#I was only drawing for about an hour too :( why must it be like this

[moeblob]

A lil guy !

[dahldahlbills]

nano day 15

total word count: 582 😬

my main priority was finishing scene 9. which I did! I’m a bit clueless as to how scene 10 is gonna go, and I’m too tired to think abt it rn so that’s tomorrow’s problem lol

Officially halfway through nano!! Total word count is 21174, leaving me ~4k short from the goal. I’m hoping I can pick up the pace a bit next week. I keep telling myself that it’s fine if I don’t hit the 50k and I know it’s fine if I don’t. But being short 4k kinda stings lol. Like it’s right there. ah well ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ we still have 15 days who knows what’ll happen

thank you to everyone who’s cheered me on so far!! The encouragement is extremely appreciated :’)

[keferon]

Eh okay so. My brain is absolutely cooked so you will probably just have to ignore the linguistic fuckups

Jazz and Prowl learning to communicate because language barrier is a thing >:D

Previous part

Jazz sometimes thinks that somewhere along his career path he lost the bar separating normal from...well...everything else.

After all he's seen, heard about, and done, he's not sure exactly how to measure what's weird and what's normal. He has..the general idea.

His own. And it's so convoluted and fucked up that he'd rather jump into a volcano than try to explain it to anyone else. Jazz thinks the little colorful aliens around him are weird as hell. He thinks they sound weird, he thinks they look weird, and he thinks he must be going crazy.

And then this big black and white robot catches his eye and Jazz's first thought is not "what the fuck??"

His first thought is

"Thank God! Someone's normal!"

Whoever this guy is, he sounds like he knows what he's doing. And most importantly, he looks just like Jazz. Well, not exactly. But close enough. After all, Jazz knows that his organization wasn't the only mech maker on the entire planet. Other countries were making Mechs too, and Jazz hadn't seen even half of them.

But he can recognize a giant robot when he sees one, okay?

The thought that another mech could be an alien doesn't even enter his mind.

So used to the constant presence of huge piloted robots around him, he looks at this one and clings to its appearance as something familiar and easily explainable. His brain says, we know how this works. There's a robot and inside the robot there's another person. It's the way it's always been. The sky is blue, the grass is green and the robots are human-piloted. It's that simple.

The guy takes him to the far corner of the room and says something. Jazz…doesn't understand..

The mech's face contorts in a surprisingly believable display of concentration. How...who built this robot? How could they make it frown?

He hears something else being said to him but again can't understand a word. Why won't this pilot get out of the mech to talk to him? Jazz doesn't have his communication frequency but surely they could at least shake hands. There must be some reason. Maybe something wrong with the air? Is it dangerous to be outside? This guy should know better, he's been here longer than Jazz, it seems.

(Damn it, whose idea was it to make a mech with a face, it's so distracting)

He rushes to activate the external speakers, because he and this guy obviously speak different languages, but it never hurts to try, right?

"So uh, I don't think you can understand English?"

Mech frowns again, trying to pick up on something familiar in a language that's apparently new to him. But finds nothing. Jazz lowers his horns sadly.

Oh well. Fuck. As if being stuck in an unknown place with unknown creatures wasn't enough, he can't even talk to anyone! How is he supposed to get out of here? Which way should he even go?

The mech waves his hand to get his attention and then pulls out a tablet and a stylus from..where ?

Jazz somehow manages to overlook the fact that the tablet is made to fit the mech's size. His head is still feels a bit…off..after that portal thingie.

"Charades it is then."

____________________

An hour and a half later, Jazz finds himself staring intensely at the screen in front of him with a surprisingly neatly drawn chart on it.

"So uh. Motion."

The other guy nods and starts drawing a walking mech. Then something that looks like a very unusual car. Then a submarine. Jazz gets a little lost looking at how skillful he is with the stylus.

Honestly, he's a good artist!

The guy points to the sketch of a walking mech and says

" Motion."

Then points to the drawing of a car driving and the columns of the chart.

"Motion-rotation" he points to the car again.

That must mean "driving" huh? Jazz nods understandingly.

Mech moves his finger to the submarine.

"Motion-Water."

Ah, it must mean swimming. Jazz nods once more, feeling like a wind-up dummy repeating the same motion a dozen times.

The mech makes a quiet humming noise and then points to the chart

"Motion. Sky."

And then gives Jazz the stylus?

Uh, what is he... Oh, he wants Jazz to figure out what it means.

"Motion" and "sky," right?

Jazz takes the stylus? Pencil? Thingie.. and very carefully draws out a crooked scribble of something only remotely resembling an airplane. The mech arches an eyebrow and looks like he wants to laugh.

Jazz shrugs awkwardly and tries to add windows to the airplane, but ends up making it look more like a severely fucked up caterpillar.

Mech snorts.

Jazz kicks him in the leg.

The airplane begs for a merciful death.

Jazz didn't really expect to get into a language class but he has to admit that whatever language he's learning now is a surprisingly easy one. It only took the other dude half an hour to show him the basic concept and from there it became a game of associations.

There were simple definitions. Like size, quantity, speed, emotion and so on.

There were signs that automatically turned the whole sentence into a question or a statement.

There were modifiers that Jazz defined in his head as positive and negative.

Positive speed - fast.

Positive size - large.

Positive direction - forward.

Positive time - future.

There were also basic words for senses, emotions and whatnot, also with modifiers.

Mouth-positive - to speak

Brain-positive - to think, but negative-brain-do-positive - to learn.

Huh.

And it's so neatly organized that Jazz wondered if this language was designed specifically to be easy to learn.

Let's see....

Mouth - positive, effort - negative.

"Easy to speak."

The guy nods contentedly and starts talking back, while pointing to the appropriate columns of the chart to make it easier for Jazz to understand.

"Creation-positive. Purpose. Person-negative-knowledge. memory-positive-effort-negative."

Jazz frowns, concentrating on his finger.

Oh. Created. For those who don't know it. Easy to learn.

He was right. The whole thing is waaaay too awkward to write poetry but learning it is a delight.

Jazz leans over the chart.

All right, well, let's see.

“Name. You. Question?”

The other guy smiles and pokes at the chart

"Me.Motion-sound-negative.Negative-eyes-positive-someone."

Walk quietly. searching?… Sneaking?

Oh, it's not "to sneak" it's "to prowl"

"Prowl" nods affirmatively. Jazz smiles at him and looks at the chart again. Okay. How to say “music”?..

“word-knowledge-negative.”

He stops to make a gesture with his hands, as if playing an invisible piano while humming a tune.

Prowl nods

“Sound-positive-positive-hearing.”

Jazz chuckles

“A whole two positives eh? Okay then. Uh. You don't look like you listen to jazz....so..”

“Me. Name. Sound-positive-positive-listening.”

Prowl raises his eyebrows. (Jazz is jealous, he wishes he had eyebrows too.)

“You're a musician?"

Jazz quickly shakes his head while simultaneously muting the outside speakers to a barely audible level and turning on one of the songs on his playlist.

Prowl twitches in surprise when he hears the melody.

Jazz waits for the intro to finish playing and then points to himself

“Creation-negative..uh..Sound-positive-positive-hearing. Jazz. This...”

He pats himself lightly on the chest.

"..is me. Jazz."

Prowl straightens up slightly

“Oh, you're not a musician, you're the music.”

Jazz nods cheerfully

“Yes yes!”

“Jaaz?”

“No no. Jazz.”

“Ah. Jazz?”

“That's right.”

Prowl draws a portal on the screen.

“You teleported here. What happened?”

Jazz hangs back, trying to construct an answer in his head. Good thing Prowl seems to have infinite patience

“So, I uh. What was 'fight'? Movement-pain-positive? I fought these things...”

He takes the tablet from Prowl and draws a crooked blot with a bunch of tentacles on it. Then thinks for a bit and adds big teeth and a lot of eyes. He's not really sure how to draw those eyes properly, so he just scatters them randomly around the monster area.

Prowl doesn't seem to be that amused by Jazz's drawings anymore, in fact, he suddenly becomes very somber.

“Quintessons.”

He pokes at the monster

“Name-Quintessons. Number-question.”

How many?

Jazz scratches the back of his head

“So uh...a lot?....number-positive-positive-positive-positive-positi...you get the idea.”

To be convincing, he dramatically spreads his arms out to the sides depicting something very large.

Prowl looks alarmed.

And unconvinced.

“How did you survive?”

Jazz laughs pretentiously

“Ask them how they survived.”

Prowl makes the “you can't be serious” face. Jazz isn't quite sure what exactly is confusing him. Mechs are designed to kill Quintessons, aren't they? Judging by his movements, this pilot must be damn good at controlling his mech, and that kind of guys usually fight on the front lines.

He decides to put that thought aside for later. There are more important things right now, like...oh shit, where is he even going??

Jazz leans over the chart again

“Uh. Right. Question-we-move-up-place” Man, how to specify... “Knowledge-negative?”

Prowl, linguistic gods bless him, understands him and starts gesturing over the chart in response

Okay. Ah. I-move-up. Planet-creation-positive.

'I'm heading home' or 'my home planet'.”

Jazz instantly perks up.

“Oh that's great, I'm pretty sure I'm supposed to go there too.”

Prowl is speaking in a language he's unfamiliar with, so he's definitely from another country, but hey, who cares as long as it's on Earth, right? He just needs to get there and he'll find his own way from there.

He watches the space debris flicker by outside the window. Even the stars are unfamiliar, Jazz can't find any constellations he knows.

One of the little purple creatures says something and Prowl steps aside to chat with them. Jazz leans back and settles into a more or less stable position. Then does the same thing, but with his real, human body. Hell, his head still feels really fucking weird after that teleportation.

He opens the comm channel and just listens to the static for a couple minutes in the faint hope that the engineering department will find a way to contact him.

Nothing.

He sighs.

“1061 on the com. In case there's any way you can hear me...ah shit. You guys won't believe what happened...”

___________

[Next]

[i-cant-sing]

TIME TRAVELER AU PT 2

Original post/idea here. Part 1 is here. Part 3 is here.

Check out my MASTERLIST for more!

I fucked up.

You thought as you sat on the bed, holding your head in your hands.

I fucked up so baaaaaad.

Not only have you healed Baldwin of his leprosy, forever changing history of the LEPER KING, but also managed to somehow be his bride. To make matters EVEN worse, you cant just up and leave right now because you dont know the disastrous effects it'll have on the future now that Baldwin wont die of leprosy, which means that the kingdom of Jerusalem wont fall to Salauddin and his muslim army and after that its just a domino effect.

You tried to view your options here.

I stay here, marry Baldwin and fuck up the fabric of time and space because how can someone from the future marry someone from the past? Wouldnt I cease to exist?

I leave, return to my time where authorities arrest me for fucking around with time- that is, if I even exist in the future now that I've altered history. Who knows if my ancestors survived/were born after this?

No. Neither option is good. I need to stay here and fix this. But in a way that i dont draw too much attention to myself so that im so insignificant that nobody remembers, let alone writes about me in the history books.

You were drawn out of your thoughts with someone knocking on your door. "Come in." You said, straightening yourself.

A couple of servants walked in, all women. "Princess Y/n." They all courtesied. "We've been sent here by his majesty to prepare you for dinner with him."

Princess? Ah yes. Only a couple of hours ago, Baldwin had proposed to you, I guess the concept of asking wasnt a thing here as he just slipped on the big beautiful ring on your finger.

You narrowed your eyes at them. "First of all, Im not a princess. You will address me as Y/n only. And secondly, Im not going to join him for dinner, so there's no need to prepare me" The maids all shared a look of confusion before the head servant spoke.

"But we cant address you as anything else until you wed the king, after which you will be our queen, princess."

"Didnt I just tell you not to call me princess? Just call me Y/n!" The head maid shook her head. "Princess, we can not do that. If we do, then we would be punished. And we must prepare you for dinner with his majesty!" The maids moved ahead to start helping you but you raised a hand, halting them.

"I said, no." You said sternly.

"What... what will we tell the king, princess? He's expecting you-"

"Tell him i cant come because Im sic- no, Im not feeling well and Id like to be alone." You cant say "sick" in this era, because that means "death sentence" here and you dont want to be fretted over and bring attention to yourself as "the king's fiancee got SICK!". Besides, you do need to be away from Baldwin as much as possible and have some time to plot your moves.

-

You had pulled out your notebook and began writing out dates and historic events of this era to plan your escape. You're trying to find some sort of shortcut where Baldwin gets sick again and dies, leaving his kingdom in the hands of his sister and brother in law, who will bring its downfall-

Someone knocked on your door gently. "Princess?" You quickly hid your notebook. "Come in."

Baldwin walked inside and towards you, eyes worried as they scanned you up and down.

"I heard you're not feeling well?" He asked and before you had a chance to back away, he had cupped your cheeks in his hands tenderly. "What's wrong? Shall I fetch the royal physician?"

"No." You replied with your face smushed in his hands. "I'm fine." You pulled your face away his large hands.

Confusion spread through his blue orbs. "Then why did you not join me for dinner?" He asked, using a hand to push your hair over your ear, not taking the hint that you didn't want him touching you.

"I just-" what possible excuse could you come up with that would be both effective and not insulting enough to have your head chopped off. "you- you dont care about me."

Baldwin looked at you in bewilderment. "I dont... care about you? Princess, how can you say that?" He tried to cup your cheek again but you backed away before he could, putting on a face of hurt.

"How can I not? You dont care about what I want, or even ask me what I need?" You feingned pain in your voice, turning away from him for dramatic effect.

He grabbed your shoulders and turned you towards him, his pupils grew wide as if trying to search for what it is that you need. "My love, what do you want? Just say the word, and I'll give it to you."

You looked down, again for the theatrics, and Baldwin lifted your chin. "Go on."

"You never- never asked me to marry you."

"Huh? But I did today-"

"No, you stated it- demanded I marry you." You furrowed your brows and looked down again.

Baldwin smiled. Of course, how could he have not asked you? You were a girl after all, you want to be courted the traditional way. Its not your fault that you dont know that kings do not ask permission for things. They just get it, because who would refuse to marry a king?

He kissed your forehead, lifting your chin again to meet his eyes. "Im sorry, princess. I shouldve asked." He took your hands in his and had that charming smile again. "Will you marry me, Y/n?"

"No." You shook your head. "I... I cant marry you, your majesty." You said, adding tears into your eyes. His brows furrowed in concern.

"What? Why?" You tried pulling your hands away but he didnt let go, tightening his grip ever so slightly.

"I-" well, you could say that youre not catholic and the church would never let you two get married, but you also dont wanna be tortured for being a "heretic". Maybe religious differences could be the last plan. Taking your silence as hesitance, Baldwin spoke. "I can offer you everything and more. Jerusalem would be yours. What is it that I lack that anyone else could offer?"

"I am not a good match for you!" Ah yes, lets do the typical "its not you, its me." You bit your lip as you yanked your hands out of his and walked towards the window, your back to him (theatrics). "You and I are not equals- no we are nowhere close! Youre a king, your father was a king, your family is royalty. I come from nothing, as did my ancestors. There will never be stability in our marriage when we come from such different backgrounds!" You never thought that you would be putting yourself down and call yourself "inferior" to break up with a man.

Silence hung in the air, as you held your breath.

"Youre right." You heard him say behind you. "We are not equals, we never will be." For some reason, instead of being relieved, a chill ran down your spine. Baldwin wrapped his arms around you, resting his head on your shoulder. "I may be a king, but youre far superior to me. You're an angel, sent to me by God, and you saved me. I wouldnt be king anymore if you werent here, princess."

Warmth spread from your cheeks to the tip of your ears, both due to the close proximity and his words. Sensing your bashfulness, he chuckled, kissing your cheek as he turned you around to face him. You could hear your own heart beat at how close he was.

Baldwin tilted his head, half lidded eyes staring at you. "Youre everything and more that I could ask for, princess. Never put yourself down and compare yourself to me, hm?" He said, giving your arms a gentle squeeze before moving away, but not detaching himself completely as he took ahold of your hand and looked back at you.

"Now that this is settled, let us go eat. I've had the servants prepare a feast for us and then we can discuss wedding arrangements-" shit shit shit shit shit fuck it!

"I'm not catholic!" Baldwin halted at that. You've already said it, might as well dig yourself a deeper hole. You let the tears form in your eyes. "Im... Muslim. I didnt tell you because I didnt want you to think I was working for Salauddin and spying on you for him, you know I wasnt! I really did only want to know about you. Please believe me, I wasnt-"

"I believe you."

What? Just like that.

"You- you believe me?" You breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you. Once again, Im sorry i didnt tell you I was a Muslim, but dont worry, I'll pack my things and leave tonight-"

"Why? We still have to get married."

You blinked slowly. "But... Im Muslim?"

Baldwin shrugged. "So? It doesnt change anything."

You looked at him in bafflement. "It does! It changes everything! We cant get married! Im a Muslim! The church wont allow interfaith marriages, and I dont intend on converting to catholicism either if thats what youre suggesting!"

"I am not suggesting that. You can be a muslim if you want to, but we're still getting married." Baldwin stated matter of factly.

"The church wont allow it-"

"The church will do as I say. I am the head of the church. Besides-" He smiled.

"I dont remember angels having to prove themselves to be a catholic. You saved my life, you cured my incurable disease. As far as the church is concerned, youre a miracle sent to me by God. Youre the Chosen One!"

Is he... is he hearing himself? Can you try to convince him?

"But... but Jerusalem deserves a Catholic Queen-" you tried weakly, but he cupped your cheek and smiled gently at you.

"I am Jerusalem, Y/n. And I deserve you." Was all he said before pecking your forehead.

He tugged you along with him. "Now, we have to eat."

You dont want to eat. You want to stay behind and think of another strategy because clearly you cant talk yourself out of this wedding.

"I'm- I'm not hungry." You said, making him frown.

"How is that possible? You havent had anything since morning. I dont want you getting sick before the wedding." Baldwin continued to pull you along.

Does he not listen?

"I dont want to eat- I- dont feel like it." You said a bit harshly this time, hoping he'd take the hint.

And he did, finally stopping. He sighed and let go of your hand. "Okay. I suppose if you really dont want to, we can skip dinner tonight." Fucking finally. "Its just... I seem to have developed a habit of enjoying meals with you. And now that my leprosy is cured and I have no more diet restrictions, I just- I had the kitchen prepare some of my favourite dishes that I was able to enjoy before my disease disabled me."

You stared at him. Is he- is he trying to guilt trip you? Baldwin once told you that due to leprosy he had ulcers in his mouth, and he couldnt eat different types of food, and was only able to have bland, soft goo.

You looked away from his big sad eyes. He's not getting to you. You need to go back to your room, make yourself scarce, be far away from him as often as possible.

"You can still go and eat dinner alone."

With one hand, he cupped your cheek. "Princess, you know I cant eat until you eat too. But its okay, if you dont want to eat, then I wont too. I guess I'll just have the servants finish the chicken roast and oh-! They even made strawberry cream cake for dessert. But- maybe another day."

You looked into his eyes, those blue orbs that were filled with sadness, resembling a kid who was just told "no candy!"

Sighing, you held his hand. "Maybe I can have a few bites."

His face lit up. Ah, he knew you'd come around. "Lets go!"

-

The next day, youre helped by the maids to get ready for the day. Apparently, Sibylla wanted to meet you and discuss some things, and you suspect she wants to talk about the wedding preprations.

The maids had prepared your bath and were very insistent on washing you themselves but you made them all leave the bath chambers. Finally, they compromised when you told them that they could dress you up if they wait outside.

Setting your old clothes on the bed, you entered the bathroom and settled into the warm water. The essential oils and flower petals soothed your mind and body, and you finally had some desperately needed silence to hear your own thoughts.

Last night at dinner, Baldwin was very- well, "happy" would be an understatement to how he felt near you. And all those forehead kisses and skin contact doesnt go unnoticed by you either. You suppose that since he had leprosy, he never really had or was allowed to touch anyone else. But now that hes cured, all thanks to your dumb ass, he craves the physical intimacy.

You closed your eyes as you sank deeper into the warm water. Gosh, did I really have to give him the water? Had I not done that, he would still be ridden with lepro-

Your eyes snapped open. Thats it. You just have to make sure he never drank your water in the first place! Yes! You can go back in time and sure, its always dangerous to go back in the same time period more than once, but you really dont have any other option now, do you?

After half an hour, you finally exited the bathroom and the maids practically ushered you to sit in the chair as they finally, FINALLY got to dress up the future queen of Jerusalem and after a whole hour, they're finally done. And... well you look good. Your hair has been done nicely, and a delicate golden headpiece, almost like a elegant hair band sits on top of your head. They added some color to your cheeks and lips with crushed berries. As for your clothes, they dressed you in a dark blue tunic with loose, flowing sleeves. The tunic itself was made of silk, probably brought in from the Byzantine empire and was only available to the upperclass of this time.

"I am not wearing those!" You said when they opened the jewellery boxes. There were diamonds and other precious stones adorning the earrings and necklaces.

"But princess, you must wear these. It is royal protocol for the king's bride to be, and the future queen to wear the royal jewels." The head maid said. She doesnt know that you dont plan on sticking around and if you leave wearing these jewels, who knows what havoc would that cause?

"No. I dont want to wear them."

The maids shared a look of concern. "What?" You asked them.

"Its just... his majesty picked these out for you himself. He would be mad at us if you were not wearing these." One of the younger servants spoke as she fumbled with her fingers. Through the mirror, you looked at everyone's worried expression. You doubt that someone as calm and collected as Baldwin would lose his marbles over his fiancee not wearing jewellery.

"I dont think the king would be mad at you if I dont wear some jewellery. He isnt one to get angry that easily, you know?" You said chuckling, but it died when you saw them share the same concerned looks again. This time, you turned away from the mirror to look at them directly. "What? Go on, no secrets."

Another maid mustered up the courage to mumble. "Well- it's just- the king- I mean- his majesty is calm but um-" she paused to look at the other maids for help but they all avoided eye contact. "Out with it." You said a bit sternly.

"His majesty... gets... emotional- yes, emotional! When it comes to matters concerning you."

"Emotional? What do you mean? Speak clearly, no word will get out of this room, I promise." You spoke all while glaring at the other maids to make them silently comply to not tattle on their friend.

The maid bit her lip. "His majesty... gets mad when he thinks that you're not being treated well." You gave her a look to continue. "A few weeks back, while you were strolling out in the garden, his majesty reprimanded some of his knights for not escorting you. He asked them why they weren't guarding you?"

A few weeks back? It may have made some sense for Baldwin to be protective of his bride to be, but you two weren't engaged until yesterday. And before that, his relationship with you was barely platonic, more like a king-servant thing.

"Tell her about the kitchen incident too." Another maid whispered.

"What kitchen incident?"

"Um, 2 months ago, when the kitchen had prepared a feast for his majesty, he almost fired the entire kitchen staff for serving olives with the entree." You gave them a quizzical look. "Well, his majesty had told them that you can't eat olives and had told them not to include it in the palace's food. But it was a feast to celebrate his victory and the staff thought it'd be best to add olives because the king likes them."

Your eyes widened at that. He almost fired the kitchen staff because you said you can't eat olives? I mean, it's not like you're deathly allergic, you just didn't like how tart they were and when Baldwin saw you picking them out on your plate, all you could manage to blurt out was that you can't eat them. Perhaps, he thought you had diet restrictions like him.

You huffed. That still didnt warrant such a reaction from him. "That isn't nice. Don't worry, I'll talk to him."

The maid looked at you in horror. "No! I mean, his majesty would not like that we- um..." she tried to come up with appropriate words that wouldn't be insulting. Her scrunched up face as she thought hard made you giggle.

"Fine, fine. I won't say anything to him. You have my word." You said, smiling at them assuringly.

The head maid then held out the pearl necklace to you. You sighed and nodded, and they all cheered as they started picking out the jewels for you.

