#I can’t help but be concerned that they would argue that ‘the curtains are blue for no reason’ | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

roraruu · 1 year ago

Text

YOTO: June

Dorovain. Downpour/Wedding/proposal/sick fic.

There’s two Petras in her hallway. Dorothea does her best to steady herself against the wall, pulling on the tapestry depicting some saintly ancestors doing something or other. But she doesn’t care about wrinkling—or goddess forbid, ripping—it. An overwhelming sense of guilt and disappointment hangs over her for the news she just delivered.

She won’t be attending Petra’s wedding.

The two Petras are politely distanced from Dorothea, at the lady’s insistence. Outside, two guards wait, dressed in bright Brigidian colours and crests depicting a gleaming blue sun. The Petras, not the guards which are multiplying, assure her: “Do not be worrying, Dorothea.”

“I’m so so sorry, Petra.” Dorothea says in a hoarse voice. Years ago, she’d be mortified that she is in the process of losing her voice, her talent, her assurance of a better life. Now, she only cares about apologizing to her dear friend who has crossed the ocean.

“There will be other times, I promise you!” Petra promises her.

A headache looms over Dorothea, fuelled by pressure and guilt. “But it’s your wedding. And you wanted me there as a witness…” Dorothea argues. “I knew I shouldn’t have taken that stroll in town. Enbarr is a pit of sickness in the winter.”

“It is not your fault.” Petra assures her gently. Dorothea keeps a handkerchief to her mouth, as to keep her sickness to herself. “Bernadetta said she would help if needed.”

“I’m sure she’s been to a lot of weddings, given her title as minister of religion. She probably knows the vows down pat.”

Petra smiles and pulls her fur coat closer to herself. “She is much changed, indeed.” She notices how Dorothea’s face falls and makes her voice cheery. “I will be back in the fall, we will see each other then.”

Dorothea longs to agree but can’t. “No promises.” She says before shooing Petra out of the hallway of Gautier Manor. “Go go! I won’t make the bride-to-be sick.”

Petra departs with a sad smile and a last glance over her shoulder. She departs into the arms of her guardian knight, who is waiting only a few feet away. They multiply once again, hazy double-visions of two couples hurrying through the thickening blanket of rain into their carriage.

Dorothea braces herself against the front door to see them off, clutching onto the frame with all her might, then decides the front door step is a good place for a nap.

—

Dorothea wakes up in her bed and feels like a rusty nail is being pounded through her head. The room is dark but she can hear the howls of rain outside the newly built estate. Dorothea’s hand goes to her head, as if the pressure from her hand will reduce the pressure in her head.

A jagged shard of candlelight slices through the curtains of the four poster bed. Dorothea moans and cracks open an eye. She sees her lover Sylvain holding a teapot, a look of softened concern on his face.

“Hey Thea.” Sylvain greets gently. “Can you sit up?”

She whines and manages to. Then, the sneezing comes and doesn’t stop. He offers his handkerchief which Dorothea tries to give back.

He cringes a little and gently says, “Sorry darling, it’s better yours than mine.”

“Oh.” Dorothea mumbles, remembering that he isn’t sick. “Right. I’ll have it laundered I guess.”

“Good idea.” Sylvain sets down a tea tray and sits beside her on the bed.

“Wait, why are you here? You’ll get sick.” She argues. “You’ll miss the conference.”

The same conference that brought the two down from Faerghus and set them up in one of the Hresvelg’s many guesthouses. It was to be a roundtable discussion between the remaining noble houses—Fraldarius, Galatea, Gaspard and of course, Gautier—on preserving borders following the fall and dissolution of the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus.

To say that this was important was an understatement. Sylvain had been preparing since Edelgard had first mentioned the topic months ago in passing. Gautier territory was the most eager to discuss it, given the borders on Sreng and the relationship that the new Margrave had been building between the Srengi people and Fódlan.

Sylvain’s reach didn’t end there. He managed to sway Ingrid’s brothers to come down; they had staunchly been against the idea for months, especially after the death of their sister. The remaining Fraldariuses—a cousin of Felix’s—had been implored by Sylvain to make the trip and would be down within the fortnight.

Ashe, the eldest of Lonato Gaspard’s children, and entitled to the estate before his engagement, had returned both to marry in the Fódlani church and to argue for Gaspard’s borders. Upon coming of age, his younger siblings—who would be staying in Fodlan—would inherit it, but for now, Ashe remained as the sole heir.

This was important. She thinks.

“Don’t worry about it Thea.”

“Syl,” Dorothea says. “You’ve been planning this with Edie for ages. I can’t be the one to take you away from it.”

“You’re not taking me away from anything, Thea.” He insists. “Drink this. It’s valerian and feverfew. It should help you sleep off the headache.”

Dorothea takes the teacup and sips the bitter herb tea. She cringes and looks at him. “If you’re staying here because of me, I’m still playing a part. Edie needs you there. The old Kingdom supporters respect the Gautiers and you. You have the most sway now.”

“Like I said, it can wait.” He insists. “If you mean half as much to Edelgard as you mean to me, she’ll understand. Besides, I’m sure she’s got her hands full with rearranging cabinet and wrangling Claude for a conference regarding the Leicester territories. They’ll be just as much trouble as us Faerghus rebels.”

Dorothea sneezes again and her head feels like it’s about to burst. She winces and sinks back into the pillows, shutting her eyes. “I have a feeling the Alliance nobles won’t be as open to being under the Empire again.” She moans.

“I’ve written to Count Gloucester. He seems more open to it. Or his wife did at least.”

“She’s always been more… politically minded.” Dorothea winces as her head feels like it’s about pop and her heart aches at the mention of a wife. She thinks of Petra, preparing for her Fódlani wedding without her maid of honour. “Goddess…”

Sylvain moves closer to her, crawling beneath the sheets. “What’s wrong?”

“I feel awful about missing Petra’s wedding.”

“C’mon, she understands.”

“But she wanted me to witness it so it would be official here.” Dorothea says sadly. “I feel like a bad friend.”

“If you weren’t sick, you’d be there, right?”

“I would.”

Sylvain inclines his head. “See?”

“This is the worst time to get sick.” Dorothea bemoans, then sneezes again. She sighs, eyes watery as she reaches for the wet hanky. “I should’ve been smarter. Why’d I go into Enbarr…”

Sylvain shakes his head. “No one could talk you out of it.”

Dorothea sighs and thinks of the reason why she went: to see the opera house. It had been badly damaged in the war and was finally about to be repaired, thanks to a large grant from a certain noble. Seeing it was worth the sickness, and of course, passing through the streets, Dorothea came across orphans and urchins like herself and shared her newfound wealth with them; regretfully, they shared their colds with her.

(But truthfully, she wouldn’t trade those moments for the world. The sparkle in the eyes of a woman who recognized her as the Mystical Songstress. The little boy who gasped when he realized she knew the emperor. Those make the head-cold worth it.)

Dorothea sighs and settles against his shoulder, curling into him.

“Drink that tea up, otherwise I’ll have to tell Ashe you didn’t like it.”

She keeps her eyes shut and forces a smile. “Did you tell him?”

“Duh. I asked him for ideas.” Dorothea watches as Sylvain leans closer and presses a kiss to her temple. “Can’t stand to see you sick.”

Dorothea heaves a sigh. “Please don’t do it again.”

“Do what?” Sylvain asks playfully as he takes her left hand. He kisses the back of her palm, her lithe fingers.

“This.” She says, feeling her headache lessen.

“I’m doing nothing.” He says. “Aside from thinking about how nice a big diamond would look on your finger.”

Dorothea sighs. “You want a sick wife with a runny nose?”

Sylvain looks at her like she’s asked a stupid question. He kisses her nose. “Is that even a question? Come on Thea, I’d marry if your nose was red and stuffy and you got me sick.”

Dorothea rolls her eyes. “You’re on the road to getting sick by sticking by me.”

“There’s no other place I’d rather be.”

She melts against him for a moment, thinking about how he’s so close to saying what she wants to hear. Being there in sickness is a good start; being there when she’s vulnerable is too; but she wants it all. The grey-hairs and achy joints and fading beauty and musing on the good old days of glory and youth. Waking up next to him when they’re no longer young and beautiful. Age, it’s golden hues and the passing of time and fleeting moments that become precious memories.

He said it once.

I’d rather be with you until you’re an old grandma.

If only he said it when he proposed.

She curls against him, breathing in his scent and feeling his arms around her. Her headache eases—unsure if it’s the tea or him—and Dorothea melts into him. He presses another kiss into her hair.

“Marry me, Thea.” He begs her gently, his voice soft and muffled.

She shakes her head. “I’m sorry Sylvain, but no.” She says.

“Not the right words?”

“No.” She agrees. “Not yet.”

“Will you tell me when I’ve got it right?”

“Promise.” Dorothea smiles and looks up at him. “You’ll know.”

They stay like that in bed for a little longer. A warm feeling makes a spot in her chest as the feverfew and valerian draw her to sleep.

A few days later, Dorothea is bringing him tea and cuddling into him while he moans about his poor head, and Edelgard delivers curealls she swears by.

#Dorovain #dorothea x sylvain #sylvain jose gautier #dorothea arnault #year of the otp #yoto #ru writes

2 notes · View notes

rayofsunas · 4 years ago

Text

s/o has a mental/nervous breakdown.

A/n: hello everyone! I hope your day is going alright, and that you’re doing well 🥰 I recently hit 300+ folllwers, like Sunday morning, and omg, that was the best thing to wake up too 🥺❤️ thank you those new and old for following and taking a chance with my account and sometimes trashy works 🙃 I’m gonna make a longer post at some point saying my thanks and discuss what I plan to do to celebrate 300 followers. It would really mean a lot to me if you guys chimed in if you have any ideas, after all, this is a thanks to you and I want you all to be involved! also, if you saw my recent rambles about how a draft was deleted, it’s referring to this post... what I had written got deleted TWICE in the span of FIVE MINUTES. gosh I was so pissed, I almost screamed. mobile tumblr is not it 😔 but here we are. I hope you like this. I tried to write this three times.... 🤡 also, since I am not a doctor or anything, I put a link to possible symptoms/what a “mental breakdown” is, that’s in the warnings, just click the link, it helped with my accuracy.

Summary: s/o has a mental/nervous breakdown.

Parings: Xiao/Reader, Scaramouche/Reader, Albedo/Reader, Childe/Reader (all fem reader)

Warnings: angst, mental breakdown (panic attacks, stress, anxiety, ptsd, hallucinations, insomnia) fluff, swearing, mentions of death, mentions of injury

Word count: 3.5k (whew after tumblr DELETING this draft twice here we are folks ;-;)

requested by @mintyhuening

Xiao

he knew you weren’t okay at all

Xiao knew the moment you locked yourself in your house

at first he thought maybe you were just temporarily feeling this way, but as the weeks passed and you hadn’t come out, he decided maybe not

coming from someone who enjoyed silence and solitude he could understand the distancing part, but it had been weeks, and even he needed socialization, so why hadn’t you come out?

you spoke to him through the door a few times, letting him know you were alright

he didn’t believe that though, sure you were alive, but not alright, he was mainly checking for confirmation to see if you were still alive while he thought of a good way to approach the situation

he didn’t want to invade your privacy, but he also hated the fact that you wouldn’t come out, not even to see him

it was lonely without you, he concluded

even for someone who enjoy solitude

you were a careful creature, but never this careful and cautious...

were humans always like this?

eventually, he couldn’t stand it, and did find other ways to get into your house

he grew antsy after pacing outside your door for days

he found you huddled in your bed, a heap of pillows and blankets surrounding you

you were shocked to see him when he’d sat down on the foot of the bed, causing it to dip significantly

“How did you get in?” You snapped once you saw who it was.

“I have my ways.” He said raspily. With a huff of annoyance, you were back to facing the wall, away from the Adepti.

“It’s dark in here.” He announced matter a factly, looking around the nearly pitch-black room, windows and doors covered by sheets and hefty duty curtains. “It’s how I like it.”

“It’s not healthy.”

“I don’t care, go away.”

Xiao was starting to grow impatient surprisingly, he truly just wanted to help, why couldn't you see that?

“Being passive is not going to help the situation, please tell me what’s wrong.”

“Nothing, I’m just tired.”

He worried. If he said the wrong, would you push him away even further? If he said the right thing, would you even care? Did you want help?

Xiao moved closer to you, hand going to touch your leg, although it was underneath the blankets, you felt it and did have to admit the affection was comforting.

“Don’t do this to yourself,” Xiao said. “Your friends miss you, I miss you as well.”

Maybe if you weren’t cooped up here anymore, you would start to come around. The room and house all together were very stuffy, dark, and depressing, he despised it.

“It’s beautiful outside, come with me,” he'd whispered. “At least if you don’t want to be around people, could you allow me to take you to a secluded area?”

“The fresh air will do you good.”

You were thinking about it, you had to of been if you still cared.

“Fine, mother.” He watched with hope in his eyes as you slowly rose from the bed, and began

The outside world was very very bright at first, enough to induce a headache. But you became used to it the more you were out.

Xiao stayed true to his word like you knew he would unless you wouldn’t have come. You were taken to a very secluded area, there wasn’t even a path or road to it, just green luscious grass, and crystal core everywhere, beautiful blue and orange ones; Anemo and Geo respectively. You weren’t sure where you were, somewhere between Mondstadt and Liyue, you assumed.

The fresh air did wonders, Xiao had noticed. You seemed to open up. Telling him a little of the problem. You had told him about how life was just stressful right now, you hadn’t taken any commissions in weeks, spoken to any of your friends Mondstadt, hence why they had come to him, accusing him of kidnapping and brainwashing you. He was offended, nonetheless let them know that wasn’t the case.

The ever so secluded Xiao would take you out more, slowly introducing you to crowds of people, and would still take you on daily walks to that secret place you now called your special spot.

It would take a while, he knew that, and you wouldn’t be comfortable doing everything that others around you did, maybe not for a while. He could respect that, as long as you allowed him to help and encourage you.

Scaramouche

being a harbinger was HARD, Scaramouche knew that, even if he didn’t admit it

admitting it was challenging, could lead to always being doubted or seen as incompetent. therefore, no one mentions how hard it is

he had been off doing his duties when he got news that you had lashed out at a few lower rank fatui on your team, resulting in you being called in to meet with The Tsaritsa... let's just say she went easy on you because you were one of her highest ranking soldiers, if not, she would've severely punished you

you were forced back to your sleeping quarters immediately to calm down, told to stay put until you could stop “lashing out like a child” as she had put it

you weren’t one to argue against The Tsaritsa, everyone knew that was common rule... so you walked back as calmly as you could without snapping at anyone else

when Scaramouche had heard how you acted, he was annoyed

the always so calm and calculated Y/n, lashing out at her fellow members? he couldn’t help but be annoyed, despite it being completely out of character of you

he had finished his duties relatively quick, wondering why you were acting so out of character

when he got back, he found you in your sleeping quarters, pacing in front of the large windows near the furthest end of your room

you were still wearing your typical combat gear, though your hair disheveled and body language looking extremely anxious, he hoped it was not yours...

“What did you do this time?” Had asked the violet-eyed man, carelessly throwing his hat on your bed, lean arms folding across his chest.

No response.

“Excuse me, I believe I asked you a question.”

A loud irritable huff.

“Be quiet for once in your life, Scaramouche.” You hissed, anxiously biting at your nails. “Sorry- I’m just trying to calm down, but my heart can’t stop racing.”

Scaramouche wasn’t the most in-touch person with his feelings, and out of all the harbingers, he was one of the more difficult ones to deal with.

Surprisingly, he had shut up, despite finding it difficult to hold his malicious comment back.

“What’s wrong?” Your lover asked, more softly this time.

“My mission today was... hard. I know you said it’s important for missions to just be a one and done; no hard feelings. And you know I’ve always been that way. But this one was different.” His eyebrows furrowed, his forehead creasing in annoyance.

“I can’t help but think about what they did.”

“Did you get what you went for? I heard you sought after information regarding that Knight, Aether.”

“Yes, but-”

“I’d call that a successful mission,” He stared intensely, casually moving to sit on the comfort of your bed. Of course, he wouldn’t take this seriously. “Any casualties?”

“None of our men, but-”

“I don’t see the problem.”

“There were children, three little children, and those idiots just slaughtered them.”

“Ah... I see.”

Despite stating he understood, he really couldn’t sympathize with what you were saying. Those children were enemies as long as they worked against The Tsaritsa.

Your voice suddenly cut through the silence, staring directly into his eyes, “What if those were our children?”

“They weren’t.” Your eyes rolled at his comment.

“But what if!” He rolled his eyes, mocking your previous action.

“But they weren’t.” He mocked for a second time.

“You’re not helping, Scaramouche!”

“You’ll never understand, unless you see what I saw,” He knew you were right to some degree, but even then would he feel bad? A mission was a mission after all.

“They were begging me to protect them, and the youngest, she would not let go of my arm and then the next thing I knew, they were dead.” You continued, left hand going to grip your right, he assumed to show him where and how the said girl had gripped you. You were still shaking, this time being closer, he noticed how bad it was.

“They were pleading, I told them I would try my best, and then-” He had long ago stood, making himself present in front of you. His warm hands had grabbed your shaking ones harshly, ceasing the trembling momentarily.

“Please, be quiet,” The sixth harbinger snipped. “I don’t like seeing you upset.” Although it sounded harsh, he was trying his best to make it sound how he felt, even if those feelings were minuscule towards this specific topic.

“Although, I don’t agree with you about this particular concern of yours- I will do whatever you need to help you.”

Albedo

now, he may just be an alchemist, but trust me, Albedo sees the signs before anyone, he has some sort of familiarity with them due to his incessant reading

and it may have taken him longer to see the signs because of how busy he was, but he saw them

he was no fool to the likes of insomnia, in fact he knew it very well, often staying up very late into the night and morning, sometimes for days at a time

he was cooped up in his lab and it wasn’t as if his body wasn’t tired, cause hell he was, there was just s much more to learn and discover, his brain WOULD not stop,

Albedo hadn’t known how long this had been going on for, but he was seeing signs now

ngl, he didn’t notice that you hadn’t been sleeping properly until one night he decided to accompany you in bed earlier than usual (It was three a.m, yikes), and found that you were awake still

you were lying still on your side of the bed, and if it hadn’t been for the fact that he reached over to kiss your cheek, only to see your eyes open, he would’ve assumed you were alright and asleep

“You’re awake?” The ashy-blonde man asked, sliding into bed next to you.

“Can’t sleep.” You shrugged nonchalantly, scooting closer to him, seeking his warmth and comfort.

“You should’ve come to get me, I would’ve come to bed earlier with you.”

“It’s alright, I peeked in to see if you were still alive,” You joked, he chuckled. “You seemed very busy.”

“Yes, but, I thought I told you to remind me when you need attention, I often get sidetracked and enamored with my work.”

“It’s quite alright, Albedo. As long as you’re sleeping.”

He hummed, whispering tired words of adoration in your ear. That carried on for a while, as long as talking about the day's work and whatnot, until you eventually questioned, “Can I play with your hair?” The gesture was sweet, and that did sound amazing right about now since he was on the brink of sleep, but just needed that little push. But weren’t you tired?

“Aren’t you tired?”

You sat up, climbing behind Albedo, gently placing his head in your lap. “I’ll go after you.” A soft smile adorned your beautiful face. “You need sleep, you stay up for Archon knows how long.”

He selfishly allowed his eyes to close and waited for sleep to accompany him while you began untangling his two braids and ponytail. You played with and braided his hair until he’d fallen asleep as you said. You stayed up the rest of the morning though.

Eventually, probably out of boredom, you fell asleep for an hour or two around five a.m. Though, unfortunately, you were back up before six. You busied yourself while Albedo slept, starting with cleaning his lab. Albedo often did not like people touching his books, paperwork, and findings, but after instructing you how to properly take care of his stuff, he welcomed your help with open arms, seeing as though his lab was ALWAYS in shambles from not having enough time to take care of things himself.

Albedo surprisingly woke up around nine, wavy hair surrounding him like a lion, you chuckled to yourself at the sight. “How did you sleep?”

“Alright, considering my sleep schedule is nonexistent a lot of the time.” You nodded, bumping shoulders teasingly. “How about you?”

“Okay,” You said, immediately changing the subject. “I woke up early, so I cleaned your lab, I hope it’s to your likings, Kreideprinz.” You teased, bowing at the waist.

The alchemist waved you off, with a smile. “We’ll see about your organizational skills after you eat.”

How had he known?

“You haven’t eaten yet, have you?” Albedo asked, heading in the direction of the kitchen.

“That obvious.” You wondered trailing after him.

“You always wait for me, darling.”

“You look exhausted.” Albedo’s concerned voice cut in through the smooth Mondstadt breeze. You had been so distracted with the discovery in front of you, you hadn’t realized your boyfriend was staring directly at you. “When was the last time you slept?” He glanced back down at the discovery, still listening, but if you didn’t speak soon he’d be lost in his world again.

“A day or two, but-” Albedo probably got whiplash from how hard he’d snapped his head to face you, but now he was staring at you with features reading nothing but shock, cerulean eyes blown wide.

“I think your bad sleeping schedule is contagious.” You joked, trying to make the situation lighter-hearted. He didn’t laugh.

Albedo was more serious this time, proving it when he faced you completely. “What’s been going on?” His voice was soft, but he was extremely worried.

Nervousness built up in his lover's body. “Nothing! I just-” You sighed. Might as well tell him the truth, he’d coerce the answer from you no matter what it took. “It’s been harder to sleep after my injury from that ruin guard. When it hit me, I banged my head against the concrete, and ever since I guess it’s been hard to sleep.”

“You could've told me sooner. I would have stopped everything and anything for you.” Yes, that was true, that was the problem though. You didn’t want to be coddled like a baby

“I know, I’m not sure why I didn’t... Naturally, I don’t want to worry you.”

He moved closer to you so he could cradle your face in his hands. “You can always tell me anything you know that.”

“I understand that. You’re a busy man so-”

“From this moment on, my work will be dedicated to finding a cure for you.”

You panicked, not wanting to stop his work for the likes of what you were dealing with. “What? Wait no-”

“You can’t stop me, darling. You take precedence over everything.”

Albedo made it his goal to do whatever possible to help you. Whether it be spending days in his lab making concoctions in hopes of creating something that could safely aid you with sleep. Or he’s in the libraries, reading all the books on the wellness and health of humans. He’s already on top of it the minute you expressed your concerns. In the meantime, he’s going to make sure he goes to bed with you much earlier, and won’t go until you do, to ensure you’re resting.

We love sweet caretaker Albedo.

(I understand insomnia can have other causes, not just a mental or nervous breakdown, but it’s kind of implied when reader hurt her head that she’s not well.)

Childe

Childe is simply not going to know your not well, he just won’t, it’s not that he doesn’t care, it’s more so the fact that he has a hard time paying attention to anything other than his missions and duties, he does not want to slow down

you have to show signs or tell him to realize

he decided to take a break though, seeing as he did promise you dinner tonight. he told you it would be his treat, since he did have a bunch of Mora lying around that he simply had no other use for

he figured a nice dinner and trip to one of the nicer cities with more to offer would be nice, he would buy you anything you desired

it was nearing the time for dinner though, and the reservations had already been made, so when he was left waiting, let's just say he was irked...

if you didn’t want to show up, you would’ve told him, so maybe you forgot? he concluded that couldn’t be it

the last time he’d brought it up, two days ago, you had been so excited you couldn’t sit still nor stop talking about it

asking a few people around town if you had been spotted anywhere, some said you had wandered off to Luhua Pool, something about there being a myth about special healing properties within the water

now he was even more confused

one, you NEVER went to Luhua Pool, there was never a need to do so

two, special healing properties? why would you need that? were you hurt in his absence?

you were his family, and he loved his family more than anything, so if something was wrong, he’d do whatever it took to help you

he traveled from Snezhnaya to Luhua Pool in record speed

he did find you eventually, the sun was setting, but thanks to the glowing water he could make your form out easily

you were hunched over, in what looked like to be some simple greenish cloth dress, he couldn’t see what you were doing, and called out your name

no answer

“Hey, what’re you doing here?” The orange-haired teen asked, crouching down beside his lover to see what was wrong.

“Cleaning.” You had said. That’s when his dull blue eyes traveled to what you were doing, watching with a confused stare as you scrubbed at what seemed to be clean hands.

“Hmm, I see...” He couldn’t tell if this was a prank or not, you usually played along with his teasing nature. “Are you ready for dinner?”

“Was that really today?” Your head lifted, leaving your hands to momentarily hanging in the air, water droplets dripping off into the pool.

Okay... so you did forget it seemed, which did shock him seeing as though you were over the moon, less than seventy-two hours ago.

“Uh, yeah, did you really forget? That’s unlike you! I’ve learned women don’t forget anything.” He teased, hand going to his chin. You hummed, turning back to do whatever it was you had been previously.

The harbinger frowned. “Do you still want to go? We can make it if we’re fast.” You sounded like a robot, much like a ruin guard, he concluded.

“I’m sorry, not today, I’m dirty...”

Childe couldn’t help but chuckle, “Dirty? Sweetheart, you’re cleaner than most people I’ve seen, what’re you on about-”

“The blood, it’s stained my hands, can’t you see?” Even after holding your hands to show him, he saw nothing resembling blood.

“Are you playing games with me? Sure, it would’ve been funny any other day, not today though-”

“You don’t believe me?” You sounded hurt, but whatever was going on, he wouldn’t feed into these... false hallucinations. “The townspeople said the same thing, they called me crazy...” You scrubbed even harder at your hands, letting out a frustrated huff.

“I don’t see anything, I’m really sorry,” He said gently, reaching into the water to grasp your warm hands in his, “But if you continue to do that...I will see the blood.”

Childe was not sure what was going on, maybe some sort of PTSD? Although, he wasn’t sure where it could’ve come from... you’re not a harbinger or fatui, or anyone that is engaged in battle, etc. so it didn’t make sense. Unless something happened that decided to resurface now.

He immediately took you home, hand in his to keep you from further scratching your hands. On the journey, you often asked, “Why are you even touching me? There’s a lot of blood.”

He didn’t want to have to feed into whatever was going on, worried he’d damage you somehow, and he didn’t want to make you sound crazy, so instead he said, “Because I love you.”

When you both arrived home, he’d immediately laid you in bed, saying you appeared tired before going to search for a doctor.

Child will see every and all doctors in Teyvat and will pay whatever amount necessary to figure out what’s wrong, that’s for sure. Doesn’t take orders from the harbingers (not like he was anyways) and opts to stay close to you at all times.

He decided to keep his teasing to a minimum, though he found that sometimes things slipped out accidentally, he’d do anything in his power to help you.

