#Henry Air Conditioning Parts

[mrsevans90]

Puppy Love

Captain Syverson x OFC Emma Miller Part 1

Summary: Austin Syverson has returned to Texas after retiring from the military and starts his own contracting business. Syverson is used to being alone and thinks he prefers it that way. While at work he stumbles upon an injured and abused puppy. When he meets the new veterinarian in town, Emma Miller, he is immediately smitten with her. It turns out Emma has some baggage of her own. Will they be able to make it work? Or is it just a case of fleeting puppy love?

Pairing: Henry Cavill as Captain Austin Syverson x OFC Emma Miller 

Word Count: 3,502

Warnings: Abused animal, domestic violence, stalker ex-boyfriend, mention of nightmares/PTSD, smut in future chapters.

MINORS DNI! Must be 18+

I do not authorize any copying/pasting, stealing of my work, or using my words as your own. 

This story is not beta’d. All mistakes are my own.

A big thanks to @shellyshellshell for encouraging me to write this story!

A/N: I am an imperfect person who makes mistakes. All that I ask is to please be kind and if you enjoy it then please comment and REPOST! I appreciate any love, comments, and reposts more than you could know. Thank you for reading! 

*Syverson POV*

It’s certainly difficult to leave the cool air conditioning of the house to head to work when the weather forecast predicts another scorching Texas summer day where the humidity makes your clothes immediately stick to your skin. It’s nothing I’m not familiar with having grown up in Texas my whole life and then spending two tours in the desert before returning home. You’d think I would move somewhere cold, but the south is all I know. I certainly couldn’t leave Nana and Pawpaw either. After finishing my last tour, I came home and bought an empty house in disrepair and spent the better part of a year ripping it to studs and rebuilding. I was really struggling with returning to civvy life after spending the majority last ten years in the sand pit. Originally, I had just planned to fix up my house so that it was comfortable and hell, livable, until I discovered what I wanted to do outside of the army. Remodeling my house taught me that I really enjoyed working with my hands and building things. I guess you could say taking a broken, outdated home and making it beautiful and functional again really resonated with me on a deeper level. I was lucky to leave the army with only some mild PTSD and nightmares. Hell, I had all of my limbs and was alive which is more that I can say I deserve. Staying busy helped me cope so after working towards getting my contractor’s license, I decided to start my own company, Syverson Contracting. It was still a small operation with only about seven employees including my cousin Alex, but we got by just fine.

After getting ready for the day and sipping on my cup of coffee on the porch with my German Shepard, Aika, I put my boots on and headed to the truck for the first day on a new worksite. Like usual, I called Nana on the way to work to check in. My grandparents lived about fifteen minutes away from me, but I still called to check on them every morning and make sure they’re doing alright. As I drive, Nana starts chattering all about how her friend’s granddaughter is single and I should be looking for a good woman to marry and settle down with. We’ve had this conversation umpteen times before but I can’t seem to get it through my stubborn grandmother’s head that it’s useless. I’ve been burned by too many women in the past as a young and naïve man and I just don’t want to bring someone into all of my problems. Yes, I go to therapy at the VA to help with my PTSD but it still doesn’t stop the sleepless nights and nightmares that immediately send me back to wartime in the desert. As much as I’ve always wanted a partner in life; a beautiful wife to come home to, a couple of kids and the proverbial picket fence, I just don’t see how it could be in the cards for me now. I’m too fucked up. Nana of course would never understand and I certainly don’t want to drag her into it so I just listen to her drone on and on about some chick named Susanne and then tell her that I’ve got to go.

After speaking with my team and giving instructions for the job, I went to Alex’s flatbed truck and we all started unloading the materials. The home we were working on was owned by a young couple expecting their first child. It was a simple job, replacing the flooring throughout the house, building a shed in the backyard for lawnmowers and other garden tools, and repairing some dry rotting siding near the fireplace. The great thing about my team is that I could get them started and didn’t have to micromanage them. After several hours in the walloping sun, we all broke for lunch. After cooling off and reenergizing at the local Wendy’s, we all headed back to the house to continue our work. Since I was used to being in these weather conditions, I decided to head out toward the edge of the woods in the backyard and start building the garden shed. When I went to lift up some of the plywood, I was beyond shocked to find a shaking and filthy little tan dog who appeared to be injured and terrified.

“Shit. Heya buddy, I ain’t gonna hurt you. It’s alright pal. Let me take a look atcha.”

As a true animal lover, I was immediately enraged. Someone had intentionally abused this poor defenseless animal and either abandoned it or it was able to limp off to the woods. The little male pup, couldn’t be older than a year was bleeding from four different wounds on the side of his sand colored body. The second I scooped him up, he was whining and cowering in fear.

“You’re alright little man. I’m gonna take care of ya. Let’s see if we can getcha to a vet.” I call Aika’s vet office and unfortunately there is no answer. Janet must still be taking her lunch break.

I see Alex walking outside to grab some of the flooring to bring inside and yell for him to come here.

“What’s up, Sy?”

“Just found this little guy beat to hell by the woods.”

“Jesus. What kind of bastards do that to an animal?” Alex ponders as he was looking at the injured and sick animal. 

“I’m gonna see if Dr. Robinson’s in. Hopefully I can get the little feller in today but I need you to run the site until I get back.”

“No problem, Sy. Didn’t she just have another kid? I’m not sure if she’ll be there but I know Jessica said something about them hiring a new vet so I’m sure someone will be around.”

The veterinarian’s office was only a fifteen-minute drive from the site so after giving the poor thing some water, I loaded him up and drove there.

On the ride over, he seemed to relax a bit and not shake as bad as he had been and I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

“Oh Austin! How good to see you! Did your Aika have an appointment?”

“Hey Ms. Janet, is Dr. Robinson in? It’s not for Aika. I found this guy by the woods and he’s been hurt something awful.”

“Heavens to Betsy! Poor little angel! Elizabeth is out on maternity leave but we’ve hired a new vet. You'll like her. Let me check with her and see if she can work you in.”

“Yes ma’am.”

A few moments later, Janet scurries back and directs me to an exam room with the little guy. I guess I could have just dropped him off and went back to work but my heart just couldn’t stand it. Hell, I fought to bring back Aika from Afghanistan because of how quickly I fell in love with her and she’s been the best dog ever. I can’t imagine leaving this little guy to potentially die from his injuries without a friendly face nearby.

*Knock Knock!*

The door opens and my heart stops at the same time. The most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen enters while carrying a clipboard and a stethoscope. She’s a petite little thing only reaching to my shoulders with long blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail, and crystal blue eyes that feel like they see straight to my soul.

“Hi, I’m Dr. Emma Miller. I hear you found this little guy in the woods?”

“Uh, yes ma’am. Hello there, I’m Austin Syverson. Yeah, I uh, I found him and he looks like he’s been abused.”

She smiles brightly and shakes my hand when I introduce myself and the moment I touch her soft skin, I can hardly think straight. Why the hell do I feel so jittery? It’s just a beautiful woman Sy. Get ahold of yourself. I tell her exactly what I found and she quickly starts examining him while speaking to him in a sweet voice.

“Hi sweet boy. You poor thing! I’m so sorry someone has been treating you so horribly. We’re going to take care of you, yes we are. You’re going to be good as new! I’m going to give you some fluids because you’re dehydrated little guy. Once we get some fluids in you, I’ll try giving you some food. How about that little man?”

I can’t help but smile as she baby talks to him while inserting an IV in his tiny arm and starting him on fluids. She examines the wounds more carefully before retrieving a pair of things that look like tweezers.

“If I had to guess, I would say this guy is about 10-12 months old. I suspect these wounds on his side are from a BB gun. Would you mind holding his head? I’m going to give him some pain relief in his IV to help him relax and then try and clean the area and see if I can remove them. We’re a bit short staffed at the moment with Dr. Robinson out and two of our techs calling in sick so I’ll need your help if that’s okay?”

“Fucking BB guns.” I murmur under my breath. Damn some people are just the worst.

“I’m happy to help.” I tell her quickly and take up residence next to the puppy’s head to hold him still.

“Thank you.” She replies quietly while concentrating on rubbing some brown cleaner across each wound.

I can’t help but watch her as she focuses on removing all four bb’s and placing them into a metal bowl. She’s so effortlessly beautiful and incredibly adorable as she works on the dog who seems to be feeling so much better with the medication and fluids that he has received. She sews up each wound quickly and efficiently. The pup seems to be almost as captivated by her as I am. When she’s done, he even attempts to wag his tail for her. Dr. Miller explains that he will need a flea and tick bath before she can dress the wounds because he has several fleas on him and she doesn’t want them getting into the incisions.

“Mr. Syverson, I hate to keep you from your day. Would you want to just come back for him in a little while? I have to do an exam on a yorkie with diabetes but then I’ll bathe him on my break and get his wounds dressed.”

“Sugar?” I ask.

“I’m sorry, pardon?” She responds a bit flustered.

I smirk as I see the blush tinting her cheeks. “The yorkie. Is it named Sugar?”

“Oh! Yes! Someone you know?”

“My grandma’s neighbor, Mrs. Clayton, has a yappy little yorkie named Sugar and I believe I overheard that it has diabetes.”

“Yes, well that would be her.” She smirks back.

“I don’t mind waiting with the little guy. Is it alright if I stay and help you bathe him? Since your short staffed and all?” I ask with my most charming smile.

Her beaming grin tells me all I need to know. “Sure, Mr. Syverson. Can you give me about twenty minutes?”

“Only if you’ll call me Austin or Sy. Mr. Syverson is my pawpaw.” I say with a grin.

“Alright Austin. I’m going to leave you with some wet food on the table for this little fellow, but can I trust you to only give him small amounts slowly? We don’t know when his last meal was so we don’t want to overwhelm his belly.”

“Yes ma’am.” I mock salute at her with two fingers and she giggles when she leaves the exam room. I swear the moment she did I was a goner. I need to find a way to hear that giggle more.

“Well little guy, it looks as though we are helping each other out, huh? You ain’t the only one broken and battered.” I say as I give the dog a small plastic spoonful of wet dog food that he almost swallows hole.

“What should I call you?” I hypothesize aloud while the pup continues eating sloppily from the spoon I’m holding.

“Since Dr. Miller here patched you up, how about Miller? We can call you Mills for short. What do you think about that? I like it.”

Emma finally returns to the exam room and is happy to see that the Mills has eaten the food I gave him and kept it all down. Due to the food, medications, and fluids he received you can already tell a slight difference in his demeanor.

“Let’s get you all cleaned up, shall we?” She says while carefully picking him up and carrying him to the back of the building before pausing. “You coming, Austin?” She asks.

God, I hope I will be soon. I think before I rush over to open the exam door for her and follow her to the back.

“You know, I’m breaking rules by letting you back here so don’t make me regret it.” She says to me teasingly as she carefully sets Mills into a large stainless-steel sink and begins to bathe him with medicated shampoo.

“You don’t have to worry about me, Dr. Miller.”

“No, if I have to call you Austin, you have to call me Emma. It’s only fair.”

“Well, Emma is a beautiful name so that will be easy. If you don’t mind my asking, where are you from? We haven’t had a new vet in town since Dr. Robinson came and that was probably ten years ago.” I watch as Emma carefully removes three ticks from his fur and want to outwardly cringe. Ticks are the devil’s bug.

“I’m from Alabama. I’ve only been in Texas for about a month but just started working in the office this last week.” She tells me as she very carefully continues to clean Mills.

“What brought you all the way out here? Did your husband get transferred out here or something?”

She side eyes my question with a smirk. “Nope, just the job. No husband or kids. No boyfriend either in case that was your next question.” She remarks sarcastically.

My stomach flips with excitement even though she caught on to what I was really fishing for.

“Well, I’m certainly glad you’re here. For Mills’ health needs of course.” I add quickly while gesturing to the pup.

“Mills?”

“Yup. Short for Miller, after the doctor who’s taking care of him.”

Her cheeks blush bright red as she runs a flea comb gently through his fur. “Well aren’t you just the charmer. I’m surprised Janet didn’t warn me about you. She’s been clueing me in on pretty much the entire town.”

“Ah, good ole’ Janet. She knows there’s no need to warn you about me. She’s known me since I was in diapers so that should tell you enough about my character if she didn’t warn you off.”

“That’s good to know. So, are you planning on keeping little Mills? Or are you wanting us to adopt him out once he’s all healed?”

“Oh, I plan on keeping him if that’s alright. As long as my girl, Aika, is okay with it I’ll keep him. Can’t imagine sending him off to a stranger after what he’s already been through.”

“Well, if your girlfriend isn’t on board with keeping him just let us know and we can see about arranging a foster for him until he’s able to be put up for adoption.” She says while stepping a little further away from me.

Girlfriend? Oh dumbass, you made her think Aika is your girlfriend.

“Aika’s my German Shepard. I don’t have a wife, kids, or a girlfriend either.” I said poking fun at her sarcastic comment from earlier.

Emma grins but just continues to rinse Mills off. She notices that one of his paws looks a bit swollen but she can’t find any cuts or wounds so she thinks it may just be bruised from trying to run from his abuser.

Once we get him dried off, I hold his head again for her to clean and dress the wounds on his side and I’m dreading leaving.

“So, I’ll need to see little Mills in 3 days to check his wounds and remove the stitches. I need you to clean and redress the wounds one time a day like I’ve shown you. I’ve got his medication and antibiotics here and a couple of cans of that wet food that you fed him earlier. I recommend continuing to feed it to him slowly so that his tummy doesn’t get upset. Nobody likes waking up to a dog throwing up or having diarrhea in the house. If he does okay with that food we can discuss increasing his food intake at the next appointment. Do you have any questions, Austin?”

“Just one. Can I get your number, Emma? You know, in case I have questions about your prodigy, Little Mills, here.” I add with a smirk.

“I’m sure you have the number for the vet’s office.” She smirks.

“That I do, but I’d like yours as well, please.” I ask with my most convincing smile.

“Alright, alright. Just don’t advertise it. The last thing I need is people like Mrs. Clayton calling me after hours.” She concedes with a giggle and I can’t help my boisterous laughter at the last part.

“Nobody wants someone like Mrs. Clayton calling them all the time. That woman would talk to a wall just to hear her own voice.” I hand her my phone and she quickly types her number and I save it under “Mills’ Future Mama” and smirk to myself.

I pay and make the next appointment for Mills and then head to the local pet store for a collar, leash, dog bed, and more dog food. Luckily, Mills sleeps on the ride home and I can’t decide if he’s finally realized I’m not going to hurt him or if he’s still drowsy from the effects of the meds he received. I head home and send Alex an update that I’ll be back at the site tomorrow.

When I get home, I bring everything inside before carrying Mills over to Aika and carefully introducing him. After the initial excitement wears off, Aika heads outside to the backyard and I’m relieved that she seems to accept him. She’s always been such a good dog so hopefully I can rely on her to show our little rookie around and teach him our routines.

I go about showering and eating dinner, but I can’t seem to get my mind off Emma. I obviously want to play it cool but she has infiltrated my mind to the point where I just can’t think of anything else. I know this is a bad idea but I can't stop myself. I decide to take a picture of Mills in his little bed and text it to her.

Sy: <attached image>

Mills’ Future Mama: I’m glad to see my namesake is adjusting to his new life. I take it that his sibling accepts him?

Mills’ Future Mama: Also, you’re lucky I opened that picture text. Typically receiving a picture from an unknown number is never a good thing 😖

Sy: Sounds like your mind is in the gutter or you have some seriously unhinged acquaintances, darlin. Aika has accepted him into the pack without hesitation.

Mills’ Future Mama: More like, men are nasty and will take any opportunity to send an unsolicited dick pic to even the most unwilling recipients. Glad you found the little guy. He seems right at home.

Sy: He is. You should come visit him sometime.

Mills’ Future Mama: Why would I do that when he’ll be in my office in three days?

Sy: Maybe to see his owner?

Mills’ Future Mama: I’d imagine his daddy will be the one bringing him back to my office though?

Sy: Alright then, how about I make you some dinner at my place? Say tomorrow at 5pm?

Mills’ Future Mama: Make it 5:30 and I’ll be there. Just know I’ll be sending your information to my best friend in case you try and murder me.

Sy: What type of people were you surrounded by in Alabama? 🤨

Mills’ Future Mama: I was actually in a super safe town. Just watch too many crime shows to make careless mistakes.

Sy: Smart lady. You can tell whoever you want, darlin’. I’ve got nothing to hide and I appreciate a woman who has some self-preservation skills.

Mills’ Future Mama: Trust me, I’m very skilled at many things. 😜

Sy: Damn woman, I’m trying my best to be a gentleman here. It’s not fair to tease me.

Mills’ Future Mama: Not teasing. Just stating facts. 🙃

Sy: Tomorrow can’t get here soon enough. Here’s my address. Any food allergies?

Mills’ Future Mama: Nope! I’ll bring dessert. I’m interested to test your cooking prowess.

Sy: You’re killing me.

Mills’ Future Mama: See you tomorrow!

Part 2

Taglist: @shellyshellshell @henryownsme @caramariehurst @beck07990 @mollymal

[t3a-tan]

Could we see the aftermath of James finding Tanner from that last story? What happens when he meets Oliver?

A loooot of emotions is what happens

Enjoy ^^

Word count: 3,560

First part

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“Oliver? Can you hear me? Over.”

Oliver heard his friend's urgent voice coming through the walkie talkie he had placed off in the corner of the living room. James had come up with the idea a few weeks ago to make communicating easier because a phone was pretty inaccessible for Oliver to use whilst living in the woods. With the walkie talkie the batteries would only need replacing every year, and they were close enough that the signal was just fine.

He picked up his cup of tea as he walked over to the device, pressing on a button.

“I can. Is something wrong? Over.” He responded, releasing the button and blowing onto the hot tea to help it cool faster before braving himself to take a small sip. He hummed contentedly at the taste. The leaves he was using now were some of his best yet, and he planned to keep some to oxidise more so he could have a stronger batch in the future.

“I found a kid. A kid like— a borrower. He…you should get here quickly. He's asleep now, or passed out, or something— but he was scared of me. Come over. Over.” James seemed to stumble over his words, unsure of how to explain the situation briefly enough that Oliver would get here faster, but also with enough information for him to understand the urgency.

Oliver bristled at his words, standing up straighter and pressing the button again to respond.

“I'll be there in 5 minutes. Over.”

He released the button and immediately got moving, placing his tea cup back down on the wooden coffee table, grabbing his jacket and putting his boots on quickly before leaving the door and whistling for Gail.

The buzzard immediately swooped down and Oliver kept his arm raised, feeling the air hit him as he was suddenly being lifted by Gail’s talons. He swung himself up onto the saddle he had made and gave her an affectionate scratch at her head before whistling sharply, telling her where she needed to go.

James had opened his kitchen window so that Oliver would be able to enter easily rather than having to traverse through the tunnels in the walls. Gail landed on the windowsill and Oliver hopped off and quickly hopped down the short distance to the kitchen countertop.

James was already waiting there, but all of his attention was in his hands. Oliver could feel the nervous bobbing of his leg as he sat and waited, and he wasted no time running over.

“James? I'm here. Bring your hands closer so I can see his condition, and tell me what happened.” He commanded softly, worried about how James had come across the child and why he decided it was best to bring them to his home. He didn't think James was thoughtless enough to kidnap someone, so there must be a reason.

James nodded and lowered his cupped hands towards the kitchen counter, biting his lip anxiously as he looked between Oliver and the kid.

“I was taking Henry for a walk, but then Henry started barking and fussing about something down an alleyway. I thought I heard crying or something so I went to check it out— and this kid was there. He said his parents are dead, and he was just hanging out near a bin, and I didn't want to leave him there to freeze or get attacked by something— Poor kid feels like ice…” He explained.

Oliver climbed up onto Jame’s palms, approaching the boy to assess his condition only to freeze. Is it..? Oh god.

“Tanner?”

Although the boy looked slightly different, his build and size was almost the same as when he and Sammy had gone missing…which was concerning, since it had been three years and the boy had hardly grown. His dark curly hair was longer and matted, in desperate need of washing and brushing but clearly he had had no access to such thing for a very long time. He was dressed in a long t-shirt that came down to his knees, which seemed like it should have been white but it was so dirty that it was almost brown.

On what parts of his body were visible, there were scars which Oliver knew weren't there before. And although most borrowers were thinner from a lack of nutrition, Tanner did not have the build of a borrower at all; he looked as if he wouldn't even be able to carry his own weight, let alone climb something. If James hadn't found him…Oliver didn't think he would have lasted much longer.

“Tanner? Your…your cousin?” James breathed, holding very still, as if held in place by Oliver's shock.

Oliver swallowed and nodded slowly, beginning to lower himself to crouch beside the curled up boy. His hand reached out and gently brushed across his cheek, tears springing to his eyes when his fingers actually met skin. He's real. Oliver's hands shook as he inspected his little cousin for any visible new injuries, and he was relieved that James managed to not bruise him.

His parents are dead. That's what he told James? So that means…Aunt Charlie died. How long ago? Was it recent, or around the same time that Uncle Harris was killed? What happened? Is Sammy alive?

James watched silently, seeing how conflicted Oliver's eyes were. He was clearly processing a lot of things at one time; no doubt ecstatic about his cousin's return, whilst also being concerned about what he hsd endured. James knew that both of Oliver's cousins went missing… and if only one was here then…he was sure Oliver had a lot of emotions happening at the same time.

“I…I want to wake him up… but he…looks so peaceful…” Oliver uttered, conflicted. It had been years since he saw Tanner, and in those years he had only been able to picture his cousins suffering or dead. Now that all felt like a very distant memory, and he just wanted to watch the boy sleep in safety and comfort.

Oliver looked up at James again, and James just nodded, knowing exactly what he was asking. Oliver let out a small sigh of relief and settled down on Jame's hands, sitting against his thumb with his arms folded on top of his knees, watching Tanner and still having to keep reminding himself that this was really happening.

An hour had passed before Tanner began to stir. James had stayed still as promised, only moving a little in order to give Oliver some reassuring pats on the back as they waited. They had been mostly silent the entire time too, though James was certain that he had heard and seen Oliver cry at one point when everything had finally hit him.

As James felt the faint movements against his palm his fingers twitched inwards slightly, anxious about how the boy would react to being in his hands still. Now that he knew that this child was Oliver's cousin, the pressure to not scare him felt even more intense. He watched as the boy slowly sat up and yawned.

Then his eyes opened.

James’s breath hitched when his eyes met Tanner's, instinctively lowering his head in an attempt to loom less over the borrowers sat in his palms. He opened his mouth to say something, only for the child to speak first.

“O-oh… A-am I your pet now…?” He asked timidly, beginning to tremble, not having even seen Oliver sitting just a few inches away yet. James and Oliver were both taken aback by the question— and especially the way he asked it. He didn't sound surprised and he wasn't fighting; he was just asking.

“Kid…no. That's…” James trailed off, shaking his head quickly. Luckily Oliver stepped in, seeing that James was having trouble finding the right words.