Its okay. You told yourself. I can always drop them somewhere before time travelling.

-

As soon as you were dressed, one of Sibylla's lady-in-waiting came to fetch you. She hurried you, saying something along the lines of "you must see princess Sibylla right away!" And you couldn't stop her from pulling you along, so time travelling will have to wait.

"Princess Sibylla needs to see you right away, princess!" The maid said as she pulled you towards a room. Knocking on it, the door swung open and you were met with the sight of different gowns hanging on dummies with maids tending to them, and right in the center of the room was Sibylla, practically jumping on her heels.

"Y/n!" She yelled out as she ran towards you and engulfed you in a hug before her lady in waiting, the same one standing beside you, cleared her throat. It caught Sibylla's attention who gasped softly before backing away and immeadiately giving you a courtesy. "I mean, princess Y/n." You gave a nasty look to the lady in waiting before shaking your head at an embarrassed Sibylla. "You don't need to courtesy to me, princess Sibylla."

She immeadiately beamed. "Of course I do! You're not going to be just my sister in law, you're also going to be Queen of Jerusalem! Of course i bow to you."

Me, a queen? Yeah, we'll see about that.

"Still, I consider us friends before anything else." You offerer her a small smile. "You called for me?"

"Oh? Oh, yes!" She immeadiately grabbed your hand and pulled you further into the room. "I didn't know what colours and material you preferred, so I ordered them to bring everything with the best seamstresses in kingdom!" She pointed at the seamstresses, who bowed to you.

"But... I don't need clothes. I already have a wardrobe." Your statement made Sibylla laugh as did a few of her hand maidens.

"Ahh, you're so naive!" Sibylla giggled. "That wardrobe doesn't exist anymore. You're a princess, soon to be queen, you need a royal wardrobe!" She said as she dragged her hand over one of the gowns, feeling the material. "And! You still have to select your bridal gown!"

For the next 3 hours, Sibylla had the maids show you different gowns and materials, even helping by giving her input as to what would suit you.

"I still like my old clothes, they're quite comfortable." You sighed. Designing your new wardrobe was not something that needed your urgent attention at the moment. You need to return to your room and get the time machine from your old dress and leave this era.

Sibylla nods. "I understand what you're going through. I still remember how they burned away my entire wardrobe when I married Guy. But I suppose its poetic in a way. Since you're starting a new life, so why not start one by getting new clothes!"

Wait.

"They burnt all your old clothes?" Sibylla nods. "Mmhmm! In a way, you're burning away your past! And starting a new-" You didn't stick around as you immeadiately rushed out of the room and made your way towards your own.

You can't- your old clothes has your time machine. If they burn it, you can't ever leave!

You burst into your room, looking at the empty spot on your bed where you'd left your clothes before going in the bath.

"No." The maids, they must've put it in your closet. You searched it, searched your entire room but to no avail.

A maid walked into your room, watching you tear apart the bedroom. "P-princess? May I help-"

"Where are my clothes?!" You walked upto her, the poor maid's fright apparently on her face. "WHERE ARE MY CLOTHES!?"

"They- they're burning it-"

"WHERE?!"

"The gardens!"

You ran out of your room, and made your way towards the royal gardens as fast as you could, but with how huge this palace was, getting there took a while. Not to mention when you did get to the gardens, you didn't spot anyone there, but you did notice the smell of something burning, which lead you to the back of the gardens, that was away from everyone's sight.

There you found them, two maids burning your clothes in a small bonfire.

"PUT IT OUT!" You yelled as you rushed towards them, startling them.

"Princess-" they began bowing.

"Didn't you hear me? PUT THE FIRE OUT!" They scrambled about trying to find some water, but of course, they didn't have it.

"I'll get it from the fountain!" The two maids ran to get a bucket of water for you, but it would be too late by the time they came. So when you spotted your old dress burning, you pulled it out with bare hands, not caring about burning yourself.

The dress was mostly burnt to ashes, while only few bits remained that were still on fire. You managed to wrangle out your time machine out of it, the small metal box that was burning hot and left marks on your skin as you tried to hold it.

But even from here, you could see the damage was done. The area that displayed the year had now completely melted off, as did some of the buttons.

No. No. No. No. No. NO!

You couldn't help but cry as reality began to set in. You're stuck here.... you're stuck here forever.

Heart wrenching sobs wracked your body as you tried to hold the hot metal machine in your hands, your skin burning as you tried. Even when the servants came and poured the water on the fire, you still kept on crying, clutching your machine to your chest, partly to conceal it, partly from helplessness.

The maids looked at each in worry as they tried to console you, tried to pacify you, lest you had them executed. But it didn't matter, you were inconsolable. While one of the maids sat by your side, trying to soothe you, the other one ran in to get help.

Moments later, when you were able to hide the machine in your clothes again, someone came up and touched your shoulder from behind.

"Y/n?" You looked up through your tears. It was Baldwin. For some reason, seeing him only made you cry harder as you finally realised that you were stuck here with him. That you fucked up permanently.

"Oh princess. What's wrong? Don't cry- shhh, I'm here." He pulled your body towards him, letting you sob into his chest heartbreakingly. Exhaustion, frustration and shock must have overtook your body, as you fainted in his arms.

"Princess? Y/n?" He tried waking you up before collecting you in his arms and rushing back into the castle.

-

Hours later, you woke up to find yourself back in your room, lying in your bed. Your eyes looked down at your hands which were now wrapped in bandages. They only served as a reminder of what youd lost- your time machine.

Tears welled up in your eyes again. Am I- am I really stuck here? You sniffled.

A hand came up to caress your cheek, startling you.

It was Baldwin. "Princess? Do you want to tell me what happened?" His soft tone made you even more sad, and you raised your bandaged hands to wipe your tears, but he caught your wrists and lowered them back gently, using his own hands to wipe away the tears.

"No, you cant use your hands for sometime. The burns need to heal." His hand remained on your cheek, thumb caressing the area under your eye. "What happened, Y/n? Why were you so upset?"

You cant avoid the topic for long, and now that your way of escape is gone, you need to be careful of what you say and how you act around the king.

You let out a shaky breath. "They... they burned my clothes."

"Mmhm. Dont worry, I will have them bring in the fanciest clothes for you. Sibylla will make sure of it. Only the best for my princess." You shook your head. "Its not- its not that... They were my clothes... they burned away-"

"I know... but its a tradition. The maids burn away the bride-to-be's old clothes to signify that youre detaching yourself from the past and starting a new life." He explained, watching as you sniffled. Clearly, you were still upset over this.

"But the maids, they still should've informed you of this tradition before doing anything. I know how emotional of a transition this could be for girls." You nodded sadly, heart still sinking at the loss of your machine. "Dont worry though, they will be punished harshly for it. I have them in the dungeons tonight, and tomorrow-"

"What? Punished? No!" You cut him off. You dont want anyone to die because of you, especially when you dont know if anyone these people could potentially be an ancestor of yours.

"But they caused you harm. You burned yourself due to their-"

"No, no. Please, don't punish anyone- I- it was my fault for not knowing about royal traditions! Please, your Majesty, I beg you- don't do this- i- i-" You pleaded.

"Shhh, okay. Okay. I won't punish them for it." He patted your hair. "On one condition."

You looked at him in confusion.

"You call me Baldwin from now on." He grinned. "We are to be husband and wife soon, I don't want us to use royal titles with each other."

Your eyes widened. Is he- is he really giving up titles? You're not that blind to see his attempts at intimacy, but what you don't understand is why or even how you came to be on the receiving end of it.

What exactly is it about you that has made him want to marry you? Surely, Baldwin would've preferred to marry someone of this era, someone who is more compatible with him. Despite you trying to blend in the past months, you allowed Baldwin to see how you're not... as Conservative as most people of this time period are. One could say that he may be impressed by how intelligent you are than others, but it also brings up the factor of being "threatened" or "insulted" by the same intelligence.

Even though you consider beauty to be a "subjective" thing, the whole "beauty is in the eye of the beholder", you're not blind to how attractive others are. So why not them?

Did he only like you because you're intriguing? Does he still think you're a spy? Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer?

Probably. Or maybe he really does believe all that mumbo jumbo about you being "an angel sent to save him."

"As you wish... Baldwin."

-

Last night, after Baldwin had left you to rest, you stayed up and tried to figure out if you can fix your time machine, and if not, then can you built another one?

Fucking hell. You closed your eyes. I made it once, I can build it again. But it's easier said than done.

Back in the present, you had the technology to build it. Now? You have to first make the technology and the tools from scratch before you could even get on making your time machine, all while keeping your science project discrete, which was easier before because you weren't going to be married to a fucking King!

Right now, you're sitting in Baldwin's private dining room (yes, there are more than one dining room. He's royalty, what did you expect) having breakfast- well, being fed breakfast.

"You really don't need to do this." You said as Baldwin fed you another spoonful. He smiled as he wiped your lips with a napkin. "I don't need to, I want to. Besides, I don't want my princess starving."

Involuntary, your face flushed. "I- the maids could've fed me. And im not a princess." He frowned slightly. "Why would you- open wide, princess- why would you want the maids to feed you when you have me?" He pushed the spoon to your face as you parted your lips, but then he pulled it away and brought his face close to yours. "Do I make you nervous?"

You backed away immediately. "I- no- I mean-"

He burst out laughing. "I'm- I'm sorry princess, but you are just too endearing!" Baldwin chuckled as he grabbed the spoon again and fed you.

Your cheeks reddened, this time more out anger than embarrassment. "I don't want to eat anymore." You muttered, turning your face away.

He smiled as he brought the spoon to your lips again. "Ah ah, but you still haven't had enough." However, you rejected again, looking away instead of replying.

He sighed, placing the spoon back on the plate. "I'm sorry, princess. I shouldn't have laughed at you."

"You shouldn't have." You mumbled, face still turned away from him.

His lips quirked up a bit. "You know, for someone who insists that she's not a princess-" He turned your face to him gently. "- you sure have all the blandishment of one."

"Blandishment?"

"Flattering actions of a princess." He nodded.

You frowned. "Are you calling me a spoiled princess? A brat?"

"I would never!" Baldwin gasped. "I enjoy you acting like royalty, demanding respect and attention. You deserve it and more. Besides-" He picked up some food on the spoon again and brought it to your lips. "Even if if you were a spoiled, bratty princess, I wouldn't mind. I would enjoy spoiling you, hm?" He nudged the spoon to your lips softly.

You parted your lips, making him smile. It really is hard to stay mad at him when he looks at you with his baby blue eyes. They just- they draw you in.

"Also, before I forget, I will be leaving the castle today to meet Salauddin. So you can either hand out with Sibylla, who still wants to help you design your wedding gown, or your can-"

Salauddin? "Why are you meeting Salauddin? Isn't he your enemy?"

He chuckled. "Only on the battlefield. He and I have developed a friendship, or a mutual respect over the years. As to why I'm going to meet him, is... well, you."

"Me?" He nodded. "Since you told me that you're a Muslim, I thought that we could perhaps have a discreet Islamic wedding- what is it called? Nikkah? So, I could go and learn more about it from Salauddin."

You opened your mouth to protest. You don't need to be part of history as the "king of Jerusalem's Muslim wife" or "the Muslim-Christian wedding that took place during the Crusades", even if it might make the world more progressive.

But then, you didn't protest. "Can I come?"

Baldwin raised a brow at you. "You want to meet Salauddin?" You shook you're head. "Well, no, not really. I mean, I don't mind meeting him, but I just want to get out of the castle for a bit. It's been months since i left this place, I just want to get some fresh air." This could be the perfect opportunity for you, because if memory serves you right, Muslims of this era had made significant advances in science. Maybe you can use their help to get some tools to make the time machine again.

Baldwin looked unsure. "I don't know if it would be safe for you-" you held his hand with your bandaged ones. "Please, Baldwin? Can't you take me with you? And wouldn't I be the most safe when I'm with you?" Ah yes, stroke the male ego.

Finally, he smiled.

"Alright. I supposed it would be fine, after all, you should see the kingdom you're going to be the queen of."

Thoughts? (Also, I need to go shower rn, so I'll put the read more later. Doing so much effort for u guys, my spoiled greedy children)

Part 3 is here.

[rhodes-knightwife]

I am so obsessed with this fish it's unreal, honestly.

God's normalest soldier. I know it's off-type and a patrolwoman is only knight-adjacent, but I have to at least talk about some of the things she's done. In no particular order, this fish:

- Once intimidated a Victorian noble into submission, entirely by accident, by being perfectly capable of keeping up with his small talk and outdoing him in talking about the weather; she later recalled this entire conversation, word for word, from memory so she could recount it to her girlfriend and ask what she'd done wrong

- Constantly draws squiggles and squares on her sketchpad in a way that helps her think but is incomprehensible to anyone else... except the Doctor, and honestly that's basically worse than if even they didn't understand; this got to the point that Warfarin - an actual medical doctor - assumed she must think too fast for her own brain to keep up with and needs the sketchpad as an assistive device

- Compiled a detailed report of her own life, including extremely private events, and then stood stock-still for seven hours while a mortified Doctor read it, incapable of speaking up about how abnormal it was due to how intimidating she is

- Was rejected from the Abyssal Hunters program, not for being the only person insane enough to willingly apply to have Eldritch Jellyfish Goo injected into her veins, but because she was doing it to mimic the world's edgiest DILF

- Regularly spends hours in the kitchen creating 'food' that's more akin to sensory experiences, like chewing herbs or spiced jerky you're only meant to let soak in your mouth, then pairs those with artful poems or delicate drawings; she then puts them in the cabinets because she's too used to uploading things to the Atlantis 3D Printer Omninet, where they're promptly snatched by Ceobe before anyone can see

- Has several kinds of neurotoxin that she can apply to her gun, all of which have meticulously thought-through use cases

- Wrote a thesis on the ineffectual physical results of coffee as a stimulant, after shotgunning 10 espressos and not feeling a thing, and proceeded to extol the virtues of the drink as effectively a placebo since all the culture around coffee implies it should work, and so that's why she assumes it does; she even blended her usual stimulants with coffee in order to create something suitable for her experiments, and it's some neon blue sludge

- (Of note, that last thing is her module... which raises the amount of poison damage her shots do)

[unknownati]

Hello, Sunshine!

First of all, I loooove your writing. Like, *chef kiss*

Ok, so: since Arcane 2 came out i've been obssessed with Ekko, so (if u can and are okay with it) I was wondering if you could write something about him with an s/o who has very bad periods? Personally, I'm someone who has bad periods (I'm talking irritability, lower-back pain, vomiting...) and I would really appreciate it if you could write it ❤

Thank you!

viii. ekko x afab!reader w/ bad periods (hcs)

a/n: first of all, SUNSHINE 😭😭😭😭 anyone else who makes a request you MUST call me sunshine

second, thank u!! i hope u like this as well 🫶🏾

third, i'm working on the current reqs i have, so they are coming if you submitted one. i also have some other ones on the side of my own that i'll be dropping as well ^_^ i mainly do write at night, so if they take a while that is why.

warnings/tags: not fem!reader at all! literally just for anyone w/ a period lol, no use of y/n, no description of reader's physical features, nonsexual intimacy, just fluff! 🙋🏾‍♀️, writing this made me realize my periods may be worse than i thought

_______________________________________________

-carries pads and/or tampons in his OWN bag/pockets 😭 you're like, "ugh, i think i started," and he sucks his teeth, discreetly sliding you one.

-before you started living together, he kept a separate cabinet in his bathroom open just for you. same brand of pads/tampons you like, a heating pad, pain killers, and fresh towels.

-started paying attention to your cravings and keeps those stocked up, too.

-does NOT let you go on firelight patrol/missions while you're on your period. insists you rest up until it's over.

-he got a pull-out couch from scar that he didn't want anymore and made it super comfy for you— stuffed the cushions extra, got you a weighted blanket, extra pillows, everything.

-then he put it right in his work room.

-he wanted to make sure he could keep you comfortable, even while he was busy.

-he basically made it a corner for you, with a little snack bin, a huge canteen of water, and a bucket if you ever needed to throw up.

-if you have long hair, he rushes behind you to hold or tie your hair back while you vomit so nothing gets in it.

-hearing you trudge in and groan as you throw yourself onto that couch is always bittersweet—he loves your company, but hates that you're in pain.

-he cannot help dropping multiple bad jokes (that you probably won't laugh at, cuz ain't shit funny right now)

-has absolutely said "it's uter-US" before and you could not tell if he was joking or not

-i fully believe that ekko can and will THROW DOWN in the kitchen for you.

-give that boy a speaker for some music and a stove and you will somehow have a 5 star meal in a few hours.

-he is sometimes a little clumsy though and manages to burn a few things because he's too busy using a spoon as a microphone. you scolding him for it never gets old.

-will rush to finish his work, or sometimes even abandon it to come cuddle you to sleep.

-"everything hurts," you grumble, his weight making the bed dip a little when he climbs in. his arms were around you in the blink of an eye.

he's littering your cheeks and neck with kisses, the tenderness of them making your entire body relax. he leaves only when he hears your breathing slow and low snores fill the air. it takes him a moment to force himself to get up and get back to work.

-leaves little gifts and drawings lying around to make you feel better. little drawing of you here, small box of dark chocolate there, little things like that.

-sits in the shower or bath with you, his chin resting on your shoulder while you lean against his chest.

-if you're showering together, he'll gently sway back and forth with you. he's gotten used to how boiling hot you like your showers, especially during your period, so now it's nothing to him.

-if you're in the bath together, his fingers will dance along your shoulders and chest, the small laughs that you produce literally sending him to heaven and back. his voice, hushed, utters praises into your ear.

he would have been the one to run the bath as well, pouring extra soap and epsom salts in there to relax your body (and his muscles).

-simply put, ekko's love for you is LOUD. hardly stated, but always felt.

[just-a-sewer-goblin]

Collars of Duty 3

Hybrid!Simon x reader

- Chapter 2 - (Chapter 4)

When Simon's not waking up, you stay by his bedside. Things start to look up, but when does life ever go smoothly?

~8,6k words

Content: hybrid AU, medical inaccuracies, nudity, talk of torture, hints at sexual abuse, probably more that I forgot

Your tired eyes are trained on Simon’s figure. It’s been more than five days by now and he still hasn’t woken up. The doctor says his body needs time to heal and is probably protecting itself by staying unconscious. It makes sense but that doesn’t mean you have to like it. It induces you with anxiety and whenever you get too far lost in your thoughts you have to wipe your sweaty palms on your pants.

Against the white sheets his ears look even darker than before. With the amount of hours you spent studying his face, you’re pretty sure you could draw him from memory by now. His nose, that might have been straight once but previously has been broken and was set badly, is slightly crooked. His thin lips, the lower one slightly fuller than the upper are parted a bit and you can catch a glimpse of his dangerous canines. If you aren’t mistaken his left fang is chipped but you’re not entirely sure from the small glimpse you got of it.

He looks almost ordinary and it’s confusing. He lays there, just a male hybrid but what he’s been through is anything but normal. Everything about him is unremarkable yet somehow it’s hard to look away. Maybe it’s the composition of his features that holds your eyes. He looks kind in his sleep, relaxed a stark contrast to how he looked in the cell. His lashes are long and you wish to see his eyes again.

Why is he not waking up? You’d take him growling and threatening you at this point if only he woke up.

The nurse comes in to take care of the wounds dressing and to clean him up. You turn away to give him privacy, keeping your eyes on the wall. It’s not like he’ll know and he probably wouldn’t care but you would not want anyone to watch your unconscious body get cleaned so you avert your eyes. And if what the doctor suspects is true then his privacy and body have been violated enough.

The nurse doesn’t talk; he’s humming while working to take care of Simon’s body and it’s nice to hear something that sounds positive even if it’s only a song and not good news. The quiet rustling of the sheets somehow calms your mind. Everyone is doing their best, you remind yourself.

Before leaving the nurse asks you if you need anything and you decline with a thankful smile.

Once more you look at Simon, his arms now resting on the covers instead of under them. His hands are big, his nails dirty and you almost reach out to hold the uninjured – well, less injured - one. Something holds you back from doing it.

With the things Simon probably went through he’s been touched without his permission enough. Even an innocent touch like taking his hand seems like going too far considering how little you know him and the fact that he’s not awake.

He’s still big and broad even if he lost most of his body fat, his muscles showing in unnatural details under his skin. When he’s back to a healthy weight he must be an absolute unit of a hybrid. Even weak like this he was imposing back in the cell and you wonder whether you will measure up to him. Did you overestimate yourself when you decided to take him on as your charge?

It feels horrible to sit there and wait not knowing when he’ll wake up. Not being able to do anything but wait. Earlier he got wheeled out so they could examine his body again; make sure that everything is healing right. The doctor told you his body is on a good path but it doesn’t help as much as you hoped.

What use is a healing body if the mind refuses to use it? You didn’t say that out loud, thanking the doctor and staying by his side. You considered going home to sleep but the thought of Simon waking alone felt so utterly wrong, that you slept in the chair by his bedside instead.

The reminder of how it calmed him in the cell to have someone who explained the situation to him keeps you rooted to his side only leaving when absolutely necessary.

At some point you had started talking to him, telling him more about the center and your work. You told him about previous hybrids you worked with, you told him about the cafeteria and how lively it always is, about Liz and how you first started working at the center. You’re voice has been hoarse for a while now but maybe if you just keep talking it will help him find his way back to consciousness.

Liz had visited yesterday and asked why you were so invested in a stranger. You wish you had an answer and you’ve been thinking about it since she asked. Why were you so invested?

You do not know him and you do not owe him anything. Maybe it’s because he’s alone and the others gave him up before even trying. Maybe it’s because all the little bits and pieces of information about him hint at a tragic picture and you don’t want him to live in it alone. Maybe it’s because you can give him all the care and attention you’re somehow unable to give yourself. Maybe it’s because you wish someone had cared about you enough to sit by your bedside while you had been at the hospital.

It doesn’t matter, is what you’re settling for, because thinking of those things makes your body feel heavy and doesn’t help anyway. You are invested and that’s all you need to know.

At this point you don’t know what to talk about anymore so you get out your phone and search up fairytales. It’s a bit absurd reading those to a soldier but it’s better than the quiet that’s only interrupted by the machine monitoring his vitals. And if your hoarse voice sounds scratchy and not very lovely – no one will know. You’re alone with Simon.

Spontaneously you buy a digital collection of fairytales and begin with the first. It’s kind of funny, how dark most fairytales are but as a child you adored them. As a child you did not think about the dark parts as gory. It was not the dark and gore that stuck with you back then but the happy ends and wise teachings. When did you lose the ability to look at things like that?

It makes you wonder about his childhood too. Did his dad read to him before bedtime? Maybe his dad was a military hybrid as well and only his mom had been home most of the time.

What had his home looked like? Had his family consisted of companion or work hybrids? Maybe he’d been bred specifically for military work? You hope that at some point you get to ask him all of these questions.

You’re so engrossed in reading at first you don’t notice the way his heartbeat slowly elevates. But at some point the now quicker beeping of the monitor catches your attention. You look up for a second to see Simon’s eyelids fluttering and quickly you look back down and continue reading.

Somehow you think he won’t appreciate waking up to you staring at him so you try to keep your voice even and continue the story, now all the more aware of how rough your voice sounds because you’ve been talking and reading for so long. The hectic beating of your heart echoes in your own ears and you try very hard to keep your voice even.

You don’t even know what you’re reading at this point but you continue saying one word after the other out loud. Out of the corner of your eye you see his body stiffening. He’s just waking up and immediately on guard again. The hand holding your phone shakes a bit and you have to concentrate to keep the words from going blurry before your eyes.

Suddenly you feel his eyes on you and you swallow, breaking the flow of the story for a second, before continuing until you reach the end of that fairytale. You decide to see it as a win that he is neither panicking nor growling at you. He’s only staring with the monitor beeping quite quickly behind him, his entire body coiled tight like he is bracing for something bad to happen.