1.18.21, rayofsunas

#rayofsunas #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact imagines #scaramouche #scaramouche x reader #albedo #albedo x reader #childe #childe x reader #tartagalia #xiao #xiao x reader

2K notes · View notes

yandere-society · 4 years ago

Text

The Watcher

Pairing: Hoseok x Female Reader

Synopsis: You were supposed to be living your dream life… One where you would be able to start a happy family with your partner but instead here you were - sleep deprived and terrified of the very own walls you once called home. All because of him - he who haunted you day and night, he who surrounded the hidden corners of your mind. He, who called himself: ‘The Watcher.’

Word Count: 4.3k

Warnings: Yandere themes, Suicide mention, Abusive relationship, Mentions of mental illness

Headline: Couple Flee Dream Home After Threats From “The Watcher”

Admin: @roses-ruby

“Are you sure on the color? I didn’t know you liked green at all.”

“Yeah,” You reply casually, taking a mug out from the moving box. There was a paper wrapped around the mug for glass protection – one you discarded back into the package before placing the cup on the marbled counter. The kitchen window didn’t have curtains yet, which let warm sunlight pour into the room and light up the whole area. “It’s a really soft green. I think it’s optimistic.”

Your husband scoffs playfully as you walk over to the coffee maker. You had just moved in yesterday so your dream house – ready to be filled with everything you’ve cultivated throughout the years – only contained a mass of unloaded belongings. Yet still, nothing could beat the simple contentment of just existing in the exact place you’ve always wanted.

“I’m so happy to be here.”

“Well, I’m glad someone is.” Taehyung interrupts your wonder.

You stare at him with an eyebrow raised, grabbing the coffee pot, “Another letter?”

“Yup, the fourth one.” He sighs, “These neighborhood kids you know…they’re kinda creepy…”

Ever since you moved in you’ve been receiving odd, unmarked envelopes with strangely worded letters inside. They contained weird riddles and vague threats but neither of you were alarmed, deducing that the neighboring children were playing a prank on the newbies. Stranger things have happened, right? Perhaps you were both fools still in the honeymoon phase, too excited about your first month of marriage and future life to be brought down by such shenanigans.

“Oh, they’ll stop eventually. What was it this time though?”

“Something about the works of Jean-Paul Sartre or something-”

As soon as you heard the name, you froze in your tracks with the coffee pot hanging over the blue mug. Jean-Paul Sartre? No, it couldn’t be. It had to be a coincidence. Your husband seemed to be saying something in the background, but your brain was too blurred to listen. There was no way it was him. Even if there has only ever been one man you’ve encountered who was in love with the French philosopher as much as you were. It’s not him – not after 6 years. Not him.

“___?” His soft voice fills your ears, “___, I won’t let you go. You’re mine, now and forever-”

“___?” You suddenly feel someone grab your arm, snapping you out of your nightmare as you come face to face with your husband.

“…Huh?”

“Are you alright, ___? You look a little pale.” He asks, with concern lacing his features.

“I…I’m fine…I’m alright Taehyung…you know just…with the move and all…I’m tired…sorry…” You stutter out a response which he obviously didn’t believe. The more you gaze into his orbs, the more frightened you feel. Instead of easing his worry, your mind was only thinking of one thing: this can’t happen again, not again. Deciding that you didn’t want to be interrogated further, you move away from him, turning around and changing the subject.

“So…I’ll grab the paints today-”

“I’ll do it,” He interrupts, “If you’re tired you should go lie down.”

He walks past you, out of the room and a minute later you hear the front door open and shut. You just stand there – like a fool, wishing you could stop this feeling of fear and remorse from paralyzing you. Everything was going so well and then you had to go and ruin it by bringing him back into your conscience. Clenching your fist tight, you begin to cry, loathing yourself the most in that moment. This is what always happens to you when it concerns him and it’s why you don’t want him to come back into your life.

Please, not him.

“It does look optimistic!”

“Like a field of grass in front of a farmer!”

“Ugh, again?” You groan at your husband’s habit of cringe-inducing analogies.

“Oh, come on they’re cute!” He says, wrapping his arms around you as you laugh. The wall paint had finally dried and the soft green had settled nicely along with your furniture that you both had exhaustingly positioned in place. While you were playfully wrestling each other in the living room, you heard a small rustle of paper from the front door indicating the arrival of mail.

“I’ll get it!” You shout, removing his large limbs from you.

He chases you to the front door, tickling you as you pick up the fallen mail and begin to scour through the bills and ads for something important over a fit of laughter. The amusement and hustling came to a halt once you found another blank envelope in between your fingers. No one made a sound, already knowing who the sender would be.

“I’ll throw it out…” You hear the anger in your husband’s tone as he holds out his hand.

But rather than giving him the envelope, something inside of you encourages you to open it and take out the letter inside. There was a heavy, malevolent lull that surrounded the atmosphere as you began to read its contents.

“Dear ___, so divine.

I can’t stop running until you’re mine.

I keep this leash for the sake of peace,

and I’ll bite my tongue until blood fills my lung.

But Dear ___, so divine.

You should know that you’ll be mine.

I’ll watch you sleep and torch your wings

Until you’re wearing my wedding ring.

Sincerely, The Watcher.

“…What the fuck…” You could hear the horror in Taehyung’s voice. “How does he know your name?”

Because it’s him. Of course it is.

“It’s…nothing,” You say absentmindedly, laughing as you place the letter back in the envelope with trembling digits, “Just kids… playing a prank…”

“This is not the work of ‘some kids!’ It’s obviously a psychopath!” He yells in panic

“Don’t…” You mutter, an abrupt beating in your brain, “Don’t raise your voice, Tae.”

“But __-”

“I said it’s the fucking kids, didn’t I?” You grit in his face with your eyebrows furrowed.

He gapes at you for a second, his face a mix of confusion and shock, before he takes a step back. Taehyung didn’t understand why you were upset and he wanted to argue but then he saw the color leave your face.

You were staring straight at him, until you couldn’t anymore. The walls that were so beloved a minute ago now came closing in on you. Your breathing became hoarse and you took in large amounts of air to compensate up till the point where you couldn’t perceive clearly.

“___?” Your husband, a mere black silhouette, shook your arms as you began to bend over.

You panted as hard as you could, but you weren’t able to breathe and started to choke on your own spit. His image was lodging itself throughout your mind and the tears that crept out of your eye sockets felt like stones. This is exactly what you were afraid of, this is exactly why you didn’t want to believe it was him.

“Slowly baby! Breath slowly! Calm down!” His speech became foggy as your vision began to fade.

“H…seok-”

And then it was all black.

You woke up with a gasp, the image of a white ceiling sticking to your eyes. Did you pass out?

“Are you okay?” You hear your husband and turn your face to see him sitting on the floor next to you, who laid on the sofa. His face was downcast, hand holding onto you tightly as you slowly recalled everything that happened before you fainted.

“Yeah…I’m fine…”

Taehyung’s expression brought back that feeling again. That traitorous fear, that immense guilt. He deserved none of it and you hated yourself for making him worry. Countless times – you told yourself that you were over him and you could now wholeheartedly move on with your husband. But it seems like that was nothing but your own deceitfulness.

How did he even find you? What did he want from you now after six whole years? You try to sit up, wanting to feel as complete as you did before the wretched moment this afternoon.

“Tae…a-about the letter-”

“Hey, hey, hey, don’t worry about that.” He smiles, helping you up by placing his hand against the small of your back, “…Just like you said, a prank, right?”

Taehyung, a man so usually stubborn – there was something off about his stance that you couldn’t pinpoint. But whatever it was, you were fine with it as long as it meant that you wouldn’t have to confront that. So, with a tense smile, you lie through your teeth.

“Y…yeah.”

And maybe this was your own undoing, but in that very second, when he gives you a beaming grin, you laugh. A bolder of pressure releasing from your shoulders. It’s alright, this was still your house and you were still safe here. Away from him.

You don’t notice Tae’s face falling as soon as you looked away.

When you woke up again, it had already been a month.

A month of living in your dream home with the dream life you’ve always wanted. Nothing could make you happier. You leave the bed and wander into the hall to remind yourself that this was real – that this serene place really existed, and you were going to start your new married life here. Placing your hand against the painted green wall, you marvel at the beautiful blend of colors and textures.

You found yourself searching for your husband around the large house you got to call a home. It had been your goal since long ago to own a place like this. Of course, back then you had desired the commitment with your then boyfriend, Hoseok.

In that instant you stop walking. Hoseok. It’s been a long time since you’ve recalled that man and hadn’t withdrawn in apprehension. He was a happy man, the Hoseok that everyone loved. A handsome man that was always glowing with a bright ball energy, he was everyone’s friend…a mood maker. There wasn’t anyone who didn’t love him. But the Hoseok you knew – your Hoseok was a monster.

A monster hell bent on possessing you.

Everyone adored him, but he only loved you. You were so delighted that he did, so overcome with joy that you hadn’t realized then that his fondness came with many setbacks. He made you laugh, he made you cry, but mostly, he made you feel love in a way you didn’t think was possible. Blame it on your youth – you were too wrapped up in the idea of Hoseok’s affection to understand that it wasn’t normal.

He wasn’t normal.

So, you overlooked his possessive nature and his jealousy and his anger. But your body didn’t. Your skin still held scars he cultivated through nights of sexual torture. Your ears still remember the words he used to berate you. Wounds you used to adore left you with raw shame after he discarded you. So much shame, that you couldn’t even think about him or your relationship with him without utter dread grabbing at your bones. However, it didn’t matter much anymore. You were no longer a young girl desperate for his approval… you were an adult – a woman who fell in love and got married to the only man she’ll ever need.

He won’t be able to possess you ever again; he was a monster. You’re so thankful that he hadn’t sent another letter for a while now, although his silence was a tad unnerving.

The door you stood in front of creaked suddenly, catching your attention. It was then that you realized you had ended up in front of your husband’s home office. That’s right, you were looking for your husband. A much kinder and sane person.

With a smile, you push open the door to be greeted with a large, soundless room. Your smile disappears as you spot the mess of papers on your husband’s desk. They were littered everywhere, covering the whole table while some fell onto the chair and the floor. You never knew that a messy pile of papers could look so menacing. The beating of your heart grew louder as you stepped closer to the desk.

You pick up a letter, then another – then many more as horror starts to fill your lungs. More poems and threats – all of them scattered in erratic handwriting that spelled insanity. All of them signed, ‘The Watcher.’ Had it gotten this bad? But when? How? Your husband hadn’t told you about any of this.

Your eyes land on a particular letter and you begin to read it against your own will. It wasn’t addressed to anyone, the only one that directly contained your name was the divine poem. Still, you knew if it was from him, then it was for you.

Do you remember when we used to visit that bistro across the street from your dorms? How cold it was that one night, and you hated the cold so I held your hand in mine to keep you warm. Your whole body was a chill and I took pride in heating every inch of your heart. I could watch you for hours on end, and never bore. I loved you dearly, only you. That’s why I’ll watch you for a thousand nights and love you for a thousand more.

Sincerely, The Watcher.

The bistro…you vaguely remember that place. Two college students barging in half high and so annoyingly in love. Hoseok would get so upset when you made eye contact with other male customers and sometimes, he would pick fights with them. Take them behind an alley and return all black and blue.

“I won.” He’d say with a grin while you cried your eyes out, wondering what was wrong with him but being too devoted to his smile to actually care.

“Why…why now…” You muffled in a painful voice.

Suddenly you heard the sound of words being spoken in the distance. It came from downstairs, somewhere near the front door. You gradually moved towards the voice, not wanting to be alone with your thoughts. Once you were in the living room, you stopped and hid halfway between a wall, spotting your husband talking to a man in a suit.

“I just…don’t know detective…”

Detective? He called the police?

“The letters, they’re deranged…and they’re just getting worse I’m- I’m afraid for me and my wife…I don’t know what to do…”

“Well, I can tell you to not worry too much.” The older gentleman replied in a gruff voice, “Whoever this is hasn’t done anything but send letters, so it seems like he’s just playing with you. I’ll have someone patrolling the block for a while, and we’ll be the ones receiving your mail before you do for now. I’ll be back to collect those letters and…we’ll catch this jerk in a matter of days, I’m sure.”

It seems like this case doesn’t interest him much.

“Th-thank you officer I just…worry about my wife she’s…she was so happy here and then…ever since we started getting these damned letters- that freak even knows her name-”

“Are you sure you don’t want us to question her? Perhaps she knows who this person is.”

“No. I don’t think it will be good for her at all. Last time she read a letter, she had a panic attack… they really upset her, so please…she can’t know of any more.”

“Alright…we’ll see what we can do for now and I’ll follow up in a couple of days…”

“Thank you so much officer-”

Their voices begin to blend into the background as you turned around so that your back was against the wall you hid with. You were finally, finally starting to be happy…truly happy so why? Why would he come back and threaten everything you’ve grown to hold dear? Anger and pain were swimming in your heart. Wasn’t he the one who left you behind? What did he want from you now?

“Why now…Hoseok…”

Two and a half months.

Two and a half months of acting awkward and silent around one another. You sigh, sitting in your car and bracing yourself before you walk through your front door. A month ago, coming home from work was comforting, but now it just felt drawn out and agonizing. Both of you were hiding secrets, and you both simmered in guilt because of it. But it wasn’t any of his fault; it was all yours.

You, who couldn’t get over that damn bastard that left you all those years ago.

Taehyung had always been so kind to you, and you who came out of such a torturous relationship appreciated that more than anything. Yet the thought of him finding out about Hoseok – about everything you let Hoseok do to you was mortifying. Would he, who treats you with so much care, think of you the same after he’s known the truth? It’s why you could never tell him.

You’re not sure if there had been any new letters, since the police was sorting through your mail before it came back to you. But deep down inside, in a secret place, you wanted to see what Hoseok had to say. If he was still reaching out to you, if he was still watching you. With one last breathe, you open the car door and step down, ready to trudge back into your room and forget these thoughts.

Yet suddenly, when you were a few feet from your front door, you hear someone call out your name.

It was a lady, short bobbed hair - someone you knew you’ve seen before. She held a microphone in her hand and there was a man with a camera chasing her. There were many others with similar mics and cams rushing towards you with an eager look in their hungry eyes.

Your heart drops once you realize who they were. Reporters.

A whole group of them.

“Ms. ___, how long have you been receiving these letters now?”

“Is it true that this Watcher is from a previous affair you had behind your husband’s back?”

“Is he just some stalker?”

“How does he know your name? How do you feel about him knowing your name?”

“Are you and your husband sleeping in separate rooms?”

You started to speed towards your door as they all surrounded you, bombarding you with personal questions. Most of them kept saying your name over and over while shoving their devices in your face. So many thoughts ran across your mind but at the moment you were in no position to think calmly. Holding your breath, you managed to make it to the front door and took out your key. There was a slight struggle between you and the lock which they all saw, but still kept hounding on you.

Another panic attack was coming up, you could feel it. It seems like the police has been nothing but incompetent and now your private situation was to become a media debacle. You tried hard to concentrate on opening the door amidst the frenzy. Finally, you were able to make it safely inside and slam the door shut behind, with wild pants leaving your lips.

Your husband heard the noise and rushed from the kitchen to where you stood with a stupid look on his face.

“__-”

“Why are there reporters?”

“What?”

“WHY ARE THERE REPORTERS IN MY DRIVEWAY ASKING ME ABOUT THE FUCKING LETTERS?”

“I-I-I don’t-”

“Who did you tell?” You sneer

“I…I didn’t…just the police I promise!” He genuinely seemed shocked, to which you groaned. His expression became fearful, “You don’t think…that the police…”

“Well someone had to leak it!” Falling onto your knees, you place your head in your hands.

You thought you could come home, that once you came home this headache would end, but it was the loudest when you were in here. All you wanted was to fucking breathe – not hide in your house behind closed curtains, afraid and embarrassed to death with this loud pounding in your brain.

“___...” Taehyung steps close to you, and it seemed like he wanted to take you in his arms.

“Don’t touch me!” You shout, making him flinch. “…don’t touch me…”

You were yelling but it was not out of anger. This was all your fault – everything was your fault and you felt nothing but disgust for yourself. Taehyung shouldn’t touch you or he’d become dirty too. For a moment you thought about telling him everything until your eyes caught something behind him.

All the noise outside only subsided once you zeroed in on an envelope slightly sticking out of the antique dresser drawer in your entrance hallway.

“How did that get there?” You slowly lift your hand to point towards it.

Taehyung follows your finger to the antique drawer, and you see the shock form on his face. All the letters were supposed to arrive in the mail which is filtered by the police so how did that get in here?

Was that man…

Was Hoseok in your house?

With a gulp, you stand up and walk closer to the drawer. You look over at Taehyung once you were standing in front of it, and he seemed defeated. Both by this cursed house and the mysterious man watching over it. Closing your eyes, you open the drawer and retrieve the envelope. Falling to the floor once you see that it’s blank again, with a single letter inside.

“I’ll watch you forever.”

Sincerely, The Watcher.

“Honey, the truck’s almost packed.”

“Yeah, just a minute.” You sing-song, staring at the mug you were about to place into the moving box. A strained smile stretches across your face as you think back to three months ago when you were unpacking all your little gadgets and trinkets, ready to settle into this house you once called home. That was a dream and like most dreams, it didn’t last too long. This place was now just a cause of your despair, it made you miserable.

After many sleepless night and restless days, you had decided to move out and try a start a new life somewhere else. Hopefully a place that could put you to ease - one that Hoseok could never reach. Taehyung wanted to move further north, which made you happy because you loved the cold.

Wait…you loved the cold? That’s not right, is it?

Also, it’s not like Hoseok could actually follow you. Because he…wait…how was it that he left you again? You know he left you – you keep repeating it to yourself, but you don’t remember him ever breaking up with you. He never really ‘physically’ broke up with you, did he?

There it was yet again. A loud obscurity corrupting your brain.

When suddenly, a realization comes over you.

Your head whirls towards the box you hovered over. You place the mug on the floor and begin to scrummage through the old box, searching for something specific. Glass protection. Once you feel the crinkly skin of paper, you take it out and smooth it over. The pounding in your head was back, and it was the strongest it has ever been.

Just as you thought, the paper had the familiar ink scribbles of an odd poem. It was a letter. Signed by The Watcher.

How could this be?

This paper was inside the box – you had used it for packing way before you ever stepped foot into this house. Yet for some reason, you can’t recall getting a letter from The Watcher before you moved in here. For a minute nothing made sense to you. It just felt like your conscious was off floating somewhere.

And then you looked up at the painted wall.

“I didn’t know you liked green at all.”

That’s because you don’t. No, of course you don’t, you like blue.

The one who likes green is-

A loud gasp leaves you as your behind makes contact with the floor. Every single thing comes crashing down at once, all the dots start to connect.

Hoseok likes green. Hoseok likes the cold.

Hoseok is…Hoseok is….

He’s dead.

He took his own life 6 years ago… he left you behind. It wasn’t him that’s been writing those letters-

“It was me.”

You forgot. No, you made yourself forget. Because there was no other way for you to cope. Instead of facing the truth, you repressed the memory of his death and then you began to haunt yourself using his image. Hoseok was a domineering force in your life and after possessing every inch of you till the point that there wasn’t a you without him, your mind was unable to comprehend his sudden departure. Tears began to roll down your face as you started to remember it all. Every moment you became ‘him’ and wrote those letters to yourself. You’ve done so for six whole years.

The reason why you’ve never evoked this before just now was the same reason as to why your trauma never became a problem for you until you moved into this house. It was because you just got married. Your mind had become fragile since his death, so shortly after writing and ‘mailing’ yourself these letters for comfort, you would read them and forget with ease, thanks to your isolation. But now that Taehyung was here – now that you were living with him, he became a witness to those letters and therefore gave them an ‘existence.’

He brought Hoseok back to ‘life’ in your brain.

It all made sense now. The headaches and the unbearable pain. You always knew there was something off but could never remember why. All those moments where you were scared of Hoseok, but never afraid of him showing up. Every time you pondered on the consequences of his being, rather than worry about him as a person at all. Only now, you’ve finally put the missing puzzle pieces together. Hoseok wasn’t watching you anymore…he couldn’t.

It was you, The Watcher.

You were the one keeping the monster alive. And you were the only one who could conclusively end him.

“___?” You hear the small, scared voice of your husband from the back. It seems like he heard your cries.

With a quick exhale, you turn around to face him. Looking at him straight in the eyes without any fear for the very first time. Your Tae, who deserved the truth no matter the cost.

“Taehyung…I have something I need to tell you.”

#bts #yandere bts #hoseok #yandere hoseok #hoseok angst #taehyung angst #hoseok x reader #bts x reader #yandere x reader #jung hoseok

253 notes · View notes

ladyseaheart1668 · 3 years ago

Text

Endless Summer Book 4: Daughter of Vaanu (Chapter 56)

Description: The Catalysts attempt to return to their lives as River Skye finally comes home. tagging: @endlesshero1122 @mysteli @feartheendlesssummer @whatmcsaid @tigerbryn11

Chapter 56: Not Over

Alodia

I almost can’t believe how quickly I start to feel better once the fever breaks. The pain, which had felt like some hellish demon with teeth made of red-hot iron gnawing at my lower back, begins to recede within hours.

“That’s how it tends to go with an infection like this once we find the right antibiotic,” the doctor tells me. “You are fortunate, though. These days, a lot of bacteria have developed resistance to antibiotics. But the infection is responding well to treatment, and all your vitals and your blood work look good. And your daughter appears as healthy as a baby horse. ...I would just like to take a quick look at how you’re healing from the birth if that’s okay.”

I nod, turning onto my back with Jake’s help as the doctor draws the curtain around the bed. Improved as I am, I know I’m not at full strength yet, because moving still hurts. I guess I must have winced, because the doctor raises an eyebrow in concern as she pulls on a pair of gloves.

“You okay there?”

“I think so. Guess I’m still pretty sore.”

“That’s to be expected. You probably won’t feel one-hundred percent for another week or two at least.”

I draw my knees up and part my thighs while the doctor pulls up a stool at the foot of the bed and lifts the blanket. I keep my attention focused on Jake’s face above me and the pressure of his hand on mine as the doctor carries out her checks. Occasionally, I let my eyes wander around to the multiple bouquets and mylar balloons that have built up over the past couple days, gifts from the Catalysts, Tahira’s team, my aunt and uncle, and Jake and Diego’s parents.

“Everything is healing beautifully. Stitches should be dissolved by next week. You’re probably going to be feeling pretty tender for a while though.”

“Yeah, we had the whole tearing conversation with my OB in California some time ago.”

“Good. If you have any pressing questions regarding the birth and recovery, you can of course ask me, or one of the maternity staff. We can also forward your hospital records to your regular OBGYN.”

“How long do you think it will be before we can go home?” Jake asks.

She pulls the blanket back down and stands, peeling off her gloves. “Well, the fact is, we want to get her and your baby out of here ASAP to lower the chances of either of them picking up a secondary infection.” She smiles at me. “Now that the fever’s gone, we’re gonna get you off the drip and onto some oral antibiotics, and we can pretty much start the discharge process immediately.”

“So soon?” My own question surprises me, but it’s out of my mouth before I realize it’s on the end of my tongue.

“Believe me, it’s better we get you both out of here.”

“I know. It’s not that I want to stay here. It’s just...thinking about how we’re going to get home...how soon we can get home…”

“That’s all taken care of, Princess. Aleister is having Castor and Pollux deep cleaned, and he and Grace are gonna put us up for a few days until Mike gets up here from Santo Domingo. Diego and Varyyn are with Estela and Quinn, and your aunt and uncle basically paid for hotel rooms for everyone else.”

His infodump has my head reeling a little, but there was one particular tidbit I find myself fixing on.

“Why is Mike…?” I trail off as realization crashes down on me in an icy wave. A bit of information I had nearly forgotten in my struggle to bring my baby safely into the world while fighting a fever. Jake wasn’t worrying about me for all that time from the safety of our home in California. I don’t know the details, but I have a sinking feeling that has something to do with the reason that Mike isn’t here with us now.

Jake folds my hand between his palms, glancing at the doctor. “Hey...do you have everything you need? I’d like a few minutes alone with my wife, if that’s okay.”

“Of course. I’ll get the ball rolling on your discharge.”

I wait until I’m sure she’s well clear of the room before I reach to stroke Jake’s cheek. “...I know Lundgren got his filthy hands on you. ...Fiddler told me. ...I’m guessing he got a hold of Mike, too.”

He leans into my touch. “...And Sean and Michelle. Nabbed us all as I was bringing ‘em back from the island.”

“I don’t know if she told me that. That conversation got swallowed up in worrying about you, and then I got sick and River started coming, and…” I swallow, running my thumb along the fuzzy ridge of his cheekbone. “...Did they hurt you? Any of you?”

He shrugs, not meeting my eyes. “Knocked us all around a little. Michelle’s the smart one, of course, so she escaped the worst. ...Mike’s in Santo Domingo having his prosthetics repaired. Lundgren ripped them out ot torture him.”

I shudder. “Oh, god...Oh, Jake, I’m sorry...I’m so sorry…”

I’m crying before I realize it. And as soon as I do realize, it turns into sobbing. Jake reaches down to gather me in his arms and cradle my head against his shoulder, rocking me tenderly.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs into my hair. “It’s okay. He’s gonna be fine. You’re gonna be fine. In a few days, we’ll be home with our baby.”

“I w-wanna be home,” I hiccup. “I wanna be home with River, but I’m scared of leaving everyone again. I just wanna bring them all home with us…”

“Well, it’s a very big house. ...On the other hand, you cram us all into the same house long term, it might start to feel less big. Plus, it would mean a brutal cross-country commute for some of them.”

I can’t help chuckling a little bit, which makes the sobs start to die down. Jake gives me a moment to get myself under control before he speaks again.

“...How are you feeling, Princess? Really?”

“Physically?” I pull back gently to lie down on the pillow again. “Definitely better. My head is clearer, and I don’t hurt as much. But I’m still worn out. And by the way, you’re gonna have to make due with blow jobs for awhile, because it’s gonna be a long time before you stick that thing in me again, if ever.”

It’s his turn to laugh, and he bends to kiss me. “Princess, I will tug it for the rest of my life as long as you’re still a part of that life.”

“I will be a part of your life as long as the universe allows,” I promise. “...But Jake, we both know this isn’t over.”

He sighs, and I see his forehead crease before he presses it to mine. “I know. I know you’re right. But for River’s sake--and mine--will you let the others take care of that for now? I ain’t saying don’t worry, because I know that’s impossible. But River and I need you healthy. Can you stand to let yourself be looked after for a while?”

I feel a rueful smile tug at one corner of my mouth. “Am I to assume that arguing is pointless?”

A tapping at the open door to the birthing suite distracts Jake from answering. We both look up to find Raj and Diego hovering in the doorway, Raj with a paper bag in his hand, and Diego with his right arm in a soft blue sling. It’s the first time I’ve seen him since River was born, and I sit up a little straighter as he hesitantly steps over the threshold.