He shuffled closer without standing up, wanting to be at Tanner's eye level when they spoke. Part of him was hesitating, his heart racing at the thought of doing or saying something wrong. He paused for just a moment when he saw Tanner's eyes; black like a void; but he continued despite the questions the sight gave him.

“It's alright. You're safe…” That was the first thing he wanted to make clear; having no idea what kind of experiences his cousin had had in the past three years so not wanting to presume he would understand that just by recognizing him. Oliver brought his hands forward carefully, keeping them palm up and low down, gently taking Tanner's shaky hands into his own. He offered a small sombre smile.

“Do you remember me..?” He asked, unsure of how much he would remember. Oliver moved out when Tanner was only 5 years old after all, and although he tried to visit regularly he was sure that he must still feel like a stranger. Oliver's thumbs ran over the back of his smaller hands as he waited patiently for a response.

Tanner stared at him for a few seconds, and Oliver wasn't sure if it was because he didn't recognize him or if he was in shock seeing him again…especially in the hands of a human. He simply kept a smile on his face and continued to hold his hands; grip soft enough that he could pull away at any time.

James was silent as he watched the interaction, trying his best to keep any twitching at bay. He hoped he would just fade into the background, practically holding his breath so that the boy would focus on Oliver instead.

“U-um…your name is Oliver…” Tanner finally responded, his words coming out slow and shaky. Oliver watched with concern as black tears began to gather in his eyes, unsure if that was normal or painful or what it meant— he had never seen or heard of such a condition and he couldn't take Tanner to a hospital.

“A-are you gonna save me..?” The younger borrower asked, hiccuping slightly as his fingers weakly gripped tighter onto Oliver's hands. His tone took on a more desperate edge and he moved a little closer to his cousin. “F-from the human?”

Tanner turned towards James, staring up at him with trepidation.

Oliver baulked at the question, his eyebrows furrowing and expression becoming a mixture of surprise and worry. He could feel James's hands shifting from beneath him and knew that he was uncomfortable; only staying put because of the two people seated in his palms.

Oliver cleared his throat and stood up slowly, gently pulling Tanner to his feet too.

“Let's step onto the countertop, okay?” The best way to get Tanner to understand that James wasn't a threat was to show that. Oliver could insist that he was a good human as much as he wanted, but in this case it was better not to argue without knowing how Tanner would react. He might only get upset at his insistence.

Tanner gave James a wary glance before following Oliver, clutching onto his arm now as he moved off of the giant hand and onto the cold granite. He shivered, partially missing the warmth of the human's hands but reminding himself of what those hands were capable of.

James relaxed once he no longer had to keep still, and slowly put his hands into his lap, glancing at Oliver for some sort of signal of what to do. Should he stay or go? It didn't take long for Oliver to tell him what to do.

He looked up at James, giving a slight nod.

“James? Would you make some miso soup for Tanner? Fetch a cup of water in the meantime. I'm sure he's thirsty.” Oliver chose miso soup because, although he would love to give Tanner all of the fruits the boy could ever wish for, his stomach was almost certainly empty. Citrus was bad for an empty stomach… Soup would be easy to digest and filling. Not to mention it would help warm him up.

Tanner watched as the human stood up and walked away, latching onto Oliver tighter at first before relaxing as he realised that the human was obeying. He wiped at his eyes and looked up at Oliver, a spark of curiosity in his timid gaze.

“The human l-listens to you..? Why?”

Oliver tilted his head down at the boy with a reassuring smile, crouching down again so he was closer to eye level.

“Well… James is a nice human. He's my friend… he'll listen to you too, if you ask him to do something.” He explained. Taking his eyes off of Tanner for a moment, he looked towards James and saw that he was walking back over with some water. He held up a hand to signal for him to stop and James was quick to listen. Oliver shot him a grateful smile before looking down at Tanner, who was tense and shaky all over again, staring in James's direction with an owlish gaze.

“Is it okay if he gets close and brings the water over here?” Oliver asked. As expected, Tanner shook his head, crouching down himself and huddling into Oliver's side. James had to strain to listen to the conversation and his heart stammered when he saw the kid shake his head. Even so…

“I'll leave the water over here then, see?” James assured, placing the small cup down on the counter beside him, a few feet away from the borrowers. He also placed down two tinier cups that he had bought for Oliver to be able to drink more comfortably when visiting. With that done, James moved away again to boil some water.

Tanner perked up ever so slightly as he watched, unsure if going over to the water was a trap or not. He looked to Oliver for guidance and followed slowly behind him as the man began to walk towards the water, a hand brushing over his head reassuringly. He craved that kind of touch. It had been so long… it still didn't feel as familiar as his sister's hand though.

He peered at the glass, reaching out and pressing his palm against it, seeing his faint reflection in it. That made him smile, leaning in closer and poking at it. It had been a while since he saw himself…he almost forgot what he looked like. His eyes were different and gave him a weird empty feeling when he looked into them, but everything else was at least vaguely familiar to him.

Oliver picked up one of the doll cups as Tanner began to pull faces at his reflection, slight amusement creeping into his expression and mixing with sadness. He exhaled slowly from his nose to regain his composure and steady his shaky hands, before reaching up and scooping some water into the cup he was holding. He then offered it to Tanner.

“Here.”

Tanner looked at the cup warily, then up at Oliver. His hands fidgeted nervously and messed with the edge of the gown he was in, seeming conflicted.

“S-Sammy always tastes stuff first… she says when someone that loves you does that it makes the food or water better for you. B-but um…she says it only works if you're older.” He explained, tapping his blackened fingers together.

Oliver felt an immense amount of hope hearing Tanner speak about his sister in the present-tense…and simultaneously his heart ached as he immediately understood the real reason why Sammy would be tasting it first; to test that it hadn't been tampered with. Still, he nodded, bringing the cup to his lips and taking the first sip.

Tanner's expression brightened seeing him do that, and once the cup was offered again he took it and drank it hungrily, finishing the cup in only seconds. Oliver took the cup back and repeated the process; filling it with water and taking a sip before handing it to Tanner.

He reminded the boy to slow down a bit, worried he may get himself sick drinking too quickly, and Tanner obliged. Soon enough the boy was no longer thirsty, wiping at his slightly damp mouth and smiling, seeming a bit more energetic now.

“Oliver? If the human listens to you, does that mean he'll let us go too?” He asked, having seated himself in Oliver's lap and hugging onto him now that he was done drinking. Oliver nodded, brushing a hand against his matted hair.

“Of course. James may have scared you before when he and Henry found you, but he was only worried about you. James told me he barked at you a little bit… That's my fault. He must have thought you would give him a treat, because that's what I do.” Oliver explained softly. “He's big, but he's very gentle… James and Henry.”

“I don't like dogs…” Tanner admitted sheepishly, shifting uncomfortably for a moment before looking up at Oliver. “A dog ate mum. Sammy tried to cover my eyes and my ears, but I heard a bit. She was saying no a lot and screaming, and the dog was growling, and then the bad man started shouting too. And Sammy cried all night when she thought I fell asleep, but I was only pretending..”

Oliver let out a shuddery breath, keeping any tears in as Tanner confessed those details to him so calmly. He could tell by how Tanner was holding him tighter that it was uncomfortable for him to talk about, but at the same time, Tanner had been exposed to so much violence at such a young age that he likely didn't understand how alarming it was for someone else to hear about that memory.

He could remember when he had been similar; randomly saying to his aunt and uncle about what his father's body had looked like, or what his mother said to him, or the way his sister had been so silent… It had been his first time being out of that environment, and whenever a memory or association would spring to his mind it felt compulsive to say it.

This was a normal and healthy way for Tanner to start processing those kinds of events, but that didn't make it any easier for Oliver to listen to. He hugged Tanner a little closer, not wanting to cry because he didn't want Tanner to hesitate when sharing these feelings.

James had finished making the miso soup, and cut the tofu into extra tiny pieces (though he was sure they were still hand-sized to the borrowers) before mixing that in. He poured the soup into a small bowl and took some tiny doll bowls out of the drawer he kept Oliver's things in. He walked over but stopped a few feet away again looking down at Tanner. He offered a sheepish smile.

“Can I come closer?” He asked.

Tanner stared back at him for a while, seeming to actually think about it. Even so, James was expecting a no, and was just hoping that he might get a yes. He didn't want to be seen as a monster…

To his surprise though, the boy nodded. James perked up and tried not to get too excited about the opportunity, still walking slowly over and setting the bowl down next to the water cup. He set the doll bowls down too, smiled as he silently celebrated, and then walked back over to the bigger bowl he made for himself. Picking that bowl up, he brought it over, and hesitated to come too close again.

“Is it alright if I sit and eat nearby?” He checked, just in case. Tanner was still curled into Oliver as the older borrower scooped some of the soup into the tiny bowls, picking out a piece of tofu too. The boy looked a bit less afraid now, and seemed to be curious but wary. James was once again happy to see the nod he got in response, beaming at the boy who seemed a little taken aback by the expression.

James set his bowl down and moved a stool over, sitting down close but not too close to the borrowers. He watched with mild confusion as Oliver took a bite of the tofu and a sip of the soup before giving it to Tanner, but shrugged it off as he dipped his spoon into the bowl, blowing on it gently to cool it down.

He saw from the corner of his eyes that Tanner was still watching, blowing onto his bowl to mimic his action, and James had to fight the urge to chuckle. He swallowed down his spoonful before noticing that Oliver wasn't eating.

“Not hungry, mate?” He asked, not particularly concerned but just wondering. There had been plenty of times that Oliver didn't eat when he visited, so it wasn't out of the ordinary. Oliver nodded with a polite smile.

“I ate before leaving my burrow.” He lied. In reality, Oliver wasn't sure if he'd be able to keep it all down after what Tanner had just spoken about. He was content to simply watch his cousin get his fill instead, his hands clasped together in his lap to hide how they were trembling.

It was peaceful at that moment. Oliver continued to think over all the possibilities of what may have happened to his cousins, but all he knew for certain was that as soon as he found the human responsible…

He would kill them himself.

[wheelsgoroundincircles]

Cadillac was founded in 1902 by Henry Leland, who named the company after Antoine de la Mothe Cadillac, who happens to be the founder of Detroit. Just 6 short years later Cadillac brought the idea of interchangeable parts to the automotive industry and laid the ground work for modern mass production of automobiles. As a result, Cadillac became the first American car to win the prestigious Dewar Trophy from the Royal Automobile Club of England. After earning such high praise Cadillac adopted the slogan "Standard of the World."

In 1910, Cadillac became the first company to offer a passenger car with a fully enclosed cabin, a major change from the vehicles of the time. Two years after that, in 1912, the company released the Model Thirty, the car with no crank, which was the first production car to feature an electronic self-starter, ignition, and lighting. By dropping the crank starter, Cadillac opened the door to women drivers, and was able to bring the prestigious Dewar trophy back to Detroit, making Cadillac the only car manufacturer to claim the award twice. Nearly three years later, Cadillac brought the world the V-type, water-cooled, eight cylinder (V8) engine, which would become the signature of the Cadillac brand.

The Roaring 20's was not only a big decade for the country but was also important for Cadillac. In 1926, Cadillac branched out and offered customers more than 500 color combinations to choose from. As the famous Henry Ford saying goes, you can have any color you want, as long as it's black. Cadillac changed this mentality. That same year, the company brought in designer Harley Earl to design the 1927 LaSalle convertible coupe, which made the car the first to be designed from a designer's perspective rather than an engineering one. What Earl created was elegant, with flowing lines, chrome-plate fixtures, and an overarching design philosophy, that made the Cadillac brand known for beauty and luxury.

In the middle of the 1930's a midst The Great Depression, while most companies and families were struggling Cadillac created the first V-type 16-cylinder engine for use in a passenger car. This engine would go on to be one of the most iconic engines in Cadillac history. Shortly thereafter, Cadillac released a V12 version to give buyers something between the already popular V8 and new V16 engines.

Cadillac went quiet in the 1941's when they suspended automobile production to help produce planes for the war. After the war ended Cadillac adapted some of the aircraft technology and created the first ever tailfin on a vehicle. This feature is now found on almost every car and was one of the biggest reasons that Cadillac was given the first ever Car of the Year award in 1949.

The tailfin took off rather quickly and by the mid to late 1950's it was being featured heavily in the design of nearly every vehicle. Also in the 50's Cadillac began developing power steering, which helped the automaker take third, tenth, and eleventh places at the 24 Hours of Le Mans. After Cadillac's stunning "victories" power steering quickly became the new standard of the industry.

Small but meaningful innovations filled the 1960's for Cadillac. In 1963, the company made front seatbelts standard in their vehicles, which lead to the eventual passing of a federal law requiring front seatbelts in all vehicles just one year later. Then, in 1964, Cadillac brought to market automatically controlled headlamps and redefines luxury with Comfort Control, the industry's first thermostatically controlled heating, venting, and air-conditioning system. Over the next few years, Cadillac introduced variable-ratio power steering, electric seat warmers, and stereo radio.

While the 1960's were fairly quiet, with only some smaller, luxury items being introduced, Cadillac started out 1970 with a major bang. Cadillac opened the decade by unveiling the 400 horsepower, 8.2-liter engine Eldorado. With its completely redesigned axle this model boasted the highest torque capacity of any passenger car available at the time. Closing out the decade, Cadillac brought to market the 1978 Seville which used onboard microprocessors in its digital display. This started the era of the computerized automobile.

Throughout the 1980's Cadillac laid low, working on some new technologies that would come to market in the early parts of the 1990's. The first feature to debut was an electronic traction control system on front-wheel drive vehicles. Cadillac began offering this as a standard feature on the 1990 Cadillac Allante. This same year Cadillac would go on to win the Malcolm Baldrige National Quality Award. Two years later, in 1992, the company developed a feature that allowed the engine to run for up to 50 miles without coolant, and a unique induction system for near-perfect fuel distribution. The Seville Touring Sedan of that year would become known as the "Cadillac of the Year" thanks to features such as an all electronically controlled Powertrain, traction control, anti-lock brakes and speed-sensitive suspension. Closing out the decade, Cadillac introduced the, now iconic, Escalade SUV.

CELEBRATING 100 YEARS AS 'THE STANDARD OF THE WORLD'

Coming up on the 100th anniversary of the Cadillac brand, the company had to do something big or the decade, and they did not disappoint. Cadillac started off the 200's by introducing the F-22 stealth aircraft inspired Cien Concept, which ended up winning a few design awards. Later in the decade, in 2008, Cadillac expanded the Escalade SUV by making it the world's first full-size luxury hybrid SUV. In the same year, the company redeveloped the CTS Sedan. This redesign has been incredibly popular and even won the coveted 2008 Car of the Year award. A short year later, the performance edition CTS-V, becomes the fasted V8 production sedan in the world, establishing a record lap time of 7:59:32 on Germany's famed Nürburgring.

[thisisnotthenerd]

follow up to my previous thoughts about the Aguefort Adventuring Academy:

i got more right than i expected, though there's definitely a lot that's being filled in around what we knew from freshman year.

Faculty Updates:

Introduced/Mentioned during the Episode:

Interim Principal: Emergency Backup Principal Arcturus Grix

This is definitely a construct of Aguefort's that's been reprogrammed to focus on an exact impression of "adventuring order".

Interim Vice Principal: Jace Stardiamond, the sorcery professor

Artificer Professor: Henry Something? The original name on payroll was Grunding Tomblast. (mentioned only, since Porter wouldn't recommend Gorgug)

Barbarian Professor: Porter Cliffbreaker. Suspicious and rude.

Bard Professor: Lucilla Lullaby (changed from music professor). Fey/Eladrin

Bardic Dance Teacher: Terpsichore Skullcleaver. Tiniest half-orc you've ever seen, always says what you need to hear even if it isn't what you'd expect.

Cleric/Religious Studies: Yolanda Badgood. Air genasi who broke up with a deity to pursue faith.

Fighter Professor: Corsica Jones (mentioned only, though we met her in the Seven)

Wizard Professor: Tiberia Runestaff. Originated in the Mountains of Chaos, very traditional old wizard now teaching the wizards of the Aguefort Adventuring Academy. Adaine desperately wants to impress her, and she gets called out for predictions.

We've gotten more information about the other professors though we already knew their names. Eugenia Shadow is the supposed rogue professor that must be found in order to get an A for the year.

Class Content:

For the Barbarians, Porter is an asshole that focuses on the destructive parts of rage rather than the protective elements.

We had a reference to Fighter classes and learning different fighting styles with Ms. Jones, though we didn't see it in this episode.

Cleric classes center around individual connection with a deity, as well as some discussion of spreading faith and proselytizing. Kristen is a very talented cleric who doesn't do homework and is struggling on her faith journey.

Rogue classes are more independent study; finding the professor is the win condition. If the class is based on self-motivated investigative work and research, I can understand why all of the rogues we've seen at Aguefort (Riz Gukgak, Penny Luckstone, Kipperlilly Copperkettle) are the way they are.

Bard Classes can come in a couple of different types: obviously there's the traditional class that Fig attended for the first time, as well as smaller concentrations like Fabian's dance class. The dance course seems to be a smaller track, with fewer students but a more intensive schedule. Granted, we're getting Fabian's multiclassed view of it, so it's not entirely accurate to the experience of a typical bardic dance student.

Wizard classes revolve around studying and practicing spells, as expected, but aren't taught with school endowed material components as I would have expected. Aguefort cares about a robust Wizard's education, but doesn't have classroom material components? He's making it a class of only privileged students. We can't have a poor wizard around here, can we.

Sidenote to that: we know now that Hudol places a focus on theoretical magic while Aguefort focuses on practical workings--actually practicing the skills needed to bind, conjure, enchant, etc.

Sidenote to the sidenote: I started looking into higher level wizard spells with high cost items as material components:

5th level:

create spelljamming helm (5000 gp crystal rod, consumed)

dawn (100 gp sunburst pendant)

legend lore (250 gp of incense, 200 gp of ivory strips)

infernal calling (999 gp ruby)

planar binding (minimum 1000 gp jewel, consumed)

scrying (1000 gp focus, such as a crystal ball, silver mirror, or font of holy water)

summon draconic spirit (500 gp object with engraved dragon iconography)

teleportation circle (inks infused with gems worth 50 gp)

6th level:

circle of death (500 gp black pearl)

contingency (1500 gp gem encrusted statuette)

create homunculus (1000 gp jeweled dagger)

create undead (150 gp black onyx stone per corpse)

drawmij's instant summons (1000 gp sapphire)

magic jar (500 gp gem/crystal/reliquary)

7th level:

create magen (500 gp quicksilver and human sized doll)

draconic transformation (500 gp dragon statuette)

forcecage (1500 gp ruby dust)

mordenkainen's sword (250 gp platinum sword)

plane shift (250 gp rod attuned to plane of choice)

sequester (5000 gp of diamond, emerald, ruby & sapphire dust)

simulacrum (1500 gp ruby dust)

symbol (1000 gp of mercury, phosphorus, diamond dust and opal)

8th level:

clone (1000 gp diamond, 2000 gp coffin/urn, cubic inch of flesh)

mighty fortress (500 gp diamond)

9th level:

astral projection (1000 gp jacinth + 100 gp carved bar of silver, per person affected)

gate (5000 gp diamond)

imprisonment (500 gp component per hit die of the target, changes depending on spell type: mithral orb for burial, precious metal chain for chaining, miniature jade prison for hedged prison, gemstone of corundum or diamond for minimus containment)

invulnerability (500 gp adamantine)

shapechange (1500 gp jade circlet)

so the request for 10 barrels of diamonds tracks; they need enough material components to be able to repeat the spells and practice them and that doesn't run cheap.

personal theory: when aguefort went to war with fallinel he pulled on the school's supplies of material components in order to cast on that scale, and he couldn't maintain it, so even stuff that wouldn't be consumed by the casting probably got dumped somewhere in fallinel or given away as reparations.

I'm also going to guess that in the lower grades, the students wouldn't be paying for everything, but rather paying something like a lab fee that took care of material components on a smaller scale.

Multiclassing:

There's a few things that have that this episode clarified:

If a student wants to multiclass on their transcript, they must fill out a request to their current class' professor in order to request a change to their courseload. The student may be prevented from attending their secondary or tertiary courses if their current professor believes that they cannot keep up with the increase in rigor, or if the student is underperforming in their current class. As shown with Porter, a teacher can technically refuse for other reasons (thinking the student isn't suited to the new class, or determining a lack of class compatibility). This recommendation is easier for some classes than others; it is simple to combine most martial classes, especially those that have compatible traits such as fighters and barbarians. However, it is difficult to combine classes that are prohibitive of each other; the example we have is Gorgug, since his barbarian rage prevents him from casting and holding concentration spells from his artificer levels in battle.

If they get approval, they must take the MCAT, or Multiclass Achievement Test, in order to prove competency in their secondary class. This functions as a way of proving that the student can enter the class at their current level and keep up with their peers.

Upon passing the MCAT, the student's courseload changes; rather than taking 4 semesters of one class, they will take 3 semesters of each class, presumably with some leveling to fit their particular split in multiclass. This results in a 150% courseload as opposed to single-classed students, with a high level of rigor, especially heading into the upperclassmen years

Quest Theory:

We got tacit confirmation from Brennan that the Bad Kids, and even the Seven are unusual for saving the world, when most Aguefort students are doing local dungeon crawls and going to school. This fits with my overleveling theory, especially if they're going to be going back to a major progression cycle as they did during freshman year. I highly doubt it, given the content and themes of this season, but I think the overall structure fits.

This also fits with my theory about D-F class quests; students may only need to complete one or more of these to pass the yearly quest. Technically, retrieving the Crown of the Nightmare King could have been considered a fetch quest, but there ended up being more to it than that. The Bad Kids haven't done traditional dungeon crawls, at least not from what we've seen. There are qualified adventuring parties in Spyre, but the Aguefort Adventuring Academy produces the 'premier parties of teen heroes' that go around addressing world-class threats.

The examples that we have of Solisian adventurers come from the Bad Kids' parents, and the Seven's parents. Sandra Lynn works with the Solisian rangers; the Applebees' (ew) work as paladins, guarding against threats from the Mountains of Chaos, presumably in tandem with the rangers. Karl Cleaver stayed with his party for decades--they went on a dungeon crawl in the 888th and 889th layers of the Abyss during the events of the Seven. There are adult adventurers, but it's made clear that they are dealing with everyday threats, while the teen heroes are out in the world causing problems and solving them.

To add to my previous theory: the Seven were given two weeks to investigate the disappearance of Tectonya Karkovnya and go on their GED quest. The Bad Kids got an extra week of spring break. This allowed them to get their world-saving done, but may have led to the accusations of special treatment.

Theories on the Season:

I'd wager that Kipperlilly and the Ratgrinders are trying to make Aguefort more egalitarian by getting rid of the Bad Kids' quest progress i.e. the reason they're overleveled and getting special treatment. The Rogue Professor seekign Kipperlilly out as opposed to her actually doing the work? Sounds like funny business to me.

Next episode is probably going to be the rest of the day of classes and the start of extracurriculars, based on the mentions of the bloodrush team and student government candidacy.