You lock your phone, put it away and meet his eyes. Even though he has been asleep for days he looks tired beyond belief. His head is slightly turned so he can look at you and his right ear twitches. You smile at that and feel yourself relax while he remains as stiff as before.

“Hi, Simon.” You awkwardly clear your scratchy throat.

He’s quiet. It reminds you of the cell. He hadn’t spoken then either. Maybe it’s a trauma response. Maybe he can’t talk at all. Or maybe he just doesn’t want to talk to you. The thought stings unexpectedly.

“You’re at the hospital. I don’t know if you remember but we met before you collapsed.” You say carefully, remembering how explaining things had helped bring him down before.

His eyes slowly look down at his hands on the blanket and he flexes his fingers, grunting when he realizes that two are in a cast and he can’t move them. It seems to take tremendous amounts of effort for him to raise the hand with the broken fingers and look at it. Instead of letting it fall back down he goes through the effort of slowly lowering it.

His looks at you again and nods. You’re not sure if that is an answer to what you just said or to the fact that he was able to raise his hand. But it’s a reaction and that’s enough to get your tense shoulders to drop the tiniest bit.

“If you don’t mind, I’ll call the nurse to check on you?” You offer. You know it has to happen but you can probably wait a few more minutes until he is more awake.

To your surprise he nods and you get up. “I’ll be back in a second.”

It’s kind of difficult to leave and stop looking at him. Now that he’s awake the irrational fear that he might be asleep again by the time you get back overcomes you. So you practically race along the corridor to alert the nurse.

When you return Simon is sitting; his head leant against the wall behind him, eyes closed. He blinks them open when you approach and you see his nose flare, taking a deep breath. He frowns, the motion making him more aware of the nasogastric tubing. As a dog hybrid his sense of smell is far better than any humans and you wonder which scents he can make out aside from the smell of hospital that you’ve grown used to in the past days.

“You shouldn’t be sitting yet.” The nurse says with his smooth voice and Simon shrugs, immediately wincing at the movement. The nurse grins and you can see your relief at Simon being up and interacting with his surroundings mirrored on his face.

“Told you.” He teases, immediately dispelling some of the tension in the room.

The checkup is quick but Simon only answers with a nod or a shake of his head instead of using words. When you speak with the doctor in the hallway for a second, she tells you it’s nothing to worry about and he’ll probably speak soon enough. She even puts a friendly hand on your shoulder, evidently happy that he woke up. You were so caught up in your own worry, you didn’t realize how much all the others were thinking of Simon.

When you return to Simon’s side he is studying the room, taking in the monitor as well as the drip. There is suspicion etched into his features, especially while he watches the fluid that continuously drips into his veins.

“Would it help if I chugged some of the stuff?” You ask and just that question alone seems to slightly put him at ease. He huffs through his nose rolling his eyes and you grin. Without the nasogastric tube he already looks way better. You had to turn away when they took it out, the thought of the removal alone nearly making you gag.

“You should probably lie back down though.” Again he surprises you by listening. You don’t dare offer any help even though he grunts with the effort of sliding back down. His pillow is angled awkwardly afterwards and you step closer, reaching for it before you can stop yourself.

When your hands approach his face his lips peel back, showing his teeth. Yeah, the left fang is definitely chipped. His ears slightly swivel back and you pause.

“I’m only going to right your pillow. May I?” You hold your breath, waiting and he gives the slightest of nods. His ears perk forward but he keeps his canines exposed in a display that is decidedly a threat, not a smile.

You tug the pillow back under his head, not daring to touch him to help him lift his head but you can sense that allowing this much is already a big deal. Once done, you step back and sit back down. Thankfully he didn’t bite you and subconsciously your hand comes up to rub your shoulder where phantom teeth seem to clasp down on the scar that marks the skin there.

It should be awkward, the quiet way you lock eyes with him afterwards. But it’s not. It feels weirdly intimate and intense. There is something important going on in Simon’s mind and you find yourself sitting very still so you don’t make any wrong moves.

The way he’s staring at you feels like he’s physically pinning you in place and you straighten up, aware of his breed and that looking weak and easy will not help you with working with him in the future.

The quiet intensity is shattered when the door opens again and the nurse appears with a tray with some… sort of edible mush on it. Simon eyes it warily and when he goes to sit up again the nurse quickly presses a button at the foot of the bed that raises the upper part of the mattress with a mechanical whirring sound.

As soon as Simon is upright and the tray is in front of him he takes a deep whiff of whatever it is they want him to eat. His ears move this way and that and finally he settles, visibly exhausted just from concentrating on judging the food.

The nurse spreads a towel over Simon’s blanket and a low growl tears from his throat at the sudden closeness. The nurse jerks back, raising his hands.

“Hey, big boy. I don’t want no trouble but if you spill on your blanket we have a lot more work to do.”

Simon nods and the nurse stays back while he gets his hand up and tries to grasp the spoon from the tray. The way he evidently struggles makes your stomach squeeze painfully and when he raises the spoon, his hand trembling violently the entire way to the plate, you stand up.

“Let me help you.” It almost sounds like a command and Simon narrows his eyes at you. “Please. There is no need for you to force it.”

He seems utterly unhappy with it but finally he puts down the spoon and his arm falls to the bed with a soft thud. The nod Simon gives in your direction is curt and you scoot closer with your chair giving the nurse a reassuring smile. He just shrugs and leaves with the promise to collect the tray later.

You’re slow in your movements as you collect the spoon and carefully scoop up some of the questionably looking food. Simon hesitates a long moment when you bring it up to his mouth, eyeing you in suspicion until he finally relents and takes the spoon into his mouth.

Trying to dispel the awkwardness settling around you two, you begin talking again.

“You were asleep for over five days.” Your voice is quiet but his ears perk up at the sound of it.

He freezes for a moment, looking past you at the blanket and pillow that you folded and put to the side while you weren’t using it. Once again he seems deep in thought for a moment then he slightly inclines his head at you and then the blankets.

Somehow that makes slight heat creep up your neck and settle in your cheeks. “I stayed with you. We didn’t know when you’d wake up and I didn’t want you waking up alone in an unknown room.”

Some of your worry begins to seep out of you as you feed Simon the entirety of the mush. He doesn’t complain once, dutifully swallowing it all. You almost want to ask for more but you’re dimly aware that eating too much too quickly is probably not good for him and his exhausted body.

“You’re still at the rehabilitation center. Remember? I told you before you collapsed.”

He nods watching you keenly while you put the spoon down and the tray to the side. Hesitantly you reach for the towel spread over his upper body and when he doesn’t react except for a slight twitch of his ears you fold it and put it away too.

 “Why?” His question is so unexpected you flinch, wide eyes snapping to his mouth as if you imagined things.

His voice is horribly rough from disuse, even worse than your hoarseness from too much use. He swallows dryly after that one word and you quickly fill a glass with water, letting him drink two small sips from it.

“Why what, Simon?” You ask him hoping to draw more words out of him.

“You’re no nurse, why are you still here?” His eyes are sharp despite his exhaustion, tracking every one of your movements, calculating, confused. A distinct British accent shapes his words now that he’s actually formulating a sentence.

You clear your throat again. “I work for the center. I’m your new handler until you’ve recovered.”

That reminds you that you still need to sign those damned papers because technically you still aren’t his handler until you’ve done the paperwork. But there’s no way you’ll leave him to go sign them now. Not after he just woke up.

He blinks at you slowly. “My handler.”

You nod and watch him melt back into tense silence, pondering the new information.

Considering all that has happened, Simon is taking it all pretty well. Maybe it’s the exhaustion or maybe it’s actually not much to take compared to what he went through before coming to the center.

He watches you and for a second you think there’s a flash of something in his eyes. Fear? Distrust? You’re not sure but something was there and it makes you want to reassure him.

“I’ve worked with many hybrids before and I’ve never hurt any of them.” You quietly inform him.

“That’s true.” The smooth voice of the nurse comes from behind you and you nearly have a heart attack from his sudden appearance. “Sorry.” He adds when he notices you jump a bit but his grin is amused. He collects the tray and addresses Simon again.

“If there’s anyone here that you can trust to have your best interest at heart it’s this one.” He nods in your direction. You fondly roll your eyes at his praise, secretly happy he’s backing you up. “I’m right and you know it. Even with Phillip you were never anything but understanding.”

Hearing his name from the nurse makes you go slightly pale and you concentrate on Simon instead, who is watching the nurse with furrowed brows. The nurse evidently realizes that he made you uncomfortable because he gently squeezes your shoulder.

“I didn’t… Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” You whisper, your voice refusing to come out louder. Simon curiously alternates between looking at you and the nurse but he doesn’t say anything to the interaction. After a brief moment of hesitation the nurse leaves with the tray.

When you’re alone with Simon, he settles more comfortably into his bed and you stand up to lower the mattress for him so he’s flat on his back again. The look he gives you could be interpreted a silent ‘thank you’. You hope it’s that and not exasperation at your audacity to decide for him to lie back down.

After barely two minutes he’s asleep.

You try to calm your heart that decides it has to start racing again at the sight of him motionless. He’s just asleep. This time he really will wake up in a bit. It’s a good old regular nap.

Your own weariness presses you back down into your chair and maybe you can close your own eyes for a few minutes. Get a bit of rest for yourself. Just a little…

You wake up with a start. Heart pounding in your ears, hands shaking. You rub your eyes to get rid of the last touches of sleep, maybe you can rub the dream away with it, and automatically search for Simon.

He’s already staring at you and you straighten in your chair, surprised that he’s awake. When you look at the clock on the wall you realize that you’ve definitely been asleep for more than just a few minutes and you sigh heavily. How long has the hybrid been looking at you?

Once again Simon has a tray with food before him but this time he’s eating by himself. He’s less shaky already and looks livelier than you yourself feel right now. Between every spoonful he stops and watches you. You didn’t even hear the nurse bring him the food.

“You sleep like the dead.” He comments dryly and you nearly snort. Really? That’s what he comments on?

“Rich coming from the guy who didn’t wake up for five days.” You quip back.

Against your expectation there’s amusement glittering in his eyes even if his mouth refuses to give you the satisfaction of curving into a smile while he finishes the last of his meal.

“You try walking from Mexico to Texas on foot for days after...” He clears his throat. “I don’t even know how long I was walking for.” He fires back.

Your mouth drops open, curiosity builds at the way he stops himself from finishing his first thought but you decide against prying. Whatever he had meant to say couldn’t have been pleasant and now wasn’t the time to make him tell you about what he’d gone through.

You knew that he’d been found in Texas in really bad condition but you had no idea that he’d been outside the U.S before that. But considering his accent you aren’t sure if he even lives in the U.S.

“What were you doing in Mexico?” You question carefully a lump forming in your throat.

Simon’s eyes find the window and he’s quiet for a long time, sitting so still you think he might have fallen back into a coma. His eyebrows furrow and he concentrates on something you can’t see. When he turns back to you there’s a severity in his gaze that makes you swallow heavily.

“Dying.” Is his only answer and you’re not even sure what he means by that because evidently he is alive and fought to be alive but the graveness of his answer makes you keep your mouth shut and a shudder runs down your back.

“There was a mission. But it went to shit.” He finally tacks on and you’re not sure what to say to that.

‘I’m sorry’? What was that even supposed to mean under these circumstances. ‘It must have been hard’? Who even were you to assume what he’d been feeling. You knew nothing of what he’d been through except the wounds and scars it had left on his body.

“I’m glad you survived.” Is what you settle for, biting the inside of your cheek because maybe that was a wrong thing to say too.

With bated breath you wait for his reaction. Simon scoffs but holds back from answering. Wrong thing to say after all, the realization makes your shoulders hunch a bit. But you mean it and you hope he can sense that.

Conversation stops after that. The silence is awkward until you decide that it doesn’t have to be. You sit up a bit straighter. It’s just silence and it’s up to you how you experience it. You look out the window so Simon doesn’t feel too watched, but he doesn’t extend the same courtesy to you.

He’s staring and it’s heavy, like a physical weight that settles on your shoulders. You’re not sure whether it’s a burden or a safety tether.

“I want to wash the filth off. Need to shower.” He finally breaks the silence and you turn to him again. A slight frown settles on your face. He only just woke up from his coma like… maybe a day ago. You realize how bad you’re sense of time got since you’ve spent the last days mostly in this room.

“I’ll ring for the nurse so he can help you with it. I’m not sure –“

“No!” His voice is surprisingly loud, the lingering hoarseness making it sound even more aggressive than he probably intended. “I want to shower alone.”

Now you’re the one who is staring. Simon meets your eyes, not backing down. Of course not every hybrid likes having someone with them while they shower. It is a vulnerable moment after all. But you’ve never met one who was so vehemently against it. If only there was a way you could ask him what happened to him during the months he was missing without hurting him further.

You want to respect his wishes, really you do. But he’s still so weak and it’s your job as his handler to watch out for him even if he doesn’t like it.

“Alright. Stand up, right now, by yourself and I’ll let you shower unsupervised.” You say and you know you’ve taken on your handler voice. The one you use when your hybrid challenges you. Some small part in you is afraid it’ll evoke a negative response in Simon. Instead he bares his teeth at you in challenge, and begins shifting towards the edge of the mattress.

Stubborn hybrid. You watch him, ready to jump up and help him if he needs it at any point but allowing him to attempt standing up. Once he’s sitting at the edge, his feet planted on the floor, he slips the blanket off his shoulders, leaving him only in his hospital gown.

He shudders, grits his teeth and you notice the way the gown loosely hangs onto his shoulders. It’s open at the back and the fact seems to be deeply uncomfortable to the big hybrid. He tries to lift his hands to close it but has to quickly return them to the mattress, before he even reaches the shift, so he can hold himself up.

“Do you want me to tie it for you?” You offer, voice soft, a stark difference to the way you spoke just a few seconds ago.

Instead of an answer a dangerous growl starts in his chest and his ears go flat against his head. Something about his state of undress is deeply distressing him and the thought of you at his back evidently doesn’t help. Whatever happened to him, it made him uncomfortable with being uncovered. You think about what the doctor hinted at when she told you about his condition.

Every hybrid you’ve worked with and talked to before never spared a thought for propriety. Apparently it has something to do with the animal parts in them, while simultaneously not being raised with the same societal norms as humans, but being naked doesn’t naturally bother hybrids.

It bothers him though and you refuse to let him linger in this state when it seems to feel so wrong to him. But he’s still growling at you, deep and threatening, and you don’t want to make him even more uncomfortable.

Sure, you could just do it, force him to bear with it and realize it’s not so bad after all. Sometimes you have to take charge, just like you’d take your dog to the vet even if it doesn’t like it. At least that’s what you were taught when you became a handler. But he’s a person, and you’ll be damned if you reduce him to his animal side.

“I will only do it if you allow me, Simon. I’m not going to hurt you.”

He doesn’t stop growling, even as he nods at you. When you make your way around the bed his head follows you as far as possible and then he keeps one eye on you.

His chest is heaving again, rumbling with his warning growl, and you lean over the bed, deliberately ignoring the broad, naked expanse of his back while you close the gown and tie the two little strings together. You try to be quick but take extra care not to touch him while you hide his skin from view.

You hurry back around to his front and notice how each breath is way too quick and shallow. The growling stopped but there are droplets of sweat collecting on his forehead.

“It’s okay. You did it. Everything is okay, no one touched you and you’re dressed.”

He briefly closes his eyes and slowly his breathing returns to normal. You smile at him when he opens them again. After a few seconds of intense silence, where he once again stares at you like he’s trying to catch a glimpse of your innermost thoughts, he seems to remember why he is sitting in the first place.

He braces his hands against the bed and slowly, achingly slow pushes himself up until he’s standing. His nose scrunches up in exertion and pain. Then he’s unfolded himself to his full height and looks at you in triumph.

For a moment you glimpse the proud hybrid he evidently is, but the expression only lasts a second before he starts swaying and you’re at his side immediately, grasping his big hand, wrapping your arm around his broad back. You’re dimly aware that the monitor beeps in warning in the background.

“Sit back down, the bed is directly behind you. It’s okay.”

It’s entirely graceless, the way he slumps down and you keep holding onto him for a moment until you’re sure he’s sitting safely. Then you let go and retreat half a step keeping your hands slightly outstretched so you can grab him again if necessary.

The hectic thumping of feet approach the room from the hallway and then the door is ripped open, the nurse hastily entering the room. When he catches sight of you and Simon he freezes in place, relaxing some when he realizes that the hybrid is not in immediate danger. Simon growls at him and the nurse once again raises his hands in a placating manner. Then Simon’s attention is back on you.

He narrows his eyes, a shudder going through him. His hands grip the edge of the mattress until his knuckles turn white and he’s panting again. But he doesn’t want to lie back down when the nurse asks him to. So you stand next to him, waiting until he gains control over his breathing.

“You’re not showering alone.” You assert as soon as the beeping of the monitor returns to the usual rate and the nurse stops looking at Simon in concern. His head snaps up to you. For a second you glimpse unadulterated fear in his honey eyes then he sets his jaw, baring his teeth at you again, his ears twitching back slightly.

“I’m not risking you collapsing in there and hurting yourself.” Is your gentle explanation and he sighs so deeply, the sound seems to come from the depths of his soul.

“I’m sure that…” You look at the nurse questioningly.

“Cain.”, he supplies helpfully and you’re slightly ashamed you didn’t ask for his name before.

“I’m sure Cain will help you. That way you’ll have a man with you.” Glancing at the nurse you see him nodding immediately.

“No.” Simon asserts, nearly making you flinch. Then he scoffs. “Man, woman, doesn’t matter. It’s all equally as bad.”

You raise your eyebrows, unsure what he means by that. “O..kay. Which nurse do you feel most comfortable with?”

“No nurse. Either you or I’m doing it alone.” He nearly growls the answer.

You’re stumped into silence. He wants you in the bathroom with him? Even though he just nearly freaked out because his back was uncovered while you were in the room?

Searching for help you turn to the nurse, Cain. He shrugs. “I would advise against him already showering.” Simon’s answering growl is ferocious. And Cain hastily goes on making Simon quiet back down. “But I don’t think I can convince him. If you’re willing to do it and it makes him more comfortable that’s completely fine. You’re his handler. And I’ll be right outside in case anything happens so you can call me.”

Simon looks at you expectantly. Did he ask for you because he thinks you’ll decline and he’ll get to wash up alone? If that’s the reason he made a mistake. You’re not risking his safety. After all you’re not the one freaking out over his naked skin.

Squaring your shoulders you nod. Cain prepares everything in the bathroom and Simon inhales deeply, getting ready to stand up again.

“We do have wheelchairs. You don’t have to walk.” Cain offers and Simon immediately shakes his head.

It makes sense, you suppose. The brief expression of victory on his face when he stood up by himself appears in your mind. He needs to get this much done to feel capable, like he achieved something. So you don’t argue, instead silently stand by his side, while Cain walks around you two to his other side freeing him from the monitor and stepping closer. He gets a brief threatening growl from Simon.

“Yeah, yeah. Just a precaution, big guy. I’m not touching you.” Cain’s voice seems velvety in contrast to Simon’s harsh rumble and the hybrid shuts up at that, concentrating all his energy into standing up again.

The few steps into the bathroom seem to take everything out of Simon and after maybe half of the way, he quietly grabs onto your arm that you’ve held at the ready. No one comments on the way he grips your forearm and lets you take the smallest amount of his weight. You’re sure even that is a concession he’d rather not make.

In the tiled bathroom Simon heavily sinks onto the stool that’s strategically placed in the shower space. There are towels and a fresh hospital gown placed on the sink. After a short instruction on how to use the shower, Cain leaves, reminding you that he’s just outside.

Simon is silent for a few moments and you contemplate waiting, to see if he’ll ask for your help with untying the gown. But you don’t want to push too much too soon, so you take a step closer to spare his pride.

“Let me untie it? I’ll turn around after that. I won’t even look at you unless you need help.” You offer, your quiet voice sounding too loud in the small room.

He nods jerkily, once and your fingers tug the strings of the gown free. Before the shift slides open you’ve already turned around, standing by the door, facing away from him. The rustling of the gown as he slips it off makes you clench your hands into fists. This is way more nerve wrecking than you thought.

The small plastic wheels under the stool rattle over the tiles as Simon scoots closer to the shower; at least you assume that’s what he’s doing.

Then you hear the hiss of the water and relax slightly. There’s the nagging worry that Simon is too weak, that something will happen but you stay in your place, looking at the white door like it might tell you that everything will be fine if you just stare hard enough.

You’re trying to understand why being here while Simon showers makes you so nervous. You’ve been with enough hybrids in the bathroom. You even helped hybrids shower before. A golden retriever hybrid, you worked with previously, had valued showering as bonding time, letting you wash his hair for him. But then again, Simon’s earlier reaction to his open gown had shown that nakedness wasn’t natural to him – or at least it wasn’t anymore.

You’re very aware, that Simon trusts you enough to be locked into this room with you while he is completely naked and you’re not. That’s what makes you nervous. Putting that trust in you means there’s a possibility you might mess up. So you hold very, very still while he showers. You need him to feel safe with you. Maybe because you want to feel safe with him too. You want to feel safe with a hybrid again.

It’s clear to you, that you only feel this secure with him because he currently is weak and probably couldn’t truly hurt you. You can only hope, that you’ll still feel safe enough when he’s recovered. Because if you don’t, you won’t be able to be the kind of handler he needs.

As a malinois hybrid he needs someone confident, someone who sets clear boundaries and puts his mind and body to work while being so in control that he can feel safe following your commands. After Phillip you’re not sure you can be that for him. How are you supposed to feel confident in your abilities when you misjudged Phillip so greatly. Maybe you should have returned to an easier case, maybe another golden retriever hybrid without a tragic past.

But then you remember that no one else would have taken Simon as their charge and you grit your teeth. You will be exactly the kind of handler that can help him, you’ll make sure of it.

The sound of the water turns off.

“I can’t reach the towel.” Simon’s rough voice rings out behind you and you know he’s asking for your help. But he’s concealing the need for it behind a mere statement and that almost makes you smile.

You begin to turn. “Should I-“

“Don’t look at me!” He barks out a subtle rumble in his voice again and you freeze.

The silence following his shout is almost deafening and you try to calm your trembling hands. It’s okay, he only got loud because he doesn’t want you to see him naked. It’s not aggression. It’s defensiveness. You know the difference, you’ll be fine.

“I’m going to turn to the wall on my side and walk sideways to the sink.” He doesn’t say anything to that so you do exactly as you just announced and inch closer to the sink until you can reach for the towel. The silence grates on your nerves and you itch to turn around so you can catch a glimpse of his expression and body language.

You curse the way your hand subtly trembles when you grab ahold of it, then you extend it behind yourself in Simon’s direction. The sudden awareness that he can look at you while you’re not looking at him is making cold sweat break out all over your skin. He’s more vulnerable than you right now, you try to remind yourself but the reassurance feels hollow.

Hopefully he doesn’t realize how heavy your breathing is or the tremor in your hand. But you’ve seen his attentive eyes. There is no way he doesn’t notice. Still you can hope.

Your breath hitches in your chest when his skin slightly brushes yours while taking the towel from your hand. This time you concentrate on the tiles in front of you, while he dries himself off. Instead of waiting for him to ask for it, you take the hospital gown in hand and already hold it out behind you as soon as the sound of the towel rustling quiets down behind you.

You feel the briefest hint of hesitation then he takes the gown, brushing against your hand again. If you hadn’t seen how much he avoids being touched you’d think he deliberately runs one of his fingers along the back of your hand. But surely that was an accident or maybe you imagined it.

Still it has your stomach flipping. He did not growl at the repeated contact and he didn’t avoid it. This time it had been his decision and he had not actively avoided you. A small smile twists your lips. A light fluttery feeling settles in your tummy. Hope, maybe.

