have to hear further, squeezing her even further. “I got you, I’m here, you are safe with me” he whispered, placing a soft smoochie on the top of her head.

#10th member of stray kids #stray kids 10th member #stray kids imagines #stray kids #skz imagines #kpop additions

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onemilliongoldstars · 6 years ago

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a crown seldom enjoyed - chapter four

To maintain the fragile peace between north and south, Clarke of House Tyrell is sent to live in Winterfell as an act of faith between the two kingdoms. There, she is put under the protection of the first queen in the north, Queen Lexa of House Stark, Daughter of Wolves. A woman draped in steel and silver, wolves at her heels and rumoured to be a manifestation of the fury of the old gods; Clarke refuses to be awed be her quiet violence and cold smile. Instead of fostering unity, the meeting of the wolf and the rose lights a spark that spreads through the rest of Westeros, threatening to burn it to the ground.

4/25

clexa game of thrones au

read on ao3

Book 1: Chapter Four

Lady Clarke is something of an enigma to her. As her bannermen had drifted away, back to oversee their smallfolk and livestock, bored of the new arrival to the castle, they had stopped hosting feasts every few evenings. Instead, they eat at a long table in her private quarters several times a week. The lady had inched closer to her up the table, until she was only separated by a few people. At this proximity, Lexa can freely observe her without being accused of playing favourites, and she takes the time to watch the noblewoman. Her time is so taken up by affairs of the kingdom that she sees Lady Clarke only at mealtimes and occasionally catches glances of her across the courtyard. Aden provides her with regular updates, but he is more concerned with what they did rather than what the lady is feeling. At the very least the letters from her mother have stopped, which leads her to believe Lady Clarke did what she asked and wrote her.

The fair haired girl sits a few seats down the table from her, and has been pushing her food around her plate for as long as Lexa has been looking. Though she has fire when she and Lexa converse, Lady Clarke appears drawn and sad whenever Lexa catches sight of her at the table, or in the castle. Whenever she thinks no one is looking. According to Aden, Lady Clarke has managed to befriend Octavia and a woman from the blacksmith’s forge, but she cannot seem to find any happiness in Winterfell. Lexa imagines it must be very different to Highgarden, having never visited herself, and though she grew up in the cold of the north, eating rabbit and venison, she wonders whether Lady Clarke had a childhood different to her own.

“- and so, your majesty, the crop supplies will simply have to last until next year.” Beside her, Titus is talking, and she gives him a sage nod, as if she is listening.

Around the table, close to her feet, the direwolves sit. Honor is at her side as always, Patience lounging upon her feet. She lives up to her name, happy to wait for Lexa to toss a bone her way, rather than fight over it as her siblings Valour and Liberty are doing in the corner. She clicks her tongue and the two wolves break apart, still growling. Valour, victorious, snatches his bone up to gnaw it in the corner, while his sister whines and settles near Lexa’s chair. Faith, she has noticed, is at the other end of the room, closer to Lady Clarke’s seat and though she sits a good pace back, she is clearly watching the noblewoman closely.

The time drags on, Titus monopolising the conversation despite all polite attempts to dissuade him, and Lexa is so focused on Lady Clarke that she barely realises the sun is long set, the night drawing its dark curtain about the castle. With a slight clearing of her throat, Lady Clarke looks down the table at where Lexa sits at its head and says, quietly.

“I hope you’ll excuse me, your majesty. I am very tired.”

“Of course,” Lexa stands as Clarke does and it causes a flurry of movement around the table as everyone hurries to follow her lead. Lady Clarke stares at her in surprise, and Lexa tries to cover her embarrassment by nodding her head when the noblewoman curtseys. “Good evening, Lady Clarke.”

“Good evening, your majesty.” Lady Clarke steps uncertainly around Faith, eyeing her with caution, but the wolf merely watches her go with big, blue eyes and Lexa feels similarly enamoured, somehow unable to pull her gaze away from Lady Clarke’s departure. It is only when the door is shut behind her that she falls back into her seat, the rest of her table hurrying to do the same.