Riz looks like he's going to be in the driver's seat for seeking out the Bad Kids' academic and greater interests, though Fig is leaning in on the investigation of the Ratgrinders, and they're all full force on the presidential campaign. I think Gorgug's work as an artificer is going to come into play with the main plot if they're facing down the reprogrammed Arcturus Grix.

[mercurygray]

HBOWW2 Rewatch: June-August 1943

Since Week 2's episodes really only take us through 3 months of 1943 there's not a lot of big picture stuff to get caught up on.

But man, oh man, are there some big things happening elsewhere.

June: The Zoot Suit Riots take place in Los Angeles when a group of sailors on leave get into a fight with Mexican American youth near the waterfront, leading to retaliatory action from many more sailors and soldiers in the following days. The riots last ten days, and are only stopped when the Army and Navy declare L.A. off limits to military personnel. (This is not the only race-related act of violence this month, but it is certainly the most well known.)

Charles de Gaulle and Henri Giraud are named co-presidents of the French Committee of National Liberation. This institution would challenge the legitimacy of the Vichy government and provide a unifying force for French forces abroad and at home. It will also function as a provisional government in Algeria, which has recently been liberated during the North Africa campaign.

The Tuskegee Airmen have their first encounter with the Luftwaffe as six P-40 Warhawks are attacked over the island of Pantelleria by 12 German Focke-Wulf 190 fighters. Pantelleria has recently surrendered and will serve as a jumping off point for the invasion of Sicily, which begins in July. (Lieutenant General Carl Spaatz is currently serving as the head of Mediterranean Air Force Command.)

The invasion of Sicily starts on July 9th as a combined US, British and Canadian force lands at points around the island, starting a month-long race by General Patton's forces to move from Licata in the south to Messina in the north in an effort to catch the Germans before they can evacuate to the mainland. (Sadly, most of the Germans do make it off the island.) Both this campaign, and the North Africa campaign that preceded it, are launched to redirect resources away from the Eastern Front - a move that largely succeeds.

Speaking of the Eastern Front, the battle of Kursk begins on July 9. It is the single largest battle in the history of warfare, and is a turning point for the entire European war. The use of air support in what is largely a tank battle leads to one of the single costliest days of aerial combat.

On July 19, Allied Air Forces bomb Rome, which leads, in some large part, to the resignation of Mussolini as Prime Minister on July 25th, ending a 17 year dictatorship.

On July 27th and 28th, the RAF bomb Hamburg. High winds and drought conditions lead to the greatest single-day loss of life in wartime as more than 30,000 city residents burn to death after bombs set the entire town aflame.

Also in June, the new town of Oak Ridge, Tennesee, which will house workers for the Manhattan Project, officially receives its first residents, and "Comin' in on a Wing and a Prayer" by The Song Spinners tops the Billboard singles chart.

Heading into August, Operation Tidal Wave, the bombing of Ploesti, Romania, begins as 177 B-24 bombers attack the oil plant. This will be the first of many, many bombing runs on this target, which is a sigificant source of fuel for the Axis. (And you can't outrun Patton in Sicily or fight tank wars in Russia if you don't have fuel)

The United States Women's Air Service Pilots, or WASPS, is officially formed under the auspices of Jackie Cochran and Nancy Love. The program consolidates 2 previous groups in an attempt to leverage civilian pilots for ferrying duties.

So. It's August of 1943. The Allies are eyeing mainland Italy for their next assault. The Russians are slugging away in Kursk. The 8th Air Force has just gotten through the Regensberg- Schweinfurt raid. September will probably hold much of the same. Or ...will it?

[bratphilia]

note ✧.*‎ welcome to my descent into madness aka my first attempt at actually writing something with plot (there will be porn i promise you sickos). anyways this started out as a total daydream bla bla bla yall heard me say this many times before. anyways this chapter is just lore, setup, and foreshadowing for the rest of the story. no mike or william in this chapter bc its really just a flashback.

pairing ✧.*‎ steve raglan / william afton x reader, mike schmidt x reader

cw ✧.*‎ kidnapping, drug use, basically child abandonment, paralysis, manic episode

taglist ✧.*‎ @dilfity @iikyutee @kissingrhi @jen-parker @kathxstuff @papyrus-the-poet @lowballbread @cecelovesbooks @bluebearieally @cybunii @van-van @iamunabletothinkofablogname @1ncidentdropout @ice-echo26 @officially-a-simp13 @all4kura @el-sol-sale-de-nuevo @littlexstarlightx @samlow23 @iikyutee

chapter synopsis ✧.*‎ you're fourteen when fate pushes you over the edge, and fifteen when it gets even worse.

lovelace by hoshikoe ⟶ prologue

you're fourteen when fate pushes you over the edge. freddy fazbear’s pizza, a rinky-dink restaurant geared towards kids, is where you’re forced to occupy one day in july. you’re not here for yourself — far from it — you’re here for your little sister, emmy. she isn’t the type of kid to run up to the creepy, uncanny looking animatronics while they robotically sing and dance, only to be apprehended by a tired employee, but she does love them. she loves them to the point where at least one day, maybe two, is spent at freddy’s over the summer. and guess who has to babysit her since mom and dad can’t make it everyday? that’s right, you!

anyways, back to the present. your eyes burn to stay open. the lack of air conditioning in the restaurant provides for a makeshift blanket. “em,” you say to your sister. her eyes are glued on the stage, humming along to the song the animatronics are “singing” while kicking her feet. she ignores you. “em, if i fall asleep, you need to stay right here.”

“mhm,” she murmurs back, continuing her humming. you roll your eyes. there was a part of you that knew you shouldn’t have trusted her. it was screaming at you internally as loud as it could, but the gripes of tiredness overpowered it with ease.

your eyes open for a second, in complete haze. as they open in the direction of where emmy sat, the chair is vacant. it doesn't immediately raise alarm — you're still halfway asleep — but another glance towards the hallway, the one where the employees seem to be coming from, there's the familiar back of a head walking next to a bright, golden colored character. when you finally wake up, you realize you weren't dreaming. your sister is gone. panicking, you rise up from the table and head off the only direction you can think of: down the hall. you aggressively brush pass other employees, ignoring their remarks, telling you that you can't be back there.

finally, a man forcefully stops you by grabbing your shoulders. "you can't be back here. what are you doing?"

"my sister," you say, not noticing how breathless you are until you start speaking. "my sister — she went back here. i have to find her."

the man raises an eyebrow at you. he's wearing a suit and tie, he must be an owner or something. "no one is back here except for employees, but i can help you find her if you say you saw her go back here." you nod, feeling somewhat assured. you know you saw her back here; she has to be somewhere. the man, who introduces himself to you as henry, tells you to wait back at your table. you do as he says, anxiously anticipating him to come out with your sister.

a flurry of things you would say to her flows through your head, each one more scathing the last. how she shouldn't have run off without telling you, going to a place that was obviously closed off to the public. when henry eventually returned, it was just about closing time. the restaurant was empty of patrons. an employee had asked you to leave, but you explained you were waiting for the owner to return something to you. the sunset cast an orange hue that shone through the windows.

"i'm so sorry," henry had said kindly. "i don't know where she is. i couldn't find her."

your face drops and your heart sinks. your lip trembles. "b-but i can't leave without her."

henry looks at you sympathetically. "let's call up your folks, yeah? don't want you to leave here empty handed, and i'm sure i could help alleviate the situation." you nod, tears forming in your eyes at the thought of your parents finding out about your negligence. you give henry your house phone number and lay your head down at the table. you stare at the abandoned bonnie plushie that sits on emmy's chair. you try to focus on it, its purple fur and red bowtie, instead of thinking about your parents' reaction and emmy's disappearance.

it was your dad that came. he didn't spare you a glance at first, just demanded where his daughter was. it wasn't until a sob escaped your lips that he turned to you. you'll never forget the look on his face, that look of disappointment, resentment even. he grabbed you with a tight grip on your arm and dragged you to the car. the car ride home was silent, your dad's jaw was clenched, white knuckles gripping the steering wheel.

"you useless thing," mom had snarled at you when you got home. "you ruined everything. you wanted this to happen, didn't you?"

you slammed the door and flopped onto your bed. on your side, your eyes were trained on the door to your room. you were waiting for emmy to come bursting through your door any minute now, ready to annoy you about anything she could come up with. but she never came. you stared blankly around your room that night, not sleeping, watching the shadows change and light slowly cast and darken over your room.

you started high school that year. freshman year wasn't anything that special. you actually managed to make it into a popular friend group. it wasn't all it was cracked up to be, though. it wasn't like your friends weren't nice, they were, it's just you felt so detached from reality at times that it was hard to enjoy what they were enjoying. you felt like an outsider looking in your own group. always wondering what the hype was about, wondering what other people could find so funny in the moment.

alicia, who seemed to be the head of the group, asked you what was bothering you so much. she didn't demand it out of you, and she didn't put you on the spot. something about it still put you off. "it's some shit with my family," you had told her, "don't worry about it, i'm fine. really." she looked like she didn't quite believe you, but she left it alone anyways. after that, the group treated you a little differently. you had guessed alicia told them what you said. it's not like they were distant, they seemed to be looking out for you more than usual, actually.

it wasn't until another girl in your friend group, kat, had pulled you aside, that you found a coping mechanism. you followed her into the bathroom. "i'm going to help you feel better," she declared. she pulled you into the larger bathroom stall and reached her hand out after searching for something in her bag. she held out a white tablet in the palm of her hand.

you furrowed your brow, unsure. "what is it?"

"vicodin," she told you, and again, "it will make you feel better."

you spared her a glanced and then took it, dry swallowing it. she smiled. "let's go to class, we have first period together."

it didn't kick in until about when class was over. a woozy, unsteady feeling washed over you. your head felt numb, and suddenly all thoughts about your parents and emmy were gone. that day was the most fun you had in years. you sat with your friends at lunch, completely immersed in their presence for once. you did stupid things to make them laugh, such as asking out a shy boy in your class. you wanted to feel like this everyday. you wanted to hold onto this feeling forever.

it didn't last forever, of course, and it wasn't an everyday thing. which is why you stood in the open doorway of your parents bedroom, age fifteen, in the middle of the night. they had a bathroom inside their bedroom that you planned to sneak into. you knew for a fact your mom had a container of vicodin in her medicine cabinet.

the only thing you could hear as you slipped past their bed, their sleeping bodies, is slight ruffle of your feet against the carpet and the beating of your heart. when you successfully made it to the bathroom, you carefully opened the medicine cabinet, disguised as a mirror, and used a mini-flashlight to search the labels until you eventually found a bottle labeled "hydrocodone." you were slow to take it, not wanting the pills inside to rattle and make a noise, then tiptoed back to your room.

you noticed how breathless you were. your mind raced with "what-if" scenarios. what if your parents caught you with the bottle in your hands? what would they do to you? you could only imagine your mother's harsh words, your dad's look of resentment, and suddenly you're thinking about emmy's disappearance again, and—

you freeze — no — you're frozen. you can't move any part of you. your grip on the pill bottle loosens and it tumbles on the ground. you want to reach out to grab it but you just can't seem to move. it's terrifying. your body horribly leans to the side, too. and then it stops.

you're still out of breath and wondering what the fuck had just happened to you. you abandon the pills, hiding them under your bed, you just can't do this right now. you lay down and stare at the ceiling, that moment replaying in your head over and over. you don't get any sleep that night. in fact, it's a night like the past couple nights, where instead of sleeping, you're ruminating in every little thing, every awkward moment, every mistake.

morning comes sooner than later. you're getting ready for school with your mind still racing. not just about the events of the previous night, or your fault in emmy's disappearance, but about every little thing. it's like your brain is on autopilot, though. you're doing things, putting your clothes on, fuck, even putting makeup on — something that was rare for you. reaching under the bed, you felt giddy. you couldn't wait to go to school today.

before you know it, you're at school, heart racing. you gathered your friends in the bathroom, it's cramped with the five of you in there. it was a little hard for you to get them together, you couldn't necessarily get the words out. it wasn't like you were shy or anything, it's like your mouth tumbled out all the wrong words. your friends look at you expectantly and you present them with the bottle of vicodin. only kat seems to be pleased.

"are you... okay?" alicia asked, a look of concern growing on her face.

you frowned. "i thought w-we could do this together. y'know? have some fun."

"i don't really do that sort of thing," was her response. she prompted the rest of your friends, even kat, out of the bathroom, leaving you there alone. you sunk against the wall, sliding to sit down on the floor. what just happened? you felt embarrassed, but like it was against your will, you popped two pills, and moved on.

it was as fun as you hoped it was. you were elated, actually. and you made a very important decision. randomly, you had decided you were going to go to freddy's and look for emmy yourself. she had to be there right? if no one had found her? there were big, obvious holes in your logic, but that didn't seem clear to you then in that moment. what mattered most to you was getting your sister back, getting your family back together.

you impulsively decided to carry out this plan in the middle of english class, asking your teacher if you can go to the bathroom. you catch alicia's eye as you leave. she offers you a strange look. as you walk out to the gate, someone calls your name. you turn and it's the guidance counselor on your trail.

"what are you doing?" she asked. "nevermind, come with me."

she leads you to the main office, close by the gate. she has you sit down in the waiting room while she dials your home number and calls your dad to pick you up. you barely pay attention to what she's saying until the phrase, "needs to go to the hospital, as soon as possible."

and that's how you ended up in the hospital, monitored by either a nurse or a tech. it's hard to tell, but at least two days go by in the blink of an eye. you refuse to eat, chewing desperately only at your finger nails and peeling off the dry skin from your lip; two anxiety habits you've always had, worsened by your current state of mind.

it's not until you wake up from a three hour nap, the most sleep you've gotten in at least a week, to the voices of your parents talking to a psychiatrist in the room. "...we think it's bipolar disorder. she's showing most symptoms of a manic episode."

"oh great, another thing for us to take care of," your mom says sarcastically. your dad is rubbing his eyes, looking pained. they barely even notice the fact that you're awake.

[chaeilay]

Sat, Jan 12 - I visited the ancient Roman city of Sardes today for the first time. (Information about the city is under this post.) It consisted of the Gymnasium with the remains of many Byzantine shops including restaurants and painting shops, a public pool, tombs, and a Synagogue. It was truly refreshing to see the place overall, but what I adored about the visit was the fact that you could imagine and experience the feeling of what it was like to be living in an ancient city, as it was empty because of the weather conditions. No voices, no noise, no motion, just the smell and the air of this ancient place. (I bet Henry Winter would die for it.) The Temple of Artemis was also close and I went there as well. I'll publish the pictures from the Synagogue and the Temple next if you want to check them out.

Sardis (/ˈsɑːrdɪs/ SAR-diss) or Sardes (/ˈsɑːrdiːs/SAR-de ess; Lydian: 𐤳𐤱𐤠𐤭𐤣, romanized: Sfard; Ancient Greek: Σάρδεις, romanized: Sárdeis; Old Persian: Sparda) was an ancient city best known as the capital of the Lydian Empire. After the fall of the Lydian Empire, it became the capital of the Persian satrapy of Lydia and later a major center of Hellenistic and Byzantine culture. It is now an active archaeological site in modern-day Turkey, in Manisa Province near Sart.

In 334 BC, Sardis was conquered by Alexander the Great. The city was surrendered without a fight, the local satrap having been killed during the Persian defeat at Granikos. After taking power, Alexander restored earlier Lydian customs and laws. For the next two centuries, the city passed between Hellenistic rulers including Antigonus Monophthalmos, Lysimachus, the Seleucids, and the Attalids. It was besieged by Seleucus I in 281 BC and by Antiochus III in 215-213 BC, but neither succeeded at breaching the acropolis, regarded as the strongest fortified place in the world. The city sometimes served as a royal residence, but was itself governed by an assembly.

In this era, the city took on a strong Greek character. The Greek language replaced the Lydian language in most inscriptions, and major buildings were constructed in Greek architectural styles to meet the needs of Greek cultural institutions. These new buildings included a prytaneion, gymnasium, theater, hippodrome, and the massive Temple of Artemis still visible to modern visitors. Jews were settled at Sardis by the Hellenistic king Antiochos III, where they built the Sardis Synagogue and formed a community that continued for much of Late Antiquity.

In 129 BC, Sardis passed to the Romans, under whom it continued its prosperity and political importance as part of the province of Asia. The city received three neocorate honors and was granted ten million sesterces as well as a temporary tax exemption to help it recover after a devastating earthquake in 17 AD.

Sardis had an early Christian community and is referred to in the New Testament as one of the seven churches of Asia. In the Book of Revelation, Jesus refers to Sardians as not finishing what they started, being about image rather than substance.

I take the pictures that are on my blog myself. In case you're interested in this post, I also post/reblog content including travel/cultural pictures, books, book recommendations, analysis, quotes, anything related to movies, series, and girl blog entries.

[henry-adderley]

Dr. Henry Adderley is a general practitioner from England. He is a specialist in his profession, and therefore his services are in demand. One day, he is lucky enough to go to America for work, but when he is ready to agree to the initial conditions, they are suddenly changed. His new acquaintance offers him another opportunity to show himself and do a lot of useful things for people. What will Henry's kindness turn out to be?

This is a story about inevitability. Each person is initially destined for their own fate, which they cannot change.

Delay the inevitable? Yes.

Prevent it? No.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

Rock of Destiny, Part 1

August 19, 20...year

I am Henry Adderley, an English doctor. In two days I am flying to North America, where I will stay for a couple of weeks. The trip there will be long, because the plane ride will take more than seven hours. I started keeping a diary so that I could later tell everything in detail to my dear Lucille, who would remain in England and would be waiting for me at home. I live with my sister because I haven’t found a wife. My profession leaves almost no time for myself and my family; not every woman will agree to endure this for the rest of her life. And even after thirty years, work takes first place. Well, I'm going off topic. Just two days and I will leave this house. After so many years I could have gotten used to it, but every time I worry like the first time that nothing bad happens in my absence. I'm sure Lucille will cope without me. She may no longer be a little sister who needs to be taken care of, but I still worry about her just as much.

It is now a dark and gloomy night outside. The eyes close. Of course, I need to get some sleep before a long journey, but insomnia has been tormenting me for several years now. I know that this won’t lead to anything good, but I can’t force myself again, in almost pitch darkness, mindlessly looking at a slightly shabby wooden wall, in a vain attempt to sleep, I can’t and absolutely don’t want to. My sister will be angry again if she suddenly wakes up and realizes that I’m not sleeping, but that’s okay, she’ll quarrel a little and calm down, as always.

The black round lamp on my desk flickered, plunging the room into darkness for a second. I tiredly rubbed the bridge of my nose, took off my glasses, carefully placed them on the table and turned off the yellow light, which was unpleasant for my tired eyes. The small space of my modestly furnished room was now illuminated only by rare glimpses of lights coming from cars passing by the house and lonely lanterns standing by the road, which sadly bowed their “heads” over the roadway, creating an even more dull atmosphere and completely spoiling my mood. With the saddest and most depressing thoughts, I still forced myself to get up from the table - while the old chair creaked unpleasantly, cutting through the cozy silence of the night - and lie down on the soft bed, lowering my head on the pillow. To my surprise, I almost immediately felt myself falling into sleep. Apparently, keeping a diary did me good, and specifically, it helped me sort out my thoughts and calm my agitated mind.

21 August.

All things are collected in a suitcase, which stands motionless by the door in the hallway and waits until I deign to leave my room, say goodbye to Lucille, take it and leave for the airport. Maybe I’m unnecessarily annoying myself with empty speculation, but I’m gnawed at from the inside by a very, very bad feeling. I'll come back to the diary later when I have some free time.

So, I took in more air into my lungs, trying to calm down, and still left the room. Lucille was already humbly waiting for me on the porch, smiling sweetly. As I approached, she threw my favorite brown coat, which I have been wearing for years, over my shoulders. I kissed her on the cheek, took a heavy black suitcase and got into the car. I’m lucky that I live close enough that I can get to the airport in about ten minutes by taxi.

I boarded the plane exactly at the appointed time, took my seat by the window, behind which it was beginning to get dark, took off my heavy coat, because it was warm in the cabin without it, and put my suitcase at my feet, and then took out a book from it. It was “A Study in Scarlet” by Arthur Conan Doyle, which I re-read over and over again, sincerely enjoying the exciting plot. Immersed in my favorite story, I did not immediately notice that a young couple sat down next to me. The girl looked about twenty-five years old, and her boyfriend was about thirty, it seemed to me. They were excitedly discussing something, if I understood correctly, they were talking about the upcoming wedding. Her voice was slightly squealing, unlike her partner’s, from which I concluded that the girl was much more worried about this than her future husband. I involuntarily smiled at her cheerful behavior, she looked very happy. The thought occurred to me that maybe everything wasn’t so bad and I was worrying in vain? But as soon as I relaxed and put the book down, the plane made a sharp maneuver to the side, and a glass bottle with a dark brown liquid, which a minute earlier the man had placed on the table, overturned right onto my coat, which lay peacefully on my lap. My fellow travelers instantly fell silent, the girl covered her mouth with her hands in fear. I sighed. Well, of course, everything couldn’t go without incident! I slowly got up from my seat and, without saying a word to them, went to the restroom. The stain was quite large, but I decided that I still had a lot of time and I could wash it off. By the way, I spent at least half an hour on this activity, and when I returned to my seat, I had to listen to numerous apologies from my fellow traveler. Of course, I am very grateful to her for the attention she received, but I was not in the mood at all, so I calmly assured her that nothing bad had happened and that I was not angry with them at all. I didn’t hear a word from the man.

I slept for the last hour of the flight, holding my almost dry raincoat to the glass.

August 22.

Now that I have the opportunity to continue, I will write down how this day went. New York greeted me with the noise of passing cars and the beauty of high-rise buildings. Every coffee shop exuded coziness. Lively streets, people scurrying everywhere. This is a city of hustle and bustle. It charmed with its unique atmosphere: it managed to delight with its grandeur, beauty and at the same time surprise with the comfort of stay, the kindness of the locals. Yes, the society here turned out to be very diverse, but the hospitality of all the people was a pleasant surprise. In a couple of hours I checked into the hotel and walked around the neighborhood. Well, as neighborhoods... I managed to make the acquaintance of a pretty nice girl while I was buying coffee. I decided that from now on I would only come here, because Emma turned out to be a good conversationalist and an excellent barista, and the cafe where she worked was located not far from the hotel where I checked in. My favorite latte macchiato was as amazing as always. I walked aimlessly along one of the alleys. Frankly, the row of trees and clean paths make a good impression. I think I should definitely go back there again. I even envy a little people who can afford to walk there with their dogs every day. Watching these cute and frisky animals run is a real pleasure! Having already gotten up from the bench to go further, I suddenly felt a light touch on my shoulder and turned around. Blue eyes, hair with a reddish tint. We froze opposite each other, not believing our eyes. I did not expect to meet him here...

— Henry! How I felt it was you! We haven't seen each other since graduation!

I remembered that Matt was always very emotional, so I was not surprised that he was all glowing with joy. I patted him on the back, greeting him, and smiled too. After all, we were friends. Our friendship was cooled by seven years of separation. He left London then, we rarely wrote to each other, and both were more concerned with their careers than maintaining communication. I didn’t know who he had become in the end, and this was a good opportunity to ask interesting questions.