“You need to tie it for me again.” His rough voice is surprisingly quiet. This is probably the closest to him asking for help that you’ll ever get.

You turn around to find him facing you. This time you make quick work of tying it at his back making sure he’s properly dressed. He doesn’t crane his neck to watch you either and the realization of that almost makes you lightheaded. With a satisfied hum you round him again and study him.

He’s clean now and already looks a lot better although exhaustion makes him look decades older than he probably is. His shaggy hair is now dirt free and still sopping wet, dripping onto the fresh gown.

You tut at that grabbing another towel. “Mind if I dry your hair for you? We don’t need you getting a cold on top of everything else.”

His ears twitch and damp strands of hair that got caught between the short fur covering his pointy ears come loose flopping down against his head. You can’t stop the grin that appears on your face. Maybe he’s a little bit cute.

Then your eyes take in his face, the stitched cuts, and you have to keep yourself from wincing. Showering with all of his wounds must have been painful, even if the worst are covered to protect them from getting wet.

There is barely a pause this time before he nods and you get close to him, staying in front of him even if you’d reach easier from his back. Bringing your arms up, you wrap the towel around the back of his head and carefully cup his ears with the soft fabric. They twitch again at the touch and you bite back another grin.

Gently you dry them off first, making sure your motions are unhurried and predictable. When you go to towel dry the rest of his hair you take a subconscious step closer and your thigh brushes against his knee.

You hold your breath, waiting for him to jerk back to bare his teeth or tell you you’re too close.

He does none of that. He stays put, not moving an inch and when you carefully rub his hair until it’s only damp he even closes his eyes for a long moment. You think you even catch the start of a pleased rumble in his chest but he swallows it back down, staying quiet.

Once you’re done, taking a step back his eyes blink back into awareness and you find that you can’t look away from the sudden warmth you find in them. For a second he looks at you without hardening his stare and you glimpse vulnerability behind the molten honey of his dark iris.

You did it. He took a shower with you in the room, naked and vulnerable while you had your back turned to him unable to read his intentions. But nothing happened. You’re both unscathed, you’re both unhurt. He didn’t attack you and you didn’t look at him.

You cock your head at him, smiling because you need to express the lightness that suddenly fills your chest, and his head tilts to the other side mirroring the movement. What a ridiculous sight that must be. You think there might be a faint smile on his lips too.

The silence while you help him back to bed is comfortable and Cain, who dutifully waits outside the bathroom looks from you to Simon and back. You nod and a beautiful smile lights up the nurses’ handsome face. He lingers until Simon is back in bed, then leaves with the promise of returning with food later.

The grunt that comes out of Simon’s mouth, when he slips back under the freshly made covers is fit for a grandpa and you snort at the sound. You cannot imagine how exhausting the whole ordeal of taking a shower must have been for him, but it was also a massive achievement.

“You did well.” You praise genuine pride in your voice. He shuffles around under the covers until he’s found a comfortable position but you can see that he’s pleased at your praise and tries to hide it.

Maybe that’s his personal motivator. Praise. His breed is one with a high will to please after all. You shelve that thought for later.

He turns his head towards you, regarding you with tired eyes. “You should go home and sleep.”

You frown at that but before you can argue he continues. “I’ll be asleep for a while and if you’ve been here with me the entire time you need to rest too.” He looks at the chair you occupied for the past days. “Properly rest.”

Resting in your own bed does sound tempting but you still don’t want to leave his side. The need to keep watch, to make sure he’s okay and taken care of is too great. He huffs, catching your attention and rolls his eyes. Rude.

“Go home, bloody hell. Sleep in an actual bed. I’ll still be here when you get back.”

A small pathetic part in you wants to ask him to promise that he’ll still be here. That he’ll take care so no one hurts him while you’re gone. Another part of you fears that they’ll put him down while you’re gone. Just because. But you know you’re being irrational and he has a point.

So you nod. You fix a teasing grin on your face going for lighthearted teasing instead of saying anything stupid. “Don’t get used to ordering me around.”

He huffs again. “If it means making you see reason, I’ll do it again.”

Fondly you shake your head. He’s already growing on you, the stubborn hybrid. It makes wonderful warmth bloom in your chest when you realize that you look forward to working with him. Maybe taking him as your charge wasn’t so stupid after all.

So you leave Simon to rest, watching him close his eyes before you leave the room. You find Cain and tell him that you’re going home to sleep and the nurse clasps both your shoulders in his hands beaming at you.

“Thank god, finally. Don’t get me wrong, you’re very unobtrusive and pleasant to be around but I was about ready to force you to go home to take some time to recharge.”

You laugh at that and squeeze his hands. Without him you probably would have lost your mind these past few days. He waves you off when you express as much, shooing you off. “It’s what we do. Now go get some sleep.”

It does feel wonderful to slip into your bed, your head heavy, meeting softness instead of the hard backrest of a chair. How did you even survive multiple days without a proper bed?

You don’t even have time to ponder that thought before you’re out like a light.

When you wake up groggy and heavenly warm and rested your clock tells you that you’ve been asleep for just over sixteen hours. Damn, seems like you really needed that. Stretching your rested body under the covers you find yourself excited to go back to work today.

Instead of hurrying though, you take your time to get ready, letting your stomach flutter in excitement of returning to Simon’s side. By now he’s probably feeling even better. Maybe you can take a walk outside in the hallway with him if he’s up for it.

You don’t even try to hide your silly smile while you walk back to the center. The closer you get to the building the hospital is in the quicker you walk and you practically skip up the steps to the fourth floor where Simon’s room is.

Before you go in you exhale to calm yourself, wipe your palms on your pants and knock once. Grinning widely you open the door.

“How are you feeling tod-“

The room is empty and confused you check the room number. Room 141, it’s definitely the right one. It’s not only empty, it’s clean too. A freshly made bed, covered with plastic so it can be used as soon as someone needs it. There’s not a single trace that anyone even occupied this room just a day earlier.

Your heart drops into your stomach a queasy feeling coming over you. Surely they just moved him to another room; they probably need this one for someone else. But who? There’s unease creeping up your spine. And it has you quickly going to the nurse’s station.

You find a chubby woman sitting in front of a monitor.

“Hello?” You clear your throat anxiously. “Is Cain here?”

She looks up at you a calm and friendly expression on her adorable round face. “Oh no, sweetie. Cain has night shift today.”

You swallow. “Do you know what happened to the hybrid in room 141?” You ask hating how thin your voice is.

She nods and you breathe a sigh of relief until she opens her mouth again. “He was discharged a few hours ago.”

“Discharged?” Your tone is slightly shrill now and you try to calm yourself down. “There’s no way he was well enough. I was with him yesterday.”

She nods patiently, reassuringly. “Calm down, sweetheart. He only got transferred to another hybrid center, he will be taken to the hospital there.”

A small sigh of relief leaves you at that but you still don’t understand. Where did they send him? Why is he being transferred? What’s going on?

“It’s best you talk to the Doc about it.” The nurse gently advises and like a robot you turn on your heels whispering your thanks and heading straight to the Doctor’s office.

You barely have the mind to knock and wait for her to call you in. As soon as she does you practically rush into her room.

“Where is he?”

The doctor folds her hands. “Ah, I heard you were resting at home. I didn’t want to disturb you.”

“Where is he?” You demand and she sighs.

“As soon as they heard he’s been found they ordered him home. He will be at a rehabilitation center there. You don’t need to worry about him.” She calmly explains. You don’t like how calm she sounds. Nothing she just told you makes sense.

“Who is they, where is ‘home’? I’m his handler shouldn’t I have been transferred with him?”

Her expression morphs into slight pity again and you hate it. You hate that you can’t do anything but panic because he is gone and you don’t know what’s going on. Her next words bring all your thoughts to a screeching halt.

“Didn’t you know? He’s one of them SAS boys. He was transported to board a flight back to England.”

[loudclan-clangen]

The song “Beautiful Little Fool” for Fiercestripe? Because I am not getting over her death. Listened to it and she was the first character to pop into my head.

You’re so right!

YES! Please do, I would love to see it!

The boring answer is that I've been drawing cats for a VERY long time. I think since I was 8 they have been the majority of what I drew. The less boring answer is you know the movie Spirit? It changed my life. It had a bonus video where one of the artists taught you how to draw Spirit himself and it was the singular thing that inspired me to start drawing (more likely possessed me). I think I must have been about two the first time I saw it because I cannot remember a time before I had that video memorized. I would spend hours sitting in front of that video (which was only like 10-15 minutes long) with a stack of papers just fully focused on perfectly following his instructions. I still think about that video to this day. Every time I draw legs the voice of James Baxter echoes through my mind. I don't know if that translates to why my cats are so beefy, I own a cat who is quite chonky, so that might contruibute to it, but now you have a fun fact about me regardless!

All of the heirs are chosen based on birth order! Whoever is born first gets to be heir. I personally find that making strict rules about stuff makes playing the game a lot easier for me, I find it stressful to try to pick a "good heir" when I don't know what's going to happen later in the game so to limit that I just let it be completely out of my hands. 2. The game rolled for Songpaw to become a medicine cat! I would have changed it if he was an only kit or probably if I had known that Dashpaw was gonna die, cause I was really stressed about losing my run at that point, but I do my best to write a story that makes the game make sense rather than change what the game gives me when possible. I think it helps me to not have much of a story in mind while I play, just noting down events and thoughts and then going back and piecing it all together afterwards. That way nothing can "go wrong". 3. "Heir-hood" only applies to the leaders. There is no expectation that Cavepaw will become a healer. When Weed dies that position will be open until someone wishes to volunteer for it. 4. Honestly I don't really know. This might spoil a little bit, of tension, but I truly never had that happen. I was SUPER worried about it and did a lot to make sure it wouldn't, but after a couple of generations you get to a point where almost everyone is descended from a leader at somepoint. (And also everyone is second cousins with each other but you know what there are some problems that you just have to live with.) I image the clan would look for an omen and just pick a new leader based off of that and start the process all over again. In my experience worst comes to worst just make sure you have a very accurate family tree and trace it back a couple of generations.

Thank you so much! I don't play with any mods for Loudclan, I'm too scared to lose saves to less than stable code. My favorite mod currently is Kori's Awoogen though! I just like to look at the beautiful art mostly. I use mass extinction as population control, so I turn it on and off based on how many cats I have. Two full pages is the upper limit of what I'm willing to deal with, so once a third page opens I turn mass extinction on and after an extinction happens I turn it back off. (also if I dip below 1 full page I turn unknown parents on until I'm back to two pages again). I've found after a couple of generations you can mostly stop worrying about it because the bloodlines have spread so far there's always someone who's a 6th great great cousin or something.

The game generated him Dashpelt! I probably would have picked Dashfoot to stick with the generated them of a boring suffix but to make more sense overall.

[j-k-writes]

The Bronze Targaryen - 6

Summary - The year 115 AC brings about many changes in Westeros.

Warnings - character death, childbirth, general HOTD warnings

The bed was cold when (Y/N) awoke. He reached out to where Rhaenyra was laying, only to find empty sheets. He groaned, burying his face in the pillow. 

“I’m over here.” Rhaenyra said, hearing his movements. He mumbled into the pillow in response. “What was that?” 

(Y/N) turned onto his back, “It is too early for you to be up.” 

Rhaenyra stood, walking over to the bed. “It is nearly midday.” 

“Oh.” 

Rhaenyra sat down next to him on the bed, “Oh.” 

He sat up on his elbows. “Why didn’t you wake me?” 

She reached out, running her fingers through his messy hair. “You looked like you needed sleep.” 

(Y/N) smirked, sitting up further and grabbing Rhaenyra, pulling her onto his lap. She yelped indignantly, smacking him lightly on his chest as he laughed. He pressed a kiss to her lips, and she smiled against his mouth. “I think we both need sleep.” 

“That is not what I meant and you know it.” 

He pulled back, “I am fine.” 

“You have not been sleeping well,” Rhaenyra said. “You have been stressed since your cousins left.” 

“I am just worried about my grandsire. He is not well.” 

“And Gunthor.” 

(Y/N) shook his head, “Do not worry about him.” Rhaenyra frowned, opening her mouth but before she could speak (Y/N) captured her lips in his. He pulled away, resting his forehead against Rhaenyra’s. “If you worry about him, I must worry about him. And I do not wish to, I want to just be here with you.” 

Rhaneyra frowned, but nodded nonetheless. She untangled their legs, standing up and grabbing (Y/N)’s hand. “You should eat.” 

He broke his fast as Rhaenyra’s handmaidens moved in and out of the room, helping Rhaenyra properly dress and leaving clothes out for (Y/N). Rhaenyra helped (Y/N) dress when she was finished. They did not leave the room after they were finished, they had not been asked to court since their wedding. (Y/N) did not mind the break from the court, allowing him to spend his days in the yard and with Harwin, checking on the knight’s wounds. Rhaenyra did not share his indifference, feeling like once again her father was neglecting her role as heir. She refused to listen to (Y/N) when he tried to soothe her worries, but (Y/N) could not blame her. The two heirs were in different situations and (Y/N) had only words to offer in ways of comfort. 

Ser Erryk entered the room, drawing the attention of the two teens. “Prince Daemon is here to see you both.” 

Rhaenrya looked to (Y/N) who nodded, before speaking, “Let him in.”

(Y/N) frowned at his father’s demeanor as he entered the room, waiting for the door to close behind him before opening his mouth to speak. “A raven came for you, (Y/N).” 

(Y/N) gestured for his father to hand it over, and as his father placed the letter in his hand he said, “You must leave for Runestone at once.” 

(Y/N)’s heart dropped, and he opened the parchment. 

Prince (Y/N), 

It is with a heavy heart that I write to you. Your grandsire, Lord Yorbert, Lord of Runestone, passed during the hour of the owl. He went peacefully, and he is with your ancestors now. I am aware you are in the first days of marriage, but with your grandsire’s passing you are now the Lord of Runestone. 

Maester Pate 

“Your cousins have not yet reached the Vale.” Daemon spoke. “If you take Vermithor you will get there to claim your seat before they even cross The Trident.” 

“Claim your seat?” Rhaenyra looked between the two men, and (Y/N) handed her the letter. She read it quickly, eyes widening as she took in the words. 

“You must claim your seat.” 

“Uncle his grandsire has just died,” Rhaenyra objected. “Let him mourn, the politics of the realm-” 

“This is not about the politics of the realm.” Daemon spat, turning to (Y/N). “This is about taking your rightful place before Gunthor learns about your grandsire’s death.” 

Rhaenyra frowned, “(Y/N) is the rightful heir, Gunthor would not be so bold as to try to undermine that.” 

Daemon gave his son a pointed look, and (Y/N) sighed letting his hand fall into his hands. He did not know his cousin’s intentions, he did not trust him, but a simple feeling did not prove anything. In fact he barely knew his cousin, having only met him half a dozen times in his youth, but the unfamiliarity only fuled his distrust.

He rubbed his face, groaning, “I cannot take that chance. I must leave for Runestone.” 

Daemon nodded, “I will make sure your things are packed.” 

Daemon turned on his heel, walking out of the room. Rhaenyra turned to her husband as soon as the doors were shut. “I am coming with you.” 

“You must stay here-” 

“You are my husband.” Rhaenyra stood, standing directly in front of where (Y/N) was sitting. “I should be at your side.” 

(Y/N) sighed, reaching his hand out and Rhaenyra gently grasped it. He looked at Rhaenyra, “You are the heir to the Iron Throne. You are already uncertain of your place in this court. I do not know how long I will be at Runestone, but you cannot afford to be away from court for too long, not now.” 

Rhaenyra scoffed, and (Y/N) continued, standing up from his seat, “I will fly to Runestone on Vermithor. I will secure my seat, our future child’s seat, and then when that business is done I will return to you.” 

Rhaenyra cupped his cheek, bringing their foreheads together. “Take what is yours, and then return to me.”

“Lord Royce.” 

(Y/N) looked up from the books he was looking over, placing down his quill. The boy standing at the door looked between (Y/N) and Maester Pate nervously, holding a piece of parchment in his hand.(Y/N) recognized him as the young page that had been attending to Maester Pate in the rookery. 

Maester Pate cleared his throat, “Well, what is it?” 

“There is a raven for Lord Royce.” 

“Give it here.” (Y/N) waved the boy over. The boy placed the rolled up parchment on the desk. “What is your name?” 

“Jasper, my lord. I mean- my prince.” 

(Y/N) chuckled, “My lord is fine, thank you, Jasper.” 

Jasper bowed, practically tripping over himself to run out of the room. (Y/N) picked the parchment up between two fingers, it bore the seal of House Targaryen. He’d received many ravens from Kingslanding in his absence, many from his father, the most from Rhaenyra. 

He kept them both updated on the situation in Runestone. Not that there was much to update, Gunthor was still playing an active role in the governance of the keep, much to (Y/N)’s frustration. He had no real proof that the man was up to anything, other than his odd actions during his grandsire’s final months and the queasy feeling that settled in (Y/N)’s gut anytime the man opened his mouth. 

He picked his dagger up off the table, carefully prying off the wax seal before unrolling the parchment and reading the letter. 

Valzȳrys, 

I hope you are well, and that Runestone is prospering. 

I have been quite ill these past few weeks, the maesters could determine no cause. Until last week. 

My maids were dressing me when Elinda pointed out that my dress did not lace as tightly as it had before, and that I had not bled since before the wedding. Immediately the maester was called, and it is Grand Maester Mellos opinion that I am with child. He estimates that I am in my second moon of pregnancy, and my father already suspects the babe will be a boy.

I apologize for not writing of the news sooner, but to tell the truth when I first heard the news, and even now, I am not sure how I feel. I am overjoyed at the idea of a child with the best features of us both, a future dragonrider, and the future heir to The Iron Throne. But my mother died on the birthing bed, and suffered long before then through countless unsuccessful births. I do not wish to die in a puddle of my own blood as she did. But despite my fears, I am happy with the news, as surprising as it is, and I hope that you share my feelings. 

I think of you every night, and miss your presence by my side. 

Olvie jorrāelagon, 

Rhaenyra 

(Y/N) read the parchment three times, dissecting every word written by his wife. He looked up at where Maester Pate was still standing. “Bring me my cousin.” 

“Gunthor?” 

“Gerold, Pate.” 

The maester bowed, exiting the room, and (Y/N) sighed leaning back in his chair. He resigned himself to getting no more work done today, and started to put the books away. When Gerold entered (Y/N) did not speak, he simply handed him the letter and watched his cousin’s face as he took in its contents. 

“I wish to return to Kingslanding.” (Y/N) said when it was clear his cousin was finished. 

“Of course.” Gerold said. “I do not blame you.” 

(Y/N) bit his lip, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“Will you not be returning?” Gerold asked, taking in his younger cousin’s tense posture. 

“What do you think of Gunthor?” (Y/N) asked, deciding it was better to be blunt than to beat around the bush. Especially if he wanted to make his decision. 

Gerold paused, opening his mouth and closing it multiple times as if he was struggling to articulate his answer. 

“Speak honestly, cousin. I will not fault you for your opinions.” 

His cousin took a deep breath, “I do not know what to think.” 

(Y/N) motioned for him to elaborate. 

“I had not seen him in years until your grandsire fell ill. I wanted to write to you to tell you of his illness, since as his chosen heir it would’ve been your place to take over the responsibilities of Runestone. But your cousin Gunthor urged me not to disturb you.” 

(Y/N) nodded, “Can I trust you, Gerold?” 

“Of course.” 

“I fear Gunthor may have ambitions above his station. I cannot prove it but-” He paused, unsure of how to continue.

“You do not feel comfortable leaving Runestone unsure of his intentions.” His cousin finished, and (Y/N) nodded. 

“You must understand,” (Y/N) said. “I wish to see my wife, and help her through these times but I cannot in good conscience leave Runestone when my position is not yet secure.” 

Gunthor frowned, “What will you do then?” 

(Y/N) groaned, dropping his head in his hands. “Can I not send him away and be done with it all?” 

“Sending him away will not stop him,” Gerold said. “It may just incentivise him further. It is easier to keep him close where you can watch him and those who may support him than to send him away to move in secret.” 

(Y/N) sighed, looking up at his cousin and taking in his expression. Defeated, he leaned back in his chair, “I cannot leave can I?” 

“I cannot tell you what to do, (Y/N).” 

“Just-” (Y/N) closed his eyes, frustrated with the entire situation. He longed for Rhaenyra, wishing to be there to see her through her pregnancy. “Just be honest, Gerold.” 

“No, you cannot leave.” 

(Y/N) nodded, reaching for a blank piece of parchment and his quill. “Thank you for your counsel, cousin. Tell Maester Pate I wish to send a raven to Kingslanding with my decision.” 

Rhaenyra would have to understand, securing his position was for the good of their future family. Their second child will inherit Runestone after him, and (Y/N) would stay for as long as he needed to ensure that.

Rhaenyra’s labor had begun only hours after (Y/N) had set foot in Kingslanding. Viserys and Daemon had been thrilled at the news, but Rhaenyra’s fears of the birthing bed had not at all ebbed throughout the many moons of her pregnancy. (Y/N)’s absence from court during those moons had not helped her trepidation, but as the labors started (Y/N) assured her he would pick her over any babe. 

(Y/N) was not allowed in the birthing room despite his protests, after a particularly rough scream tore itself from Rhaenyra’s throat (Y/N) had pulled his dagger on one of the guards, which subsequently caused his father to drag him even further away from the room. 

His father and Ser Harwin were watching the young Lord of Runestone as Rhaenyra’s screams and curses echoed throughout the halls. Daemon was silent, wincing at his nieces wails every so often, while Harwin had taken to whispering words of comfort to (Y/N). 

“She is strong.” Harwin said, hand resting softly yet reassuringly on (Y/N)’s shoulder. 

“Cunt!” (Y/N) chuckled softly at Rhaenyra’s words, and Harwin smiled. 

“See.” Harwin said, “She is doing well.” 

Footsteps sounded down the hallway, (Y/N) looked over to see King Viserys and Queen Alicent approaching the group of men. Alicent was holding her own swollen stomach as she approached and (Y/N) was reminded that she too was soon headed toward the birthing bed once again. Alicent frowned at Harwin, and (Y/N) narrowed his eyes at the young queen. 

“Ser Harwin,” Alicent addressed the knight, “Does Rhaenyra need her sworn protector-” 

“I wished him to be here.” (Y/N) cut her off, and she looked at him, frowning. 

“Of course.” 

Viserys paid the three of them no mind, he looked exhausted. (Y/N) had heard from both Rhaenyra and Daemon about the king’s deteriorating health these past moons. The letter had given no justice to truly how bad Viserys looked, although he still insisted on acting as if he was alright. 

“How is she?” 

“Well,” (Y/N) replied, “I think. They would not let me in.” 

Viserys gave him a sympathetic look, as the cry of a babe captured all of their attention. (Y/N) pushed himself quickly off the wall rushing into the room, Daemon and Viserys following closely behind him. 

Rhaenyra lied in bed, face pale and covered in sweat, her normally perfectly styled hair was messy and sticking to her skin. She lifted her head at the sound of people entering the room, smiling and relaxing at the sight of her husband. The maester handed the babe, wrapped in a deep brown cloth, with a mop of dark curls peeking out, to (Y/N). 

“A boy, your grace.” 

(Y/N) stared silently at the babe, still crying although slowly but surely calming, (Y/N) looked up to Rhaenyra, who the midwife was attending to. He traced his son's features gently, fearful of hurting the precious bundle. He had not understood the fear his father spoke of until the babe had been placed into his arms, and he remembered that Daemon had been no older than he was now when (Y/N) was born. 

“He’s perfect.” 

Viserys and Daemon came up next to him, and (Y/N) remembered he was holding the future heir to the Iron Throne. He gently handed the babe to his uncle, and he smiled, allowing his brother to peer at their grandson over his shoulder. “What is his name?” 