“...Are we interrupting?”

The baby has started fussing, and Jake eases off the edge of the bed to go pick her up. I open my arms to Diego. Just before he rushes into them, I see his face twist with anguish. And as he falls against me, his one-armed grip is surprisingly strong.

“Goddammit, Allie,” he whispers quiveringly. “Goddammit…”

“...Did I scare you?”

He pulls back sharply, enough so he can look me in the face, but he keeps a grip on my shoulder. “Did you scare me?! You had me on my knees saying the Ave Maria! Do you know how long it’s been since I said the Ave Maria?!”

There isn’t really a lot I can say to that, but I smile ruefully. “...Thanks for staying with me.”

“What, you thought I’d bail?”

I snort. “God, no. But I can still be grateful.”

“...You’re really okay?”

I nod. “I’m fine. The fever is gone, and the wound doesn’t really hurt anymore. I’m still pretty sore down there, though.”

A smile finally starts to play cautiously around his mouth. “...Well, that part’s Jake’s problem.”

“How about you?” I ask, gingerly touching the strap of his navy blue sling.

“That’s nothing serious. It was dislocated, but they popped it back in. Just got to wear this for a few more days, and take it easy once we get back home. ...Raj brought food, by the way.”

“Oh!” I pull back a little to smile at Raj. “Sorry, big guy. I didn’t mean to ignore you.”

Raj chuckles. “We’ll blame it on the new mommy brain and leave it at that. Speaking of which…” He shoos Diego back enough that he can drag my bed table over across my lap, and sets an insulated lunch box on top. “I figured you could do with something better than hospital fruit cups and oatmeal, so I brought you a special Raj lunch. Michelle supervised its creation, and it’s full of stuff that’s supposed to be good for new moms.”

“What is it?”

“So glad you asked!” With a flourish, he opens the bag, and pulls out each item in turn, presenting them like a game show prize lady. “A sandwich of salmon, spinach, and poached egg on whole wheat bread with a garlic white bean spread; in case you are extra hungry, a side of gourmet trail mix made from an assortment of nuts and dried fruit; and to drink, a pineapple-orange-banana smoothie with extra protein powder, and just a few extra leaves of spinach!”

I can’t help but be uplifted by his enthusiasm, and hold out my arms for a hug. “I must be the most spoiled new mother in the world.”

Raj embraces me lightly over the table. “As you should be. You know in some Asian cultures, a new mother spends a whole month resting while her mother-in-law takes care of her and the baby.”

“Oh yeah?” I look at Jake. “Think your mother would spend a month taking care of me?”

“Honestly, I bet she would. The problem would be getting her to ease up and let you start taking care of things after the month was up.”

“Hmm...probably best not to give her ideas then.”

“Probably. We’ll have my folks over in few more months, when we’ve had a chance to get settled.”

“...But…” Raj says, “in the meantime, do you think you guys will be needing any extra help? I know it’s going to be a pretty full house as it is, but Diego’s going to want to take it easy with lifting and stuff for a while, and Michelle says Mike will probably need time to recover, too. If you need a couple extra pairs of hands and someone to do the cooking, I have some downtime, and I know Lila would be happy to come along.”

I look questioningly at Jake, who shrugs. “I don’t have anything against that. It’s a big enough house. And if Varyyn and I are gonna be the only ones at full strength for the time being, I wouldn’t say no to a couple extra pairs of hands.”

“And probably better those hands be Raj and Lila than anyone’s parents,” Diego adds. “I bet Varyyn would prefer not having to wear his disguise twenty-four-seven.”

“Yeah. And,” Jake adds with a sigh, shifting River to rest against his shoulder, “it’s probably preferable not to involve anyone who ain’t already involved in the bigger picture. ...Like you said before, Princess, this ain’t over.”

“But for now, we’re all safe and sound, and Allie has a lunch to eat.” Diego smiles encouragingly as he pushes the tinfoil-wrapped sandwich toward me. “Go on. Dig in.”

Jake

I gotta admit, it does my heart good to see my wife savoring the meal Raj brought her and enjoying our friends’ company. She seems almost back to her old self as she talks and tells jokes and teases with them. Although, as I put River in her arms, I can’t help but be reminded that she’ll never be exactly like her old self again. Not now that she’s a mama. Not like I’m ever gonna be exactly like my old self again either. I’m a daddy now. That’s gonna change me forever. The thought scares me, like it has a lot over the past nine months. But just a look at that precious little face is enough to reassure me that I am never gonna regret it.

Diego and Raj eventually leave us on our own again. After nursing and burping, River sleeps just long enough that we can fill out her birth certificate, nestled side-by-side on the bed. From there, it’s not more than an hour or two before they’re wheeling Alodia toward the hospital exit with River in her arms again while I walk at her shoulder, a baby carrier in the crook of my elbow and my arms laden with flowers and mini mylar balloons. Any staff we happen to pass on the way out smile and wave or give us their congratulations. I have a feeling that in a hospital, any chance to see a patient off happy and healthy is a cause for celebration, and that probably goes double for a new mama leaving with a baby.

Grace is waiting in a car for us at the curb outside the hospital. One of Reggie’s old carseats is in the backseat. Grace settles the baby in the carseat while I help Alodia into the seat beside her.

“There’s a surprise for you guys when we get to our place,” Grace informs us as I circle around the car to get in on the other side of River.

“Nothing too strenuous, I hope,” Alodia quips. “I am not up for a party yet.”

Grace chuckles as she starts up the car. “Oh, believe me, I realize that. No, everyone is pretty sure parties are off the table for you for the time being. ...But you do know that everyone is going to want to see you before you leave, right? You gave us a scare, and no one wants you to go before we all know you’re okay. ...Plus, everyone wants to see River.”

“I am not opposed to visitors,” Alodia assures her. “Just...only a few at a time.”

“Absolutely. We won’t let you get overwhelmed.”

“River, either,” Alodia adds, stroking our sleeping daughter’s downy hair. “Poor thing is probably overwhelmed as it is, suddenly coming into all this noise and color and light.”

“Birth is the craziest thing that ever happens to us, and none of us remember it,” I remark, letting the blade of my forefinger run gently back and forth across the soft back of River’s tiny hand. Her little fingers twitch just slightly, and the base of her pacifier rocks back and forth across her lips, but she doesn’t wake up. I don’t expect the quiet will last.

River does sleep throughout the half hour or so it takes to drive to Aleister and Grace’s luxury Northbridge apartment. As we pull up to the curb, I realize what our surprise is.

“Mike!”

I must have been a little louder than I thought, because River wakes up with a cry that can only be described as irritated, but it doesn’t fully register until I have already launched myself out of the car towards Mike. He’s balancing on a walker, so I at least have the good sense not to jostle him, but I can’t hold myself back from grasping him firmly by the shoulders. He grins, carefully removing his hands from the walker one at a time to grasp me back.

“Good to see ya, Grandpa.”

“Shit, you too! We weren’t expecting you for another couple days! How are you feeling?”

“Well, as you can tell,” he says, nodding at the walker, “I’m not quite ready to run a marathon yet. But my new legs are healing up nice. ...Good to see you, Goldilocks.”

His gaze shifts over my shoulder, and I turn to look back at my wife supporting herself on Aleister’s arm while Grace bounces River in her arms. Alodia smirks at me, her eyes twinkling mischievously.

“I feel like I should make a joke about you abandoning your wife and child in the car to go hang out with your buddy,” she drawls.

I grin sheepishly as Mike carefully returns his grip to the walker. “Sorry about that. Let me make it up to you.”

I lunge and sweep her up bridal style, and I have the pleasure of feeling her arms twine around my neck.

“Mmm, much better. However, unlike your daughter, I am actually capable of walking.”

“But you don’t have to. Not right now, anyway.” But I do return her to her feet after capturing her mouth in a kiss. I don’t entirely take my hands off her yet, though. After her ordeal, I don’t think she’s really that much steadier than Mike right now. Her grip as she slips her arm through mine confirms my concerns.

I’m standing between my wife and my best friend, and neither of them are fully able to stand under their own power. I’m starting to feel that much more grateful to Raj for volunteering to help us out for a while.

I think Mike notices Alodia’s weakness, too, because his forehead creases just a little. “You all right, Goldilocks? From what I hear, you gave everyone a real scare.”

“It was pretty scary on my end, too. But I’m fine now. How about you?”

Mike shrugs. “Ahh, you know. A few weeks of rehab, I’ll be a six-million dollar man again. In the meantime,” he adds wryly, stroking the frame of his walker, “it’ll be hard to call Jake ‘Grandpa’ when I’m dottering around on this thing.”

“You just called me ‘Grandpa’ two minutes ago.”

“And I cannot tell you how hard I internally cringed. Seriously, if you could have seen my internal expression, you’d have thought I was sucking lemons.”

I am morally obligated to reach out and swat him for that, but before I can, Alodia abruptly steps forward to wrap her arms around his shoulders. It’s an awkward embrace, encumbered by the walker and both of them still being weak, but it’s a sincere one, and Mike leans into it gratefully.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Alodia murmurs.

“You too,” Mike says softly, reaching up to pat her shoulder with one hand. “But can we go inside? I wanna properly meet that baby you’ve been carrying around for the past nine months!”

***

The Catalysts come by in shifts throughout the afternoon and evening, apparently having planned it all out beforehand. No one stays more than an hour at a time, which proves to be a good thing, since Alodia is clearly worn out by about eight in the evening. We’re set up in the guest room of the Rourke apartment, with River in a bassinet beside us, and Mike on the foldaway bed in the living room.

Alodia nurses River and rocks her to sleep before lying down herself. At first, I curl up beside Alodia in bed. She’s asleep within minutes, but I’m not as quick. And after an hour, it’s pretty clear that I’m not on my way to dreamland any time soon. I don’t want to leave Alodia or River. I never want to leave Alodia’s side again. But I’m restless. Anxious. And eventually, the desire not to disturb what precious little sleep my wife might have before our daughter wakes her up again wins out over my irrational need to pace back and forth between them. I check the windows, making sure they’re locked, then I slip out of the room as quietly as I can, heading back out into the living room.

I find Mike, Aleister, and Grace all seated in the living room. On the coffee table are four short, round glasses and a bottle of golden red liquid that I’m guessing is some kind of whiskey.

“We were starting to wonder if you had also fallen asleep,” Aleister says. He gestures to the glasses. “We thought you might like to wet your baby’s head.”

“Kind of a weird expression,” I remark. Nonetheless, I pick up the bottle and take a seat in an armchair to read the label. “Ooh, Irish Mist. Fancy.”

“It is not every day that one becomes a father. The night Reginald was born, Diego, Varyyn, and I toasted his birth with Irish Mist.”

I crack open the bottle, and lean forward to fill each of the four glasses about halfway. I set down the bottle and raise my glass, the others following suit.

“To River Skye McKenzie, my beautiful angel. And to her mother, my better half, who is truly the best and bravest of us.”

“Here, here!” Grace says. We clink glasses, and I take a long, deep drink, savoring the sweet notes of honey and spices riding atop the alcoholic burn of whiskey. I return my glass to the table empty and lean back in my chair.

“When my sister and I both were born, my grandpa had my dad and the men of the neighborhood over to smoke cigars on the porch.” I chuckle a little. “Rebecca remembers helping our grandma in the kitchen, and seeing all the men outside smoking. She says what she remembers most about the day I was born was our dad coming in from outside to give her a hug, but she pushed him away and said, ‘No, Daddy! You stink!’”

My story prompts the expected laughter.

“I am afraid Irish Mist will have to do tonight,” Aleister says. “I did not think to buy cigars. Nor would I know enough to ensure I was purchasing a quality product. As I understand it, Cuban cigars are the best, but those are illegal.”

Mike shudders. “Honestly, I think the smell of a Cuban would be enough to give me flashbacks. Lundgren used to smoke contraband Cubans.”

“Same here,” I agree. “I mean...there was that one time…”

“...That one time what?”

I chuckle a little, rubbing the back of my head. “Okay, no one currently in this room was there when Zahra blew up MASADA…”

“What’s that got to do with Cuban cigars?”

I sigh, but in spite of myself, in spite of how literally everyone else in the room with me was in some kind of bad situation at the time, I feel a smile playing around my mouth at the memory.

“Okay, so it’s me, Alodia, Sean, Quinn, Estela, Craig, and Zahra trying to find another way out of the complex after the gondola gets severed, and when we go through a control room, Zahra gets the idea to blow the whole thing up. We figure it’s worth the couple extra minutes, so we let her do it. And while she’s rigging the system, I find one of Lundgren’s Cubans somewhere on the floor. ...And I light it up. But only to spite the bastard.”

“But did you enjoy it?” Mike asks.

“Hell, yeah! The hype ain’t a lie, buddy. Not saying I’d do it again unless it were one of his personal stash, but that was a real good smoke. ...Still...it wouldn’t be right to celebrate River with Cuban cigars. Lundgren and Rourke did enough to taint her birth.”

“Nothing has been tainted,” Grace says firmly. “She and Alodia both came through it well and healthy.”

“I ain’t losing sight of what’s important,” I assure her. “But I can’t let my guard down, either. ...We all know this ain’t over.”

Grace sighs. “...No, you’re right. It isn’t over. ...Which means...I should probably tell you what I learned in Ireland.”

Diego

I knew that the Catalysts wouldn’t have sat on their hands while any of their own were in danger, but I am surprised to learn just how busy they were during the time that Allie and I were in Arachnid’s claws. I’m even more surprised--and frankly unsettled--by some of the things they learned. Yvonne might be alive. Lundgren flew the same plane that killed Allie’s parents, even though the twisted wreckage of that plane is the property of the NTSB. The whole mess with Allie’s mom, that weird AI message from a program made by Allie’s mom. It all leaves us with a lot more questions than answers.

I told the police everything I felt like I could safely tell them. I went so far as to tell them that I think Everett Rourke might be alive because that’s who our kidnappers claimed they were taking us to. I don’t know if they believed me. I don’t know if the future of the Vaanti is safe. A part of me hopes that they lose interest in the case since everyone who was abducted has been recovered safely. But I also know that none of us are really safe until Rourke is either back behind bars or dead.

Aleister and Estela make all the travel arrangements for those of us going back to California, including my folks and Allie’s. Castor carries me, Allie, Jake, Varyyn, Mike, Raj, Lila, Rebecca, and River. For once, Jake and Mike aren’t going to be flying. Pollux is taking our families. A third plane, smaller but no less luxurious, takes Jake’s parents back to Louisiana. They’re reluctant to leave him. They don’t want to be apart from their son, or their daughter, or their granddaughter. He assures them they can come visit soon, but that their daughter-in-law needs some time to recover first.

At the airport, Allie’s aunt and uncle hesitate to part from her on the tarmac. Allie stands with River in her arms, patiently enduring as Molly smoothes her hair and kisses her forehead, asking if she’s sure Allie doesn’t want her and Rob to wait at the airport in California to drive her home. When Allie insists she’s sure; that Molly and Rob should go ahead and get home so they can rest. Rob says they’ll make sure there are cars waiting for us to take us all back to the house in Laguna.

My parents board the plane before I arrive at the airport. On board the plane, I nestle up with Varyyn on one of the double-width leather seats. I wind my arms around him and bury my face in his shoulder, inhaling his scent. He kisses the top of my head.

“Are you alright, my love?” he murmurs.

“...I’ll be fine,” I assure him. “I’m just...disappointed. I knew my parents weren’t ready to meet you. But I had hoped...I don’t know. I had hoped it wouldn’t be like this. Even if I knew it probably would be.”

Varyyn sighs, bringing a hand up to stroke my cheek. “They may yet come around. Or they may not. In the end, it is up to them. All I can promise is that I will love you regardless of their decision.”

“...I love you, too.”

“You guys all set?” Raj’s voice makes me look up. The others are boarding behind us and finding their seats. Jake helps Allie settle in and get her seatbelt on, River still cradled in her arms.

“Are you sure a plane is really the best way to travel with a newborn?” Lila asks.

“When the choices are between a rental car, a train, or a private plane for a cross-country trip, a private plane is hands down the best option,” Rebecca declares. “I mean, if we were on a commercial plane, I’d think twice, since those things are basically flying petri dishes. But this plane has been deep-cleaned, unlike the train. It’s more comfortable than a car, and faster than both the car or the train.”

“Yeah, but what about her little ears? All the pressure?”

“The doctor says that if I nurse her during take-off and landing, that should keep her comfortable. Besides...I just want to be home.”

Home. The word washes through me in a way that comforts me even as it makes me want to cry. Images flash through my mind of the house I share with my husband, my best friend, her husband, and his best friend--and now, my little niece and goddaughter. Watching movies in the living room with Allie. Sharing dinner around the table or out on the balcony. Cuddling with Varyyn in the hot tub in the evening, letting the warm, swirling water sap the energy from my body, and then sliding into bed beside him and drifting off to sleep in his arms. At home, I don’t have to hide. I don’t have to walk on eggshells or worry about losing anyone’s love. At home, I’m safe and free. I meet my best friend’s eyes, offering her a tired smile.

“I’m with you, Allie. Let’s get home.”

Raj

Nothing but the best for my friends, that’s my motto. I came to the house in Laguna Beach to make sure that my friends would have the best care while they needed it, and I waste no time in getting down to business. Alodia, Diego, and Mike need space to convalesce. But with a new baby in a huge house like this, there is a lot to be done. Jake and Varyyn can’t be expected to do everything, and that’s where I and Lila come in.

River is constantly monitored. Whenever she cries, someone is ready to come running to change her diaper, or to bring her to Alodia for feeding. I prepare meals ahead of time that can be easily heated and served, so no one goes hungry. Lila helps me cook and keep the house clean. Alodia’s aunt and uncle attempt to send cleaning and catering services to her at one point, but they end up being politely refused. Lila and I have everything under control, and none of us want strangers poking around here.

Alodia is occasionally moody, snapping at everyone to stop fussing over her, and she can’t wait to be free of this gilded cage and go back out into the world. This is usually followed by tearful apologies, with all of us assuring her that we don’t take it personally. She just had a baby, she’s allowed to be moody. Besides, the moment someone places River in her arms, it seems like everything is right in her world, and everything is right in our world, too.

...Except it’s not. Not entirely.

River is happy and healthy. Alodia is getting her strength back. Diego gets rid of the sling, and Mike starts to get around without the walker again. But underneath the surface, there is still trauma. There’s still fear.

“They’re having nightmares,” I tell Lila one morning as we’re preparing breakfast. She pauses for a moment with a knife poised above an orange before swiftly slicing it in half.

“Is that so surprising?” she asks. She doesn’t look at me as she speaks, but concentrates on making sure the thick, white heart of the orange half in her hand is positioned properly on the cone of the juicer before she presses down and begins to twist. Bright yellow juice splashes down into the container below.

“Well, no. But it is sad. Jake and Alodia especially should be concentrating on enjoying their new baby, not having nightmares and worrying about whether Rourke’s coming back for them.”

Lila pulls the now-deflated orange rind off the cone of the juicer and tosses it on the countertop. Ribbons of tattered orange flesh cling to the inside of the rind. She picks up the other half.

“...Do you ever have nightmares from Mr. Rourke?” she asks softly.

“Of course,” I reply. “Not as much as before, but I think we all have them sometimes. After what we all went through, I think I’d be more surprised if any of us didn’t.”

The twisting of the orange on the juicer slows just slightly. The toaster pops behind me, and I pluck four pieces of perfectly browned bread from the slots to toss onto a plate.

“...I have nightmares, too.”

The butter has been softening on the counter, and my knife slides easily through it. The heat from the toast softens it further, and it spreads cleanly.

“...You want to talk about it?”

Lila shakes her head, picking up her knife and another orange. “No. Not now. They don’t really matter anyway. They’re about things that happened in the past. I’m less scared of them than I am of what happens in the future.”

“Do you mean Rourke’s next move?”

“Of course that scares me. ...But more than that, I’m scared of him trying to use me against all of you again.”

“We won’t let that happen, Lila. You’re safe with us.”

“...But are you safe with me?”

I pause a moment before putting down my knife. I turn to Lila, put one hand on each of her shoulders, and turn her toward me.

“Lila...look at me. ...Has Rourke approached you at all since you’ve been with us again?”

Her eyes widen in what looks like genuine surprise. “What? No, I...that isn’t what I meant!”

I relax just a little. “...Okay.” I slowly take my hands away from her shoulders. “...You’d tell me if he had, wouldn’t you?”

She nods. “Of course.”

“Good. ...Because if he approaches you again, we can help you. We can help keep you out from under his thumb. ...We’re not gonna let him just have you back.”

A weak smile lifts the corners of her mouth. “I believe you.” She hastily turns back to the oranges in front of her. “You should...um...finish buttering before the toast gets cold.”

Overhead, the sharp, piercing cry of an infant rings through the air. I smile. Another morning blending into another day. It’s not perfect. We’ve got reason to worry. But for now, all is well.

Diego

I keep my head down as I move through the halls of my high school, clutching the straps of my worn-out backpack. It’s the same shabby gray one I’ve been carrying since freshman year. I’m a junior now, and the corners near the bottom are starting to fray where the sharp corners of paper-bag covered textbooks have dug into them.

My stomach growls. I skipped lunch again today. My parents were gone to work early again, and I didn’t leave myself enough time to make myself anything this morning. I barely had time to scarf down a banana for breakfast. I didn’t have enough cash for a cafeteria lunch, either, and besides, I preferred spending my lunch period playing on the computer in the library to sitting by myself at the end of a table filled with noisy strangers anyway.

If I can scrape together enough change from the bottom of my pencil case, I might have enough to get a bag of chips from the vending machine before I have to go to my after school job. But for now, my hunger isn’t all that sharp, and I am heading towards English Lit, the only class I currently look forward to.

The class is taught by Mr. Hunter. He also teaches the film-making class I want to sign up for next semester. He’s in his early fifties, and not handsome. He is tall and lanky, with gray-green eyes and a dark helmet of slicked back hair that sits atop a rectangular face. He has one of those mustaches that seemed to be popular in the 1970’s that always make a man look a little sketchy. He wears paisley shirts and slacks, and his voice reminds me of Bert from Sesame Street.

Mr. Hunter is the best teacher I’ve ever had at this school. When we studied Romeo and Juliet, he started off by giving us all a printed-off list of Shakespearean insults. When one girl tried to mumble her way through a line-reading, he shouted, “Put some feeling into it, you saucy wench!”

Mr. Hunter is also gay, and he does not attempt to hide this. When my parents ask about my teachers and which ones I like best, I leave this fact out. If they knew, they would make me switch to another class. Mr. Hunter has a picture of himself with his boyfriend on his desk. I’ve seen it when I’ve gone up to hand in assignments. His partner is bald and ruddy-skinned. He’s not handsome, either, but he has an open, friendly smile. Sometimes, I imagine them kissing. I worry that I have a crush on Mr. Hunter.

On the post of every classroom door is a laminated pink triangle, with a message proclaiming that this is a safe space for LGBTQ students. These triangles are mandated by the school district. Not every teacher honors them. One teacher actually tore hers down and refused to put it back up. She was fired. Last year, two girls were voted “Cutest Couple” in their senior class. I look at the triangles, prominently displayed as I walk into each classroom, and I don’t feel particularly safe. I feel safe in Mr. Hunter’s classroom.

Inside Mr. Hunter’s classroom, two boys from the football team act out a love poem with one of them in a curly blond wig and the bottom of his shirt tucked into his collar to create a crop top. They end with a flourish, with the boy in the wig jumping into the other boy’s arms and goosing him. Everyone applauds their performance, including Mr. Hunter.

Outside Mr. Hunter’s classroom, guys of all stripes growl “faggot” in my direction, and even the girls who are nice to me seem pitying more than anything. There’s a Pride club that meets after school two days a week, but I don’t dare join. I’m slowly realizing I can’t deny the truth anymore, but that doesn’t mean I can just announce it to the world.

I have just enough change to buy a bag of chips after school. I put it in my backpack as I make my way toward the library where I work for a few hours each day. I see Sam Dzugan eyeing me as I pass through the main doors to the school, and feel dread so familiar that it’s almost dull. Of all the bullies at this school, Sam is the worst. He also knows where I work. If he’s bored and hungry for a power fix tonight, I’m in for a rough walk home.

But he doesn’t follow me to work. At the library, I set to work filing back the books from the return cart. As I do, my mind wanders to the same place it always does: Alodia.

Alodia. My ideal friend. I conjure up an image of her beside me. She would be pretty, like all the most popular girls at school. I summon a small, pale figure with blonde hair, big blue eyes, and rosy cheeks. I talk with her in my head as I wander the aisles of the library with the return cart. I can picture her cheeky smile as clearly as if she were really beside me. I have spent many years getting the details of her perfect. Early incarnations of her were dark-haired. Green-eyed. Taller. I drew pictures of her. I wrote down her description in a private notebook that I kept under my mattress. But she never felt as real as when I wrote her with golden blonde hair and sapphire eyes.

She laughs at all my jokes as I work the rest of my shift. I forgot to eat the chips I bought, and I’m hungry enough now to start feeling dizzy. ...Alodia would invite me to dinner at her house. A huge, fancy house with a pool, where a chef would have prepared a gourmet meal.

“Don’t worry about Sam,” she would say. “If he gives you any trouble, I’ll fight him off.” ...Because Alodia would be fierce. A fighter. Alodia was a hero. A hero who loved me unconditionally.

Alodia was never meant to be my lover. I wasn’t looking for a lover when I first dreamed Alodia into existence, which is probably why I always imagined her as a girl. I could scarcely imagine having a lover before I had a friend. That was what Alodia was to me. A friend. A friend who would always love me. A friend who I could tell my secrets to without judgment. A friend to fight for me and protect me, who saw value in me, and needed me back.

But my friend is a fantasy. And when I leave work and Sam corners me in the encroaching darkness, Alodia vanishes…

...I wake up with a gasp, bolting upright in the darkness of my room. Beside me, Varyyn grunts in his sleep and rolls over, the moonlight reflecting off his blue skin. I stare at his sleeping form for a moment, trying to take stock of myself. I’m shaking. My pajamas are damp with sweat. I feel cold. I feel sick and empty with fear. I don’t exactly remember what I was dreaming about, but one thought keeps echoing in my mind: Allie. I have to find Allie.

I slip out of bed as gently as I can while I’m still trembling. I don’t want to wake Varyyn. As I slip into the hall, motion-sensitive lights plugged into the sockets near the floor illuminate my path. My dream is still hazy, but bits and pieces trickle back as I shuffle down the hall with my hand on the wall. I was alone. Allie didn’t exist. It was a timeline that I have all but forgotten, and it felt entirely too real.