“How rude,” Titus mutters below his breath, and before he can say anything else, Lexa asks him.

“Titus, how is negotiation with the Iron Bank going?”

“The Iron Bank, your majesty?” Titus blinks at her in surprise. It’s not often that she wants to talk to him about their relationship with the largest bank in the known world, across the sea in Braavos, and he almost bites her hand off at the opportunity.

When their meal is over she stands, nodding to her guests and thanking them for their company. She watches them leave her quarters, but instead of retreating back into her chambers she steps out into the corridor. Lady Clarke’s plate had been left full, and the thought of her going to bed hungry and lonely drives her onwards until she is in the warm, cosy kitchens of Winterfell. The smell of the kitchens is warm bread baking, and wood fire, and a great meat stew cooking. It is as familiar to her as her own name- as the child of a lord for most of her life, not the heir to a throne, she had spent much of her childhood between the courtyards training and the kitchens begging for scraps. Her Master Cook Leanne looks up and at the sight of her frame in the doorway clears her throat. The rest of the kitchen staff startle up at the sound, and offer her hurried bows as she moves inside.

Leanne waves a hand at them. “Carry on,” Meeting Lexa’s eyes, she smiles and bobs a small curtsey. “What do we owe the pleasure, your majesty? It’s been some time since you visited.”

Lexa thinks of tugging on Leanne’s apron strings and feels a pang of heartache. “It has, I’m sorry.”

Leanne shakes her head, goes back to kneading bread as they talk. “You’re busy now, your majesty. What can I do you for?”

She hesitates, wondering how to explain. “I am… concerned about Lady Clarke.”

“The Tyrell lady?” Leanne’s eyes run over her, curiously. “Yes, she sends back everything I give her almost untouched. I’ve tried everything- venison, beef, mutton- she’s havin’ none of it.”

“She is sad,” Lexa only feels comfortable admitting this to the woman she has known for so many years, with only loyal ears around her. Though it is no crime for Lady Clarke to be sad, there is something telling about her concern for her feelings. “I think she’s not eating because of it.”

“Mayhaps you should try to make her happier then, your majesty.” Leanne suggests, with a raised eyebrow and Lexa sighs.

“I'm trying my best but I can't do that if the girl starves to death.” She casts a hopeful glance to Leanna, whose eyes run up and down her curiously.

“You want something to give her.”

“Please,” Lexa’s shoulders sag with relief and Leanna thinks for a moment, kneading the dough beneath her hands with rigour.

“Lemon cakes oughtta sweeten her up,” She gestures to one of the kitchen hands, “Freddy, a plate of lemon cakes and a cover.”

“Yes, that's a good idea,” Lexa can feel her lips turning up in a smile.

“I'll have Freddy take them up your majesty.”

“No,” The word is out of her mouth before she can stop it and under Leanna’s gaze she feels compelled to continue. “No I mean, I can do it.”

Leanna’s eyebrows shoot up and her chest rises as it does when she's preparing for a lecture. “You certainly may be capable of it your majesty, but it's not your job to-”

“I know, I mean-” She draws in a deep breath, “I want to.”

Leanna looks at her for another second, before nodding and reaching for the plate to pass into her arms. She accepts it gratefully, fumbling for a moment until it is steady and making her way to Lady Clarke’s rooms. They are up the spiral staircase, at the very top of the east tower. Lexa chose them personally, as the warmest rooms in the castle they offer the most protection from the northern winds, the hot springs warming the walls. A luxurious suite of rooms had been set up for the Lady of House Tyrell, with heavy fur pelts and beeswax candles set about the rooms. At the top of the stairs, Lexa find Octavia Snow stood beside the doors. The girl plays with her dagger absent mindedly, until she spots Lexa and startles to attention, sliding the dagger back into its scabbard on her thigh.

Lexa hesitates, unsure how to approach the girl. She is well trained, and keen to prove herself- or so Indra says- but most valuably she owes Lexa her life, and so it was on Indra’s recommendation that Lexa had appointed her to protect the Tyrell girl. Though the castle is safe, there is many who still bear ill will to the southerners.