(Y/N) looked to Rhaenyra, “Whatever you wish.” 

Viserys handed the babe off to Alicent, whose frown deepened. Daemon spoke before Rhaenyra, “He should have a name fit for a king.” 

(Y/N) shot his father a dirty look, already knowing that his father was implying his son should not have a Vale-like name. “Rhaenyra labored to bring our son into this world, she shall pick whatever name she wishes.” 

“Jacaerys.” Rhaenyra said, motioning for the babe to be brought to her. (Y/N) took the babe from Alicent, her expression making the Lord of Runestone uneasy. He handed him to Rhaenyra, pressing an affectionate kiss to the top of her head, and Rhaenyra laid down head resting on (Y/N)’s side. “His name will be Jacaerys Royce.” 

Alicent did not linger around any longer than she needed to, exiting the room as soon as attention was on Rhaenyra. Viserys gave his daughter a kiss on the forehead before following after his wife. Daemon lingered the longest, looking adoringly at his grandson. (Y/N) had feared his father’s reaction to his son’s more Vale-like features, but Daemon did not seem to mind. 

“Congratulations.” Daemon smiled, pressing a soft kiss to both of their cheeks before taking his own leave. “I will fetch someone to clean the sheets and help you dress.” 

Rhaenyra nodded her thanks before the two new parents were left on their lonesome. Rhaenyra, wincing, sat up further, handing the bundle off to (Y/N). (Y/N) smiled down at Jacaerys, tensing when the babe opened his eyes, big and brown, but instead of breaking back into sobs he just stared up at his father. (Y/N) reached down, smiling softly as the babe grabbed his finger placing it in his mouth. 

“I think he is hungry.” (Y/N) chuckled. “Shall I fetch a wet nurse?” 

Rhaenyra nodded, and (Y/N) handed the babe back to her. He opened the door, looking at Ser Harwin who was still waiting outside the door. 

“Would you like to meet him?” 

“Him?” Harwin asked, and (Y/N) nodded. 

“It is a boy.” (Y/N) smiled, “I am going to fetch a wetnurse, but I am sure Rhaenyra would be delighted to introduce him to you.” 

As Harwin gingerly stepped into the room, (Y/N) tracked down a wetnurse. As he returned to the chambers, he took a seat by Harwin and Rhaenyra’s side as Jacaerys was handed off to the nurse. As soon as the nurse was out of earshot Rhaenyra turned to her husband. 

“How long are you staying?” 

(Y/N) frowned, “Nyra-” 

“I will not beg you to stay, (Y/N). I know you will not.” Rhaenyra said. 

“That is not fair. You know-” 

“The complexities of politics are not lost on me, (Y/N).” She was obviously tired from her labors, but (Y/N) could tell he was not getting out of this conversation. “But what of our son? Will he grow up without you because you were too busy infighting with your cousin?” 

“I am doing this for our son.” 

Rhaenyra sighed, the fight going out of her at his comment. “Yes, I know- I just- I want Jace to grow up with a father.” 

“He will.” (Y/N) promised. “But not until I am sure Gunthor will not undermine me at the first opportunity. I will return to you, I promise. And Harwin will be here watching over you both to make up for what I am missing.” 

He turned to Harwin, who nodded a silent promise to the prince. (Y/N) took his hand in thanks. 

“Did you see Alicent’s face when she held him?” Rhaenyra looked across the room longingly at where their son was now asleep in a cradle, the wetnurse long gone. “I am sure she is already spreading her poison.” 

“Fuck Alicent.” (Y/N) spat, causing both Rhaenyra and Harwin to laugh. “She can spread whatever rumors she wishes, they will go nowhere. Our son is a Royce, he has Vale-blood, that fact alone will be enough to quell her whisperings.” 

Harwin squeezed his hand in reassurance, bringing it up to press a soft kiss to its back. “I have missed you, (Y/N).” 

(Y/N) smiled at the knight, before turning to his wife. “I do wish I could stay with you three.” 

Rhaenyra reached for (Y/N). “We will pray for your success, ñuha jorrāelagon, and await your triumphiant return to us."

---

Translations -

Valzȳrys - Husband

Olvie jorrāelagon - Much love

Ñuha jorrāelagon - My love

[irisinluv]

Eric Minisode #1

Parts 1 & 2 from Eric’s perspective. I drafted this before my hiatus and while I still don’t know when I’ll write part 3…. Figured this deserves to leave the drafts.

She’s in my mother’s drawing room…. And I can’t say I’m upset. I watched her peek into a couple of rooms, curious to see my betrothed outside our usual hours. She seems…. Different than usual. More lively and curious. But then I suppose the only times we interact are at opposing ends of the grand hall, or at balls and social events where we must host and entertain. I know small details about her- like she loves to ride horses, spends her days in her personal drawing room working on embroidery and other ladylike things…. But they’re generic details I could guess at from any lady of the court.

It’s fascinating watching her when she’s in her own element… I can’t help but slip into the drawing room after her. She’s examining mother’s pottery with a small smile, seemingly lost in thought. I’m glad someone’s admitting mothers work- as a child, I’d often watch as she carefully worked the clay, teaching me how to mold it just right, and then watched in amazement as she would glaze it a few days later in intricate designs.

I watch my betrothed giggle to herself and I can’t resist revealing myself,

“What’s so amusing dearest?”

Oh…. Well this is fascinating. She always speaks with such careful measure, as if each word is thought out. She gets flustered on occasion, I have noticed that much, but she responds by stopping to collect herself before carrying on with the same careful grace.

This current version of my beloved is much more…. Open. I’m not sure she even notices how easily I can read her like a book- is this what she’s like when caught off guard? Perhaps I have misjudged my beautiful bride…. I can’t help the thrill the runs through me knowing I’ve surprised her, caused this shift. This thrill turns to shock as she asks to spend the day with me in the library. I see I’m not the only one who can catch the other off guard….

I can’t help but stare at her as she reads. This feels like a dream. I assumed we would have a polite yet distanced relationship, this is, after all, a marriage of convenience. But in the past several months I couldn’t help but admire her poise, the way she commands a room, and couldn’t help but latch onto the little details I’d been able to learn from her. Now, she’s here, in my library, curled up in my favorite chair, so enthralled by her reading that I can see who she truly is under her noble lady facade. And I suddenly find it rather hard to focus on my work. This feels so natural, so right, I wonder why we’ve limited ourselves to such formal meetings this far if what we both seem to crave is simply companionship? How have I not noticed how much she, too, wanted this?

With that thought… I invite her to luncheon and a stroll. I noticed her admiring a painting of a rose garden and I couldn’t get the picture of her under the rose pavilion out of my head… so that’s where I plan to take her. And that’s where we were heading until a rather unpleasant interruption arrived.

I recognized her, the ambassadors daughter. What was more important, however, was the sight of my intended, sprawled on the ground, skirts pooled around her, pushing herself up on her arms, face crinkled in slight pain, and throwing out a blind insult... yet another layer beneath that porcelain mask… my love is a spitfire. I lifted her to her feet, admiring the way it felt so natural to have her in my arms, before letting her go.

The offensive rodent who caused my dearest to go flying was simpering at me, and I couldn’t help the disgust that ran through me- she was completely ignoring the one she had offended, instead was directing her apologies towards me. I exchanged looks with the princess and she spoke before I had the chance.

What a tongue that woman has on her… I know it is my role as the gentleman to defend her honor, but I’ve realized my new favorite hobby is simply observing her. She so easily defended her honor, reminding the lower class woman of her station, and I couldn’t help the thrill that when through me as she referred to herself as the soon to be crown princess. So easily asserted her claim on the throne, on me.

The thrill only continued as she surprised me yet again, grabbing my hand and leading me away. I couldn’t help the look I sent toward the ambassador’s daughter, despite being enamored all the more by my soon to be wife, I can’t overlook that she was hurt and insulted. I’d be remembering this. But, that was for another time. For now, I was being dragged down the hall by my beautiful rose. When she finally released me, the blush on her cheeks was so divine…. I couldn’t help but think of all the ways I might fluster her more so I might see it again.

In one day I have discovered that the woman who has sat across from me each dinner for the last several months, is in fact, my soulmate. Just like I pictured, she looked divine under the roses- admitting they were her favorite. I noted which foods she gravitated towards as well- and realized we shared several favorites, and that she was unbearably adorable trying to hide how much she was enjoying herself.

I don’t believe I’ve ever been in such high spirits as when I returned to my quarters after an afternoon of memorizing the way her smile crinkled her eyes, laughing alongside her as she told me all about her novel, and receiving her rapt attention as I spoke of my day in return.

When I go down to dine with her I find myself flustered… I’ve never before felt this strongly about a woman, and now all I can think of is how the wedding couldn’t come sooner. My mood is dampened, however, we begin to eat, and I see that porcelain mask of hers creeping back up. I realize it now, how our arrangement thus far has actively hindered our relationship. Sitting this far from one another feels like miles of agony, I feel as if I’m addressing a crowd each time I speak, my voice carrying across the vast expanse. The quiet intimacy of the rose pavilion and our two chairs around the tea table, the sound of her pages and subtle inhales as she became engrossed in a new turn in her book, the feel of her arm in mine as we strolled. These things, and the cold, formal way we were currently dining, did not match.

She excused herself to bed, and I imagine she felt the same disappointment I did- I longed to see her face clearer as she sampled the roast pork- did her eyes flutter the way they had when she took a bite of that lemon desert earlier today? Or did her nose crinkle as she disguised her distaste? These are details I cannot know from afar. These are details I must learn.

I meet with the head waitstaff and fix this immediately. From now on, my dearest love and I shall hardly be apart if I can help it.

Also I’m not gonna resume the tag list till this series officially comes back…. I’m not gonna tease that many of y’all with an @ when it’s just a draft post.

[splatashahowlett]

kitchen confessions

logan howlett x reader

to be honest, you didn't even know how your body could function on a daily basis with the amount of sleep you were getting each night but you couldn't do anything about it. so here you were, sitting on a kitchen stool, notebook in hand, spoon in the other. trying to enjoy the remains of your favorite ice cream.

life wasn't easy when you lived in a school, you could say goodbye to any kind of privacy and to all your favorite food that you would try to hid on top of cupboards. the fact that you were older than every students here didn't help. but you were grateful above anything else.

when charles found you, you refused his proposition at first. but you came to the realization that you had nothing to lose. that's why you didn't mind having trouble sleeping everynight. you got used to going into the kitchen and sketching in your notebook. you could finally breath without worrying about people asking very intimate questions (those kids wil be the death of you).

but what you weren't used to was having company.

all you could hear was the noise of your pencil scratching against the paper and the loud humming of the washing machine next door supposedly on silent mode... but you found it comforting in a bizarre way.

your dissociating state was disrupted by a grumpy voice coming from the door leading to the hallway.

"doesn't anyone sleep around here?".

startled, your eyes connected to a tall figure leaning against the doorframe. his arms were crossed and eyebrows slightly furrowed. you recognized him as the guy rogue told you about, was it nolan ?

rumour has it the professor asked him to join the xmen decades ago and his only answer was "go fuck yourself".

"only two of us are awake -well, three with you-" you answered, getting back to your drawing. you know that aside from you ,the only person awake at this time of night was the kid always glued to the tv whose name you forgot. your heard the bear-looking guy sighed and open the fridge.

"is there any beer in this kitchen?" he huffed, probably still emerging from his sleep. you chuckled softly, amused with his animal-like behavior. maybe you shouldn't but you thought he was cute. not in a "i'm interested in him" way of course, but more in a "he looks like he listens to katty perry in his free time and dream about adopting thousands of kitten even if he would never admit it" kind of way. this must have been something to do with your mutation considering you could see people's aura and "true nature", if that's even a thing...

"this is a school, but you can find some soda in the cupboard on your left" you answered, still smiling.

you certainly weren't expecting it but ater grabbing a bottle, he pulled out a stool from under the kitchen isle and sat infront of you. okay maybe you also thought he was cute in a "i'm interested in him" way. I mean, it's also like he did it on purpose: walking around the house in a white tank top probably a size too small for him which made his biceps pop out.

so naturally you acted like you didn't care about him at all (or so you thought).

"are you afraid of me?" his question caught you off guard and the face you made must have been really funny cause you could swear you saw the corner of his lips twitch upwards at the sight of it.

"excuse me?" you asked, waiting for further explanation.

"your heart is racing" he answered, taking a sip of his drink. you didn't even question what you just heard and gave the first excuse that came to your mind.

"coffee" you hoped the guy couldn't also sense lies. he raised his eyebrows and smiled, knowing you didn't drink coffee in, at least, the last three hours.

after a not so awkward silence, he finally decided to speak up: "I'm logan", still keeping his eyes on you.

"y/n" you settled fot the shortest answer, wishing he could not see through the crush you were developing for him.

"not so friendly huh" he said, almost disapointed. you sighed and even felt a bit guilty for not making any efforts.

"I"m sorry, I'm just exhausted. it's nice to meet you logan" you hoped this answer would be enough for him cause you don't think you would be capable of more for tonight.

"trouble sleeping? at least I won't be the only down here everynights" in usual, the thought of not having your alone time anymore would push you over the edge and you would probably start crying, but in this case, it didn't feel so awful. this may be the reason why you felt bold enough to ask a very personal question: "nightmares?"

logan froze and you immediatly regretted opening your mouth. but you still waited for his answer, afraid to make it worse if you said anything else.

"yeah" he nodded "what about you?" he added.

"same issue" you answered, happy he felt comfortable enough around you to tell you about it. this was also one of the benefits of your mutation, your own aura was singular. everybody felt at ease around you, some of your friends even used you as an ambulant aspirin.

"you wanna talk about it?" now that was surprising. you didn't know the guy but he definitely wasn't the type to listen to you ranting about your struggles. at first you were resilient about it, but then you realized that it's been a while since you had let someone in, and even if the grizzly seated on a stool that was most likely to break under his weight may not be the best person to open up to, you felt a strong urge telling you that you could and should trust him.

"just some traumatic experiences. being a mutant in the 21st century is far from being easy; people take advantage of that" you answered, not as uncomfortable as you thought you would be. logan nodded and kept his eyes on you.

"yeah, same issue" he articulated in an empathic tone.

so you both spent the night talking about things you shouldn't have to go through, hoping that some day you'll be brave enough to learn to live with those harrowing memories.

weeks passed, then months...and you found yourself falling harder for logan each day. you two grew quite close and you valued your friendship with him which is why you still didn't tell him about your romantic feelings for his stupid face.

but you had enough of being scared and anxious so you decided today would be the day. well the 8am version of yourself did, it's now past 10pm and you still didn't tell him anything. but you knew he was coming to the kitchen like every other nights.

right as when you started getting lost in thought you felt a hand on your shoulder, logan's. you didn't even jump, used to him sneaking up on you.

"hello there" he said, happy to see you. you couldn't bring yourself to look at him so you just muttered what seemed to be a "good evening" under your breath.

"you good bub'?" he asked, stopping in his tracks. you loved that about him, he didn't necessarily show it but he cared deeply for everyone in the mansion, and you hoped he cared in a special way about you.

"yes, sorry. I'm just bored" you grasped on how stupid you sounded when your words reached your own ears

"you do realize that has to be the worst excuse you ever came up with, right?" he laughed, and sat on the same stool from the night you met.

you knew it, but you still weren't ready to admit what was plaguing your mind.

"I'll be there when you're ready" logan interrupted your train of thoughts almost like he could read your mind: another thing you loved about him.

logan knew exactly what you were thinking about, cause he was also thinking about the same thing: he really cared about you. so he took your hand in his and squeezed it, as a sign of reassurance. he gently stroked your knuckles with his thumb and kept his eyes on you. he couldn't get over the fact that you were the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

"do you want a drink?" you said, hoping to release some tension and make up for your lack of enthusiasm when he walked into the kitchen. he only nodded, keeping his words for something much more meaningful. so you stood up and opened the fridge. you knew logan was right behing you and it killed you; why did he always had to do that ?

so when you turned around, you found yourself only inches away from his torso, you looked at his eyes for the first time of the night. logan took the two bottles from your hands and placed them gently on the cupboard next to him. never breaking eye contact. your heart was racing and breath quickening: was this a dream?

once his hands were free, he gently took your chin between his fingers and muttered: "I don't know if it's the way you talk, your gorgeous smile, or the way you brought me the intimacy of being understood, but I think that I may be falling in love with you"

you stopped breathing for a second and looked at him with your wide eyes.

"nevermind, I think it's the way you were completly oblivious of my feelings for you from the begining" he added while smiling and closed the space between your lips. you kissed him back (duh) and wrapped your arms around his neck. you couldn't help but smile hear to hear; your smile grew ever wider when you felt logan also smile against your lips.

to be honest you didn't even know how your body could function on a daily basis with the amount of love you had for this dude...

[imagines-for-the-fangirls-soul]

The Prince - Chapter Nine

A/N: Hello! I did not expect this chapter to be as long as it is, but there was just too much to squeeze into this one! Only one more chapter left! I want to thank you all again for your likes, comments, and reblogs! It means the world to me and I hope you stick around for more Jace fics after this one is over. Like before, please see tag list in the comments.

Pairing: Jacaerys Velaryon x Reader Word Count: 5.2k Synopsis: Finally, all matters are put to bed as Jace meets with Baela, the reader meets with Rhaenyra, and Lord Blacktyde is dealt with.

Warnings: violence, blood, death

Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

Jace walks directly out of your chambers and heads for Baela’s. It is too early an hour to be visiting, but he cannot wait any longer. In this current situation, he needs to ensure your safety. Besides, he has put off this conversation with Baela for far too long.

He gathers his courage as he knocks on her door. To his surprise, Baela answers the door herself.

“Jace,” she says with a sigh, looking him up and down. “I’ve been expecting you.”

“I’m sorry it’s so early. I—” he pauses, taking a breath, slowing down, “Can I come in?”

She doesn't respond, but holds the door open. As he walks in, his thoughts are of you, your smile, your hand in his, and it gives him the strength to finally face her. To finally tell her the truth. When he does, she’s already looking at him with a sad smile.

“I know, you know,” she says softly.

“Baela, I'm sorry. I never meant for you to find out from anyone else but me. You're my closest friend, and--"

“I mean,” she says, walking into the room, sitting down on a couch, motioning for him to do the same. “I knew, I think even before I knew. Your feelings for her . . .” she sighs, “It’s the kind everyone wishes they’ll find.” She is still smiling, but there is a hurt behind her eyes, too. When she meets his gaze, she laughs.

“Don’t you dare pity me, Jacaerys. I’m glad that you’ve found love with Y/N. You deserve happiness.”

“So do you."

“I know,” she says with a laugh. “I see the way you look at her. I hear the way Rhaena talks about her budding relationship with Lord Corwyn. I want the same for myself.” She sighs. “I used to think I might find that with you.”

“I love you, Baela. It’s just—”

“I know,” she says, smiling gently at him. “I don't feel that way either. I love you, too, just . . ."

"Yeah," he says softly. She is quiet for a moment, studying her hands.

“If I break our betrothal, I don’t want Driftmark," she says. Jace's heart leaps once. He meets her eyes, seeing a determined glaze in them.

“What do you want?” he asks.

“King’s Landing is my home, I don’t want to leave it.”

“Baela,” he says with a smile, “I wouldn’t have you anywhere else. During the war, you were my confidant, my advisor, I need you here.”

“I know,” she says with a smirk, “I’d like to be Hand.” A grin spreads across Jace's face.

“Done.”

When Rhaenyra invites you to her quarters, a horrible dread fills your bones. You think of the only other time you were summoned by her, when Lord Blacktyde arrived. There is little doubt in your mind that this meeting has to do with him.

You think she'll probably have Barun and his ship waiting for her command, waiting to send you off to the Iron Islands, never to see this family you have grown to love again.

At your arrival, a guard leads you into the queen's chambers. The room is warm, like Jace's tends to be, a trait that must run in the family. Rhaenyra is standing over her desk, her brow furrowed as she reads the scroll in her hand.

"Your Grace," the guard says, drawing her eyes up.

"Y/N," Rhaenyra says.

"Your Grace," you say, curtseying.

"You may leave us," she says, dismissing the guard. Once the door closes behind him, she gives you a small smile.

"I'm sure you're wondering why I asked you here."

"Yes, Your Grace."

"Baela has agreed to end her betrothal to Jace," she says, making your heart leap. "I asked my son to hold off on telling you until I could speak with you myself.

"I have seen the way you look at Jace, and how he looks at you. I know there is love there," she says, a soft look on her face. "He deserves love."

"Yes," you say quietly, reflexively.

"But he also deserves a long life, an easier one than the one he has lived thus far. The arrival of Lord Blacktyde has made me reconsider my initial approval." She meets your eyes. "Tell me why you should marry my son."

"My Queen," you say, taking a deep breath to hopefully squash the growing panic within you. "I don't know why I should marry Jacaerys. I know there are more advantageous matches out there for him. I have no titles, no relationship to offer your family that you don't already possess.

"But I do know that I love your son, more than anything in this world. And I know he loves me," you say, your voice cracking with swelling emotion, "It is an honor I do not take lightly. For so long, I tried to fight my feelings, because I know I'm not good enough for him, because of my past. But your son has shown me that the love between us, the admiration and trust, it is not commonplace. It deserves to be treasured.

"I don't know why I should marry him. I probably shouldn't. But if you grant us leave, please know that I will do everything in my power to make sure he lives a long, happy life."

She studies you for a long moment. You fidget with the hem of your sleeve, waiting for some sign of her approval.

"What of Lord Blacktyde?" she asks. "If you are to reject him, he will turn his anger upon my family."

"I know," you say, dropping your head. "If it comes down to it, I would leave with him, if it meant keeping your family safe." She raises an eyebrow at you.

"That means a lot." She is quiet for another agonizing minute.

"I want to see more of Lord Blacktyde, to understand for myself the kind of man he is. Already, he has sullied his reputation after barging in here, making demands for you. Perhaps it wouldn't be the worst thing to lose his allyship. He is already ostracized in the Islands." That spark of hope leaps up into your throat.

"Your Grace?"

"If you would give up your happiness, your life, for my son, if you could walk away from your feelings, I can think of no stronger quality in a wife, and queen."

Jeyne is pacing in your quarters when you arrive back. The moment she spots you, she gasps, moving to your side.

"What did the queen say?" she asks. The tears that were threatening to fall during your meeting finally spill over.

"She said yes," you say, "Baela agreed to end their betrothal."

"And Barun?" Jeyne asks, her face flushing with excitement.

"I think she'll try to make some kind of agreement with him, she's inviting him to supper tonight to feel him out. Although, its my understanding that she wouldn't care either if the relationship falls through."

"Oh, Y/N," she says, wrapping you into a bear hug. "I'm so happy for you."

"Me too," you say with a laugh, wiping at your tears.

"Have you seen Jace yet?" she asks.

"Not since last night. I'm sure he knows, but I want to see him. To celebrate with him."

"Well, you'll see him tonight."

"Barun will be there, too," you say, "I won't be able to get close to him, to even let him know."

"The prince is clever," Jeyne says, "I think he found a way around Barun."

When you slip on the dress Jace sent, you are in awe. Jeyne always made sure you had beautiful, elegant dresses, but this one was of its own caliber. The beading made it sparkle in the light. The fabric clung to you favorably, the slightly lower neckline surely Jace's idea.

You feel absolutely beautiful, and stronger somehow. Clad in your future family's color, you feel some of their bravado embracing in you.

"If your father could see you now," Jeyne says, walking back into the room, also dressed in her finest.

"What would he think?" you ask.

"That he was a damn fool," Jeyne says, wrapping her arms around you. "He wanted the Vale, wanted its legacy to pass to your husband and sons. Look at you now," she says with a smile, "You're going to be queen."