I need to find her. Or at least evidence that she still exists. The door to the nursery is slightly ajar, enough that I can see the soft glow from the lamp on the bedside table. I peek through the crack in the door and relief floods through me. Allie, bundled up in her robe and slippers, sits in the rocking chair with River in her arms, gently rocking back and forth. I exhale slowly. I should go back to bed, but I am not ready to let her out of my sight yet. I start to push open the door. She gasps a little, looking up sharply.

“Oh, Diego!” She smiles at me, settling back into her chair. “You startled me.”

“Sorry,” I whisper back. “...Did I wake up River?”

“No. I just fed her, so she’ll probably be out for an hour or two.” She looks up at me as I come to settle into the armchair across from her. “...What are you doing up?”

“...Bad dream,” I admit. “...About...about you. I had to come check on you or I was never going to get back to sleep.”

I half-expect her to joke about me being a creeper watching her while she sleeps, but instead she sighs. “...I kinda know the feeling.”

“Yeah. I bet you do.”

“You wanna stay up with me for awhile?”

“Yeah. But I feel like I should be telling you to get some sleep while you can.”

“I probably should be sleeping,” she admits. “...But I don’t really want to let her go.”

There’s not really much I feel like I need to say to that. I understand. I don’t think there’s anyone in this house who doesn’t empathize with that feeling in one way or another. Especially now.

“...Diego…?”

“Yeah, Allie?”

For a long moment, she doesn’t say anything, though her mouth opens and closes a couple times. Then, she swallows and takes a deep breath.

“...I love you. I love you, and I love Jake, and Raj, and all the Catalysts…”

“We love you, too, Allie.”

“...When you imagined me. In that other timeline. When I didn’t come to be until the Island...did you ever imagine my future?”

I can’t help flinching. Her words feel like a cold pinprick at the top of my spine. “...Allie...I...I don’t really remember that timeline…”

“I know. I know. But...it happened. It existed. I was once born to be what you needed. What all the Catalysts needed. ...But now...now I have River. Someone new who needs me. She needs me more than any of my Catalysts.”

“I...I think that’s true,” I say slowly. “...We all love you, and we want you with us. But River is your child. She’s helpless and new. She needs your love and your care and your guidance to survive.”

“...I’m scared, Diego. I’m scared by how much I love her. I’m scared by how much she needs me.”

My earlier fear is being replaced with concern that is entirely for my friend. “...Allie...are you okay? Is this some kind of postpartum depression?”

“I don’t know what this is, Diego. I know that I love River more than I ever thought I could love anyone alive. I would have torn myself apart for my Catalysts without hesitation. I gave up my existence to give my Catalysts the world. ...But I can’t consider that anymore. Because River needs her mother.”

“Oh, Allie. That’s not a bad thing. None of us want you to tear yourself apart.”

“I know. ...But I am afraid of what happens if the world asks for it. ...If I end up at the Threshold again, or a new Raan’losti…” She looks up at me. “...Diego...I think I have to face what’s in the pool shed.”

I feel my blood run cold. I know what’s in the pool shed. The collection of objects that were left for us in the Crystal dimension when we went to rescue Tahira. Including…

“...Are you sure?”

She nods. “...It was left for me to find for a reason. I have to touch the Andromeda idol again.”

#playchoices #choices stories you play #pixelberry choices #Endless Summer #hero

36 notes · View notes

the-shy-and-anxious-fangirl · 3 years ago

Text

Flufftober Day 13- Pillow Talk

“Shoto,” Izuku whispered. In the darkness of their bedroom at night, he could just barely make out the curve of his boyfriend’s shoulder, the curve of his hip, the white half of his hair glowing in the bar of moonlight slanting through the gap in the curtains. It took a moment, but eventually Shoto rolled over to face him.

“What is it?” he murmured.

“You tell me,” Izuku replied. He heard a rustle of sheets as Shoto shifted backwards slightly, likely out of surprise.

“You’ve been off since you got home today,” Izuku explained. He reached over and switched on the bedside lamp so that he could see Shoto, could actually look him in the eyes as he talked to him. The light from the lamp let him see that the shadows that had been lingering in Shoto’s eyes since he’d gotten home that evening were still there, and that despite the exhaustion in his posture, he looked no closer to sleep than Izuku himself was.

“Please, Shoto, just talk to me,” he whispered, voice pleading. “You know I won’t be able to sleep until I know what’s wrong and I’ve at least tried to fix it.” Shoto sighed, so deeply and heavily that his entire body moved, first up, then down, in time with it.

“You can’t fix this, Izuku,” he said quietly.

“Even if that’s the case, I still want to know what’s wrong,” Izuku countered. “I want to be there for you, however I can.” Shoto was silent for a long time after that.

“I went to see Touya today,” he said at last. “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to worry.”

“And because the Commission swore you to secrecy, no doubt,” Izuku replied. “Why do they still think that they can use the familial connection between the two of you to get Touya to divulge information about the League? They do remember that he tried to kill you, right? Multiple times?” He heard the anger in his voice and didn’t care. He still had nightmares about burning to ashes in Touya’s blue flames, of watching him immolate Shoto right before his eyes. As far as he was concerned, he had every right to be angry. He hated the Comission for continuing to put Shoto through unnecessary pain.

“I’m sure they remember, they just don’t care,” Shoto said, the bitterness in his voice matching the anger in Izuku’s. “All they care about is taking down the League, and damn the consequences to the people they use to accomplish that goal. Really, they’d have better luck using Natsuo if they think a familial connection is the thing that’ll get Touya to turn on the League.”

“But they won’t, because Natsuo isn’t a pro hero,” Izuku put in. “So they don’t have any control over him.” Shoto nodded.

“In any case, talking to Touya went about the way you’d expect,” he said.

“So not well,” Izuku replied. Shoto shook his head.

“The only thing he would say to me was that I should have never been born,” he whispered, voice turning shaky. “That my existence is a mistake. That our father destroyed our family trying to create me, his perfect little masterpiece, and if not for that, he could have been a good father and our family could have been happy and whole. And I... I don’t know that I believe he’s wrong.”

“Oh, Shoto,” Izuku murmured, feeling his heart break for him. He pulled him close, scooting upwards so he could rest his cheek on top of his head, as if he could somehow shelter him from his own pain.

“Of course he’s wrong,” he whispered, running his fingers through Shoto’s hair. “Of course he is.”

“If I’d never been born, my family would never have suffered the way it did,” Shoto mumbled in a broken voice.

“You don’t know that,” Izuku argued. “You can’t know that. And besides, if you’d never been born, I would still be the sad, lonely person I was before you and became a part of each other’s lives. If you had never been born, all the people you’ve helped, everyone you’ve saved, would not be here today. You’ve changed so many lives for the better, including mine. The suffering Endeavor inflicted on your mother and your siblings is not your fault, and you’re not responsible for it. Your existence is not a mistake. You deserve to be alive. Touya is wrong. I promise you, he’s wrong.” Shoto began crying, horrible, heartbroken sobs that shook his whole body, evidence of just how long he’d been holding his brother’s words inside his mind, letting them echo in his thoughts and poison his soul. Izuku could only cry with him, switch off the lamp, and hold him tightly in the darkness, running his fingers through his hair in an attempt to soothe him and whispering sweet nothings and reassurances in his ear until at last his tears subsided and he quieted, and they both fell at last to sleep.

#flufftober #flufftober2021 #flufftober day 13 #my hero academia #izuku midoriya #shoto todoroki #tododeku #spoilers for chapter 290 #my fic #arianna writes

11 notes · View notes

remsmoonlight · 3 years ago

Text

— title : glitter in the sky

— word count : 2.3 k words

— pairing : loki x reader

— summary : before putting into place his plan for thor’s coronation, he seeks you out one more time for comfort only you can provide

— warnings : maybe a teeeeeny bit of thor bashing but incredibly minor .. love ‘im fr , bit of sadness

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　requested ? nope　/ requests are open *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

an: i got this idea, first from watching the first thor movie because aw, and then moving onto silent hill and that field scene is a whole vibe..... who doesn’t wanna just chill randomly in a field with the sun on your skin with no responsibilities? hell yeah .. anyways this just got away from me in a way ha

Trailing your gaze up to the sky, your eyes marvel at the merging colours as you study them intently, witnessing the blend of hues and tones from a bright blue to a mixture of warm pinks and burnt oranges light up the surrounding area before you knew they would fade into nothing more than a dark blanket who’s only source of light would be the moonlight and the stars that would litter it.

Your shoes crunching the dry grass and the sounds of chirping from the various wildlife encompasses you, it takes all of your strength to not allow a large grin to brighten your features.

Despite being so late in the afternoon, time walking on a fine line towards the early evening, the heat from the sun is still so strong, comfortably toasting your skin as a heavy blanket on a cold winter’s night would.

In the distance you’re able to spot the intimidating stature of the aged tree, though it’s intimidating in name only ⎯ for now it holds only those memories that lay locked deep within your heart. Your situation is a rather unusual one. Many summer afternoons had been spent shielded from the harsh rays of sunlight that shone over everything it could touch, though they hadn’t been spent alone. Rather, they’d been spent with an exceedingly phenomenal man. Can he even be called that? You wonder to yourself, Loki was far from human. Far, far from it.

“ to think I had been of the belief you would not be appearing. “

The suddenness of the voice slicing through the noises of the concealed fields would have shocked you more had it not been so honeyed. Holding the recognisable smoothness that you only associated with Loki.

“ this is the first time I’ve ever been late, thank you very much. “ you answer with an unwavering nerve as you stare at him while amusement floods your expression.

“ and the last, I’m sure? “ an eyebrow raises as he questions you, a warmth brightening his aura against the coolness he exudes normally.

Believing he’s not of Earth had been hard for you to grip, to believe fully, no matter how many tricks he could conjure before your very eyes. Though disappearing right before you, then feeling the whisper of his breath dance on the back of your neck so gracefully had been the confirmation you required. From there on a friendship blossomed into something more, you both becoming more and more involved with the other. Holding such unbelievable secrets were not a common place for you, to have this continues to make you feel like such a special soul.

“ oh, shut up! “

You stroll towards him, closing the distance with an enthusiastic energy that not even the longest of days could wear you down. Nothing in the world makes you feel so secure and guarded than when you finally feel the weight of his arms snake around you to bring you forward into his embrace. For Loki, you are a home away from home. Never do you gaze upon him with untrustful eyes, nor do you view him as beneath you, many negative connotations are attached to his name and you? You simply see him for who he wishes he could be, only ever in your presence does he try not to disappoint you. Back on Asgard that’s all anyone ever expects, so why not play into their prejudices? It has protected him so far, though the thought that perhaps even that has done more harm than good tresspasses into his mind on a rare occasion.

It’s not something he wishes to think about there though. He wants to dedicate his short visit to you entirely. Pushing away the increasingly regular thought it’s just a heartbeat, he is not one to be naive to pretend. Illusions are second nature to him, to forge them as easily to breathe, but to experience them are something that is in his power to prevent. He could allow this one instance to be selfish.

“ might I inquire of your wellbeing since we parted last? “ he requests as fingers entwine with yours to guide you to the slight hollow space within the tree. You drop yourself without any elegance to the ground, he settles behind you with his legs on either side of yours.

You can’t help but marvel at the differences between the two of you, like night and day. However, your differences fit like a puzzle with no inconvenience.

“ life keeps trying to test my patience, same as ever but ⎯ “ you pause, your eyes shining with remembrance of the gift you had brought, of course you knew it’s nothing more than a silly little trinket but you couldn’t help but fall in love with it. “ here, my friend’s been making these pieces for their business and I couldn’t help but think of you. “

Adoration is the only thing that overwhelms him in this moment, it’s a feeling he wants to lock away to relive over and over, for the only time he has never been treated as an afterthought is by his mother. Now? It’s a feeling that hasn’t been forged by a bond born of blood, but one that has arisen naturally. The item in your hand is a small metal band, with designs etched onto its body.

“ it’s only a little thing I know ⎯ “ you begin to babble, the words tumbling before you could even stop them. Your mind losing all control over your language before Loki put a stop to it.

“ I’ll have you know it’s not the physical item itself, but the sentiment behind it I hold dear. “

You want to respond with equally sweet words, but the heavy tone doesn’t go undiscovered by your ears.

“ Loki, what’s wrong? “

“ nothing, why do you ask? “ the God denies, switching the questioning to you.

Turning to face him, your eyes scout all over his features to spot anything that would give you cause to continue on with your concern. It’s light, the ghost of sorrow concealed behind a curtain of confidence and ego, even the most professional of liars can’t hide the truth of that. The hurt cuts too deep for a flimsy pretense of everything being perfect for it to bury those feelings.

“ you’re an amazing liar, but I’m beginning to get the hang of you. Besides, sadness is something difficult to completely hide. “

A heavy breath is released, your fingers from their position on his shoulders feel as if there’s an invisible weight that has almost decreased. You wonder how long he has carried this with him.

“ tell me. “

Every fibre of Loki’s being is fighting to keep his feelings kept away out of sight, to imagine they never manifested themselves into reality, but locked into place by the profound compassion swirling in your eyes he wants to finally divulge everything in his mind that has been plaguing him. Who knew a mortal could have such an enchanting effect he thought humourfully to himself.

“ the deadline for a successor to my father’s throne is approaching. “

“ and you’re worried? “ your brows lower, confusion marking your features as you struggle to understand why that could be so bad?

“ I've veiled many things from you, a fault of mine I understand completely. “ he admits, a sorrowful smile gracing his lips.

“ it’s never too late to share them. It might help you feel better? “

Loki wonders just what it is he has done in his history to be blessed with such an understanding and caring soul as yours, nothing could ease the lasting effects of each and every of his transgressions over his many years of living. How exactly could such radiance and light find the dark Prince of Asgard so easily? Many who lived in his realm would argue that he’s not deserving, instead countering that his brother should be in such a position of happiness.

He simply gazes upon you before speaking, a slender finger raising to tuck a few stray hairs behind your ear.

“ the successor has already been chosen, they always have been. This is a mere formality. “ switching his sight from you to the environment around you both, turning to look upon the steadily darkening sky.

“ so why do it then? “

“ to ensure that the process is seen as fair, despite the favour repeatedly falling to my brother. “

Nodding in understanding, you finally realise why there is a darkness that swirls over his head now he speaks of the topic. Living in the shadow of the golden child is not easy, your heart hurts as you realise that there must be many people who do not see the same man who you see. They see audacity instead of a daringness, to mistake him for an egotistical know it all instead of someone who has a thirst for knowledge and tricks.

“ never did they wish to stop viewing me as a troublesome child, I suppose I never aided in changing that. “

Nothing falls from your lips, knowing no words could do justice for what you need him to know, to feel. Twisting yourself onto your knees, you lean forward and allow your arms to provide him comfort as they surround his neck. One hand raises to rest in the dense raven locks of hair you constantly marvel over, moving ever so softly to trace patterns.

“ I’m sorry. “ you mumble softly, wanting to say more, but you can’t help but resign yourself to being unable to say anything meaningful. Instead, figuring it would be better, first, for him to speak his emotions without looking for any advice.

“ you’ve nothing to apologise for. The pieces will fall as they should. “ he comforts, whining to himself over the absence of your warmth as you withdraw the embrace.

“ Loki, what do you mean by that? “

“ nothing for you to worry yourself over, my dove. “ he shakes his head, as a chuckle that is short accompanies it, contains little genuine amusement to settle you.

“ I’m being serious, what are you talking about? “ your demand is light in touch, though your gaze holds an unrelenting strength as he looks towards you once more.

“ again, nothing that requires your concern. Midgardians, you worry too much. “

“ over things that can get the people we love into trouble, of course. “

His heart pauses in beating as the words seep into his mind, realising exactly what you spoke. Briefly, does he wonder if he misheard you, thought deep down he knows what you spoke.

“ did you ⎯ ? “ an unrecognisable vulnerability crosses his expression as he begins to ask what you had said, to hear it again as if for the first time.

A reddening of you cheeks can be seen, you look down with a sheepish grin. This had not been the way you had imagined using the love word. Of course, over the years of your life many things had not gone to plan, so this was just another instance in a long, long line of events that just got away from you. While you know there is something mutual, you can’t bring yourself to look upon him just yet.

“ you heard me correctly. “

Elation swells within him, even the thought of perhaps you would prefer Thor had you met him first could not creep more than a few feet before being banished from sight and mind, it’s not something he wants to entertain. Especially for what he has in mind to plan for the future. Instead, he allows himself to be engulfed in your love, to experience the last piece of goodness that has been reserved for him, knowing it won’t last.

All you feel from your dropped gaze is your nose being nudged by his, then the weight of his lips on your own. Moving together as if they are fighting to mould into one, fitting together so well. Both of you are left breathless, momentarily caught in the feeling of the other that oxygen is the last thing on your mind.

“ do not trouble yourself over events that have not come to pass yet. Especially on an evening as fine as this. “

The corner of your lips tilt higher as your turn away from him to peer over the surroundings you had briefly forgotten. The burnt colours had long since faded into darkness, the stars being the only light as they can only be likened to being glitter in the night’s sky. A true beauty.

“ I love nights like these, where you can see all of the stars. “

“ you’d be besotted with Asgard’s constellations. “

You’d settled back into the position you were in previously, with arms encompassing you protectively with your back secured firmly to his chest. Loki explains the beauty of Asgard, and how even in the day the stars can still be seen against the shining vividness of the colours of their sky. Quarrelling against the gold hues from both the sun and the palace he knows only as his home.

“ that sounds wonderful. “ you whisper, feeling fatigue sneaking its way to the forefront of your mind.

“ it truly is a beauty to see. “ agreeing with you, resting his head upon yours. Wishing nothing more than to be able to stay there in that moment forever.

“ I wish I could see it. I’m very jealous right now. “

He can feel you becoming increasingly drowsy, flattered that you would even let your guard enough to even allow sleep to touch you. Having you on Asgard would certainly make him a happier person, to have someone who isn’t his mother understand him would be freeing. Though his father would die before he allowed that to happen, a mortal on Asgard.

“ Perhaps one day. “

Loki can’t be sure if you even heard that, but it’s something he wants to entertain. Besides, what is the use of being a master of mischief and tricks if he couldn’t make such a desire come true?

#loki x reader #loki imagine #loki layfeyson x reader #loki layfeyson imagine #loki fluff

34 notes · View notes

child-of-the-nighttime-stars · 3 years ago

Text

What Stirs You From The Stares of Your Nightmares

“It’s getting late, Grace. Are you ready for bed?” This simple phrase had become a staple part of the nightly routine.

The same could be said about the darkened circles around her mother’s eyes and the soft slur of her words when she spoke. Yet Grace had come to expect it. Just as she expected getting dressed into fuzzy pajamas. The pink set with flowers scattered on the bottoms was her favorite, even if they were missing a few buttons on the shirt and the drawstring within the pants. She then was tucked under a mountain of snuggly sheets and blankets. They were all different colors, textures, and sizes. A small detail that was easily missed within the darkness of bedtime but became apparent when they were balled into a lump during the day and each covering was too big or had shrunk too much to properly fit the mattress. Then finally being hugged tightly by her favorite teddy bear, Mr. Snugglesworth, before drifting off to the land of dreams.

Grace beamed as bright as the stars twinkling outside her window when she nodded at her mother. This earned her a subtle upward quirk of her mother’s lips in return before her mother began to usher the girl to her pantry of a bedroom. Grace was usually very eager to be tucked in, so as her feet began to drag across the shaggy carpet towards her room, her mother’s heart sunk into her stomach. Grace’s mother glanced down at the child but before she could even raise a heavy brow the young girl answered her wordless question.

“Daddy promised to tell me a story tonight! He said that he’d definitely do it tonight! He promised.” Grace’s words practically bounced at the prospect of her father telling her a story. So did the loosely tied, chocolate pigtails which rested on her shoulders.

Grace’s mother rested her hand on her daughter’s shoulder. Her pedicured nails ran along Grace’s shoulderblade as if to smear away such a thought. “I don’t think your father’s gonna give you a good story tonight. He’s in one of his moods, as I’m sure you saw at dinner.”

“Yeah, but he can’t still be mad about work, can he? And-- And he promised! He promised to make up for the other night!”

A quiet sigh pushed past the painted lips of Grace’s mother. While the grip she had on her daughter’s shoulder grew a bit firmer. All to push the young girl through the cream-colored curtain that separated the living room from her daughter’s bedroom.

“Yes, well, Daddy makes a lot of promises he doesn’t intend to keep, sweetie. Why don’t you curl up with Mr. Snugglesworth and your other animal friends? I’m sure they’ll help you create an even better story than anything your father could come up with.”

Grace’s big brown eyes stared up at her mother’s clouded gray ones in an attempt to argue. But when her eyes met with her mother’s dull gaze and pursed lips, Grace’s sight fell to the floor.

“Okay, Mommy. But Mr. Snugglesworth and I don’t create the stories like you and Daddy make up.”

With the end of that discussion, Grace stumbled to bed and climbed in. Her mother covered her in a few blankets, but not all of them like she’d done the night before when her speech wasn’t slurred. Then she handed her daughter, the beloved Mr. Snugglesworth before casting her an, ‘I love you,’ and a, ‘goodnight,’ as she exited the room. Without any more conversation, there would be no noise. So it shouldn’t have been long before Grace’s thoughts lulled her to sleep.

But that had been over an hour ago. Instead of that sweet silence that would allow the noise within Grace’s little head to act as her own bedtime story and lullaby, there was screaming. It erupted from downstairs. The old, creaking floorboards had muffled it but not by much. Rather than the sweet stories of royalty and true romance that filled the room by Grace’s rushing thoughts, noise that seemed like nothing but nonsense exploded within the small girl’s even smaller bedroom.

“Goddamnit, Kimry! You’re absolutely shitfaced again!” She could hear her mother shout. This was followed by a quiet thud and then the sound of something shattering.

Grace remembered a little while ago when she and her mother were waiting for the bright yellow school bus one morning. She looked up to her mother and smiled when she noticed her gaze seemed brighter the night before. That was until Grace asked a question regarding it. She asked what her mother meant by the phrase, ‘good-for-nothing’ and why she kept yelling it at her father so late. Grace was curious as to what it meant, but she was more concerned about why her mother and father were being so loud during the quiet time for bed. The feeling of pedicured nails scratching at her scalp before they plucked at one of the braids her mother had crafted that morning lingered on Grace’s mind. She also remembered what her mother had instructed her to do if she did hear her or her father being loud during bedtime.

So Grace did just that. Her tiny stature scooched on the bed until it was pressed against the yellowing wallpaper which covered the chilled concrete wall. She then took the pillow that she had just abandoned and stuffed it on top of her head. Before she took Mr. Snugglesworth and clutched him in her trembling arms for dear life. She tried to lay as still as the floorboards which separated her from her parents, but Grace couldn’t help but jump when she heard her father shout.

“Listen here, bitch! I’m a grown man--”

“Grown man?” Her mother retorted, trying to stifle a humorless laugh, “You’re nothing but a drunk piece of shit who can barely hold down a job! You can’t even remain sober enough to tell your daughter a story for bed!”

When Grace heard her mother refer to her as just her father’s daughter, a heaviness began to weigh down on her heart. Why didn’t her mother use the word, ‘our?’ Grace had learned in school the other day the differences between possessive pronouns and the word ‘our’ seemed far more inclusive. Grace was her mother’s daughter as well and even when her mother and father were mad at each other, they were still a family.

“Oh, Grace wants a bedtime story? I’ll go tell her right now since you couldn’t be bothered to, you bitch!”

Grace shut her eyes tight and puffed out her cheeks to hold her breath. A small whimper managed to hum in the back of her throat though. As desperate as she was to have a story from her father before, she didn’t want one when he was this loud and angry. When he was like this his stories were also loud and angry. They told about her father’s times in war, the deaths he had seen, and the deaths he had caused. The endings were never happy either. If Grace got upset and began crying then her father would get angry and scream at her. So she didn’t cry now either, even though she wanted to. But she still remembered the times that her father would break down into tears himself at the end of his stories, so she would just hug him until he fell asleep and her mother had found them.

So that’s what she did for her teddy while she listened to her mother tell her father to stay away from both herself and Grace. Grace then began to scoot around her bed again. She laid the pillow by her window and kept her eyes on the blanket of stars just outside. They twinkled and swaddled the world within their blue little beams. She didn’t know how long she laid like this, staring at the shining specks. But it was long enough that her parents screaming had faded into silence once more and without even realizing it, Grace drifted off to the world of dreams.

When earthly irises opened once more, it wasn’t with a gentle fluttering. Instead, Grace’s eyes shot wide open as she thrust herself back into the land of reality. She took a desperate gasp of air as her eyes darted in every direction. Her terrified thoughts were scrambling to make sense of the surroundings that had become so dizzying from this sudden awakening. As her heartbeat began to calm its thrashing and her thoughts began to stall out; Grace was greeted by the small gleam of the stars which had put her to bed mere hours before.

Allowing herself to take a deep breath, Grace realized that their light and that of the moon were all she had. Her entire house had become drenched in darkness while she slept. Yet the shimmering stars combined with the waxing moon was enough to swaddle Grace and all that her wide-eyed gaze could see within comforting waves of pale blue light. Or, at least, such light would’ve been a comfort if it hadn’t been accompanied by a stern silence. Grace tilted her head with a raised eyebrow, searching for any kind of sound. Except there was not a single one to be heard. Unlike before, there was no screaming. There wasn’t even a low murmur like she had heard from her father many times before. Not a single door or floorboard groaned or creaked. Even Grace’s breath barely made a sound. It was like someone had come into Grace’s house and put everything on mute like her father had done to her favorite cartoons and songs whenever he decided he wanted to ‘talk.’ A small shudder ran down her spine as Grace clutched Mr. Snugglesworth against her in a one-armed embrace. She felt a small comfort as his matted fur scratched her cheek. She could feel the way her chest hastily rose and fell while shallow gasps filled the air. But even as she listened for them, not a single noise was heard. Although her mind was rushing to dismiss the demons within her dreams, even her thoughts were muted. Grace could only listen to the silent screaming of her instincts telling her it would be okay if she just hid away.

With Mr. Snugglesworth still snatched up in her trembling arm, she buried herself beneath the blankets. Although their weight only seemed to suffocate her rather than provide any of the security she desperately hoped for. Another small whimper stuck to the back of her throat while her brown eyes peeked over the pile. Between the gaps in her curtain, Grace stared out into her desolate living room. Another shudder crawled through her veins as the midnight blue light from the moon felt like it was swallowing her whole. As if its simple shade of serenity was only an act for the darkness in which the demons from her dreams thrived.

So she hid away once more until the warming weight of her blanket pile crushed not only her breath but whatever soft security she tried to create for herself. Although when her earthy irises peered outside of her small room once more, it wasn’t the tiring tranquility of the moonlight that met her sights anymore.