“Your majesty,” Octavia bows so low that her nose almost touches the ground. When she leans back up again, her eyes flicker curiously to the platter in Lexa’s hands. “Can I be of service?”

“I…” She isn’t sure how to explain herself, isn’t quite sure how she even arrived here, but the platter is heavy in her arms. “I brought these for Lady Clarke. I was hoping you could deliver them to her.”

“Deliver them to her, your majesty?” Octavia’s brows are furrowed, obviously unsure why Lexa would walk all the way up these stairs to not give her gift in person.

“I must… attend to other matters,” Before Octavia can see any further through her mask, Lexa shoves the platter into the girl’s arms, and marches back down the stairs at a pace that brings sweat rising to the back of her neck.

---

The mare before her is a docile, gentle beast. With a coat speckled with brown and white, and a long mane and tail, she looks nothing like her lithe, white mount from Highgarden, but as Clarke circles her thoughtfully, she admits that there is something in the horse’s stance and gaze that is pleasing to her. The mare whickers softly, and she smiles, pausing near her head to stroke a hand down her long face, laughing when the mare nuzzles at the folds of her cloak and mouths at her hair.

“She’s hopin’ for an apple,” The stable boy supplies, and Clarke’s fond smile doesn’t leave the horse. There is something about her that is warm and comforting in the heart of the frozen north, and she rubs at her nose apologetically.

“I’m sorry I can’t be of any help, perhaps next time.”

“Is the mare acceptable, m’lady?” The stable master asks gruffly and she nods once, deigning to look over at the tall man.

“Perfectly acceptable,” She admits, hands reaching to rub between the mare’s ears. “She seems to be of great stock.”

“She is,” The stable master reassures her, patting the horse’s flank affectionately, “Bred from one of the queen’s own warhorses.”

“Really?” She is impressed despite herself, gazing down at the horse’s strong legs and back. The mare doesn’t like her inattention and swings her great head around to nuzzle at her ears and face again, snorting. Clarke laughs, rubbing at her nose again. “Alright, you impatient beast.”

She nods to the stable master, “Have her saddled and ready for me promptly, I’d like to see how she handles.” Glancing back at where Octavia waits a few paces away, she rolls her eyes and adds, “And I suppose you ought to have a horse saddled for my guard, as well. It doesn’t seem fair to make her keep up on foot.”

Octavia gives her a painfully false smile and says, her voice too sweet. “Very kind of you, my lady.”

They wait as the horse is readied, Clarke sending a boy running to her room for her riding gloves and a warmer cloak, and the activity around them bustles, horses led out into the courtyard, saddled with fine leather and gleaming as if they have just been newly brushed. Clarke watches them all, her annoyance rising as the boy returns with her cloak and Octavia helps her shrug into it. As she pulls on her gloves, she catches the arm of the stable boy rushing past and has the pleasure of seeing his eyes widen at the sight of her.

“Boy, where is my horse? I asked for her to be saddled an age ago.”

“I- I’m sorry, m’lady, the horses are being- I mean to say, not your horse but other horses-” The boy stumbles and trips over his words, his cheek darkening under her unimpressed gaze.

“Spit it out,” She demands, after listening to him garble for a few moments, but the voice that answers her comes from behind, and is infinitely smoother.

“I apologise, Lady Clarke, the fault is mine.” Clarke turns, so startled that she almost jumps, and her breath catches in her throat at the sight of the queen behind her. Queen Lexa is dressed in a dark jerkin, embroidered with silver wolves, and diamond pins glitter in her hair, keeping it pinned neatly out of her face. Her cloak sits about her shoulders, dark with fur lining its edges, and a single dagger strapped to her side are the only weapons Clarke can see. To her side stands Aden, who is smiling at her welcomingly, but his friendly presence is sharply contrasted by Lady Anya, gazing down at her with cold eyes from the queen’s left. Several direwolves linger at her feet, in grey and black, but the white wolf is nowhere to be seen.