— Nice to meet you. Do you live here or are you just stopping by for work?

Matt’s face changed a little, apparently he didn’t expect me to start with this, but he answered simply and clearly:

— I do. England with its frequent rains seemed too gray to me.

I generally agreed with him, but I still wasn’t going to move. London reminded me of my childhood, when my parents were still alive, and I played football with the neighborhood kids.

— You’re passing through, right? — Matt asks to keep the conversation going.

I nod:

— Work. By the way, would you like to walk me home? This is my first day here, I haven't had a chance to see the city yet.

He agrees, somewhat confused, and I give him the address.

The asphalt under my feet seems unusually clean for a big city. Not yet withered, recently mown bright green grass grows along the edges and goes somewhere deep into the park. A silence hangs between me and my friend, which, unfortunately, I can't call comfortable, but it doesn't bother me either. Matt seemed to have gotten into the atmosphere of this place and didn't mind my prolonged silence. Beginning to realize my unreasonable coldness towards him, I find myself momentarily seized by the desire to maintain communication with this person close to me, but this mood is quickly knocked down by the understanding that over so many years we have both changed. Me for sure. He — maybe.

— I have had a different phone number for several years now. Maybe you can write it down? — Matt suggests, and I don’t refuse. — I’ll wait for you to tell me later what kind of job you have.

He smiles so sincerely and radiantly, like in the old days, and I even feel sad that we haven’t talked for so long. How I’ve missed him.

The main building of the central hospital greets me with coolness from the fans and bright lighting. The girl at the reception shows me the way, after I explain who I need to see.

Mr. Hill is a man of average height with short brown hair and a forced smile. When talking, he actively gestures with his hands and often raises his voice to a screech. This man is responsible for my stay here. I can’t call him a boss, because I work for myself, but he is responsible for my accommodation and arrangements. So to speak, one word from him — and almost all roads are open to me. This is certainly useful, but I am not thrilled with his company. Our conversation quickly gets down to business. My presence here is necessary because there is a war going on, which has sent most of the citizens to the front, including professional doctors. Due to the shortage of people, I will have a busy schedule, but this is compensated by a decent salary and the fact that there is no need to pay for a hotel rented for me, it is not my concern. Mr. Hill is listing some of the clients who want to see me, mainly those with serious mechanical injuries requiring surgical intervention, when his speech is interrupted by a phone call. His face twists in disgust when he hears what his interlocutor is saying.

— Reschedule the meeting with her. Say anything, just to make her go away! - there are hysterical notes in his voice, - No, now is not the right time, I'm busy, very busy. The one who came to us... But... — his eyes widen, and his expression becomes like a pitiful one. — Got it.

He hangs up the call and slams the phone down on the glass table. Without explaining the scene that I involuntarily witnessed, Mr. Hill abruptly and unexpectedly changes the subject:

— Nelson will be glad to see you in this same office tomorrow at one o'clock. Something has changed, - he sighs. — He will tell you himself. That's all.

I politely say goodbye, surprised by this turn of events, and leave the office. Well, I think the above-mentioned person should give me the answers to my questions.

August 23.

It was unusual to wake up without an alarm clock on a weekday. The thin curtains easily let in the sunlight, while the noise from the cars penetrated even through the closed windows. This day promises a lot. The wristwatch showed almost exactly eleven o'clock. Two hours to spare... Not bad. Coffee first, I decided. A few minutes on the road and I was already making an order, then smilingly discussing the news with Emma.

— Can you imagine, — she exclaims enthusiastically, waving her hands. — And I got into the university I’ve been dreaming about since school!

— Congratulations! — I smile, sincerely happy for her, but find it a surprise for me that she’s still studying.

— What’s wrong?— Emma asks in bewilderment, and her outstretched hands with coffee and a packaged donut freeze in front of me.

Is my surprise that obvious?

— So you’re still studying…

— Well, yes, — she smiles as if there was a small, silly child in front of her, and I really feel like one.

— You look just like an adult, — I answer quietly, switching my attention to the cup and bag clutched in her fingers.

— I’ll take that as a compliment.

I nod, take my order and leave the cafe. The next destination is a bench in that very park. I was going to have breakfast in a quiet atmosphere.

Closer to the appointed time, I approach the right office and decide to just wait the remaining ten minutes, but almost immediately the door opens and a man of about fifty looks out of the doorway.

— I saw you through the window, — he smiles good-naturedly and gestures for me to come in. — Thank you for your visit.

— Nice to meet you too, mister…

I sit down on a soft armchair. He places a chair not far from me and sits down, crossing his legs.

— You can just call me Nelson. I can call you by your first name, right? - asks the new acquaintance and after my consent he immediately becomes more serious, — Circumstances have changed a little, Henry. You must know what is happening in the world. Things are not easy for all of us now, and troubles continue to pour out like from a cornucopia. I hope you will not be offended by this turn of events, but you are needed outside the city, in one of the nearby villages. The journey will take several hours, it is a remote area, but there is a sparse population. God-forsaken place... — he throws a somewhat sympathetic glance at me. — Of course, I have no right to force you, but you seem to me a kind person and not spoiled by fame.

— What prompted such thoughts? — I ask, catching on to the last sentence.

A smile spreads across his face again, but this time I can’t interpret it in any way.

— Anyone else would thank me and would undoubtedly confirm these words for their own benefit. Henry, — Nelson continues, returning to the point. — I need your help. I could find someone else, but something tells me that you will not refuse due to your sweet nature.

I was confused by his confidence, because it is impossible to fully understand a person when you are in the same room with him for ten minutes at most, but this time I did not try to refute anything. Perhaps he is bluffing to get what he wants, but his whole honest, open image, the small wrinkles in the corners of his eyes, his sincere smile and the barely noticeable gray hair at his temples inspire confidence. I guess I can compare this man to an old wolf, who may have been clever and scary before, but is now tired of his past, has taken up his usual routine, and instead of hunting rabbits, gives them tours of his domain.

— What do you say? — his voice suddenly sounds very close, and I discover with shame that I missed everything he told me.

Nelson, I am sure, noticed this, but did not show any negative emotions, still smiling at me as if I were his friend, and began again:

— I have not yet told you why exactly you are needed there. It is clear that you will simply be a doctor, but there is something else. I have already said that we are going through difficult times. Before you, one of the servants of the law worked in that village, but then he resigned. It seems for family reasons. I decided to take you myself because I need to meet him. His name will not mean anything to you, and you will meet later. He was in charge of the case there until he gave it all up. You know, — he prolonged the pause, apparently unintentionally. — I would like you to know what I am dragging you into. Just listen. I decided not to interrupt, concentrating on the words.

— This is serious. Something happened; I don’t know all the details, because I haven’t seen anything myself yet. People started disappearing. Lots of victims. The authorities blame it on wild animals, but this explanation never had a chance of being true. I have a personal request for you, Henry.

He moves his chair closer to me and instantly becomes serious.

— I ask you to find a man named Narell and find out from him what’s going on. Because something tells me he’ll send me away as soon as I approach.

— Is this someone you know?

— A former friend.

I nod understandingly.

— Thank you. You will be very helpful. Well, I think that's all for now. You don't have to worry about the payment, the amount will suit everyone, we can discuss it later over the phone. Please forgive me, but there is a meeting in five minutes and I can't miss it.

He pats me on the shoulder a couple of times, we say goodbye, and I leave, left, I must admit, under the impression.

The rest of the day passes as calmly as possible. In the evening, as agreed, I called Nelson. An amazing and unusually pleasant person. Despite the occasional sly notes, he speaks directly and clearly, immediately devoting himself to all the details and explaining where questions may arise. We agree on the same time as today. All that remains for me to do is repack my things in bags and mentally prepare myself for another trip.

August 24.

It's time to say goodbye to the comfortable hotel. Well, I agreed myself. Yesterday I bought everything I needed, walking around a couple of local stores. I don't know how long I'll stay like this. According to the contract, I have 14 days. Not that long, and it's not known how long I'll be stuck in that wilderness. Maybe I'll even like it. Nature, after all.

We met Nelson again at a less businesslike stop in that cafe.

— It's nice to know that someone shares my taste preferences, — he told me when we almost accidentally bumped into each other.

— I'm glad to see you too, — I admitted honestly, even encouraged by such a meeting.

— We're on first-name terms, Henry.

There was still half an hour left before the appointed time, but that didn't bother either of us.

— I decided to come here to have a cup of coffee before you arrived, but you're no slouch either, you surprised me, — Nelson stirred the sugar evenly, not taking his eyes off me.

— Is it surprising that I also like coffee?

— I dared to assume that you liked tea better. I even thought it was green. I'm usually not wrong.

My eyebrows rose, and a slight smile played on my lips.

— Everyone loses sometimes, — I had to hide my chuckle behind a paper cup, taking a sip.

— Got you. I see that the morning has started off well. I hope I didn't ruin your time with my company.

— I don't mind at all, — I responded cheerfully.

— If it's convenient for you, we can leave earlier. By the way, would you mind if we went in my car? I'd also like to see what's going on there.

— As you say. I have my things packed.

— Lots?

— Not very.

— That's good, — he said thoughtfully.

Nelson finished his coffee and threw away his empty cup; I followed his example. We went up to my room together, I took my suitcase, he offered to carry my bag. At the guard station, I handed him the keys and went outside, while Nelson put my bag in the car and waited for me, leaning against his Volkswagen Passat and twirling the keys between his fingers, on which hung a metal keychain in the shape of... a star? Well, that's funny.

As I had already understood, he was not averse to showing off sometimes, so he watched my reaction to his car with a smug smile. And his choice of clothes spoke only the best for him. Not devoid of boastfulness, but moderately proud, Nelson was confident and knew his own worth. My respect.

— Have a good trip! — he said with a smile when I also settled into the seats. — Do you have any preferences in music?

— No.

— I'll take you at your word. Then don't complain if you don't like something.

The songs on the radio were playing randomly. I looked out the window and didn't really remember where we were going. Maybe I should have. For a long time, the apartment buildings gave way to smaller houses; then they disappeared altogether - they were replaced by trees, bushes, and signs warning about moose. About halfway there, I fell asleep, leaning against the glass. Through my sleep, I heard Nelson turn down the music.

He woke me up when we arrived. Opening my eyes, I didn't immediately realize where I was. This place didn't look much like the promised village. Tall grass, not a soul around.

— Let's go further, we won't be able to drive through, — Nelson explained.

Not knowing anything about this area, I obediently followed him along a slightly overgrown, unpaved road. Soon we came to a clearing where several two-story houses were visible. Nelson walked confidently behind them along a barely noticeable path, so much so that I could barely keep up with him.

— Where are we going? — I asked, noticing that we were moving further and further away from the original place.

— Remember, I was talking about one person?

Soon we came to a hill, where a fire was lit in the clearing ahead, and a little further by the water there was a tall man, and, as far as I understood, he was fishing. Nelson pushed me in the back, and I went down to the water. But before I could even say hello, Narell himself began the conversation:

— Are you the doctor who voluntarily, out of the kindness of his heart, — he grinned. — Decided to come to this backwater?

— That’s right, — I was a little taken aback by such straightforwardness.

— Welcome, — undiluted sarcasm.

The man didn’t even turn in my direction — he was so sure of his rightness. And then he turned to Nelson, who instantly tensed up:

— And why did you bring him to me?

— You’ll die here completely if I sit here with my hands folded.

— Why do I need him, I ask?

Narell finally turned around and looked at me as if I was the cause of all his troubles.

— I have everything under control and I don’t want anyone else poking their nose into our affairs.

That was pretty rude.

— I understand why you react to me like that, but I doubt that you have “everything under control”, because you definitely don’t! A lot has happened here in the last month, especially bad things, and I, like Mr. Nelson, cannot ignore it, — I said firmly.

— Are you a doctor or an investigator? Your job is to treat people, I’ll take care of the rest.

Narell sighed and continued, not taking his eyes off me:

— Since I can’t send you both away, tomorrow we’ll need to go to the victims. Any other questions?

— If you can handle everything yourself, as you’re trying to convince us, then why can’t you solve this problem too?

— Shut your mouth.

I was taken aback for a second by this, and even Nelson didn’t interfere, although he was clearly unhappy with how the conversation went.

— I’m afraid to ask, — I began carefully, but was interrupted.

— Then don’t ask, doctor, — he emphasized the last word with his voice, as if indicating my place.

Not intending to tolerate this, I left this place without saying another word to him. I don’t know where exactly I was going, I didn’t even turn around when Nelson called out. Tomorrow after lunch. Okay. Let it be as he says. I’ll finish this and never see him again.

Later Nelson found me by the car. He apologized for what happened, helped me move my things to my new place of residence and left.

It’s getting on with the evening. Now I’m in what I must admit is a rather cozy house in the middle of the forest. In this place, each building is separated from the others by at least one hundred and fifty meters. The house that was given to me includes one room and a fairly spacious kitchen. Fortunately, it was very clean and dry inside, with the exception of the stairs to the second floor, which, like the steps at the threshold of the house, were a little rotten, and moss was visible on the walls at the back of the house. Otherwise, I have nothing to complain about. The nature here was, as I had imagined, magnificent. To begin with, I strolled out of the house and sat down on a bench worn by time. It seemed to have scratches from someone's claws on it. Probably the previous owners had a dog or some other animal. Tearing myself away from the boring examination of the wood, I looked up at the view that opened up to me. I am not exaggerating at all when I say that the flora here is charming. Broadleaf trees of a rich green color grew along the entire perimeter. At almost any time of the day you could hear the singing of birds, of which there were many different species in the area. Before dark, I managed to walk around the vast territory to unwind, and this helped a lot.

August 25.

The wall clock showed 04:16. The phone lay alone on the wooden nightstand by the bed.

I tiredly rubbed my eyes with my hand. Usually I used a flashlight so as not to make my way around the house in the evening by touch, trying not to bump into anything. I didn’t want to turn on the light. The instant coffee in the mug with a funny white cat had long since cooled down and now stood sadly, completely forgotten by me. For the last ten minutes, the book lying on my lap remained motionless. I stubbornly tried to read the text on the page that was in front of my eyes, but my brain simply refused to perceive the information, constantly returning my thoughts to that dialogue. The fact that something was fishy here was clear even without my guesses and conjectures. I took a deep breath, calming down. The main thing for me now is not to lose face in front of Narell, so I must be unperturbed and, as he said, do my job well. And I will deal with the rest without his knowledge and control. And what could he do to me? Really, and what was I afraid of? I need to rest until about ten o'clock so as not to look too bad. I returned to the second floor, leaving everything as it was. The penultimate step creaked ominously, which sent a chill down my spine and I hurried to hide in the room. It was eleven o'clock when I opened my eyes again and immediately screwed them up from the bright light that was pouring in a continuous stream from the window. I overslept a little, but nothing terrible. Getting up from the soft bed, I felt a pleasant lightness in my whole body, which I hadn't felt for a long time. I slept well! Great news. I think the day promises to be good. After water procedures, I got dressed and went down to the kitchen. In a couple of sips, I finished the bitter coffee, because it was a pity to spill it, and quickly prepared hot sandwiches with sausage and egg.

In fact, I had just finished my meal, turned off the gas stove and washed the dishes when my guest appeared on the path leading out of the village. He greeted me dryly and shook my hand. I noted to myself that he spoke calmly and clearly, and that his voice was deep and a little hoarse. Now that I had the chance to meet him face to face in a calm environment, I can say that he was very attractive in appearance for his age. A man of about thirty-seven with dark, straight, shoulder-length hair that was very tangled in some places, dressed in a simple white shirt, the first three buttons of which were casually unbuttoned, and loose black trousers. If I were to describe his face, it is worth noting that he had dark green eyes, a nose with a slight hump and thin lips that had never stretched into a smile in my presence. His hands were rough, from which I concluded that he often did hard work. Perhaps he has a family here that he is worried about. This picture made my chest warm. Maybe I was wrong to slander him, and Narell is not so bad. But with his next phrase he dashed all my hopes for friendship with him:

— Stop smiling, it looks terrible! — he said with feigned disgust.

An intolerable person, and a rude one at that. Apparently, my thoughts were clearly reflected on my face, because then Narell condescendingly patted me on the shoulder and told me not to sulk.

[friesian]

ockiss prompt 2: rain and whos to say the gothic monsters can't have a little kissy in a rain of rose petals. :3 now EAT my bestie's @kamiporterbridges writing with this. he did SO SO well with the gothic motifs and imagery. PLEASE LOOKSIES!!!

---

Thunder roared over the dense forest south from Divinity’s Reach, and Wakeland looked up, pushing a thick strand of hair off behind her pointy ear. The air was thick with anticipation, and the wind carried that unique, humid smell of rain towards them.

“Henry?” she called, strutting up ahead to catch up with him. Henry glanced up, sighing.

“Yes,” he simply replied, boots stomping the soft, wet soil. It had been an unusually rainy spring in Kryta. “We must simply bear it, I’m afraid. Not to mention, it will wash away our tracks.”

Wakeland’s ears droppéd slightly, and the hair strand became loose, framing his face once more.

“Well thought,” he said, looking down at her white, leather boots, covered in thick, black ooze.

Even when the hunt was a success, the walk back home had some drag to it. They bore new scars. They learned new fears. Demons were resourceful; always watching for an opening, for a weakness. But so were they.

Demons are relentless, as Henry always said. But so are we.

Wakeland didn’t feel relentless. The cold pressed against her, and the pull of exhaustion made her legs heavy. As his condition worsened, fighting became a truly miserable experience. But if Henry wasn’t giving up, he refused to be less.

The first raindrop fell and bounced off Wakeland’s wide-brimmed hat. Soon, another one followed.

The promised storm unleashed not with violence, but with a quiet shower pointed by thunder and lightning. Rolling over them in shadows and silver, as the water soaked into their hunting armor, dripping from loosened, brunette curls over Henry’s black glasses, and from long, pale blonde locks down Wakeland’s back. The world was tinted in grayscale, as the demonic blood washed away from them; the thick, oil-like substance diluting in the cleansing rain before seeping into the ground.

There was something beautiful about the stillness of the rain, of a storm rolling in. How the world held its breath for a moment before unleashing a bellowing thunder. Wakeland tilted his face up into the sky, feeling that same cleansing water washing over him as he breathed in.

“Henry?” she called once more, stopping in a small, sudden clearing.

Framed in deep, washed out greens, a shadow deeper than the shadows around him, Henry turned to give him a questioning glance.

Even in the growing darkness of a storm, Wakeland could feel the burning fires of his passion. Even behind those glasses.

The clouds seemed to part around them, and weak rays of light bathed the forest. Insinuating the oncoming bloom, as the soil soaked in the rain, nurturing the life within.

“In one of my books, the protagonists dance under the rain,” she explained, hands clasped behind her back, wriggling them nervously. “It’s very nice.”

Henry turned completely to face him; his stern face not betraying any emotion. But when Wakeland clumsily twirled in place to demonstrate, tripping on her own legs, Henry quickly reached out to hold her upright, avoiding her inevitable collapse on the muddy floor.

“Caution,” he warned, pulling Wakeland close by the waist. “You’re tired. Don’t overexert yourself–”

“Would you dance with me?” Wakeland interrupted, looking at him with a soft, almost saddened smile. “A little waltz won’t kill me.”

His hand sought for Henry’s; holding it, feeling its warmth despite the rain. And Henry sighed, glancing down at their interlocking fingers briefly before meeting Wakeland’s eyes once more.

“Then we will make haste for home,” he warned, stern as ever, ignoring Wakeland’s brimming, bright grin. “I do not wish to expose you to the elements any further.”

He cared so much for her. But if Wakeland didn’t experience the whimsy of the world, if she was to be forced to lay in a bed for the conceivable future, he would be as good as dead.

As Henry took a step backwards, interlocking fingers sliding off to a soft, gingerly contact, Wakeland’s smile seemed to seep into the ground like the rain. Henry bowed, and the forest was a castle, a dance hall, a masquerade they both attended dressed in silk and velvet. Swept away in a waltz, Wakeland didn’t feel the rain. He felt soft petals caressing her skin, joyous as they swayed and turned and made a ball out of that muddy clearing.

The greens seemed greener. The hidden flowers bloomed. For a moment, the clouds parted, and the rain glistened like the endless crystal tears of a candelabra. Just like in those novels - no, even better than his romantic, starry-eyed novels. For Henry wasn’t a collection of eagerly expected words; he was real, warm against her chest, stern yet soft when he guided her steps.

The imaginary music of raindrops ceased, easing into a light rain softly kissing Wakeland’s cold skin. And Henry finished their dance with a polite bow, as the illusion vanished, and they were still soaked in the forest.

Wakeland giggled, cheeks warming up with a light pink blush - all the blood his body could spare. And Henry leaned up to kiss her briefly, never allowing him to sink to his level. Not even for a kiss.

His lips warmed hers in a soft caress, before he parted briefly to speak.

“We should get moving,” he murmured, lips still gliding over Wakeland’s. “Before the storm winds up again.”

It was a reasonable request. But the rose bushes were bright red, and the sun danced on the raindrops clinging to the deep green leaves. The world was shades of love and pink, and Wakeland leaned down, despite Henry’s quiet protest, to kiss him once again.

From the maws of desperation, he’d reclaim his happiness. Over and over and over again.

[smolvenger]

The Twelve Days- Chapter Eight: Epilogue (Henry V/fem! Reader Series)

Previous Parts: One//Two//Three//Four//Five//Six//Seven

Series Summary: Your family betrothed you to known rake Prince Hal now newly reformed and crowned as King Henry V of England. As December ends and January begins, you must face your first Twelve Days of Christmas Celebration not only as a new queen, but a new wife to a man you are just beginning to know and bed.

Chapter Word Count: 4K

Chapter Warnings: Only some light smut towards the end. Discussions of grief, death, childbirth, pregnancy, the fear of a wedding night, and children. But lots of very sweet, fluffy moments and a happy ending. Attempts at historical accuracy and some Shakespearean terms (like "wag"="boy")

A03//My Ko-Fi//My Etsy Shop//Masterlist//Wattpad

A/N: I hope you enjoy the finale! Reblogs, asks, private messages, and comments on my works are always appreciated!

Taglist: Taglist: @jennyggggrrr @five-miles-over @fictive-sl0th @ladycamillewrites @villainousshakespeare @holdmytesseract

Four years later. May.

When the previous king, Henry IV, was full of thought, he couldn’t sleep and paced about the castle all night. When his son, Henry V, was full of thought, he would shoot arrows.

His royal majesty, Henry V was outside on a warm day with guards and attendants, of course. The sun shone over the blanket of green grass and bushes that rustled only slightly with the breeze in the garden. Despite the outside pleasantness, any servant or guard could tell Henry was visually worried. His mouth was in a tight-lipped frown and his face was as white as the clouds. Targets were placed outside in a row before the grounds where your favorite flowers were kept. His eyes sometimes dart to them, to remind himself of you, he would then focus his gaze on the red center of one target.