She stared down the cream-colored curtain which separated her bedroom from the rest of the house. It was heavy and scratched against Grace’s skin whenever she’d brush by it. In her mind, it acted as the barrier between her sanctuary and the rest of the world. Grace could see into the living room and the big, comfy, green couch that her mother deemed a throne, although no one seemed to be able to see her. This was a small fact that Grace usually loved when staying up past her bedtime but hated when she just escaped from the monsters lying deep within her memories. But as Grace’s flitting gaze peeked through the sliver of a gap on the right side of the doorway, someone’s dark stare captured her own.

This person’s sight seemed crafted from the ashes of charcoal. The intensity of their gaze acted as the unyielding embers that provided the faint light within them. It was as if this person’s leering eyes were trying to burn right through her very being. Compared with the wide smile that stretched against this person’s stubble-ridden cheeks, Grace couldn’t tell what the person was feeling, let alone what they wanted with her.

Still high from trying to tuck her dream demons back into their dark corners, Grace’s thoughts leaped from one idea to the next. Was this a bad guy from one of her mother’s crime shows? Could this be the scary stranger that Grace’s teachers warned her and all her classmates about? A silent gasp caught in the back of Grace’s throat while her body suddenly laid stiff against the plush pillow that cradled her back. It took her a minute to realize that the messy mop of hair and long gray robe that swayed in the still air belonged to her father.

This realization only made Grace’s chest feel that much heavier. Some part of her wanted to lift her hand, to beckon her father inside, and have him wrap her in one of the tightest hugs to feel some kind of comfort. Yet under her father’s searing gaze, she couldn’t move a muscle. She tried to will herself into even moving a finger although her body remained frozen.

“Daddy, I-I’m awake,” Grace wanted to whisper yet her breath remained locked behind her dried lips. The voice within her mind even remained as nothing more than a pitiful croak.

The only thing that Grace could feel while this staring contest continued was her insides. Her stomach was doing flips and chills ran up and down her spine. Her heart was pounding against her ribs, desperate to escape its cage and beat the breath out of the frail body it resided in. All the while her nerves were set alight beneath her father’s unblinking gaze, making her skin feel like thousands of invisible bugs were scurrying down her skin.

Seconds turned to minutes. Then minutes drifted into what seemed like an eternity to Grace as both bodies remain unmoving. As much as the darkness frightened her, Grace squeezed her eyes so tight that she could see the stars behind her eyelids. The silence that she had longed for hours before was beginning to creep under her crawling skin. It was to the point that Grace almost wished to hear the enraged arguing of her parents or just the mad murmuring from her father, anything that would drown out the smothering silence. Yet as harshly as her heart was pounding in her chest, not even that could be heard with her ears.

Grace waited for another eternity to pass before opening her eyes once more. It felt so long to her that surely the sun should be rising and her father will have retreated to the darkness of downstairs. But when her sight did reveal the world around her, the scene remained unchanged. Even her father’s expression remained as still as it had been before. His sneering smile was still stretched wider than Grace believed his mouth could go. While his sights remained stuck on her stature as if she wasn’t there at all.

The only thing that had changed was as another chill sprinted through her small bones, Grace could actually hear the subtle rustling of her mattress adjusting as her weight shifted. The sound rang in her ears as if it was the loudest sound that had ever graced them. It was such a shock that the breath she had been holding finally pushed past her chapped lips in the form of a gasp. Her eyes that had momentarily glanced towards her bed beneath her, darted back towards her father. Although his stance remained steadfast as if he was completely unaware.

Grace kept her eyes stuck on her father while she tried once more to move her fingers. Finding that she could, caused another breath to escape her lips. She started subtly by bringing her hand over her heart before draping it over Mr. Snugglesworth who was luckily still by her side. All the while she studied her father for any sign of change but her movements remained unnoticed. Grace then began to twist her torso to the right and away from her father. She cringed every time the mattress rustled then settled once more, fearing that one subtle sound would be what would make her father snap. Though like a statue, her father never flinched.

She took a deep breath before making her final movement. Despite it being the subtlest, it made Grace’s body tremble the most. Letting her right cheek squish against the pillow, Grace finally took her sights off of her father. She began breathing deeply, allowing her eyes to fall shut another time. She could still feel her father incinerating the fuzz of her pink pajamas with his unyielding gaze and the glint of his unfaltering smile flashed within her thoughts yet again. That pale moonlight that her father stood in startled her much more than the encroaching darkness that was driven to capture Grace in its embrace once more. But until dawn broke she could only hope that the small stars above would watch over her and keep her safe from the stares of her nightmares...

#prose #short story #small stories #sleep paralysis #i write things #late night writing #writing

19 notes · View notes

genork-the-fandork · 3 years ago

Text

This is Just the Start

Word Count: 841

Prompt: “Beginning,” Day 1 of Digiweek 2021

Featured Characters: Tai Kamiya

A/N: Because I’m silly, I can’t just post one thing a day for Digiweek. I love Digimon too much (and I guess I hate my hands too much) to do so. So for my second contribution, I decided to make reference both to the original generation of Adventure, as well as the next generation that was hinted at with the 02 epilogue. I hope you enjoy!

@digiweek

It was happening again. The snowstorm in summer. The giant wave that washed them away. The feeling of his stomach in his throat as he fell. Disorientation from not knowing where he was. Koromon. Kuwagamon.

His first adventure in the Digital World played back like a film reel, moving so fast he couldn't focus on one image for more than a few seconds. The confusion was familiar, even after so many years. Tai could almost believe he was eleven again, armed with only his mini telescope and goggles as he explored this strange new world that he'd come to love.

The memory washed away as sunlight flooded his vision, bringing him back to reality, where his alarm was blaring and his son was throwing open the curtains. "Come on, Dad, we're gonna be late!"

Tai sat up and yawned, scrubbing his hand through his short brown hair as he tracked his son's frenetic movements all over the room. "Even if we are, they won't leave without us, Daichi."

Pouting, Daichi said, "But Daaaaaad!"

He had to admit, it was hard to argue with that logic. "Alright, alright, I'm getting up. You better get dressed, too, young man."

With a flash of gravity-defying hair, his son sprinted out of the room to do as he said, and Tai stood and stretched his arms above his head. Moving to the window, he noted the sunshine lighting up the city, and he hoped that the weather was just as pleasant in the Digital World.

A yawn interrupted a budding thought regarding his dream, and he hurried to get ready for their outing before his son could scold him again. Considering the teasing he was probably going to have to endure when they arrived, he wouldn't want to add more fuel to the fire.

Today wasn't about him, after all. It was all about Daichi and the other kids.

~ ~ ~

"Still haven't managed to figure out how to wake up on time?" Kari teased as Tai and Daichi arrived at the park.

"Did you expect anything less?" Tai quipped back, reaching over to ruffle his sister's hair. She'd pulled it back in a ponytail today, and her cheeks were flushed with excitement. Gatomon perched on her shoulder, blue eyes narrowed into unreadable slits. Tai felt a sudden wave of nostalgia for the days when Kari was much younger, and a brief image of her eight-year-old self flashed across his mind.

Ah, to go back to the good old days.

"Is everyone ready?" Izzy asked from the ground, looking up from his computer along with his daughter, whose owl eyes resembled that of Izzy's ten-year-old self.

He was starting to feel older the more he was reminded of his own first time in the Digital World.

The DigiDestined and their children all nodded, and Izzy opened the gate to the Digital World. Eyes wide with awe, the children stepped through first, their joyful exclamations causing their parents to chuckle. Daichi held tightly to Tai's hand and led him through the gate, blinking when they emerged into the sunlight of the Digital World. The bright colors stood out among the duller shades of their clothes, but Tai felt a strange sense of peace wash over him the longer he stood staring.

How he loved this strange little alternate world.

"This is the Digital World?" Daichi asked, looking up at Tai with round brown eyes.

"This is the Digital World," he confirmed, crouching beside his son and ruffling his wild hair. "I hope you'll like it here, Daichi."

"I love it!" the boy chirped, grinning the type of grin he must have definitely inherited from his father.

"Then why don't you go and explore?" Tai suggested gently, nodding his head to where the other children were running around. Daichi's eyes brightened, and he scampered off.

Tai stood and watched his son, slipping his hands into his pockets and fingering the Digivice he'd been keeping in there.

He heard the distinct sound of Agumon's footsteps behind him. The orange dinosaur had been strangely silent all day, which would have worried Tai if there hadn't been such a thoughtful look on his face. "He looks just like you, Tai," the Digimon finally said, his green eyes fixed on Daichi. "It's almost like we went back in time."

"Yeah," Tai agreed, letting his hand fall so Agumon could reach up with his claws. Wrapping his fingers around one of Agumon's claws, he had to bite back the tears as he said, "But our adventure ended a long time ago, buddy."

"And Daichi's?" Agumon murmured, concern tinging his raspy voice.

At that, Tai couldn't help but smile, even around his nostalgic tears. Around him, his friends were also shedding tears, silent or noisy, as they watched their children frolick in the place they'd come to consider a bit of a second home. Seeing how happy his son looked to be in this place Tai loved so much, he turned to his Digimon partner with a smile.

"For Daichi, this is just the beginning."

#digimon #digiweek2021 #gen writes #digiweek day 1 #digimon drabble #taichi yagami #tai kamiya #sorry for how late this was #i'll hopefully be more timely tomorrow a;lsdjf;asj

17 notes · View notes

thewatermelloncat · 3 years ago

Text

Backstage (Rosénali CH 8)

CH1, CH2, CH3, CH4, CH5, CH6, CH7

Summary: On the first night of the school production, Rosé breaks a promise that she made herself. Her friends all help to piece her back together.

Boarding School AU

Kinda Pastel/Punk AU

Author’s Note: This makes me sad because it’s done… well sort of. Since I loved writing this so much and I can’t let it go just yet, I want to write an epilogue to round it off. So, if anyone has any suggestions of what they absolutely need to see before it closes off, let me know: leave me a comment or send me a message. This has been the longest series that I have ever done and I’ve loved every moment of it. It’s funny because this was only supposed to be a two-chapter thing but I just kept on writing. I’m proud of it and I’m extremely grateful for all of those who have followed along beside me. Thank you so much for your feedback and support.

Warnings: None

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

She loves this, everything about this. Hearing the chatter of the waiting audience from behind the curtains so thick with dust that you can smell it. Heat from stage lights beating down and casting an array of colours across the empty stage before they go down. Then as the lights dim, the audience hushes.

Suspense grows as she waits in the quiet of the wings, looking out to her mark on the stage where she will be within seconds. There is a nervous energy around her but it’s what she thrives off of, she knows how to harness it and craft it into a performance where she will give everything until she’s spent.

And that’s what she does when the lights turn back on. She doesn’t think twice about taking her cue because it’s all been practiced before. Every note she reaches, every dance move she hits, every line she says she delivers flawlessly.

She cherishes the looks she shares with the other performers, secret glances between them that the audience can’t see. This is their moment on stage and they’ll share the excitement together. Then the scene is over, her last line delivered and she turns to the wings.

Initially, Rosé hadn’t cared about the assigned seating and that she’d been told that her parents would sit front and centre. She’d promised herself that she wouldn’t look, so it didn’t matter. Though as the curtains of the wings close around her, her curiosity gets the best of her and she turns to glance behind her before she can stop herself. Her eyes falling on two empty seats.

In the quiet of the wings her breath catches and she doesn’t bother to look back. There is no point in checking, and if she was right, the observation would only hurt more. Then she gasps a small breath in and lets her feet carry her on habit back to the greenroom. Blindly her hands push the doors to the hallway open and she looks down at the ground, her eyes stinging as she watches the lino change from black to blue.

Around her people quietly file about going from one room to the next in search of costume pieces or their script to read over one last time, but she pays them no mind. Angling her shoulders every now and again to let them past as she walks along slowly, not looking up.

“Rosé?” a familiar voice sounds from behind her and she looks back to see Denali’s concerned expression.

Rosé draws in another shaky breath but she can’t find it in herself to say anything.

In an instant Denali has closed the gap between them and is holding Rosé’s hand, running her other hand up and down her arm. “What’s wrong?”

“They di” – Rosé cuts herself off as she swallows convulsively against her stinging throat to keep from crying. “They didn’t come.”

Denali’s disappointment is visibly written on her face as she sighs deeply. “Maybe they’ve just” –

“Nali, just don’t” Rosé shakes her head, holding the palm of her free hand beneath an eye like she can hold her tears in. There is no point in Denali making excuses for them when none of them would be true.

“Oh, Rosie. I’m so sorry.”

Rosé only sniffs heavily and looks away, biting at the inside of her cheek.

“Hey” Denali reaches her hand up to the back of Rosé’s head, making her look back at her. “It’s okay. You can let yourself cry.”

“I can’t. Not now.”

“You can and you need to” Denali remains firm with her. “There are still a couple of scenes before you need to be back, and Mik will fix your make up.”

Rosé would have continued to argue but by the time Denali has finished speaking a tear has already fallen. She sniffles and quickly brushes it away.

“See?” Denali says gently as she uses the pad of her thumb to brush away a second. “It’s going to eat away at you if you don’t let it out.”

Rosé gives in and nods in acceptance, letting Denali take her by the hands and lead her through the hallways.

“Let’s find a place to sit down.”

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

They’d found an empty dressing room where Denali had sat Rosé down against a wall and watched her fall apart. Neither of them said anything since there was really nothing to say but Denali would swoop in with a folded tissue to catch Rosé’s tears every now and again.

“Hey, someone said that you guys were in here and that…” the door opens to reveal Liv leaning into the room. Her voice faltering when she sees Rosé leant against the wall with Denali crouched in front of her. “Oh, Rosé” she sighs, having been told how she was looking upset, and she pieces the story together.

The girl in question ignores her as she takes a tissue from Denali to soak up a few stray tears.

Though Denali turns toward her, asking softly, “can you go get Mik for us, please?”

“Of course” Liv nods before she steps backward and disappears out the door.

Once the door closes Denali turns back to Rosé. “You going to be alright to sing?”

“I think so” Rosé says before barely holding back a laugh because she most certainly is not. Her voice sounding wrecked from crying. “Hold on” she sniffles grabbing a few tissues from the box on the floor before blowing her nose a few times. After an experimental sniff, she breathes out.

“Better?” Denali asks.

“Yeah” Rosé nods, her voice sounding much clearer as the door flies open.

“Oh, gorge” Mik exclaims sympathetically, looking at Rosé’s red eyes and tear-stained face.

“I’m sorry” Rosé apologises as Mik rushes to take Denali’s place in front of her.

“For what? For actually having feelings?” Mik scoffs, setting her make up kit down beside her and opening it out. “Don’t worry. I’ll fix you right up.”

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

Mik had fixed her up just fine. Liv hanging out in the doorway looking at one of the monitors showing the happenings on stage, giving them rough estimates of how much time they had left every now and again. Mik’s work had been finished quickly and Denali had walked Rosé over to the backstage doors with time to spare.

One thing Rosé was grateful about was retaking the stage and being able to forget about everything else. Apart from the words Denali had said to her before she’d stepped backstage.

“This moment is yours, Rosé” she had told her, stopping Rosé before she could push the doors open and taking both of her hands in her own. “This is your stage and everyone who is here will see that.”

She’d let those words guide her through her performance, numbing the sting of her parents’ rejection and reminding her to live in the moment. A moment where nothing else mattered and she missed it when it was over.

Adrenaline turned into relief as the curtains closed and they all relaxed from holding their final positions. Applause still thundered from behind the thick red fabric as they turned to file out from the wings. Smiles were traded with short sentences of commendations as they got changed out of their costumes and carefully hung them up for the performance the following night. Then after they were given the go ahead, they filed out into the auditorium to meet up with their parents.

Denali had pulled her parents over to meet Mik, and Olivia’s who were already standing close by, the two families having known each other for years. For a while they trade small talk, getting to know Denali’s family, and Denali’s family theirs. Though Denali can’t help but feel something is missing.

Looking around she spots Rosé a little way off, talking to a shorter woman she thinks she recognises from the diner she went to with her parents all those months ago. A smile is on her face as she speaks to the woman, seeming to complement her outfit as she looks the well-tailored dress up and down. Then they hug and pull apart, nodding their head to one another with a few more words before the woman walks away.

“Rosé!” Denali calls out across to her once she had been left standing by herself.

At the sound of her name, Rosé looks over to Denali leading her parents away from another group toward her. Then she smiles in recognition and helps to close the gap between them.

“Rosé, these are my parents” Denali introduces as if Rosé doesn’t know already.

“Hi” Rosé turns on the charm, extending her hand out to shake each of theirs.

She operates on habit, accepting flattery over her performance and trading complements back when she can. It isn’t until she notices a bunch of flowers being held that she steps back, unsure why they are so close to her.

“Are you not going to take them?” Denali asks her, laughing lightly.

Rosé blinks at her. She’d noticed Denali holding her own bunch of flowers but hadn’t paid any mind to the other that her parents had held onto, seemingly for safe keeping.

“They’re yours” Denali prompts, taking the flowers from her mother’s hands and pressing them into Rosé’s.

“Oh, um… I, uh” Rosé fumbles as she steps back again, looking at the flowers like she doesn’t know what to do. Then her jaw starts to quiver and she bites at her lip. “This is… really nice.”

Denali laughs at the only words Rosé can seem to form and steps forward to pull her friend into her arms when she sees tears welling in her eyes.

“Thank you” Rosé says weakly into Denali’s shoulder, knowing that Denali had secretly planned this.

“It’s no problem, Rosie. You deserve them” Denali says as she steps back. Smiling wider as she watches Rosé hold the flowers in both hands like they are the most important thing she has ever been given.

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

The quiet of the diner is stark in contrast to the buzzing of the auditorium when she had left it. Though it is relaxing of sorts. Able to settle into the familiar routine of cleaning tables and refilling coffee mugs. Standing behind the counter, Rosé restacks a pile of menus when the bell sounds as the door opens.

“I’m sorry, Rosie. I tried to get them to go somewhere else, but they really liked it here” Denali apologises as she approaches the counter.

“Well, if you go somewhere else, I will take it as you not wanting to be around me” Rosé brushes off with a teasing smile, handing a couple of menus over to Denali’s parents, then to Mik and Olivia as their families follow in after them. “Sit where you like.”

“That’s quite a crowd” Tamisha hints suggestively when Rosé walks back into the kitchen to rinse off a stack of serving trays.

“Especially for a week night” Rosé responds flatly, knowing what Tamisha is getting at.

“I asked if you wanted tonight off after your first show and you said you didn’t want it” Tamisha reminds her.

“I know” Rosé acknowledges as she leans back against the bench. “And I told you that it’s normally just the last show that we celebrate.”

“Looks like they’re doing something anyway” Tamisha says as she looks out the small window of the kitchen into the dining area.

Rosé follows her gaze, smiling as she watches her friends laughing and reaching over each other to point at things on the menu. “And I’ll do something with them after the last one.”

“Go out to them.”

“Do you want me to take both drink and food orders at once?” Rosé asks picking up a notepad.

“Without the pen and paper” Tamisha sighs, taking the stationery out of Rosé’s hands and putting them down on the bench.

Rosé blinks at her then looks confused.

“Go” Tamisha prompts, miming shooing her out the door. “I’m giving you the rest of the night off.”

“I said I’d work” Rosé doesn’t move.

“Take it as my gift to you. For inviting me to a wonderful performance which I could see you worked very hard on.”

Rosé breathes out a quiet laugh as a smile spreads on her lips.

“Just go” Tamisha prompts again after watching Rosé try to figure out words to say. This time actually shepherding her toward the door. “And take this off” she pulls at the string of Rosé’s apron.

Rosé scoffs as she reaches behind her to undo the string before pulling the apron off. “Thank you” she turns around to face back to Tamisha, folding the apron before placing it down on the bench.

“Ain’t nothing” Tamisha dismisses. “Go have fun.”

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

At the table Denali had settled on what she wanted minutes ago and is zoning in and out of Mik and her dilemma of whether to get the pancakes because she liked them so much when Rosé had brought some back to the dorms, but then that means she’s already had them.

“Why don’t you just get the pancakes and I’ll get the French toast and we can go halves?” Liv suggests and settles as Denali looks away to Rosé having a conversation over at the counter.

Though she truly had been embarrassed about her parents insisting on coming here, it was more so out of making Rosé feel uncomfortable and like they were intruding on her, but she didn’t seem to mind. And now that they are there, Denali really does like the idea of spending time in a place with Rosé, even if she can’t actively hang out with them.

Maybe it’s this sentiment that has Denali hopeful when she watches Rosé take off her apron and make her way over to them with a smile. Even before she speaks, Denali has already slid over on the bench, making a free space right beside her.

“Got room for one more?”

Epilogue

#rpdr #rpdr fanfiction #rpdr 13 #rosé #denali #olivia lux #gottmik #tamisha iman #boarding school au #punk!rosé #pastel!denali #rosénali #rosenali

15 notes · View notes

shreddedparchment · 5 years ago

Text

Pseudo Princess Pt.28

A Dangerous Homecoming

04/08/2020

Pairing: King!Steve x Reader Word Count: 5,529

Warnings: wounds, blood, language, fluff

A/N: We are in the home stretch my loves. The end is in sight. Hopefully I can speed up my momentum. I have the chapters outlined out but always seem to slow down when I’m near the end. I’ve done it with lots of my stories. And I am SORRY. Anywho, I hope you enjoy this chapter. If you happen to reblog, thanks so much for helping me spread my work! xoxo

Consciousness isn’t something that Steve is often at odds with.

From that fateful day when his mother gave in to her most rabid of fears and made her deal with the Sun Witch. With Doctor Erskine’s enthusiastic encouragement and his own experimental flare, Steve’s fate was changed.

He was altered, irrevocably so. The man he might have grown up to be—or rather, the man he would have died as—had disappeared and in his place a new one was formed. One of drive but not ambition. One with the will to do good and now with the strength to do so.

Steve had been blessed with the body to fight, but now he understands that he was also cursed to drag everyone he loves into the darkness opposite his light.

He gasps, sweating into his expensive and ridiculously extravagant tunic. The dark blue, etched in delicate silver and blacks is nearly soaked through.

His dark gray undershirt clings to his wounded and bruised form.

His lungs struggle for breath as his fear mounts, choking him as silver steel eyes grow dark, black, and dangerous. A curtain of deep chestnut hair flutters around a pale but cold bitten face. There’s a gleam to this man’s left and a fist curls with a keening cry as metal bends.

Steve’s hands twitch. His lips part, dried blood crackling around the edges of his lips.

His fever rages, burning hotter than he’s ever burnt before. The wound in his side stings. The pain is consistent until suddenly it stops.

As the dark eyes charge forward, his weapon hand raised to strike, a soft dampness coaxes Steve away from the image. He gasps, death poised to strike only inches away, when a soft whisper pulls him out.

“Shhhh.” The whisper says and Steve lashes out.

His eyes open wide, his hand closed tight around muscle and bone.

“Ow.” You whisper, pained but also controlled.

Steve’s eyes search and find you to his left, right hand angled painfully away from his face with a damp piece of cloth in its grasp.

“You’re safe.” You tell him gently, trying to convince him. “You’re alright.”

The panic in his chest dissipates. His heart begins to slow. There’s a searing burn on his left side and he looks down to see his shirt and tunic pulled up to expose a long wound now stitched together and freshly cleaned.

“Steve…” You plead. “My hand.”

His panic returns and he drops your wrist. “Did I hurt you?”

He pushes himself up but stops as you place a restraining hand on his chest.

“Don’t get up.” You order.

And it is and order. No doubt about it.

Though Steve knows that you take your role as Queen of Broklin very seriously, he has never heard you use that very authority on him and it strokes it heartstrings like a harp.

He sits back, resting against what feels like sacks of grain. It isn’t exactly soft but it’s better than the ground. Beneath his is warm mattress, hay by the feel of it. Grass too probably.

With his senses returning, he takes a quick look around where you’ve brought him.

“Where are we?”

“My home.” You tell him, resuming the cleaning of his face. “Or it used to be.”

You gently massage away the grime from his skin. The blood caked on his scratches and cuts require a bit more pressure but you’re as gentle as can be.

While you work, he takes it in. Your once home.

It’s small. Only one room, slightly smaller than his study back in Broklin.

The floor is made of aged wood that creaks as you shift on your knees to reach the far side of his neck.

There are small holes and cracks, moldy spots of green in one corner. In another a vibrant yellow weed pokes through from the ground below.

The wattle walls have been painted to attempt a brighter interior. The paint is scarce. He can see how you tried your best to make this little room a home.

The windows, all without panes of glass and only shutters to keep out the cold in winter, have begun to crumble and splinter. A vine has begun to take over, weaving it’s way in and up into the leaky thatched roof.

“Sorry about the water. It started raining while I was in the village.” You explain and his eyes hone in on you.

“You went out alone?” He demands, fear beginning to grab hold.

“Just for a little bit.” You stop your cleaning, meeting his fretful gaze with what he knows now is a stubborn will to be independent. “I needed to get some food and clean scraps for your wounds.”

Steve frowns, hating that you'd gone anywhere without him.

He reaches up to place his hand along your left cheek, caressing your skin until his finger finds a small three inch pucker across your cheek bone.

“You’re hurt.” He hates it. He hates it so much his stomach begins to bubble with bile.

“It’s just a scratch, Steve.” You shake your head, then lean towards him again to resume your cleaning. “Luckily my old sewing box was still in the cupboard. I tended your wound as best I could but we should get it looked at properly.

“I don’t want you getting an infection.” You sigh.

Steve’s turns towards the cupboard beside the small table by the fire you’ve got going. There’s an old rusty pot resting just beyond, handle broken.

All of your furniture, including this bed that he’s laying on is of the poorest quality. With you gone and without your care, even though it’s been under a year, it has fallen into disrepair.

“I won’t.” Steve assures you, looking at the sewing box by your legs, resting on the tattered skirts if your once fine dress.

“That won’t work on me, Steve. You’re seeing a doctor as soon as we’re with father.” You frown.

“No.” He shakes his head, looking at your stubborn pout.

He could kiss you. He loves the way you are bot afraid to challenge him or show you care. You love him so openly. With no fear.

He’s never known this kind of love. Freely given with no thought of restraint.

“I mean, I can’t catch an infection.” Steve explains. “I’m already healing. Even my fever is already gone.”

You almost dive towards his cheeks, hand thrown out to feel his temperature. You press your little—well, little to him—palm against his forehead and wait.

Steve can’t help but love you in every moment that you are by his side.

Especially now as you teeter over him, face screwed up with concerned concentration. You’re a mess. Like him.

Skin broken in small places from rocks and the falls you took. Hair completely disheveled. Your crown, the smaller one he’d had made for your outdoor events, is gone. Lost somewhere in the crowd and amongst the fight.

He doesn’t dare bring it to your attention.