“Your majesty,” Clarke bends her knees just slightly, her curtsey more of a dip than anything else, and keeps her eyes on the queen. Though their interactions have been few, she isn’t sure how to act in front of the queen in light of the lemon cakes Octavia had delivered to her only a few days ago. It had been startling, and Clarke had almost wondered if they were poisoned, before tossing the ridiculous thought aside. The gesture, though thoughtful, had sat strangely with her and she’d eaten the treats with a mixture of delight and disgust that made her stomach curdle. Despite her initial joy at having her favourite meal presented to her, further thought, alone in her tower, had left her wondering at the queen’s kindness and by morning she had almost convinced herself that it was a plot to undermine her in some unseen way.

Regardless, since their conversation in the library, the icy tension between the two of them had eased just slightly.

“I called a hunt, you see,” The queen is explaining, and Clarke forces herself to focus. “It will have kept the stable boys all very busy. You there,” She calls out to one of the stable boys pleasantly, and the lad snaps to instant attention, bowing so low that he almost prostates himself in front of her. “Fetch Lady Clarke’s horse at once, it is the priority.”

“Of course, your majesty,” He takes off at a run and Clarke watches him go in amazement.

“You are welcome to join us on the hunt, Lady Clarke.” Lexa offers, kindly and Clarke startles at the words, her brows creasing.

“Oh I- no, no thank you. I do not enjoy hunting,” Her nose wrinkles a little, “While I appreciate the boar on my plate, I take no pleasure in seeing it run down and slaughtered before my eyes.”

The queen’s mouth seems to twitch in amusement, but she bows her head before Clarke can fully read the expression. “That is fair.” Her attention turns away as Clarke’s horse is led out. “Ah, is she to your liking?”

“Yes,” Clarke admits, reluctantly, unable to stop reaching up to touch the mare’s nose when the animal immediately begins nuzzling at her cloak and hair in search of treats. “I’m afraid I’m as empty handed as I was before,” She tells the horse, who ignores her entirely.

There is a soft laugh, and it takes a moment for Clarke to realise it is coming from Lexa. It seems almost incongruous to her personality that she should laugh so beautifully, and the thought makes her cheeks flush.

“I think she is searching for this.” Lexa produces an apple from the pouch at her side and passes it over into Clarke’s surprised hands. The mare whickers and immediately begins to crunch at the treat, spraying juice everywhere.

“Thank you,” She offers, haltingly and the queen simply shakes her head, turning as her horse is brought forward.

“It will do him good not to have any further treats from me,” She looks at the horse with an affection that Clarke has not yet seen before. “The stable master is always telling me I shouldn’t feed him so,” She rubs at the horse’s flank tenderly, “Or he will get so large he’ll look like a broodmare.”

Clarke smiles despite herself, and nods. “I think she appreciates it.” She says, as the mare finishes the apple and immediately begins searching her for more.

“Unfortunately that is all I have,” Lexa swings herself onto her horse, and Aden moves forward to place a hand on the horse’s flank.

“If Lady Clarke will have me, I think I should like to accompany her on her ride today, sister. If you will excuse my presence from your hunt.” Something passes between the siblings, an expression that Clarke can’t quite identify, before Lexa nods.

“If Lady Clarke would like your company on her ride, I think we can do without your skills.”

Lady Anya snorts from her place on her own horse, and Aden gives her an irritated look. Clearly, his absence will not damage the Winterfell stores too much.

“What do you say, Lady Clarke? I can show you the ruins of the old Holdfast, where the stained glass window still stands.” Aden offers her a charming, wide smile and she can’t help but nod at the sight of it. Aden beams, “Excellent, I will get my horse and we shall be off.”

“We shall,” Clarke watches him go with amused amazement, before she turns back to the queen. “Happy hunting, your majesty.”

“Thank you, Lady Clarke,” The queen dips her head in acknowledgement, clicks her tongue, and her horse falls into a quick walk, wolves trotting along by her sides. At the sight of her leaving, Lady Anya follows behind, and the rest of the mounted knights and squires, and Clarke is left in the eerily quiet courtyard.

---

“Why my lady, you must learn the rules of this game or you will lose all of your family’s fortune,” Raven Reyes grins at her from over the table, happily scooping up her winnings from their game of dice and Clarke regards her with annoyance, glowering at her smug expression.