You take in a breath. In your excitement, your love for Jace had overshadowed the fear of becoming queen. It's years away, but already, you worry what the people will think of you. Jeyne seems to notice your attitude change.

"It won't happen for a long time. You'll have time to prepare," she says, "But you'll be perfect."

"Thank you," you say, "For everything."

On the walk down to the dining hall, Jeyne tells you of her morning meeting with Barun. His terms hadn't changed from five years ago. He promised aid to the Vale in exchange for your hand. Jeyne had politely told him she needed to consider, and went on her way.

"How did he appear?" you ask.

"He cannot hide his emotions. He said all the correct things, but his face and voice held only frustration."

"I will be relieved when he is long gone," you say with a sigh, stopping in front of the doors to the dining hall.

"That day is near," she says. "Are you ready?"

"Yes."

The heavy oak doors open to reveal Jace and his family. He is joking with Aegon, but upon your arrival, he looks up. A smile immediately breaks across his face. He bids his brother goodbye and comes to your side. You can tell he wants to do more, but he only takes your hand and kisses it softly.

"You are beautiful," he says, warm eyes meeting yours.

"Thank you," you say. He transfers your hand to his arm and guides you into the room. "I had no idea you had such an eye for gowns."

"I don't," he says with a smile, "But this one was as easy find, once I pictured you in it." His eyes flick down to your chest. It dawns on you then, just how long it has been since you slept together. Was it really only a few days ago? It feels like longer now.

"I've missed you," you say lowly, "I--"

The heavy doors open again, this time revealing Lord Blacktyde. He stumbles almost instantly, and you realize he is already drunk. Jace must notice the way your body tenses, because he tightens his hold on your hand, just as you break away from him.

"Y/N," Jace says sternly, quiet enough for only you to hear. "He's going to find out eventually."

"Not here," you say, watching as Jeyne greets the lord. "Please," you say, glancing back to him. "For tonight, let's just pretend."

"Pretend that I'm not the happiest I've ever been?" he asks, making you smile.

"Yes. Just for this dinner. Tomorrow, we will figure out how to tell him."

"Very well," he says with a sigh. "Let me escort you to your seat, then." His mirth has vanished, and you hate that you can't celebrate this victory with him. For so long, you two have longed for this very moment.

As he guides you to your seat, you cross him and whisper, so only he hears, "I love you." He keeps his composure, but the look in his eyes conveys his response.

"Y/N," Joffrey says, sat to your right. "You look lovely tonight."

"Thank--"

"Evening, Your Highness," Barun says, startling you as he sits in the seat to your left, the one Jace was about to claim.

"Lord Blacktyde," Jace says through clenched teeth. You exchange a look, but Jace is too smart to start an argument now. Rhaenyra sits at the head of the table. Her eyes meets Jace's and she inclines her head to her left, the unoccupied chair there.

As everyone takes their seats, Jeyne, Rhaena, and Baela across from you, the younger boys further down the table, soft chatter breaks out. For the first time since you revealed yourself to her, Rhaena meets your eyes and gives you a soft smile.

"How is Morning?" you ask carefully, hoping a neutral topic might mend the gap.

"She's good," Rhaena says, "I should be able to fly with her soon, finally."

"Really?"

"Dragons grow quickly," she says with a shrug. "You should . . . come see her soon." A strange expression passes over her face.

"I'd like that," you say, with a smile. She cuts into her food, and you assume she's done speaking to you, until she looks back up once more.

"Red suits you," she says. It's as much acceptance as you'll get from her, but it means the world.

"Thank you."

"So," Joffrey says, pulling your attention to him. "Remember in the library, when you swore nothing had changed with you and my brother?"

"Yes," you say, glancing up the table to Jace. The prince meets your eyes with a smile.

"Care to make any amends to that statement?" he asks when you look back at him.

"No," you say, smirking.

"Even now, you won't trust me with your secrets?" Joffrey asks, a frown on his face.

"Today we are pretending," you say, "Ask me again tomorrow."

As the next course is served, you feel you must relieve Jeyne from entertaining Barun. Thus far, she has been one of the few to speak with him, save for a few remarks from Rhaenyra and Daemon.

"Are you eager to return to the Iron Islands, My Lord?" you ask.

"Yes," he says gruffly, his breath reeking of ale, "I can't stand the heat here."

"It's not so bad, one you get used to it," you say.

"I don't intend to. You shouldn't either."

"May I remind you, Lord Blacktyde, I have not agreed to any terms with you," Jeyne remind him.

"Yet."

"Excuse me?"

"You haven't agreed to any terms, yet," he says firmly. Jeyne doesn't break eye contact.

"Of course," she says. She glares him down as she reaches for her glass of wine. He looks away before she takes a sip.

"What is it you find so desirable about the Iron Islands?" Daemon asks, drawing your attention down the table again. For a quick moment, your eyes meet Jace. He isn't looking at you, though, because his sole focus is on Barun. His fist is clenched tightly atop the table.

"Is it the never ending damp? The sunless sky? Or are the stories true, that the Islanders fuck the creatures of the sea?" Daemon asks. The room is quiet. Barun's face grows redder by the second. But before the tension can break, one of the younger boys laughs. Whoever starts it gets the other one going, too, and soon everyone starts laughing, too. The only one who doesn't even try to fake one is Jace.

"Say what you will about our customs, your Targaryen ones are much stranger," Barun says. Your laughter dies in your throat.

"And which customs would those be?" Rhaenyra asks.

"You forget yourself," you say quietly, hoping only for Barun to hear it. He turns to glare at you, his eyes bloodshot.

"You'll do well to learn to hold your tongue," he says. "As I was saying," he continues loudly, "Such strange customs. You married your uncle after all, Your Grace." Jace's knuckles have gone white.

"That must be why you've had such trouble finding a husband," he says, turning his full, horrid attention to you.

"How is that?" you ask.

"Because you're not related to them!" he says, punching the last few words as if he's a jester.

"Lord Blacktyde."

"If only you had just been a little blonder," he chortles. "Although, that rules doesn't apply to these two." He motions to Joffrey, then to Jace. Your prince's face is white with rage.

"Need I remind you who you are dining with?" you ask. Barun rolls his eyes. He seems closer now, as he looks at you. You can smell the alcohol and see the beads of sweat at his brow. You move closer to Joffrey.

"When we get home to the Islands, this back talk will not be permitted."

"I believe my cousin already told you nothing has been decided." You reach for your win glass, casually, needing to pretend all is well.

"King's Landing," he says under his breath. "Leave it to them to teach a woman such disrespect." You exchange a glance with Jeyne, both of you knowing you learned that trait well before King's Landing.

"And what is it exactly that you find so lacking in King's Landing, My Lord?" you ask.

“People claim the Iron Islands are barbaric, but when brother argues with sister, we don’t put the burden on the whole of the realm.”

“Would you call usurping our queen’s throne ‘arguing?’” you ask, your eyes flitting to the end of the table where Jace, Rhaenyra, and Daemon all stare coolly at Barun.

“I just believe that if things had been handled more rationally, I wouldn’t have lost so many good men.”

“People were lost on all sides,” you say, your wine glass nearly shaking in your hand. Tension tightens along the table. All side conversations have ceased.

“That’s exactly what I mean,” he says to you. “You need to come to the Iron Islands. It’s not safe in King’s Landing.” He seems oblivious to the shifting mood of the dragon riders around him. Rhaenyra has a firm grip on Daemon’s arm, but the King Consort shares the same expression as Jacaerys. Barun leans in even closer, until your back is pressed into Joffrey’s arm, trying to put as much space between you as possible.

He continues, unbothered. “I mean, they couldn’t even protect their own children, how could—”

The glass in your hand shatters in your grip, jostling the rest of the table. Both Jace and Joffrey are on their feet with you, the latter of whom reaches for your hand. You pull it back, your focus solely on Barun. You aren’t alone in this, the entire family looks at him with cold-blooded anger.

“Apologize,” you say firmly. He laughs as he looks up at you.

“Excuse me?”

“Apologize,” you say. The glare he gives you is one that could kill. But before he can say anything more, he finally looks at the people around him.

“My apologies, I meant no insult,” he says with a forced smile.

“Of course,” Daemon replies, an equally vicious smile on his own lips.

You sit down, begging Jace to do so, too. His jaw is clenched so hard, you aren’t sure he’s actually breathing. You give him a look that says please, and finally he sits.

“Y/N,” Joffrey exclaims, reaching for your hand. Jutting from your palm is a large shard of glass. Blood drips between the two of you. “You need to see the maester.”

“I—”

“She’s fine,” Barun grunts, taking your hand from Joffrey. He drags the chunk of glass down your hand, lengthening the cut before pulling it out. You clench your other fist, and take in a quivering breath, but that is the only reaction you’ll give him.

“See? All better.”

“She’s bleeding,” Jace says plainly, looking at Barun in disgust.

“Haven’t you been told, boy? Girls always bleed.”

“I think I’ll escort Y/N to the maester," Jeyne says, standing quickly. You look nervously between Jace and Barun. You don't want to leave, fearful of where this anger might lead. “Y/N” Jeyne urges.

“Coming,” you say, standing up. Joffrey places his napkin in your bleeding hand softly. “Thank you.”

As you move out from between them, Barun looks as if he wants to stop you. His attention moves to the end of the table, and whatever he finds on Jace’s face stops him. As Jeyne leads you out of the room, you look back once, unsettled by what has happened, and usure of what is to come.

The maester has just finished stitching your hand when Jace walks into the room, Rhaenyra and Daemn following close behind. He doesn’t seem to care that Jeyne, his parents, and Maester Orwyle are there. The moment he is in front of you, he grabs your face and kisses you.

“I’m fine,” you say when he pulls away. He doesn’t respond, just takes your bandaged hand in his. He studies it for a moment, then kisses the back of your hand.

“Jace,” you say, looking up to meet his eyes. His hard exterior drops then, and he sits down next to you.

"How is your hand?" he asks.

"The maester says I'm lucky," you say, "I could have lost my grip if it had been deeper. He says it will only leave a scar." Jace looks livid.

“Did anything else happen after dinner?” you ask, hoping to change the subject as Jace’s hand holds your uninjured one.

“No, Barun shut up once you left," Daemon says.

“He’s revolting,” Jace says, giving your hand a squeeze.

“He is,” Jeyne says, joining your small group. “And I’m afraid he’ll only get worse, when Y/N rejects him.”

“He’s one man,” Jace say firmly. His thumb traces over your skin, both to soothe you and to remind himself that you’re there. “He is disgusting, but he is not invincible. We’ll arrange to tell him in a group and then send him back to the Iron Islands.”

“And if he threatens the Vale?” Rhaenyra asks. "Or dares to threaten us?"

“Then I will fly there myself and defend my future wife’s home,” he says proudly. "And ours." You meet his eyes and give him a gentle smile.

"We will meet with him tomorrow morning," Rhaenyra says. "Tell him firmly that Y/N rejects his suit, and that if he leaves willingly, the Iron Islands will be rewarded. Hopefully, that will be enough."

The plan is set. The next day, Barun will be informed by Jeyne, in front of Queen Rhaenyra, Prince Jacaerys, and a slew of Kingsguard, that she rejects his suit. It is Jeyne’s idea that you stay out of sight, and you don't fight her on it. Barun is possessive. If you were there, you aren’t sure what he would do.

But the waiting is agony. When the time comes for them to go down to the throne room, you are confined to your chambers. You can’t help but pace, worrying what might be happening.

It’s an hour before a knock comes from your door. Eagerly, you run towards it and whip it open, having dismissed your lady’s maid half an hour earlier, because her worrying was just as bad as yours.

Panic surges through you, though, as you open the door and find not Jace or Jeyne, but Barun. He stands outside your door, a menacing look on his face, his nostrils flared. On the ground next to him, is the guard assigned to your chambers.

“Lor-Lord Blacktyde,” you stutter, backing up as he presses into your room.

“Now you’ll see me,” he says. His face is red, his tread heavy. He radiates an anger so great you haven't seen before.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you say.

“Why not? Expecting whatever lousy lordling you’ve been seeing behind my back?” he asks, still stalking towards you. Step for step, you back up, too.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about—”

“Don’t lie to me!” he yells as your back hits the post of your bed. Quickly, you jump aside, putting some more distance between you.

“You forget yourself, My Lord,” you say shakily.

“I forget myself?” he asks with a laugh. “You were betrothed to me, but coming here made you forget your oath.”

“You married another,” you say, “How was I to know you’d kill her and come crawling back for me?” Anger flares in his eyes as he moves towards you. His hands reach for your arms, but you step back just in time. Barun catches his knee on the edge of a sofa, growling at the pain.

“This behavior will not be acceptable when I bring you to the Islands. You will be my wife and you will obey me."

“I’m not leaving with you," you say icily.

“The hell you aren’t."

“Let me remind you, that Prince Jacaerys promised war upon your doorstep, should you put up any fuss at my refusal.”

“The prince,” he says with a scoff.

“Should you comply, he will see that the Iron Islands are rewarded,” you say. Barun is silent for a long moment, considering. You think his anger might have abated, but when he looks up again, there is no life behind his eyes. They are dark like you know him to be, and you truly fear for your life then.

“The prince,” he says again. “The prince.”

“My lord, I really think you should leave now,” you say, moving towards your door slowly. As you take a few steps, Barun lets out a huff, his eyes locked on your movements. You stay still, waiting for your opportunity to react, when a pounding comes from the door.

“Y/N!”

“Jace!” you call back, immediate relief seeping through you at his voice. There might be more commotion in the hallway, but you can’t decipher any of it but his voice.

“You whore,” Barun mutters, drawing your attention back to him. “You fucking whore!”

“Please, let’s just end this peacefully,” you say, again stepping towards the door.

“The prince is going to save you?” Barun asks with a laugh. “Not only are you a whore, you’re stupid, too. He’s not getting close to you. And if he does, I’ll rip—” While he was rambling, you positioned yourself enough that while he is distracted, you shove an end table at him, catching him in the stomach. He hunches over as you run for the door.

The lock won’t turn, your hands are shaking so badly. You hear Barun approaching, and as you finally throw open the door, Barun’s hands grab your arms, pulling you back.

“Not so fast,” he mutters. You fall to your knees, trying to break away from him, but his grip only tightens, this time in your hair, as he drags you across the room. Jace runs in with Joffrey in tow.

“Let her go, Blacktyde!” Joffrey yells, his face paling when he sees you. Barun stops moving and lets go of your hair when he sees them.

“Oh, Y/N, look who it is,” he says. In response, you kick his leg, knocking him to his knees. You make to move from him, but he grabs your ankle in the last second. Jace and Joffrey run at him, pulling him back, but not before you get a kick to his face.

Barun punches Joffrey hard, knocking him against the far wall. As Jace continues to hit him, taking his fair share of punches, you struggle to stand up. As you do, you see Barun reach for the knife at his side.

“No!” you scream, running towards them. You grab the back of Barun’s shirt, pulling him back as hard as you can, until the knife falls from his hand.

“Stupid bitch!” he bellows, turning around quickly, his hand outstretched. Pain erupts across your face as his back-handed slap hits. For a moment, you cannot see anything. But when your vision clears, you see Barun, his hands wrapped around Jace’s neck, and in that moment, you know it’s one or the other. He is never going to stop. There is no deal to be made where he will be happy enough to let you go.

As you get to your feet, the knife on the floor glitters in the light. You take it in your hand, trying not to hear the sounds of Jace’s struggle, Joffrey's grunts of pain as he tries to stand. All your focus is on the move Jace taught you, so many months back, on the sparring grounds. The knife is much shorter than the sword you had practiced on, but the movement is the same. Your aim is the same.

Centering yourself, you get a tight grip on the knife. It is Jace or Barun, you remind yourself. Jace or Barun.

You lunge.

For a moment, looking at the knife wedged into Barun’s lower back, you think you’ve must have missed, angled incorrectly. But then, red starts to seep across his back. You step back as Barun drops Jace, who gasps for breath on the floor. Barun looks back at you, shock and betrayal etched on his face.

“You cun—” he coughs, dropping to his knees. He reaches around for the knife, but he can’t reach. Blood begins to pool from his mouth and it’s clear his strength is fading rapidly. While you still have the sense to do so, you move to Jace’s side, helping him sit up. Red marks mar his neck, but he is alive. You wrap an arm around him, and he does the same, both of you watching as Barun takes his final breaths.

For a moment, you just sit there in silent horror, watching the life fade from his eyes. The blood quickly pools around him, at the same time that your breathing quickens. Your adrenaline has cooled quickly. Tears now fall from your face.

Jace notices immediately, tucking you into his arms. He shushes you quietly as Joffrey comes to your side. He quietly checks in with him, noticing the blood dripping from his nose.

“You had to, Y/N,” Joffrey says quietly. The fact only makes your tears come more violently.

"He's right," Jace says, "You had to. He would have killed all of us.”

That night, you stay in Jace’s room. Neither of you want to leave each other’s side. Besides, your room is covered in Barun’s blood.

Jace leaves you alone only long enough to speak with his mother, but even that time isn't long. He is back minutes later, and the look of relief when he sees you again is unmistakable.

Jace holds you tightly when the two of you get into bed. Your arms wrap around him the same, but sleep avails you. Every time you close your eyes, you see Barun’s black ones. Every shift of the castle sounds like his pounding fist. Too often, you look up at Jace, the bruising on his neck, making sure he’s real, that he’s still there. Each time you do, he is already looking at you, too.

“Y/N,” he says softly, brushing your hair back with a gentle hand. “We need to get some sleep.”

“I know,” you say, snuggling closer to his chest. For a while, you are both silent.

“You saved my life, you know,” he says, whisper soft.

“Jace.”

“You did,” he says, the intensity in his voice bringing your eyes to his. “I can never repay yo—”

“Oh shut up,” you say with a roll of your eyes. “I told you, you saved me first, when you promised I could come here. And every moment after. Don’t forget you came to my rescue.”

“Y/N,” he says, hand on your chin, “I’m trying to say thank you.”

“Oh,” you say, smiling gently. “I’d do it again if I had to, for you.”

“I pray you never do."

“I love you, Jace,” you say, He smiles as he brings your lips to his.

“I love you, Y/N.”

[bubblegump-1-nk]

Lost in Translation

pairing: Fem!Reader x Theodore Nott

summary: In which you and Theo are best friends, and secretly in love. But when Theo accidentally overhears a conversation between you and Enzo, he realizes you might not feel the same way…