His eyes naturally follow the curve of your throat down to your chest, and then finally your stomach.

His calm glee at your fussing quickly fades as the small swell of your stomach—more noticeable to him day after day—grabs hold of his attention completely.

With two hands he cups the bump, wondering if he might somehow know how the little prince is in your belly. His son.

“How are you feeling?” He checks, meeting your gaze which calms as you sit back onto your ankles and place your hands over his.

“He’s alright.” You stroke his fingers, a gesture of comfort. “I was a little worried while we were walking. After the carriage flipped over, I didn’t feel him for a while, but he did wiggle a bit as we walked here.”

Steve feels a rush of relief, grateful to you for always being your shared son’s protector. He knows how much you love him already.

“That’s not what I asked.” Steve clarifies, eyebrows raised high as he waits.

“I’m fine, Steve. A little tired. Achy but that’s to be expected after today. And very worried.” You sigh, shoulders rising high and dropping low as you slouch with the weight of your grief.

Steve knows what you’re thinking about, because he’s been thinking about it too.

He thought about how far he needed to get you away from the city. And Bucky. He thought about his son and his health. And Bucky. He worried about his friends. And Bucky. He wished he could do more for the innocents he’d left behind. And Bucky.

“They’ll have subdued him by now.” Steve promises.

“How do you know? He was so…so lethal, Steve. I’ve never seen him like that. How is it even possible?”

Steve takes a slow breath, knowing that it’s time for this story. He would have preferred for Bucky to tell you himself, but this time…he’ll have to make an exception.

“There’s something you should know about Bucky.” He begins, but you nod.

“This has to do with him being taken a few years ago?” You offer, entirely more knowledgeable than he’d expected you to be. You never cease to amaze him. He shouldn’t be surprised.

You’re smart as a whip. Perhaps not by a Lady’s standards, but you know more than anyone knows. You’re observant and your common sense and instinct is unparalleled.

If you weren’t so important to him, so precious; if you weren’t his only love and the mother of his child, he would recruit you onto the team and find a way to make you impervious to harm.

Maybe find a witch to bewitch you the way they’d done him or even Peter.

“How do you-?”

“The other day when Nat and I spent some time together alone, she alluded to a story. She didn’t tell me, but she said she would. Later.” You explain and Steve can see the resignation of your all too special patience.

“I suppose it’s later.” Steve nods. “A few years ago, Bucky, Nat, Clint, and I were on a quest to find one of the secret Hydra camps in the Southern forests. The deep south. In the elder wood.”

He watches as you bring out your feet from under you and settle on the floor. He hates it, you on the hard surface while he’s on the soft bed…but if he asks you to sit with him, you’ll argue.

“He was gone for weeks. Nat was inconsolable. Clint did what he could but eventually they had to move on. They had things to attend to. Responsibilities. Thor had to go back to Asgard, Tony had to help Pepper run his own Kingdom, and although I—I should have gone back to ruling Broklin, but I couldn’t give up.

“Nat and I kept searching. How could we stop looking? Bucky is…he was my only remaining family. And for Nat…well, it would be like when I lost you. Knowing you’re out there with no way of knowing whether you’re safe, only we knew that Bucky wasn’t.”

“This was after Margaret’s death?” You probe carefully, fearful it seems in upsetting him.

He’s driven that fear into you and it upsets him that you feel you can’t be open with him about Margaret. It’s his own fault.

Steve nods. “Only just. It was so fresh. Her death…and I was grateful for the distraction; however painful it was. The thought of losing Bucky too after everything with Maggie…I couldn’t stand it. I was determined in finding him. As was Nat.”

Steve can almost sense his own desperation again. It was just as bad as when you were missing. He ignores the ache in his chest at both memories and instead presses on, pushing those bad times out of his mind.

You’re here, attentive and precious in front of him. He won’t waste another moment on the thought of you anywhere but at his side.

“When we finally found him, he’d been strapped to a wooden bed with no mattress in the lowest level of a ruined castle. It was damp but hot, as we were farther South than I’d ever been. Although Natasha knew the territory well and we were able to search it with ease thanks to her expertise.

“For the most part, Bucky seemed fine. He was a little tired when we pulled him out of that wretched cell, but he was happy to be with Natasha again.

“His arm…it was gone. Replaced by the one he has now. When we asked him what had happened to it, he said that he didn’t remember and that it did hurt, but not as much as he might have thought it would to lose an arm.”

“Weren’t any of you worried about what they’d done to him?” You ask in shock, voice tight and whispered. Steve can only guess at what has you so spooked but he’s certain it’s the loss of Bucky’s arm. Here was no grand tale of him losing it in battle.

One day it was there, the next it was gone.

“Yes. Of course. Nat and I more than the others because we couldn’t understand why they would take him only to do that to his arm. So, we kept a very close eye on him. We secluded him to one room in the castle with guards at his door day and night.

“Tony was also very suspicious. Only Tony…Tony wanted to do more than just keep an eye on him.” Steve says, voice dropping low and his eyes going dark at the memory of Tony’s panic, the fear in his eyes as he looked at Bucky laying unconscious as he recovered.

A perceived threat. But to Steve, it was Bucky. His friend and brother. Like hell he was going to let anyone hurt him any more than he’d already been injured.

As Steve can’t fight his anger, with his brow furrowed, you seem to realize suddenly that this must have been what drove your Father and Steve apart. This was what had needed your marriage to bridge the divide in their relationship.

“He wanted to lock him up permanently.” You say, not surprised one bit, but a little disappointed? “Or worse…”

As Steve’s gaze meets yours, you read his eyes like no one else in his life can and realize that Tony had actually tried to do something about it, not simply wanted to.

“What did he do?” You barely manage to say.

“It doesn’t matter. The point is, I fought for Bucky. Nat did too. We were split, though Thor and Bruce weren’t there for the fallout, everyone else was.

“Peter was the only one who managed to balance both sides even though he initially fought with Tony. He realized what this would mean and helped mediate a stop to our quarrel. At least for a while.

“Tony and I didn’t speak again until we arranged a marriage between Morgana and myself with the full intention of having it end before we could ever truly consummate the marriage. That’s where you came in.” Steve sighs, feeling a surge of gratitude for you.

He doesn’t even plan for it to happen, but his voice becomes softer as he reaches out to stroke the curve of your chin. Caressing you whenever he has the chance. How long will you allow him to show you his affections?

He cannot be touching you always, despite his desire to do so. He must maintain some form of decorum in front of his friends and subjects.

However, here in the dimly lit home of your past, he can be as free with his love as he pleases.

You catch his hand and release a held breath, looking appeased and happy to feel the heat of his skin, just as he relishes in yours.

“So, Bucky never showed any signs of mental manipulation until today?” You wonder.

“No. Nothing until today. When nothing happened, we assumed he was fine.” Steve sighs heavily, the weight of his fight with Bucky weighing heavy on his shoulders. Had he missed some sort of clue? Had there been an indicator of what was to come? Had he been blind because of how close he was with Bucky. “It’s been more than two years…”

As if that might ease his strife. It doesn’t. It only makes him worry that maybe there is more to come. What if it isn’t over? What if they’ve turned his friend into someone dangerous permanently?

Steve pulls you a little closer and you shift for him, moving where he wants you. He wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you even closer. He isn’t satisfied until you’re right against his side, your hands pressed against his chest where your fingers take to restlessly twitching against the loose threads of his shirt.

He watches you, so grateful that you’re safe. You’re as lost in thought as he is. Reliving the terrible day just as he is, no doubt.

Steve’s arm tightens again, and you look up to meet his eyes. Your own worry seems to dissipate as you see the stress in his.

As much as he loves Bucky. He can’t help but think how close he came to taking you from him today. How easily his life might have changed again. For the worse.

With a small quiet sigh, you reach up towards his cheek and begin to wipe at the smudged dirt there but stop after two swipes, eyes going wide as you stare into Steve’s storm blues.

“What?” Steve asks, seeing the shift in your expression. “What’s the matter?”

“I didn’t tell you, because I didn’t think it was important.” You begin, and Steve can hardly breathe.

“Didn’t tell me what, flower?” He coaxes, adjusting on the bed to sit up a little straighter.

“I…I think I know what happened. What set Bucky off today.” Steve begins to speak but you’re quick to shake your head to silence him and he obeys you, shushing if that is what you wish. “I didn’t think it was real. I was just waking up in the carriage when I saw it. I was drifting in and out, but I found it odd and even asked father about it.”

Steve’s impatience begins to prod at him, but he bites the inside of his cheek to keep himself quiet for you.

“Now that I think about it, I didn’t see him any other time except for that moment.” You shake your head, shutting your eyes as you struggle to pull the image together in your mind it looks like, so Steve reaches up to cup your cheek.

“Tell me.” He pleads gently, forced but willing.

When you meet his eyes again, he can see the terror there but also the absolute certainty.

“I saw Lord Pierce across the square, getting out of a carriage. Bucky was there with him. Looking upset, I think. Then Lord Pierce leaned in and whispered something into Bucky’s ear.

“He went a little stiff, his face went blank, but then I must have gone under for a moment and when I opened my eyes, Bucky was gone. Lord Pierce was gone too.

“Even then, my heart was racing. I knew that what I saw wasn’t good, but I could have been dreaming it. And when I asked father if Lord Pierce was in attendance at the procession, he said that he wasn’t. That he’d made sure to exclude him purposely. So, I put it out of my mind.”

Steve’s hands are claws against your back, the rage within him is nearly choking. He wants to scream. To destroy. If he weren’t injured, he might have even torn your house apart with his bare hands.

“I’m sorry.” You whisper, he assumes because you can feel his upset.

“No.” He manages to say, voice deep and quaking with his anger. “No, Y/N. You did right to tell me now. I don’t blame you.”

“But I should have said something.” You fret.

Steve looks down at your belly, the agony of almost having lost both of you today eats at him and helps calm him. It levels him out and he breathes in slowly, then releases the breath but pulls you to him in a soft embrace.

“You’re safe.” He shuts his eyes, really letting himself feel you there in his arms. He trails one hand down to rest on your stomach, tracing the shape of the small curve. “You both are. That’s all that matters.”

“What does this mean for the kingdom? For Lord Pierce? For Bucky?” You ask him, looking to him for a response to this new crisis.

Steve doesn’t often feel as if he is a king with people who depend on him.

Though he knows that he does indeed have a responsibility to his people, he doesn’t often feel as if he’s looked on for leadership. Those moments when someone is truly waiting for him to make a decision.

In your eyes he sees devotion and respect. He sees a genuine intention to follow. And yet he knows that even with this willingness, you would easily disagree with him if you felt it were important.

Everyday you are proving to him that you are not only the woman he loves, but the Queen he has needed at his side.

With you beside him, he truly feels as though he could rule his Kingdom with confidence, with grace, and with a will to do better. For you. For his son. And for all of the people who depend on him.

“I will issue a warrant for his arrest.” Steve declares, confident in his decision. “I will state his crimes clearly so that everyone may see what a snake he is. It will ruin his name and he will have no choice but to either turn himself in for trial or run.”

“What if he runs?”

“Then we will follow.” He nods. “He’ll pay for what he did to Bucky. He’ll pay for what he’s done to you.”

You lift your chin, filled with what he hopes is belief that he can do it. That he can bring Pierce to his knees.

“No one hurts my family and gets away with it.” Steve declares. “No one.”

~~~~~~~~~~

“What are you doing?!” Natasha shouts, shoving herself between Tony and Bucky, fully intent on punching if the need should arise.

The beautiful pale stones of Tony’s castle are a stark contrast to the horrors on the bed behind her.

Natasha glances back at Bucky, wary of the amount of blood he’s losing from the countless wounds to his torso.

What tortures her further is the knowledge that she was the one that put three of those stabs into his side.

She’d been careful to avoid his most sensitive spots, but after he’d woken up on the way home, he’d tried to fight his way out.

It took a hard hit from Tony to the back of the head to knock him out completely and he hasn’t woken up since.

“I need to remove the metal of his arm.” Tony replies exasperated with Natasha’s meddling.

“I needs to wait.” She says.

“It can’t. Bruce said I need to remove it immediately. He’ll have to treat that wound too to prevent infection.

Natasha licks her lips, her green eyes blazing with fear.

“Nat…Let me fix him.” Tony pleads.

“I don’t trust you.” Nat replies, brow crinkling with distrust.

“I know.” And Tony can’t blame her. He’d made a bad impression the first time Bucky had shown up altered. Now here is the results of what he’d always feared but he knows better now about what he’s willing to lose by taking certain precautions.

Bucky is irreplaceable to Natasha and Steve. He must respect that if he’s going to keep not only you but the team in his life.

“But you have to.” Tony argues, holding his hands out for her, his tools held tight as he waits for her to move.

Natasha turns around to look at Bucky once more, her face contorted with indecision and grief and reluctantly moves aside.

Tony lunges for Bucky and works quickly on his arm while Natasha cuts away Bucky’s clothing to tend to his other various wounds.

~~~~~~~~~~

“He’s stable for now.” Bruce declares, wrapping up Bucky’s arm recess where before there’d been shredded metal.

“Will he wake?” Tony asks, trying to keep his voice down for Natasha’s sake.

She’s only just fallen asleep, sitting in a large cushioned chair with a high back. Her hand firmly wrapped around Bucky’s scuffed up right hand.

“What did you give her?” Bruce asks, ignoring Tony’s question for a moment as he also looks to Nat to see her sleeping so peacefully.

“Just one of Agatha’s herbs. She’s a witch with herbs.”

“Or just a witch.” Bruce says quietly, fixing Tony with a wary look.

“I’ve been thinking so too. But she’s devoted to keeping Y/N safe so she’s a good one, as far as I’m concerned.” Tony moves to the wall to pull the call. Somewhere in the castle, he’s sure a bell rings.

“She’s going to be upset when she wakes.” Bruce points out.

“She needs the rest. Thor, Clint, and Peter are out searching. Sam has gone back to Broklin in case they head that way.” Tony assures his friend. “We’ll find them.”

“Y/N is going to be upset that you’ve got Sharon helping Samuel.” Bruce teases, a small awkward smile playing on his lips.

“She’ll deal with it. Finding them is most important right now. Not jealousy.” Tony argues.

Bruce huffs a small laugh, turning to seal Bucky’s bandage before checking on the wounds that Nat had tended to just to be sure they were sealed well.

“You are aware that Sharon snuck into Steve’s room to try and seduce him, and your daughter caught them in bed together, right?” Bruce asks, turning a knowing look to his friend.

Tony blinks, hands clasped at his front before he begins to fix his shirt.

“I am now.” Tony admits. “I’m sure she didn’t let them get away with it. And they seem fine now.”

Mind racing with what might have happened after finding Steve and Sharon like that, he resolves to give Steve a scolding when he sees him.

When. He will find you both if it’s the last thing he does.

“Where are you going?” Steve asks, voice groggy from sleep.

You’re uncurling from his side, moving to his removed tunic to rifle along the front at his expensive baubles and medals.

“To get us some food and something less conspicuous to wear. We don’t know if we’re being pursued. We must lay low.”

“And going into the village to buy things isn’t the opposite of laying low?” Steve asks.

You shake your head. “I’ll only be half an hour and I know the people here. They won’t hurt me.”

Most of them…

“Let me go.” Steve begins to get up, but you frown when he groans.

“No.” You insist, moving to him with a handful of jewels and silver.

You push him back down onto the bed and fix the ratty blanket you’d used to use over him.

“Stop arguing with me.” You chastise him. “I’ll be faster. You’re still wounded.”

“I don’t like you going out there alone.” Steve argues.

“Steven, please. Don’t fight me on this. I will be as quick as I possibly can. I’ll be as invisible as I was before I left. You’ll see. No one will pay me any mind. I was an insignificant orphan. No one will care that I’m here.” You assure him.

“You’re Queen of Broklin.” Steve argues. “And you look like her now, whatever you may think. You don’t look like the girl that came to my castle nearly a year ago.”

“What do I look like then?” You wonder, stripping off your dress before pulling on an old ratty set that you’d had here in the house from before.

It’s thin and meant for summer. Does little to shield the cold but it’s better than your regal, however torn up it might be, gown.

“Even in that you look like an angel.” Steve says.

You can’t help it. You laugh.

“Don’t you think you’re a little biased?” You ask him.

He frowns at you.

“Steve, I’ll be fine.” You move back to him and he welcomes you despite the terrible clothes you’re wearing.

He pulls you in suddenly, no warning as he kisses you hard.

You gasp, hands tense on his shoulders as his lips crush yours painfully.

When he pulls away, he does so slowly, his kiss shifting into tenderness.

“What-?”

“Please be cautious. Don’t talk to anyone that you don’t have to. Turn my cloak inside out and take it. I will not have you and our child freezing.” He worries.

“Why weren’t you this annoying when we first got married?” You tease him and he shuts his eyes, head falling forward to rest against your chest.

You chuckle and stroke his dirty hair, smoothing it out despite the blood and grime still caked into it.

“Please be safe.” He begs, looking up at you again. “I don’t know what I would do if I lost you, Y/N.”

“You’d go on. Because you’re strong. And you have a whole Kingdom that depends on you.”

Steve sighs. “I don’t want to be rational. I’d gladly follow you into the end.”

“Then I guess I’d better not meet my end.” You decide.

Getting up, you move to his cloak and turn it inside out as he wished. It’s plain gray on the underside. Still a fine fabric but less ostentatious in its stitching. It makes it much warmer in this clothing and it smells like Steve still.

“Stay quiet.” You tell him, then pick up his shield and put it beside him. “I’ll be right back.”

You slip out into the early morning freeze. The wheat fields are barren and give you no cover as you trek across the cold semi-frozen mud. It sticks to your shoes, much too nice for the plain peasant dress you’re wearing but with the cloak they’re somewhat hidden.

You’re tired by the time you reach the edge of the village and take shelter in the smithy’s doorway. He’s already open, an older man who had tried his best to ignore your hunger plight often. Many of the wealthier villagers had made the very conscious decision to pretend you didn’t exist.

You can’t blame them. You were a child in need of care and many of them, though richer than you, still struggled to make ends meet. They had no way of caring for a whole other mouth to feed.

He’s working inside, too busy making his living to care that you’re resting on his doorstep.

It takes you fifteen minutes to walk across the village make your purchase with only a somewhat lingering look from the tailor who must be the only one to notice your absence in the village as you’d always been a bit of a pain to.

You had offered to mend clothing at a cheaper cost and so stole most of her mending business.

“Haven’t seen you around here.” She states, wrapping up your new dress and the clothing and shoes you’ve purchased for Steve.

“I’ve been travelling.” You say quickly. Offering no further explanation.

“You look different.” She says, pushing the parcel over the counter towards you.

Fucking Steve.

“Do I?” You take the package and throw a silver pin on the counter worth six times as much as she’s charging you for the clothes.

Her eyes go wide at the sight, but you don’t wait for her to say anything and instead leave as quickly as you entered.

You buy some food from the bake, just something to tide you both over until you can go hunt something up and pay with a small ruby.

You’re gone before he can respond to the payment.

With both errands out of the way, you make your way back towards your cottage, eager to be back by Steve’s side.

Your trek is quick across the barren fields, pace increasing the closer you get.

It’s just beyond this slope, beyond the windmill.

As you curve around it, smile stretching your lips, you gasp as a large stocky man blocks your way.

Your free hand drops to your stomach protectively as your eyes take in the only threat to you in this village.

“Well, hello, hello, hello. If it ain’t tha little mouse.” He says.

As you take in his pale skin, a messy array of vibrant red curls on his head, your mind provides you with several excruciating memories of his large beefy body pinning you against the tavern wall. His hands tearing away at your clothing. Ripping your skin as angry tears stained your cheeks.

Both times you’d been able to fight him off. You’d been lucky.

As he devours you with his eyes, you can see the wheels in his mind turning.

“You’ve been gone a long time, little mouse.” He grins. “I’ve missed you.”

#king!steve x reader #king!steve x you #steve x reader #medieval au #royal au #medieval fantasy au #steve rogers x reader #captain america x reader #steve rogers x reader fanfiction #steve rogers x you #avengers x reader #buckynat #marvel au #marvel fanfiction #mcu fanfiction #pseudo princess #pseudo princess pt28

795 notes · View notes

rosaliepostsstuff · 4 years ago

Text

Chapter 5 - Of Halloween and Fred’s bluntness

series masterlist

tags: @weasleysbees ; @gloryekaterina ; @thatguppienamedbae ; @sagittarius-flowerchild; @hufflepuff5972 ; @pandaxnienke ; @izzyyy-1

if you’d like to be added/removed, send a DM or an ask

warnings: swearing, sexual references, mentions of food and eating, alcohol consumption word count: 1749 a/n: This might’ve been the most fun to write chapter yet. Surprise in form of diving into George’s mind for a chapter! a/n 2: I planned out and published the chapter titles in advance on purpose, as a little teaser, so you could try to figure out what the plot could be and I cannot express enough how excited I am for the next one

If you have any feedback, please let me know!

—————⑤—————

George woke up from blissful sleep to be met with a dull headache. He went to reach and open the curtain of his four-poster, rubbing his face in the process and winced immediately, reminding himself of previous day’s events.

He lay back on the pillow, his bottom lip throbbing slightly.

He brought his fingers to the swollen lip, touching it carefully, thinking back to how your fingers would brush over it delicately as you tended to him last evening. You were too good for him.

Fred’s heavy groan, signalling his wake up, distracted George from going down the same path again as last night when his thoughts went spiralling, going over and over the short conversation you had right afterwards, until he passed out and fell asleep.

He stretched in his bed and lazily got up, ready to start the day.

—————⑤—————

They walked down the spiralled steps quickly, on their way to grab lunch, as it was way past time for breakfast. George slipped into the common room and saw you waiting at the table, writing something in your small notebook. You looked up soon enough and your eyes lit up when they met his, you slammed shut the notebook and slipped it into your bag.

“Hi there,” you waved to the three boys, walking up to them. Your gaze travelled to George’s lip and he noticed concern flood your eyes right away. You truly looked like an angel, smiling like that.

“How’s it feel?” you asked, twisting your face a bit and pointing at his mouth once you started walking. “Alright,” he answered, nodding, “it seems to be healing well, whatever you rubbed in it must’ve helped,” he smiled. “Ah see, magic,” you said, smugly, trying to appear mysterious. “Pure love,” Fred exclaimed, walking in the front, “and just the right amount of spit,” he added, turning to you for a moment, making the rest of you laugh.

“Have you managed to finish your costumes?” You asked enthusiastically, before bringing a forkful into your mouth. “Yup,” George replied, clearly proud of himself. “We’re gonna look absolutely wicked, I’m so glad we agreed on this,” Lee stated, and you smiled wider at the boys.

“Are you doing any make-up?” Fred asked. You bit your lip in thought, “Dunno… I mean, they’re cartoons, I don’t think they wear make-up..? But maybe…why?” “If you’re wearing make-up, and we’re not” Fred gestured between himself and George, “then we won’t be matching anymore,” he reasoned. “True. I could come over and we’d do it together, I could help you out. Might be fun. George..?” you asked, checking if he had any objections. “I’m cool,” he said, shrugging.

George was lying in bed, in his outfit, waiting. Lee was putting on some finishing touches to his costume and Fred was still in his boxers and socks. Five minutes before the appointed time, they heard your signature knock on the door.

You walked in and upon seeing Fred’s ‘too-close-to-naked’ butt turned to you, twisted your face and gagged as a hello. “You’re early, sunshine,” Fred said cheekily, walking behind his bed and pulled back the curtain to get dressed behind it. George took a moment to notice how cute you looked in your costume. “On time, five minutes early,” you countered and went to sit down on George’s bed.

You gave him an appraising look, scanning him from head to toe and he felt a strong urge to pull his skirt down, making you chuckle. “Nice legs,” you winked. “I’d argue,” Fred declared, raising one of his own legs tantalizingly from behind the curtain.

“What’s up with your face?” Lee gave you a puzzled sort of look, only now turning to you properly.

Now that George thought about it, it did look a bit weird.

“I prepped my face and did my foundation, I’ll do the rest once I know what those two want me to do to their faces,” you said.

Yes, yes now that would explain it.

You opened your makeup bag and pulled some stuff George had no clue about. He’s never actually seen you do your makeup. At school, if you’re wearing any, he always saw you already in it. The only opportunity would be perhaps while you’re staying at the Burrow, but then you rarely bother wearing makeup.

Fred insisted on being your subject first. He wasn’t a very good one, though. Rather impatient and very mobile, restless, earning himself a few smacks on the shoulder from you.

Then it was George’s turn. He sat on the bed, facing you, and you shifted to sit as close as possible, to make your job easier. He felt your breath on his face as you scanned it carefully, then you got to work.

It came to his attention he rarely got to see your face from this perspective. Right in front of his eyes, and so close. All of your facial features, so familiar to him, he got to know even better.

“George…” you scolded him gently. “What?” he asked, genuinely confused. Were you talking about something and he wasn’t listening? No, he’d have noticed, he was staring at your lips. “Don’t move away! I can’t do it precisely when you lean back and I have to reach like that.” “I’m not leaning back,” George denied. “You’re leaning back, mate,” Fred pointed out and George realised he was, in fact, involuntarily leaning further back every time your face got closer.

He straightened his back once again and this time your face got pushed away like it was the same magnetic pole as his.

“You’re getting circles under your eyes,” he went to distract you, “you keep staying up lately.” You sighed softly, like you always do when he calls you out on something, but you know he’s right. “I don’t think I’ll have to anymore. Or not much longer, so I’ll get better with my sleep,” you explained. “And are you finally going to tell me what is it, that you were doing?” he asked accusingly. These past few weeks you kept brushing him off with ‘I’ll tell you soon enough’. “Better yet,” you smirked mischievously, “I might show you today if we leave before the sunset. It won’t be as impressive in the dark,” you stated, making the three boys’ curiosity peak.

You carefully put on some finishing touches on George’s lips, careful of the cut. “Voila!” you exclaimed, pulling away to admire your work.

Fred looked at his brother with a frown, then glanced at himself in a mirror. “You did a wonky job on my eyes!” he said, pointing his finger. “Uhh- you did a wonky job staying still,” you replied, grabbing all the necessary products to finish your makeup in front of a mirror. The boys found watching you do it surprisingly satisfying.

“Oh, and Julie’s coming over later so I’ll be hanging out with her,” Fred noted as the four of you left their dorm. “Congratulations,” George said sarcastically and Fred gave him a look. “So what?” “So, you know what hanging out means. I need you out of the room,” Fred replied, accentuating the last part.

George groaned. He knew he’d be tired after going out and the prospect of not being able to get back to his room for Merlin knows how long was not welcome, but he didn’t argue.