The inn is warm and spinning just slightly, filled to bursting with the folk of Winter Town. Clarke is grateful for Octavia’s presence at her side, her hand on her sword, because she can feel the gazes of the smallfolk lingering on her, the leering of some of the men, and the women too. They watch her jewels, the movement of her silk dress and the purse at her belt, and it is only the crest of the queen at her side that keeps her from being robbed at knife point, she is sure. The mead in her blood keeps her from worrying too much about it, instead she is frowning at the blacksmith’s apprentice from across the table, watching her gold be scooped away.

“Another game,” She demands, her speech slurring just a little, but Octavia is at her side in an instant.

“No, my lady,” Octavia insists, “It is long past time that we returned to the castle.”

“Come on Snow,” Raven gives her a smug smile, “I’m paying for a new cloak with this money.”

“You don’t need a new cloak,” Octavia snaps, furiously, and Raven rolls her eyes.

“Wealth is not about need, it’s about want- isn’t that right my lady?”

“Exactly,” Clarke agrees, absent minded, as she collects the dice to roll again. They fall from her palm with a clatter, but Octavia snatches them up before either woman can see the numbers. “Snow-” Clarke begins to protest, but Octavia cuts through her firmly.

“I am insisting, my lady.” She cuts a pleading, furious gaze at Raven and the blacksmith sighs, world weary, but her eyes dart out to the side and she seems to see something that Clarke cannot, because she nods.

“I’ll accompany you back to the castle,” She tells them as Octavia ushers Clarke out of her chair, a hand catching at her waist when she sways. Chivalrously, Raven steps up to her side and offers her an arm, but Clarke looks at the way she leans on her cane and shakes her head.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” She tells her, sharply and takes the girl’s arm to wrap it through her own.

There is a beat of silence between the three and beneath the mead Clarke feels vaguely ashamed that the two would look at her with such astonishment at the sight of a kind gesture. To cover her flushed cheeks, she starts to push their way out of the tavern and into the cold night air.

Her thick cloak keeps her warm, Raven on one side, leaning against her, and Octavia on the other and they walk in silence for a few moments, before Octavia asks.

“Why are you coming back to the castle, Reyes?”

“Perhaps I couldn’t get enough of her ladyship’s company,” Raven offers, offering a flirtatious smirk Clarke’s way, but the Tyrell lady only shakes her head, amused. She has long grown used to the blacksmith’s wiles. “I left a boy looking after the forge, I’m working on something new.” Her voice grows in excitement, before dropping again. “But I’m sure the damned creature will have let it gone cold in my absence.”

“What are you working on?” Clarke asks, with interest, and Raven looks at her curiously.

“I wouldn’t have thought a highborn lady would want to know about my work,” She tells her, surprised, but when Clarke’s expression doesn’t waver, she presses on. “I’m working on a new mechanism for our crossbows- a lever that will pull back the bowstring back rather than having to crank it. It will make reloading it faster.”

“But,” Clarke’s voice wavers just slightly, “Crossbows are only used in war, we are at peace now.”

“There’s always a threat beyond the Wall, my lady,” Octavia tells her, quietly.

“And peace can only last for so long,” Raven says, adding darkly, “Winter is coming.”

Octavia echoes back the Stark words, and Clarke feels a chill run down her spine, before Raven speaks again, naturally easing the dark tone back to something more cheerful.

“What are your Tyrell words again, my lady?”

“Growing strong,” Clarke says, and the words seem to warm her core. “They’re for the roses that grow around Highgarden.” The silence of the two women on either side of her, and the warmth that talking about her home brings ushers her to continue, “There are roses everywhere, sometimes the climbers grow through the windows and into the castle. The water smells of roses and the dancers who come to Highgarden wear dresses made of their petals.”

“Dresses?” Raven interrupts, “Made of petals? Sounds damn cold to me.”

The words pull a laugh from her as they pause for Octavia to hail the gates opened, and she explains once they move into the courtyard, “The weather is far warmer down in Highgarden. One needn’t even wear a cloak in the summer, and the dresses are rather more… revealing that they are here.”