Note: Ok y’all I’m sorry I PROMISE this will be my last Theo fic in a little while, I’m really going to try to write for other characters (and dw I won’t cheat and write for Lorenzo’s other characters ;)). On that note, I am going on many trips this summer and don’t know how much I’ll be able to write so I just want to get this story out before I leave for my trip tomorrow. Update: I didn’t finish in time and I’m currently halfway across the world writing this, having been awake for 23 hours straight, so if it stops making sense towards the end, pls forgive me 🙏🏼

~~~

It was a particularly warm day in March, so you and your friends decided to carry out your free period by the Black Lake. The sound of the waves lightly crashing onto the shore and the light breeze dancing through the trees was enough to make you want to fall asleep on the plush grass beneath you, but Pansy’s voice brought you out of your dreamy state.

“Y/n?” She spoke again, when her voice didn’t get your attention the first time.

“Mhm.” You muttered from where you were laying in the grass, a smile small placed on your face as the sun hit your skin so nicely.

“Dreaming of Theo?” Hermione inquired, causing Daphne to giggle due to your friendship with Theo being a little too “friendly”.

You shot up and glared at the girls. “How many times do I have to tell you, we are only best friends.”

This caused Daphne and Hermione to laugh even harder, and your cheeks flushed a bright pink.

“Ok, ok, whatever. Y/n, do you have the charms work?” Pansy asked, annoyed that her question had been ignored thrice.

“Yeah, I have it here.” You said, shaking your head to forget the altercation as you rummaged through your satchel.

“Speak of the devil.” Daphne said, causing you to look up.

Class must have gotten out already, hence why Theo, Enzo, and Mattheo were walking your way now.

You gave Pansy your homework and went back to resting on your makeshift grass bed.

“Forgot our invite?” Mattheo said, as the boys reached your group.

“You had class, idiot.” Pansy said, scribbling down your work.

“When has that ever stopped us.” Mattheo said, as he sat down and threw his tie off and gave Pansy a sassy look.

You felt your body being moved by strong hands you immediately recognized as Theo’s.

“Hey, you.” Theo said, as he looked down at you. He had moved you so your head now rested on his lap, a much more comfortable pillow.

“Hi Teddy.” You said, your eyes still closed.

“Theres other people here too, y/n”. Enzo joked, his mouth full with food.

“I know, I just don’t tend to say hi to people I don’t like.” You joked, making a face at Enzo.

He threw a piece of candy at you, but it was intercepted by Theo who put it in his mouth.

“What’s in the bag Mattheo.” Hermione asked, changing the conversation topic and drawing attention to Mattheo’s bag which was slowly and quietly jumping up and down.

“These idiots spilled some of our potion into my bag and it hasn’t stopped jumping since. You should have seen it before though, it’s calmed down a lot since then.”

Theo and Enzo began to laugh, and the rest of the group followed suit.

Theo’s hands were playing with your hair, like second-nature.

Enzo’s gaze burned down on the both of you, and you slowly made eye contact with him. You had drunkenly told Enzo about your feelings towards Theo after a party a couple weeks ago, when he brought you back to your room (a job that was usually taken by Theo).

—

“Careful, y/n, watch your step.” He had said, as he helped you back into your room from the Slytherin common room.

“Your the best Enzo, you’re really my best friend.” You had responded, turning to face him as you said it.

“Yeah you’re mine too y/n.” He said with a small chuckle. You two had known each other for ages, and your bond was like no other.

As he was helping you out of your clothes, you started to explain your feelings.

“Enzo, I can trust you right?” You asked, biting your lower lip.

He stopped momentarily, nervous. “Of course you can trust me, y/n.” He said, taken aback by your silly question.

“Ok, because what I’m about to tell you, you cannot tell anyone about. And I mean it. Not even your cat.” You said, turning to face him, your expression completely serious.

“O-ok, yeah. Of course.” He said, surprised by your quick change of tone.

“I mean seriously. If you told anyone it could ruin everything.”

Enzo gave you a skeptical look, what the fuck were you scared to say he thought to himself.

You took his silence as an invitation to speak again.

“I’m in love with Theo. And I mean really in love with Theo. I’ve thought about it for some time now and I just had to tell someone about it.” You rambled.

Enzo was silent for a moment, a small smile forming on his lips.

“Fucking finally you realize!”

—

“Mattheo, stop it! Do it yourself!” Daphne’s voice brought you and Enzo out of your shared daydream. Daphne snatched her potions essay out of Mattheo’s hands and slapped him with it, causing him to yelp out.

“Will you two stop it? Anyways, we better get going y/n.” Hermione said, collecting her stuff and getting up.

“Where to?” Theo asked.

“Harry and Ron are meeting us at Hagrid’s in a bit. We have to help him with some baby dragon he found.” You explained, getting up from Theo’s legs.

“Ok, see you at dinner then.” He said softly, helping you put your things away.

“See you.” You said to him, and then loudly to the rest of the group as you walked away with Hermione.

Theo stared at you as you walked away, his being consumed with you.

~~

Dinner was quick, and as you made your way out of the Great Hall, you detached yourself from Hermione, Harry, and Ron, to grab Enzo.

“Come with me.” You said, pulling him by his arm and giving him no time to ask questions.

You pulled him into your dorm room and closed the door.

“What’s going on?”

“I’m gonna stop being a pussy and confess! I’m tired of being hopelessly in love and I want to do something about it.” You explained.

“Fucking finally!” He said, repeating the words he had said that fateful night.

“And you’re going to help me practice.”

What..?” Enzo asked, a confused expression on his face.

“I need you to help me practice what I’m going to say. Please.” You said, throwing the last word in there to make it sound more like a question than a command.

“Ok yeah. Anything to finally get you two together.” Enzo asked, causing you to roll your eyes.

“Ugh, I can’t do it! What if he doesn’t like me back, and then I ruin our friendship and I lose him completely. I’ll tear the group apart. I-I can’t do this.” You say, sinking down to the floor, your worries consuming you.

Enzo follows you down to the ground, and grabs one of your shoulders gently. His other hand lifting your chin to look him in the eyes.

“Y/n, I love you, but you’re being so fucking stupid right now. Of course he loves you, it’s so painstakingly obvious. I mean everyone knew before you two realized it. He practically crumbles at the sight of you talking to other boys. So please, just do this.” He explains, putting emphasis on the last sentence.

“You’re right. I- wait, he gets jealous when I talk to other guys?” You ask, diverging the conversation.

Laughter erupts out of Enzo, and it vibrates through out the entire room.

~~

Little did you know, Theo had had a similar conversation with Mattheo the night of that party a few weeks ago, which was the reason for his absence in taking you to your room

—

He was sitting on the astronomy tower, smoking a cigarette when Mattheo appeared.

“Party’s down there, mate.”

“I’m not interested.” Theo had said, watching as the smoke from his cigarette mixed from the smoke created by his voice in the cold air.

“Why’s that?” Mattheo asked, sitting down next to Theo and taking a cigarette from the open pack on the ground.

“I can’t stand it anymore. Seeing her with other boys.”

“Y/n?” Mattheo asked, in which Theo confirmed with a small nod.

“My chest physically hurts when I see her flirt with other people. I’m physically hurting knowing I can’t be with her. Knowing I can’t love her.” Theo explains, tears brimming in his usually stole cold eyes.

“Then tell her. I assure you she would much rather flirt with you than those tossers.”

—

So now, Theo was on his way to your dorm, excitement and fear teeming inside of him. He was repeating the speech he had prepared earlier with Mattheo over and over in his head, but he knew it was useless. He knew he would forget all of it the moment he looked into your angelic face.

He ran up the stairs to your dorm room, pushing people aside and muttering apologies as he did so.

He ran down the hallway, excited to get to your door. He finally reached the dark oak, but was surprised by the laughter he heard inside. That wasn’t your sweet laugh. It was loud and boisterous, a boys. Theo waited outside your door, listening in. Had he misread the signs?

“Enzo stop it. Stop laughing.” You said.

Enzo? Theo thought, confusion clouding his mind.

“Ok, ok, yep, sorry.” Enzo said, laughter still slipping out of his lips.

“I love you, ok?” You said, after slapping the side of his head.

“Finally you realize. I’ve been in love with you since we were kids!” Enzo responded, and Theo’s heart dropped. It dropped and dropped until he was sure it was laying on the floor somewhere. His throat closed up and mouth got all dry.

You were in love with Enzo? How could he have missed that? How could he possibly have missed that? Tears threatened to spill, and he was damned if he let anyone see him cry. He ran out of there as soon as he regained feeling in his legs.

Theo wanted to crawl into the Black Lake and drown. How could the girl he’s been in love with since he was a child love someone else? One of his best friends for that matter. Why was his life always so unfair?”

~~

“Ok, ok I’m ready.” You say, after having finished your little improv love confession with Enzo.

“Ok, so what are you waiting for?”

“Now? You want me to go now?” You ask, your eyebrows shooting up and eyes widening.

“Yes, now! Stop wasting time!”

“O-ok, ok, fine, I’m going now.” You say, reaching for the door. “Will you wait for me? In here, please.” You say, turning back to face him.

“Of course.” He said, a smile small on his lips as he crashes down onto your bed.

~~

You finally reached Theo’s dorm, adrenaline coursing through your veins as you knocked on the door.

It was strangely silent on the other side, until you heard footsteps reaching for the door.

You fought back the urge to walk away, your stomach was flipping and your palms were lightly sweating. Wtf am I doing? You thought.

“Yeah?”

You were taken aback by Mattheo’s presence, even more so by his face. He looked almost, unhappy to see you. Something you had never experienced.

“Is Theo here?” You asked, eyes trying to dart around Mattheo’s body to see inside the room.

He gave you a look you couldn’t quite understand, but it seemed angry.

“Nope. I’ll pass on a message if you want.” He said, uninterested.

“Er, no it’s alright, I’ll just come back later.” You explained.

“Or maybe not.” He said, closing the door in your face.

You stood there shocked, had he really just done that? What was going on? Where was Theo?

You concluded that he had probably been with a girl, thus his urgency and blocking you from seeing inside. Whenever girls got with the boys, they were typically jealous of your friendship with them (although you never understood because they were all practically your brothers), so perhaps he wanted you out before the girl got angry.

You left, walking back to your dorm. The confidence dissipating out of you, and you decided you would just do it tomorrow.

Unbeknownst to you, Theo was actually in the room, wallowing over his lost love.

~~

The next morning you slowly got out of bed, rolling around in your comfortable sheets as the sunlight seeped into your room. It was a slow Saturday and you had nothing planned other than a Ravenclaw party you were debating attending.

You slowly got yourself out of bed, reminding yourself of the large task at hand: tell your best friend your in love with him, no big deal. You got dressed and made your way down to breakfast, and you kept finding yourself wiping your sweaty palms against your shirt.

As you walked into the Great Hall and made your way over to the table, you noticed immediately that Theo was absent, and Mattheo as well. You quickly scanned the table to find Enzo and when you locked eyes, he gave you a sympathetic look followed with a shrug. You went over to your table and quickly ate breakfast.

The rest of the day was just as strange. You didn’t see Theo all day, which never ever happened. You two were practically attached at the hip. It was strange not having his presence around you, and you swear you were having withdrawal symptoms.

The strangest thing occurred towards the end of the day, when you were walking down the hallway and you saw Theo walking a ways away in your direction. But as soon as he saw he, and you swear he saw you, he turned sharply into the boys restroom, looking down.

~~

“Cmon y/n, please come!” Pansy said, trying to drag you out of your bed to go to a party with Daphne and her.

“I’m sorry, Pans, I’m just not feeling it.” You stated. You had been crying for a while, coming to the conclusion that not only does Theo not love you, he hates you.

“Ok, ok. But, if you change your mind, you know where we are.” She said, finally giving up and leaving your room.

~~

Enzo was leaning on the arm of a couch, drinking fire whiskey and laughing along to Draco and Blaise’s remarks.

The Ravenclaw common room had been expanded, yet it still felt stuffy with the huge amounts of people inside. Blue lights were dancing around the room and music was pumping loudly throughout.

Theo and Mattheo were sitting somewhere else, Theo stating he couldn’t stand even looking at Enzo or he would kill him. But eventually, he got enough drinks in his system, trying to numb the pain of his heartbreak, and got up to make his way to him.

“Wow, mate. Where you going?” Mattheo asked, grabbing Theo’s forearm.

“I’m not gonna lay a hand on him.” Theo said, glaring at Enzo and shaking his arm out of Mattheo’s grasp.

He took long strides over to Enzo, Draco, and Blaise, and his cup sloshed back and forth, liquid spilling over the sides.

“Hey mate.” Blaise said, him and Draco both unaware of any drama.

Theo nodded to him and Enzo shared a tight lipped smile, and looked down at his cup. The air was so tense it could’ve been cut in half with a pair of scissors.

“Where’s your girlfriend?” Theo asked, after beats of silence and staring daggers at Enzo.

“Uh- I- my girlfriend?” Enzo asked, taken aback. The fear emanating from his voice at Theo’s violent look.

“Yeah, your girlfriend. Y’know, y/n.” He said, his voice laced with brutality.

“Y/n? What are you talking about?” Enzo asked, his brows knitted in confusion.

“I heard you talking to her. Saying how much you loved one another. Ringing any bells?”

“Wait, Theo, what the fuck are you talking about?” Enzo asked, Blaise and Draco listening in intently.

“Wow, you are a shit boyfriend. I fucking heard you saying how much you love each other when I was outside of her dorm. It was two fucking days ago and now you can’t even remember?” Theo said, his face fuming with anger.

“Holy shit, that’s why you started acting all weird? Mate, that’s not even close to what was going on.” Enzo explained, Blaise and Draco were watching like it was a reality tv show.

“Oh, so your love confessions were just pretend, or?” Theo said, talking to his best friend as if he was scum.

“Yes, you idiot! She was practicing what say to you!”

“What?!” Blaise said, covering his mouth when he realized it was out loud.

Theo blinked, looking around to all the boys. Mattheo had appeared when he heard the commotion getting rowdy.

“What..?” Theo asked, looking intently at Enzo.

“She’s in love with you! She asked me to practice what to say to because she was going to tell you. But then you got all weird and stopped talking to her. Now she’s sure you hate her and she’s been crying for hours.” Enzo explained.

Theo looked at him with blank eyes, he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“Well? What are you waiting for? Go!” Mattheo said, pushing Theo towards the door.

Blaise and Draco cheered, and Enzo sat back releasing a breath, thankful that he hadn’t just been beat to death by Theo.

~~

“Go away Pansy!” You said, after a knock was placed on your door.

You had been laying in bed practically all day and were wallowing over your lost love.

“It’s not Pansy.” Theo said shyly.

“Theo?”

“Can I please come in.”

“Uhm, yeah.” You said, quickly sitting up and trying to make yourself look more presentable.

The door opened slowly, and Theo walked in, his face was soft and kind.

“Can we talk. Please.” He begged.

“Yeah.” You said quietly, eyes searching his face for a clue of what was to happen.

“I’m so sorry y/n. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I thought you were in love with Enzo and I- I just couldn’t handle seeing you.”

“What? Why would you think I’m in love with Enzo?”

“I came round to your dorm last night to talk to you, and I heard you and Enzo inside. You were talking about how much you loved each other. And I just, my heart broke. Because I’m in love with you y/n. I’ve loved you ever since I have known you and I couldn’t bear to be around you after hearing that you loved my best friend and that I would never have a chance to love you.” He ranted, tears coming to his eyes as he stood before you.

“Theo, I- I don’t love Enzo.” Was all you managed to get out, because your throat was closing in quickly now and tears were threatening to spill if you said anything else.

“I know that now.” Theo said, with a light laugh. “And I’m sorry if I’ve ruined everything between us but I want to make it up to you and if you still have any feelings for me at all, please, please tell me because I can’t go on pretending I wouldn’t burn the entire world for you if you asked any longer.”

You smiled, tears falling from your eyes.

“Of course I fucking love you! I’ve been in ruins thinking that you hate me, Teddy.”

He melted at the nickname and made his way over to you, sitting on your bed and wiping your tears from your cheeks. You both were smiling at each other, and after gathering yourselves for a minute, he asked, “Can I kiss you?”

You laughed at the silly question, because, of course you wanted to kiss him and answered by smashing your lips onto his.

~~

GOD SORRY THIS IS SO LONG and the ending is super rushed because I didn’t want to keep writing

[mischievousmoony]

hello ! i saw that you were open for requests. could you do sick reader and james being the best bestfriend ever (and oblivious as hell) takes care of them? maybe they could be childhood friends so james doesn't realize that what he's doing in inherently romantic, like kissing reader's forehead to check their temp, giving his shoulder to them to lay on, sleeping in the same bed, and such.

AND even after reader is no longer sick, james still insist on spoon feeding them and acting like a helicopter mom.

- 🌱

what a lovely idea! thank you for the request <3 i love this because earlier this summer i had a nasty sinus infection for like 3 weeks :/ i wish i had a james potter then lol also i noticed you used they/them pronouns in ur req. im not sure if you wanted gn!reader, but i think it ended up being that way anyway. i didn't need to use pronouns, or even y/n, in this fic <3

𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚎

⟢ james potter x reader ⊹ 1.4k ⟢ warnings/tags: fluff, no use of y/n, no magic

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

It was only an hour ago that you told James over the phone not to worry about you.

Now, he stands in your bedroom, having let himself into your flat with the spare key that you that keep at his parents' house for emergencies— which he uses very often, but hardly for emergencies.

"James," you complain in a nasally voice, "I'm going to get you sick."

He plants his hands on his hips and looks at you scrutinizingly. It reminds you of Euphemia when she would scold you and James as children, and truthfully, when she sometimes scolds you these days.

"Nonsense, my immune system is built like a tank."

"James," you whine further.

He ignores you as he approaches your bedside, frowning as he takes in your sickly appearance. He gently brushes away the sweat-drenched hair from your forehead.

"My poor thing," he comments before bending down to press a lingering kiss to your forehead.

"You don't feel terribly warm, but you look flushed," James' wrist swivels to press the back of his hand to your cheek, "Do you feel hot?"

"A- a little," you croak, knowing full well that a raging blush is the real culprit behind your reddening face.

James' frown deepens as he dives into his next area of concern, "Have you been eating? You hardly had anything in your fridge."

"I have enough peanut butter and jelly to get me through an apocalypse. Why were you in my fridge?"

"I had to put away the groceries."

Your eyebrows draw together, "What groceries!?"

"I bought you groceries," he says nonchalantly.

"Why would you buy me groceries!?"

James is suddenly sheepish. He rubs the back of his neck, "It's not much. Mostly ingredients for the chicken soup I'm gonna make."

"Make? If you really must you could've just gotten a can of–"

"Eugh! I would never subject you to canned soup!"

You roll your eyes at his dramatics.

"That processed shit is just going to make you feel worse," he adds.

"Does Effie know she's created a monster?" you mumble to the ceiling.

James' chuckles, "Look, I'm already here, I've already bought the food. Just let me make you a nice soup and then I'll get out of here." James raises his hands in the air to indicate his surrender to compromise.

Your head hurts too much to continue an argument that you know you won't win, so you relent and wave him off to the kitchen.

Before James leaves you, "Are you comfortable? Do you need anything before I go?"

"I'm fine."

"You sound stuffy. Is there a lot of pressure? Do you like a hot or a cold compress?"

You wince as you imagine a cold compress, feeling like that would make your headache somehow feel sharper against your brain.

"Hot."

James smiles, happy that you're beginning to give into his care, and disappears from your sight.

He returns with a warm, damp cloth and a paper shopping bag stuffed under his arm. He starts unloading his haul onto your night table.

"I brought you the nice tissues, the ones with the lotion so that they don't irritate your nose. And are you taking medicine? I wasn't sure what your symptoms were or what you usually take so I got stuff for everything. I've got nasal sprays, decongestants, cough syrups— which I'm pretty sure you hate so I bought lozenges too."

You watch despairingly as he sets medicine after medicine down.

"I took paracetamol an hour ago," you inform him.

"That's it? You could at least use the nasal spray then. Here, let me–"

You place a hand over his that fiddles with the cap of the spray, "I've got it. Just go make your soup."

James looks up from the little white bottle, "Oh yeah, sure." But he hesitates before he goes, "You want a lozenge though?"

You yield to James' incessant efforts, figuring he would feel better if you let him do something for you. You hold out your hand to accept the lozenge but as soon as he sees you nod, he is already set on removing its waxy wrap and popping it in your mouth himself.

At last, he presses the warm, damp cloth gently over your closed eyes and retreats to your kitchen.

He reappears every so often to rewarm the cloth that's over your eyes, bring you cups of water or herbal tea, and make sure that you're still comfortable. He's offered to fluff your pillows five times.

The next time he enters your bedroom, he's finally carrying a bowl of steaming soup, one of your dishcloths a barrier between his hands and the hot porcelain.

You sit and hold out your hands to accept the bowl.

"Oh, it's far too hot for you to hold," James says, choosing to ignore the fact that he is doing just fine holding it himself.

He plants himself on the edge of your bed and starts blowing on a spoonful of the savory soup.

"You can't be serious," you mutter, sniffling.

"Just lean back and relax," James instructs, "let me take care of you."

James looks at you with the roundest, most doe-like eyes can can muster. Oh, those stupid big brown eyes— it's impossible to resist them.

You let James feed you what just might be the best soup you've ever tasted. Rich flavors dance on your tongue and you try not to let your eyes flutter closed in bliss, but the enjoyment is written across your face anyway. He refrains from teasing you, feeling too much pity for your being unwell to make any fun.

"Is this helping any?" James checks, blowing on another spoonful of broth.

You hum affirmatively, "It's really nice," you murmur, letting the warmth of the soup spread across your chest.

A prideful smile finds its way onto James' lips.

After he he scrapes the last bit of soup onto the spoon and brings it to your mouth, he places the empty bowl onto your night table. You realize that you still need to thank him and you share words of gratitude as you wring out your neck.

"You alright?"

"A bit stiff from being cooped up in bed," you roll out your shoulders.

"Well, you needed your rest," James says, studying you. "Here, scoot up."

You look at him curiously as he helps you scoot forward. When he starts settling in behind you, your eyes round.

"James!"

You've lost count of how many times you've uttered his name in scolding today. Your face flushes crimson and you count yourself lucky that he at least can't see it this time.

James shushes you, and your protests die in your throat when his hands apply a satisfying pressure to your neck.

He can't help but chuckle, nor can he help seek your approval, "Helping?"

"Uh-huh," you sigh, your eyes fluttering closed, and you feel James' body rumble with laughter against you.

The coming days play out similarly, and you've quickly ceased protesting against him. James attends to your every need and casually showers you in affection day after day.

He even insists on staying over some nights, which you do protest against, as he means to sleep on your couch which is not even long enough for him to lay flat. But you need not worry about that, because when night falls he ends up dozing off next to you in bed, where he intended to only stay until you fell asleep.

In the mornings, neither of you seem to mind waking up in each others arms.

Within a few days, your health improves, but this doesn't stop James from continuing to tend to you.

"I haven't run a fever in days!" you protest as James' lips still against your forehead for several seconds.

"You never know," James mumbles against your forehead before pulling away.

You huff as you meet his eyes on his retreat, "I'm not sick anymore, James."

"You still sniffle sometimes," he shrugs, turning to collect the empty bowl on your night table, which he fed you fresh stew out of for lunch this afternoon.

You chuckle at his antics, "It's just a lingering sniffle, it will probably clear up by tomorrow. Besides, I hardly need someone taking care of me for that."

James pulls his lips into a timid line, feeling quite sheepish. He hides his face as he turns to leave your room with the dirty dish.

He tsks as he formulates an excuse for himself, "Or it means that your illness is coming back for a second round. What kind of friend would I be if I don't make sure it's gone before I set you loose?"

James makes his way to the kitchen to wash your dishes, seemingly unaware that he might enjoy taking care of you a bit more than a friend would. Or maybe he’s simply embraced the comfort of being exactly where he wants to be.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

[marcsburnerphone]

And they were roomates

(Captain John price x F!reader)

Summary: the captain wants somewhere more homely to settle down and when an offer like yours comes alight on Zillow he must take up on it.

Warnings: kissy kissy, a little tinsy bit angsty, flirtatious banter, they're going through it in their own ways.

part 1 - part 2 - part 3 - part 4 - part 5 - part 6- part 7 - part 8 - Part 9 - part 10 - part 11

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

You painted small calculated strokes of warm blues and vibrant pinks. No design or carefully articulated picture simply two beautiful contrast colors dancing around each other. You keep on at this for what feels like minutes but ends up being hours. As you mix the two colors in the corner of the canvas and watch the purple hue they create, the sun also greets the ceiling in John's room. It startles you at first then you realize at least you made it through the night. You sit back yawning quietly, your eyes finding their way to John's sleeping form.

“I can feel it when you stare.” you smile softly, something that comes naturally at the sound of his voice.

“That's why I do it.”

“Yeah?” he asks, turning on his back before reaching to prop a pillow up behind his head.

“Yeah.” he admires through his sleepy gaze. You look sad, it fucking kills him. His head then turns further to the left to catch a glimpse of your work.

“Looks nice, just color though?” he asks in a whisper.

“Yeah I don't know, it just felt right.” you shrug, sucking your bottom lip between your teeth.

“Come ere’” he says, reaching out to you and lifting the covers.

You stand carefully placing the brushes and pallet onto the floor furthest from the bed before crawling in beside him. He smells of sleep and john. It's a heavenly scent, something close to pheromones it draws you in so close that you want to crawl inside his skin.

“You know i’ll miss you just as much, I fear even more actually.” he rubs a comforting hand over your back as his deep voice reverberates in his chest.

“Impossible.” you muster up trying to keep your voice from shaking.

“Only impossible thing is making this easy,” he admits. He feels the stutter in your breath as you try to keep yourself from crying. This is scary, scarier than eight guns being pointed at his chest and head. Death doesn't scare John Price, hurting you does.

“When I return we should go on a vacation somewhere on the coast.” 

“We should.” you look up at him and his too perfect lips and too perfect nose and eyes. 

“Don't look at me like that.” 

“Like what?” you say in an innocent tone.

“Like you’re trying to tell me you’ll be my destruction.” you laugh, laying your head on his chest hearing the quick pace of his heart beat.

“You should rest your eyes for a little.” he says worried about the fact that you slept for less than four hours last night.

“Will you stay with me?”

“Always.” he says, running his thick fingers through your hair and down your back. His ways of comforting you are more physical he thinks he knows how to use his body more than his words so he smooths the wrinkles in your bedtime shirt as in to say ‘i’m here for you’ and he swipes the hair out of your face to say ‘don’t worry your pretty head’ and squeezes your bum to say ‘i’m a man of morals, but still a man’.