“Oh come on, Merlin knows you should get laid. You’d relax a little,” Fred stated (Lee snorted in the background) and George glared at him, feeling betrayed. Fred looked at your surprised face, “and you too. Both of you, actually,” he added, waving his finger between George and you. (Lee crouched down to avoid collapsing from laughing so hard.)

You and George stared at him with your jaws dropped, mortified. “Oh, my sweet little beans, I didn’t say you have to get laid with each other!” Fred clasped his hands dramatically, “…necessarily,” he added with a sweet, mischievous smile.

George smacked his brother across the head. You started laughing, partly as a defensive reaction, partly because of Lee’s contagious laughter.

—————⑤—————

On your way to Hogsmeade, you went off-course a little. You led the boys towards one of the outer sides of the castle, near the clocktower courtyard and a path leading to the lake. Once you were out in the open, it was hard to miss – a huge, windowless, wall, and on it-

“Pink toad can suck a butt?” Lee read out loud. “What is that?!” Fred questioned in disbelief. You crossed your arms on your chest proudly, “Moss graffiti. Alicia and I did this,” you explained gazing once again at your masterpiece. George looked at the writing in amusement, “And you did all this-“ “In the cover of the night, yeah,” you replied before he could finish. “They’ll never catch me,” you whispered theatrically. “It was worth losing a little sleep. It’s so stupid it’s hilarious.”

—————⑤—————

By the time you stepped through the gate of Hogsmeade, George’s legs were pretty cold and he concluded that in this temperature a little wind between the legs doesn’t seem so great after all. Looking down at his pink dress, he silently thanked himself for giving in to you when you told him to wear tights because he would’ve felt really stupid right about now.

He looked to his left and could see your wide grin as you bit your bottom lip in excitement, looking around all the decorations. With a little help of magic, your hair was now the exact same shade as Bubbles’, tied in two neat pigtails. Dressed in a very similar dress as his, but blue, you clutched your stuffed octopus to your chest.

You made sure to take a group photo as a souvenir for the future and then commenced your Halloween celebrations. Trick or treating with lots of tricks and playing games, you got complimented on your group-coordinated outfits every now and then. Butterbeer was flowing, candy was consumed and memories were made.

That evening George was thankful as ever for your company in the common room while his twin occupied the dorm.

With most of your energy drained, legs falling out and bellies full of unhealthy snacks, you lay on the couch in front of the fire, talking nonsense.

As both of you grew more sleepy and the pauses in your conversation grew longer, he got lost in his thoughts. Perhaps his brother was right. Perhaps he should just get laid.

Perhaps, he should get over himself.

#george weasley #george weasley x reader #george weasley series #weasley twins

52 notes · View notes

kodzusken · 4 years ago

Text

miles apart // p.p.

summary: peter decides to surprise you for your one-year anniversary.

pairing: peter parker x reader

warnings: MINIMAL angst, fluff

word count: 1.5k

a/n: this is a repost.

it was your smile that caught his eye first. that dazzling grin that radiated pure happiness and joy. peter wondered what you’d been looking at on your phone that had made you smile so wide. it wasn’t until you looked up in alarm when someone bumped you that he noticed how gorgeous the rest of you was.

his palms tingled as his leg bounced up and down, his heart fluttering fast. he didn’t even know your name, how old you were or where you were from. he just knew he had to get your contact information before you walked off the train.

as peter frantically argued with himself back and forth on how he should go about attempting to talk to you, he nearly missed you as you rose to get off the train. like a bullet, he shot up from his seat and grabbed your wrist.

you shot him an alarmed glance, your expression frozen with fear. peter dropped your wrist immediately, his eyes widening with horror and his face turning beet red. “oh-oh shit, i’m sorry, i didn’t mean to-”

as you watched him stutter his way through an explanation, your fear slowly melted away and a relaxed smile took its place. peter pressed his lips together, hoping he’d get the chance to see it reappear.

“i-i was just-you’re really pretty,” he mumbled unabashedly, then immediately clamping his teeth down into his lower lip. “i was wondering if i could get your number?”

your cheeks flushed red as the train doors slid closed. “you think i’m pretty?”

he nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

peter felt like he was floating as he watched you dig out a pen, take his hand and scribble your number on it. the pen tickled his palm as you wrote, but he was too lost in your failure to hide your smile to notice.

the train lurched forward, sending you sliding forward with a yelp. peter’s strong grip caught you just in time, your eyes meeting in a brief exchange of shock. you immediately bounced up, still feeling peter’s fingers lightly hovering on your back.

“i’m sorry i made you miss your stop,” he apologized quietly, his hand dropping to his side. guilt flooded his body as you reached out and squeezed his shoulder.

“it’s okay,” you reassured, tilting your head to the right. “i can get off at the next one. it’s closest to the airport, anyway.”

and he watched you carefully step off the train once it stopped again, mesmerized as you shot a wave and grin his way. his gaze followed you as you walked away, your hand resting on the top your over-the-shoulder purse. peter glanced down at the ballpoint numbers on his palm. it had already smudged from the nervous sweating. he immediately copied it into his phone.

it wouldn’t be until midnight that he’d finally muster up the courage to properly compose a text that would spark the start of something wonderful.

the first time he’d heard your voice over a phone call, he’d immediately fallen for you all over again. it was nighttime where you lived, and your voice was soft and raspy. you often paused your sentences to yawn, and no matter how many times peter had begged you to sleep, you’d always stay up for ten more minutes just to listen to him talk.

fast forward a year and a million heart-melting texts later, you were floating on cloud nine as your thumb tapped the blue “send” button on your phone. you bit the inside of your cheek as you watched your long paragraph to peter send, showering him with affectionate nicknames and sweet words.

you glanced at the polaroids strung up on your wall, still hardly believing that it had already been a year since the cute boy on the train had prevented you from getting off at the right stop. and boy, were you glad he did.

you kept continuously glancing down at your phone, waiting for it to light up with a new message from peter. when it didn’t, you swallowed the small twinge of hurt. it must’ve been time zones. that was what it was, right?

hours later, you sank down into your bed on top of the covers, rolling over on your side to check your phone one last time before heading off to sleep. still no response. you scrolled up to the last message he’d sent. a week ago.

you swallowed the lump that had risen in your throat, trying to reassure yourself that it was okay as tears dotted your vision.

you wiped your tears away with the heel of your palm, slightly shocked that peter hadn’t bothered to respond to your text on your one-year anniversary. you sniffed, tugging your blankets closer to you. what was he doing all the way in queens, anyway? your tired, sleep-deprived mind immediately assumed the worst. were you breaking up? was he ghosting you because he was tired of you?

a quiet knock on your window made you leap up off your bed, your sleepy body immediately becoming rigid. “who’s there?” you cried, eyes darting around for the nearest object to use as a weapon.

“it’s me,” a familiar voice called. you blinked once, then twice. was your mind playing tricks on you, or was that actually-

“peter?” you asked hesitantly, waiting with bated breath.

“yeah.”

you rushed over to the window and ripped open your curtains to see peter perching on your window ledge, wearing his familiar blue midtown sweater he knew you loved. you gasped as you frantically fumbled with the locks on the window, pulling him inside as soon as you got it open. “peter, oh my god, what were you doing out there?”

peter wrapped his arms around you, hugging you close to his chest. “i needed to see you, especially on a special day like this.”

you hugged his waist, your head dropping on his shoulder. “how-how did you get here? and why were you standing on my win-”

he pressed a brief, hasty kiss to your lips, his thumb brushing across your cheek. both your bodies flushed with heat as you pulled away, the question on your mind already forgotten.

“i thought you were mad at me,” you blurted out as his fingers ran through your messy, untidy hair. “where have you been this whole week?”

“i was getting here,” he shrugged. “to see you.”

your bottom lip quivered as you sighed in relief, your fingers playing with his. “i’m such an idiot. i thought you were breaking up with me.”

“darling, i would never,” peter promised, squeezing your hand in response. “i would never.”

your teeth sank into your bottom lip as you threw your arms around him again, hugging him as tight as possible. you felt every muscle in his body relax at your touch, and you melted into his embrace. you couldn’t help it as your tears dotted his sweater-clad shoulder. it had just been too long since you’d seen him.

“can we cuddle?” he asked, his voice muffled by your neck. tingles shot up and down your spine as his lips moved against your skin.

“of course.” you gestured to the bed, where he immediately jumped on the covers like a five year old and opened his arms. a giggle slipped from your mouth as you crawled into them, letting him pull the blankets up and over your bodies. peter smiled. your laugh was even better when he heard it in person.

his hands wrapped around your shoulders as he tugged you closer. it wasn’t until you saw peter’s face up close that you noticed the deep eyebags that looked like they could carry groceries. you ran a thumb over them, shooting him a concerned glance. “have you been-”

“yes, i’ve been sleeping,” peter finished uncomfortably, waving your hand away. you frowned. liar.

“c’mon, peter, don’t lie to me,” you whispered, ruffling his dark brown hair. “y’know i love you.”

he wriggled around in your arms for a while before finally acquiescing to your worried gaze. “fine,” he grumbled, glancing down at your intertwined hands. “i-i’ve been having trouble sleeping-every time i close my eyes, i think of you in some sort of trouble and i can’t do anything from queens, when we’re miles apart, and-and-”

you wiped away the tears that had gathered in his eyes and were spilling softly down his cheeks, and placed a kiss to his cheek. “i’m here now, okay, baby? please sleep for me?”

peter stroked your hair gently. “i don’t deserve you, darling.”

”shut up,” you poked a finger into his side playfully to lighten the mood. he sniffled and chuckled, making you grin. “i love you.”

his arms closed around your body as he placed a series of loving kisses up and down your jawline. you sighed contentedly as you snuggled up into his neck.

after only a few minutes of cuddling into peter’s soft as fuck hoodie, you drifted off to sleep in his arms. peter blinked down at you, unable to keep a goofy grin off his face. it wasn’t until extremely late at night that he finally fell asleep, not because of nightmares. but because, for once, reality was better than his dreams.

permanent taglist:

@stiles-banshees @littlehealer @kehlanis-parrish @im-salt-but-not-salty friend @averyfosterthoughts @parkerslutz @zabdisamor @alopix861 @astronomical-parker @marshyrebelcloud @screeching-student-unknown @boyfriend-cal @miraclesoflove @zendayacolema @a-hardcore-romantic @cloudy-zoey @hollandsamor @aidiastyles @halfblood-princess-505 @deans-daffodils @kickingn-ames @stuckonspidey @cosmicholland @murdermornings @imanativeofswlondondahling @yaofanblogue @thwippeter @hollandfangirl @musicalkeys @starryjiani

peter parker taglist:

@givelove-always @starlightparker @kitykatnumber @seamusfnngan @im-salt-but-not-salty @averyfosterthoughts @spideygirl2003 @iam-thevillain-of-thisstory @alexxcorona113 @its-the-unknownspideywrites @astronomical-parker @yourlocalbisuperhero @pastelpeter @hobiflowie @trustfundparker @parkerpeter24 @herb_the_dino @kelieah @shadowsndaisies @the-crazy-fanfictionist @k-wedgeworth @starlight-starks @luvgxnya @quaksonhehe @awaywithtime @gayfeministbroadwayyeet @universeoffandoms1 @in-a-lot-of-fandoms-tbh @yoinkyourheart @t-monosapiens-h @throughparisallthroughrome @slytherinambitious @theamazingtomholland @drishtisikarwar @1missglum1 @clara-licht @anapocalypseinmymind

#ari writes #peter parker x reader #peter parker imagine #peter parker imagines #peter parker fluff #peter parker angst #peter parker smut #peter parker marvel #tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland imagine #tom holland imagines #tom holland angst #tom holland fluff #tom holland smut #peter parker

182 notes · View notes

iatethepomegranate · 3 years ago

Text

Just a fic about Caleb buying a house in Rexxentrum with Beau and Yasha, and coping with that kind of change and newfound stability (and becoming Professor Widogast). Angst and fluff are at war in this fic.

Content warnings: lots of grief, Caleb's backstory, referenced child abuse

Chapter summary: The Nein goes shopping and Caleb is tired. The market offers up an expected memory, and the chance to hold a little piece of childhood in his hands.

Notes: Title is from Nine by Sleeping At Last.

****

Chapter 4: I let the scale tip and feel all of it, it's uncomfortable but right

Jester and Caduceus were a force to be reckoned with at the marketplace. They had already convinced Caleb to let them buy him a set of curtains for his side of the house. Thick fabric to block out most light and definitely any nosy neighbours. They were a soft yellow-green patterned with watercolour chamomile flowers, which they had figured out were native to the Zemni Fields behind Caleb’s back.

“These are so pretty Cay-leb,” Jester said, gently sliding them into the bag of holding with Fjord’s help as they stepped out of the shop. “We’ll put these up as soon as we get back, okay? Yasha promised she’ll help us.”

Yasha was a little way off with Kingsley, her arm over his shoulders as they looked at swords at a nearby market stall. Caduceus dragged everyone off to stock up on kitchen necessities and more seeds for Yasha’s garden. And a ton of baking supplies, because Yasha had begged Caduceus to teach her, even though everyone knew no one had to beg Caduceus for that kind of thing.

Essek, disguised as a half-elf with soft brown hair and eyes, held himself a little awkwardly here in the heart of the Dwendalian Empire, but he defiantly refused to complain. He had little input on Empire goods, aside from wine, about which Beauregard happily bickered with him. Caleb was happy enough to let the others direct him, even if he theoretically knew the markets better than they did.

He trusted them. And he was so tired.

So he quietly followed the Nein around the market and let them make decisions for him with minimal input. He must have looked wrecked, because Essek, despite his disguise and clear nervousness, held his hand to anchor him.

Fjord, Jester and Kingsley bought him a ton of high quality paper and ink for the study, with Essek’s subtle guidance. Caduceus picked out basic kitchen staples for Caleb that would keep him fed even if he didn't have much time to cook, in the event he couldn’t eat with Beau and Yasha. Veth found some orange-amber cushions that complemented the curtains. Yasha found an orange-white checkered tablecloth that she declared matched his hair and therefore was a necessity for the house. She and Beau bought two, one for each side.

Caleb, in a lucid moment, found a soft blue rug for Beau and Yasha’s bedroom and bought it for them, despite their objections. It was only fair he gave them something back after everything they were doing for him. He would have to work out the logistics of installing a real-world sex mirror later as a proper gift. He’d ask Essek to help, and Essek would do it, but he would hate every second of it. The one sex joke he had ever made in front of the Nein was 50% deflection. And jokes were very different from installing a sex mirror for someone.

Jester would be up for it. A little bit of gold dust would be enough for Caleb to hold it in place with Immovable Object while they secured it.

Caleb was pulled from his calculations about dimensions and weight for a ceiling mirror when Veth tugged on his hand. “Hey, Cay. There’s an old lady selling homemade quilts. Rexxentrum is very cold, and you are going to catch a chill if we don’t get you something better than that one shitty blanket. Come on.”

She led him over, catching up with the rest of the Nein. Jester was chatting with an old Zemian woman sitting behind the table behind piles of bright quilts. The stitching sparked an old, old memory in Caleb, and he found himself stepping closer before he had consciously thought about it.

“Ja, I make the trip up from Blumenthal every few months,” the old woman said in a thick Zemnian accent, much thicker than Caleb’s after all his time travelling.

Caleb froze for half a second, easing himself through the shock of that information. “Ah, hallo, grandmother. It is good to meet someone from home.” This conversation would be easier in Zemnian. Common lacked the polite Sie form that Caleb would typically have used for respect. But he wasn’t sure he could handle having this conversation in Zemnian, so it was probably for the best.

The woman smiled up at him, her lips wobbly with age. “Hallo, young man.”

Caleb’s knees ached a little, just to remind him some parts of him really were not young at all.

She held out a wrinkled hand for him to shake. “Call me Lisbeth.”

Caleb had a strange moment of indecision regarding his name, trying to remember if he had known this woman as a child but coming up empty; Blumenthal was just large enough that it was possible not to know everyone, and she may have even moved there after he was gone. “Ah, Caleb Widogast.” He shook her hand. “I grew up in Blumenthal. This stitching is…” Why was he just saying everything that came to his mind?

“Very traditional, ja.”

“Ja, my mother used to make quilts like these...” His was probably ash now.

He was dimly aware that the Nein were watching him, and that Veth had done an extremely visible double-take.

Lisbeth searched Caleb’s face for one terrifying moment, and he was convinced that maybe she did know him after all. But then, whatever she saw made her soften, and she reached beneath the table. “I like to save my best work for those who will appreciate it. Here.” She laid a thicker quilt on top of the others. “I made one like this for my grandson. He wears it like a cape around the house.”

The stitching was a little more intricate, and the squares were detailed with minimalist animal shapes. Mostly cats. Una had taken Caleb’s cat obsession to heart; the quilt she had made him had been similar. Painfully so.

Caleb traced the stitching of an orange cat, his vision blurring. Essek squeezed his hand. Caleb blinked until he could see again. Even with the disguise turning purple eyes to brown, these were definitely Essek’s eyes staring up at him with a familiar look of both affection and concern.

“We’ll take it,” said Veth. Veth, who had already bought Caleb a house, and cushions. This was… no.

“Veth.”

“Caleb.”

He sighed. “A word, please.” He took her hand, leading her a little away from the group. “Veth, this is too much.”

Veth’s eyes were wet. “No. No, it’s not. I saw how much this means to you. Caleb, you just talked about your childhood and your mother to a total stranger. That’s not…” She sighed. “I saw your face when she pulled out that quilt.”

“I cannot let you…” Caleb could barely speak. “Veth.” He swallowed. “You bought me a house. You are still buying things for me. This is… I can’t take this.”

“Why not?” There was an edge to her voice, but it was a genuine question. “I thought we were over this. Why is this the line?”

Caleb did not know where he found the strength to stay on his feet when all he wanted to do was fall in a heap. He stared at the dirt.

“Cay, look at me. Please.” Veth couldn’t reach his face, but she absolutely could conjure her mage hand to lift Caleb’s chin until he met her eyes. “Will having this make you happy? Or does it hurt too much? I won’t force you to take something that hurts you, but if this is because you don’t think you deserve it…”

“I don’t know, Veth.”

They had spent a long time alone together, relying on each other to survive. If anyone could read him, it was her. She stared at him for a few moments, eyes moving as if his face were a real book.

“I don’t think you would’ve struck up a conversation with a random Zemnian lady if this was the bad kind of pain,” she said. She rolled her shoulders back. “That settles it: you’re getting the quilt. I’ll get the Nein to chip in if that makes you feel less weird about it.”

It kind of did. And Caleb didn’t have it in him to argue anymore. “Ja, okay.”

Veth pulled him down so she could kiss his cheek and led him back to the stall. “All right, everyone give me your money.”

It was probably a sign of how bad Caleb looked that nobody questioned her. But when Essek reached for his pocket, Caleb reached out to stop him.

“No,” he said. “Not you.”

Essek frowned deeply with the half-elf’s face, but the expressions were undeniably him. “Caleb.”

“No. You need that money. Do not put me through this.”

Essek’s face softened. “All right.”

The rest of the Nein, even Kingsley who still barely knew Caleb from a bar of soap, coughed up enough coins to pay for the quilt. Lisbeth, a little teary herself, offered a discount, which they refused. Jester and Veth gave her extra gold that Caleb couldn’t count through his brain fog. Okay, he was very much not coping if he couldn’t even count things.

Veth was too small to pick up the quilt without dragging it on the floor, even after Lisbeth had gently folded it, so Yasha accepted it from Lisbeth and handed it to Caleb. Old muscle memory took over, and he buried his face in the soft fabric.

“Danke schön,” he said quietly.

Lisbeth smiled at him again, but it was sad. “You should come by the market and say hello before I go back home in a few weeks.”

“I will.” It would hurt a lot, but Caleb meant it.

“Take care, Schatz.”

No one had called him that in a long time. It hurt. It hurt so much.

Grief was funny like that sometimes. You think you’re getting on with things, doing okay, and then there will be a scent on the wind, an old term of endearment, stitching identical to your mother’s… and you break.

Caleb squeezed the quilt and barely held himself together as the Nein led him back home. Whatever shopping they had left to do… they had wordlessly agreed to leave it for another day.

****

Back home, Caleb asked to be alone for a bit. That meant Essek was allowed. They laid the quilt out on Caleb’s bed, Essek’s disguise abandoned. Caleb stopped fighting the tears, letting the sobs come as he smoothed out the edges, fingers catching on a stitched golden retriever puppy.

Essek pressed his palm between Caleb’s shoulder blades. “Sit. Please.”

Caleb lowered himself slowly, wholly convinced he would collapse if he wasn’t careful, and settled on the edge of the bed. Essek pushed him onto his back and curled up next to him, guiding Caleb’s head to settle against his chest. Limbs tangled together.

No more words were said for a while. Caleb drifted asleep at some point, waking with a headache. Essek left briefly to fetch him a cup of water. Caleb stretched and his back cracked a little bit. He felt hollowed out, but in a good way. The way you felt after a good, well-deserved cry.

Essek returned in a few minutes, wiping his own eyes on his sleeve, and made Caleb drink the whole cup. “You should eat something.”

“Soon.” Caleb still felt a bit queasy from the tears.

Essek tucked himself into Caleb’s side, arm around his waist. He squeezed, just a little, and kissed Caleb’s collarbone. Caleb pulled him in close and kissed the top of his head.

“Danke.” The word was not enough to express the depths of Caleb’s gratitude that Essek had lain here with him through his grief, that he had taken such a risk to stay at Caleb’s side in the market to begin with. Under better circumstances, Caleb would have been furious with Essek for that, but they both knew Caleb had needed him today.

Caleb slowly rubbed his palm across the surface of the quilt behind Essek’s back. It felt exactly the same as the one he’d had when he was little, which Una had repaired again and again over the years because he was so attached to it. She had made it last until he was seventeen. Until the night he had destroyed everything because of a false memory, primed by faux-patriotic indoctrination and horrific abuse. Caleb would never fully shake off the guilt. Not entirely. Whatever Trent had put in his head, it had been Caleb’s hands that set the fire. But it was getting easier to accept that Trent had engineered the situation very carefully, so that Caleb did not feel like he had another choice.

He was glad Veth had convinced him to accept the quilt. One more piece of his past reclaimed. One more piece that could become a comfort instead of a knife in his ribs.

Caleb felt better. The two of them slowly stretched out their limbs, rolled aching joints, and headed to Beau and Yasha’s side of the house. There was a scent of baking in the air. Not apple tarts--Caleb probably would have broken again if it had been, no matter how happy the memory. He could smell spices.

They stepped down the stairs into the living area. Beauregard was grumbling over some Cobalt Soul report, while Kingsley, notably bored, lazily slapped her leg with his tail over and over. Fjord listened to Beauregard’s complaints with a constructed look of sympathy. Veth was openly ignoring her, head in her spellbook once again. Yasha, Caduceus and Jester were notably absent.

“Oh!” Fjord was very quick to find an excuse to stop listening to her. “There you are. The others are baking biscuits that none of us can pronounce.”

Beauregard rolled her eyes. “I’m telling you I said it right.”

“Caleb, help us out,” said Kingsley. “They’re some kind of spiced biscuit dusted with sugar while they’re still hot. Normally for special occasions.”

“This is a special occasion,” Veth told him. “It’s got the same number of syllables as fluffernutter. I think.”

Caleb suspected he knew what they meant. “Ah. Pfeffernüsse.”

“Yeah, that.”

“Told you I was right,” Beauregard muttered.

“They’re very good,” said Caleb.

“I think the first batch is almost done,” said Veth. “You should be our taste tester.”

Caleb crouched beside her on his way to the kitchen, pointing at the book. “Veth, that rune is upside down.”

“Fuck!”

He found the spell she was copying out in his own spellbook and set it beside her. “Here. It’s easier with more than one source. I’ll be back to help you in a moment.”

Caleb then stepped into the kitchen, with Essek on his tail. Yasha had a pair of soft pink oven mitts on, pulling a tray from their dark metal oven. Jester held a bag of confectioner’s sugar, bouncing in anticipation while Caduceus tried half-heartedly to close the bag before she spilled it everywhere.

“You’re just in time, Mr Caleb,” Caduceus said, giving up. “The lady selling baking supplies at the market gave us the recipe. I am not going to try pronouncing it again.”

“Pfeffernüsse,” Caleb supplied again.

“Yeah, no.”

Jester snickered. “He kept trying to say it while you were upstairs. It was very cute.”

By now, Yasha had set the tray down and put another in the oven. “Caleb, Caleb, come here! Look!”

Caleb stepped to her side and gazed down at the cookie tray. They were a little less round than the pfeffernüsse Caleb was used to, but recognisable. Jester came over and sprinkled the sugar over them with far more grace than anyone had expected.

Once cooled a bit, they brought the biscuits out to the living area. They were soft like Caleb remembered, and the spice blend was excellent. “These are perfect,” he said. “Thank you.”

Yasha looked genuinely touched, and swept him into a huge hug.

“May I help you next time?” asked Essek. “I have never baked before.”

“Of course,” Yasha said. “Caduceus is going to teach us to make bread soon.” She held up her hands in a slow-motion shrug. “Goes well with soup?” Her voice went up at the end, making it sound like a question.

Kingsley, who had absolutely not paid any attention to the conversation, shoved an entire biscuit in his mouth, his eyes widening to a ludicrous degree. “What the fuck? This is the best thing I have ever tasted.”

“We are famous for our baked goods,” said Caleb.

“You’d think Zemnians would be a happier bunch if this is the shit they eat,” Beauregard said, her mouth covered in sugar.

“Depression baking is a cultural pastime,” Caleb said.

“Bro, what the fuck?”

“Do you think Astrid and Eadwulf eat these things?” asked Jester.

“Probably,” said Caleb. “We used to.” That reminded him; he needed to message Astrid and arrange a time to discuss the job offer. “Ah, one moment.” He pulled out the copper wire, sticking to Common for the sake of his companions. “Astrid, it’s Bren. The Professors delivered the offer. Do you have time to talk? I am a little nervous about it. Time and place?”

Astrid replied in Zemnian, “Do you remember Trent’s old office? I’m there now. Come when you are ready.”

Caleb re-upped the spell. “I will be there in half an hour,” he replied in Zemnian.

Still in Zemnian, Astrid replied one last time, “I look forward to it.”

Beauregard was the only one who could understand the Zemnian half of what Caleb had said. “Caleb, I don’t wanna be patronising, but are you feeling up to that?”

“I want to get it over with,” Caleb replied. He clarified for the rest of the group, “I am going to see Astrid soon, to talk about the job.”

“I’ll pack some cookies,” said Jester, grabbing the plate and rushing into the kitchen. Yasha chased after her before she could break anything.

“Do you want an escort?” asked Fjord.

“Nein. I’ll be all right.”

“You will call if you need us?” Fjord’s voice was firm; it wasn’t a question.