“I can imagine,” Raven gives her another flirtatious smirk and she laughs freely. “You’re near to the sea, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” She answers eagerly, “You can get on a pleasure barge down the Mandler and be there in a day.”

“A pleasure barge?” Raven’s eyes light up with interest, “Perhaps we should visit Highgarden Octavia.”

“Of course that would spark your interest,” The guard rolls her eyes, before adding darkly. “I want nothing to do with the sea.”

Instead of teasing her, as Clarke has seen her do before, Raven only hums her understanding and untangles her arm from Clarke’s, giving a flourishing bow. “Thank you for your company, my ladies, but here I shall have to bid you farewell, for I can see that the boy hasn’t kept the forge alight. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” Clarke calls after her, laughing still and Octavia accompanies her into the castle. They walk in silence down the corridors, empty but for a few guards. Torches burn in the sconces in the wall, lighting up their way and Clarke feels dizzy and heady and certain that Reya will have to persuade her very kindly to get out of her dress, rather than simply sleeping in it.

The sound of footsteps is their only warning that they are not alone, before they turn a corner and find the queen walking towards them, talking quietly to her measter. Clarke feels Octavia straighten beside her, and her own footsteps stutter when she meets the queen’s surprised gaze. By the time they have met, the queen has schooled her features back into a pleasant mask of neutrality, but Clarke’s own mask doesn’t seem to be slipping into place as well as it usually does. They pause beside each other and Clarke bobs a curtsey, grateful of Octavia’s hand on her waist when she wobbles just slightly.

“Good evening, your majesty.”

“Good evening, Lady Clarke,” Queen Lexa echoes, curious eyes jumping over them. “You are up late.”

“As are you,” She answers, and feels Octavia stiffen beside her. The queen’s measter raises his eyebrows, dark eyes sweeping down her form with suspicion.

The queen only smiles though, tilting her head and saying with almost a sigh. “Matters of the country do not work to the beat of the sun and moon, I am afraid. Have you been… out of the castle?”

Clarke opens her mouth to answer, but Octavia’s elbow nudges her harshly and she shuts her mouth with a click, as Octavia says. “We’ve been for a walk around the battlements, your majesty.”

“I see,” Lexa’s gaze sweeps along them both again, and suspicion lingers at the edge of her gaze. “As always, Lady Clarke, let me know if there is anything I can do to make your stay here more enjoyable.”

“Actually, I-” The words spill from her mouth before she can stop them, the mead loosening her tongue enough, “I would like something to draw with. Some parchment and charcoals, if the castle has them.”

“Draw with?” The queen blinks at her in surprise, “I see. Of course, I’m sure that could be arranged.”

“Thank you, that would be… excellent.”

“Of course,” Lexa nods, the surprise bleeding away to be replaced by another smile. “I will see to that, goodnight Lady Clarke.”

“Goodnight, your majesty.”

---

The next morning, charcoals and parchment are delivered to her room, as requested and Clarke thinks of the lemon cakes. Overcast and rainy days in Winterfell keep her in the castle, but she entertains herself by dragging Octavia across half of the castle in search of a place in which the light is strong enough to draw by. Having the charcoals and parchment within her grasp make her fingers itch to sketch, and when the thin light streaming into her room proves unsatisfactory, she searches for another place to draw.

Measter Titus stumbles upon her in the hallways, and upon her insistent questioning eventually recommends the library between clenched teeth, clearly eager to see her on her way and out of his line of sight.

When she first steps through the thick door of the library tower, she thinks that she will find it deserted. Unlike Highgarden, where their proximity to Oldtown and luxurious library leads to scholars frequently descending on the castle, there is only Measter Titus in Winterfell, and so the library has been empty the few other times she has entered. Today, however, she startles as she walks to the table in the middle of the room and realises that it is occupied by a familiar figure, bent over scrolls and parchments.

The queen looks up just as her feet falter to a stop, and her surprised expression makes it clear that she had not heard them enter, so wrapped up had she been in her studies.