—------

“Wake up love.” John says softly into your hair before leaving a kiss on your forehead. You groan in annoyance and feel the smile that now rests on his lips.

“What? it's nearly noon and your phone is buzzing in the kitchen.” your eyes slowly open as you flip to face the opposite way.

“How can you even hear that?” you say in a groggy tone.

“I’m not that old.” you laugh smacking at the hand that squeezes your hip.

“You know that's not what I meant.” you say sitting up slowly stretching as your arms rise to the ceiling. 

“You’re unbelievably gorgeous, how’d I get so lucky?” you turn your head to look at him, a rosy blush on your cheeks.

“Oh stop being such a flirt.” you say getting up from the bed and heading out of the room.

“So you just leave me here.” he slightly shouts from the bed. He hears your footsteps halt and turn around. You walk back into the room giving him a quick kiss then pulling him up with all your might.

“There you go.” he says standing on his feet.

“I forgot you need assistance to get out of bed.” he laughs from deep within his chest pulling you back against his front to kiss at your neck. You two walk down the hallway, he stops in the kitchen and you leave to go search for your phone in the living area.

“Aha here it is.” you say holding the small device up in victory. It strikes his heart here and now that in less than another twenty four hours his morning will look nothing like this and the sound of your laugh will be mere motivation.

You make your way back to him dialing back the call from this morning which to no one's surprise is your sister. You gleefully sing a goodmorning into the phone knowing full well that it's the afternoon.

He starts the coffee pot before giving you another quick kiss and heading into his office. It's only then he lets a tear slip, a foolish show of weak emotion, but it just happens to be from the strongest feeling he has ever encountered, love.

Its soul gripping and head spinning. It makes his heart mush, you make his heart mush yet his will strong. You’re a distraction but one he gladly invites into his already busy mind. You poke and prod at a military machine, you’re everything he’s prayed for and more than he ever expected. You even scare him.

“John?” you knock for the fifth time a little concerned.

“Yes darling, come in.” he says quickly, clearing his voice.

“Are you okay?” you ask, holding a warm cup of coffee.

“Yes, just thinking.” you set it softly on the coaster you had given him when you realized the water stains popping up all over the surface.

“Thankyou.” you nod, reaching your hand out to cup his chin. You give him a slow soft kiss, one on the lips then one to his cheek before leaving.

You’ve noticed when he works he tends to be more serious and quiet therefore you don't think too much but that doesn't mean it's not resting in the back of your mind. You shut the door softly and go on about your day.

—-------

just a glimpse into their relationship before John departs.

i've missed you guys terribly sorry for my long absence<3

@beebeechaos @ttsbaby01 @arminarlertssword @quakeroaksguy @rafaelacallinybbay @bumblebeesfromvenus @glitterypirateduck @midnights-song @lovelythingsinternal @fruitymoonbeams-blog @kkaaaagt @kit-williams @enfppuff @kythefangirl25 @eviltheleon @here4thespice @dclore22 @raethethey @waves-against-a-cliff @novausstuff @darling006 @vampirekilmerfic @Dreams-of-qian-qian @spngingerbread21 @thepumpkinqueen93 @copiasratscheese @youdontknowe @spyderdoll @angels-gonna-play @viisgrave @lieutenantlashfaz @sunndust @beckythecatqueen-blog @aoioozora @o-birdseed-o @mothmothmothmothmothmoth @ihateuguys @oversensitivitea @spicyspicyliving

[munson-blurbs]

Living After Midnight (Failed Rockstar!Eddie x Motel Worker!Reader)

♫ Summary: Apologies were in order when Eddie's true whereabouts were revealed, but would a rainy evening bring forgiveness or an even harsher storm? (4.6k words)

♫ CW: slowburn, strangers-to-lovers, angst, misunderstanding, anxiety, self-deprication, parental conflict, poverty, jealousy, brief touching, eventual smut (18+ only, minors DNI)

♫ Divider credit to @hellfire--cult

chapter eight: mind your own business

A simple conversation changed everything.

Admittedly, it was not your conversation, but one you had eavesdropped on. 

You had turned in the final exam for your Experimental Psych class, ruminating over any possible wrong answers as soon as your paper touched the pile on your professor’s desk. Did you get an abnormal amount of Cs in the multiple-choice section? Were your short answers detailed enough?

And then you overheard two guys talking in the hall, one sounding like he’d just chain-smoked a carton of cigarettes. 

“Dude, what the fuck happened to your voice?”

“Lost it at a concert the other night. Totally worth it, though.”

“What concert?”

“Death’s Echo.”

You froze, hoping your sudden stop didn’t draw any attention to you. Death’s Echo had a concert? Where was it? Is that where Eddie was on Monday night?

Potential exam mistakes forgotten, you strode over to the guys on a quest for information. “Excuse me.” Your lips curved into your best customer service smile. “Did you say you saw Death’s Echo?”

The hoarse-voiced one nodded. “Yeah, why? You like them?” His eyes narrowed in assessment; you clearly didn’t embody his expectations of a punk music fan. A fair enough judgment, because you certainly weren’t. 

“Where did they play?” You pressed, ignoring his question. 

“Webster Hall,” he coughed, and his buddy laughed at his apparent pain. “You listen to them?”

“Yup,” you lied easily, not wanting to stick around and have him find out why a “fan” didn’t even know about a local gig. “Um, feel better!” You hurried out of the building, head spinning with this newfound knowledge. 

Webster Hall. It was just over an hour to get there, which meant that the concert must have started late; a practice not unheard of for more up-and-coming bands. The prime time slots went to the headliners who brought in the most money. 

If Eddie had gone to the concert on Monday, why wouldn’t he tell you? Did he think you’d be angry? Disappointed?

Or maybe he just didn’t want you to know he was blowing off work for a concert, you reasoned, and your opinion beyond that is irrelevant. 

Should you ask him about it tonight? Could you? He might hole himself up in his room, ignoring your knocks and only coming out after your shift.

Maybe that was for the best. 

His harsh words from last night continued rattling around your brain, barely taking a reprieve during the test. Honestly, you were grateful you wrote down actual psychological terminology instead of I am a total hypocrite over and over until self-deprecation filled the pages. 

Tomorrow was your last official day of your undergraduate career, your own personal deadline for confessing the truth to your parents, and yet you were no closer to being ready than you were when you first made that silent promise. 

The problem spun a web woven from neurons and synapses, its delicate threads slowly taking over your mind and catching the most daunting tasks. 

NYU Essay revisions Graduation The motel Eisen’s Eddie

Too much. It was all too much, but you couldn’t shake them from their entrapment. You wanted to squeeze your eyes shut and only open them once everything had been resolved. 

You had a fleeting thought of boarding the bus and remaining seated as it rolled past the motel, leaving it all behind and reclaiming your sanity. Running away was always an option, in theory; realistically, you would be overwrought with guilt before the bus made it to the next stop. 

What you’d once considered loyalty was now stained with splotches of cowardice. 

Maybe one day, you would be able to see yourself the way you wanted to be seen: as a trailblazer, a go-getter, a woman in pursuit of her dreams. 

Today was not that day. 

Rain streamed down from the clouds in thick sheets as though compensating for the week’s idle threats of stormy weather. It pelted against the motel’s windows like a steady drumbeat that wouldn’t be drowned out by your clock radio cranked up to its maximum volume. 

Darkness loomed in the night sky, heavier than usual. Wind accompanied the rain, jostling the power lines and making the lights flicker. 

If the electricity went out tonight…

You couldn’t finish that thought, not when the front door swung open to reveal Eddie, drenched from head to toe. His curls clung to his forehead, his cheeks, the back and sides of his neck; his chest heaved beneath a faded Black Sabbath t-shirt that was saturated with rainwater. 

He stood in the doorway for a moment, unmoving and catching his breath. 

This was your chance to apologize. To admit what you know—what you might know. The timing of the Death’s Echo concert could have been a coincidence, but your intuition told you it wasn’t. 

Another awkward smile that didn’t reach his eyes, a tentative “hey,” and he was trudging past you without attempting to stop.

Opportunity went as quickly as it came. Every word you had planned had been scrambled like a tornado swept through your brain and left gibberish-laden debris. 

The version of you that had confidently confronted him about smoking pot a few weeks ago would have scoffed at the way you failed to utter a simple apology. But this was much more complex. 

Eddie’s forgiveness—if he forgave you—was only half of the battle. His blatantly false accusations about your work ethic had cut too deep to ignore. 

Did he really think that little of you? Or was that his own defensiveness rearing its ugly head and taking over?

Then came a cry from down the hall.

“Of fuckin’ course!” Eddie boomed loud enough to be heard beyond his closed door. “Goddammit!”

You abandoned the desk, grabbing your essay papers and bolting to his room. He was at the window, violently pushing down on the pane, but it remained open. The shirt he’d been wearing earlier laid right next to the door as though he’d peeled it off as soon as he stepped into the room. 

Your eyes landed on the dusting of hair that was now plastered to his pecs, another effect from the weather, the soft brown tendrils partially obscured by his demon head tattoo. 

This wasn’t the first time you’d seen him bare-chested. The night he had arrived, he answered your knock in only his Calvin Klein boxers. He was wearing Fruit of the Loom tonight, the elastic waistband exposed from the weight of his rain-sodden jeans. 

Heat burned in your belly, a sensation you hadn’t experienced in a long while. 

“Little help?” Eddie grunted impatiently, and you nodded, tossing the essay onto his nightstand among a sea of his own handwritten papers. 

Had he caught you staring? 

He moved over, bringing both of his hands to the right side so you could press both of yours to the left. The combined force was enough to smack it closed, the resulting burst of wind sending the papers airborne. They floated to the ground, paragraph-laden parachutes, but all you could focus on was the patch of carpet beneath you. It was completely soaked, visibly darker where the rain had seeped in, and it squelched under your sneakers.

“I’ll grab towels.” You started towards the door, pausing to scoop up a sheet of looseleaf that had landed near your feet. It was obviously Eddie’s; his was not as meticulously curated as yours, full of scratch-outs and barely legible, but the words you could make out were enough to pique your interest.

Want what I can’t have

She’s got me mixed fucked mixed up

You couldn’t read any more of it without him noticing, and you certainly did not want to get caught snooping after upsetting him, so you placed it on the bed as casually as you could.

There were extra towels stored in the supply closet, and you jogged back to the lobby, mentally calculating how many you’d need to sop up the mess. Taking as many as you could carry, you perched your chin atop the oversized pile and lumbered into Eddie’s room, dropping them to the ground. 

To your dismay, he had put on a new shirt, but it did nothing to temper your thoughts of running your fingertips over his inked skin. 

The air was now rife with the scent of burning tobacco, the cigarette between Eddie’s lips already smoked halfway to the filter.

“Thanks.” It was muffled and gruff, hardly an olive branch, but it was enough to tug the corners of your mouth in a tepid smile.

You wanted to stay, wanted to ask about what he had been writing, but Eddie snatched up your essay papers from where they’d scattered before you could ask. He shoved them towards you, leaving the edges creased where they crinkled under his grip. 

“Don’t worry, I didn’t vandalize them,” he sneered. A gray cloud whorled from his lips as he spoke, but it didn’t hide his sarcastic grin. 

You steeled your gaze and forced yourself to look just above the glowing ember and into his eyes. “I’m sorry.” You let your apology float downwards, watching for any indication of a softening expression, but he remained tense. 

“You didn’t even bother asking where I was,” he spit. 

“I’m sorry,” you repeated, less abrasive this time. “I assumed...because you were so mean to Ben…” Any further explanation felt too much like an excuse, so you left the sentence unfinished.

Eddie’s chest deflated slightly, his bravado extinguished. He’d been expecting a fight, you realized. 

You refused to give him one. 

“Were you at Webster Hall?” Your voice deliberately turned up at the end, careful to pose it as a question rather than a declaration. Certainly not as an accusation. 

Eddie flinched, his forefinger and thumb quickly pinching his cigarette to keep it from falling. “What?”

“Monday night,” you said. You pushed your right foot into the mound of towels, hit with a sudden bout of antsiness. “Was your errand seeing Death’s Echo play at Webster Hall?”

He said nothing, just looked at you. Really looked at you, assessing whether or not you deserved to know the truth. 

The admission came out gradually, as if it was being met with resistance, pulled from a place so deep he had forgotten its existence. 

“Yeah.” 

“Why?”

Eddie took another drag from his cigarette. He held the smoke in his lungs until forced out with a cough. “Wanted to hear how they sounded with their new, ah, frontman.”

Lower lip tucked snugly beneath your front teeth, you nodded. “And how did they sound?”

“Great. Really fuckin’ great.” His wry smile held more sadness than amusement. “Better than when I was with them.”

Your heart lurched. Without thinking, you reached out and took his hand, giving it just a little squeeze before letting go. “I know that’s not true,” you said. “I heard you playing on Sunday, and you’re good, Eddie. Not just anyone could pull off playing Metallica without an amp, but you did.” 

You wished he could see himself from your perspective, see the man whose talent was too vast for a dingy subway station, whose music deserved to be heard by sold-out crowds at The Garden.

Eddie didn’t agree, but he didn’t disagree, either. His face remained neutral, and given the circumstances, you considered that a win.

“I can work tonight. Hang the new wallpaper.” A lightning-speed subject change, but you were becoming accustomed to seamlessly shifting tracks to follow his train of thought. “I’ll be back out as soon as I finish this.” He lifted the cigarette to his mouth again and you nodded, closing the door behind you.

Part of you expected him not to return. If his brain worked like yours, he would overthink the conversation, replaying it over and over until he’d wrung out all the positives and left it saturated with the negatives. He’d opt to stay in his room and smoke out his pack, leaving the wallpaper job unfinished. But you heard the door hinge creak and his footsteps pattering into the lobby.

One thousand words flooded your brain to form myriad sentences, from a joking long time, no see to a much more serious who were you writing about?

Ben thought Eddie had feelings for you, ones that stretched past the platonic confines. But he’d only met him once, briefly. He didn’t really know him. 

Want what I can’t have She’s got me mixed up

Did you really know him?

Eddie had an endless list of things he couldn’t have, which often was the case for people facing poverty. As for the girl who had him mixed up, you couldn’t narrow that down, either. The only women you’d seen him interact with were Phyllis (an unlikely muse, but it wouldn’t be the most bizarre case of unrequited love you’d ever heard of), your mom (again, not likely), and you. 

There was no doubt you had him mixed up. Maybe even fucked up, as he’d written and crossed out. But had you had enough of an effect on him to warrant poetry or song lyrics–

Song lyrics.

It all clicked into place: The band; more specifically, the drummer who happened to be his ex-girlfriend. He’d gone to see them play. He could have spoken to her, and maybe realized that a spark was still present. A real spark, not whatever pathetic flicker you might have felt that night when he’d held your hand as you removed wallpaper, or when you’d exchanged gentle touches after his unfortunate wasp’s nest encounter, or when he’d loomed over you in the subway car and a delicate dip in your belly made itself known.

You decided that this explanation, the one in which you had little to no involvement, held the most logic. His inspiration was his past love–potentially his current love–and your argument was a mere distraction from a much more complicated situation.

A natural silence fell over the lobby, a healing balm over the wound you’d taken turns picking at and reopening. It was the perfect setting to finish editing your essay, and yet you found the task impossible. Any threatening grammatical errors paled in comparison to the slight movements of Eddie’s back muscles, visible through his white cotton shirt as he smoothed down the wallpaper panels. 

The pronounced flex of his tricep as he drove the paper cutter above the moldings with utter precision. 

The soft grunt that escaped his lips as he pressed on his thighs to stand up and admire his handiwork. 

You didn’t know how long you’d been staring at him before the slamming front door snapped you out of it. 

“L-Looks good,” you managed, throat suddenly bone-dry. 

Eddie crossed his arms, took a small step back, and nodded. Wide brown eyes scoured the wall for any uneven edges or unglued seams, his lips pursed in concentration. “Not my best work but, uh, it’ll do.” He smirked at you, then jutted his chin to your left.

A middle-age man stood beside the desk, rainwater dripping off of the slope of his nose. He held an umbrella, turned inside out and rendered useless by the wind. 

“Sign out front says ‘vacancy.’” He grumbled and swiped at his bushy eyebrows, revealing a sliver of beer gut when he raised his arm. “Just need a room for the night.”

“Mhm, of course.” You found your footing with a polite smile and collected the stranger’s money, just as you always had, just as you were supposed to. Because you were at work, and that was your job–not watching Eddie hang wallpaper.

As you scanned the wall behind you for a key, a warm whisper tickled your ear, breath tinged with a smoky aroma. A shiver reflexively wiggled down your spine as Eddie spoke, your body unused to this level of proximity.

“Put him away from my room. He looks like a snorer.”

You tucked your lips into your mouth to stifle your laughter. Eddie was right; you weren’t quite sure what it was about the man, but he did look like he snored. Loudly. 

You meant to look over your paper after your shift, but sleep was too seductive to resist. Just one more day, one more final exam, and then you were done. At least until August. 

Summer stretched before you, and though you would still be spending nights behind the desk, your days were wide open. 

Days that might be spent alongside Eddie. 

There was no formal apology from him last night, a fact that nagged at you throughout the bus ride to school and prevented you from looking past the first page of your essay. That, and the burdens of shame both you and Eddie carried: yours from the blatantly wrong accusation, his from…what, exactly? Why was he embarrassed to tell you where he’d been?

The wound was still too raw last night to press on it, to ask further questions; instead, you kept the conversation light and airy. The only foray into dangerous territory came from Eddie himself when he asked about the vandalism at Eisen’s. You couldn’t answer fast enough before clumsily pivoting the discussion to the warming weather.

And maybe it was your inner people pleaser that craved reconciliation, needed it to unfurl and bloom like a budding rose, that lowered your guard and bade you to talk with him. But people-pleasing didn’t explain the warmth that crept through your body, lazily winding through your veins, when he laughed at your jokes.

That laugh–the gentle nose scrunch it evoked, the lightheartedness it exuded, how it chiseled away at the remaining iciness between you. It was all you thought about that night, your heart relaxing as the friendship was no longer in limbo. 

But when you got to class and flipped through your essay one last time, that newfound homeostasis meant nothing. Yes, there were ten pages present and ready to be stapled, but unless your conclusion focused on angsty song lyrics, you were missing the final page.

Dread’s chill pricked at you, followed by an overbearing wash of heat. The granola bar you’d scarfed down threatened to make a reappearance. 

Stupid. How could I have been so careless? All I had to do was check before I left home, but I was too busy thinking about Eddie to do the bare minimum.

It was a bad dream; you’d wake up and find yourself in bed with your full essay safely stored in your bag. All you had to do was wake up and page ten would be a continuation of psychological development in infancy. 

Your eyes opened hopefully, but you were still in the classroom, and the page still beared Eddie’s sloppy scrawl:

I’m the castle She’s the queen Can’t be a king I’m too obscene

The lyrics a few lines down stopped mid-sentence:

Crushed beneath a broken dream Failed to launch now I

You were wasting precious time. If you left now, you could probably make it home and back before the professor left. You’d have to fork over the money for a dollar cab and forgo your afternoon coffee, but it was a sacrifice you needed to make. 

Stupid stupid stupid—

Your name being called drew you from your pit of self-loathing. It wasn’t Nora; the voice was too masculine and too far away for it to come from beside you. 

It was someone with the same name. Just a coincidence. 

And then you heard it again. Loud enough so it echoed down the hall, but not frantic. And yet your heart fluttered in your chest. 

Eddie. 

There was no way; he couldn’t be—

You squeezed past Nora and thundered towards the door, trying to quell your hopes before they rose too high. 

But there he stood, sweat pasting his hair to his forehead. His chest heaved beneath a white cotton undershirt that was tight around the biceps. Deep brown eyes lit up when he spotted you in the doorway, his lips curving in a triumphant smile. 

“I have your paper!” Sure enough, your conclusion paragraph was clenched in his calloused hand.

You could have cried with relief. Fueled by gratefulness and residual adrenaline, you flung your arms around him. Your hands found his back muscles; at first tensed, almost reflexively, but quickly relaxed. The paper crinkling between your torsos jarred you out of the moment, and you took a step back before he could return the gesture—if he even would have. 

“Sorry, I…” Words suddenly evaded you, eviscerated by the musky scent of his deodorant. He didn’t appear to be uncomfortable, all soft doe eyes and lazy grins from his unlikely heroism, but…still. Your relationship now teetered between employee and friend, and you couldn’t afford to knock it off-balance. “How did you get here so fast? And how did you find me?”

Eddie exhaled a chuckle. “Took a cab. And when I got here, I asked every other person where the psychology classes were.”

“You walked from where the dollar cab dropped you off?” How many blocks was that? No wonder he was sweating. 

His cheeks, already flushed from exertion, tinged a deeper shade of pink. “N-No, I, um…it was a regular cab.”

Sheer disbelief widened your eyes. He must have dipped into his meager savings to shell out the money for an actual cab, putting him even farther behind in his journey home. 

“I…” There were one thousand ways to finish your sentence. 

I can pay you back. 

I can’t believe you did this for me. 

I am so sorry I ever doubted your character. 

I wish we’d hugged just a moment longer. 

You finally settled on a string of words that required no courage at all, just a genuine thankful smile. “I have your lyrics. Let me turn in my paper and I’ll grab them for you.”

Eddie’s timid expression shifted into one of amusement. “Shit, yeah,” he said with a laugh. “Was wondering where those went.”

Opportunity splayed out in front of you, tempting you to ask him about the woman who had him mixed up. Every cell in your body ached to know if she was the same queen he’d placed on a royal pedestal, unattainable despite his valiant efforts. 

Was it fear or politeness that held your tongue? You weren’t supposed to see the lyrics in the first place; how could you justify your questions? Sorry I read your innermost thoughts without permission, but could I pick your brain about them?

Any doubts about your intentions were confirmed when he took the page from you, cocked his head, and asked: “What’d you think?”

There it was. Your opening. You could see it, practically touch it, your fingertips brushing the chance to admit that the songs’ mysterious inspiration gnawed at you—

But then he might ask why you wanted to know. And, quite honestly, you lacked the energy to figure it out for yourself. The desire was too strong to be nosiness, too personal to be gossip. 

Not to mention the inexplicable sourness that burned your esophagus when you’d considered the high probability that he’d written them about his ex-girlfriend. 

“Really good,” you managed. “I can’t wait for the finished product.”

Coward. 

“Me, too,” he agreed with a laugh. “I’m sure the folks at the train station are dying to hear it.”

“The rats’ll give you a standing ovation.”

He snickered. “My biggest fans.” 

A hand squeezing yours prevented you from getting lost in the slight dimple that appeared when he smiled. Nora now stood beside you, expression innocuous to Eddie or any other man, but her dark brown eyes silently asked, are you okay?

I’m fine, you replied with a squeeze of your own, grateful for someone who swooped in seeing you with a man she didn’t know.

“Nora, this is Eddie,” you introduced her. “He’s–he’s my friend who’s been helping us out around the motel. Eddie, this is Nora, best friend and study buddy extraordinaire.”

“Ahh, Wallpaper Boy.” Nora furrowed a brow. “You go to school here?”

Eddie cleared his throat and scratched the back of his head. “No, I…she left her paper, so…” He trailed off as though embarrassed by his chivalry. 

“So now she can graduate!” Nora wrapped you in an embrace so tight that you briefly worried about your shoulder dislocating. She leaned in knowingly, her tone teasing with an air of seriousness. “And keep me company at the ceremony, right?”

You rolled your eyes, acutely aware that Eddie was watching the entire interaction. The last thing you wanted was attention drawn to the fact that you weren’t attending graduation. “Maybe,” was all you said, and Nora left it at that.

There was an awkward beat before anyone spoke again, and it was Eddie who eventually filled the silence. “Heading home now?” He asked you, already starting towards the building’s doors. 

“No, I’m going to Eisen’s. I promised Ben that I’d help clean the graffiti.” You braced yourself for a volatile reaction, or at least something akin to annoyance, but his response was more surprising than any snarky remark. 

“I’ll come with.”

Cocking a disbelieving brow, you did your best to keep your tone free of judgment. You were waiting for the gotcha, but you couldn’t let him know that. “Seriously?”

Eddie nodded. “Yeah, why not? I’ve got the day free, and I have some…expertise in graffiti removal.” He relented with a shrug when you and Nora exchanged curious glances, a hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. “My trailer got hit a time or twelve back in the day. The tragic life of a Satan-worshiping freak, y’know?”

“But I bet the vandalizers were upstanding citizens.”

“Keys to the city and everything.” Eddie stuck out his hand, palm up, and you could see the details etched into his pale skin. Calluses decorated the pads of his fingers; you’d assumed they were mostly from guitar playing, but now you could add physical labor to their origins. He looked down at his hand, then back at you. “Shall we?”

Your own hands were suddenly slick with anxious perspiration, like a middle school student on her first-ever date. Even that juvenile scenario held more significance than this—two friends scrubbing down a hardware store was a far cry from the Sandra Brown romance novels you secretly devoured in high school. 

And yet, you felt it—that soft electricity that crackled through your whorls of fingerprints when you slid your palm against his, the jolt of energy as he tugged you forward and laced his fingers with yours. If he noticed the nervousness that embarrassing seeped from your pores, he didn’t mention it. 

Nora, ever astute, excused herself with a story about not wanting to miss the bus, but not before whispering in your ear, “he’s cute.” An approval that would almost certainly be followed up with a phone call later to discuss the fine details of the afternoon’s escapades. 

There are no ‘escapades,’ you reminded yourself. You’re removing graffiti, not embarking on a Parisian vacation. 

Eddie led the way until he reached the building’s doors, blinking as his eyes once again adjusted to the sunlight. “I, uh, I have no idea where we’re going.”

You laughed at his candor. “Follow me.”

It was an opportunity to break the grasp, to unleash the anxiety that threatened to cleave you and Eddie back into two separate pieces. He was dangerous because he was temporary; if you allowed him in even farther than you already had—beyond the confines of friendship—his inevitable departure would destroy you. 

Let go. Let go. Let. Go. 

And yet you kept holding on, adjusting only to take the lead. Eddie’s thumb brushed against yours, pausing just at the knuckle to press down in subtle acknowledgment. 

Hi. 

You pressed back with an accompanying smile. 

Hi. 

This time when you reached the subway station, you both jumped the turnstile. 

--

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