“Ja, of course.”

****

Caleb was out the door in a few minutes, carrying a cloth bundle of six Pfeffernüsse, all that had been left of the first batch. It was four in the afternoon, the air having chilled a little but it was still pleasant. Caleb didn’t mind the cold too much, as long as he wasn’t trapped in it.

Walking into the Shimmer Ward was less frightening than it used to be. There would always be a lingering hint of anxiety, but he had it well in hand. There were crownsguard stationed at the Academy gates; they silently let him pass into the manicured gardens of the campus.

Coming here as a teenager had been a dream come true, which had quickly become a nightmare. Maybe coming back here to teach would let him reclaim those memories, turn them into something useful. He headed to the nearest tower, where he knew most staff kept an office. Trent had rarely been in his, but Caleb recalled that Astrid had been teaching here, so it made sense she would make better use of it.

The tall marble archways and huge windows had not changed one bit since the last time Caleb had been here, not long before he murdered his parents. Maybe coming here was a bad idea, especially after the day he’d had. Or maybe he needed to get this over with. If he got emotional about being here, at least he could claim it was because he was tired.

Muscle memory carried Caleb to Trent’s old office. He felt nauseous. He knocked on the door. It swung open, seemingly of its own accord.

Astrid was seated behind the massive, heavy mahogany desk. Caleb knew from personal experience how sharp the corners could be. He was going to be sick.

Astrid set aside her pen, capping the inkwell front of her. “Hallo, Bren.”

Caleb swallowed before he spoke. “Astrid.”

Astrid continued in Zemnian, so Caleb decided to match her. “Sit down,” she said , gesturing to one of the three chairs. They looked spindly and delicate, but Caleb knew for a fact how sturdy they were. And how much force it took to break out of any bindings tying one’s arm to the arms of the chair.

Caleb took a deep breath through his nose, picking up the spices of the Pfeffernüsse. It helped. He placed the bundle on the desk. Astrid’s desk.

“Jester, Yasha and Caduceus are experimenting with Zemnian baking,” he said quietly, letting himself fall into a chair. “They’re good.”

Astrid raised an eyebrow, gently picking at the piece of twine holding the bundle closed. She lifted a biscuit from the cloth. “They smell right.”

“They taste right, too.”

Astrid split the biscuit in half, handing the larger part to Caleb. He wasn’t sure if it was affection or distrust. She waited for him to take the first bite but also quickly followed suit, so maybe a bit of both. Understandable.

“These are good,” she said, finishing the biscuit and rubbing a thumb across her sugared lips. Slowly. It had to be deliberate. “You look tired.”

“Long day.”

“How is the house?”

“Good. Different. I am...” He laughed, just a bit, thinking over the last couple days. “A little out of practice. I don’t know if you knew… I was homeless for a while. It felt safer.”

Astrid did not look surprised. “I know.” She exhaled through her nose, visibly rousing herself. “You wanted to talk about the job offer?”

“Alphira would have made a terrible Volstrucker.”

Astrid cracked a small smile. “She told me about your meeting today. I apologise for her clumsiness. You took it more gracefully than I would have.”

“I doubt it.” Caleb didn’t tell her about his breakdown behind the shop. “A shame the smut shop is gone.”

“Evidently their business fell apart without your patronage.” Astrid gave an extremely put-upon sigh. “Wulf found another place. Get him to give you directions.”

“Kingsley is curious.”

“Yes, I am sure that is your only motivation.” Astrid cleared her throat and visibly put her mind back on task. “Bettina needs a replacement. The Archmages are falling over themselves to sing your praises. They are, in some ways, full of shit. Hiring you will terrify them. I think you will like that.” She glanced at the now-closed door and lowered her voice. “Headmaster Zivan Margolin is a weak link to Trent, but a link nonetheless. Your presence will make his life very difficult.”

Caleb matched her volume. “Whoever decided the Headmaster of Soltryce Academy should be the same person as the Archmage of Conscription is…” He sighed, unable to put into words how much the deck had been stacked against him, Astrid, Wulf and every other child pulled into the Volstrucker program. And how much it upset him. “What the fuck.”

“Margolin is busy pretending he loves you,” said Astrid. “He’s become a little bold in his claims that he saw your potential from the beginning. The Martinet is growing uncomfortable with the implication and will throw him to the sharks to save his own skin. One word to the right people…”

Caleb knew Beauregard would carry the message to Yudala Fon in a heartbeat. “We need to be careful. Take it slow. We have disrupted the Volstrucker pipeline for the moment. We cannot afford to stumble now.”

Astrid leaned back in her seat, looking very much like a cat who had just eaten a bird it had been chasing for miles. She raised her voice to a normal volume. “So, you will take the job?”

“I might.”

“Bettina told me your demands,” said Astrid. “We’ll put them before the Archmages. See what we can do. If nothing else, making the demands will prove a point no matter what they do about them.”

“Astrid, I am serious. I want them fulfilled.”

“I know. Bettina has suggestions about the ethics lessons. I agree you should teach it as part of the Transmutation classes, at least for now. Would we have listened when we were students?”

“I think that depends on who it came from. And whether Trent had gotten to us yet.”

“I agree. I think you will make a more compelling speaker than anyone else we could find.” She smirked a little. “You were always charismatic, and you have the lived experience to make an impact.” She took another biscuit, chewing thoughtfully, eyes tracing through the air as if she was reading calculations. “You said you were nervous.”

Admitting that in the Sending had been an impulse decision, born out of an emotional day. He didn’t regret it. Outside the Nein, Astrid probably understood best that Caleb had always been an anxious person, even if he had handled it much more gracefully in his youth. When he eternally swung between deep insecurity and excessive arrogance owed to his skills, and the fact he had known very well how charming he could be. Anyway, Astrid and Wulf knew his old insecurities well. Now he had new ones, and Astrid was trying to be on his side as much as she could.

So Caleb voiced something he wasn’t sure he would ever tell anyone else. “I have always wanted to teach. You know that. But. It’s a lot of responsibility. Maybe Trent is still in my head a bit, but I am afraid. He said that I am not the only ‘one of us’ in the Assembly who went through similar trauma. What if I… turn out no better than he did?”

“He also said you were defined by your trauma, if I recall.” Astrid’s face had shuttered a bit the instant Caleb invoked Trent. “He likes to find our pressure points and push until we break. You know that.” She took a third biscuit and shoved it into his hand. “He saw what he wanted to see, and he wanted his vision of you to be what the rest of us saw as well. I… made an error. I misunderstood your ambitions. As did The Martinet.”

“What did Ludinus think I wanted?”

“Power. Like most others in the Assembly. Revenge. Like most Volstrucker who have thought deeply enough about what Trent put us through.”

“He would have been right. Once.”

“I know. The first time you came to me, you were still very angry.”

“I never stopped. My goals changed. I… learned better, I suppose.” Caleb owed so much to the Nein, especially his talks with Caduceus that helped clarify what he did and didn’t want in the end.

“I didn’t. You know I would’ve killed him if you hadn’t stopped me.”

“I wouldn’t have resented you if you had.”

“You were right to stop me. It was more satisfying to shame him in public and have him tossed in a dark cell with a silencing collar glued to his neck forever.”

“And his hands glued together for just as long.”

Astrid’s eyes softened a bit. “One of the most beautiful things I have seen in my life.” Her gaze lingered on him, just a second longer than either of them could dismiss as casual. “How’s your beacon thief?”

“He’s fine.” Caleb wasn’t sure he could handle talking about his current partner with Astrid of all people.

“Have you seen him recently?”

“I am not telling you that.”

“I won’t turn him in. It would not go well for me.” Astrid rested her chin in her hands, searching his face. “Are you two happy?”

“Yes.” Caleb did not offer further details, and Astrid did not pry.

“You deserve it.” She smiled down at the bundle of biscuits. “Tell your friends thank you for the Pfeffernüsse. Will you take the job?”

“I will.”

“Good. For what it’s worth, I think you will be a good professor. You and I both know how important that will be.”

Caleb matched her sad smile. “No more children on the pyre.”

“No more.”

Caleb felt better. He could do this. It would take more than one person to make change, but he could do his part. Astrid had her ambitions, but he knew her in a way very few people did. There were conversations to be had between them, more damage to stitch up.

But it had been a long, emotional day. There would be more days. More time to pull the vulnerable from the flames, to stand between them and the remaining elements of this government who would use, abuse and discard them.

And, he hoped, time to care for those had already been hurt.

#caleb widogast #shadowgast #critical role #fanfiction #my fics #the pomegranate's professor widogast fic

10 notes · View notes

randomfandomnerd · 4 years ago

Text

Sunshine and Shadows- Chapter 1

Watching Nico talking to Annabeth and Percy, Will mentally slapped himself in the face. That conversation had gone about as smoothly as the surface of the moon. There was no chance of Nico ever willingly talking to him if he behaved like an overprotective mother hen, although part of him still wanted to wrap the son of Hades up in a blanket, burrito-style, and hand-feed him nutritious snacks.

“Solace!”

The harsh tone of Clarisse’s voice snapped him back to reality.

“Quit admiring Di Angelo! I know you’d be more than happy to do that all day, so I’m reminding you now! You have an appointment after lunch to give Chuck a check-up DO NOT BE LATE OR YOU’LL BE GETTING AN APPOINTMENT WITH MY SPEAR!”

On that friendly note, the newly-elected godmother stormed over to the Athena Cabin to harass the campers who had offered to weave clothes for the new-born satyr. Gods help whoever stood in the way of her warpath. She adored Chuck and was determined to make his life as perfect as possible.

Will nodded vaguely, before turning back to watch the son of Hades. He couldn’t help it. It wasn’t his fault that Nico was so gods damned attractive. Nico laughed at something Percy said, the action lighting up his face, making him truly look like the angel his name said he was. He gave Annabeth a high-five before heading back towards where Will was standing in front of the Apollo Cabin.

Will noticed a blush creeping into his cheeks and quickly turned away, mortified. A moment later he felt a prod at his shoulder and looked up to see the son of Hades regarding him questioningly.

“Will? We’d better get these 3 days over and done with then, right?”

Startled, Will let out a weird laugh that sounded like a piece of machinery made by Cabin 9, before nodding, turning round, and promptly walking into the doorframe, much to the amusement of Kayla, who was sitting inside, waxing her bowstring. Embarrassed, he quickly changed from his flip-flops into something more suitable for the infirmary before emerging again onto the porch.

✧✧✧

Nico was waiting for him on the porch, leaning against a post, drumming his fingers against the railing. When Will approached him, he stood up and gestured for the son of Apollo to lead the way. The walk to the infirmary was short, thank the gods, and Will spent the time determinedly staring forwards. A few campers were hurrying around, carrying supplies. Will nodded a hello towards Jake Mason, who was with a few other Hephaestus kids. The older boy didn’t have crutches any more, but preferred to use a cane when he had to walk around. Typical Cabin 9-style it had several cool additions, such as being able to extend into a fighting staff and, if Harley had anything to do with it, probably a flamethrower somewhere. The scarily muscular 8-year-old was chatting animatedly to his older brother, but he wasn’t at his usual bouncy self. Harley had worshipped Leo, and had been devastated by his loss. It didn’t help that now, closer to the start of school, all of his siblings, save for Nyssa, would be heading home or to college for a while. Will made a mental note to hang out with him more.

The two boys reached the doors of the infirmary and Will opened one, stepping aside to let Nico in first. Once they were inside, Will made a beeline for an empty bed at the back of the infirmary.

“We save the front beds for anyone that comes in with a really severe injury”,

he explained. He gestured for Nico to sit on the bed while he fussed around, clearing some of Austin’s sheet music away from a chair before plonking himself down on it. He’d have a word later with his brother about working on his compositions in the infirmary. Glancing up, he noticed that Nico was looking rather awkward (and adorable). He kept moving his hands around, as if he weren’t quite sure what he was doing, whilst desperately avoiding eye contact with anyone. Right. Nico wasn’t a people person, and it was currently quite busy in the surrounding area. Will stood up to draw the blue curtain around their area, before turning to address the son of Hades.

“I know this is primarily for you to get some rest, but I think I should give you a general check just to make sure nothing other than your irresponsible use of underworldy powers is a problem.”

Nico scowled at him but didn’t argue, instead opting for a curt nod. Will continued,

“I’ll start by looking under that bandage on your arm”

He reached out to Nico’s arm

“Is this ok?”,

he asked. Nico paused slightly, before nodding again. As gently as he could, Will raised Nico’s arm and began to slowly unwind the bandage, revealing several nasty-looking red claw-marks gouged into his skin.

“Werewolf claws”,

mumbled Nico. Will frowned.

“These are definitely infected. I’ll check for a fever and get some ambrosia for you. I reckon these will leave scars.”

He hesitated, then leaned in and brushed Nico’s raven-black hair from his forehead. It felt soft and, to his dismay, Will found his cheeks turning pink again. Holding the back of his hand against Nico’s pale forehead, he noticed how warm the son of Hades was.

“Nico, you’re burning up!”,

he announced before rummaging around in a nearby cupboard for some ambrosia and anything else he could use to treat the wound. He noticed a rather sad-looking Aloe Vera plant. Didn’t his siblings know that Aloe Vera should be placed in direct sunlight and not at the back of supply cupboards? He placed the poor plant in the windowsill, before taking a washcloth and some antibacterial ointment from the cupboard, along with the promised ambrosia. After thoroughly washing his hands, he handed the ambrosia to Nico, who began to delicately take small bites out of it, while he wet the cloth under the tap and started to carefully clean the wound. Nico winced slightly when the cloth made contact with the infected area, but had a slightly dopey faraway expression whilst he ate the ambrosia. Will wondered what Nico tasted when he consumed ambrosia. When Will ate it he tasted the sweet lemonade his grandma made whenever he returned home to visit. He tended to remain at camp most of the time, due to his mum always travelling for work and his insistence not to attend any sort of boarding school, but every now and again, he would fly over with a satyr protector to stay at his grandparent’s house with her. When he left, he would spend most of his time wondering when, or if, he’d ever get to go back. Especially after having 2 big wars in the space of a few years. Of course, his problems were all miniscule compared to what Nico had had to go through. He’d had to face the death of his sister, being alone with only a ghost for company, knowing about Camp Jupiter and not being able to tell anyone, being kidnapped and locked in a jar by crazy giants, and then on top of all of that had to deal with everyone at camp avoiding him, because they thought that he wasn’t normal. It all made Will so angry at the world, for allowing some people so many good things, when Nico could probably count the number of times he’d been happy since coming to camp on one hand, and still have fingers left over to spare.

Nico cleared his throat, and Will realised to his embarrassment, that he was staring again. He sheepishly placed the cloth in the sink, before lightly spreading a thin layer of the antibacterial ointment over the claw marks and murmuring a prayer to his father, while wondering if it would even work, seeing as Apollo was probably at that moment in time in the middle of a long lecture from his father, Zeus, concerning Octavian, the evil stuffed-toy destroyer (Percy had treated the whole camp to a story at the campfire of how his panda pillow pet had been brutally slaughtered).

He then covered the wound with a gauze pad, finishing by gently wrapping a length of bandage around, to prevent further infection.

He turned round to clean up while giving Nico strict instructions,

“I’ll talk to Chiron and explain that you are under no circumstances to partake in any sort of training exercises. You should spend most of your time here, getting some much needed sleep, however I think it’s a good idea for you to attend 1 meal a day at the pavilion, which will also allow you to have some healthy time outdoors. The rest of the time I will provide food for you.”

Even though he was facing away, he could imagine the son of Hades glaring daggers at him.

“I can get food myself. There’s a McDonalds near enough that the shadow travel shouldn’t hurt me.”

Will sighed in exasperation, running a hand through his hair and turning around to face his stubborn patient.

“Really? What part of ‘you can’t even summon a wishbone without melting into a puddle of darkness’ do you not get? I’m not even going to start on the ridiculous lack of proper nutrients in a McDonalds meal. What can they offer you that camp doesn’t?”

Nico raised his chin in a show of defiance

“Does Camp Half-Blood offer snazzy boxes? No I thought not. It also has an over-bearing mamma bear watching my every move. When I agreed to this, I expected gentle rest, not a prison sentence.”

He dramatically flopped back on the bed, his head on the pillow.

“I’m not even tired! Not one bit!”

Fixing his glare at the ceiling he mumbled

“This is a nice pillow. Soft and squishy.”

On that note, he fell asleep, still muttering about how fully awake he was. Amused, Will shook his head and stepped out of the curtained area into the main area of the infirmary to see Cecil and Austin chuckling in his direction. Austin was in the process of checking Cecil’s strained calf muscle and met Will’s eyes with an amused look.

“Why William my dear brother, I do believe that you have met your match. He’s just as headstrong as you are!”

Disgruntled, the senior counsellor of the Apollo cabin went to the storage closet to reorganise the medical supplies.

#heroes of olympus #rick riordan #trials of apollo #riordanverse #nico di angelo #will solace #solangelo #camp half blood

48 notes · View notes

pugh-bug · 4 years ago

Text

Scott Lang x reader

Chapter 3

I’m back at uni so writing this is comforting. I really hope you like this chapter - anyone who’s following this.

‘Plot’ : reader lives in Stark Tower with the Avengers slow burnnnn

Warnings: none 🌚 yetttt ... except swearing as always

FUUCK. You’d been ill for a week and just as you thought you were getting better in time for Clint’s birthday party you took a turn. Most of Stark Tower had helped you out in some way, whether it was Bruce trying to find a cure using his 7phds or Thor keeping you company by thrashing you at Mario Kart. As you always did when you got sick you were grumpier and even more indecisive. On Monday you didn’t let anyone visit you and chose the company of your pillow and the fly that wouldn’t leave your window sill over seeing anyone.

Scott had visited you with Nat and Tony but only alone once and of course you had been asleep that day. When you woke up you weren’t being watched, which was a good sign you weren’t getting sleeping with the enemied, and you felt slightly less like shit. Your throat didn’t feel as assaulted by food so naturally you searched your room for snacks on all fours. Standing still made you feel hot and woozy, as if the floor was miles away but touching you at the same time. Your head felt screwed on upside down whenever you tried to stand so crawling was an okay second choice. The carpet was rough against your soft hands and knees.

As you crossed the floor on all fours with your eyes on the galaxy bar Thor had left, the door opened. ‘Ton-‘

‘There’s something I’m missing isn’t there? So this makes sense?’

Scott.

You didn’t need to look up to know what face he was pulling but you did.

‘Standing hurts.’ Was the explanation you gave (making sure to lay on your ‘I’m sick’ voice for effect and possibly sympathy). Everything was beginning to piss you off. Your skin felt so hot. Your brain filled with fast images of volcanoes, fires and anything else you were apparently as hot as. The carpets existence was irritating. Against your bare knees it was starting to feel like itchy shards of rock. You just wanted to go to sleep. Scott was blankly looking at you, probably regretting entering the room at all.

‘Hmm?’

You mumbled something incoherently. The urge to act like a grumpy child because you felt sick was incredibly strong. It was the driving force keeping your eyes open.

‘Not that your mumbling isn’t charm-‘

‘I said I want to sleep!’ Your interruption came out as more of a yell than you intended. Scott widened his eyes before laughing ‘Okay you big baby.’ On a normal day that wouldn’t have bothered you in the slightest but the needy, self pitying part of you was thriving off making itself sad and you did want to sleep. You really wanted to sleep. Scott walked backwards away from you until you realised you didn’t want him to leave. ‘Please don’t lea-‘

‘Ah! Y/N still feeling gross and generally... miserable and... well..not-good?’

Thor’s voice carried before you saw his enthusiast, slightly concerned, face pass Scott’s. Scott don’t leave. If you thought it loud enough maybe he’d stay. Wanda was so lucky, she could make people stop in their tracks to talk to them. Scott was sweet, he would have stayed if you had asked but you didn’t want to have to ask.

You decided it would be wise to stand up and you did. Slowly. If your grandmother could see you she’d think she was athletic kind of slow. It didn’t go unnoticed by your Asgardian friend. ‘Y/N?’ He frowned and closed your curtains making you sleepier. As you attempted to crawl into your bed which seemed to sigh at your return Thor asked if he should fetch Scott. Fetch Scott? Scott wasn’t a doctor?

‘Why?’

In a rare moment you and Thor were not on the same page and he knew it. The visible confusion in his face and the change from a powerful God like stance to an unsure one drove that home. He even tilted his head like the giant puppy he was and didn’t answer.

‘You can if you want but he left. I’m fine here, I’m gonna sleep.’

His face implied he knew something about you that you weren’t admitting to yourself. That wouldn’t fucking fly. ‘Thor,’ your voice became impatient as you shuffled under the covers. ‘If you’re not gonna bring me chocolate can I... jus-I-‘ but just like Scott he left. It was fine. You could finally try and lucid dream and get some rest.

You closed your eyes, despite it being 4pm, but of course trying to sleep was a criminal offence in Stark Tower because Scott’s hand was suddenly beside you. Even with your eyes almost fully closed you knew it was his hand. They were usually slightly dirty from repairing the Antman suits despite Hank’s advice against it (he wasn’t great at listening) and you’d wanted to hold them so many times you’d lost count.

You weren’t even sure if you could speak but Scott didn’t. For once the two of you were silent. No snarky remarks and no magic tricks or childish behaviour that made Stephen roll his eyes. It felt odd. The light that was managing to escape through the edges of the curtains barely reached Scott’s face. What you could see was the man on his knees beside your bed like you were in a hospital bed. As the thought was born you couldn’t help but wonder if Scott would be the person you’d want if something awful happened to you? Tony would take it personally, Thor would be hurt but he was becoming your favourite person somehow.

Did he expect you to speak? More than enough time had passed for him to comfortably speak but he stayed silent with you. It felt like something you shouldn’t discuss with anyone including Scott. It felt like the two of you were sitting in a sensory deprivation tank in the dark and your sleepiness was overwhelming. Your breathing became heavier as your eyes closed you heard Scott finally speak.

‘Goodnight Y/N.’

When you woke up you knew he’d be gone. It would be inappropriate for him to stay. Out of everyone in Stark Tower the closest you’d gotten to sleeping beside someone was with a very drunk and sad Wanda. But you’d really wanted him to stay. The light entered your window just as you let your brain become infected by thoughts about what that long silence could have meant? Had he wanted to grab your hand? You hated how high school and desperate he had unknowingly made you become. You needed to get your mind on other things.

After a week of sleeping for far too long and being made fun of by Tony and Clint your - whatever it was you were a medical mystery - had cleared up. Your master plan was to spend more time with the one person in Stark Tower who brought out your mature side. Who was an excellent distraction from torturing yourself over every Scott interaction you had.

‘Peter don’t chew with your fucking mouth open. It’s gross.’

You watched in disgust as Parker made every vile mouth noise a human could possibly make. In fact he’d probably surpassed a world record. Scott stopped buttering his toast just to gasp in ‘horror.’

‘Y/N! You can’t swear at the kid. It’s like swearing at a little bird!’

Stephen scoffed. The ‘sexy uptight magician’ ,as Tony had lovingly dubbed, had no patience for most conversations. Especially ones that didn’t involve him or how excellent he was at everything.

‘All I did was eat toast!’ The baby retorted and you almost felt bad for him. ‘You’re so mean.’

‘The fact that you two are only 2 years apart is shocking.’ You tried not to let Scott’s comment get to you but you felt smugger by the second.

‘Frightening.’ Tony added before smiling at Peter, like exhausted fathers do at their complaining kids. You smirked in Peters direction who scowled at you as if to say you’re not as grown up as you think you are. You finished your toast, listened to Tony and Stephen bicker effortlessly and watched Scott. He always ate while watching people like he was David Attenborough or someone in a documentary. Instead of ‘Blue Planet’ the title would be ‘Superhero’s and why you shouldn’t live with them’. He always ate stood up. He always leaned back onto the kitchen top and made it look casual instead of an effort to look sexy (which you suspected it was). He always left some food on his plate because it went cold while he was distracted and he often caught your eye when someone was being entertaining.

‘Atleast I know how to dress myself...Stark.’

You hadn’t been paying attention to their petty argument but Scott’s eyes locked onto yours. Amused and then a look of realisation hit him. ‘Y/N I haven’t even asked how you are!’ He crossed the kitchen towards you and Stephen and Tony shut up.

‘I’m fine.’ You laughed and raised your eyebrows at Tony, who was watching you and Scott like a snake. He was standing behind you, the scent of overheated electric wires and warmth reaching you. ‘Stopped sleeping for 13 hours,’ if no one played their cards right you would start rambling about your ‘health’ for an hour just to fill the quiet. Peter was distracted on his phone.

Without any hesitation Scott’s large but boiling hands reached your face. You leaned back so you were directly looking up at him. He was glowing with pride at his actions. ‘For fucks sake!’ You squirmed away from his hands. ‘Why are they boiling? Jeeeez!’ Of course he laughed at your overreaction but they really had felt like hot pokers on your already warm cheeks.

‘You didn’t need warming up?’ He asked quietly, sensing he was on thin ice, but knowing the answer. Tony laughed but Stephen seemed deep in thought and somewhere else. You knew how that felt.

‘You’re worse than Tony.’

With every ‘angry’ remark at Scott you felt yourself making everything safer. It was easy to argue with him like he was Tony irritating you or even like Peter. That silence the week before had not been safe. Sitting with him on the roof hadn’t been safe either.

Despite your anger, that maybe he just saw right through as the opposite, Scott stayed stood behind you. His fingers started to gently run through your hair and a loud exhale of breath left your chest. You wanted to sink into his touch like a needy cat. No one ever played with your hair and it would have felt comforting if it had been anyone but having it be Scott..

Peter started rambling which brought Stephen out of his head and back down to Earth to interrupt him. Tony, however, had his eyes locked on Scott’s fingers playing with your hair. He gave you a knowing look and you mentally shunned him. You didn’t want him in your head right then and there.

‘How can you agree with him?!’

Scott seemed to be listening to Peter and Stephen’s discussion but you couldn’t care less. His hand brushed down your neck and settled onto your shoulder. You suddenly felt tiny, sat in Tony’s egotistical table chair with Scott looming behind you. ‘What do you think Y/N?’ Shit. Did he know you hadn’t been paying any attention? Was he testing what effect his touch had on you? What a thought.

‘I think...’ you suddenly sat up so Scott’s hands had nowhere to go. The last thing you wanted was Tony deciding to point out Scott’s touchy feely behaviour in front of everyone. ‘That I want to see if there’s any Ben and Jerries left.’ What a save.

‘There’s not.’ Peter shrugged returning your his phone. The little shit.

‘Here we go.’ Tony and Scott chuckled because they knew what was coming.

Taglist: @supraveng

#marvel #marvel fandom #scott lang x reader #scott lang fluff #scott lang #avengers x reader #tony stark #paul rudd #slow burn

23 notes · View notes