His curly, red-streaked blonde hair was swept out of his face. He nicked in an arrow and drew the bow as he lifted it up gracefully. He kept his eyes steady, aimed it, the tip of the arrow pointed at the center, and with a deep exhaling sigh that made him drop his mouth left open, he released it.

FWOOM!

The arrow stabbed through the air and landed right at the center of the target. He had done this for the past month but inside the castle. You were now in your ninth month of pregnancy and had to be kept confined to your chambers to guarantee the child’s safe delivery without outside illness. No one other than the ladies in waiting, priests to bless the room, or doctors were allowed in and out. Not even him.

Henry understood it. He had been through this specific anxiety not too long ago. But it was still torture for him. To be separated from you, not even able to visit for a minute, as preparations were made for a birth- something that killed so many unfortunate women, no matter if they had a crown on their heads or not.

You had insisted Henry be present at least when the children were born. Like any sensible King of England, he wanted to execute an invasion of France. But the moments you discovered you were pregnant, you pleaded with him to at least be there right after the births- he had to see them. Should he die, he had to at least look on his children’s faces. Even if they would never remember it, they had to have their father tell them with his words in front of them, that he loved them.

The king had to be kept far away lest he break the rules of confinement. All of England knew how much he adored and doted on his wife. Some remarked how surprising it was that this passionate, fiery king kept no mistress, not even when your belly swelled with child. That he would visit your chambers defiantly whatever condition you were in. Some said it was a little of the rebellious old Hal that would never die in him and would not listen to the advice of the elders to not bed a woman. And some said it was because no one wished to risk unleashing their fury from "Queen Y/N the Kind-Hearted". It was exactly because of your heart that you had a great rage that terrified many when it was unleashed at those deserving. "The gentlest cat scratches the worst" they would say with a grin. Some gossiped that one Christmas season early in your marriage, you pleaded to your husband early on to remain faithful and he relented to it- out of concern for you. Out of love for you.

And that love gave some a political advantage and key to either Henry's favor or wrath. A good word with you would earn good favor with the King, as well as the opposite- those who made enemies with you or threatened or even insulted you would regret it. Not unless they wanted to have a bloody end under Henry’s sword.

And everyone knew, just like before, that your cries of birthing pain would move Henry into a desperate state. He would be madly dashing into those chambers. His large hands on the wooden door, guards and servants attempting to hold back the tall, strong man and failing, before he kicked and ripped the door to your chambers open with his bare hands to rush to your side. But the delivery was not for him to witness. Other than you, it was for the expertise of the physicians at court and the help of the ladies.

So his advisors and servants would have to force him away and distract him the second it was announced that your water broke. And now here it was again, for a second time, and they knew the steps of this tricky dance. Give him arrows. Let him shoot and ride every horse of his outside for hours, away from where he could hear you. Keep his mind off. To only allow him in on two instances- the delivery was going to become fatal for mother, child, or both and he had to arrive to say his goodbyes. Or when it was done.

So, arrows it was.

He hardly noticed when the lady-in-waiting arrived, treading on the grass. He glanced at the yellow of her skirt out of the corner of his eye. He whipped his head around and froze. She curtsied to him. There was a small smile on her face.

“Well, what news?” Henry asked, his heart racing in hope.

“She has delivered of a princess, a healthy one. Both mother and daughter are well. The physicians say the queen is expected to recover soon, as she did the last time.”

Henry dropped the bow and arrows so that they splattered in the grass. His posture relaxed and he broke into a smile.

“Thank you,” he told the lady.

Henry broke out into a run to the other end of the garden and his own attendants did not stop him.

“Sire- sire!” they cried, trying to keep up with him and failing as they held onto their hats and huffed.

He then only slowed down to a fast walk to a certain corner of the garden, notorious for mud after it rained. To where Henry knew he would be. He- the first child whose birth he fretted over so much three years ago. On the grass, right before some wildflowers, his nurse overwatching right nearby, squatted the next Henry, the heir, his royal majesty Henry the Sixth.

His hair tended to curl like his father’s, but his eyes matched that of his mother’s. Henry the Sixth was destined to rule four countries, create laws, raise, and send armies, and hold all the power of a mighty nation.

Not that that mattered to the little three-year-old boy, often called Hal like his father. Little Hal did not care for being the next king, at least not yet. Little Hal was far more concerned with eating bread with butter until it smeared his face, chasing after his mother’s cat to pet it, and running with his tiny, chubby legs through the gardens to stomp in mud puddles.

“Ah, Hal! How is my boy?” The king asked kindly.

Little Hal looked back up. He was picking up a few purple and white wildflowers in his grubby fists.

“Papa! Papa!” he cheered, arms up and jumping up and down.

Henry picked up the small boy easily into his arms and inspected the flowers in his son’s hands before turning to him with a smile.

“I have some good news- your mother had the baby, and you have a little sister now. Would you like to meet her?” he asked.

Little Hal’s eyes widened, and he smiled cheerfully on his round cheeks.

“You must be good to them and mind them- you have a sister to help look after as well as play with- you’ll do that, aren’t you?” Henry asked.

Little Hal smiled and held up the flowers.

“For mama!” he announced.

“Why yes- won’t she love them! Let’s go give them to her now!” Henry said, giving a small kiss on his son’s cheek.

Carrying Little Hal, he arrived there to your rooms, the very rooms were for the last month he was blocked from entering. The guards opened the doors and he walked through. It was warm, stuffy, and smelled of the incense from the priest's blessing. There was a small crowd of physicians and the other ladies-in-waiting who served you. They were getting rid of the bloody sheets and the afterbirth in buckets.

But there, warm and safe on a clean bed, was you holding a newborn baby.

Yes, you felt exhausted. Labor was aptly named. But the hours of the pain of delivery were forgotten once you looked upon the little face that stayed inside your stomach for nine months. Her brother would sometimes greet her with a little “hello, baby” as he lightly touched your bulging belly. That Twelfth Night feast as you sat on the table before the guests next to your husband was when she first started to kick. It was so strong even your dress moved beneath you. You immediately pulled Henry’s hand from resting on the table to feel it. How mighty her legs were already- she was a fighter, like her father.

But here she finally was out of your stomach at last- a tiny little face, calmed from crying and nursing, in a warm, white bundle in your arms. Hearing footsteps and the door, you turned your head to the side to see your little son and husband.

“How are you?” he asked as the childbirth party before your bed all bowed to him.

“We’re both alright, my lord,” you asked.

“Thank God! I couldn’t be more relieved, sweetling,” Henry replied.

He leaned over and kissed your head. But the little boy in his arms wriggled.

“Mama! Mama! It’s for you! I missed you, mama!” he cried, waving the flowers.

“I missed you too, my little wag, but now you can visit me whenever you want for as long as you need,” You said.

He wriggled until his father set him before the bed and placed the wildflowers from his dirt-stained hands onto the little table next to your bed.

“Oh- Hal- for me! How sweet of you! Thank you!” you responded graciously, smiling to admire the boy’s bouquet.

Henry’s eyes went down to the bundle. Already you could hear bells pealing outside to announce the birth of the princess, just as they did when her brother was born three years ago.

“I’d like her to be called Blanche…” you announced to everyone.

“Blanche! She was my…my sister…” Henry recalled; he told you about her late at night against pillows.

You nodded.

“I still remember the day her husband sent the letter- dead from childbirth. Father was so close to her before she was married off. He shut himself in his room, crying. He was inconsolable for weeks.” He recalled.

“I’d like to remember her and carry on her memory…her name is Blanche- Princess Blanche,” you announced.

The crowd bowed their heads in acknowledgment.

“Could you please leave us for a moment?” Henry asked.

They followed and walked out as the bells continued their joyous pealing outside. Henry went over to sit on the other end of the bed.

“I wish my father could be here…” he said.

“Would he even like me, Henry?” you asked.

“Y/N, he would have adored you! Probably more than me! I can already hear what he would say…” he commented.

You bared your teeth in your smile with a wicked glint in your eyes.

“Then mimic him! Hal, sweetheart, would you like your father to do the voice? To hear what your grandfather sounded like?” you asked, turning to your son, getting up to sit on the other end of the bed.

Little Hal began to cheer, pumping his little fists up and down, “The voice! The voice! The voice!”

Henry smiled and adjusted his posture the way his father would. He lowered his chin, and waved his hands, mimicking the dark, low, garbled voice of Bolingbroke:

“ 'Well, it was about time he married that Y/N! At least she could knock some sense into wild Harry’s head! Now- where are my beautiful grandchildren!? Bring them to me now so I can spoil them rotten-hmph!’ ”

He then opened his arms to hug and tickle little Hal, who burst into laughter. Then there was a sudden loud, cracked coo coming from the tiny bundle in your arms from the commotion. Henry let go of his arms and turned back. He relaxed his shoulders and let go of his son, eyeing her- the new arrival, the princess, not only your daughter but his. He sat down on the bed, leaning against the pillows next to you.

“Can I hold her?” he asked.

“Yes, you may,” you answered.

Thankfully, Blanche didn’t cry as she was gently shifted into her father’s arms. She only cooed again. Henry was beaming down at her. He broke into a gentle smile. As he settled her onto the corner of his arm, arm, he used his free hand to remove a bit of the blanket to look at her tiny face. Her closed eyes, small nose, little mouth, and two small hands grasping out. He stuck a finger out for her to hold and he noticed her light grasp from minuscule fingers with nails like specks of seashells.

Just as three years ago with the arrival of the boy, he felt his chest burst at once with love. He would fight a hundred men for this small princess, if not die for her. As well as for his son. For his family.

“Hello, Blanche…I’m your papa…” he said quietly.

The crown and the throne now mattered very little. Only her, her in his arms. Maybe forces outside his control would send him to war. Or an assassination. To be king was to watch someone be showered with power one day and then slowly die. It was a blessing and a curse. But if Blanche heard nothing else, even if she would never remember it, he had to say one thing:

“Your mother and I love you, so very much.”

The darker thought left his head, and he gave her a kiss on the forehead. She wiggled a little in his arm, getting used to her own tiny body outside of a womb. Henry smiled down at her, noting the tuft of hair on top of her that resembled yours, and how warm she felt- and the fresh smell of soap from how they cleaned her.

“She’s beautiful, Y/N…we’re going to have a joust and a feast at the christening to celebrate her arrival…and I’d like to commission a painting made with the four of us…” he said.

He stood up and rocked her and Little Hal turned his head with a squeal. He saw your cat trotting through your rooms. Already Sir Gwaine had matured from kitten to cathood, his body large and he himself into his own long, orange fur with a handsome set of whiskers and puffed tail. Sir Gwaine walked forward, eyes wide to examine the scene. Little Hal gave a happy cry of ��cat! Cat!” and pushing himself off, he waddled over to embrace the pet. Sir Gwaine blinked and tolerated the little boy’s arms around him and even when Little Hal picked him up.

But Henry began to keep rocking her, slowly. Smiling. She stretched out her hand and touched the end of his beard lightly.

“I think she and Hal could use a few more brothers and sisters to play with!” Henry suggested.

“Oof-Easy for you to say, husband! Let me rest before that!” you insisted, adjusting yourself from behind to sit more upright against the pillows.

Sir Gwaine then let out a protesting “meow!” and Little Hal let him out of his arms, much to his giggles. He then looked up at you and returned to your side.

“Would you like to hold your sister, my dear?” you asked the boy.

He nodded his head yes. You patted the bed, and he climbed up to sit upright on it again.

He had learned how to climb up and off the grand royal beds. Of all the people on earth, other than you, Little Hal was the only one in England allowed to disturb the king’s sleep, especially if he woke up and had a bad dream. There would be a knock on the royal chambers and a servant would be holding the hand of the little boy crying for his papa or mama.

Little Hal sat up and Henry gently laid down Blanche.

“Here, Hal- one hand for her head and another for her body- like that. She’s delicate, so be gentle,” he instructed.

Little Hal smiled, eyes shining on his little sister.

“I love you, sissy!” he babbled before leaning down to kiss her forehead.

"There you go, my wag," you praised, kissing the top of your son's head.

And after a few minutes, you leaned over and gently took back the baby. Letting out a deep sigh of relief. Henry asked to hold Blanche one more time before the attendants returned. She slowly opened her eyes and looked up at him. They were blue- his shade, his size, his shape. He quietly burst into happy tears and was still holding her and smiling when they walked in.

And indeed, there was a feast and a joust to celebrate the Princess, just as there was when her brother arrived. And you smiled brightly from your throne, insisting Blanche bundled in soft, Lancaster red swaddling so you could hold her during these events as Henry swooped up little Hal to sit on his knee to watch the dancing brought to entertain all of you.

The physicians predicted right, much to the entire castle’s relief, that you recovered in time without illness or problems. Though you had to lay down to rest for a few weeks for the recovery period. You insisted Henry, a courtier, or at least a servant give you a report of what was discussed in court. Motherhood was not going to hinder your determination to use your position for the better. Courtiers would often appear in your chambers.

One day, you sat on a chair and nodded, listening intently to the updates.

“We found five children, siblings- on their own on an empty shed in London. Their parents were dead in their beds. They were living off the trash others threw out,” the Lord of Exeter reported, hands reading from a scroll.

“Make sure those children are brought to a good home, and see they are fed, clothed, sheltered, and educated. I would also like a report on any reactions to the new bill and the advice given to my husband…if I do not see him today, tell me where his mind is at. Oh! I almost forgot!-Tell me about the French ambassador’s gifts before they are presented. You understand how certain items will offend my husband and we do not wish them to drive him against them out of frivolity yet. I may persuade them otherwise.” you advised from your chair by the fire, rocking little Blanche.

Henry sometimes, in the evening, would ask you to dinner during that month. Though you were still in the period of recovery and did not need the passion of bedding him, you didn’t have to spend a night in pleasure for him to be there. Just together. You two would still simply hold each other, one wrapping arms around the other, pressing a kiss to the other’s shoulder, and sleepily recalling the day and chatting until you both fell asleep.

And soon enough, you had returned to continuing life as normal. You attended court by your husband’s side to advise him and do whatever you could. You visited your family’s home occasionally or had them over, especially to see the little children. The three younger Lancaster brothers proved to be wonderful playmates and uncles to the royal children. You walked the gardens and enjoyed sewing circles in your chambers, only to have one of the royal cradles by your side to occasionally rock little Blanche. Everyone knew that it was a servant’s job to rock the cradle in the nursery at night so the royal couple could sleep unperturbed. But during the day, you wished her to be as present as you could- your children would grow up knowing their mother loved them. As well as their father.

Three months after Blanche arrived, he asked to dine with you in your rooms. The ladies had been sent away last before he knocked. So when Henry first entered that night, you were alone. You wore your robe, nothing else. Mere minutes after he entered, you both were on each other like rabbits. He kissed and touched you like a starved man. His large hand easily pulled off your robe. It was not long until even the great bed beneath you shook as he thrust into you. Your euphoric cries of “Please! Henry-yes! God-Henry! Yes! Th-there! I’m going to- I’m going to-” echoed, much to the blush of any servant walking down the outside hall that hour.

And the next morning you and Henry woke up in your chambers together, both of you bare among the sheets. But it was a beautiful, light, pink and purple dawn and you both smiled. You couldn’t help but laugh and cover your face recounting the last night’s events, but Henry himself propped himself to lay on his side with a smug grin and his bare chest puffed like a rooster.

“Ah, so I take it from your sore legs that you enjoyed last night my lady- did you?” he asked.

You burst into laughter, the words babbling out of you like water.

“Yes! Yes, I did Henry I-I I enjoy every minute I spend with you! Goodness, I’m glad I didn’t sneak that knife-“

“Knife?” he repeated.

“On our wedding day, I thought of hiding a dinner knife beneath my dress. So if you tried to force yourself on me, I would have stabbed you. Then I was told at the wedding feast that the court would watch us undress that night. I would have been caught and the knife removed- perhaps I would have been imprisoned right after. It would have been useless. And even if I managed to somehow get it past them, what if I killed you that night? How would I get away with killing the king? They would have still cut my head off!” you recalled.

“Well, I’m quite glad too you did not kill me either!” he replied with a laugh.

You leaned in to kiss his cheek.

“I’m also glad I didn’t because- because I love you, Henry…” you said.

His eyes softened and so did the smugness of his smile. He leaned over and cupped your cheek.

“I love you too,” he said. At long, long last he could say what was inside him and hear those three blessed words with your voice playing them like music. You both leaned over to kiss each other lovingly for a minute, embracing each other genuinely.

“May I join you for your morning ride? The nurse has the children today and I don’t think I ever tried it,” you requested.

“You need only ask,” he replied.

It was after the morning mass that you both went into the stables. And anyone- from the lowest servant to the highest courtier- could see a flash of white over a green hill outside the castle. They would see a white horse- Henry’s favorite- and both the King and The Queen on it. You were right in front, holding onto him, smiling as Henry gripped the reigns to adjust the speed of the horse. Both of you smiling at the wind picking up in your face and the thrill of the horse’s gallop beneath both of you.

There- with your two children healthy, with the protection of the crown and your every needs more than provided for, the ability to do what you could for the better of the country, and most of all, with Henry- who you loved deeply and who loved you in return- you thought your mother turned out to be right after all.

You were indeed the luckiest woman in England.

[axieta]

Hungry eyes

Henry Winter x reader

Chapter 5

| What had passed in a blink of an eye |

That week I had spent at her place.

‘You’re quick’

She had said as soon as I knocked on the door of her apartment on that first day, a cloudy Tuesday.

‘I’m sick.’

I joked terribly mimicking a clogged nose, and she snorted.

Her flat wasn’t very lofty, cramped rather, but it wasn’t a quality with which it was built. Rather, the lack of space came from all the trinkets, books, cups and mugs, clothes, makeshift cigarette trays (I tell you, all those mugs, plates, cake stands and fruit bowls, were covered in cigarette ash and millions of tiny, orange butts) and many a plants scattered all over it. There was a convergence of all the kinds of alcohol bottles intermingling with piles of books and papers sticking out their flimsy, disheveled carcasses in each and every corner. Some of the bottles empty, some of them full, waiting for an opportunity to be opened. The moment I entered the crowded space I knew that I was walking into a smoker’s home, not only for the ash and the butts but also the sheer vail of silvery cigarette smoke blurring the contours of the space before me. In the morning light its tendrils curled up and untangled, white-rimmed swirls created fantastical shapes in the air, as if it was a living, breathing creature with a strange, artistic mind of its own. Ever present, the smoke followed her and her slowly burning cigarette like an importunate roommate. Everywhere she went, it appeared instantaneously, as she seemed to be smoking even more now, that she was confined to her flat. To be fair, I had not seen her light a single cigarette during that week and I wondered wether or not she had a special, everlasting ciggy on her hands. Truly what a mystical and magical trinket would that be. Once my eyes adjusted enough to those foggy conditions, I could see the flat in its full glory. And it was a really nice flat. Right opposite the entry, a huge floor-length window gaped at me from a frame of golden setting of ornaments. Like the mouth of Leviathan, sharp with sculpted leaves and vines it opened the flat to the grey world outside, sill damp with the morning mist. Before it sat a black, leather armchair with its feet resting put up and a small table on one leg, obviously holding a dangerously heavy looking stack of books and an ashtray. This time a full-fledged crystal cigarette holder and not any cheap substitute. In the middle of the room stood a hefty one-piece table, dividing the space. To its left opened the kitchen annex, strangely populated with plants, and without any kitchenware in sight. Everywhere where I looked, and so on the shelves, the counter, floor and even the sink, plants unraveled their green leaves, bowed their heads and climbed upwards, towards the ceiling, to hug the small iron chandelier with their veiny arms. I wondered how did she even managed to meander amongst this miniature jungle, but I figured that if anyone could do it, it would be her. And to the right, a big fireplace took the better part of the space left, disproportionally big to the size of the flat. Over it, supported on a stone shelf a giant reproduction of Philoxenus’ mosaic stood, framed in much tamer, silver mount. From it, the fierce Alexander on Bucephalus chased after Darius and his chariot. That classical accent felt somehow out of place, even more so when my gaze fell down onto the art deco set consisting of two slick, leather chairs, a couch and a glass coffee table, per usual littered with papers and other trinkets. Next to the fireplace loomed a dark, oak door, shut closed, concealing what I could only assume was a bedroom. I had never seen the door open, nor did I catch a glimpse of what hid behind it. Never had the chance to get close enough to her. For a second, months after that week I thought she might open herself to me completely, seal the deal of our forged friendship. And maybe she too was considering it, but then the whole Bunny affair took place and any trace of connection any of us might’ve had with her dissolved to a minimum. After that she became a whole different person, terribly distant from the girl I got to know in that smoked-up room. Overall, however disorderly, the flat felt somehow cozy. Homely, very her.

As I went in, I didn’t really know what to do with myself. I had no present for her ( I heard that it is only polite to bring a present when you pay someone a call for the first time, but I was so stressed with the visit it had completely evaporated from my mind) and so I just swirled my empty hands around, looking for something to say. Because what was there to say? I went there to maybe gain some insight on the tragic drama that was apparently at play between her and Henry, but it felt rather tone death to jump into that right off the bat. So I stayed, as I was in her hallway, a bit dismayed and disoriented. She, always the empath, must’ve felt my discomfort or maybe she just read the clear apprehension from my daft body language and so, to lift my spirits a little, she sent me a warm, reassuring smile.

‘Why don’t you sit down, huh Richard my dear? Have you eaten yet?’

‘No, no I haven’t I’m afraid.’

I said, truthfully. As I had already mentioned, the visit cost me so much stress that I couldn’t think of anything of substance, least to say breakfast.

‘Then would you like me to cook you up something? Scrambled eggs? Please don’t say no, I already promised I would whip up something for you.’

I nodded, thankful for her light tone and the slight, crooked smile that she kept on her lips. Weirdly, in that apartment she seemed drastically different from the ‘her’ from the outside. Somehow more delicate, less wild and more… well warm. The spark in her eye had not diminished, but rather turned into something more inviting, cosy. Maybe it was the effect her letter had on me, even so, it seemed as if she had shed the tough exterior she wore while in Hampden and revealed her soft belly to me. Truly surreal to think that, I know, but what else could I think while faced with a completely new version of her?

Her aura, usually a raging fire, sparkling with terrifying orange, screaming with fearsome yellow had simmered down to idle warm tones of embers gleaming with shy and affectionate red.

Sitting at the cluttered table I swiped some of the crumbs off of it and watched as she put on an apron and swiftly zigzagged around the kitchen. A pan here, a cutlery set there. She opened and closed cupboards faster then the speed of light. I could not keep up with her, even though I was simply spying her with my eyes and she was doing all the work. She moved with an effortless grace, because of course she did, and hummed softly, the same melody she did that night at Francis’s summer house. There was something familiar and light in the way she roamed about the kitchen. Not in that tacky, trite way some of the people try to show off their skills in kitchen, flaunting around what they had learned in curses and what-not’s, but in true, pure, kind manner. Everything she did seemed not like a performance but rather like a favor to a friend or an unexpected gift. It was a pleasant experience, seeing her in such a motherly light. Because that was her aura at that moment. Bright, soft and motherly. All that laid encapsules in those precise, rapid movements, from the way she lit the gas stove, to the way she twirled her hair around her finger as she tossed around the egg yolks on the frying pan reminded me of Vesta, goddess of domestic and civic hearth. With her own, gas-lit fire serving as her sacred attribute.