“Lady Clarke,” She does not stand, but offers a small smile and Clarke feels some of the tension ease from her shoulders.

“Your majesty, I’m sorry to have disturbed you.”

“Please, you didn’t,” Her eyes flicker down to the goods held in Clarke’s arms, close to her chest like a babe, and her smile grows, her expression warm. “You received the parchment and charcoals.”

“I did,” She looks down to them, somehow unable to face this soft, kind version of the queen. “Thank you, I’m very grateful.”

“I meant it when I said we wanted to make your time here comfortable,” Lexa tells her, quietly and Clarke nods again, “What were you looking for in here?”

“A place to draw,” She answers, honestly, and tilts her head to a large window, through which the daylight streams, “I was thinking perhaps there, but there is no surface.”

“Allow me to move this table closer to the light for you.” Lexa nods at the table she is using, and Clarke’s eyes widen, her stomach flickering with some unfamiliar feeling at the offer.

“Oh no, I couldn’t let you-”

“Nonsense, you must have somewhere worthy to test out your new equipment,” Over the sounds of her protests, Lexa beckons over Octavia and together the two of them lift the old oak table. Clarke can tell it is heavy by the way they strain and stumble a little to get to the window. She follows, feeling helpless and still protesting the move.

“But you were using this table, your majesty, I can’t take your workspace.”

“Well,” Lexa glances down at the parchments spread over the library table, and hesitates, seeming uncertain for a moment. “I will use one end, and you can use the other, if you do not mind?”

“No, no of course not.” The atmosphere between them is tense, just as it always has been, but the queen’s unexpected kindness has thrown Clarke into disarray, unsure how to respond to this strange side of the woman she thought she had come to know.

They sit together in the otherwise quiet library, working silently side by side. It takes a while for Clarke to truly forget that the woman is there, intensely aware of the sound her charcoal makes against the parchment, but as Lexa continues to work steadily, making notes from parchments, she begins to forget about the ruler on the other side of the table. There is a quiet camaraderie about the scratching of quills and charcoal against parchment, in a room where only the books and Octavia can see them, and Clarke soon finds herself lost in her work. It has been a long time since she was able to draw anything, and the peaceful activity reminds her so intensely of home that she feels a pang of loneliness in her heart which she tries to press away.

After a while, she begins to sense eyes upon her. When her gaze flickers up, she sees the queen’s fingers begin to scribble again, her cheeks darkening. For a moment, she gazes at the dark, bent head, and wonders whether she was imagining things, but when she turns back to her sketch again, she finds that after a while the sensation of being watched returns. This time, she keeps her charcoal moving, but glances at Lexa from beneath her lashes and finds the queen’s eyes set on her paper, watching with fascination as the image takes form beneath her fingers. She continues for several long moments, allowing her image to take a true form, and when she is happy with it- and is sure the queen’s eyes are about to fall from her head- she looks up and offers.

“Would you like to see it?”

“Oh,” Lexa flushes furiously, her cheeks heating at being caught and says, “I’m sorry Lady Clarke, I shouldn’t have been staring.”

“It’s alright,” She answers, honestly, and pushes the parchment her way. As if against her volition, Lexa’s eyes flicker to it. “You may look if you wish.”

“Thank you,” Tentative fingers reach out to pull the parchment closer, and the queen looks at it for several long moments, her eyes taking in every last detail, before she finally says. “It’s wonderful. Is it Highgarden?”

“Thank you,” She tries to ignore the way her cheeks warm under Lexa’s praise. “It is, yes.”

Lexa looks down at it again, her mouth opening as if she means to say something, before snapping shut again. She is silent, eyes roaming over the image. “It is an excellent likeness.” Their eyes meet for a second, and when the queen slides the parchment back across the table she says, quietly. “It is good to be reminded of home when you are far away.”

The words touch somewhere deep in her chest, and Clarke has to tear her gaze away, afraid that the queen will see the emotion in her eyes. “Yes,” She agrees, softly. “It is.”

---

#clexa fic #clexa #commander lexa #clarke griffin #fic #this chapter is a bit of a turning point for us

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