‘So what do you do for fun around here? Expect for reading and not cleaning your flat of course?’

She giggled, breaking another egg on the edge of a pan.

‘Not much I’m afraid. How hard do you want them fried?’

‘Not at all. And egg soup is what I fancy the most.’

Another laugh.

‘Coffee?’

‘Hmmm.’

Not so long after that quick exchange, she set a plate with the eggs, tomatoes and a slice of bread as well as a glass coffee pot and a mug before me.

‘My god, you really made a soup out of it, didn’t you!’

‘You want a soup, you get a soup.’

I huffed a laugh and she puffed at her cigarette. For a second it was quiet, the silence only disrupted by my fork scraping the ceramic plate.

My eyes wandered onto her hand squeezing her own cup with the dark beverage in it and I wondered if she was not going to eat herself.

‘Cigarettes and coffee, remember?’ God damn it, she must’ve been an oracle of some sort, seeing as easily she guessed what was going through my mind all the time. She shook her hand as if to illustrate her point. ‘I don’t need nothing else.’

‘Then what about that one? Are you going to drink it?’

I pointed at a mug that had my attention since I crossed the threshold as, and I already knew that from the letter, it bore a particular connection to a special someone I simply itched to know about some more.

‘Oh that ol’ thing? Well it’s waiting for its proprietary.’

Suddenly the wild grin was back on her lips and the mischievous spark shined in her eye. Her face elongated with poisonous fiendish intention. A true vixen if I’ve ever seen one.

‘Yeah?’

‘Yeah. I’m going to throw it right in his face, next time he comes around.’

‘No you won’t.’

She slammed her hand on the table and the towers of books around us shook in their foundations as she let out a nasal laugh. It was pure and loud and contagious.

‘No I won’t!’

And we both spiraled into a fit of laughter. There was something nice, fulfilling about a slight mockery like that. I don’t know at whom we were laughing at so hard, at her, or at Henry, but either way it felt good to let loose a little. Usually, when I was with them, the whole pack of the classical course, I felt terribly on edge. As if I as much as sneezed in their presence, it would be seen as a horrible faux pas, a terrible transgression. But with her? With that newfound aura of delightful familiarity she brought in with her brilliant smile and those bright eyes, for the first time in months I felt like bird in flight. Like I would soar high into the skies on the winds of her pearly laughter.

‘Oh you’re in so deep, my Diogenes!’

She threw head back, snorting once more and I could feel the air coming into my lungs.

‘Eat up Richard, quick, quick! I have something to show you!’

When I finished I wanted to put the plate in the sink, clean it a little, but she just waved me off and tugged at my sleeve to follow her. She took me to one of the stacks of books and crouching beside it, she forced me to as well. Her sharp, neat fingernail slid across the many torn backs of the books, leaving a quiet tr-tr-tr sound behind, like a chirping of a beaver gnawing on a piece of wood, until she stopped at an uncharacteristically tidy, blue and silver, hard cover.

‘Do you know what that might be, my Crates?’

I shook my head, no, wide smirk spreading across my face at the new nickname. Now I was her apprentice.

‘Erotic poems, Rhetorical pleasure.’

Oh! What a devil woman! The smirk she gave me- the toothy, sunny smile full of that wonderful deviltry. How pleased with herself did she look! How beautiful did she seem in that prurient happiness of hers!

We were crouching so close to each other that our arms brushed and breaths mixed. I could smell that dreamy scent of hers and feel the unruly strands off hair she had now in a tight curl washing over my shoulder. She had a very disobedient type of hair, a few strands fell over her forehead giving her a disheveled look of a romantic poet, think Byron or Shelly. I wanted to push those strands from her face, behind her ear, but I didn’t find the courage in myself to do so.

‘Well, come on, don’t just flaunt that before my face, recite something for goodness sake!’

With a swift tug, she pulled the book from beneath all the others, sending the magnificent tower to the ground. A terrible, deafening rumble resounded in the quiet space, akin to a dragon’s roar and I jumped surprised, falling onto my arse. It hurt like hell, I must’ve hit my backbone, but my hurt did not last long, as she jumped over me with a fiendish yelp and onto the armchair. With one leg tossed over the headrest, and the other supporting her stance on the wobbly piece of furniture she smacked the book open on a random page.

‘Cana Fides et Vesta, Remo cum fratre Quirinus jura dabunt; dire ferro et compagibus artis claudentur Belli portae; Furor impius intus saeva sedens super arma et centum vinctus anis post tergum nodis fremet horridus ore cruento.’

Her voice was strong, deep and loud, perfect for recitation. Fire filled it with each and every word as she screamed the chant of foretold justice into the air above me. And as I watched her squinted eyes and pursed lips I thought the cigarette fumes started to get to me, because in my head she was glowing. Shining with unalloyed, heavenly smoulder that beamed from her eyes and came off her skin in waves. Sweet with the melody of her chant, illuminated with the grey light beaming from the window behind her she presented herself as a frightfully enchanting creature of light and mist. With her head tossed back, hair swaying softly as she nodded to the rhythm, teeth bare and r’s prominent on her tongue, a true Roman goddess emerged from deep within her, manifesting in that blinding, fascinating glow.

She was heaving, her chest coming up and down in utter and total perdition, her gaze directed upwards as if sending the residuals of her voice up, into heavens. A priestess of Forum Romanum.

I clapped, as she finished her verse and in turn got rewarded with yet another toothy grin.

‘One more?’

‘Yes please!’

One more turned into two, then three, four and five and before I realised it I was pulling out a cork out of the third vine bottle of the evening, swaying off the headrest of the art deco coach, screaming on top of my lungs, trying to shout over her.

‘No! It’s not salutam but salutem! Have you learned nothing in those classes you take?’

‘Oh I much prefer to recite in my mother language than in those dead tongues, you can cut me some slack!’

She slurred now, having far more to drink than I did, and I myself wasn’t feeling so sure about my clear mind.

‘Then say something in English.’

She frowned, suddenly offended.

‘Why would you, in all that is holly, assume that English is my native language?’

She pulled off the couch and stood before me in all her disheveled, alcoholic glory. Mars gracing her reddened face.

‘Is it not?’ I asked fearfully, my own voice trembling slightly.

Suddenly a bright smile appeared on her lips lighting up that cloudy expression she bore just seconds before and she snorted. Once again I have fallen victim to yet another of her silly pranks.

‘Now, get ready for I shan’t repeat myself.’

Her tone turned strict and demanding all of a sudden, still I could see a glimpse of humor in her eyes. God, how expressive and lively those eye were. I could bet my own left arm, that even after her death they would gleam at anyone brave enough to look into them, living a life of their own.

‘I’m all ears.’

She cleared her throat, straightened her back and lifted her head up, clearly preparing herself for a great epic. The air stilled around her, silence broken only by the crashing of the logs happily burning in the fire place. Even the silver cigarette smoke around us halted in its fantastical swirls as if to stop and listen to whatever great verse she had prepared.

And in that sublime atmosphere, those words fell onto my ears:

‘They fuck you up, your mum and dad.’

And then my roar followed. I could not help myself, by all that is holy, I couldn’t! The air came out straight out of my lungs, pushed out by an invisible weight and stroke my vocal cords in my throat. A strained wheeze of my laugh scratched my very being.

‘Is this funny to you, Richard Papen?!’

If it was anyone else screaming at me like that I would scram in fright, but it was her. Screaming with a slight note of amusement quaking in the back of her throat, she did not sound threatening at all, so I just snorted away.

‘No, no how could it? By all means continue!’

‘Fine. Fine!- but now listen! This is my favorite lyric of all time.’

‘Go on. The floor is yours.’

Once again, she positioned herself properly, seeing as that particular pose- stiff and serious was the only one in which she could recite Larkin.

‘From the top! They fuck you up, your mum and dad. They may not mean to, but they do. They fill you with the faults they had and add some extra, just for you. But they were fucked up in their turn by fools in old-style hats and coats, who half the time were soppy-stern and half at one another’s throats.’

Suddenly all the color drained from her face and her eyes turned cold, motionless, unseeing. Ghostly shadow covered her whole form and as the words left her mouth she pulled further and further away. Her voice turned scary, gravel and not so motherly.

‘Man hands on misery to man.’ Her teeth shined between her reddened lips, the only splash of color in her otherwise insipid face. ‘It deepens like a coastal shelf. Get out as early as you can, and don’t have any kids yourself.’

This time I did not clap. Nor did I laugh. Looking at her I felt an unpleasant dryness overtaking my throat.

‘Do you… do you believe that?’

Her sharp gaze took my whole frame in. Suddenly I felt awfully small.

‘Do I? I suppose yes.’

I swallowed, hard.

‘And did your parents…?’

‘Immensely.’

The temperature dropped drastically in the room. I could feel the cold needles of hoarfrost freezing inside my lungs despite the fire raging in the hearth mere inches from me.

‘And you never wish to have kids?’

She must’ve felt the cold as well, she had to, because as soon as that sentence had left my mouth she tossed her head back and rushed to the raging heath, placing her hands on the shelf above, her back turned to me, put up and rigid.

‘Never ever.’

‘Even with Henry.’

Dry snort resonated off the dark stone of the fireplace, so different from her delightful giggle I got so accustomed in span of a few hours.

‘Sooner the sky will meet the earth and the sun will set in the west than I will ever have the gruesome though of bearing his kids grace my mind.’

‘Are you so sure about that?’

‘Positively. You cannot turn vinegar into jam. And you most certainly cannot consume it on its own.’

And before I could react, she looked at me over her shoulder, the orange beaming from the fireplace framing her face with gold, trembling light. And I think if I had not set eyes on her before she eyed me, I should have been struck dumb.

‘That’s a great analogy. He’s sour like vinegar, don’t you think?’

I shook my head yes, mute, speechless, despite winning the wolf eye agility contest as her sharp teeth glistened in yet another bone-chilling smile.

And that was our first day.

On the second day, I must admit I felt a little bit guilty about not presenting her with anything the previous day, so I troubled myself with dragging my portable record player as well as a few of my favorite records along with me, to make her up for that. I kind of feared her reaction, after all the record player was one of the, as she called them, devilish modernities of a man. But, no! She surprised me once again. I watched her watch the machine witch child-like glee and big eyes, following intently the rapid spin of the record and gazing incredulously at the knob with which I regulated the volume.

‘It is a positively wonderful thing, this record player of yours.’

She liked all the records, but most of all the Speak and Spell recording. What a strange thing it was to see a creature of light such as herself crouching over that crappy record player, nodding and bouncing on the balls of her feet, squealing with delight at every electronic note coming off the machine. She must’ve rewinded that particular record at least a dozen times, and at the end of that psychedelic session I was sure that every lyrics from every song written on it was engraved into my mind. So much so, that I felt positive that if someone came to me in the middle of the night and put a gun to my head demanding me to sing, let’s say New life, I would be, by god, I would be able to do it.

In the span of that night her lips curved up many times more than I had ever seen them. And they shined like freshly picked July cherries. We had not spoken about Henry at all that night and I suppose that was why she seemed so carefree and cheerful. It has come to my attention then that the slighted mention of his person could sour her mood like no other thing, in no time.

At the very end, when the sky behind the window started to turn from black to indigo and then to light grey, and I felt I had to go home, to at least wash myself off and sober up a little bit (she was handing me generous, copious amounts of vodka on that eve, clearly extremely pleased with the novelty I presented her with) she asked me to leave the record player behind, along with the Depeche Mode record. One look into those big eyes of hers and I knew I could not refuse. However, as I was leaving, I decided to not give up so easily.

‘I shall leave the record along with the player in your capable hands my Diogenes. On one condition.’

‘And what that might be, my Crates?’

‘We will clean tomorrow, first thing in the morning. I cannot stand seeing you vegetating in all that filth.’

She only snorted and waved me off.

‘Whatever you say.’

I had gone to my room in Hampden, washed off and laid down. But I could not stay put for long as my mind was being plagued by the images of her, deeply burned inside of my mind. When I closed my eyes, there she was, shining on the inner surface of my eyelids, and when I opened them, her face loomed over me, as if painted on my ceiling. She awakened something in me during those two mellow eves. Even though we did not do much, only jested and wasted our time on reading and listening to music, I found myself longing for her presence. For the mess that diminished the size of her flat, the dusty books she pulled out from their piles just to read a passage for me and toss them on other pile without much thought, for the reproduction of the mosaic hanging idly above the hearth. I was simply incapable to lead my life as I lead it up to that point, I was not able to sleep or rest properly for she, probably without even the intent to do so, had turned my whole life on its head. It scared me profoundly, because what if I was just like one of her books? Surely, for now entertaining to her, maybe even fascinating to some degree. But what if she got bored with me and tossed me aside just like she did to all the other volumes at her place? I don’t think I could stand that state of suspension. The dust covering my back, emptiness left in my soul by the absence of her laugh and the indentation in the shape of her watchful gaze. I rose from my bed, not getting much sleep, and rushed right to her doorstep. I could not bear the thought of being discarded by her and felt I had to squeeze dry every moment we had to share. This time I had brought paper and a fountain pen with me. I don’t know why.

I had not expected her to open the doors the way she did. Her impecable, slender hands clad in yellow rubber gloves, apron covering her midsection and a bandana securing her hair on her forehead. Domesticity taking root in her as she waved a duster at me, inviting me in, and smiled widely. She was cleaning… I did not expect her to take my throw-away comment from the night before seriously, rather I anticipated to see her that morning sipping on her coffee, with a cigarette in her mouth and a book in hand not bothered by it at all. And yet, there she was. It made my heart swell with pride at that clear indication that my words meant something to her.

‘You’ve got mail.’

‘I know. It’s from Francis. Leave it in the box.’

I stepped into the flat, fully, and noticed, not without a trace of solemn nostalgia, that the Leviathan window was wide-open, and the air around me was clear. No trace of the silvery tendrils of smoke I’ve gotten so used to.

‘Don’t you want to know what he has to say to you?’

The room before me was the same and yet completely different. Now the stacks of books and papers were neatly towering against the wall adjacent to me. No plates or bowls in sight and as far as I could see into the jungle kitchen, all of the dishes rested idly on the dryer, shining with polish. The make-shift ashtrays disappeared as well, and now the only sign that a smoker lived in this space was the crystal one resting in the middle of the one-piece table, right next to a number of bottles, clearly organised by hight, from biggest to smallest. I took the room in like a shock to my system. It was brighter, loftier and somehow colder. To be honest I kind of regretted my decision about suggesting the clean-up to her, as now her flat seemed a little bit expressionless, as if the havoc and disorder that ruled it up to this point contained a piece of her in it. But I concealed my disappointment and set my papers on the table.

‘Oh, I already know. He’s probably asking me if I want company.’

‘And do you not?’

‘Nah, I’ve got plenty.’

She waved her hand, scooping some dust from one of the sink plants and I giggled, warm feeling spreading across my chest.

‘You need help with anything?’

I liked to watch her like that. Unbothered by my presence, content with it even, as she went on about her things, chatting to me above her shoulder, as if my presence was just as normal and natural as the sky was blue.

‘Richard you wouldn’t have a clue where to put all of my dirty stuff even if you wanted to. Let me do my own thing.’

‘Then what should I do? I wouldn’t want to disturb you in any way.’

She laughed as if I just told a joke.

‘Why don’t you entertain me, huh?’

‘How?’

She filled a green watering can and slowly started to tip it over various plants. Some of them got more, some less water and I couldn’t figure out what was the system to her method.

‘Tell me a story.’

‘A story?’

‘Hmmm. Think of something. Fun. Sad. Grotesque. I would like to hear what you can come up with.’

I laughed, nervously. As I said before, she was a great writer, telling and scribing stories came to her naturally, even on spot, in forms of her little white lies. But me? I was sure I couldn’t muster anything up, especially under the pressure of needing to satisfy her.

‘I’m afraid that won’t fly. I’m not a great story teller.’

‘Sure you are. You’re a great observer. I constantly see you lurking around judging people. A watcher that’s what you are. I’m sure you can forge some of your peeping Tom experiences into something entertaining.’

‘I don’t lurk. And I don’t peep.’

‘Oh yes, and a magnificent liar. That too.’

I felt blood rush into my head as she said that. Deafening roar of my pulse in my ears made me sick to my stomach and hot with panic. Her gaze landed on me, sharp, intelligent, all-seeing.

‘Don’t think for a second Richard Papen that I haven’t seen through you.’

Sweat pulled under my collar as she pointed at my with her rubber-clad hand.

‘You’ve worn this shirt three times last week. With this exact sweater. And it’s not very neat. Faded and with a abrasion on you right sleeve. And threads are coming off your coat as we speak.’

I hid my hand under the table, numb with fear of her discovery. Fool. I was a fool for thinking I could carry on with my rich kid charade, especially right under her nose. How could I even think someone as sharp as her could ever let that slide?

‘No rich kid would ever allow themselves to roam about in clothes that are this fatigued. Sorry, but that’s true. Your not stock up enough, too swagger-less to deceive me, mister.’

I felt dizzy with nerves that pooled in the pit of my stomach. And she continued, with her back to me, carefully tending to her plants.

‘Don’t get me wrong, Richard….Why are you so pale? What is… Oh, god! I’m not going to tell anyone if that’s what you fear!’

I almost jumped at her sudden light tone.

‘You’re not?’

‘No! If that’s what you care about then no. You should already know that there is nothing that I admire more than a skilled liar. And there is no doubt to it. Not only are you a skilled liar but also daring. What a combination! Truly what a combination!’

I felt as if a stone was lifted off my chest as she laughed softly and came my way, light on her feet, as always and with a somewhat prideful grin on her face.

‘You posses the qualities of a great liar. And what goes with it- a great story teller. No tale is true back to back. Every writer knows to exaggerate a bit to make their stories more interesting. Lies are the same, except they lighten not your story, but your life.’

She patted my face in a reassuring gesture. I thought my heart had skipped a bit when she nodded with conviction as she stared right into my eyes.

‘I admire you, Richard. Ab imo pectore.’

She reassured me once again.

I could not tear myself away from her image. Intimidating in the situation of my exposure but also enthralling in the light of the praise she showered me with.

‘You’re a great liar.’

She repeated.

‘Takes one to know one.’

She giggled at my shy attempt at compliment and caressed my hair with her hand, like a mother does to her kids after comforting them. Her motherly side came back and suddenly I felt lighter than a feather, as no burden was now weighting me down. I was now bare before her. My soul and my lies, the complicated maze I’ve woven myself into seemed like a straight road, with no forkings or crossroads. And as it all fell from my shoulders and the knowledge that she already knew who I was and accepted it without a question, admired it even, seeped into me I started to feel somehow full and content. I relaxed my shoulders and sat further in my chair.

‘Come on Richard, don’t keep me waiting like that. Stop slumping around and tell me a story!’

Somehow, despite my identity already being out in the open, I wanted her to know more about me. To seize that comfort of being, of truly living as who I was and as I was and tell her all bout the things that rattled about my chest. So as she slowly came back into the kitchen and started putting all the dishes in their destined cupboards I opened my mouth and words fell from them in an unstoppable cascade. I told her about my childhood. About California and my dad’s gas station. About the TV I used to watch in my living room and my high school. I told her all about the med school and my distaste of it and then how I found about Hampden, through a pamphlet. How I was charmed by the photos in it, the atmosphere of mystery enchanted into paper and my longing for beauty. I told her about what I have been writing down in my journals, every fear, every insecurity or a splash of triumph, every dot of color that had fallen in my memory, she heard about. And she silently soaked in my words like a dry sponge thrown into water. She did not comment on any of it, not judged, only listened, commuting to her own rules of confessions she had laid before in her letter to me. Only when I got to telling her all about how I tricked dr. Roland into signing me a check for two hundred bucks, she sat next to me, face serious, lines around her mouth deep and eyes murky.

‘Those are not lies Richard, are they?’

I shook my head, no, suddenly insecure and filled with dread at her reaction. Had I said something inappropriate? Unbefitting? But she did not scorn me, or show any signs of disgust with my tiny, slimy self. She just took my hand in between her own palms, now bare and soft like silk. As she hung her head I saw something profoundly forlorn shining in her eyes, like an abysmal dark swirl of sadness.

‘Even though, it is a beautiful story. Moving.’

Her voice was small, almost too small to hear. But I did, and so I supported my head on hers, and for a second we rested like that, sinking in our silence, freezing off in the golden rays of sun outside.

‘I don’t know why I tell all those lies.’

I finally said. She looked up at me and I found nothing but understanding in her eyes.

‘Neither do I. But I must admit that I find a strange delight in doing so, can’t you say the same?’

‘Positively.’

‘And we are not hurting anyone with those lies, I think, for they only concern our reality, not anyone else’s.’

‘So it would seem.’

‘More than anything, by weaving those lies, we protect ourselves in the most basic way of all.’

My brows furrowed at that statement slightly, not understanding what she had on her mind. And once again that clever Pythia read my mind expertly, answering, before I could even utter ‘how so?’.

‘In words of Plato - A man can guard expertly whatever he can thieve expertly. Hence, if a man is expert in lying, he is also expert in detecting lies. By fabricating our truths we guard ourselves from being deceived by others.’

‘Is that true?’

‘Have you not seen how quickly I saw through you?’

‘Maybe. Maybe you’re right.’

I was struck dumb at her strange way of interpreting Republic, but at the same time I felt somehow reassured in my own ways by what she had said. Her soul, strangely akin to mine, sought any kind of justification for her compulsive behaviour as well. But that was the difference between me and her. While I sweated and trebled at the thought of being discovered, she had found what we both were looking for. And being a liar far more exquisite than myself, she also managed to convince herself of her own righteousness and in addiction, me. I liked her way of thinking. Her way with words. That slithery, cutthroat tongue of hers. And so everything that seeped through her mouth fell onto my very eager ears and I gorged it all up, avid for more.

‘I think I’m done with the cleaning for now. I hope you’re happy, now that you made me strip my flat of any trace of character.’

I laughed at her mocking tone. That as well I valued in her most highly. The ability to switch moods, like mask in ancient theatre.

‘I must say I’m quite content with this vapid state. At least I don’t faint from lack of oxygen the moment I step in here, so I think you did well enough. You may stop in your endeavours.’

She giggled, sending me a toothy smile.

‘How magnanimous of you.’

She looked up into the ceiling as if searching for the god or goddess she was chanting to before, now in clear search for patience and strength.

‘Although I can’t help but wonder… what are you going to with this one?’

Pulling myself from her grasp I pointed at the still untouched, half-empty mug with dark, murky coffee in it. Dark circle had already set above the liquid’s surface on the well, indicating the prolonged stay of the mug on the table.

‘You should clean it as well, or otherwise it’ll turn moldy.’

I reached for it with an intent to get rid of it for her, but her hand shot up, quicker than lightning and caught my wrist half way up to the dish.

‘No.’

Her voice was firm, packed with undeniable tension.

‘The cup stays.’

Unbreakable resolve shined in her eyes, fervent and terrifying. Terrifying not because of its intensity but because of the weight her words carried. Only then have I realised with how high regard did she consider Henry. Angry at him or not, he was her priority. No matter what did she say or thought about him, he should have always stayed in the forefront of her mind. Like the craters on the moon that shed their shadows onto its otherwise unsullied, white surface, he was there to stay, always on the pedestal, unmoved like the cup on the table. I thought that no matter how much value my words carried for her, his person alone, his existence, would outweigh it. And I wondered. Seeing how resisten to her charm did Henry seem, cold and uninterested in what she had been giving him on a silver platter, what I would jump at and gobble up at the first occasion if anyone was willing to offer it to me, was her own heart similar in any way to the moon? Reflective and pure in its silver glow, ready to bounce back any source of light, of warmth to guide throughout the darkest of nights, but at the same time solemn and forlorn. Suspended alone in the cold, dark space, always willing to give and to give back but never to take. Without any protection, silently accepting the damage Henry’s asteroids imprinted on it.

It was a sad, dark thought. One that in no capacity could ever fit her. But I saw it. In the low sway of her head, the furtive glance of hers and the uneasy flutter of her lashes. I saw it to be true. And I wanted it to go away. Most desperately, ardently I wanted the expression gone, exorcised from her catalogue of facial expressions for all the eternity. How could Henry stomach it? How could he be so cruel?

I turned my wrist in her grasp, most delicately and took her hands into mine, slowly and with caution as if I was gathering not flesh but water, careful not to spill them from my hold.

‘Why don’t we do something different then, huh, my Diogenes?’

I was never the one to comfort others. Never the one to be kind and open, to give advice. I preferred to stick to myself, hidden in the shadows, peeping, as she described it. I enjoyed being the watcher. But with her I found that the words and actions of comfort came naturally to me.

‘Brandy?’

‘This is Francis’.’

‘Well nothing tastes better that what’s not yours, don’t you agree? Finders, keepers.’

She puffed a laugh, still too strained for my liking so I continued.

‘Annexation of brandy! What do you say? Coup d’état! Brandy Anschluss!’

And then she laughed at my clownish antics fully, with her whole chest, mouth agape and one hand covering it. A breath of spring amongst all the gloomy talks of Winter.

‘Fine, Richard, fine! You had me at annexation!’

I eagerly pulled at the cork sealing the brandy and chugged directly from the bottle.

‘This is dangerously close to alcoholism, you know.’

Sha said as she tore the bottle from my hands and down a few generous gulps.

‘Not if we arrange to do something alongside the drinking.’

‘And what would you suggest?’

My gaze fell onto the stack of papers I had dragged with me.

‘Writing?’

‘Writing? While drunk?’

‘Write drunk, edit sober.’

‘Hemingway.’

‘Hemingway.’

She looked at the fountain pen, took it into her hands, as if weighting it, as she slowly went through the idea in her mind.

‘Come on. We can lie our wrists away till they won’t be able to move any longer. It’ll be fun.’

‘All right. But only in Latin!’

I sighed deeply, theatrically. I knew that she was going to say that, but what can one do in a situation like this? I nodded my head, yes.

And so we got into it. She scribing hastily, with rushed, generous gestures, me more conservatively, tightly with less expression and verve.

‘Put on the music.’

‘Depeche Mode?’

‘Sure.’

And with that, the sound of electronic music accompanying Dave Gahan’s deep, hypnotic voice and the scraping of pens on paper, hours passed. When the hour got late and the sun set it’s head behind the horizon, we started to time each other, who could write more, or a better limerick. She won of course, but I had no problem with that.

‘Nec meum respectet, ut ante, amorem, qui illius culpa cecidit velut prati ultimi flos, praetereunte postquam tactus aratro est.’

‘Cheat! Cheat! That’s not yours!’

‘Whatever Papen, the only thing that counts is that I could memorise it and you couldn’t!’

‘That’s no fair!’

‘Life’s not fair.’

But other than that one instant of tried treachery, she composed her own poems, beautiful, crescendoed with thunder and rain. I don’t think I had so much fun in many weeks, even if I did not excel at writing my own verses.

We got quite drunk, not only downing the whole bottle of Francis’s brandy, but also a bottle of scotch and three shots of vodka each. I never was a lightweight, but I must admit that when I got up from my chair after we finished with our literary game, my world swirled around me and blurred into a heavy shoal of colourful ink blots. Words jumped up from the many pages resting on the table and down onto the floor before my eyes, woven from green smoke and moonlight. Oh how beautiful the moonlight was that night! Mysterious, soft. The moon was full and when I looked up at it, through the wide-open Leviathan window I saw the craters on its surface. Tears welled up in my eyes as I felt her hands grabbing me by the collar and pulling up from the slithery floor. I did not even notice when I or how I had lost my balance, but I was very grateful for her assistance.

She asked me to stay the night, and I agreed. She gave me a blanket and took some of the pillows off her art deco couch, so I could lay comfortably.

That night I didn’t go back to Hampden, and she didn’t go to her room neither. She stayed with me, humouring my teary testimony about the poor moon. What a poor astral being, I said constantly, shaking my head, sure she understood my analogy without me even having to explain it to her. And she nodded her head, hummed as if she really did understand what I was trying to say. But I don’t think she did. Liars are like that, they see the lies and truths of all the people around them, but those concerning them. But I had no more energy to lay it all down before her, the hurt and sympathy I felt for her. How I saw her in the dark, cold embrace of Henry’s grasp on her and how it made me feel, ache for her. So I just stopped at incoherent sobbing about the satellite.

When I woke up next morning, to the slight chill shaking my back and the smell of pancakes teasing my nose I felt awful and spent.

‘Oh, thank gods, you’re up! I though you were dead!’

‘And you left me either way to rot on the couch?’

‘You know how I detest cleaning.’

I snorted while rubbing eye boggers from my face. Yes she seemed like a person who would let a body rot in her apartment, just so she wouldn’t inconvenience herself with calling an ambulance or cleaning it herself.

‘Want a pancake?’

‘Why do you even ask?’

For the next two days we mostly ate, drank copious amounts of alcohol that with which she was so generous, I started suspecting wasn’t hers (as I later got to know, most of it indeed belonged to Francis) and writing. Writing, writing, writing. Words, words, words. I truly found myself writing more, and more zealously than I ever had before. Maybe because it was light, not binding, not obliging. Just lies on paper. With her it all was like that, even the hangovers. Light, chased away by the mouth-watering smell of her cooking. She truly was a culinary genius and by the time she offered me lunch I stopped wondering why would Henry ever come over to her place. Even a stoic cold man such as himself must’ve enjoyed the atmosphere of idyll that reigned in that flat of hers.

On our last day together, Sunday, right after we finished eating lunch - Greek salad with vine (she couldn’t stop giggling about it! ‘What an absurd name! You really think they ate something like that? What an absurd!’) - somebody knocked on her door. Her eyes shot up to me, incredulous and somewhat weary. My heart pounded in my chest, jumped to my throat suffocating me. Was that the moment? The moment when Henry finally appeared? But as she came to the door and tilted them slightly ajar, a fiery main poked through the crack.

‘Hier kommt die Sonne!’

She must’ve been taken aback as much as I was, because as soon as Francis shouted those words, she jumped up, and then slid back, her whole body recoiling as if reading itself for an attack.

‘What? You’re not going to greet me properly mon bijou? I brought you my notes! Come one, give your darling a kiss.’

‘I’m sick, Francis.’

‘Yeah, sure you are!’

Francis squeezed himself unceremoniously into the flat, shaking himself off the rain water like a dog.

‘Come one, greet me like the good friend you are! I did bring you notes, after all. You know how much I hate making those!’

In one jump he got to her and sliding his arms around her waist, pinning her to his person. Papers he was holding, soaked dry from the rain swished loudly in the air as he did so.

‘Oh, stop it, you brute!’

And she hit him playfully, right in his chest. I shuffled uncomfortably in my chair, as for I did not know what to do with myself. I think that slight, hesitant movement was what got Francis’ attention onto me. His body grew taunt and his arms fell from her waist. His face froze in an expression of incredulous awe and dread mixed into a dismayed grimace.

‘Richard?’

‘Hi…’

A moment of silence.

‘You’re with Richard.’

His voice was flat, void of any emotion as he stared his eyes into my soul. His spectacles shined with a ghostly glow, reflecting the sun from behind my back.

‘Yes. Did I not tell you?’

Her voice, on the other hand was dripping with forced sweetness.

‘No. I didn’t get any response to my letter.’

‘Well, I am, so… notes?’

He handed her the tortured, mangled pieces of paper he was holding, fisting, absentmindedly, never tearing his gaze from me.

‘Drink?’

‘No, thanks I’m..’ He swallowed, hard. ‘I’ve got a date.’

And then he turned on his heel and rushed to the exit. He disappeared as quick as he came. The door shut loudly behind him.

‘Asshole…’

Silence filled the flat.

Despite its newfound tidiness, it once again turned excruciatingly small, almost to the point of suffocation.

‘Maybe I should go as well.’

‘No. Stay.’

‘I have a bad feeling about this.’

‘So do I.’

I watched as she stared blankly at the space Francis had occupied just seconds before and I couldn’t help the hurt feeling clawing at my heart.

‘Sure. We ought to finish the bottle either way.’

But the unnerving feeling of impending doom stayed, setting me with sweat.

Only around midnight, when nothing else really happened I finally stared relaxing. I convinced myself that Francis’ visit was strange, abrupt, but only because he himself was a strange person, and it hadn’t bore any traces of animosity. Vine helped in coming to that conclusion. Once again, when I could no longer sit straight or even talk I let her tuck me in on the couch. I revelled in the quiet cracking of the logs burning on the fireplace, the heath that came off of it. I watched her sit across from me, with a deep frown gracing her face as she read some old book, too heavy and big for her form and so covering it almost entirely from my greedy gaze. My eyelids felt heavy, so I closed them, only leaving a slight clearance, so I could spy the intricate dance of golden light on her skin. A delightful creature, she was. Half of her mingling with shadows that swirled in the flat, the other part of the flames coming off the hearth. She did not seem as careless as me, but I scored it to her focusing on the contents of the book. In all reality however, if I wasn’t as drunk as I was, I think I could see that her eyes were not moving, but staring blankly into one spot on a page that her fingers had not turned for quite some time.

‘Richard?’

I did not respond, my tongue deft, and eyes sore, dry. I felt as if I opened my mouth then, another monologue relative to the moon would slip out of me and in all my empathy I thought that this wasn’t what she needed then.

‘Are you asleep?’

Still, I kept silent. She nodded her head and closed the book. Somehow content with the silence, as she supported her head on the palm of her hand and stared into the flames.

‘Good.’

She sighed, deeply, mournfully and repeated.

‘Good.’

And when the silence became prominent, when it stretched impossibly around us and started eating at the flames I though I heard something. Faint and uncertain, but it was like branches knocking at a window moved by a soft breeze. One, two, three times. Then a pause, and silence. For a second I thought I only imagined the sound, but after a while I heard it again, this time louder, more confident. I didn’t move, paralizad by comfort and heath, but after the third knock like that she did. I thought that she had fallen asleep long before that, but the sharp snatch of her head, and her quick, precise movements as she got up from her sit pointed otherwise.

‘Who… they are going to wake him up.’

I heard her snark under her breath and I couldn’t help but smirk slightly. But that content grin faded from my face as she opened the door.

‘What are you doing here?’

She was wearing that furious frown of a warrior on her face, pure Mars, I could tell without even having to see her. It was all written down in her strained back, in the coldness of her words.

‘I came here to talk.’

And then I froze as well, because at the doorstep, hidden from me in the dark swayed the dry voice of Henry Winter.

[sicknessbysalem]

Novemetober (Rescheduled) | Day Nineteen

@monthofsick | day nineteen: sick in more ways than one

while scrolling through my blog, it appeared this fic got deleted from my page. I may have done it on accident or the hellsite may have had it for dinner.

regardless, i saved it offsite. so i went back into my notes, made a few edits, and figured i could reupload it here for this prompt.

i hope to get away from novak for a bit, but we’ll see how that goes.

If you would like to send a fic requests to help (or to get more novak content), PLEASE PLEASE DO SO!! Im begging for asks at this point lol.

tw for overheating, emeto, dizziness, migraine mention, fever

alt cw for novak’s daighter (4) being a little present toward the end*

*this is not a kink thing for me so i do not feel bad about it, but i know some people dont like that lol

The summer sun hung high in the sky as Novak stepped onto the practice field with the rest of the Mavericks for preseason training.

The air was thick with the promise of a sweltering day, and the temperature had climbed well into the upper 80s, with possibilities of maybe even reaching the 90s by the end of the day.

The team, accustomed to the usually mild climate, hesitated but eventually decided to train outside until it became unbearable. After all, it would be good practice if they ever played a game in a hot city.

Novak wasn’t exactly accustomed to heat, but usually the heat didn’t bother him. Granted, he was more used to the mid-80s and below, but surely this wouldn’t be too much more overwhelming. After all, it was only a few degrees.

He’s not so sure about that a few drills in. The sun is beating on the field, Novak can feel the heat prickling his skin.

As he’s getting ready to run through some passing drills, an unexpected wave of dizziness made him stop abruptly. The heat bore down on him like an invisible weight, and he feared based on how dizzy he suddenly felt, and the general poor condition of his stomach at any given moment, nausea would follow.

As soon as the mere thought hit him, he took an elastic off his wrist, tying back his sweat soaked ash blond hair.

Landon noticed immediately. Novak only ever seemed to tie up his hair if he wasn’t feeling well. Something about overstimulation, Landon remembered being told.

"You okay, Novak?" he asked, concern etched across his face.

"Yeah, just hot as hell. I'll be fine," Novak replied, attempting to brush off the worry.

Henry chimed in, seeming to agree, “Man, it's getting pretty brutal out here. We should've trained indoors."

As the team continued their drills, the heat intensified, and Novak's condition worsened. The nausea became unbearable, and he couldn't shake the dizziness.

Novak's steps became unsteady. Nausea churned in his stomach. He felt dizzy, or like he was going to pass out.

Well, maybe pass out. But he would definitely puke first. He could already taste the acid in his throat as he anxiously reached up by his neck and started fidgeting with his locket.

Landon’s hand is on him. Novak realizes Landon said something to him. Or maybe was trying to say something. But Novak didn’t catch it.

“God, you’re burning,” Landon commented. That Novak heard. Landon tried to say something else, but Novak didn’t catch that.

Novak’s stomach lurched, as if to accentuate his suffering. This heat was miserable and every part of him was feeling it now.

“Hang on,” Novak said.

Taking a deep, shaky breath, Novak lifted his helmet with one hand, trying to find relief from the oppressive heat. Beads of sweat dripped down his face, his skin uncomfortably warm to the touch. The world around him seemed to blur as he fought against the waves of dizziness.

"Shit, Novak, you sure you're good?" Landon's voice cut through the haze, concern evident in his tone as he caught up with the struggling linebacker.

Novak mumbled a response, his words lost in the oppressive heat. Landon leaned in, trying to catch what Novak was saying.

“What did you say..?” Landon asked, “I’m sorry I couldn’t-“

It was sudden. A split second, but to Novak it felt like an eternity. Novak's stomach revolted violently. Novak clutched his helmet tightly with one hand, trying to keep control, and trying to keep it away from his face, just for now. The other hand stayed clasped around the locket.

"Oh shit, you're going to be sick," Landon exclaimed, helping Novak pull off his helmet, holding it, before quickly taking a step back, a mix of worry and realization on his face.

At that moment, Novak succumbed to the overpowering nausea. He doubled over, emptying the contents of his stomach onto the grass. He heaved, hard, purging what he ate for breakfast and everything he drank leading to this moment.

Landon stayed back as Novak threw up again. He was trying to be mindful of Novak’s boundaries.

Novak vomited again. This time he was more hunched over. Landon could only watch as Novak’s knees buckled and he fell to the ground.

Novak felt so wildly sick. He threw up again, that wave more abundant. He hated that this happened. Part of him thought he heard another player puke too.

“Landon, go deal with Dominic, okay?” Its Jayden. Dominic must have also thrown up.

Jayden knew things that Landon didn’t when it came to Novak being sick. When it came to Novak vomiting. So, Jayden seemed to think the swap was better.

As Novak stood back up, albeit quite shakily, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Jayden offered a sympathetic look.

"Alright, man, let's get you inside, the whole team at that,” Jayden said "This heat's no joke today."

Novak nodded weakly, the remnants of nausea still lingering.

“I think I want to have Daphne look at you,” Jayden said, “That looks like a lot of vomit.”

Novak nodded. Novak still felt too hot, too nauseous. Jayden took him to Doctor Collins’ office.

“Hey, Daphne,” Jayden said, “Heat’s kind of killing Novak the hardest here.”

Novak felt like he was going to be sick again. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t function.

Dr. Collins immediately looked concerned. "Bring him in, let me take a look."

Landon ushered Novak into the office, where the air conditioning provided a welcome reprieve from the outdoor furnace.

Novak, feeling the cool air on his flushed skin, still couldn't shake the persistent nausea. He felt dizzy, shaky, and ready to once more start vomiting.

"Sit down, Novak," Dr. Collins instructed. She probably saw it on his face.

Novak nodded weakly, settling into the chair, his helmet still clutched in his hand.

He felt a sense of relief sitting in the air-conditioned room, but the nausea continued to churn within him.

Dr. Collins assessed Novak's condition. "How are you feeling, Novak?"

The linebacker attempted to speak, but the words caught in his throat. Instead, he doubled over, emptying the contents of his stomach into a nearby trash bin, the sounds echoing in the small office.

Dr. Collins, unfazed by the turn of events, continued her examination, her focus on ensuring Novak's well-being.

After a thorough assessment once Novak was done puking, Dr. Collins sighed, "Novak, I think it's best if you go home and rest. The heat has clearly taken a toll on you. Stay hydrated, and let your body recover."

Novak, feeling drained and defeated, nodded in agreement.

-

Novak stumbled back into the living room from the bathroom, his face pale and beads of sweat lining his forehead.

The few hours at home hadn't brought the relief he hoped for, and the persistent nausea clung to him like a stubborn shadow.

Marina looked up from where she was seated in the chair diagonal to the couch, concern etched on her face.

Novak sat back down on the couch, leaning back against it. He felt horrible. His stomach was a mess. Everything felt bad.

"Is it wrong you ask how you are feeling, sweetheart?" Marina asked, reaching out to touch Novak's forehead. “Goodness, your skin is still so warm. It’s like a stovetop.”

Novak winced at the touch, "Do you want the truth or..?”

Marina rolled her eyes, “The truth, słoneczko.”

Novak sighed, “Honestly… still like… really sick to my stomach? I don’t really know why though, mamoń."

Marina's worry deepened, pulling her hand away from his face. “You're running a fever, Novak. This isn't just from the heat. I’d think by now you’d be cooled down."

Novak sighed, sinking more into the couch, beads of sweat forming on his forehead.

Elya, his four-year-old daughter, played with her toys on the floor, oblivious to her father's discomfort.

"I thought I could tough it out," Novak admitted, his voice strained. "But it's not getting any better."

Marina fetched a damp cloth and placed it on Novak's forehead, a feeble attempt to offer some relief. "You need to rest, sweetheart. Let your body recover. Maybe we can call Willow, get her opinion?"

Elya, sensing something amiss, looked up from her toys. "Daddy, why are you sick?"

Novak managed a weak smile, "Just a little under the weather, princess. It’s really hot outside, you know. Daddy will be fine."

The answer seemed to satisfy Elya. But not so much Marina.

"You've been vomiting for hours, Novak,” Marina said, “That’s not normal. Even for you.”

Novak shook his head, "Mom, it's just the heat. I'll be fine."

But as he spoke, another wave of nausea hit him, and he froze in place for a moment.

Swallowing back acid, he tried to piece together if he could make it back to the bathroom or…

“Are you going to be sick again?” Marina asked, crossing her arms.

“What? No…” Novak forced out, “Just… dizzy.”

“You always get dizzy before-“

Novak nodded, hastily reaching for the trash bin Marina brought in the living room in case this happened.

“I’m calling Willow,” Marina said, getting up off the couch and grabbing her phone.

"Mom, I just need some rest," Novak insisted when it was over, after finally coughing up mere saliva. Which, to him, was a good sign at least.

“Don’t care,” Marina said, “You won’t get checked out yourself. I’m having her come to check you out.”

“Mamoń, Willow’s a lesbian,” Novak said, chuckling softly, “She won’t be checking me out.”

“Novak Aleksander Daskalov,” Marina said, “That is not what I meant and you know it.”

“What’s a leban?” Elya asked, her curiosity unaffected by the very bad state her dad was in.

Novak wanted to laugh.

“I’ll tell you when I feel better, okay?” Novak said.

Elya nodded. A little too excitedly for Novak’s taste. But he found it quite endearing regardless.

As the call connected, Willow answered on the other end. Marina quickly explained Novak's symptoms and the ongoing distress.

"Willow, it's Marina. Novak's not doing well,” Marina said, “He was overheated at practice, but he’s been home for six hours and he’s still vomiting and feels warm to the touch.”

“Hm,” Willow hummed on the other side of the line, “Could be a stomach flu, I’ve seen a few cases this week.”

“That’s what I thought,” Marina said, “Naturally he wasn’t listening.”

Willow giggled softly, “Sounds like Novak. I’m finishing my shift soon. I'll come over and take a look at him when I get off."

Marina hung up, returning to Novak's side. "Willow is on her way.”

-

As the evening sun cast long shadows, Willow arrived at Novak's home. Marina greeted her at the door with a mixture of relief and concern etched on her face.

"Willow, thank you for coming. He's in the living room," Marina said, leading the way.

Willow entered to find Novak laying on the couch, a damp cloth on his forehead, covering his eyes. Elya was sitting nearby, watching her father with a worried expression.

“When did the headache start?” Willow asked. No introduction. No greeting. Just right into it.

Novak groaned, “Like an hour ago…. Well, it’s been hurting since practice but it got more migraine level in the last hour…”

"Besides the headache, how are you feeling?" Willow asked.

Novak managed a weak smile, taking the rag off his head and forcing himself to sit up, “Not great. Dizzy, nauseous. Just all-around miserable."

The change in position made the room spin worse, Novak grabbed the back of the couch.

“Emphasis on dizzy…” Novak admitted.

Willow went to work, checking Novak's vital signs and asking detailed questions about his symptoms. Marina filled her in on the events leading up to his current state, emphasizing the persistent vomiting.

Willow, maintaining her professional composure, finished her assessments. "Your temperature is elevated, and your blood pressure is a bit low. Combine that with the vomiting, and it seems like you've got a stomach virus on top of being overheated. Dehydration might be playing a role too."

Novak nodded, grateful for the clarity. "Do I need to go to the hospital?"

"I don't think it's severe enough for hospitalization at this point, but we need to address the dehydration," Willow explained, reaching in her bag, “Hey Marina, can you grab a bottle of water?”

Marina nodded, going into the kitchen and grabbing one. Willow pulled out an electrolyte solution, mixing it in the water once Marina handed it over.

“Drink that, and…” Willow dug in her bag, pulling out four more, setting them on the coffee table, “There’s some extras. Also plain water is good, the solution is just to help rehydrate you faster. If you puke it back up, make up a new round.”

Novak took a few sips, feeling the cool liquid providing a welcome relief. Willow continued.

“Rest is crucial, and you should continue to hydrate.” Willow said, “If the vomiting persists or if you can't keep fluids down, we might need to consider hospitalization."

Marina, hearing the diagnosis, visibly relaxed. "Thank you, Willow. We appreciate your help."

As Willow provided Novak with instructions for medication and hydration, Elya approached her father with a stuffed animal in hand. "Daddy, this will make you feel better."

Novak chuckled weakly, taking the stuffed animal from his daughter. "Thank you, princess. It's already helping."

Willow smiled at the heartwarming exchange between Novak and his daughter. "A little extra comfort is always good for healing."

After ensuring Novak had a plan for the next few days, Willow prepared to leave. Marina walked her to the door, expressing her gratitude once again.

"Thank you, Willow. Your help means a lot to us. I'll make sure he follows your advice."

Willow nodded, her caring demeanor evident. "Keep an eye on him, and don't hesitate to reach out if anything changes. If I don’t answer, call Vanessa, she could help too."

As Willow left, the living room settled into a quiet atmosphere. Novak, still feeling weakened by the illness, was once again laying on the couch. But this time, Elya nestled beside him, clutching her stuffed animal.

"Daddy, are you going to be okay?" Elya asked, her innocent eyes filled with concern.

Novak ruffled her hair gently, smiling. "I'll be just fine, sweetheart. Thanks to you and Grandma taking care of me."

Marina glanced at Novak with a motherly concern. "You heard Willow. Rest is crucial. Let your body heal."

Novak nodded, “Can you get my phone, mamoń, I’m going to call coach, tell him I can’t go tomorrow.”

Marina smiled, “That might be the most sensible thing you’ve said since you got home, słoneczko.”

[berenwrites]

In His Kiss (Steddie, Stranger Things)

In His Kiss: The Trouble With Vampire Tendencies

A/N – thought I would have a go at @steddie-week. Not beta’d so please forgive my mistakes. Now beta'd, thanks Soph.

Prompt: Day 1 - Hunger / Pining / Somebody to Love by Queen

Summary: Steve notices Eddie watching him, and it brings things he has been thinking about to a head. The only remaining question is, is he brave enough to take a chance?

Vampire!Eddie

Also on AO3

Steve could feel Eddie’s eyes on him. It was like he could tell, even without looking that Eddie was staring at him. Every time he glanced over, Eddie looked away, but half a second too late. It was beginning to drive Steve crazy.

It had been months since Vecna. Henry Creel was very, very dead, thanks in part to all of them, but primarily due to El. They’d gone back into the Upside Down as a group, determined to end it before Henry could regather his strength. El had finished him off for good as the rest of them protected her from Vecna’s monsters.

One of the shocks of the aftermath had been finding a very confused, but alive Eddie Munson among Vecna’s dying army. He wasn’t quite the same as he had been, but Doctor Owens had been surprisingly helpful with that. Steve didn’t really understand the politics, but something to do with the final battle had put Owens back in charge.

Eddie was currently sitting under a large sunshade while the kids splashed around in the pool, the older adults took up the sun loungers, and those in the middle sat around the edge of the water with their feet in it. One of the things Eddie had picked up from the Upside Down was a dislike of too much heat. It wasn’t as bad as it had been for the Upside Down natives, but it was still noticeable.

Steve was glad Eddie had agreed to come to the party, but he was keeping an eye on him. Eddie did disappear into the airconditioned house every now and then, and always had an iced drink in his hand. The Indiana summer had to be something of a nightmare for someone with Eddie’s condition. That Eddie and Wayne now had a house with air conditioning themselves, thanks to the US government, was at least one plus in the situation.

When Eddie got up yet again and headed through the back door, Steve left Robin chatting to Jonathan and followed.

“You doing okay?” he asked when he walked into the kitchen to find Eddie with his head in the refrigerator.

“Oh hey, Stevie,” Eddie said, turning and giving him a grin, “yeah, just needed to cool off for a bit. I always hated the heat, now I really hate it.”

The nickname made something in Steve’s chest flutter. Apart from Robin occasionally using ‘Stevie’ it had mostly been thrown at him as an insult, a babying of his name to make him lesser, yet Eddie somehow managed to make it not like that at all. It made Steve wonder what it would be like to cross the distance between them and taste Eddie’s lips.

He’d found himself thinking a lot of things like that over the past couple of months. Several long talks with Robin had helped him come to terms with the fact he was not completely straight, but he still wasn’t sure how to label himself. He hadn’t been able to shake the fear his attachment to Eddie was trauma based. However, the way it wasn’t going away and seemed more to be deepening, was pointing him in the direction of thinking he was bisexual.

“Have Owens’ people come up with anything to help counter that yet?” he asked, wandering across the kitchen to lean against the counter.

“It’s better when I’ve just chowed down on one of the blood bags the government is so helpfully providing,” Eddie said with a shrug, “but I’m beginning to think there is nothing else they can do.”

Steve couldn’t help noticing the way Eddie’s eyes flicked to his neck and away again as they were talking.

That was the other hangup from the Upside Down. Eddie needed to regularly ingest blood. The scientists had tried transfusions for a while before Eddie had gone a little feral and simply ripped the bag off the hook and bitten into it. Dustin had been visiting at the time and had been very happy to tell everyone about Eddie’s awesome vampiric tendencies.

“Are you thirsty now?” Steve asked.

“Getting there,” Eddie admitted, staring at the floor. “I should go, the sun’s getting to me.”

“Is that why you keep staring at my neck?” Steve asked before Eddie could move.

The way Eddie went very still had Steve holding his breath.

“Sorry for creeping you out,” Eddie said without looking up.

“You didn’t,” he replied. “But I noticed, and you weren’t doing it to anyone else.”

Eddie laughed and it was not a happy sound.

“Fuck,” Steve heard him whisper under his breath.

“Guess I don’t do subtle,” Eddie said louder this time, finally lifting his gaze to look at Steve.

“Not one of your strong points,” Steve agreed.

Eddie sighed, looking away again, but clearly thinking hard about something.

“Do you know what bisexual means?” Eddie finally asked and Steve’s heart skipped a beat.

He nodded.

“Colour me surprised,” was Eddie’s response to that. “Well that’s me,” Eddie went on, “and, oh boy, do I have a type, and because the universe thinks it’s funny, that happens to be preppy cheerleaders or jocks.”

“So you …” Steve started to ask.

“Have had a crush on you since way before was good for me,” Eddie confessed, “and then you had to turn out to be a really nice guy which made it a thousand times worse. It was so bad I had to use Nancy like a shield, but then I come back from the dead and you and Nancy are definitely off the table, and not only that but I suddenly have this really insistent urge to bite you. I’ve been trying to deal with it, but clearly I’m not doing so well, and it just keeps getting worse.”

“Maybe that’s my fault,” Steve said.

“I know you’re sometimes a self-sacrificial hazard,” Eddie replied, “but how, exactly could that be your fault?”

“Because me too,” he replied.

Eddie frowned.

“You too, what?”

“Me too, bisexual,” Steve said plainly, “and me too, crushing on you. Took me a while to figure it out, but then everyone knows I’m slow. Hence, maybe your urge is getting worse because you’re sensitive to that now.”

Eddie blinked, but otherwise did not move or speak for some time.

“You’re not slow,” wasn’t really what Steve expected Eddie to say next, “you just process things differently from the prodigies splashing around in your pool.”

“My old teachers would beg to differ,” he pointed out, even though the conversation was diverting weirdly.

“Yeah, because Hawkins high is known for understanding anyone outside the most normie of the norm,” Eddie said.

Even as Eddie was speaking, Steve saw his hands twitch.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Adjusting,” Eddie replied, in something of a strained tone. “Kind of blowing my mind here, Stevie, and maybe my control too.”

That was all he needed to make his decision, and Steve walked across the room and took Eddie’s hand.

“Come on,” he said, “anyone could walk in here.”

Eddie made a pathetic whimper of a sound but did not resist as Steve led him out of the kitchen and into the downstairs bathroom.

“What … what ...?” Eddie tried to ask, but he seemed to be struggling with words.

“Can I kiss you?” Steve asked, looking directly into Eddie’s deep brown eyes.

Eddie nodded, slowly but deliberately. Steve didn’t hesitate. Before he could second guess himself he crowded into Eddie’s personal space, leaning in and tilting his head until his lips met Eddie’s. For a second Eddie did not respond. Steve could feel the other man tensing like a taught bow string.

“Holy shit this is really happening,” Eddie muttered against his mouth and then his back hit the door as Eddie literally leapt at him, winding strong legs around his waist and arms around his neck.

He wound his arms around Eddie, adjusting his stance for the extra weight and sank into the kiss as Eddie joined in whole heartedly. If Steve had had any doubts left, they fled as he lost himself in the taste and feel of lips and tongue and fingers in his hair. When Eddie finally broke away, kissing down his jaw and onto his neck, he put his head back and enjoyed it.

As Eddie buried his face in Steve’s neck and moaned, trembling in his arms, he knew exactly what Eddie needed.

“Do it,” he said.

“I could hurt you,” Eddie whined into his shoulder.

“You couldn’t,” he replied. “We’ve both been there when Dustin goes on about your vampire tendencies, everything Owens’ people have helped you figure out. Your teeth are razor sharp when extended and your saliva heals. We both know Dustin’s gonna end up with a Nobel Prize some day for figuring out how that works.”

Eddie laughed into his shoulder, finally pulling back and looking him in the face.

“You really want me to..?” Eddie asked.

“Hell yes,” he replied.

He wasn’t sure where his own need came from, but he felt desperate. Now that he had been permitted something, he wanted everything he was allowed.

“Please,” he added.

Eddie opened his mouth, letting Steve see the deadly, extended fangs. One last test. Steve stared for a few seconds, unable to tear his eyes away until he put his head back against the door, exposing the long line of his throat and closing his eyes.

“You should be illegal,” Eddie whispered, before lips touched his skin.

Eddie’s fangs going in did hurt, like lightning down his nerves. He stiffened, clinging on to Eddie until he heard Eddie’s moan of pleasure and it felt like a switch flipping. The pain was still there, but he didn’t care as a rush ran through him like nothing he had ever felt before. It wasn’t like sex, but it was on the same level. He couldn’t think, at all.

How long it lasted he had no idea. It was as if his brain mostly switched off leaving only the pleasure centres firing until Eddie finally pulled away. He only barely noticed Eddie climbing down, just enough to let go and allow Eddie to settle on the floor.

“Steve, Stevie can you hear me?” Eddie asked.

He mumbled a reply and did his best to open his eyes.

“Hey,” Eddie said as he blinked blearily at him, “back with me?”

“Yes,” he said, although, as he said it, he realised his legs felt like wet pasta.

He couldn’t stop it as he slowly slid down the door.

“Woah there, Big Boy,” Eddie said, helping him to sit down. “You sure you’re okay?”

He nodded.

“Was a rush,” he said, glad his voice seemed to be working properly again, “just need to sit for a minute. Like after a long run.”

“Well you would know more about that than me,” Eddie said with a smile, “I’ve never done a long run in my life.”

“Liar,” he said, “saw you run in the Upside Down.”

“That doesn’t count,” was the amused reply. “How are you feeling now?”

“Kind of amazing,” he admitted and laughed.

He finally managed to focus properly on Eddie face.

“Um, you’ve got …” he said, pointing to the side of his own mouth.

The way Eddie’s tongue darted out made him want to surge forward for another round of kissing, but luckily for his dignity he wasn’t sure he had the coordination quite yet.

“How about you?” he asked. “How do you feel?”

“Like I just ate the best chocolate in the world and won the lottery at the same time,” Eddie told him, leaning forward until their foreheads touched. “I think you might have ruined me for anyone else, Stevie.”

“Good,” he replied and tried to turn his head. “Ow.”

His neck twinged. He brought his hand up to touch it gingerly.

“How does it look?” he asked.

“It’s already scabbed,” Eddie told him, touching gently next to his own fingers, “but if we go out there everyone is going to know what we’ve been doing.”

“Part of me kind of wants to show them off,” Steve admitted. “And part of me is scared shitless.”

“You and me both, Sweetheart,” Eddie said. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Steve let Eddie help him to his feet and they used the sink to wash off his neck. The two red marks made him stop and stare in the mirror for a while. He’d never let a girl mark him up, it wasn’t usually his thing, but he liked seeing Eddie’s bite on his skin.

“Band-Aid?” Eddie asked, having found the first aid box under the sink.

He didn’t really want to, but Steve nodded. It was the only sensible thing, given that he had no idea how long the wounds would take to fully heal, and they needed protecting. He let Eddie put a large Band-Aid over both of the small holes.

“Want to stay when everyone else goes home?” he asked as Eddie fastened his bandana over the Band-Aid.

“If you can think of a really good excuse that won’t have Buckley trying to stake me through the heart, I’d love to,” Eddie replied.

“She’s going to kill both of us,” Steve realised as he finally thought things through. “After she’s congratulated me for getting my head out of my ass, but she’s still going to kill us.”

“Before or after she starts talking about rabies?” Eddie asked.

“Let’s hope before,” he replied, wincing.

Once Robin got onto the rabies track it took some serious shit to get her off it.

“How do you feel about coming out to the whole party?” he asked as he took the time to think things through.

“Will Hop shoot me?” Eddie asked with perfect seriousness.

“No,” Steve replied. “Joyce wouldn’t let him,” he added with a grin, because otherwise he was going to worry himself through the floor.

“You have a plan, I take it,” Eddie said.

He nodded.

“I think so,” he revealed. “What if we go out there pretending nothing happened, then let our paranoid friends figure out something did. When the shouting starts we can confess we were making out and you got a little over enthusiastic on a hickey because a fang accidentally extended, so we cleaned it up and tried to hide it.”

“Ah, a fake out hiding another fake out,” Eddie said with a nod. “You should play DnD, you’d be pretty good at it.”

“Numbers are not my thing,” he replied.

“Just bribe the good Lady Applejack to do that part for you,” Eddie told him.

“What with?” he asked. “I’m pretty sure she already owns my soul.”

“Did you sign in blood?” Eddie asked. “If you didn’t sign in blood, it’s not binding.”

“You tell Erica that,” Steve responded.

There was a banging on the bathroom door.

“Steve are you in there?”

It was Robin’s voice, of course it was.

“Guess we’re doing part of our confessing now then,” Eddie said quietly. “Just so I’m clear, are we boyfriends now?”

“I’d like that,” Steve replied, his heartbeat going way up.

“Good,” Eddie said and leaned in for a quick kiss. “Time to let your platonic soul mate in then because as soon as she gets the braincell she’s going to know anyway.”

Steve tried to be offended, he really did, but he just couldn’t manage it. There were too many other things to think about. With a deep breath he turned to the door. It was time to face the music.

The End

Find my other steddie fanfic listed here in my pinned post.

[jow99]

Yvré-l’Évêque - sightseeing around Le Mans

Our campground is about 7km from Le Mans. When you hear Le Mans you immediately think of the 24 hour car race, but there is so much more to Le Mans.

There was a welcome chill in the air when we first got up. Unfortunately that didn’t last long and as we pedalled off a little after 9am you could already feel the warmth.

This morning we rode our mountain bikes to the Le Mans 24h track and museum. It was a lovely ride there with a part of it through the Arche, a large national park they have here.

It was thrilling to be able to wander into the circuit area of the 24h. There were motor bikes zooming around the track so it had the required sound (well almost) and it was great to watch them banking into some of the corners. Between the circuit and the museum we were there for the better part of 2 hours.

Google maps sent us a different route back which ended up being not too bad as it took us through town and across the Pont Romain that our campground is named after.

It was getting pretty hot by the time we got back so a swim was definitely in order (and nice because there were way less people there).

The afternoon (what was left of it) passed quickly and soon we were getting ourselves dressed to head into Le Mans.

When you say Le Mans everyone immediately thinks of the race but the town has way more than that to offer. This was a mainstay of the Plantagenet family. Henry 2 was born here and Berengeria, Richard the Lionhearts Spanish wife whom he pretty much ignored their entire marriage, saw out her days ruling here and was loved by the town.

The Cite Plantagenet is amazing, all the old houses, narrow streets and then a big, beautiful cathedral. We caught the bus in and were dripping messes by the time we arrived. It hit 35-36 degrees and the bus wasn’t air conditioned 🥵

After a refreshing sorbet we headed off for a wander around and it didn’t disappoint. We had dinner in town and tried some of the local specialties, most notably rilletes Le Mans, delicious.

In the evening they do a vivid style light show in the buildings. I had been hoping for the historical depictions I had seen in the guide book but we seemed to get a lot of random faces beamed up onto the buildings. There were still some amazing displays, though so not really a disappointment.

Of course being so far north it doesn’t get dark until late so the show didn’t start until 10pm. By the time we were ready to head back the buses had stopped running so we hit the Uber app and were back in a jiffy. Still about 27 degrees as we headed to bed a bit after 11:30pm.

PS Lots of photos today and the order might be a little out.

[askaceattorney]

Dear Henry Enry,

Quite a bit different, I'd imagine.

There were no cell phones, so communication was slower, and there were no cars, either, meaning slower travel. Not to mention traveling overseas would've taken much longer without airplanes. And I haven't even gotten into the lack of modern-day conveniences like dishwashers and air conditioning.

Even still, people found a way to make do with what they had, and it seemed to work out well enough in most parts of the world. I bet there's a lot we can learn from them about gratitude and adapting to our circumstances.

Heck, sometimes my day is ruined if our TV's on the blink. It's amazing to think people used to be entertained without them, huh?

-Phoenix Wright

[ladyknightellen]

I would love to hear more about The One Where Henry's Metaphor Is Not A Metaphor or read a snippet from it!

Okay so, little summary of sorts, then I'll give a lil snippet!

-Henry was born with his heart partially outside his body along with some other issues that go along with that condition (the actual condition is called Pentalogy of Cantrell in case you're curious)

-For the most part, it follows canon, but deals mainly with Henry's struggle to find a balance between his genuine medical needs, and the safety precautions that have been imposed on him by his family. Basically Mary is being awful in new and horrifying ways, and Catherine stopped fighting her and became a bit of a helicopter mom after Arthur died.

The party is loud and bright and everything Henry would normally hate since he can’t dance or drink, but the moment he sees Alex, he doesn't really care anymore. The suit he’s wearing makes him look like he stepped off a runway, and Henry is sure his mouth is hanging open.

He can tell that Alex wants to dance, but he stays with Henry and talks with him about anything and everything. When the songs change to some early 2000s hip hop however, Alex can’t seem to help himself and he doesn’t resist when Nora comes and starts pulling him up.

“Come on Henry!” She yells over the music “You come too!”

“Oh no, it’s–” Alex trails off, like he’s trying to decide how to explain things to Nora without actually explaining it to her. He looks at Henry with a look that says ‘help’ and ‘sorry’ and Henry makes a decision that he knows he’s going to regret.

“I’ll join you!” Alex studies him with a concerned expression, and as they walk towards the dance floor, he pulls him aside and gives him a concerned look.

“Are you sure about this? I don’t want you to…umm…” He trails off, and Henry finds it painfully endearing how worried he looks.

“I’ll be fine Alex, remember how I told you that I don’t like people treating me like I’m made of glass?”

“Oh, right, sorry.”

Henry only makes it through one song before he starts feeling dizzy, and Alex follows him when he wades back through the crowd of bodies to find somewhere to sit down.

“Don’t bite my head off for asking this, but seriously, are you alright?” Alex asks. Henry doesn’t try to answer out loud, but he manages a weak nod that does nothing to help the dizziness and pounding headache.

“Do you want me to leave?” Alex asks “Because I don’t think I should, but I’m not gonna hover if you don’t want me to.”

“Stay” Henry says as he leans back against the wall and closes his eyes, willing his body to take in deeper breaths. “I’ll be good– In a second.”

“I’ll believe you when you say something without gasping for air.” Henry cracks one eyelid open and gives Alex a look.

“I told you, I don’t– need you to treat me like– I’m made of glass.”

“Well call me crazy, but I feel like there’s a pretty big gap between treating you like you’re made of glass and just making sure you don’t pass out in the middle of a crowded ballroom.” He’s right, and Henry knows it, and he doesn’t have the energy at the moment to even attempt to protest, so he just nods and waits for the episode to pass.

When Henry opens his eyes this time, Alex is sitting in a chair next to him instead of hovering over him, but he’s still glaring at Henry with an expression that is a mix of worry and exasperation.

“I’m fine now Alex, I promise.” He says, sitting up fully again.

“Okay, see, now I believe you.”

“You can go back to dancing now, I’m fine.”

“No no it’s fine, I don’t mind hanging out with you, I’m sorry Nora dragged you out there.”

“Alex, please, just go back and enjoy your party. You don’t have to sit here with me the whole time, I know you want to dance and have fun. You don’t have to reign yourself in on my account, and don’t say you’re fine and you don’t care, because you are currently bouncing halfway out of your seat to the rhythm of the music. Go enjoy yourself, I’m fine. I promise.” The words come out a bit more forceful than he intended, and Alex looks almost hurt, but after a few more seconds, he stands up and gives Henry an awkward little wave before rejoining the mass of people on the dance floor.

Henry watches him for the next three songs until the DJ starts counting down to midnight. He sees Nora wrap her arms around Alex’s neck as he puts his hands on her waist and pulls her in for a kiss just as everyone screams

“Happy New Year!”

For the second time that night, Henry feels like his chest is on fire, but for an entirely different reason. He’s not sure how he gets outside, but when the cold hits his face, he stops and reaches out to grab hold of the first thing he can find to steady himself. The bark of the tree is rough on the palm of his hand and it’s oddly comforting and grounding.

“Sir, are you alright?” Shaan’s voice startles him, and when he turns around so fast he nearly collapses.

“I–” He starts to say he’s ‘fine’ but he knows Shaan wouldn’t believe that for a second. The only problem is; there’s not much Shaan can do about what’s currently making him ‘not fine.’ “I’m not in need of assistance at the moment.” He says finally.

“Are you certain of that Sir?” Shaan asks, and there’s something in his tone that tells Henry that he’s picked up on what’s going on, or at least grasped that it’s not a medical emergency that’s got him gasping and holding on to a tree for dear life.

“Not really, but there’s nothing that would be in your power to do about my current predicament.”

“Ah, I see.” Shaan says, then waits for a moment, probably assessing if he should stay or go. “I’ll return to the room then Sir, if you don’t require anything from me.”

“Yes, thank you Shaan.”

Once Shaan has left him alone again, Henry rests his back against the tree and slides down to the ground to sit. He tilts his head up to stare at the night sky, the distant fireworks flickering in the edge of his vision, and he wonders, as he often does, if his father is watching him from somewhere in the great beyond.

“Hey dad” He says, feeling slightly foolish talking to the sky, but the words keep coming and he couldn’t stop them if he tried.